Sang e Khisht

باب سوم

آج ایک وعدہ کرتی ہوں
مر کر بھی بس تیری ہوں

Chapter 3 : Abhi safar lamba hai

٭

Pink, the shade of a light bubblegum she was used to chewing on in nervousness, coated her cheeks. Their pale, subdued complexion wandered somewhere unknown. Trapped beneath the wrap of a pastel cotton, much like the setting sun. Puckering her lips, her fingers scratched the skin of her left earlobe. Tapping the edge of her khussas into the soft soil, unable to hide the sheer nervousness. Loose, escaping from the hold of her pearl studded clip, the fiery tresses dragged themselves across her cheeks in a lazy drawl.

Golnar's eyes turned glassy as she cast a long glance towards the thin dial of her wristwatch. The arms ticked by, time though like a heavy weight had stilled over her. Underneath the canopy of trees that lined the main shed, the dreaded wintry chill danced to the tunes of death. Whispering secrets of ravishing and ravaging against her delicate frame. Her bones shivering within, despite the shawl that wrapped around her figure.

It took her entire strength to force a crooked smile on her lips as a group of freshmen rolled by her. Their laughter far too loud for her sensitive ears to enjoy. Swiping her thumb over the almost frozen screen, she dialled the number—the only number she memorised. Against her ribs the thralling beats of her heart were comforting. Her pastel pistachio shirt wrinkled as the marina found itself between her fingers.

The university was emptied. Spectators watched in small groups as she tapped her heel against the tarmac, the thin veil on her hair slipping every now and then. Golnar shuddered under the leering gaze of a patronising class fellow, one who had made it his job to woo her. As his burly figured stalked closer to her, perspiration danced across her brow. An exasperated sigh escaped her lips as she turned over her heel. Taking brisk steps towards the extravagant gates.

Relief filled her vision as she spotted the familiar Cruiser. It's glossy black coat glimmered in the mild sunlight of December. The cry of prayer rang around the vicinity, the sun setting between the arms of the trees, thick branches holding the basking glory of the star from dying. A thin sheet of fog appeared, ghastly and pale, covering the grounds. Making it look as if she was floating in the air, each step that she took, soft. Gripping the ends of her shawl, her knuckles whitened in fury as she felt a tug on her Pashmina shawl, the fold slipping over her shoulder.

"Yeh yeh ap kia kar rahay hain?" She whisper yelled, narrowing her gaze in the direction of man.
[What are you doing?]

"I wanted to talk to you about something." He explained, his eyes zeroing in on her pouty lips.

"Mujhe ap sai koi baat nahi karni."
[I do not want to talk to you about anything.]

"You're being unfair!" He pressed on.

"How?" She spat, her clipped British accent was like the fury of hell itself.

Golnar swatted at the hand holding her shawl, straightening it over her frame. The micro second action, allowing the chill to rush in and brush against her exposed collar bones. Her platinum pendant turning icy in a murmur of a moment. Red lined her eyes, narrowed in the direction of the young man, Zaroon Khan.