The sleep was peaceful. Waqas didn't return to haunt her, rather she dreamt of those juicy pomegranates, she almost smelt the sweet buoyant fragrance in her dreams, mirroring her pleasant day.
Again, she stood in the open plane of fields, the sun gently kissed her cheeks and comfortingly warmed her through like a coddling hug, allowing her to twist in the bouncy cocoon of her bed. She dreamt of Murtasim capturing her for the second time on his chunky camera, focusing the lens on her as if she was the centre of the universe.
She squinted as the glowing afternoon sun peeked out from behind the photographer's head. That caused him to lower the camera to urge, 'Ankhein kholo Meero.' He guided her through the metallic clicks as they rang in quick succession. (Open your eyes meero)
'Dhoop tez hai Murtasim,' she whined, his muse was fussy. On that cue, his hand came out, slowly waving in the air until the shadow of his hand shaded her face from the harsh sun. But still, she shook her head. (Sun is too bright Murtasim.)
'Fir tasveer mei tumhari ankhein band hongi. Noori tumpe hasegi,' he warned - the biggest threat. (Then your eyes will be closed in the pictures and Noori will make fun of you.)
She flickered her hair back, the tendrils of baby hairs dancing in the breeze, taunting her face with miniscule tickles. 'Hasne do. Meri bass ho gayi hai,' she announced, she was retiring for the day. (Let her, I am done with this now.)
His camera lowered between then, unhindering the view of his face. 'Mere khaatir. Please,' he pleaded, his eyes brows slanting at the request. His voice was just slightly muffled from breeze, slightly cool, pinching at the curve of their ears and the tip of their fingers. (For me, please.)
In response to his humble request, she crossed her arm like she was unamused. 'Pata nahi tumhein picture kheenchne ka itna shauk kyun hai?,' she questioned out loud, unsure whether to continue playing along. (I don't why you like to click so many pictures?)
It seemed like he was adamant in getting a good picture, and he began approaching to convince her.
Her curiosity piqued, trying to decipher him. 'Shayad picture kheenchne se pyar hai,' she asked, the camera hanging from the strap around his neck as he neared. He shook his head as that was the incorrect answer. (I think you like to take pictures.)
'Kis cheez se hai. Wildlife se?,' she asked, her eyebrows knitted in confusion, unable to find the root of his incessant need for a print worthy photograph. (Then what, wildlife?)
'Nahi,' he breathed, stepping closer. Closer than he ever had been, so close that she could see the perfect curl of his moustache, the barley visible freckles scattered around his nose, the warm amber flecks in his swirling iris'. (No)
She glanced up at him, her doe eyes fluttering from the bright light, rendering her unable to hold his investigative gaze. 'Camera say?' She asked, her voice laced in a piqued curiosity. (With camera then?)
The camera didn't do her justice, he figured. It fell short in being able to catch her bewitching angelic aura, the dewy glow to her face, the glint of innocence in her alluring eyes.
He shook his head, heart thumping lightly at the truth spilling over- she was getting closer to the truth, unravelling him.
'Fir Murtasim? Hummay bhi raaz bataein....' She implored, unable to hold back. (Then what Murtasim? Tell me your secret.....)
His presence was welcome, a hefty shield against the open elements, a sturdy umbrella against the worries that hailed upon her.
In direct comparison to his rigid stature, his head slowly titled in response and lowered, the cool tip of his nose trailed her cheek, lifting until his soft silky lips grazed her cheek.
She froze, breath hitched from the warmth he breathed upon her, at the unbidden proximity.
He pressed a singular kiss to her cheek, the corner of his moustache, nicking her delicate skin. 'Tum say,' he whispered tenderly onto her skin. (With you.)
Her heart raced, pattering in her chest.
Then he stood up straight, tall infront of her, unshying from the bashness of his affection. 'Picture banana aik bahana hai. Maqsad tum ho,' he confessed candidly in a hushed tone, there was a mischievous edge to his voice. (Taking the pictures is just an excuse, the real target is you.)
Her eyes widened at the inappropriateness of his action, brazenly sharing his ulterior motive with the plethora of shrubs and wildflowers and bees to bare witness to the confession. 'Besharam,' she muttered in a coy giggle. (Shameless.)
That elicited a boyish smirk to grace his face, carrying pride at the scarlet flush of her cheek in response. 'Main?,' he scoffed in a flirty manner. 'Sharam he hai ke yeh baat zubaan pe nahi aah paaye ab tak.' He wished to spend his efforts in her praise, fittingly etching her into film, to study the proportions of her divine visage, to fill an entire museum with the glorious findings. (Me? It was shame only which didn't let me say these words aloud yet.)
She looked elsewhere in an aim to dull the intensity of the moment, happiness bubbling at her throat at hearing of his uncontainable affections.
'Idhar dekho,' he instructed, his voice soft but the with slightest edge of assertiveness. (Look here.)
She shook her head shyly and instead, she chose to do what she did best...escape. She pivoted, stepping sideways, welcomed by the scene of endless lush tress.
Murtasim did what he did best... kept her close. Before she could take a second step, he grabbed the target. 'Kahan ja rahe ho?' She felt his calloused hand clasp her tiny wrist, each finger resting on her with full authority and she audibly gasped when he pulled her closer, tugging her till they were flush. (Where are you going?)
Gasp. That caused her to open her eyes in shock, blinking to see her dim bedroom, enshrouded in the morning calmness. She panted, bewildered at her immodest mind which dared to wander in the realm of blissful fantasies.
What was more shocking was the vision of Murtasim sleeping on the sofa in the corner of her bedroom. He was still here- her peace. Looking rather uncomfortable, he slouched on the one seater sofa, soft rumbles leaving him. His neck was slumped, his hair floppy and cosy against his forehead.
She felt an ounce of guilt as the moments of last night rushed through her memory, the display of vulnerability caused her to cringe at herself- she must have seemed weak, vulnerable- it was only a momentary lapse of courage.
Then her mouth hung at the audacious of her mind to create such a daring sweetheart version of Murtasim in her dream, leaning to kiss her, to clasp her wrist as if he had every right.
She should have woken him up for the sake of an achy neck, ushered him away before anyone noticed him hiding away in the secrecy her room. But he looked too scerene, and she wasn't ready to face him after the reels of film which played in her mind. He had the softest dusting of blush to his cheeks, his thick arms crossed over his stomach for comfort as he dozed- her dreamcatcher.
Carefully, Meerab got up, tiptoeing to approach him on the sofa. One hand came to either side of his balmy temple, straightening him. In a triumph victory, he let out a strong clear exhale, the wide of his flat chest began raising and falling in a unhindered gentle rhythm.
There was nothing more to do at this still hour, so she sat back in bed and watched the man in an an unusual habitat- her room. Murtasim had laid down his resources for her use, paved a path for her into his home, constructed a roof of security over her.
His moustache had unfittingly uncurled in slumber, he was out of character, his guard lowered. A bell chimed in her heart, and she again forced herself to look away. She clutched at the cool bedding beneath her... and she wondered if these woven fibered were from his ancestral fields too- it was his world, his blood that raced through the ground which bloomed this threads.
Only a couple minutes passed in this contemplation as she leaned back onto the head board, allowing her heart beat to calm. Slowly, she began remembering the sweet moments passed together, at the darbaar and the school, and she savoured each moment more under a lense of reflection. She was in awe at how a stolen train ticket had lead into an abyss of hope.
The moment was cut short when she heard patter in the outside corridoor, and Meerab instantly regretted not shooing him away when she had the opportunity.
Instead, she dropped, laying down in a facade of innocence. Her eyes clenched tightly shut, her back to the door, and she wished that no one entered, that they gave no interest to the door that hung widely open.
But she wasn't so lucky today. The footsteps were getting louder, harrowingly. The patter increased until they reached the rug of her bedroom, and she froze, her muscles rigid in trepidation.
Someone stood behind her, the eery presence of a third person in her room was palpable. They stood surveying her back, and Murtasim's trespassing in her bedroom, a place where he had no right to be.
Meerab felt the possibility of her virtue being flushed down the drain, her unmarred imagine dismantled at the rendezvous, and ironically, not due to the discovery at her identity. Her heart shuddered.
The melody of murtasim's gentle breaths was suddenly broken, the air punctuated by a sharp clearing of the throat. It sounded female...
When that cue failed, footsteps approached Murtasim and she yanked on his ear. Murtasim let out a pained yelped, coming to stand immediately- groaning in agony, his eyes struggling to wake.
He was cut off by a scolding, 'Chup. Meerab so rahe hai.' (shh.... meerub is sleeping.)
It was Mai. Meerab uttered words of relief.
In response, he whisper shouted, 'Fir meri neend kyun kharab ki hai.' His voice was hoarse, weighted in drowsiness, incomplete disrupted dreams nagged him. (Then why did you disturb my sleep.)
There was an audible tut. 'Tumhein iss kamre mei neendein poori karne ka koy haq nahi hai. Niklo bahir. Yeh Meerab ka kamra hai,' she chided, voice laced in a mix of irritation and concern. (You aren't allowed to sleep here, it is meerub's room. Get out.)
The harsh tone grazed more than usual from the disturbed sleep. 'Tou?' He retorted, unfazed that they had spent the night alone, yet together, even their dream intertwined. (So?)
Mai did not carry the same view. She thwacked his arm for the carelessness. 'Yeh buri baat hai Murtasim. Sharam karo ke aik larki ke kamre mei ghusey huye the raat bhar.' (This is wrong Murtasim. Have some shame, you were staying in a girls room all night.)
A nonchalant sigh left him mouth. 'Darwaza khulla rakha hai Mai. Aisay koy cheez nahi hui jisse sharmindagi ho.' His words were sincere, and tired- unable to weave lies at this early hour. (The door is open Mai. We did nothing to feel ashamed of.)
Meerab bit her tongue at the implied actions of his words. She didn't want him to face hell alone, but didn't want to fall in Mai's graces, so she restrained herself.
Their voices were mumbled, but she heard clearly. 'Larki hai Murtasim. Izzat ka mamla hai. Yeh bahut nazukh cheez hai. Meerab mehmaan hai, aur tumhara yahan raat guzarna ghalat,' she said, gaze flickering between the two of them, it was almost pitiful. (She is a girl Murtasim. It's a matter of honour. Meerab is our guest and what you did is wrong.)
'Meerab ko darawna khawab aaya tha. Main bahir cigarette peene ja raha tha aur ye nazar aayi the. Bahir khari hui the, kaanp rahi thi.' He couldn't leave her, or his mind wouldn't dwell on the fact that he left her- he couldn't leave her. It was unfathomable. 'Mainey usse hausla diya, aur raat bhar yahan betha raha. Uske paas nahi gaya,' he assured in his own defence. (She had a bad dream and was shaking outside where I found her while going for a cigarette. I comforted her and say here for her the whole night. I never went close to her.)
There was the ruffling of fabric, of shoes again marble flooring. 'Hausla dene ke baad khud ke kamre mei jana chahiye tha,' she chided, unmoved with his fables - the result was the same... they were together in the dark of the night. (You should have gone in your own room after comforting her.)
His hands came to the bridge if his nose, then rubbing his eyes to further the point. 'Neend aagyi thi,' he countered. (I'd fallen asleep.)
'Haan, tumhein neend aagyi thi,' she snapped at his carelessness. 'Aur jab Maa Saab ko khabar Millegi, zabar dasti tumhara nikkah padha dengi.' It was a threat, a beautiful tempting threat. (Yes, you'd fallen asleep. And when maa sahab will know of this, she'll get you married.)
'Kara de,' he murmured under his breath. (She shall.)
Huh! Meerab stifled a screech as he entire body tensed at the boy's candour... or was it one of his quips?
'Kya kaha?' Mai asked, her patience wearing thin. Murtasim towered over her, yet he stilled at the sharpness of her words- of being caught. (What did you say?)
His features softened, grasping her hands to support the cause. 'Aisa kuch nahi hua hai jisse zabardasti nikkah padhane ki zaroorat padhe. Bacche shareef hain,' he joked, but the words were entirely genuine, coated in truthfulness. (Nothing happened which would make her do that. We kids are innocent.)
'Woh to hai shareef, tumhara nahi pata,' she replied, siding with Meerab. (Yes she is innocent but I don't know about you.)
He shook his head in disagreement, his sleepy fuelled words were surprising awake. 'Yakeen karein, main bhe shareef hi hu,' he quipped. Then he turned serious when he commanded, 'Maa saab ko na batana, Meerab ko bura lagega. Akeli dar gyi thi. Sirf itni baat thi.' Meerab's imagine rested in the chains of culture and entrenched in societal expectation. (Believe me, I am innocent as well. Don't tell maa begum, meerub will be hurt. She was scared alone. That's all.)
She already possessed a crate of secrets which threatened to overflow, questions to her character would be unbearable for her- just when she was settling in.
Unpleased, Mai features etched in concern of the scene that unfolded the precious night, and the mental state of their guest. She mostly believed him, but there was a better suited alternative. 'Meerab ko kehna ke agli baar mere paas aana agar darr lage, ya Maa Saab ke paas. Her word were kind, laced in sympathy for the fake snoozing girl behind them. (Tell meerub to come either to me or maa shaab the next time she's scared.)
Then her eyebrows lifted threateningly, invoke fear of the seriousness of her words. 'Agar yeh 'shareef bacha' fir mila Meerab ke aas paas, Maa Saab ko bata dungi ke tumne raat kahan guzari hai,' she warned- she was firm. (If this innocent boy is found anywhere near her, I'll tell Maa sahab about where you spent your night.)
A breath passed and he weighed up the proposition. 'Deal. Iss baat pe haath milate hai,' he suggested, his voice was accepting, anything for her, to allow her to stay close, within sight. (Deal, let's shake hands for this.)
She tutted in annoyance at her predicament- wagering wether to the trust the boy or report him to his mother. 'Kabhi serious na hona.' (you never take anything seriously.)
They shook on it, and then his arm came around her low shoulder, walking her out. 'Tumhein pata hai Mai, itna khoobsurat khawab dekh raha tha jab tumne kaan kench ke utaya tha,' he narrated in a dreamy lilt, as thought he was recalling something blissful. He pretended to be annoyed at her for the destroyed sleep, but it swiftly fizzled into adoration for the mother-like figure that kept his secrets. (Do you know Mai, I was having a beautiful dream when you woke me up.)
'Acha. Kis cheez ka?' Mai promptly asked, pretending to be disinterested in the visions he conjured in his skull whilst inappropriately lounging with the orphan girl in their care. (Oh, about what?)
They walked out of the dim room and his eyes strained at the onslaught of the light filled corridor. 'Kheto mei tasveer kheench raha tha.... Dhoop tez the....,' he described whilst they walked out, their voices dwindling, and Meerab's ears struggles to catch a wisp of the rest of his dream. (I was taking pictures in the fields. The sun was harsh...)
As soon as it was safe, Meerab let out a strangled breath that she didn't know she was holding. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind; Was he so willing to marry her, or was it a joke? Mai worried for her virtue, yet only suspected Murtasim and his dream... she wondered if his dream ended the same way that hers did.
Luckily he hadn't jerked awake as early as her, so maybe he saw the next scene... she wondered what he planned to do in the dream whilst pulling her back into him.
But she was too shy about the dream and could never ask him, so she tucked the film somewhere deep into her memories- to replay later.
Neither Murtasim nor Meerab addressed their clandestine meeting, her worried whimpers post nightmare or the comforting embrace or the intangible reunion in their subconscious... brushed under the carpets, but not out of their minds.
As planned, Maya had insisted for a dinner at the Khan house to get accustomed, and Murtasim even accepted when she bought Shuja along- not wanting to reject her offer twice.
The grand oval table had been adorned in a plethora of candles and fruit arrangements, and the house help bought tray after tray of serving platters, toasty aromas saturated the air, inviting them to a royal feast.
Murtasim filled Meerab's water, and she neatly arranged the floral arrangement of bloomed ivory lilies on the dining table. Murtasim even pushed the salad plate closer to Meerab, and them settled, satisfied.
'Yeh nya helper kahan say aaya?,' Maya asked whilst glancing at Murtasim, his attention towards Meerab was becoming hard to miss. Between the two of them, they teamworked with ease, there was a natural undeniable fluency about them. (Where did this new helper came from?)
His limbs moved on their own account- rendered to a puppet in her company. 'Isko chot laggi hai, tou mainey socha...' Murtasim trailed, unable to formulate better justification for the need to ceaselessly dote on her. Well, her wrist has burnt, and now it had scabbed over and was bandage free- on the verge of being fully healed. (She was hurt so I thought...)
Shuja spoke up to ask, 'Haan, humne bhi patti dekhi thi, par baat nhi kar paya, masroof tha. Kaisey hua?' Shuja was sitting opposite Meerab, Maya to her side, and Murtasim at the head of the table- and a row of unoccupied seats beyond them. (Yes, even I saw the bandages but didn't get the time to ask her about it. How did it happen?)
Exchanging a quick glance, Meerab and Murtasim didn't want to share the moments spent together as though it was a secret, a private matter formed under their roof. 'Meerab ne tavey pe haath rakh liya tha,' Murtasim divulged sheepishly, a hint of remorse weighted through the words - he shouldn't have let her. (She put her hand on tava)
Their house help shovelled richly spiced pulao into the china plates for them as they conversed, cutlery faintly clinking into a symphony of dull chimes.
'Ab kaisey ho?' Shuja asked, physically wincing at the painful, scalding idea, and he added, 'Doctor ko dikhaya hai?'(How are you now? Have you shown this to a doctor?)
Maya faked a look of worry, coming to survey the remnants of the injury.
'Nahi, itna koi serious zakhm nahi tha,' Meerab assured with a sweet smile, lessening the concern. They all understood that she was well cared for, watched over like family- it was a minor injury. (No it wasn't that serious.)
Over the past two week that Meerab had spent in Maya's company, she had come to discover that Murtasim lingered on incessantly on Maya's mind. Meerab had lost count over every recollection or story that Maya had blabbered to her at work, almost to hammer home the point of claiming him.
It had all been in vain when Meerab nonchalantly announced, 'Murtasim ne patti kee the, issi liye aisa hai.' (Murtasim did the dressing that's why it looks like this.)
In response, Murtasim fake scoffed at her words, as if he was offended. 'Nuks nikaal rahe hou meri patti mei?' (Are you pointing out the flaws in my dressing?)
At the same time as Maya turning to him to ask, 'Tumne kee thi?' There was a lilt of amazement, her mind fathomed the care filled touch, the concern laced in every roll of the medical dressing as it wound around her arm. (You did it?)
Murtasim gave a slight shrug- it was nothing. 'Haan. Noori ke liye khaana bana rahi thi, hum sab kitchen mei akhatte the, tou mujhpe zimmedari parhi,' he clarified, but he relished that zimmedari, it felt more like an honour. (Yes, she was cooking food for Noori and we all were in kitchen, it was my responsibility then to do her dressing.)
'Murtasim ne mujhey itne kapre tofeh mein diye hain, tou mainey socha ke roti tou bana sakte hou na?,' Meerab joked, weighing what he had done for her in return for her failed effort. (Murtasim had gifted me so many dresses, so I thought I can make a roti, right?)
'Acha ... yeh kapre naye hai?' Maya probed, scanning her, the fresh lively dyes of her yellow frock, the expert tailoring, the perfectly accompanying lace. (Oh, are these dresses new?)
'Jee. Inke dost ne bheje the, darzi se silwa liye the...' (yes, his friend sent them and then we got them stitched.)
Murtasim watched her whilst continuing to eat- his favourite yellow illuminated her like a buttercup. It had been a pleasant week, like an advent calendar that unleashed a new dress everyday that had been gifted by him. In his mind, she cat-walked, strutting proudly showcasing each one- or some may construe it as walking normally.
As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. 'Hafeez ne delivery bheji thi pichle haftay, tou mainey socha kay Meerab bhi lele.' There was a undeniable undertone of pride. 'Aur bhe kapre hai, tum bhi dekh lena Maya,' he invited sweetly, but clearly less enthusiastically- he felt obliged after detailing Meerab's wardrobe. (Hafeez sent a delivery last week so I thought Meerub should get some dresses. There are more maya, you can come and select.)
They seemed unfazed as to such a hefty delivery, so Meerab questioned, 'Tum loag bhe Hafeez ko jaanti ho?' (Do you know Hafeez?)
They both nodded like they were already well acquainted. 'Hum chaaro school mei akhatte khelte the. Humare parents bhi dost hain,' Shuja explained, and Meerab felt distanced, novel. (We used to play together in school. Even our parents are friends.)
'Same school mein the?,' she repeated, reasoning that they must all be wealthy like him, the same style, the manner of talking, the Shuja's fancy car that rivalled Murtasim's - it didn't look like a village headteachers car. (Were you all in same school?)
'Haan, issi liye hum bhai behn ka tarha hai,' Murtasim proudly announced, and Maya almost choked on the cubed lamb in the rice. (Yes, that's why we are like siblings.)
Shuja offered Meerab a kebab as a gentleman, and she gracefully accepted before he began explaining along side, 'Waise, meri koyi behn nahi hai, 4 bhai-oan ka chota bhai hun.' (I don't have any sister, I am the youngest of us flur brothers.)
Maya butted in, 'Issi liye mera school sambhalta hai, family business nahi,' (that's why he looks after the school not business.)
'Acha. Tumhari family ka kis cheez ka business hai?' Meerab enquired, watching them leisurely enjoy the endless food. (Oh, what does your family do?)
'Export,' Shuja divulged. Hafeez had the clothing business, Murtasim owned lands and Shuja was in international transport. 'We own ships. Cargo karte hai from the ports in Karachi, and throughout pakistan. Hafezz kay liye bhe export karte hai.'
Twisting, Meerab asked Maya, 'Aur tumhara family Maya?' (and you Maya?)
Halting for a second, Maya stretched a fake smile as the words paused on her tongue and Shuja informed on her behalf, 'Yeh meri cousin hai. Same business.' It almost seemed like Maya was apprehensive of the association, like she wanted to be untethered to Shuja- like she had an eye on another. (She's my cousin.)
It appeared that they had deep family connections, all taking respective roles in pakistan's fabric production, notorious in the Sindh at least - Murtasim being the basis of the food chain. 'Issi liye tumhare paas itni achi gaari hai,' Meerab remarked to Shuja, the words tumbled out of her before she realised it was a splendid compliment. (So that's why you have such a nice car.)
The appreciation tugged at Shuja's cheeks, highlighting his sharp stubble covered jawline. 'Jee, mere baba ne dee the, Murtasim ne nahin. Yeh tou itne paise nahi deta, kanjoos hai,' he teased, and they chuckled in response. 'Par yeh kaam pasand hai, tou apni pasand ka kaam karne se zyada kya luxury hai.' (Yes, my baba gifted it to me. Murtasim doesn't pay me much, he is a spendthrift. But money doesn't matter when you do what you like.)
On the contrary, Murtasim had never shown an ounce of stinginess, paying her train ticket, insisting in giving his luxurious shawl, giving her a mansion for a roof- he was generous, his pockets overflowed for her, as if she was already his own to give to, to be willingly looted. 'Jitna kaam karoge, utne paise dunga. I'm not doing a charity,' Murtasim remarked, settling into his plush seat at the head of the table, of the house and the entire town. (I'll pay you according to your work.)
Ignoring the vaguely snide comment, Meerab was warm towards her guest- not friendly enough for the harsh manly banter. 'Your baba has good taste,' Meerab replied, mirroring his jokey demeanor, and a spark of jealousy raced through Murtasim as the idea of Shuja being comparable to him. He was not, obviously- he managed a small school.
'So do you,' Shuja countered, indirectly complementing himself. That forced Murtasim to let out a light cough to disturb the banter, feeling left out.
Immediately, Meerab twisted towards him, 'Paani le lo.' It was her own glass, and he took it, gulping as if he actually had a tickle in his throat- he did not. (Have some water.)
Nor could Meerab look away from the gulp of his adam's apple on show as he lifted his head to drink. The contrast between his off white kameez to his bronze flesh caught her gaze. She surveyed the curl of his moustache, and neatly jelled hair, and analysed the difference between the two men. Murtasim was just refined, genuinely weighted in responsibility, whereas Shuja had a boyishness lightness about him. The scene cut off in a blink and she looked else where- the mundane wall lamp, or the plainly draped curtains.
Her mind wandered, rolling around to the vision of Murtasim's sleek car and she reasoned, 'Tumhari gaari bhe achi hai.' There was no favouritism, she told herself.... Even though her mind skipped to his car on it's own account, and she dreamed of him in the fields, and his cloth hung from from shoulders. (Your car is nice as well.)
The words soothed Murtasim's ego, satiating the need to be liked by her, to be her number one. 'It's newer model,' Murtasim added as if anyone asked him. 'Mainey nayi leather seats lagwayi the. Tumhein pasand hai na?' (I have changed the leather seats, do you like them?)
'Haan. Kullay seats hai, Noori bhe arram se beht sakti hai mere godh mei in the passanger seat, like when we went to the farm.' Mention of the fields invoked remembrance of that pesky dream and her cheeks flushed. She took the moment to thank god that no one could see the imagery her mind. (Yes, even noori can sit with me in the passenger seat.)
Maya barley took any bites, tucking her locks behind her ear, her gold hoops dazzled. 'Kaali gaariyan mujhey bhe pasand hai,' Maya added. Murtasim's car was a glossy onyx, and Shuja's was a pearly white - There was a clear contrast, she noticed- like night and day. (Even I like black cars.)
'Waise garmiyon ki dhoop ke liye best nahi hai. A white car is best for the heat.' Shuja reasoned, and everyone felt the slight tension, the edge of competition in them. (But they aren't good for the summers heat.)
'Saridyon mei dhoop ka kaun sochta hai,' Maya defended Murtasim, tipping her glass to take a dainty sip. Then her attention turned to Meerab eating her food, and she probed, 'Islamabad mei kaisi garmi hoti hai?' (who thinks about heat in winters. How is the weather in Islamabad?)
Meerab's chews slowed, relaising she wasent one of them, despite how much she felt it. 'Jaisay yahan,' she said in a shaky exhale, reminded that she had different roots from a place across the country. 'Mulk tou aik he hai?' (Just like here. It is the same country?)
That answer failed to satisfy her. 'Tumhari family ka kya business hai Meerab,' Maya enquired, shining the spotlight on Meerab, every tremor, every falsely woven fable available for scrutiny. (what does your family do meerub.)
Murtasim couldn't bare it, and the need to shield her overwhelmed him. She never got the option to speak before Murtasim interjected, 'Iska baba civil servant the,' he quickly sputtered, the vaguest answer possible. (her father was a civil servant )
Following that, Maya looked her up and down, weighing up that she was the ordinary daughter of an ordinary man, and hence no competition for her . 'The?' Past tense. (Was?)
Meerab swallowed the bitter truth before lying, 'Mere mama baba fauth ho chuki hai,' she fibbed, the sorrow that laced her voice was genuine. That was the story they're were going with. (My parents have passed away.)
'Aur yahan paunch gyi. That's lucky,' Maya chimed, with a sharp suspicious edge. (And now you're here. That's lucky.)
'Lucky kyun keh rahe hou yaar? Empathy bhe koy cheez hoti hai,' Shuja chided, throwing her a pitiful smile. There was an understanding between them, a moment of empathy, cut short when Murtasim said- (Why are you calling that lucky?)
'Lucky tou hai jo mujhey mil gayi thi train me!' He felt lucky, blessed, rejuvinated. 'Yahan kaam hai, ghar hai,' Murtasim listed, uncaring for keeping up appearances, he had no pity for her fake dead father, or her living cruel one. (She is lucky that I found her on the train. She has a home now, a job)
He was proving a point between them, that she enjoyed her stay, it curtained her dreary past. 'Haan pasand hai. Allah ne mujhey aik new family da hai. Noori bhe pasand hai, aur school mei parhana bhe,' she listed. (Yes I like this.i got a new family thanks to Allah. I like noori and to teach at school too.)
Shuja lifted his head fractionally as if her teaching in the school was another compliment, dreaming that she wanted to get into his good books.
It was Murtasim who had secured her the position as a teacher and it was his school, Shuja was just in a place to be filled, a rich boy that didnt want to be overworked under the watchful eye of family members. 'Haan, bas chand mahino ki baat hai, fir University join karegi,' he annoucned proudly, the school was just a stepping stone. (And it's just a matter of few months, then she'll join University.)
Meerab's eyes twinkled and she nodded. 'Haan. Yahan Hyderabad mei admission loungi,' she informed, there was a optimism to her tone.
At hearing that, Maya pouted as if she missed not seeing Meerab at work already, as though they become the dearest of friends, there was sadness as the seperation.
Meerab's ring adorned hand came on top of Maya's on the dinner table, 'Tum yahan aati rehna. Humari dosti teaching ke baad khatam nahi hogi.' Her tone was sincere and friendly, she had learnt to shower kindness, mirroring the way Murtasim had treated her. (You shall keep coming here, our friendship will stay intact even after I stop coming to school to teach.)
'Main aati rahungi,' Maya confirmed confidently. 'But only when Noori isn't here!' (I will)
'Noori tumhein pasand nahi karti?' Shuja quizzed in confusion, he haden't coincided with the little girl since she was a new baby. (Noori doesn't like you?)
Maya give a quick disappointed shake of her head, her hair swaying around her face, the lamps catching on the champagne highlighter on her cheekbones.
'Shuja Sir ko pasand karte hai?' Meerab questioned as if Noori's preference was law, was the sole factor in determining the houses visitor list. (Why? Does she like shuja sir?)
The question remained unanswered, and Murtasim's brow raised at the title. 'Sir kehne ke zaroorat nahi hai,' her corrected, and Meerab's gaze sharpened at him, perplexed at the command. (There is no need to call him sir.)
'Haan, hum kaam pe nahi hai jo Sir kehna zaroori hai,' Shuja agreed. (Yes, we aren't working right now that you need to call me sir.)
Murtasim sat up, shovelling some more rice onto Meerab's plate without invitation. 'Kaam pe bhi kehne ki zaroorat nahi hai.' It seemed like Murtasim was demoting him, or raising Meerab. (There is no need to call him sir even at work.)
'Yeh new rule hai Murtasim Saab?,' Shuja challenged, the food tasted better at irking his friend. They were brotherly in nature. They enjoyed toying with each other from childhood. (Is this the new rule Murtasim sir?)
'Haan, Meerab iss ghar ke hai, tou Sir kehna sahi nahi lagta.' Murtasim elaborated whilst taking another spoon of rice, nonchalantly claiming her as a resident of her home. She was a resident, indefinitely. (Yes, meerab is a family member, it doesn't feel right to call you sir.)
The girls spent brain cells in deciphering the light baseless quarrel.
'Iss ghar ke?,' Maya probed. 'Sirf iss ghar ke mehmaan hai.' She reiterated as a reminder but her tome was unsure. (family member? Isn't she just a guest?)
Murtasim faced Maya and there was an air of nonchalance surrounding him, as if he had no worry, like his prey was calmly in sight. 'Yeh Noori ke Meero hai,' he stated as it was obvious and utterly important as if she had been crowned by such a nickname.'Waisey bhe, mehman bhe ghar wala he hota hai,' Murtasim corrected almost philosophically. (She is Noori's meero. Guests are family.)
'Ohh,' they let out in exaggeration of his comment, and Meerab blushed profusely at the childish nickname- beyond friends, these were her colleagues. She shhh'ed him, glaring at him to shut up.
'Meero?' Shuja stretched cheekily in amusement, toying with the name and Murtasim instantly regretted it, feeling as though the name had been dulled as more and more people learned about it.
Moving on, Maya asked, 'Noori hai kahan? Aur Maa Saab bhe nazar nahi aaye?' She vigilantly surveying the corridor, the adjoining foyer... it was peaceful and deserted. ( Where is Noori? And Maa Sahab?)
On that note, Mai leisurley entered with dessert. There was a trolley full of sliced dessert for them. 'Maa Saab daawat pe gyi hui hai, aur Noori so rhi hai.' (Maa sahab has gone for a party and noori is sleeping.)
Without asking, Shuja got up to give her a cuddly hug in reunion and even Maya greeted her warmly. The 5 of them convered effortlessly, about work, about the weather, and chuckles bounced the walls over Murtasim's revolving proposals and the mischief in rejecting them.
Maya had a chance to rummage through the left over suit delivery from Nishat Linen in the formal living room, and with impeccable timing, they heard the light patter of slow tiny feet.
Noori entered in her creased pyjamas, surveying the late night scene of guests, her knotty curls evidencing the nap. Without a further word, Noori walked upto Murtasim and rightfully curled onto his heated lap, within the confines of his arms, a cage that protected her against Maya.
'Salaam Noori,' Shuja said, his head titling sweetly, and Noori blushed. The man looked like her Moomoo, but slightlier friendlier- he was allowed to say hello, she decided.
'Salaam,' Noori squeaked, nuzzling into Murtasim's protective arm.
'Humne Meero ka naam sunna hai, aur Moomoo ka bhe. Mujhey naam nahi dogi?,' Shuja requested, but it verged on a loving plead- the baby was adorable and he was great with kids. (We heard you gave a name to meero, will you not give one to us?)
'Nahi. Sirf mere Moomoo aur Meero kay liye hai,' she said in a hushed drowsy voice whilst blinking slowly. Her luscious curved eyelashes fluttered as she saw the plates of cream cake scattered around the room, next to each guest, jerking her awake. (No, it's just for meero and moomoo )
Maya didn't tease, not wanting to tick the sleepy girl.
Shuja teased Murtasim, glancing between estranged Noori and Maya. It was almost comical - the way Murtasim's arm had become a shield, just wide enough to shade her eyes. 'Pata nahi yeh Noori kya karegi jab Moomoo je biwi aayegi. Balkay, yeh tou mami ko aaney bhe nahi degi,' he jabbed, seemingly dampening Murtasim's prospects. (I don't know what noori will do when her moomoo gets married. She won't even let her come.)
Murtasim shrugged like it made no difference, he was already sorted in that regard. Unfazed, he reclined in his throne like chair, the little girl leaning into her. 'Aik he hall hai. Bass ussi se shaadi karounga jisko Noori pasand karti hai,' he announced confidently and it rang like a message for those who wished to understand. (There's only one answer. I'll only marry the girl who noori likes.)
'Haan pr Noori hamesha yahan tou nahi rehti,' Maya remarked, weaseling her way in. She had a stack of duller fabrics to her side; mauve and an ochre- not his favourite, but still compromised of his threads. (But noori isn't gonna stay here forever)
'Nahi, Noori ke mami sirf Noori ke marzi se aayegi,' Murtasim said in a bout of absolute certainty, his gaze lingered on his little but mighty supporter. (No, Noori's mami will come will come with her consent only.)
'Moomoo...cake,' she squeaked, and Maya stood up at once. 'Main tumhare liye kitchen se lekar aati hou,' she announced, wanting to make herself useful. (I'll get it for you from kitchen)
Murtasim's cake had long been devoured, but Meerab had been slow in eating her spongey cream topped cake, busied in chatter.
Instinctively, Meerab took the moment to scoot her grand chair towards Murtasim, and she spoon fed Noori from her own plate, and Murtasim watched in awe.
Outside their bubble, Shuja watched the pair switch into that synchronised rhythm, and a smirk began tugging on his smug face at his friends obviousness- it made sense, the dresses, the house, the job favour, the doting on Meerab!
When the couple mouthfuls had finished, Meerab scanned the hallway, finding it empty. 'Main Maya ko dekh kar aata hou, itni der ho gayi hai, aur cake nahi mil raha usko.' (I'll go see maya, it's been so long and she can't find the cake.)
Left alone, Shuja turned to his friend. 'Yaar, could you be more obvious,' he asked in amusement.
Looking up, Murtasim questioned, 'Kya hai?' He was unfazed, comfortable in his chair, under his own roof, next to Meerab's chair. (what?)
'Meero ki mami?' Shuja repeated in a fake deeper voice, mimicking Murtasim's earlier dialogue. The words reverberated through the room, upto the high ceiling, carrying far- fuelled by excitement. Shuja's eyes crinkled in laughter, and Murtasim realised that he had been caught red handed.
Murtasim didnt deny it.
As Shuja leaned forward, he softened, wanting to come in hand, to be a wing man. 'Tum chaho tou mei baat karou? Hum saara din akhatte kaam karte hai... Meerab ko poochun, ya Maya poochleti hai...' he suggested. (You want me to spark the conversation? We work together... shall I talk to meerub? Or should maya should...)
'Noori ki mami?' Noori copied, lowly chanting it. Both of the boys eyes widened as she discovered her new favourite phrase.
Murtasim give a short assured shake of the head. 'Nahi yaar, mujhey kisi help ki zaroorat nahi chahiye. Yehi kaafi hai!' Murtasim quipped whilst ruffling Noori's wayward hair. He leaned down to tendering peck the top of her head - she was Moomoo ke jaan. (No I don't need anybody's help, Noori is enough.)
Proofread and translated by HereinNowhere2