Sang e Khisht

باب چوبیسواں

لمبی جدائی
٭

Chapter 24 : Tabahi

Clouds wavered in their strength even as the shockingly painful voice of the muezzin sounded through the speakers. His voice from the tallest of marble minarets boomed, swimming into the enigmatic air and warmed the flounder. Sunlight sprinkled in and the rainbow of his sound in particular, crusaded through until it fell on to the largest of homes in upper Naazimgarh. Through the windows, the sound cracked in, underneath the sliver of it's banisters, the cracks allowed the vibrations into the wall. Sensations of it hummed against the floorings and then kissed the skins.

Discarded on the ottoman the shawls — feminine and masculine both, merged into a pool of one. Their deep browns were similar and yet not so much. One of them had a torn into edge and the other had the first letter of the owner's name embroidered into it. The wooden carved legs of the ottoman rested above the hand woven carpet and despite it's initial use age of a foot stool had found itself promoted. Right adjacent to the tall shelf that was lined with tiny trinkets and melted bobs of candle wax, was the worn out rocking chair.

It's side pressed into the side of the wall and it tipped back and forth every now and then as the heavy figure that lay on top stirred. Hands gripping the duvet over his body, crossed at the waist to keep it from slipping. Legs wrapped around the curvature — numbed. As sparse sunlight fell over his noble features and the sound of Adhan made it's way through the sealed windows, Darab's slumber was broken. The intense dream had been seeing of shadows and women — deep opium and then red was broken. His lips and throat dry as he tried to sit up. Underneath the loose grip of his kameez, the muscles of his back screamed in fatigue.

Straightening his legs before himself he stretched his arms overhead. The shirt rose a few inches and the tanned skin of his stomach was exposed to the cool air. The blanket slipping from beneath his fingers to his lap. Straightening it out, he let out a silent groan before standing. Tapping his legs against the floor, Darab winced as pain rose through his tendons and kissed the apex of his thigh. Rubbing the sides of his leg he stumbled towards the coffee table, placing the glass jug against his lips.

"Wudu kar lavo ustaad ji, adhan ho gayi jae." He spoke.
[Miss professor perform your ablution, the call to prayer has been done.]

Darab's loud voice inside the deafeningly silent space was like a thunderous roar. It worked. Pulling Golnar straight out of her sleep as she shifted under the covers. Her auburn tresses spilt around her head, covering the pale pillow cover in their brightness. His eyes raked over the strands and he wondered why her roots were darker and the ends a completely different shade. Scratching his throat he smiled at his bride. Lowering his gaze, as her neckline slipped and the cleavage that seemed inviting to nuzzle his face into, Darab looked away.

To even think of her in a sexual manner seemed wrong. Not when she had yet to clearly forgive him. Not when there was still a sea's length of distance between them.

"Ap nai kar lia?" She murmured sleepily, rubbing her fingers against her lashes as she stifled a yawn.
[Did you do it?]

Rising from the bed she tugged at her shirt's shoulders, blushing as she realised how low the neckline had slipped over night. The shade of bright red that dusted over her cheeks and the side of her neck, it was bright enough to rival the sun's morning light. Strong enough to outshine both the sun and the moon — even with their combined bright auras. Rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, Golnar slipped into the bathroom without even waiting for a legible response from her husband.