"Some secrets are stronger than family"
~ Klaus Mikaelson
𝄗𝄗𝄗𝄗♞𝄗𝄗𝄗𝄗
Life is unpredictable. It flows smoothly at one end, then a sharp turn and splash- into the fall. It's filled with lots of 'ifs' and 'buts'. Every decision you take is scrutinized, and every step you take is judged to no ends; but, maybe, that is life for us. Being in a spotlight of our own and enduring it. Sometimes there is peace, other times chaos and unfinished chapters.
Things don't always go your own way until you take the bearing. You can't sail smoothly, yet you can definitely try to sail as much as you can. After all those high tides, one does deserve to reach their destination.
For now, in the magnanimous room, slept a sailor. The soft sheer curtains were raised as slightly by the summer breeze as the balcony door was left open. The creme muslin canopy was pulled all around the four posters covering the man from the outside wonders. The rich ivory bed sheet and cushions were slightly creased due to the weight of the body and nightly movements made.
Crystal vases were placed purposely with bunches of white anemones and tiny purple dahlias in arrangements. The white, purple, and green were in harmony with the cloud gray and coconut white walls. The green moss sofas in the adjacent spacious personal parlor added more to the elegance. A huge table, Turkish plush carpet, and a shelf in one corner with lots of shiny trophies, medals, and distinctions. Photos from various times were hung on the walls while some were standing on the console tables with marble tops.
For now, the only sounds heard were of the soft breathing that signaled a deep slumber in contrast to the slightly furrowed eyebrows of our sailor. His parted lips were letting out light snores indicating his tiredness. He has rhythmic breathing- rise and fall of his broad muscled chest- while one of his arms was draped over his torso covered by the duvet.
It was a peaceful sight until it was not anymore.
In a flash, the dark, heavy curtains were pulled clear to let the dazzling summer sunlight. The whole room is illuminated with light reflections from the white and gray marble. It looked ethereal as if a piece of wonder was right there.
"God! Can someone turn the sun off please?" In his morning husky voice with a hint of annoyance lacing in between.
"No can do, Bhai!" With this said, Zunaid Rayyan Ahmed tackled his elder and only brother, Zaroon Rayyan Ahmed.
"Ugh! You shithead!" Shoving off the man-elephant as he called his younger sibling, Zaroon tried to get his much needed sleep. The cushions were so tempting.
"Ammi!" Grabbing his elder brother, with arms around and legs thrown over him, he clinged like a koala for a said 23-year-old, "Bring the swear jar!"
"Tujhe toh mein!" (Wait! I will see you!) With his sleep murdered by Zunaid, he grabbed his pillow to throw it at Zunaid's laughing face. Soon, one thing led to another, with the brothers being their toddler selves and tackling each other on the bed. The room echoed with grunts, laughs, and curses, but it had been a while since Zaroon woke up like this. Completely light and happy.
𝄖𝄖𝄖𝄖𝄖♘♘♘𝄖𝄖𝄖𝄖𝄖
The study room was filled with all the collections that Rayyan Ahmed and his wife, Hania Akhtar loved. With few additions, here and there for the sake of looking at aesthetics, most of them ranged from ghazals, poetry, novels, biography, and archaeology. There were wide windows with mahogany frames while large cabriole and camelback sofas with exquisite fabric work were done by Humphries Weaving. The vibrant cushions, wooden tea tables with glassware and metal works, and a customized study table were adding a more personalized touch to this study. It had maroon, gilding single chairs around the room for a pop of color and a wide painting of the British colony at Karachi from the 1840 era. His wife adored anything with historic details on it for being a researcher in History and Archaeology. This library was on Rayyan's and Hania's wing while their two sons had their own personalized studies in their wings for their privacy.
The usual meetings were done in the Central Library, as it was called, but closed-off and secrecy ones were conducted in this one.
So, here, Rayyan sat as he waited for his meeting. His black eyes were covered with his specs while he ran his index finger under his chin as he skimmed over the file containing reports of his departments. Being a CM was one filled with responsibilities and tireless nights as his eye bags accounted for, though he did like what he did.
Starting out as a businessman as all his forefathers did, Rayyan Ahmed was quite an ambitious man- he ventured towards politics. The first ever in his family, but all he got was encouragement and support from his parents and definitely his love, Nia. He was like any other human- fuelled with passion for his work and also a force to be reckoned with in the world of business and politics. He loved his power yet was humble in his nature, he liked the thrill and challenges but never let his people get the short end of the stick.
Over the years, he climbed up the stairs and gained some friends and enemies, but nothing could ever stop him. Until that cheap scheme that tried to claw his pride- his Zaroon. Nevertheless, they were Punjabis and Ahmed's- nothing breaks them until they let it break them. His son bounced back with more determination, passion, hunger, and fierceness. Though he couldn't change his past, Rayyan hoped he could have his old boy back. Zaroon was beating himself up for that one thing that wasn't his fault, to begin with, he made himself more rigid with higher invisible walls around him and more reserved and more distant to some aspects of life. He loathed those and especially her who tried to sabotage his family, Abbu, and every little thing they worked for. Rayyan knew his son like the palm lines on his hand.
Rayyan was pulled out of his thoughts with the click of the doorknob. In entered the very live embodiment of his thoughts.
"Salam, Abbu," Zaroon greeted his father while closing the door behind him. He made his way to one of the sofas and sat down while his father looked at him thoughtfully. He had doned on a white khaddar waistcoat with some self-worked motifs and matte metallic gold buttons pairing it off with soft raw silk kurta and churidar pajamas. He turned to see Rayyan looking at him thoughtfully.
"I know you wanted to twin with your wifey, but tough luck," He smirked as he saw his father roll his eyes at him. His father was wearing an ivory shade prince coat and pants with a faded mustard pocket chief tucked into his left breast pocket.
"You boys have always been a hindrance to my love life," Rayyan sighed dramatically as he turned to sign some documents. Scoffing to his father's behavior, it was nothing new to Zarron. The old man was whipped and they couldn't have cringed more to admit that he was their own blood. Even his mother pushed his father away at times- scratch that- most of the time, but all knew their love for each other was one of a kind.
Turning his wrist, he saw the time. There was still a good fifteen minutes left before the meeting. Mentally, he had checked all the agendas and points he was to talk about while another part gave a round of his official business deals. He had taken over as the C.E.O. three years ago after his father formally stepped down to take on the ropes of being the Chief Minister. However, business was not his ultimate goal, he had somewhat the same ambitions as his father.
"Saab theek, Fuego?" (Everything alright, Fuego?) Rayyan asked as he saw his son staring at the old painting. Zaroon nodded slowly as he asked what has been bugging him for a good time, "Who is coming for the meeting?"
To this Rayyan simply had a glint in his eyes while his lips turned up to a tell-tale smile. He was being secretive and Zaroon was not liking it one bit. Damn this old shrewd politician!
"I sometimes question science whenever I see you, Abbu," He started off, "You are the product of 3.8 billion years of Earth and you hardly act like it." Shaking his head, he put on a mask of disappointment. He hit a sixer with his jab as he tried to gulp down his laugh. Key word being tried.
"Chapair lavan key juti?" (You want a slap or a flying sandal at you?) Rayyan hissed seeing the comical face of Zaroon. Though inside he was glad that he was cracking and coming back to his previous self. A little bit, but that itself was a big step.
Clearing his throat, he asked his son something he has been dreading since the time Zaroon came- "When is your flight back?"
"Where?" Picking up a random business magazine from the side table, his sapphire orbs skimmed through the pages.
"I don't know," shrugging a bit, he took off his specs while pinching the bridge of his nose, "Jaha aapko jana hein- London, Karachi, New York?" (Wherever you have to go-)
A pregnant silence settled between them as Zaroon kept his eyes on the magazine while Rayyan's were on him. Slowly, with measured timing, he said, "I am here. Here to stay."
"You really are back?!" Rayyan couldn't help but shriek out,. It was a mixture of joy, relief, and pride.
"Why don't you say it a bit louder? I am sure the Chinese still haven't heard you," Zaroon grumbled while his father had a full-fledged smile. It did warm his heart to give back his family the love and time they deserved from him. This time around he came back to take it all and rule. Nothing will make him crack.
"You squeal like a girl, Abbu."
"I do not squeal like a girl!"
"Well, well, you did have a high-pitched scream right there."
"That was not a high-pitched scream," mimicking his son, Rayyan added, "I just merely exclaimed! And don't forget I am your father and the CM." Pointing his index at his son, Rayyan huffed out while all Zaroon did was look with boredom swimming in his eyes. Though mentally he was rolling on the floor seeing Rayyan so riled up. He missed this so bloody much!
"Oh yeah? Pray, do tell what will you do, my dear sire?" Bowing his head a little at the title he called Rayyan with.
"I will- um- wait a sec-" Racking his brain, Rayyan tried to find a throat that would scare off his son. But who was he kidding, "I will throw you from fucking rooftop, you br- wait, where you going?"
With a few strides, Zaroon opened the windows behind his father and looked up and then down. With a cheeky smile, he turned to answer, "Assessing the damage. Not too life-threatening."
Rolling his eyes to the back of his head, Rayyan was about to retort, when another knock and clink of the doorknob grabbed their attention.
The two men had different reactions- Rayyan had a small smile as he got up from his seat to walk across the room to greet their guest and ally. Meanwhile, Zaroon had a poker face, still in his place. The blues of his eyes swirled like the memories in his mind that screamed one name.
Ruby
𝄗𝄗𝄗𝄗♞𝄗𝄗𝄗𝄗
Glossary:
1. Bhai: Elder brother
2. Ammi: Mother
3. Abbu: Father
4. Fuego: Fire (Spanish)
Well... Well...
It was time for Zaroon to come