BARAK
. . .
"Tomorrow is your engagement with Mikayla Uriel, the girl you hate to the core. She burns your entire existence but you're ready to let her be your wife."
Through the narrow ways of my eyes that find no interest in the sight before me, I dart my attention to Arad. His arm raises leisurely as to hold the white stick between his fingers and let the gray smoke be released through his mouth. The ashy odor is sick.
"Strange, isn't it?"
"Love is not only blind..."
"It's dumb, deaf and crazy, too."
Humorless laughter spills throughout the silent cabin of mine, caged by the glass walls.
"But here, it's hatred, right?"
"What runs through his mind, I wonder."
"You better not know," I finally chip in, lowering my eyelids to the screen of my phone that burns my eyes.
I scroll down, having nothing else to do and her picture pops in. The one that was sent to me when I was in America. My heart hushes to the soul of mine about her beauty.
"Why? Is it dark or funny?"
"No, it's madness. Dawood's madness. Don't blame him for he himself is trying to know."
Asaf talks to stand by my side, I know that. His words always catch my attention, being so out of the world yet so impressive.
Gentleness is poured on my lips. I shut down my phone and put it on the table.
"Can you talk about something else?" I want them to shut their mouths about it, simple. I don't know what is so interesting about this.
"No, we want you to change your decision—"
"Why would he deny Mikayla? She's an extraordinary beauty!"
"So she finally charmed him, yeah?"
"Aww, Barak Dawood is under spell; his enemy's spell."
I don't say anything. Just listen to them. It's stupidity to even say anything to drunkards. Remaining those who don't drink, like me, have left hours ago. Why would they even wait? It's already past midnight.
"Under a witch's spell," Arad grumbles in his outdated jealousy as if correcting the other while crushing the head of his cigarette and taking a sip of wine. "Aren't you?" He arches his brow at me.
"You say anything," I shake my head, "Outer appearance may fascinate my eyes but my heart reacts to what my Lord wills."
"Then why her? Why would you ruin your life?"
"Having a beautiful wife like Mikayla in one's embrace is a ruin of life? Explain, Mr Silvanus?"
I pick up the lid of my pen and shoot it right between his eyebrows. So hard and sharp that he groans.
Rufus laughs, collapsing on the floor. The wine spills over the tiled floor of my cabin while Rufus is rolling beside it. I hope he doesn't get hurt because of the shards of the glass.
"What was that for?" Rosh, who got the reward for his over-slipping tongue, asks, caressing his forehead which has turned pink now.
"Am I not aware of your dirty mind?" Confusion masks his face. "Go to sleep, you're tired." He obeys, going towards the couch and embracing the small pillow.
"You hurt him badly." Arad scratches his brow, his lips curling up in a very subtle smirk. And none of us is sympathizing with Rosh.
"He'll forget everything by the morning," I remind Arad, "And I couldn't remain mum, listening to him talking nonsense."
"Why do you even care, bro?" Rufus asks after recovering and grabbing back his seat.
"Because she's my to-be wife."
Asaf smiles behind the rim of the glass, silently savoring the wine. He's always been like that. A less-spoken man with a great listening ability. He was always this reserved but a secret artist; a poet. His wife is always impressed with him. Even his anger is sweet to her.
"You're respecting a girl who doesn't even deserve it."
"I'm raised like that. Can't change my morals just because of a childish emotion."
"And you're ready to stand by her side by going against us." You guys are my good friends.
"Mikayla is a cruel girl who tramples emotions underneath her heels. She can wound you beyond imagination and leave without an ounce of remorse."
"Is that a warning?" I gaze at Rufus, cocking a brow.
"Are you in love, we must ask?" Arad cuts in confusion as he puts down the wine glass. The crimson liquid inside bounces, meeting the brim as he puts the glass on his reflection.
"Not yet."
"Who can even love her?" Rufus chuckles half-heartedly as he rolls his eyes. "Only her beauty is an asset." The same beauty made him wag his tail behind her but I will not say it.
Now if it is about her trampling emotions underneath her heels, I can overlook her cruelty. She can learn after our marriage. People change.
"Want some?" Asaf asks, showing me the bottle of beer. I decline. He shrugs his shoulders and latches his mouth to the bottle, emptying it quickly.
Arad sighs. "You have expectations with her, right?" I nod my head. I have told her the same and she told me not to daydream.
No, I have prayed till midnights.
"Marrying Mikayla and then loving her will take you to the burning depths, Barak. All that you will have in the end is going to be your heart broken."
"Agar Dil-e-Sher nadaari, Safar-e-Ishq nako." Asaf winks, chuckling on his own. Arad rolls his eyes and Rufus claps his hands though he understands nothing. I bet.
(If you don't have the heart of a lion, don't travel on the path of love.)
I shall take a risk.
｡ﾉ♡
Her eyes are dark. Reminds me of chocolate, soil, bark, and coffee. They twinkle like stars when it's someone else but become as silent as a seabed when they catch a glimpse of me. The coldness of graveyards is found in them where emotions are buried deep into the earth's crust and names are long forgotten.
So the way it is now. Still, how beautiful they are. I can't help but admire them. She is made beautifully. Through the very hands of the most amazing Creator.
Reluctance fades from her actions as she gives me her hand. I hold it gently, interlacing our fingers. Her hand is cold, fitting perfectly in my hand.
Giving her a small smile which I can't contain, I take her with me to the place which was decorated for us. With garlands dangling from above and satins covering the settees.
We sit together, and it is then I find us to be surrounded by smiling faces and sparkling eyes.
Are we that admirable? — Deep inside I wonder about us. They say we look good together and our names are pretty when spoken together. I highly doubt it yet with this crazy heart, I find it pretty and pleasant.
I turn and glance at Mikayla who is muttering something under her breath as I see her glossy lips moving. Nose is scrunched but pink hues cover her cheeks. Bright enough to catch my attention like the lilac and mauve sky while the sun is sinking into the horizon.
"Itna kyun sharma rahi ho?" I am genuinely excited to know. I rarely have seen her like that, after all.
(Why are you feeling so shy?)
All of a sudden, like I have caught her stealing something, she turns to look at me. "I'm not," that's her reply in a low muffled tone and pretty eyes flickering around, refusing to match mine which they always do in raw fury.
Don't I know she is lying?
But I only hum, not wanting to pull her leg already. I have plenty of time to do that.
"Pyari lag rahi ho," I say after a sweet pause of silence between us as I stare at her side profile.
(Looking lovely.)
I'm not lying and the Knower of hearts knows that. He has created her this beautiful, after all. How can anyone blame me? Her beauty is irresistible and my eyes, hungry.
Her earrings are silver and they chime. Dark wavy locks frame her cute face, kissing those cheeks as she smiles at whoever stands in front of her. Her head is covered with this pretty scarf. Seems heavy. So is her jewelry. She will have to bear more because Mama will give her a pair of gold bracelets, studded with diamonds. They will look pretty on her. I just hope she likes them.
Because they are chosen by me.
"Not something new," she replies, sounding as sour as always but confident. I don't mind that.
"But not the day." I shrug, grinning at her.
Soon enough her nephew arrives, hopping like a rabbit. His dark hair bounces in the air and as he grins at us, I notice a vacant place in his toothy grin.
He just lost a tooth.
"Uncle Barak, you're finally here!" He climbs the settee and hugs me tight.
I wrap my arm around his body as he kisses my cheek. "You were waiting for me?"
"Of course! Everybody here was waiting for you! You're here to take Bua ji with you na." He sounds eager to send her away.
Is she that annoying?
His cousins nod their heads in excitement, surrounding us.
"And you're happy about it?" She mutters, "I too am not very fond of staying here any longer."
Oh, she just got angry.
"Tum kaho to kal hi baarat le aau?" I wiggle my brows and so her nephews and nieces laugh.
(If you say, should I bring the wedding procession tomorrow itself?)
"Kuch samjh aya jo daat dikha rahe ho?" Her target is Ayaz who falls silent, making a face. Poor boy.
(Did you understand anything that you are showing your teeth?)
However, he goes to Mikayla and cups her face in his small hands. I watch it amusedly while Aurora comes to sit beside me and her cousins start talking to me, asking me cute things. I have to keep my attention on either side.
"Pyari Bua ji, why do you get angry at me?"
(Lovely Aunt.)
Mikayla watches him closely before she mutters, "The chocolate you were trying to find last night is in my bedroom, on the nightstand."
"Really?" And he dashes away, followed by his cousins. I watch them running upstairs in sequence.
"You hid that kid's chocolate?"
"I finished it."
"So childish."
"You care a lot about him, huh? Oh yeah, why wouldn't you? You're his teacher and he's your disciple, after all."
Without waiting for my reply, she looks away. Our family members come to greet and meet us. Many of her relatives I have never known are also here. So is with her when she finds my father's sister's family coming to meet her.
We are blessed by everyone and I'm happy about it. Mikayla is sulking beside me and when it is over, she turns to face me, glaring right into my eyes. I raise my arm to pat the side of my chest where my heart dwells.
As sweet and charming her face is with those cherub features that hover about the third heaven, as sharp are her eyes when she is annoyed and she targets me alone. Two-edged swords don't remain as lethal as the daggers she shoots through them.
And I'm so used to them stabbing my heart over and over again that I don't mind taking it once again.
Her plump and pink lips curl in compulsion, contrary to the fire burning in her eyes as she mutters, "Bohot khush nazar aa rahe ho?"
(Looking so happy aren't you?)
"Aaj hamari sagai jo hai."
(Today it's our engagement, after all.)
She purses those lips while I watch her amusedly. It is fun annoying her.
"Betaab the is din ke liye?"
(Were eager for this day?)
"Kyun? Betaab hona gunah hai?"
(Why? Is being eager a crime?)
"Kaun jaane ye betaabi tumhe bhari pad jaye?"
(Who knows, this desperation may prove to be too much for you?)
She warned me already. My friends warned me already. My sister has also shown her concern and my cousins too worry about it but I have chosen to suffer if suffering comes because I know it is going to be pleasant as long as the Lord my God is with me.
If it will make me regret it, let it happen.
I smile as the words I received pass through my mind. "Vo mera Khuda dekh lega," I say as easily as it was easy to believe. I trust Him. He will never let me down.
(That my God will see.)
"Do you two intend to look at each other the whole day?"
I hear my to-be mother-in-law's happy chirp as she teases us. Mikayla frowns at her mother while I turn to look at her.
"You alone are interested in looking at your pyare damad ji," she answers in the same tone she has been answering me.
(Lovely son-in-law.)
"Why wouldn't I?" She gently holds my chin as she makes me look at her, "After all, my to-be son-in-law looks so smart and handsome in this attire. Well, every time."
I smile at her. Mikayla scoffs.
As my mother has told me about everything that would happen before exchanging rings, I know I would have to let Aunt Damaris do as she pleases. Like taking out a turban and putting it on my head, being a tradition. Not like we are bound by it but I know it is fun doing such things, holding less value than the commandments of God.
A crest is also decorated on my red turban. This is the gift they have given me. This crest. I genuinely admire it, being a silent admirer of gemstones like my mother.
My mother also came and as I knew, she put on the bracelets around Mikayla's wrists. I find a genuine glow on her face and the same heartfelt smile when she looks at them.
When asked, she replies, "They are so precious."
"Tumhe pasand aaye, humein khushi hai."
(You liked it, we're pleased to know.)
Good that my mother didn't tell her it was my choice or she wouldn't even look at them next time.
The time comes for our rings to get exchanged. Mikayla, like every time, remains stoic. It is only our relatives that make her smile. But for me, she only has that one hateful look saved in her eyes.
I am used to it.
While everybody is happy when we exchange our rings, she quickly steals her gaze as soon as I put the ring on her finger, like all the things just suffocated her.
Balloons burst and we are showered by flower petals and glittery foils. Some are floating around and the kids are running after them. Everybody congratulates us. Her lips curl into a fake smile. Behind that facade, there is frustration and remorse.
My bride is remorseful after getting engaged with me.
"Tum khush nahi?" I ask, but somewhere in my heart, I already know the answer.
(Aren't you happy?)
She stares at the ring on her finger, answering me quietly, "Bilkul nahi."
(Definitely not.)
The flower petals keep falling from above. They fall above us, between us, while I stare into her dark eyes as she raises them to acknowledge me.
"We can try, Mikayla." I have nothing better to say at the moment. I hope she understands.
"Not with you, Barak," she mutters in distaste, hiding the ring under her palm.
｡ﾉ♡
Mikayla is a person who easily masks her emotions in a fleeting moment. One moment, she is angry and all of a sudden, she is laughing over silly jokes.
What others take it as, I don't care. But as far as I have noticed her, she doesn't like to be sympathized. She detests to be pathetic and not let anyone see her tears. But she never minds showing her anger to others. She doesn't mind losing people because of being real.
But I think she is like a child.
My mind is filled with her thoughts as I watch her dancing among everybody. She looks happy. Very much. But the fact that it is without me is somewhere hurtful. How obvious is the hatred between us two yet everybody thinks we can work out together?
They have expectations.
I also believe God, that Mikayla and I will start getting better together. If not now then surely after some time. I have no problem waiting. Even if it takes years. But I wish not until death. I don't want her to keep hating me for the rest of our lives. We have given only one life, can't waste it just in hating each other.
I will try to become a man she likes.
"Aren't you joining them?"
I look to my side and see it's Rufus. Smiling at me, he sits on a settee placed beside me. There is a rose in his grip, half of it is ruined because Rufus loves shedding petals.
"Don't do that," I raise my eyes from the rose to him, "You want me to?"
"Aren't you happy? You should also join them." He grins, tossing away the rose after I told him not to ruin it. However, it is half ruined now.
When I look back at Mikayla who is now laughing with everybody, blooming like the most beautiful flower in the garden of Eden, I realize how happy she is when I am not around her. Once again.
Her hatred for me speaks volumes of her heart's raging fire. I never thought what was so hateful about me in her eyes.
"No, leave that," I deny politely.
"Come on!" He doesn't stop insisting, "Won't you dance with your bride? I enjoyed it a lot, now sweating." He laughs freely, the sound of it is muffled by the songs being played in the background.
I saw you hovering around my sister and I will talk to you about it tomorrow, Rufus.
A pat on my shoulder pulls my attention and to my amazement, it is my bride. I raise my brow at her, letting go of Rufus.
"Won't you come with us?"
Behind her, I secretly look at the ladies who are whispering to each other. I knew she would not come to me unless she was sent.
"I don't want to."
"Sharm aa rahi hai?" She smirks, arching a brow at me.
(Too shy?)
She remembers how I used to be. How can she forget it? It was always her who pulled me in the middle of the crowd to make me dance, knowing very well I become a statue when it comes to it. She always made fun of me.
"It's okay, I'll tell Mama that her son-in-law is too shy." Giggling, she walks away.
I need to go.
I get up, raising my arm to fork my fingers through my hair but the touch against my turban makes me realize that I can't do it. Rufus laughs. Let it be.
I walk past Mikayla, colliding our arms knowingly as I join others to enjoy myself but annoying my bride is more fun.
As I look above my shoulder, I find her staring at me, scrunching her cute button nose.
I bite back a chuckle, soon pulled by Arad and Asaf, my friends, as we enjoy dancing with each other. I used to be shy. Not anymore. I have learned to lose myself on such occasions to join everybody in happiness.
Loud beats of drums surround us, along with long whistles and laughter. Thank goodness I know this baraati dance.
Amid sweet memories being woven together of my engagement with Mikayla that are so lovely and loud, I feel someone pat my back.
I turn to look behind but there is none. I realized it was Mikayla because the next, there was a slap on my head from behind.
I groan, while she sprints past me, giggling and joining my sister. She gives me a flying kiss, dancing with joy.
Akhsah hides her smile, giving me an apologetic look. I don't mind if she was with her because I know she respects me.
I spotted a copper platter and a few pine baskets filled with roses, daisies, jasmine, and marigolds beside me at some distance.
My friends watch me puzzled as I go to grab a flower.
I take a marigold and aim at Mikayla, hitting her nose. Akhsah and the other ladies laugh. She has no other way than to smile at them before glaring at me, fisting the heavily embroidered fabric of her white lehenga.
I love her reactions.
She comes to me and I stand firm, folding my arms on my chest. I smirk down at her, being taller. I know she won't sit quietly. She seeks revenge.
There is a honey smile spilled on her kissable lips but I'm also very aware of the thoughts that run through her cunning mind.
She bends as I watch her confusedly. She picks up a rose lying at my feet. My gaze falls upon her hand. The harness shines, complimenting her fair skin that is henna-cladded.
She brings the rose to my chest, removing invisible dust from my sherwani with it. Really? As I watch her closely with my narrowed eyes, she raises her hand and hits my nose.
Ow!
She chuckles and winks at me before turning around proudly. Does she really think she can walk away just like that?
She flips her braid and I hold it in the air, pulling her back. But not harshly.
Her hands shoot up to hold her hair as she groans, bangles clanking. Coffee-brown eyes glare up at me beneath those inky and long eyelashes with sweet and fiery intensity as I watch her amusedly.
"Jaane do, Barak," she almost requests, having my heart melted in my chest.
(Let me go, Barak.)
"Nahi jaane dunga," I reply, letting my lips curl into a small smirk.
(I will not.)
She hears it despite the loud beatings of the drums and narrows her eyes at me, pressing those lips tightly.
"Barak, Mikayla!"
I growl under my breath when she pinches my wrist brutally, escaping from my clutch. She sprints to my mother who just called us, and stands behind her, holding her arm.
"Ma, dekho na kinna satata hai ye," she complains, staring at her with those big brown eyes and lying in such a lovely way. How innocent she looks and uses those charms on others.
(Mother, look how much he annoys me.)
"I need to talk to you, Barak." I know I have to listen to an hour-long lecture about this.
She walks away with Mikayla but that little brat doesn't leave without sticking out her tongue at me. Of course, behind my mother.