Kadam se, kadam jo milay
To phir saath, hum tum chalay
Chalay saath hum tum jahan,
Wahin pe banay kaafilay
Mon Amor...
The cars raced along the sand dunes just outside of Doha, leaving a cloud of sand in their wake. They came to a stop in-front of a pair of lavish maroon tents just as dusk was about to fall. Lanterns illuminated the area, hanging from the numerous sheets of soft cloth making up the body of the tent. The driver doors of the two SUV's in the front opened whilst the jeeps behind them circled the area and came to stop a few meters away. Murtasim exited his SUV clad in off-white. His light cotton shirt buttoned halfway, with the sleeves rolled up, he was ready for a relaxing evening in the desert.
Next to him, Omar exited the second SUV and signalled the staff behind him to start making arrangements for dinner. It was evenings like these where the two tycoons could take a step back from their hectic lives and feel like themselves again. Almost like the two young men they had been in university many years ago. As they settled on the cushioned seating area on the floor inside their tent, Omar leaned back and cracked the kinks in his neck, releasing a tired groan.
"What I wouldn't do to have a wife right now" he muttered humorously
"What exactly would a wife do that the staff can't?" Murtasim questioned with a raised eyebrow
"Besides the obvious?" Omar quipped, grinning and slowly feeling his weariness fade away
Murtasim laughed, reclining back on the soft cushions and taking out a packet of cigarettes from his back pocket. Taking one, he offered Omar the packet, who took it without question.
"Well for one, she'd be able to massage this bloody knot in my neck." Omar continued. "Aren't wives supposed be good at those kinds of things?"
"I wouldn't know" Murtasim uttered wryly, whilst lighting the cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth. Taking a long drag of the cigarette, Murtasim looked up at the intricate patterns on the ceiling of the tent and then closed his eyes.
"Trust me, no amount of massages are worth the trouble that comes with a wife" Murtasim drawled, eyes still shut and smoke blowing out from his mouth.
It was now Omar's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Are you sure, because this knot is really starting to piss me off." He joked after a beat, keeping the mood deliberately light.
Murtasim looked at his friend then, and the two exchanged a look of understanding.
"Ready for Paris tomorrow?" Omar asked, changing the topic, to which Murtasim gave a nod.
Some things were best not discussed. Especially not when the evening was about forgetting their problems for a while.
The early morning Karachi sun was somewhat gentle, its rays falling on the windscreen of the car carrying a sleepy Meerab Ahmed. Not one for early mornings, she sat cosied up in the back-seat, lost in her hazy thoughts.
This must be what dedication felt like, she wondered. She had never gotten up this early off her own will. Maybe this flight-attendant program was a step in the right direction after all. It was too soon to tell, but then anything was better than the alternative. One she didn't even like thinking about. Her reasons may sound completely unhinged to an outsider, but she was willing to be considered crazy if it meant somehow retaining her freedom and prevent herself from actually going crazy in a world she didn't belong in.
Her thoughts shifted to Saba, her cousin and the person she was currently on the way to meet. Saba was her khala's daughter and best friend. Being each other's' confidants, Saba knew the turmoil Meerab had faced two years ago and the difficulties which lay ahead. She was the one who had always wanted to be a flight attendant, and had found a recruitment program with Phoenix Air, one of the leading international airlines. The program was designed specifically by Phoenix Air to promote Pakistani women in aviation. They had designed a three to six week long training course, taking place in Karachi and Doha, their headquarters. Meerab and Saba had already passed the initial interviews and taken the first two weeks of training in Karachi, and now had to travel to Doha for a week of further training and participate in two flight observations; from Karachi to Doha and back.
Saba was of course going with the blessings of everyone, but Meerab carried the burden of her secret.
As the car slowed down, Meerab shook off her thoughts and looked outside to see her cousin coming through the gate and getting in the car. After a tight hug which conveyed their excitement at their upcoming adventure, Saba sat back and observed her closest friend. She looked tired, her dark brown hair framing her heart-shaped face, with a few bangs falling across her forehead. Her normally bright eyes were sleepy and yet looked distracted.
"Okay?" she asked Meerab
It was a loaded question. One she knew couldn't be answered with a yes or no. Her cousin had her reasons for changing the trajectory of her career path so suddenly. From having a plan to suddenly needing something, anything that shielded her from the foreboding future. She knew Meerab's biggest attraction in being a flight attendant was being able to control her freedom, her own time and most importantly, not be shackled at home amongst tradition and all the problems it bought with it.
She had been the one to suggest it to Meerab two years ago, but she had never thought Meerab would agree. Simply because of how much influence her paternal family, the Khan's had on her life. She had warned Meerab that even if she was successful in her training, the Khans would just forbid her from working altogether, making the whole exercise a moot point.
Her cousin had surprised her though. With quiet confidence, Meerab had stated "The Khans may have a problem with it, but the Khan wont. I've made sure of it. And at the end of the day, he's the only Khan whose say matters." And that had been that. Saba had not asked again and Meerab, though apprehensive, had stuck to the path she'd put herself on.
Unknown paths were scary to some. To Murtasim Khan, they represented a challenge, and he never said no to challenges. Coming out of the exclusive Parisian restaurant, he discreetly slipped a wad of cash into the maître d's gloved hand and walked out into the crisp air of a typical autumnal evening in Paris. He'd bid his university friends an early goodnight and now wanted a walk to clear his head. Ignoring the usual path back to his car, he wandered down a narrow cobbled street next to the restaurant.
Going downhill, the path opened up to a small street, with quaint boutique stores on either side. It was certainly no high-street, but it had the old French town charm that he sometimes felt was lacking in touristy Paris. He walked slowly, putting his hands into the pockets of his checkered grey overcoat and taking in the colourful shops, the architecture and the peaceful vibe of the hidden place.
Lost in his thoughts, his eyes caught something shiny in a window display and he stopped still. The next few seconds were strange, because he didn't know why he'd stopped. He just knew his feet had refused to go any further and his eyes were now glued to the window. Walking closer to the mysterious object of his interest, he stood right in-front of the window and his confusion suddenly turned into an uncomfortable realisation.
It was a delicate pearl broach. In the shape of a strawberry. A white pearled strawberry with pistachio-green pearls as its leafy head. He now knew why he'd stopped. It was her. She smelt exactly like strawberries in season. Sweet, sunny and God help him, delectable. She always smelt of strawberries and now she was on his mind. Maybe she already had been, explaining why he was now fixated outside a not-so-masculine antique jewellery boutique.
Murtasim commanded his mind to ignore this little episode and carry on walking, but when the traitors is one's own self, there is only so much sanity that is allowed to prevail. He knew he was going to be purchasing the God-damn strawberry broach. If it ever reached its unsuspecting recipient was another matter altogether.
Hello dear readers! First things first, there has been so much talk of Wahaj Ali's unbottoned shirts on my tl recently that I couldn't resist adding the look in this chapter.
Pic inspo of the Parisian street MK was walking on is attached above. These kinds of hidden paths are my favorite things to discover whenever I'm in any beautiful European city. Feedback is, as always, much appreciated.
Till next time, D xo