Almas stared with unease as Zohreh and Amina, the other servant she had met last name, left the room after setting up an entire half of the dressing room with countless clothes, undergarments, shoes, purses, and jewelry. The dresser was full of makeup now, only the best of foundation, moisturizing tints, blushes of both powder and liquid variety, lipsticks and lip glosses and liner and eye products of every single type. She had watched in utmost awe and shock as piled of clothing and items, anything she could ever need. Pads, liners, other sanitary products as well as hair supplies such as women's shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Waxing and shaving supplies. Deodorant and perfume. Curling iron, straightener, and blow drier. Brushes.
For a few moments, she couldn't move. Couldn't think. There was such a display of wealth and power. Of excessiveness. She was rendered silent.
It was nearly one as she got up, eager to change out of her clothes. Going into the bathroom to grab her bra she saw that it was gone, panicking she looked around, finding it in the trash.
Her cheeks colored. He had seen it.
She brushed her teeth and washed her face with the new moisturizing face wash. Then, she went into the closet, looking carefully at her new clothes, touching the material as if she'd tarnish it. She opened a drawer to find herself go red. Amongst bras of each color, type, and material as well as panties, there was lingerie: baby dolls, negligees, two pieces leaving nothing to the imagination.
She tried to avert her gaze, and grabbed a pale blue lace set of bra and panties. Quickly wearing it and then choosing the first outfit she could find. The bra fit so well and she realized he had seen her size and then asked Zohreh to get it.
He was so straightforward. Without filter.
She pulled out the burnt orange ensemble, grimly checking the tag and gasping at the price. She slipped into it and then marveled at the shine of the fabric. She simply brushed her hair into a ponytail, wore a pair of the matching flats and then stepped into the bedroom, sitting on the arm chair and not knowing when he'd come back.
She didn't have to wait long because minutes later, Dawud was opening the door, his eyes falling onto hers and raking up and down her form in satisfaction.
"Is everything to your liking?" He gruffly asked, placing the folder of papers on the dresser, before sitting besides her, and relaxing his tie. In the daylight, he was even more handsome, his eyes honeyed almost.
"It's a lot. Did you throw away my...umm, my-!"
"Yes I threw away your undergarments and clothes. You don't need those anymore."
She looked away from the surliness of his tone.
"I need you to explain who you are, what you were running from, and what I'm up against. Then you will sign some documents."
She looked at him shock. "Who I am?"
He nodded. "Yes. I need to know everything about you now that you're under my protection."
She bit her lip, not knowing where to start. "Umm. My name is Almas Farhan. I'm 21. My father is the heir of an oil company, Farhan Peerzada. My mother was a model. After my birth, they had some marital problems and when I was 8 they left me at my grandmother, Zulekha's haveli in Lahore. My mother and father moved to the UK and she continued modeling and they never really looked back."
She hated being pitied, yet there was nothing but intrigue on Dawud's face.
"My grandmother wasn't very fond of my mother, and therefore not of me either. Her two sons and their wives lived with her, and their children. My first few years were alright because their children were mostly abroad and only the girls remained in the haveli. Then when I was about 16, they came back and, um, took an interest in me."
Dawud's hand clenched the side of his chair. "Go on."
Almas nodded, ducking her head. "I would barricade myself or you know, hide. Barely finished my BA before Dadi decided to sell me to this man named Nawab Jaffar. He had been married twice and had killed his second wife when she didn't give birth to a son. He was a known drunkard. I pleaded her not to, but she didn't really listen because of the money that was involved and the night of the baraat, I ran."
She looked at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I simply didn't want to die, Dawud. That's all."
He sucked in a breath, blinking as he straightened. "Right, well. I'll make sure that doesn't happen. When they find you, they'll deal with me. I'm a lawyer, and as you can see, pretty well off due to my family's business and prestige. Part of the reason I married you is due to a clause in my grandfather's will. In a way you can say we're both helping each other."
He looked at her puzzled expression. "If I didn't get married, my inheritance would transfer over to my cousins and their wicked mother, my aunt Sameena. Don't worry about them, they won't step foot in here. Nor will I let them. As for your duties as my wife, you need to make sure that everyone including the servants believe that we met and fell in love. My aunt is cunning, she can count the feather on a flying bird. Be vigilant." He got up, looking at her with something hidden in his eyes.
"As for my home, you can use it as you see fit. I mostly mind my own business, and you should mind your own but you are not restricted from anything. And of course, I don't mind you seeking me out and asking about anything. Clear?"
She nodded eagerly and he smiled. "Good. I like how you agree so easily, Almas. We'll get along just fine."
Almas noted how he didn't look at her for very long. "Do you want to join me for lunch? I'll head back to work then."
She stood up, following behind him, ignoring the panic that seemed to have stuck with her.
///
It often felt like a bell was waiting to be dropped onto her head, crushing her into the ground. In the three month since she had moved in with Dawud, her days would be free to do as she pleased. She often wandered into the expansive library, watched television, or used the phone he had bought her. More than often she'd cook or bake, making fast friends with Zohreh who was convinced that Dawud and Almas were a couple in love.
He'd come home from work and then disappear into his study for hours. She'd bring him tea, the first time he'd been shocked.
"I hope I'm not bothering you." She poked her head in through the door, and he looked up from his desk.
"No. Not at all. Come in."
Almas stepped inside, carrying the tray with mini lemon tart she'd baked alongside tea and two little plates. "I was thinking we'd have tea together."
Dawud took in the tray and the way she stood there expectantly, not daring to sit down. "You don't have to, Almas. I'm quite busy anyway."
She nodded. "Umm, I just thought it's weird because we don't see each other very much and it'll make our lie a bit more believable."
He seemed to think about, before nodding. "Sure, sit down."
She smiled and watched as his expression shifted, becoming warmer.
Almas sat in the chairs in front of his desk, cutting him a slice and handing it to him. He gave her an unreadable look and took a bite.
"You made this?"
"Yes." She nodded, pouring him his chai.
"It's very good. You're quite talented."
She smiled, taking a slice for herself. "Thank you."
They are in silence, talking briefly in the middle. Small talk. The weather. His current case. What tomorrow would be like
"How are you liking it here? Any worries?" He asked, reaching forward and brushing a crumb off of her lips with his thumb as if it was normal.
She felt her breath bitch, rendered silent for a few seconds. "Yes."
He smiled. "I'm glad."
Almas felt that sleeping was the hardest. Laying besides him, she'd be overwhelmed by his scent, replaying each word he'd said to her, trying to assess if she'd been overly burdensome that day.
True to his words, his family had been shocked when they'd first met her but they'd quickly come to terms with it, whereas her family was still on the chase.
He was a good man, never hurting her with his words or his actions. He liked his privacy, and she was far too hesitant to ever intrude.
She was simply waiting for him to divorce when he grew tired or felt like he had done his job. And that is what killed her because it was the first time she had felt so welcomed into a home. So comforted. She could sleep without worrying that someone would use her body and hurt her. She could eat freely without worrying someone would taunt her. She felt like she was on cloud nine, no longer worrying about the basic necessities of life.
She had even become fond of Dawud. Of the kiss he left on her forehead each day. She knew it was for show, but the moments in his study where they'd talk softly about his case or her day was precious to her. She was growing attached to those honeyed orbs, sarcastic remarks, and smart mouth.
Sometimes she'd catch him staring at her, or his touch as he gently guided her upstairs or kissed her head, lingering. But then they'd go days without talking as he worked or went on a work trip and she'd felt like she imagined it.
Today, she was excited. It had been eons since she'd felt any semblance to happiness. Dawud had promised her a trip out today, his court schedule clearing up. He had suggested going to a restaurant to also publicize their marriage. Being cooped up inside, albeit for her own safety, had been boring and at times, torturous.
She took extra time to get ready that evening, showering and lathering herself in the various soaps and body polishes, making sure her skin was spotless and hairless as she smoothed a scented lotion all over herself.
Almas put on her undergarments, choosing the softest black lace, and then slipped on a bathrobe that nearly swallowed her up, hiding her naked body. Torn between two dresses and incredibly excited, she walked out of the room where Dawud sat on the bed, typing away at his laptop.
"Which one should I wear?" She asked, holding both up eagerly, not noticing the way his eyes seemed to widen at her outburst, something quite uncharacteristic for her.
Dawud cleared his throat, trying to look away from her but ultimately failing. "You look good in everything, Almas. Jo pasand araha hai, pehen lo."
She pouted, looking at him expectantly. "That's not helping, Dawud."
Dawud chuckled, pointing at the tea pink shalwar kameez, made of raw silk and embroidered with golden thread. She smiled at him and then disappeared into the dressing room, emerging several minutes later dressed and hair dry, hitting her shoulders in loose raven waves.
He noted that she slipped in a nose pin he'd bought for her noticing her irritated nose, days after their nikkah, the diamond glinting proudly against her skin as she dabbed lipstick on and grabbed her dupatta.
"Chalein?"
///
Dawud had noticed many things about his wife in the few months he had known her. For one, she was a silent observer. Almas would often sit in the garden and simply take in the foliage, the plants, the chirping of the birds as if they were all new to her. A small smile would grace those lips and he'd find himself grinning as he looked at her.
Number two was her kindness. She was immensely kind, soft spoken, quiet. She often had night terrors, awaking with no remembrance of how he had calmed her in the night, reciting duas to keep her heartbeat from rising.
She was growing on him and he knew that he'd never let her go. Not even if she asked.
As they walked the small path from their car to the restaurant, he pulled her into him, side stepping the group of teenage boys to her side, and she looked up at him for a moment, afraid that she'd angered him in some way, but he had calmly grabbed her hand, leading her inside.
It was a dimly lit, impeccably decorated Italian restaurant. The waiter led them to a secluded table near the garden in the back, in full view of the water fountain.
As they sat, Almas took in her surroundings, suddenly feeling bad as Dawud checked his phone. "Were you busy? I'm not taking up too much time am I?"
He shook his head, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Nope. Am I taking up any of yours, Mrs. Yousafzai?"
Her lips parted as she looked at him dumbfounded while he laughed. "Relax, Almas. Today is for you."
She urged him to order and when the food came, she was delighted. Her pasta alfredo was amazing and she couldn't help but close her eyes and marvel at the taste. Dawud had dug into his own lasagna, eyes on his phone as he read the details of an impending case but Almas didn't mind, already feeling bad for taking up his time.
By the time they were done with dessert and out the restaurant, she felt so much better. Unknowingly, she had held his arm, feeling the smooth breeze toss her hair back, Dawud's presence comforting.
They walked alongside the shops and restaurants, taking in the city lights and hustle and bustle, in silence. Not once did Dawud move away from her, in fact, he wrapped his arm around her waist, trying to provide her with more warmth as he felt her shiver.
"Ghar chalein ya phir sarak par soney ka iradha hai?" He mused, taking in her alarmed eyes, soft smooth cheeks blushing.
"Chalein."
The car ride home was uneventful. Almas was sleepy, nearly dozing off had it not been for the few bumps in the road. By the time they reached the house and got inside, she was wide awake.
Dawud took out his phone, pausing in the foyer instead of heading up the stairs. Almas turned to look at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
"Are you coming?" She asked.
Dawud looked up briefly, and then back at his phone. "Hmm, not right now. I'm going to try to write up a few documents before bed."
She stepped back down next to him. "I'll make you some green tea. OK?"
He shook his head, not looking up. "That won't be necessary, go on upstairs."
"But-!"
The honking at the front gate shocked her into silence as she looked at him in confusion. Dawud was equally confused, holding his phone and moving closer to the locked armoire, unlocking it skillfully as the indignant honking persisted.
He was quick to unsheath his gun as he unlocked the door, meeting the servants who tried to get the intruders to leave.
"Kya masla hai Ali Baksh?" Dawud called out to the guard who was standing upright, bickering with someone at the gate.
"Yeh sahab ja nahi re. Kehte hai bibi se milna hai." Ali Baksh answered as Dawud moved closer to the door.
The police stood next to an old withered woman with snake like eyes, bright green and narrowed. An older man with a balding head stood next to her.
"Almas Farhan idhar hain?" The policeman inquired, stepping forward and showing the FIR.
"Gee, bilkul." He replied, relaxed as the older woman he recognized as Zulekha sneered.
"Dekha! Is na murad k saath baaghi thi woh ghatiya larki!"
Dawud turned his gaze towards her menacingly. "Zuban sambhal kar."
"Dekho sahab, tumne inki larki bagh wayi hai. There's an FIR against you."
"Dawud?" Almas whispered fearfully moving close to him. He closed his eyes.
"Almas, you should stay inside OK?"
The man suddenly stepped forward. "Beghairat, be haya, hamari izzat mithi mein mila dhi!"
Dawud's guard raised a gun.
"Khabardaar. Ek aur lafz nahin." Dawud warned, the police looking more on guard, raising their weapons as well.
"Hamari larki wapis dho. Isi waqt." Zulekha demanded and Almas sniffled, grabbing Dawud's hand.
"Dekhein. Ap ko larki wapis bhej deni chahiye." The police officer tried to reason.
"Meri biwi hai. Almas Yousafzai. Isko koi idhar se nahi lekar ja sakta." He growled, moving Almas behind him.
The police officer ignored the shocked gasp of Zulekha. "Koi saboot hai?"
Dawud smirked. "Bilkul. Kya aap digital ya hard copy pasand karein ge?"
The ordeal took a few more agonizing moments. Dawud presented both a physical nikkah nama and a digital and also presented the testimony he had recorded of five witnesses. Due to his connections in the police, he wasn't required to come down and in the end managed to get a restraining order against Almas' so called family.
With one last sneering look, Zulekha begum spat on the ground and left, her son in tow. Almas nearly forgot to breathe as Dawud led her inside, her body shaking.
When they entered their bedroom, her face had gone rigid, expressionless. She looked at him with an unreadable expression.
Dawud stepped closer. "Kya hua hai? Hosh kyun udh gaya hai?"
A sob escaped her lips as she encircled her arms around his chest and plastered her body to his, embracing him as she mumbled a string of thank yous. Dawud looked at the girl, holding onto him fiercely as she cried, and drew her closer, instinctively, rubbing her hair as he soothed her.
"Almas, bas jaana. Rona band karo." He kissed her head but she was still softly crying into his chest.
"Mein apka jitna shukriya karoon kam hai." She whispered. "Agar aap na hote tho-!"
He hushed her, leaning back from her to tilt her face upwards, eyes swirling with a dangerous emotion. "Magar mein hoon. Aur tumhe koi tang nahi kar sakta. Ankh utha kar nahi dekh sakta." He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth, her eyes closing instantly, his warm embrace and soft mouth on her skin enough to both shock her into reality and numb her into bliss.
He stroked her cheek. "Go change. I want you sleeping in the next ten minutes."
///
It had been a few weeks since the incident and since then, Almas had withdrawn into herself. The morning after that almost-kiss, Dawud had left for London on a sudden work trip. Almas felt as if it were partly her fault. That she had pushed the boundaries of their relationship by embracing him. For days she agonized over his departure and dreamt up scenarios where he decided he was done with her and threw her out.
Even after his return, she was just more determined to make herself scarce. She busied herself in the kitchen, baking up concoctions or simply conversing with Zohreh and Amina. She'd then tidy around, read in the library, and have one of the maids take Dawud's evening tea to him.
She'd retire to her room earlier than usual and would be asleep by the time Dawud would come in. Avoidance. If he didn't see her, then he'd never ask her to leave his home, his life. The only place she had ever felt safe.
Even today, she worked hard rolling cookie dough between her palms, silk dupatta thrown over a chair as she worked away. Her face definitely had a streak of flour in it and she had to just shape the last batch of cookies and then send the first batch alongside tea to Dawud in his study.
Instructing Amina to take out the cookies when the timer was up, she arranged the ones she had prepared earlier on a hand-painted plate and settled it onto a tray with his tea.
"Zohreh!" She called softly, and the elder woman came towards her smiling, hands outstretched to take the tea.
"Gee Begum Sahiba, I'll give it to Sahab." Zohreh smiled fondly.
Almas nodded. "Meine aap ko kitni dafa kaha hai. Sirf Almas. Bas."
Zohreh shook her head. "Nah Begum Sahiba. Hum apki izzat karte hain."
"Please Zohreh apa." She touched the woman's face tenderly. "Mujhe sharminda nah kiya karein."
Zohreh could see the goodness radiate from the young girl. The first Yousafzai woman to ever be this gently. "Gee, jo apki marzi."
///
Almas had just settled into the couch in the library, eager to finish her book when Zohreh found her.
"Begum Sahi-!" She blushed at the narrowed look from Almas. "Mera matlab, Almas bibi. Apko sahab bula rahein hai. He looks quite angry. You must hurry."
Almas nervously stood up, trying to delay going to his study by walking slowly. But alas, she reached it nonetheless and stepped in.
Dawud looked up at her. He hadn't bothered to shave, letting the stubble graze his cheeks, his curious and somewhat angry brown eyes dark with something else as he took her in from beneath those thick lashes.
"Apne bulaya?" She meekly asked, closing the door behind her.
"Han." He replied, capping his pen and leaning back, taking her in as a predator assesses its prey. Her cookies and his tea were untouched, placed in front of him. "Idhar aao."
She neared the chairs, her gaze directed to the floor. This was it. He was going to present her with divorce papers and kick her out. She numbly began to lower herself onto the chair in front of the desk, wishing her hair could cover her face so he wouldn't see how upset she was but it was in a tight braid.
"Meine kaha idhar aao." He grumbled.
She flinched at his voice, getting up and nearing him, standing a few inches away.
"Paas aao, Almas, mein dobara nahi kahoon ga!" Dawud finally said in exasperation.
Almas came closer, standing right next to him in his chair as he looked at her lowered gaze. He wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap.
Almas' eyes snapped open, mouth almost parting to shriek as he firmly held her to him, his chin resting on her shoulder as he turned to his desk again.
His warmth was comforting, yet strange nontheless. Body hard underneath her, the touch contours of his chest as he held her to him with an arm around her waist. He brushed her braid to the side, kissing the exposed neck.
"Mujhe avoid karahi ho?" He whispered smoothly, rubbing his nose along her neck, inhaling her sweet citrusy scent.
She shivered, her body reacting to his touch violently, his stubbly grazing the soft skin. "Yeh, yeh ap kya karahe hain?"
He tightened his grip, turning her face to his with one hand. "Tumhe kya lagta hai?"
Her face was beet red as she looked away but he was relentless. "Ankhein meri taraf."
Almas wanted to slip away and train her face to stop turning red whenever he said something. She looked at him and he smiled in satisfaction.
"Such a pretty little mouth, hmm? I missed it while I was gone, especially after having a taste and then feeling tortured knowing you were so far from me. Much to my surprise, my unpredictable wife has been hiding herself from me. Am I that bad, Almas?"
His words woke up something she had rarely felt before. Desire. She took in his eyes that were dilated, softened facial expression and the gentle caress on her waist. "Nahi."
Dawud's eyes searched her before he joined their lips, taking her soft mouth into his and kissing it firmly, as if to tell her she belonged to him, with him. Her muted sound of surprise morphed into a gentle moan as he kissed her for a few more minutes, her raspberry lip balm sweet as he tasted her to his discretion.
He parted from her, knowing he'd never be able to control himself if he took more. "You're gonna sit with me while I work. And then we'll go to bed together. When we're in bed, you're gonna tell me everything you did while you hid from me. Understood?"
She nodded, her eyes downcast as he kissed her lips in a peck this time. As he worked, he made her eat the cookies she had made, often biting the same one as if to prove a point. To punish her for the one cup of chai, he drank from where she had, smirking at the tint on her cheeks.
"Mujhe chupne waley or chupaney waley pasand nahi, Almas. Never hide from me, or hide anything from me. No matter how mad you think I'll be, tell me. You'll be surprised at how well I'd take it."
She nodded, looking up at him. He searched her face, as if assessing her for any harm, and brought her to him by the nape of her neck, kissing her lips again. "I've given you as long as you needed to adjust. But I can't hide how much I want you."
Her breath hitched, body in a deep lull from his touches and body pressed to hers. "Don't worry, janam. I'll never do anything to hurt you."
And somehow, when Almas looked into his eyes, there was truth in them. So she believed him, nodding shyly and giving him a kiss of her own, right over his mouth and then retreating shyly.
His eyes darkened as he took in her meek gesture of affirmation, his arm slipping under her thigh as he stood up, shifting her in his arms as he carried her out of the office.
Almas bit back a shriek and tried to brace herself by slinging her arms around his neck, looking up at him as he carried her upstairs, and into bed.
She hadn't known such burning desire, such pleasure before. Neither had she known such a gentle touch, such warmth, such comfort. It was as if her body held a fire that threatened to combust and oh it did. He touched her so skillfully that her body exploded into tingles, her voice embarrassingly loud and he only seemed to like that, rewarding her with kisses.
She hadn't known such pain either. Even though he had prepared her well, she felt the stretch awful, nearly blinding. But he was there with her, making her feel close to him and kissing her neck, easing himself in and taking care of her.
Dawud hadn't thought the woman in his life could ever make him feel such desire. He didn't think anybody could make him go feral with possessiveness. When she wasn't around, he wanted to break things. Dawud didn't know he could want a woman with the intensity he wanted her. The feel of her silky skin under his, her warmth, her wetness, her tightness. The kisses she shared, the way he felt at home with her in his arms.
Fuck. There was no going back for him. He was a goner.