I was half asleep and wanted to sleep more, but her fragrance abruptly awakened me. It's the jasmine scent she always wears. I opened my eyes only to find her standing in front of me.
Before, when I closed my eyes, I used to see her, and now, even when I open them, I am seeing her. "Aziz, you're losing your mind," I told myself. For the past 24 hours, I haven't seen her, and now, she's everywhere I look.
"Pull yourself together, Aziz," I reassured myself, trying to convince myself it's just another dream of her, that she's not actually here.
But when I hear her voice and when she called me "bhegairat," all my doubts vanished. Is she really here in my room? If it's a dream, I don't want it to end because this is all I desire - her presence with me.
And if it's real, I can't even begin to describe how peaceful I feel right now, seeing her, seeing the woman I've always longed for.
I rose from bed and approached her slowly. She stood motionless like a statue, her cheeks turning into a shade of tomato with each step I took.
My "tomato" looked incredibly cute yet elegantly adorned in that blue attire - kurti, palazzo pants, with a loosely draped blue dupatta covering her head.
Her almond brown eyes avoided meeting mine, but they had a mesmerizing effect on my foolish heart, unlike her voice, which sent shivers down my spine.
How does she have such power over me? No one, absolutely no one, has ever dared to insult me or command me the way she does; she indeed rules over me, not by her actions but simply by her presence.
I was never interested in anyone or their lives, but she made me do things I never imagined doing. I still can't fully describe the feelings her presence evokes in me.
Having her with me is the most gratifying thing, the most precious possession I have, and I don't want to lose her.
She is precious, pure, serene; she is everything, she is my everything. I've never worshipped anyone in my entire life, but now I want to worship her, to keep her by my side.
As I passed by her towards the washroom door, I heard her call me "bhegairat." I felt elated, believing my "uns" was right there with me in my room.
I never imagined that getting caught in the rain could benefit me so much that Ms. Gusrail would actually come to my mansion to see me.
Now, I eagerly await another rainy day, hoping to fall sick again so she'll visit me once more. I might sound crazy, right?
I sometimes think so too, but I'm helpless; my heart is no longer mine. It doesn't beat for me anymore; now, it beats only for her - for my Gusrail "uns."
I gazed at myself in the mirror, then glanced at my wardrobe, pondering what to wear. She was here, and I didn't want to overdo it, lest she suspect I was pretending to be ill.
But I also wanted to look good in front of her. "Ah, Aziz, pick something," I muttered to myself. My eyes landed on the white shirt I wore at her cafe, and the memory of her blushing cheeks replayed in my mind when she saw my abs.
"Alright, Ms. Reza, I want to see those tomato cheeks again, so a white t-shirt it is," I decided. The fabric was thin, ensuring my abs' outline would be visible. "What about pants, Aziz?
I'm not going out, so I guess tracks would be best," I concluded. I changed into them and emerged from my room, only to find her still standing in the same spot.
As we settled and talked, I found myself saying, "I will fast from tomorrow." But why did I lie to her? I don't fast, so why did I feel uneasy after saying it?
It's normal for me to make promises to others, like saying I'll offer salah, but when she asked, I wanted to refuse. I wanted to tell her I don't believe in her Allah, that I never did, but I couldn't bring myself to say it.
Why? Was it because I feared losing her? Afraid that if she knew the truth about me, she would leave immediately? Even if I don't believe in her Allah, why am I scared? Pushing aside these thoughts, I focused on her.
I didn't want my thoughts to spoil the beautiful moment I was sharing with her, but unfortunately, a third party interrupted our moment.
He approached with a wide smile and was about to sit next to Uns when I quickly got up and took the seat beside her, leaving him to sit opposite us.
"Hello, bhai. Hi, bhabhi... I mean, 'Uns,'" he said with a strange smile on his lips.
"Samir!" I exclaimed loudly, as if urging him to stop his nonsense talk. But it seemed like my words had no effect on him as he continued to engage with her.
"I suppose you're here to see me, right Samir? After all, I'm the one who's unwell," I tried to remind him, as since he arrived, he had been continuously talking to Uns without even glancing at me, as if I were invisible to him.
"Yeah, I know, but you look good right now. Why should I worry about you when I have the most beautiful bhabhi sitting in front of me? Would I waste my time on you, Aziz?" he replied.
"I'm your Bhai, Samir," I retorted.
"She is my bhabhi, Aziz," he countered.
"Seriously, Samir?" I said, not believing his words.
"Yes, bhai," he replied innocently, with a smile.
But before I could say anything else, someone knocked on the door and entered. It was Sahara now.
Ek haddi kaafi nahi tah, joh dusri bhi?
"Did you say something, Nader?" "Uns" asked upon hearing me murmur something.
"No," I replied, unable to tell her that I was cursing them for ruining our moment.
They just wouldn't let me have a peaceful time with "Uns."
Meri aadi love story toh, in logon ki wajah seh hein kharab ho jaogi.
They all three engaged in deep conversation, not even bothering to look at me. Am I not the one who's sick here? I began to doubt.
My health is deteriorating, yet Samir is having fun. Uns came here for me, yet Samir is stealing the spotlight.
I can understand Sahara and Samir, the lovebirds, talking continuously to each other, but "Uns" too is so engrossed with them that she isn't even acknowledging my presence? Why? Why? Why did you come, Samir?
Feeling utterly fed up with her ignorance, I decided to leave when finally, Uns called me.
"Where are you going, Nader?" she asked. Finally, I felt some peace; now she would tell me to stay, thank goodness.
"I'm going downstairs," I replied, turning towards her with hope that she would ask me to stay.
"Oh, okay, then take this tray downstairs as well," she said, handing me the tray.
"What?" I asked, not believing her words.
"Take this and go," she repeated.
"I should take this and go, huh?" I asked again.
"Yes," she said, turning back towards Sahara and continuing her conversation with them.
I left the room with the empty tray in my hand.
Great, this is what was left now.
I got kicked out of my own room so casually.
No one stopped me or even told me to sit down.
I placed the tray in the sink while my mom was on a call. After a few minutes, all three of them came downstairs - Uns, Samir, and Sahara. Samir was in the center, but he looked no less than a lazy bodyguard.
"We should leave now, aunty," Uns said, embracing my mom.
"Why?" my mom asked, breaking the hug.
"We came here just to bring you kheer," Uns started, but Sahara interrupted.
"And to see Aziz bhai," Sahara said, interrupting Uns.
Uns looked at her, her glares are scarier than my mom. Both of them have quite a commanding presence.
"But beta, you both just arrived here," my mom said to them.
Meanwhile, Samir looked at my mom, pointing to himself as a reminder that he had also come. My mom glanced at him, then ignored him and insisted that Uns and Sahara stay a while longer.
"Ammi, please tell them to stay till iftar," I went near my mom and whispered in her ear.
My mom looked surprised, but I assured her with my eyes.
"Uns, I've already spoken to your mom. I told Amira that you both will have iftar here," my mom declared.
"Why aunty, we just came like that. Please don't trouble yourself for us," Uns said.
Uns is very formal and soft with everyone except me.
"I've already said it, so stay," my mom demanded now.
Uns and Sahara nodded in agreement.
Now, how do I explain how happy I am right now? Everything I wanted is happening again, and it seems like it will continue to happen.
"Aziz, show Uns around the house," my mom said.
"Yes, Ammi, let's go, Uns, to see our house," I said, emphasizing the word "our."
She didn't say anything and started walking. I showed her our garden but avoided taking her to the daisies block. I need to be careful; I can't let her near any daisies.
Then we went to my gym room, which is usually used by my dad, me, and Tamir. Now, only I use it. Rasha, on the other hand, is a total foodie; she'll sit in the gym in the name of exercising and shamelessly eat, so I've restricted her from entering.
After that, I took her to my room.
"I've seen your room before," she said upon entering.
"Yes, you've seen it, but not entirely," I said, heading towards the bookshelf.
I pressed a button, and the shelf opened wide. I gestured for her to come in.
Being hesitant, she took slow steps towards me and entered. I looked at her to see her mouth drop open as she glanced at my other bedroom.
"What is this?" she asked, shocked yet intrigued.
"My master bedroom," I said calmly.
"What? Which room?" she asked again.
"Master bedroom," I repeated.
"One room isn't enough for you, Nader?" she asked, looking around.
"No," I replied.
"It really doesn't look like a room," she exclaimed.
"Then what does it look like?" I asked.
"It looks serene, peaceful, calm, euphoric, beautiful," she said, one by one.
"Really?" I asked.
"Yes, Nader, are you kidding me? This room is just beautiful."
"Is this opposite to your actual bedroom? Your room is filled with darkness, and your master bedroom is filled with brightness.
The musical instruments are placed on the left, along with so many old books beside them, the bed is on the left, the walls are bright and beautifully designed, and most importantly, the whole room is covered with daisies. Are they real?" she asked, going towards the vase.
"No," I replied.
"I don't understand one thing. Why did you keep artificial daisies?" she asked.
But I couldn't tell her the truth, that I replaced all the real daisies with artificial ones. Because I don't want her to suffer because of the daisies she's allergic to.
"Simply", I said while going towards the large window and opening it.
She picked up the guitar, examining it. "Do you play guitar?" she asked.
"No, Tamir plays it," I replied.
"Who's Tamir?" she inquired.
"My younger brother," I said, taking a seat on the couch.
"Oh," she said, still looking at the guitar.
"Where is he?" she asked another question.
"He's in Paris, studying there," I answered.
"Do you have a sister?" she continued.
She is indeed a curious creature.
"I do have a sister," I replied. "She is younger than both of us. Her name is Rasha Nader, studying Psychiatry in the USA," I added before she could respond.
"Oh, nice," she said, now moving towards the bookshelf.
"You love reading books?" she asked while taking a book from the shelf.
"Yes," I said.
"And do you love reading books?" I asked her, as her whole cafe is covered with books.
"Yes, I like reading books," she said.
"Don't you love it?" I asked again.
"No," she said.
"Why?" I pressed further, my voice now serious.
"I am afraid of loving," she said, still looking at the book.
"Why?" I asked again, this time with more concern.
"Whenever I love something, it goes away from me, so I stopped loving. I just like or admire it, but never love it," she said, now locking her gaze with mine.
Pure silence enveloped us. She didn't break her gaze from me.
"What happened, Uns?" I asked her, concerned about her state, as these stares are not normal; her eyes are fixed on me as if they want to convey so many things, but her lips remain sealed.
"Nothing," she replied, still looking at me.
"Are you fine?" I asked her.
"Yes, I am," she said, but a small tear formed near her right eye.
What's hurting her so much that she can't say to me but bears all the pain alone by herself? My heart started racing with just one tear drop falling to the ground, yet her gaze remained fixed on mine.
I approached her softly. "Uns," I called her gently.
"Yes," she responded.
"Let's go downstairs," I suggested, taking her hand and leading her out of the room. She didn't say anything nor jerked my hand. She was lost in her thoughts, somewhere where she isn't caring about her surroundings.
I released her hand upon reaching the hall, where everyone was now seated.
Time passed, and now Uns was completely silent. Even during conversations, her responses were short and direct.
After iftar, she, Ammi, and Sahara went to offer their salah in one of the guest rooms. Abbu and Samir went to the mosque. And I was seated on the couch, trying to understand her sudden change in mood.
What made her cry there? Was it because of me? Why did she cry? Her one tear drop is not letting me live in peace. Why is my heart refusing to believe that maybe something got in her eyes or something positive happened?
Why on earth does her tear drop make me feel guilty? Guilty for lying to her. If she finds out the truth, and if her tears start flowing again after hearing it, then how will I handle myself for being the reason for her tears?
Everyone came out. Mom went to make tea and coffee for us. Samir went and sat beside Uns; they both got engrossed in deep conversation. Abbu went to help Ammi, and it was time to talk to Sahara.
I went and sat beside her.
"Sahara," I whispered slowly.
"Yes, bhai," she whispered back.
"How are you?" I asked again in a whisper.
"Soon you remembered me," she whispered back.
"Not my fault," I whispered.
"Yes, yes," she rolled her eyes at me while whispering again.
"What do you want?" she asked directly.
"Ah... you're smart, Sahara," I winked at her saying this.
"You're saying, bhai, or should I go?" she completely ignored my praise.
"Are you angry with me?" I asked her.
"Yes," she said.
"What did I do?" I asked back.
"You didn't give me the numbers of Samir's female friends yet," she said, her tone stern but with a cute pout.
"I'm trying. By tomorrow, you'll have the list of numbers in your hand," I assured her.
"Okay," she said.
"Now, my turn," I said.
"Go ahead," she encouraged.
"What?" I laughed at her response, and she laughed too.
"Tell me one thing your sister is obsessed with. It could be anything," I asked.
"Um, there is one thing that Appi used to love a lot. Like, she used to wear it on a daily basis, but...," she stopped midway.
"Continue, Sahara," I urged.
"But now she doesn't wear it, although she has it, but she doesn't use them," she completed.
"What is it?" I asked, curious.
"Bangles, bhai!"
Thank you for your patience.
I'd love to read your feedbacks ❤