A Wattpad Featured Novel.
THE TRUTH IS NEVER PURE AND NEVER SIMPLE.
〝 I know where she buys her groceries, who she meets, where she works. I don't know what her charcoal eyes will look like when they're scared. But I will. 〞
Maira is charmingly eleg...
She is not your typical anything, but somehow uniquely everything.
Dedicated to Sarah;
***** ▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂▂
Do you do it too, expect something, and anticipate about it so much that unconsciously your actions sooner or later lead to it? My first love had broken my heart so gloriously that all the love songs were about him. After him, in senior year and in university I would wait for the next heartbreak to happen, in fact, with Zaahid somewhere I knew, I was creating that heartbreak myself.
"This would be lovely!" Zaahid reaches over my shoulder to pick out a black saree with authentic silver embroidery on it. I nod, looking at him over my shoulder and taking in his attire. He is dressed in a black suit. What do they call these? Marc Jacobs? Tom Ford? Michael Kors? Yves Saint Laurent? Louis Vuitton? Givenchy? The white shirt underneath brings out his abs and the fitted coat showcase the cuts on his arms. "We'd be colour coordinated," he scoffs, "it will do us good."
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I want to roll my eyes at him for always playing 'Fake It Till You Make It' but before I do any such thing, he successfully smacks me in the face with the saree. "Whoops!" He trills in a sing-song voice. When the blow fades out, I'm staring eye-to-eye at the fawn gown. My heart drops. I'm in a high alert mode with an endless chaos within me. I hear it speak softly of old hurts and fondly of past loves, demanding anxiety to resound throughout me in multitudes. Zaahid follows my eyes and declares, "Okay!" dragging me away from the cupboard, "enough of that."
I can no more look up at him without feeling sick. Unknowingly or knowingly Zaahid had effectively placed my USO Finale gown from the tattered grey suitcase into the cupboard. That piece of clothing became so much more after the Finale—I had cried in it when Taybah dropped the 'D' bomb on me, I had entered their Birmingham house for the first time wearing it and I had almost drowned myself in it until Delnaz came inside the bathroom, closed off the tap, lifted me off the bathtub floor and helped me out of the gown. I was finally calm after a morning full of wallowing and now my mind is in riots again. I trace the gowns fabric with my eyes. It almost speaks to me, "Are you truly happy now, with the way things have ended?" I bow my head and shake it lightly, in an attempt to ward off tears but mostly to not think about how the lace would still feel soft and smell of broken promises.
The living room was the first room you'd enter from the front door. The Noori Sisters had led the way and made a quick pit stop for elaichi chai. The room gave away more than they meant to. The side tables had their framed wedding pictures and small momentos from Zaahid's tour days probably. On the side wall was the mantle, littered with pictures of an elderly woman, deceased most likely, given the neat placements of white candles around it. On the back wall, there was an array of pictures of the Noori's, birthday parties and the likes. A corner of the room was dedicated to postcards mostly international and almost all signed off, "Love, Dad."
