He hated it here.
The current state of affairs was deplorable for his liking. He was stuck at Pasha House against his will, and now struggling to breathe within the confines of this tiny washroom that felt hotter even though the cool breeze of Karachi displayed signs of its constant presence.
He rubbed the turmeric paste off his face diligently while his eyes darted toward the five-foot-two-inch vixen who stood against the door frame sniggering at his dishevelled state. He knew she was thinking about him, cooking another disaster to create further problems for him, or preparing another scheme to further annoy him. He noticed the way she pushed her tongue to the inner side of her cheek, her eyes glued to his while she suppressed the chuckle caught on her lips.
He registered washing the yellow stain off his white shirt that coming here was a bad idea.
But he was forced and threatened. When succumbing to the threats he had no idea what a series of disasters awaited him from the moment he entered Pasha House. It took exactly 45 minutes for him to reach this neighbourhood.
Pasha House- He had never made this frequent visit to a place that made him sacrifice his time, energy and meetings. But he'd always found himself making his way to these streets and now he felt he could come here even with closed eyes given how well he knew about the routes. There was something about Pasha House. Maybe the people who lived here or its smell that always intrigued him. It always smelled of warmth and when you'd enter the house it seemed there was a sumptuous meal being prepared on the stove, the broth boiling to its core and its aroma spread around the house. It also smelled like tealeaves burning in hot water, it wasn't a surprise given how much tea a certain someone consumed. But today it smelled of turmeric, marigolds, and sweetness. The cool breeze mixed with laughter and giggles had a soothing effect. But the house despite the sense of lee it carried reeked of danger. Whenever he'd visit this place, his gut would tell him that something was about to go wrong. He wasn't to be blamed, the first time he came here, he had to jump off the wall like a thief. Ironically, things hadn't changed much since that day.
Pasha House was still the same and he still had to face "a series of unfortunate events" at this place and be subjected to the excruciating presence of this girl. In today's episode of What Could Go Wrong at Pasha House, he was attacked by a bowl of haldi. He had already been enraged after a conversation with Pasha Saab and some unpleasant scenes at the Haya's haldi event but this attack crossed all limits, leaving him infuriated, and he was sure that coming here was a terrible terrible decision he made on the whim of pleasing someone and surrendering to their threats.
Nothing could go well when she was around. How wonderful it would've been had he stayed home and attended this important Zoom meeting with a client. He didn't want to think about the damage it caused to cancel it.
He stared at her vile reflection in the mirror. The mirror not only reflected the way she relished his ordeal but also the striking yellow she flaunted throughout the evening. He told himself that he hated the yellow on her, simultaneously making a mental note that this colour wasn't among his list of most likeable colours from now onwards. He had always loved black anyway, there was no way he could like or even appreciate yellow. It stung his eyes,. He assured himself and repeated it in his head multiple times.
Sniffing in anger, he seized the towel she was holding in her hands as if she wasn't the one responsible for putting him through this in the first place. He didn't miss the blatant display of tease on her face, the way she rolled her eyes at him- those eyes. Why does she have to have such pretty eyes? They reminded him of Bambi, the animated movie he watched when he was 7. He couldn't even recall the plot but her eyes had always reminded him of Bambi.
Fuck.
A glance at those orbs made him realize she could have gone with less eyeshadow maybe. Itna bh tyar honay ki kya zaroorat th. No wonder the men around wouldn't stop ogling at her. But it didn't bother him. He was least concerned. He wasn't concerned with the way the eyeliner made her eyes look prominent and prettier than they were.
Shut the fuck up, will you? Get a hold of yourself, man. You are mad at her,
The terrible yellow jora she was wearing with a red net dupatta was stinging his eyes actually. Yes, it was.
Totally.
Absolutely.
Those colourful sleeves clad with sequins complimented her skin and he wondered if it would nip his flesh if he held her close. She was wearing a flat khussa thankfully, because had she been in heels it was most likely she would've tripped not that he doubted her ability to run a marathon in a stiletto. Her beautifully decked honey-coloured dress- only the dress, he was only complimenting the dress, shimmered beautifully under the golden lights of the bathroom.
Her luscious black locks framed her back, a part of it uncovered and held by two fancy threads hanging low, they whisked together throughout the evening whenever she skipped around her house. However, she didn't cover her unclad back when she twirled in the hall with her cousins and friends, to the tunes of music played in the background. It didn't go unnoticed when her back was visible to the lecherous eyes of men ogling at her unabashedly.
He hated it here.
How could she be so oblivious to things around her or she loved getting on his nerves with these antics? He assumed it was both.
He wiped his face begrudgingly pulling his best grump expression that left hundreds tremble in fear but never her. It was only Umeed Pasha who had the audacity to put him in place, and he had no shame in admitting it only to himself, the rest of the world could go without this piece of information.
He handed over the napkin back, not missing the way her fingers brushed against his.
"Hogya aapka?" She asked pulling the softest voice she could, not that he was someone to be affected by such antics. He was Farjaad Khan Bahadur, people had tried to lure him but he always knew better. He could never be fooled.
"Masla kya hai tumhara" He seethed.
He waited for her answer but it wasn't answered verbally. Instead, he was jerked towards this tiny human as if it was the easiest thing for her to do. It was he who went to the gym, he was the one who was twice her size but she was the only one around whom his body seemed to have given up. He felt even if she took him to hell holding his hand, he'd swift away. From the day he came to her house the first time with that watch and she held him by his wrist, an unnamed force, gravity or something else pulling him towards her, to this day, his body maybe knew better than he did.
She was holding the wet lapel of his white shirt, and her eyes- those mesmerizing eyes he tried to ignore for the last 90 minutes were confident in her doings. She looked fierce and breathtakingly beautiful. The moment his eyes fell on her this evening, he had this raging desire in his heart to hold her in his arms and never let go of the petite frame that fit so well in his embrace every single time.
The way she chirped around, laughed and teased Mimi but didn't spare a single glance at him didn't sit well with him.
But that was not even the main problem.
Things went ahead and the yellow on her wasn't making things easy for his abysmal heart.
He hated it here (not, absolutely not)
"Hi" She whispered instantly standing on her toes and reaching his left ear, her hand clutching his shirt for support. She always struggled to reach him but eventually did, he could never fathom HOW. Her lips brushed the outline of his earlobe and he could sense the lingering smile playing on her face. He wished to answer back but his grumpy self admonished him recalling the events of the last 90 minutes.
He hated yellow. He hated yellow, he tried reminding himself but his brain knew better, how could he not succumb to the advances of this girl in front of him- who looked ravishing tonight? He had brought this upon himself, he should've thought before asking her to wear this jora when she called him last night presenting multiple options in front of him. He couldn't even recall why he settled for this yellow.
Kuch aur pehen leti tou konsa tumharay ausaan khataa nahi honay thay farjaad khan bahadur.
He expected her to stop there and get back on her feet so he could look into her eyes and mirror his narazgi. But she didn't stop. She put extra effort into using her toes beyond their capacity and reach his height.
Her metal earring scraped against his moist nape about which she told him that he needed to wipe it off better but she was generous enough to do it for him. He didn't ask for this generosity tonight Umeed Pasha, no he totally did, could she be more generous to him?
He closed his eyes in reaction to her lips pressed against his flesh under her mercy.
She stumbled and on instinct, his palms secured on the curve of her hips. He wanted to let out a silent "dihaan se" but he was mad, He was beyond angry at her and her yellow dress, those big eyes and those lips that wouldn't be able to work their charm tonight. He won't melt. Not at all.
"Baday rishtay aa rahay hain tumhare suna hai" he spoke with difficulty resisting the urge to pin her against the door frame and avenge her for putting him through the painful ordeal. It wasn't an easy task to be here in this house watching her totter around wearing that jora, her smile reaching her beautiful eyes, her laughter mixed with the songs played in the background, her playful touch on his back when nobody was looking around, but still, he was unable to touch her, hold her close, look into her eyes and drown himself in the affection they exuded only and only for him. It annoyed him to see her chit-chatting with everybody around but they had to pretend to hate each other, continue with the facade for god knows how long. How he wished he could bury his face in her arms that were too small for his built but he had never felt more settled in life. If this torment wasn't enough already, he had to witness strangers gawking at his woman shamelessly. He knew the woman he was secretly dating left everyone around her stupendous, but this stingy jealous side of his, where he wanted to this one person in his life to belong to him alone. He was not ready to share her and some random men putting their eyes on her set him ablaze. But today felt like the whole Pasha clan had decided to make him regret coming here.
While the eldest Pasha daughter pulled her theatrics, it was Pasha Saab who told him, in fact properly consulted him about some proposals he was getting for Umeed. His nostrils flared at the thought and if had to be honest the back of his eyes burnt.
Why was he being told that Pasha Saab's friends were interested in making Umeed their daughter-in-law?
"Aaa rahay honge mujhe kya," she murmured continuing the assault on his neck, pecking the skin inch by inch, careful not to leave a mark this time.
"Tou phir kis se karne ka irada hai? Wou tumhara rishtaydaar who wouldn't stop staring at you ya phir Pasha Uncle kay dost ka wou beta jo tumhe laa laa kr sharbat de raha tha?" He hated how he sounded like a 7-year-old boy cribbing about not getting a cake of slice at his friend's birthday. But with Umeed, he had stopped caring about how silly, how childish he sounded sometimes. As much as he loved baby-ing her, adoring her tantrums and attitude, his insides erupted in joy when she hovered around him, treated him like a kid and never settled until he was back to being normal.
Yes, he loved being vulnerable around her.
A dramatic "HAIN?" came out and he flinched at the detachment of her limbs from his. Her doe-shaped eyes now carried a hint of confusion and irritation.
Did she actually not know or was she always this clueless? Wese you hrr cheez ka pata hota hai issay, he thought to himself.
"Umeed, tum achay se jaanti hou kis bareme baat kr raha hoon mein." He pointed his index finger at her, his tone accusing her and he felt as if he sounded like a desperate kid in front of her.
So vulnerable yet it felt satisfying.
"Acha gussa matt karein naa, dont worry I will handle pasha saab." her words carried an assurance that he always sought in life. He needed that assurance when his father passed away. He needed it when he faced the first major financial loss during this first term as a CEO. He needed it when he felt crumbling under the weight of responsibilities. But he never admitted it to himself until Umeed came into his life.
At first, he was oblivious to it but among so many other emotions that Umeed had to offer, that he became greedy for, he became needy for her assurances as well.
He also felt that it was her secret weapon against him that gladly allowed her to use along with her eyes that turned soft when she wanted him to agree, or her lips that she'd pout and his insides turned into a marshmallow or the way she'd speak to him in that voice. Sometimes in that adorable manner or with that austere tone that scared him more than losing an important business deal.
"Shirt bh kharab kr di tumne meri, meeting th meri" he carped, testing her limits by throwing another tantrum checking how much he could test her tonight.
"Tou utaar doon kya?" The words came out naively as she took a step towards him fluttering her eyes but he knew better, her voice and smirk didn't betray the intentions behind those words.
His heart doing a somersault.
And suddenly the only remnants of his grumpiness were gone. He was back to being Farjaad- the boy hopelessly in love with this toofan e badtameezi. He leered back, capturing her frame in his hold.
The handiwork of her dress brushed against his arm and the thought exhilarated him. She was so close, he was holding her, umeed pasha was his to love. His arms wrapped around her curves, the yellow dress that he tried hating now felt prettier. Those embellishments with sharp edges scraped his skin but he didn't bother and buried his face in the crook of her neck. This is what pasha house also smelled like.
It smelled like "Her," of tea and apples and cocoa. He inhaled the fragrance letting it tingle his insides and untangle him of the tautness engulfing him when the mere thought of this woman not being in his life anymore pressed his heart.
Note : Kasamse mere zehn mein kuch aur tha aur likha kuch aur gya hai. this was supposed to end differently but nvm. please tell me it makes me farmeed secretly dating each other look sexier. for the first time I am not satisfied with the dialogues I wrote. Please pester me to write a part two of this oneshot (okay don't, I have a chapter of another fanfic to write before ramadan)