A Court's Maim

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Chapter 2.

Coffee was meant to be steeped in water ; hers though, swam in heaps of cream. Sweet and sugary — everything Barekhna Saleem was not made out to be. Then again, she was, a woman renowned for her eccentric tastes and love for contrasts — thick lines separated her personal and professional life. Although, she oft taunted herself for having fought more in the court of her home than that of the country. It was deplorable ; the curve of her mouth as she saw her grandfather curse her — yet again. The supple skin had hardened from years of curse words, belittling meant nothing to her.

Slender, like the curve of her wrists, the eye liner winged out of her Bambi like eyes captured the watery essence. Mocha and deep, like unstained coffee grounds, her orbs settled on the man. A bulky grey haired man, his legs crossed at the ankles as he sat on the low rise seat. Spewing in her direction, relentlessly cursing her mother's lineage as he did so — Khawar Obaid was not the picture of affection.

"Have you seen her Saleem? The way she rolls her eyes at her grandfather? Firangi khoon hai na! Ganda tou hona tha!"
[It is foreign blood! It had to be dirty!]

"Oh please dada jaan," the words bit at her tongue, "your grandson is from the same firangi's blood. Yet all you have are praises for him."

"Tumhari aankhein noch lun ga mein! Tameeza sai baat karo!" He roared.
[I will gauge your eyes out! Talk to me with respect!]

"With all due respect, you have no right to ask for it. From me — of all people." Barekhna said.

"Yeh jo shaan hai aap ki sab mujh sai! Aaj hi aap ko jaidad sai alag kar diya tou faqay parh jain gai!"
[All this grandness that you have is from me! Today if I take your inheritance you will have to fast!]

"Go ahead. I'd love to not be assigned some money made off of an innocent's blood. This isn't the seventies or eighties dada. I'm independent. The last time I took a single penny of yours was — never."

Each word of hers was like coals pelting his wrinkly old skin. Distaste inside his eyes made itself known to her, not a single ounce of regret though filed through her body as she sipped on the thick coffee. With the edge of her nail she pushed her hair behind her ear, the white diamonds and platinum piercings covered her elfin ears. Barekhna's British accent like sharp sea waves drowned him, the bright twinkle in his eyes as she sat with open resilience was all the taunt he needed.

"Of course. You lived off of an old man in England as a child. Who knows what your relationship was with him." He chuckled.

"Enough mr.Khawar Obaid. Har koi ap ki tarah har rishton ka ghatiya istemal nahi karta!" She added in a clipped tone.
[Not everyone is like you who uses relationships for a negative reason!]

With an open mouthed sigh, she drank the last of her coffee. Slamming the cup on the table she stormed out of the living room, her brunette hair flying behind her. Maroon heels kept her ankles under arrest, her back curving straight with her spine — one in all their capacity. She brushed the windowsill with her hands, the thin diamond bracelet — a sweet reminder of her uncle in England, danced around. Her mood had soured a great deal, keeping it under wraps still she stormed inside her bedroom. Grasping a fistful of her organza veil she threw it on top of the round bed. Taking a jump on the mattress, she sunk her face in between her hands, massaging her scalp with the sharp nails painted a shade of claret red.