Wedding fervor had kindled within Saboor's home, yet an unsettling air of estrangement lingered. Feroza's relatives inundated the house, drawn by her calls, their polite smiles masking an envy that simmered beneath the surface. They greeted Feroza warmly, their reverence for her unwavering, but their regard for Saboor remained tepid at best. Veiled behind congeniality, they whispered among themselves, casting a shadow over the usual jubilant ambiance of a wedding.
Saboor recognized these relatives, familiar faces from numerous family gatherings where their distant demeanor had become a predictable pattern. She understood the reason behind their behavior, for she had achieved success at a young age, a feat that set her apart from her cousins and peers who had struggled between various jobs. She had even lent a hand to some of them in their careers, yet instead of gratitude, her efforts were met with disapproving taunts.
"She acts like she's a bigshot, but we know her true nature."
"Yes, she's too proud. What harm would it do her to offer greetings or spare a moment with us?"
In the midst of this strained atmosphere, Aynoor navigated effortlessly, serving as a reassuring presence for her elder sister amidst the familial tension. She glided through the gatherings with grace, well aware of the contrasting treatment between her sister and the rest. Her ability to blend seamlessly with everyone masked her acute perception of the intricate dynamics within their home.
Meanwhile, Saboor sought refuge behind her mother's dupatta, a shield against the scrutinizing gazes of these relatives summoned by her mother. She dreaded their presence, anticipating a taunt or a cutting remark at any given moment. Their ceaseless inquiries about her fiancé, her in-laws, the engagement details, and the dowry lingered in the air, creating an uncomfortable atmosphere. Some had even begun questioning the haste of the impending marriage. Saboor found herself without answers, and her mother, indifferent to her unease, remained resolute.
"They're my relatives, my kin and blood. Show some decency and spend time with them! They've come all this way for your wedding, haven't they?"
~
Saboor sat amidst the whirlwind of relatives, their voices merging into an indistinguishable buzz around her. She longed for her mother's presence, a reassuring touch amidst the chaos. Yet, Feroza seemed preoccupied, flitting from one guest to another as if tethered by an invisible obligation.
"Ammi, can I speak with you for a moment?" Saboor's voice, barely audible amidst the conversations, reached Feroza as she engaged with a distant cousin. Feroza glanced briefly at Saboor, nodding, promising to return soon. However, minutes turned into an eternity, and Feroza remained engrossed in the conversation, leaving Saboor stranded in her own home.
Confusion etched across Saboor's face as she watched her mother drift further away. She couldn't fathom why Feroza seemed detached, offering casual smiles to others while seemingly oblivious to her own child yearning for her attention.
Finally, mustering courage, Saboor approached her mother once more. "Ammi, please, it's important."
Feroza turned, her attention momentarily snagged by Saboor's pleading tone. "I'll be right back," she promised to her conversation partner before addressing Saboor. "Yes, what is it?"
But just as Saboor gathered herself to speak, another relative called for Feroza's attention, drawing her away once more. Saboor watched in dismay as her mother left her standing alone, the words she intended to utter, trapped within her.
Left adrift amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, she felt a pang of abandonment. This wasn't just about the wedding preparations; it was a longing for her mother's support and reassurance as she prepared to embark on a new chapter of her life. The ache of being overlooked when she needed her mother the most intensified within her.
~
In the quiet solitude of the night, Saboor found herself awake, the hushed darkness enveloping the house. The impending nikaah weighed heavy on her mind, making sleep an elusive companion. She rose quietly from her bed, tiptoeing through the corridors to the hall, finding a glass and a bottle of water.
Her arms and feet were adorned with henna. It dried and little chips feel to the floor as she opened the door with one hand. With her other hand, she carried the glass inside, while tucked in her elbow was a bottle full of water.
She left the door open, and keeping the bottle and glass at her desk, went back downstairs. She passed by the hall, and saw her mother's relatives fast asleep in the air-conditioned room, not minding having to sleep on the floor. Then, she went to the dining table, where piles of empty pots and dishes lay. All of that was for the affairs of the following day. She hopped silently into the kitchen, and switched on the dim cooktop light, and its warm yellow light fell onto her face and neck.
She headed to the fridge in a hushed manner, and pulled out a lemon from the side shelf. Taking out a knife from the stand, she cut it into half and squeezed it with all her might into a bowl. Then, she mixed in a spoon of sugar from the sugar pot, and her mixture was ready.
A slight itch on the arms caused Saboor to make a face, but despite that, she quietly dabbed the mix onto her mehndi design.
A memory flashed through her eyes.
~
She hardly five, when her mother's brother was getting married. Back then, it was just her; Aynoor hadn't been born yet. She was the first child, first grandchild, and the first niece, and had everyone running for her at her fingertips.
They had gone to the bride's party that evening, to give gifts from the groom's side for her. Saboor had worn a blue frilled frock, with lace detailing all over. Her hair was tied into two ponytails and dangled down her head.
The bride was so enthralled seeing her to-be-niece, that she called her to sit beside her. Saboor meekly sat, for she didn't know anyone else other than her mother and aunts, who had gone inside to help with the festivities.
The bride's mehndi was almost dried, when her mother came with a ceramic bowl in her hand, and a cloth in another. Seeing her mother, Saboor became more comfortable.
"Ammi, what's this?" she asked, touching the rim of the bowl.
"Uh-oh, don't touch it, it's sticky."
"But what is it?"
"This is a mixture of sugar and lemon juice. Mind you, it doesn't taste good, so don't even think of trying out anything. It's only to put on the bride's mehndi- it becomes dark after this," her mother explained.
"Like that photo in the beauty parlor?" she wondered.
"Oh yes. Just like that. Your colour's so deep!" Saboor's mother exclaimed to the bride. "Perhaps my brother loves you a lot already," she murmured, making the other woman blush red.
~
"Ah!" Saboor hissed in sudden realization. The cold wind had frozen her limbs, and the mehndi was not helping at all. She dabbed the cotton ball in the bowl and squeezed out the excess, then dabbed it gently on her coloured skin, just as she remembered her mother do.
A tear brushed past her cheeks and dipped into her chin.
Tonight was her last night in this house. It was the last night that she was a single woman, and tomorrow, she was going to leave this house, this family, and this life; forever. Then why did her mother not come to reassure her? Why, oh, why was she left alone and unadvised at such an important moment in her life? She had from others that their mothers stayed up all night, catering to them, comforting them, telling them tales, and giving them advice. Then why had her mother distanced herself from her?
Saboor wiped her tears with the tissue nearby and sat upright, her arms resting on her knees, and her knees bent towards her chest. She looked out the window, and the moon shone radiantly on her bed. The glitter of her wedding dress increased in the brilliance of on the moonlight, and for once, she kept gazing at the dress.
Tomorrow was going to be life-changing.
A dim ringtone and a lit-up screen brought Saboor's attention to her phone. She held the tissue paper between her palm and the phone, and brought it closer to her.
The caller ID made it apparent who wanted to talk to her.
"Saboor aapi? Assalamu alaykum," whispered Manhaa from the other end.
"Walaykum assalam, Manhaa," she spoke, her cautious gaze at the bedroom door.
"I hope I didn't disturb you..." she dragged.
"No," was the only thing Saboor could say.
"Aapi, uh, bhai wanted to talk to you," she said. Her style of speech indicated that someone was urging her.
"Okay," she barely mouthed. There was shuffling on the other end of the call.
And then, his warm voice crackled through the call. "Saboor?"
Hearing her name through his voice lowered her voice even more. "Jee?"
"Tum...theek ho?"
"Jee."
"Raat bahot ho gayi hai, soyi kyoun nahin?" His voice carried enough concern to be noticed by her.
"Neend nahin aa rahi thi." Her answers were short and clipped.
"Kal humaara nikaah hai," he said.
"Hm..."
"Tum raazi to ho naa?"
She paused for a moment, and a soft blush crept along her cheeks. Even after all this while, when the henna of his name was already drawn on her arms, he didn't shy away from asking for consent. And while it would've seemed hilarious to some, to Saboor, it was enlightening. No one had been so concerned about her. No one had asked for her wellbeing. Even her mother, the woman who had birthed and nursed her, had abandoned her in the time she needed her.
But he was still there.
"Agar main raazi naa houn to?" Despite her question, Muzammil felt the joking smile on her face through her voice.
"To main majnu bann jaaunga. Tumhaara intezaar karounga."
"Kab tak karengay mera intezaar?"
"Budhha ho jaunga lekin tumhaara intezaar karounga. Meray sabr ko aazma lo."
Another genuine smile came onto her face. "Nahin aazmaungi. Aapkay naam ki mehndi lagi hai meray haathoun mein."
"To buss, nikaah ke baad tum meri ho jaaogi, aur main tumhaara." He looked up at the same full moon that she stared at. "So jaao, kahin aankhoun ke neechay halkay na aa jaaein."
"Allah haafiz," she whispered.
"Allah haafiz," he replied, and hung up. A chaste smile was plastered on his face, for he had overcome his suspicions one last time. Tomorrow, there was going to be no denial, no excuses.
It would just be him and her.
~
All evening, Muzammil was teased and tortured by his cousins. They had confiscated his phone, and hidden it in different places at different times, and each time, he was unsuccessful in finding it. After a good scolding from Muzammil's taayi, his uncle's wife, did everyone finally disperse from the ordeal. But they still refused to give back his phone.
Tired of searching and yawning with drowsiness, he had knocked on Manhaa's door and called her outside. Explaining the situation to her, he took her phone, but only on the condition that he'll get her chocolates every single week.
Muzammil was a fool in love, desperate for the phone, and simply agreed to anything and everything. Now, as he walked back to his room, he noticed the silence in the house. The ladies had finally gone to sleep after hours of scrubbing pots and narrating stories, and the kids had retired to the rooms to sleep as well. Manhaa had gone to sleep too, and now, he was the only one awake.
He opened the door to his room; one that would soon be hers as well. In a corner, lay the boxes containing the bride's gift. By tomorrow afternoon, it would be all ready and set for her, and then, in the night, he would finally reveal it to her. His cousin brothers and Moustafa had helped him a lot in the entire process, and tomorrow, they would come into his room and help him again.
Muzammil sat on the floor, his knees pushed up against his chest. His hands rested on his knees, and his chin rested on his hands. He imagined her, sitting by the window, engrossed in a book, her brows in a deep furrow. Then, perhaps, as she pranced about the shelves, searching for a new book to read. And the day she would walk up to him, saying she finished all the books, he would sit up all night once again, emptying the shelves and filling them with new books, and he would surprise her in the morning.
His beloved fiancée had a love for books, from what Aynoor had told him. She had a little library in her room which he had glanced once, but he wanted to give her something bigger, better and something that she could call her own.
Along with him, that is.
~
In the aftermath of the emotionally charged night, Saboor found herself waking up unusually late the next morning. The sunlight had already begun to dance across the room, casting fleeting shadows upon the walls. Her slumber, though belated, seemed to provide a much-needed respite from the haunting thoughts that had kept her awake into the early hours. As she stirred awake, the weight of the impending nikaah lingered like a faint echo in her mind. However, to her surprise, there was a peculiar tranquility in the air. The bustling sounds of the household had receded, granting her an unexpected calmness.
A soft knock at the door preceded the entrance of Aynoor, who peeked in with a gentle smile. "Ammi said to let you rest a bit longer," she whispered, her eyes conveying a silent understanding of Saboor's emotions.
Saboor managed a faint smile in return, grateful for the silent acknowledgment from her sister. The permission to remain in solace amidst the whirlwind of wedding preparations was an unexpected yet welcome gesture from her family.
Alone in the quiet of her room, Saboor lay still for a while longer, the morning light painting a serene tableau across the walls. She embraced this fleeting moment of solitude, a sanctuary amidst the chaos that had consumed the household. It was a rare allowance, a moment of solace gifted to her by her family on this significant day. As she lay there, thoughts swirled within her, mingling with the muted calmness that enveloped her room, preparing her for the day that awaited, the day that would redefine her life's course.
~
Some time later, Aynoor entered the room carrying a tray laden with breakfast, a somber atmosphere enveloping her. She carefully set the tray down, arranging the plates quietly, her movements tinged with an unspoken apprehension.
Saboor sat at the edge of her bed, her demeanor surprisingly composed. Aynoor's eyes darted around, avoiding direct eye contact, her unsettled state evident in her muted demeanor.
In a hushed tone, Aynoor uttered words that hung heavy in the air. "What will I do here with you?"
Her voice was laden with an unspoken heaviness, leaving the question lingering without any further explanation.
Saboor's serene composure remained unbroken as she looking at her sister and gently nodded, understanding the weight of the unspoken words. Aynoor had been her companion for most of her life, and for Aynoor, she had been a constant presence. Unlike other sisters, their bond wasn't physically connected, but even knowing that your sister was in the house, or in your room, was more than comforting.
Aynoor, without shedding a tear or showing visible distress, proceeded to arrange Saboor's bed, silently offering her support in the only way she knew how.
As Saboor excused herself for her bath, locking the bathroom door behind her, Aynoor's facade wavered. She sat on the edge of the bed, her emotions breaking through the fragile veneer she had held up until then. Quiet sobs racked her frame as she reached for Saboor's dupatta, using it to dab away the tears that cascaded down her cheeks.
Her sister's impending departure seemed to loom larger in that moment, and Aynoor, without words, conveyed the depth of her emotions, her silent tears soaking the fabric she held tightly.
~
Saboor stood in front of the mirror, the gentle evening light highlighting her face. She carefully put on her mother's wedding lehnga, making sure every fold and layer was just right. Then, she sat down on the stool and looked at her face.
Today, she was plain and unfiltered, clean and pure, ready to head into a new stage of her life. She had silenced her inner demons, and now, there was only peace everywhere.
All her belongings were packed in bags. She picked up a handbag, and took out her makeup, placing it on the table. With her belongings packed and a handbag in hand, she placed her makeup on the table. Opting for a gentle touch, she applied a light, complementary makeup that suited the rich colors of her bridal lehnga, adding a subtle touch of elegance to her appearance.
After finishing her makeup, Saboor delicately draped her dupatta over her hair, securing it gracefully. Then, she carefully placed the net veil over her head and face, covering her face in accordance with tradition. The veil, a symbol of modesty and tradition, shielded her face from curious onlookers, preserving a sense of privacy.
Descending the steps of her home for the final time in her bridal attire, Saboor yearned for her parents' warmth and kindness. However, as she glanced at them, hoping for an embrace or a sign of affection, their expressions remained cold and distant. Meeting their stoic gazes, Saboor's own expression mirrored theirs, a reflection of the unspoken distance and lack of warmth between them. It was a silent moment filled with unfulfilled desires, as her silent wish for tenderness went unanswered, leaving an ache of longing in her heart.
~
Aynoor and Manhaa escorted the bride into the masjid, and led her to the first floor, where the women's quarters were. They helped her take her seat and fixed her dress. Soon, the officiant entered the room, escorted by Mazhar and Luqmaan. Saboor didn't notice their presence until Mazhar placed a comforting hand on her head. She looked up through her veil, and seeing him smile with fatherly love, looked down again. She didn't dare to look at her own father.
"Saboor, bint Luqmaan, ba-haq mahr bees laakh rupay sikka-e-rayjul-waqt, aapka nikaah, Muzzamil Abdallah, ibn Mazhar Abdallah ke saath, aapko nikaah qubool hai?" The officiant's solemn voice echoed in the room, the question marking the beginning of a new chapter in Saboor's life.
Saboor whispered softly, "Qubool hai."
As Saboor sat, her hands shaking while signing the marriage papers during the evening nikaah, a tear silently trickled down her cheek, carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. In that fragile moment, Israa, her understanding and empathy palpable, moved closer, embracing Saboor tenderly. Feroza sat behind, still as a statue, watching the scene unfold.
For once, Aynoor glanced at her mother from where she sat, confused. Why was she not near her daughter? She whispered to her mother, trying not to make a scene in the crowd, but when her mother looked up at her, Aynoor fell silent. To Feroza, today was a regular Wednesday evening, and she just happened to be present at her daughter's wedding.
~
Once the ceremony was over, all the women gathered around the bride to congratulate her. A similar scene was being mirrored downstairs in the men's hall, where the groom was. Then, as refreshments were served in both the halls, Manhaa and Aynoor took the bride to a little quarter, concealed with a thick curtain at the door. They helped her sit on a chair and fixed her veil, covering her face with it once more, and then, left the room.
"Assalamu alaykum," she heard the voice, and her eyelids fluttered.
"Walaykum assalam," she barely managed to whisper. Suddenly, the veil over her head felt so heavy that she couldn't look up, and so did her eyes. She looked down at her mehndi-covered hands, which had a sheen of sweat on them, like the gold jewelry she had worn.
Despite her lowered head, she could hear his footsteps coming towards her. His feet stopped at the corner of her gaze, and she stilled, not knowing what would come next.
"Bahot haseen lag rahi ho."
"Shukriya," she murmured. He kneeled to his knees, surprising her.
"May I?" he asked, holding the hem of her veil. She barely nodded, and he gently took off her veil, carefully setting it at the top of her forehead.
"Ma shaa Allah," he breathed, his lips parted in awe. She only looked up for a moment, and then, looked down again. Her heart was flipping about.
Her tipped her chin upward, forcing her to look at him. "Meri taraf dekhogi bhi nahin?"
"Aap- aap aisay dekhengay to nazrein nahin mila paaungi," she murmured in a slow voice.
"Aadat daal lo, abb to main roz tumhay aisay hi dekhunga," he replied smartly, and kissed her forehead. Her eyes fell shut, and her breathing increased, causing her to hold her dress tightly in her fist.
~
After two rakaahs of nafl prayer to thank The Almighty, the groom took his permission to leave along with the bride. In the midst of the typical wedding emotions where the bride often sheds tears bidding her family farewell, Saboor remained composed as she said her goodbyes. Awkwardly embracing her mother, she kissed her forehead. Shortly after, she approached her father, resting her head against his chest and kissing the back of his hand. He let go almost immediately, leaving her to sense the coldness in his manner. Next, she embraced Aynoor, her little sister, who, though almost in tears, managed to hide her emotions. Locking arms with her new husband, they walked out of the mosque, greeted by a cascade of flower petals courtesy of Moustafa, sparking genuine laughter among the entire baraat.
At this point, Manhaa had assumed the role of the maid of honor, assisting Saboor with her dress as she entered the car.
"Are you coming along too?" Saboor inquired.
"No, no, aapi, we'll follow in a car behind; this one's for you both!" With that, Manhaa closed the door. On the other side, her groom sat, gracing her with a grin. He secured his seatbelt and then leaned over her, fastening her seatbelt too. Saboor's eyes widened, and her cheeks turned crimson.
"No running away now," he joked, and she silently laughed while he chuckled aloud.
~
Throughout the journey, Muzammil drove slightly slower than usual, admiring the 'beautiful view' he had been blessed with. Upon reaching home, a light dinner awaited everyone. The bride and groom were promptly escorted to a makeshift pavilion where chairs and tables were arranged for the guests.
After dinner, the fun began.
Seated on the floor, all of Muzammil's cousins gathered around him and Saboor. Muzammil's taayi jee brought a copper platter filled with diluted milk and rose petals. The young crowd erupted in excitement, while the elders on the sofas laughed, reminiscing about their own times. Taayi jee retrieved the wedding rings from the fingers of the bride and groom. She tied them both together with a thread, dipping them into the platter and swirling them in the liquid before, with a flourish, revealing her empty hand - the rings were gone!
Muzammil playfully glanced at Saboor and then pulled up his sleeve, revealing his forearm, ready to play. Saboor licked her lips, a smile forming in her eyes. Both dipped their hands into the platter, fingers wrestling against each other, searching for the elusive rings.
"Muzy! Muzy!"
"Bhabhi! Bhabhi!"
Cheers surrounded them, lost in another track of time, fingertips fighting and scraping the copper floor. Eventually, Muzammil raised his hand out of the platter.
"Arey paagal, wo kaju hai, tujh jaisay ahmakoun ke liye!" Taayi Jee playfully scolded, and everyone laughed at Muzammil, making him laugh at himself.
Soon enough, the attention shifted to the new bride's team. "Bhabhi! Bhabhi!" they cheered on. And soon enough, Saboor lifted her hand, the rings in her palm! Cheers grew louder. Saboor laughed softly, and Muzammil tilted his head with a proud look on his face.
"Bhai! Bhabhi! Next game!" commanded a cousin while the platter was taken away. She sat between the two, and pulled out Saboor's hands. Then, she took Muzammil's warm hands and laid them on hers.
"Dekhein, bhabhi ne itniiii mehnat se aap ke liye mehndi lagaayi hai, to aapka bhi farz bantaa hai naa?" she coyly asked.
"Kaisa farz?" he asked, confused. The only thing he was happy about her was that her hands with in his.
"Aapko inki mehndi mein apna naam dhundnaa hai!"
An older cousin similar in age to Muzammil shouted from the back, "Dekh le Muzy! Tie banaa le! Haar jaayega to poori zindagi biwi ki baat maanni padegi!"
He looked back at the cousin and then back at his wife. Saboor raised her eyebrows, teasing him all the more. All the husbands in the family laughed at the joke.
Muzammil crouched down and leaned into her hands, squinting, peering and searching for his name. God! It was much more difficult then he thought!
Someone teased from the back again, "Chashma laa doun?"
Saboor laughed again, causing Muzammil to cast a wary eye at her. She silently began pointing out with her eyes. When he didn't understand, she dug a nail from her right hand into his palm, causing him to shift focus. When he searched along her right hand, she only barely nodded.
Soft tingles ran down her skin as his fingers ran along her hand. He sure knew what he was doing.
Israa looked at the little eye game from where she sat, and a happy grin settled on her face.
Partners in crime now itself!
~
"Aappiiii! I am so happy you're finally here!" Manhaa exclaimed, hugging the bride from where they both sat on the floor. The games had ended, and now, everyone leaned into the chairs, busy with small talk, too lazy to get up and go to sleep. Israa came towards her daughter and daughter-in-law.
"Achha buss buss, you can hug her all the more tomorrow; now she'll always be here. I'll take her to the room."
"But whyyyy mama? I wanna talk to her more!" Manhaa was whining like a little baby now.
"Manhaa..." one stern glance from Israa had done the trick, and after kissing Saboor's cheek one last time, Manhaa scurried away from the scene.
Israa grinned at Saboor and helped her stand up, and a few cousins fixed her dress, dusting away the rose petals that stuck to the embroidery. Saboor held Israa's hand and followed in her mother-in-law's steps as they made their way to her husband's room, or rather, her new room.
"Welcome," murmured Israa as she opened the door of the bedroom, which was laden with flowers all over. Red roses were neatly arranged in vases throughout the room. A floral pavilion, full of red roses, had been erected over the bed. Watching all this, Saboor got scared and didn't realize when her grip over Israa's hand tightened. Israa silently led her to the bed and made her sit, and handed her a glass of water.
"Ease up," she said, fixing her jewelry. "You are safe here, you don't need to worry one bit."
Israa came and sat beside the young girl, and held her hand once again to reassure her.
"Saboor, bacchay, marriage has its highs and lows. And while I wish the lows never come for you, if they do, Mazhar and I, and...we all, in fact, will be with you. Hm?"
Saboor nodded vigorously. Israa kissed Saboor's forehead, and then, left her alone in the room.
~
Saboor had eased herself in a comfortable sitting position, when she heard a knock on the door.
"Come in," she voiced softly.
Muzammil walked in, and their eyes met. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and for some reason, she was already at peace.
He patiently took off his socks, letting her watch intently, and then, for a moment, disappeared into the washroom, but only to wash his hands, and then, he came closer, and stood by the bed. Gently, he held her by her jaw, and brought her closer to him.
"You look even more fascinating," he whispered against her forehead, and then, kissed her skin.
A tint of red, this time natural, covered Saboor's cheeks. Her lips parted and she let in a breath, way too anxious to speak a word.
He then sat on the bed in front of her, so close, so intimately close to her, that both their heartbeats grew faster and faster. His hand travelled to her dainty one, up her forearm, and eventually to her jaw once again, caressing her skin. He leaned in, and his warm breath brushed over her chin. Tingles ran down her spine.
"May I?" he asked, so near to her lips, that it was making her heart flip about.
"Yes," she whispered, and as soon as the words of melody reached his ears, he crashed his lips into hers.
Theirs wasn't a slow, butterfly kiss. It was rather, one filled with passion and eagerness- as a compensation for the long weeks of waiting. Their upper bodies jostled against each other, fighting their way into each others' mouths. Their hands rustled over the other's face, hair and shoulders, letting out the emotions they could not let out through their lips.
"Congratulations, wife," he panted, pulling away from her face. His hands roamed about on the side of her face, his fingers gently hovering over her cheeks. The warmth, the colour, the shyness and the curiosity, he could feel it all.
He caressed her rouge cheeks gently and sat up straighter. "Go now, change out of these," he said. Saboor nodded immediately and stood up, bunching up her lehnga in her hands. Then, she walked away to the dresser.
"You must feel uncomfortable," he added. She turned, and looked back at him, and seeing the slight worry in his eyes, she gave a small smile. A smile so small, and yet it was one of those which lit up the entire room. And as Muzammil observed her taking off her heavy jewelry and pinning off her dupatta, he had unintentionally mimicked her smile himself.
For Saboor, it would all soon become an epiphany into her new husband's life. This man- she thought- did more with actions than he could ever do with words. he could show his lust, his anger, his restlessness; any emotion that he possessed at the time, he could show it- not with words, but with actions.
She unpinned her lehnga, not before figuring out the lock system of the bathroom. Glancing around, she noticed the grey-white theme throughout every thing her eyes fell on, similar to the room- although it was now painted with bouquets of red roses all over.
Saboor worked her way through the new mechanisms of her new room, and came to bed half an hour later. Muzammil had dressed down too, now in a white cotton kurta and pajamas.
"Come here," he said, motioning her to come close to him. She adjusted the dupatta on her shoulder, and slowly walked close to him. In every step of hers, he patiently gazed at her, marveling the magic she had done on him. In a plain blue salwar suit and delicate hands adorned with henna stains, she looked more more beautiful than ever.
Or maybe, with every passing moment, he was falling for her even more.
"I don't know if you noticed..." he began, gently leading her forward, "that this portion of the room was covered."
He pointed in the direction near the window, where a wall was covered with a large white linen. Saboor shook her head; in the muddle of her lehnga and all the people around her, she hadn't even noticed the rest of the room. Stumbling closer to him, she shook her head once again. He turned towards her and looked down at her face.
Gosh, I am so lucky.
God has blessed me.
"Ye tumhaari moun-dikhaai hai," he whispered. He led her forward, gently pushing her from the small of her back, and ushered her to take off the covers. As she revealed the wall, a breath caught in her throat, escaping in a sudden, astonished exhale. She just had to touch her face, as if to double-check if what she was seeing was actually real.
"What's wrong?" he asked, quickly stepping in front of her and gently pulling her hands away from her face, worry evident in his tone.
"You... You did this for me?" she whispered meekly. He nodded slowly in response.
"It's your gift, all yours," he added, a faint smile touching his lips. She walked forward and grazed along the shelves, mentally skimming through the titles of the books therein. An entire wall filled with books- never had she thought this dream of hers would come true.
His reassuring gaze and gentle touch enveloped her, reassuring her once more. It made her believe that someone had yearned for her, valued her deeply, and had patiently awaited her arrival. Even in moments of loneliness and doubt, he had held her in his thoughts, wished for her, and that realization brought a warmth that thawed the chill of solitude she had often felt.
"Thank you," she murmured, sinking into his embrace and nestling her head into the curve of his neck. He held her close, reciprocating the embrace, his hand gently tracing up and down her back in a comforting rhythm.
~
You touch me like I am everything you asked God for
Underneath your hands, I become poetry
This is the alchemy that you do