Road Trip

"Rabiya, do you want something to eat?"

She was looking at the raindrops trickling down the window pane, catching one another. They had been driving for several hours now, and she had been asleep for most of it.

"Yes I would, actually."

Sarbuland slowed his jeep down to let a flock of goats go past with their herder.

"What would you like, naan channay or pakoray?"

The options were limited as of yet since they had not reached their first main destination, but the drizzling weather called for a snack and something warm to drink.

"How about we have chai pakoray?"

"Good option," Sarbuland smiles. "There should be a dhaba coming up ahead soon."

As they drove along the winding track of the road, the rain increased its intensity. Sarbuland upped the speed of the windshield wipers and drove more carefully.

"We will be there soon at our first stop."

Rabiya hummed a yes and opened the camera on her phone, recording a short video clip of the green rain soaked landscape outside.

It had been about a week since their marriage. After partaking in all the events associated with tradition and societal expectations, they were finally given space to be alone together and away from the haveli.

They had planned on staying at Sudhanoti, Bagh, and Neelum Valley for their two week honeymoon in Azad Kashmir. It had been years since she had last been to her hometown. She almost returned back to visit when she was with Mudassir, to see her mamu and brother. Of course, the trajectory of life had then swivelled to a completely different course.

And so now, finally, she was returning back to her homeland. They would spend several days here and on the way back catch up with her mamu and brother.

Rabiya leaned her head against the jeep's window. She had fallen asleep on the way, as they had awakened early to pack their bags into the jeep and then depart from Kala Bagh. Most of the haveli was asleep at the time, too, except for a few of their close servants.

As Sarbuland drove the jeep, her gaze fell onto his hands. One hand was gripping the leather steering wheel, and the other was on the gear stick, occasionally.

She observed the way his hands smoothly held the wheel and gear. Confident and assured, shaped by years of practice.

He was wearing his black Diesal watch that she so adored on him. It was heavy and cumbersome, she found out when she tried it on herself once for fun; dangling it on her wrist. But on him, it fit just right and he did not seem to feel it's weight at all. On his right hand was his maroon gemstone ring he wore at all times. It had belonged to his late brother Sher Dil.

Her gaze travelled up his exposed forearms, and then back down to his hands. There were faded scars along the skin. As he shifted the gear, his knuckles brushed against her lawn suit. She did not pull away, her mind spinning, palms perspiring; and heart beating erratically.

The engine was revving at each shift on the road, and it was quiet in the jeep now. Except for her own shallow breaths. As she watched the rhythmic movement of his fingers tighten on the steering wheel, turning the jeep to the left side, she wished the road would go on forever.

"Chatterbox, you're quiet."

Rabiya startles. Her mind came into focus. She could hear the downpour outside again.

"I didn't realise," she says clumsily. "I was—," what lame excuse did she have? "—thinking about menu ideas for my own dhaba."

Sarbuland laughs, bringing the jeep to a slow. "Sure you were, and I was thinking about the next jirga," he jokes.

Rabiya wanted to snide him for teasing her, but she lightly punched his arm instead, laughing along with him.

They had reached the dhaba. It was pouring outside as Sarbuland parked the car. She pointedly looked away this time as his hand held the back of her head rest, putting the car in reverse. She could not lose focus again right now.

"Stay in the jeep, otherwise you will get drenched outside," he says, un-clicking his seatbelt, "I will bring our food."

The car was parked just under the shade of a Chinar tree, and beyond the windscreen, were the lush valleys and mountains of Azad Kashmir.

They were here, and she was home at last.

Rabiya could not stay seated, and un-clicking her seatbelt as well, she opened the door and exited the jeep.

She paced outside, peering into distance past the road and towards the dense woodlands and mountain ranges. There were villages dotted in between the valleys.

Rabiya hugs herself as raindrops fall onto her hairline and dupatta. It didn't bother her because finally, her eyes were feeling the gentle coolness of her home. And oh, how it made her heart sing.

"Rabiya?"

She turns, as Sarbuland walks out of the dhaba, chai in disposable cups in one hand, and a paper bag in the other. He places the cups and bag into the jeep, then comes up to her.

"My homeland, Sarbuland." Rabiya moves closer to him and looks up. Droplets were caught in his eyelashes. She had not expected to be so taken aback by the sight of her mountains. And so she wanted to feel him next to her and contain her outpour of emotions.

"It's beautiful," he encloses his arms around her. It felt warm, steady, and safe. She places her palms into his chest, and leans her face into him, inhaling his scent of linen and pine. Her fingers idly play with his collar. She could not hear the rain, and could not feel its cold, because she was held in peace, after what had felt like such an eternity in their lives.

"And it's just the beginning," Sarbuland says, as they stay standing for a while longer under the shade.