A Garden Of Hydrangeas

فقیر | Beggar

POV : It's the second last chapter.

There's a school of thought where I shouldn't be updating and delay ACM till October cause 'mein ziada khanay ko de rahi hun', but oh well :)

Chapter 28.

✵

"Save the last bits of heartache. A sun is yet to set. Have some patience. Everyone will see. Everyone will know. Forward your palms. All must rest." Azmaray read out loud.

Filza shivered in her seat, her hands wrapped around her frame, her leg set on top of the maroon cushion. It had been two weeks since the day of the fire. Life since then, had changed it's course. Whilst everything in their backyard began to resolve, the walls built once more and the metallic scent of dried blood, the carbon of the burning wood had all been removed, the mental reminders remained. Aftershocks. In tiny trembles and full blown nightmares had her being withered into a prune. Outside though, things had crumbled beyond repair.

Their foe, the ones that had been waiting for years for a moment to slip. For them to catch a particular drop in the curtains of niceties, had taken the risk. Most, if not all of the country had filled the streets in protest. Tires one after the other burnt on famous roads, mobs of people thronged to the cities gardens and chanted slogans against the rich family, the opposition using it to their favor. Inhumane — a word in black cursive printed next to Arham's name by every large newspaper agency. How the two could not have been apart — poles apart. It had ripped his heart full of love into two unequal halves, one distinctly absorbed in bringing justice and the other ; crying tears of scarlet over the lack of trust.

The text message, it had arrived just this morning, one of many. Filza had been gripped with anxiety, her shoulders trembled and the tips of her fingers jittered, barely managing to hold on to her glass of ginger tea. Her father's usually soft voice seemed to have been filled with a desolate emptiness and the crisp way he spoke each word — shook her soul. Something was wrong. In the depths of her soul, her eyes covered with a thick darkness, her skin dyed yellow from the hours spent inside barely managing to stomach anything. He rubbed his chin deftly, staring at her husband who had miraculously still not left for his office — where he had camped this past week or so.

"Do you have any idea who this could be?" He inquired, his hand squeezing Filza's in reassurance.

"It's a riddle," Arham replied curtly, "the person whoever it is said it's a hint to find them."

"Them? You're still not so sure about their gender?" Azmaray sounded concerned.

"No we aren't. Voice filters — every second the pitch changes. The intelligence is still working on it."

"The call — when it came to you," Azmaray spoke, dejected, "and then proceeded to hide it from us. Even though, Filza has been put at risk! Even after a fortnight you haven't found the person behind this? What kind of 'sources' do you keep telling us you have?"

She flinched. Her father's harsh tone bit into her skin. The muscles in her arms cramped up from the force with which she held her wrists down. Tears burned her eyes and throat, her lips bit into the skin of her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood oozed into the chambers of her mouth. Rendered speechless at her father's attitude, Filza fought with her mind and heart. His concerns were valid, yet, her husband's actions were too. Trapped between the two, Filza could not do much save for kissing her teeth in pain. Lifting her kitten from her bed by the edge of her chair, she kissed it's raven head, breathing in the calm smell of it's fur and shampoo.