"The little moments? They aren't little" — Jon Kabat-Zinn
Tears fall from the eye one at a time. A streak of hot wetness left behind as they fall into the parted lips. Hands clasp on chests and dig into the skin there, the tender flesh turns a raging red from the sheer force. Nimble fingers hold wide ones, to their cheeks and leave soft kisses. Lips tracing a path where the tears have dripped from. Wet lashes in their heaviness sink down and touch the soft skin of the under eye. Dark bags adorn the once golden hued skin. Pale lips in the place of red ones. Trembling voices and shivers take over from the cloak of confidence.
A long companionship of paternal warmth comes to an end. The light body of a man full of life placed six feet under. The white shroud does little to calm the scared heart, a savior has been ripped. Hands left empty with grains of soil. Silt fills the nail as it digs into the muddy softness, a pain tearing through the limbs as fistfuls cover the new grave. The wound is fresh, open and raging. The ache is like a million bones breaking a hundred times in a second. It isn't going well, and every eye is lowered seeing the young man's pain.
Wordlessly they enter their home. One man less. In silent agreement they leave the young one to his own devices. In bleakness they all mourn. Alone and yet so united in their pain. Without a syllable escaping their once grinning mouths, they greet the guests. Hugs and handshakes exchanged. Pats on the back and empty words are given to the young one. The pit of his stomach filled with dread, so much it makes him bleed black. A charcoal.
She brushes her fingers on his burning forehead. Her cool lips like a prayer answered. She slides into the space beside him, her hand wraps itself around his shoulder her lips press against his cheek, drinking his pain. Soft brown eyes stare into pained mocha ones. A small nod of reassurance as warm tears leave his eyes once more. Never ending. She rubs his muscular back from above his starchy white shirt, her inky hair a contrast that spilled under the white veil. Sniffles escape his mouth as he takes her fist into his, letting out muffled sobs against her knuckles. Drenching them in his pain.
"He was— he was on our wedding. Three days and he is gone. He was alone Ayna— we—we were oblivious in Abbotabad and my father was breathing his last. I have failed him. Failed him," Zaeem spoke.
His voice carried a painful dread. Ayna shook her head, kissing his hair and forehead in small intervals.
"It's not like that. He was so-so-so-so proud of you Zaeem. He couldn't have had anyone better to call his son," she comforted.
"Par mujhe unkay paas hona chahiye tha!" [But I should have been with him!] he shook his head.
"Zaeem you were with him. He lost his life in your arms jaan. He held on until you weren't by his side, don't cry anymore. Please," [Life.] Ayna shook her head.
"But I was in Mushkpur before that. I was so happy to have my brother around me that I forgot my father. What kind of a son does that?"
"Zaeem you were happy and you deserved it. He was not alone, I spent time with him. Heard him tell me stories about you, of your childish insolence and of all the tricks you did on him. His eyes were filled with nothing but the purest form of love for you Zaeem. He was at peace, and thats more than what we can ask for," she kissed the side of his head.
"You promise that?" He looked down at her.
His eyes were full of unshed tears. All his defenses lowered. He was like a young child, only a few days old, one that searched for comfort in people they were familiar with.
"I swear he was happy. And now he is out of pain and we should thank Allah for that. Just pray for him. No more tears, hmm?"
"No more tears". He nodded.
His face nuzzled into her soft palms soft breaths escaping his lips. His heart finally seemed to be stilling the emptiness of their home finally not so chilling. He tightened his grip on Ayna's hand sliding onto the sofa and placing his head on her lap. All signs of worry flew his tired muscles. There was not a part of him that cared about falling asleep in the lap of his wife, an intimate action, while sitting in the drawing room. He had had enough of guests that had distanced themselves when his father fell sick, only returning after he had passed away. They had left his mother and him alone— and he did not need them now.
Almas was confined to her bedroom. After her first husband divorced her, she had married Naheed Shah. The man had taken her in despite the bulging belly, a sign of her very ripe pregnancy. He had treated her and her son with so much love, that she had almost forgotten the scars her past had filled her body with. Almas lay in bed and stared at the photo-frame in hand. The white seashell studded frame had been bought by Zaeem when he was seventeen, the picture of them at the Karachi coastline. Enjoying the scenic views their nation had to offer.
Zaeem had cried himself to sleep last night by her side and she could do no more than hold him. Their pain was beyond measurable. Naheed wasn't only a husband or a father, he was their home. He had loved them and returned her her confidence. His end had been far too soon. Pain his only companion. Her heart regretted having moved to Mushkpur when she should have been by his side. Looking after him, just like he had when she gave birth. Her heart though, gave her confidence, that the man wanted this. Naheed had been more protective of Azmaray, and he had never even met the child. They united so soon only because he knew he was passing, and even whilst living the realm of the living, he had made arrangements for them all.
———
The lounge of the Shah's was filled with guests. Zaeem beside Ayna, who was busy conversing with Laila and Azmaray. They had come over on the insistence of Sardar Shams, there was news he wished to share. Almas had gone back to Mushkpur with Asghar and Anbar by her side. A week had passed to the tragic end of Naheed Shah, and the wound that had opened was finally filling itself up. Things were coming back on track. And eventhough, nothing could fill the gaps his absence left behind, they knew they would learn to live with it.
"Zaeem do you want something?" Sarah questioned.
He had come out of the lounge in search of Ayna who disappeared a few minutes ago. Right now hers was the only presence he craved. To him it was like he had known her before, that they were together before this life. Perhaps their souls were one whole, divided.
"I'm looking for Ayna," he replied.
Sarah nodded, guiding him to the backyard where Ayna stood in the arms of her father. Sobbing lightly. Zaeem stared at her in worry and rushed over, looking from a smiling Raeed to a sobbing Ayna.
"Zaeem please handle your wife. There is something she wants to say," Raeed spoke.
Nodding his head, Zaeem wrapped his muscular arms around Ayna's build. Her cries muffled against his shirt. She wiped her tears with the hilt of her palm, staring at him. Her eyes looked at his scared features, frowns covering his forehead and his bushy brows pushed together. Her hands brushed aside a lock of hair, pulling his lips upwards, giggles escaping her face as his eyes filled in with worry.
"Are you okay?" He whispered against her forehead.
"I think I will be," she replied softly.
"What happened? Aap ro kyun rahi thi janum?" [Why were you crying sweetheart?] he inquired.
"I don't know. Overwhelmed I guess? I'll tell it to you but promise you won't shout," she kissed the tip of his nose.
"Promise".
"I'm graduating early as the top of the class. My marks and credits were too exceptional. The dean sent an e-mail last night explaining that I don't have to do the last semester". She grinned.
"Oh my god! What? Um— this is huge Ayna! I'm so proud of you!" He pecked her lips.
"That isn't the only thing. I aced another exam too,"
"What exam?"
"My pregnancy exam. I've been feeling sick so I went and got tested two days ago. It's positive. We are about to be parents," Ayna lifted his hand and placed it on her stomach.
"Us? Fu–dge yes! I'm so excited! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you" he littered her face with kisses.
"Anyways dadu is calling us. So let's go inside," [Grandfather,] he explained.
The two walked into the silent lounge. Alamgeer and his father, the former prime minister sat by Sardar Shams. The two joking like the best of friends. Zaeem slid into a seat beside Azmaray, offering Ayna a soft cushioned seat. Shams nodded on seeing them enter, turning the channel on. All major news channels of Pakistan covering a raid into Nasir Waheed's home. Last month his accomplice had been arrested and finally relented last night. This was the highlight of every channel, but the big question mark was about his whereabouts. It was as if the man had vanished into thin air.
"Why did you switch this on?" Raeed looked at his father.
"You know where Nasir is?" He countered.
"No one does," Alamgeer, the current prime minister replied.
"He is in one of our jails. The jailers have been bribed to not inform anyone. It's time the man pays for his crimes," he replied, tsking at the younger generation.
"What?" Azmaray stared in shock.
"Yes. Although you can't recognize him anyways. He has been stripped of most of his skin and hair. First degree burns tend to do that. Not to mention, a cow stomped on his hands. And of-course his wounds were infected by ants and roaches. He is practically dead. We locked him up, he did the rest to himself. Living in a dark room with your guilt isn't easy," Sardar Shams elaborated.
"Oh come on old man! Give where credit is due. You only knew of his warehouses because of me," Ahad teased.
"True. Ahad has been of help. This is why we funded his first election Raeed. Ahad placed the nation's intelligence at our hands, and so did Almas's father, to help us look for Salma. An eye for an eye they say. What we didn't know was Salma's name on all her documents was forged to her stage name, Rani," Sardar Shams sighed.
"Can we turn the tv off and stop this conversation? I feel sick," Ayna interrupted.
"Anything you say my child". Shams nodded.
The night like a candle dwindled. Its warmth reached many hearts but the chill that followed was inevitable. The moon though lit a million lives, some were destined to not meet its shine—ever. As things fell into place, God opened the doors of love and His mercy on the Shams family. The tears in the picture, glued together at last.
ONE CHAPTER TO GO
ITS GOING TO BE LAILA AND AZMARAY
THEN THE EPILOGUE OFCOURSE
AAAAAAAAAAAAA
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