~Hasrat e deedar bhi kya cheez hai,
Wo saamne ho to masalsal dekha bhi nahin jaata.~
The glass of the magnificent architecture reflected the frail sun that was trying hard to light the world from behind the gray clouds. The air around held the promise of the coming rain with the heat of the gone summers.
July was not many days away. The malls, shops and market were full of monsoon sales. So when they both reached the Centrestage mall, Idris' first instinct was to hold Raaya's hand so as not to miss her sight even for a moment. Her hand was sweaty, and maybe he imagined her low gasp.
They both were shopping for their Walima. He had to buy suitable attire for himself and Raaya had to do the same.
"Where should we go first?" Idris pulled her a little so she was walking beside, not behind him. Raaya's eyes were smiling, those blue orbs reflecting the same spark of the fairy lights around them, as she looked at everything with awe. He squeezed her hand to grab her attention.
"I don't know." She gave a shy smile, "It's my first time here. You decide."
"Let's start with your dress." Idris walked towards a wedding boutique, where he could see mannequins wearing decent dresses. "Do you have something specific in your mind? What do you want?"
She shook her head, "Just don't want anything in red."
He nodded, "Why?" The last time he checked, girls loved wearing red especially in their wedding or any other function.
Raaya looked at him for a second and he waited for her answer when she just went inside the boutique, ignoring him altogether.
The salesperson asked about their specifications for the dress and he gestured to Raaya to go ahead. She was hesitant at first but slowly began to answer his questions. They were sent to a huge room, the dresses stacked in an organized way.
"This is trending." The salesperson put three hanged dresses in front of them.
Raaya's hand grazed over the fabric as Idris noted her expressions. Mostly they were showing her dresses with golden, pink or green undertones as she had specified.
"Do you like it?"
Raaya was now standing in front of him, putting the hanged pink dress on her body. Her nose ring glimmered reminding him of the night before. Idris coughed to pull his mind together and nodded.
***
Once more she rubbed her hand to wipe that sweat away. Her gut was filled with nervous bubbles as she tried to stay calm. She straightened as Idris nodded for the pink dress. Raaya had told them to show ghararas specifically.
The fabrics and designs were good but the prices were too high. She couldn't imagine buying something this expensive in her entire life.
"That's costly. I can't afford it." She put the green dress on the sofa and came beside her husband.
Idris, who was busy going through his phone, looked up, "What's costly?"
"Every dress. I earn, but not this much."
His smile was small but bright as if he was looking at a kid in amusement, "Who's telling you to spend? It'll be from my side."
A boulder dropped in her gut, "I can't let you. This is too much. Too expensive even when you're buying it."
They both were again going into an argument. Idris had to call his mother and she decided that Raaya had to buy a dress, any dress she liked.
The three dresses she selected, Raaya went for the pink one as it was decent and less costly among them. Now she was in the trial room. The fitting was good, keeping the dupatta over her head, she came out. She kept her head low, not making eye contact with anyone.
"Sir, ma'am is here!"
Taking a breath of anticipation, she looked up to find Idris already looking at her. His eyes held many secrets and his features gave warmth, melting all the ice of anxiety.
"You should keep it like this." She had to back off a little from the salesman fixing her dupatta, her eyes flickered to Idris. He was beside her, in a moment, coming in between them and taking the dupatta from his hand.
"Like this?" His voice was authoritative, putting the salesman at bay. The silent whiff of his cologne encircled her. He was making pleats of the dupatta and fixed it on her shoulder.
Slowly making her turn, she saw their reflection in the mirror. His protective hold on her shoulders, a tiny shade of calmness settled over her heart.
"You like this?" His fingers brushed on her arms, his gaze dancing on her features.
Raaya broke eye contact and nodded. "We'll take this." He gestured to her for the trial room.
***
"I have never seen such a fussy boy."
She was furious. On everyone. That stupid rain because she was stuck at home. That idiot Zahir Mirza because he was sick with cold and flu. What was her loss in it? Because Nani was too concerned for that good for nothing boy.
Kitchen was filled with the fragrance of turmeric and a pit-pat of rain on their windows. Hamida tried to concentrate on the book she was reading, at least she could finish a chapter in that sudden holiday.
"At least leave him today, Hamida." Nani poured the milk in the mug. "He's sick because he got into that rain for you."
"As if I told him to come for me." She closed the book, getting up from the floor, "I'm the reason for all the bad that's happening around you."
She took the mug from her hand, making her way to Zahir's room. That idiot had to fall ill after that stupid ordeal of his. Hamida hated him for that but also hated that relief she got seeing him on that heavy rain night.
With a light knock she entered his room to find him groaning. His eyes were closed and that always bright face looked pale and dull. Zahir was taking low breaths, his long nose red and lips were chapped.
Hamida was confused in checking his fever or just put that mug beside him and leave. He would definitely wake up if she touched him, and she never wanted that. He would tease her for this for the entire life.
She neared him, a touch wouldn't wake him. That idiot wasn't going to any doctor or taking any medications. At least the severity of fever could indicate what medicine would be better for him.
"Hamida." She was bent a little over his forehead, her black irises clashing with his brown ones. Hamida was sure she lost many of her breaths. "Not a bad sick day, I guess." He grinned.
"Shut up, Zahir." She slapped his shoulder, keeping the mug beside him, "Drink this."
Hamida's skin was dotted with goosebumps as Zahir gripped her wrist, he was immensely feverish. "Please don't go anywhere, Hamida."
Her heart beat to a different rhythm, her breaths shaking like an autumn leaf. "Finish that turmeric milk, I'll take the mug with me."
***
A relief. If somebody asked Zahir Mirza, how would he describe this exact moment? He would definitely describe it in one word, relief. That presence, her glimpse, her words. Everything was a relief.
The air was drenched and the clouds grumbled making the rain more intense. He put all his weight on his palms to get up but it was tough, after that fever. Zahir pinched himself many times to realise the reality when Hamida supported his back, her hand holding his tightly.
"I'll die from so many shocks."
Her face was stoic as if she didn't hear him, "Take some medicine, you idiot." She handed him the mug.
Zahir caged Hamida in his gaze. She was now folding his clothes, keeping them in a pile on his study chair.
"I'll be fine." It would fume her, his irresponsibility towards his health. Because no matter how much she showed ignorance, Hamida Sultan was a caring person, even if it would be her enemy.
The mug was empty and that meant Hamida would leave. But who would tell her that the mug was empty?
"Yeah, whatever." Now she was dusting off his study table, making a stack of his books, "I'm not concerned. Nani was blaming me. You got sick because of me."
"That's true." He took a fake sip.
"Go to hell, Zahir Mirza. Don't you dare throw me in guilt. I didn't tell you to come and fetch me."
Zahir bit his lower lip to hide his smile. She opened the curtains welcoming the sight of a pleasant rain blended with bleached sunlight.
"Why are you taking forever to finish that mug?"
"It's too hot."
"Such a fussy boy. Drink it like that, it'll work that way." She was in front of him as he took glances of her from the rim of his mug.
Her thin eyebrows weaved together, those black orbs that threw daggers at him every time, were soft while looking around. The wheatish skin of her face glowed in the sheer light around them.
An oomph escaped his lips as Hamida again slapped his shoulder, "You think I'm a fool." She snatched the mug from his hand. "You better behave, else I'll kill you."
"A good thing to say to a patient."
In response he only got a death glare as she went away and Zahir lied down on his bed with a smile etched on his features. Hamida would definitely kill him if she could read his thoughts!
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