Sang e Khisht

باب تیرواں

دل ہی تو ہے نا سنگِ خشت درد سے بھر نہ آۓ کیوں
— مرزا غالبؔ

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Chapter 13 : Qubool tou hai magar...

Cream covered the edges of her heart shaped lips. In a straight line. It marked the distance between the light dusting of freckles on the apples of her cheek, and the flesh of her lips. Lapping at it with the ends of her tongue, she hummed softly at the vanilla bean flavour. Swiping the rest of it on to her finger, sucking gently as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her fingers still around the crisp cream roll. Sinking her teeth in once more — eating her feelings before the make up artist would arrive.

Through the window, soft and elusive sunlight draped in over her cheek and the figure hugging blouse. It's deep maroon matched — in perfect contrast. Dream like swirls and flowers of gold and copper zardosi filled the front and back. The neckline sinking beneath her hair, a thin dori keeping it from slipping from it's place. Thick and beige, the shawl wrapped around her arms to keep it safe from stains fell on to the wooden arms of her chair as she stretched her figure. Twisting in place, flipping the edge of her kameez. Finding some form of joy in the boredom of the silent bedroom.

"Good morning!" The make-up artist slid into the room with her team, bringing an eclectic air of joy. "So sorry for running late, this place was almost impossible to find. No worries — we'll get straight to work now."

Before Golnar could offer an audible reply, the workers had cleared her table of the tray of cream rolls and tea. Instead wrapping a cloth on the vanity. Spreading out the array of brushes and tubes, pins placing her hair out of her face. A band wrapped around for extra safety. Chewing on to her last bite with a mournful edge she closed her eyes — squeezing them till there were flashes of hot red before her closed eyes. Not an inky darkness.

As the cold gel like texture of the primer was pumped on to her skin, a sponge dabbing it around, Golnar lost herself to the rhythmic touches. Their warm finger tips against her icy skin brought some colour back to her cheek. The heat from the flush slipping to her swan like neck. Golnar could feel it all. Tightening the grip she had on the arms of her chair, the tips of knuckles turning an alabaster pale.

Unbelievable.
Unrecognisable.

Breathing gently, her heartbeat crusading harsher underneath the ribcage, tremors slipping on to her skin with full force. Golnar felt everything and yet nothing. Stuck between shock and acceptance. Sucking on the skin she had bit on to, the pain reminding her of not loosing out to the sheer numbness of her heart.

With a broken reverie, Golnar prayer words she herself could not make sense of. Gulping down the tears that clogged the back of her throat, her nostrils burned with a venomous flair.

The absence of her mother kept ringing behind her ears like a broken alarm. Her heart, un-knowledgeable, kept beating, praying that she would return. That as she left the threshold of her father's palace, her mother would be stood behind her, a hand resting on her shoulder. Golnar yearned for that lost reassurance. An emptiness creaked in the chambers of her heart. Starting a fire of emotionless dependancy. Rubbing the bones of her wrist, running them down her arm covered in henna stains and the bareness of her skin hidden beneath the slightly coarse satin. She had her father, yet felt so alone.