"What was he thinking?" Sarah strode in, clutching a jewellery box and a heap of clothes. Dumping it on the sofa, she sank in too; facing Riya who was sprawled over the bed on her tummy.
She brushed some strands of hair away from her face and eyed her mother wretchedly, "How am I supposed to know what goes on in his sh*tty brain?" She muttered, lazily wearing a frown.
She had been lying there, motionless for about an hour; ever since her dance fiasco. A while ago, how her spirit had elevated, happiness had flowed within and around her, as wild as a fire pixie in an inferno. She had thought that nothing could go wrong that night, no one could stop her from being on top of the world while she danced, but have cards ever played in her favour when Moutasim was around?
If Shahraz hadn't stepped in, he would have had killed that photographer with his bare hands, amidst so many people around him. He was fearless, anyone could tell, but the rage had come unleashed, without any thought of consequence. He had smacked the man right in the jaw, and the blow was so hard that he had stumbled back, his face hitting the hard ground, along with the camera apparatus he was operating.
To the guy's ill-fated, no one had understood what made Moutasim's brain nerve to go wacky. He was rushed to a clinic, with the photography crew leaving with a loud, unpleasant quarrel with Agha Jaan and the bride's father. Shahraz and Wisam had squeezed Moutasim out of the scene as it had gone way out of control already while Riya had followed behind to demand an explanation.
Explanation?
That was one thing Moutasim couldn't do. He had shoved her out of the room and banged the door in her face, so loud that its handle had rattled for a good whole minute.
The world revolves around him, doesn't it? She gave up every ounce of her energy for suppressing and holding back the urge to split the door in half and tear his head in six. Instead, she had just turned around and left. Maybe, she was getting used to the madness. His madness. A kind of a realisation that not a single pore on her body would ever want to catch on, but her heart beats were an echo.
She had to feel the faint ones, yet.
Then, from nowhere comes Moutasim marching in, dragging her to her feet, he shrieks, "How dare you? Speak up, Riya!"
He grabs her by her arms and shakes her until it sinks in as to what's going on, "What did- I I...uh?" She grunts, puzzled.
Before Moutasim could jolt her any further, Sarah lightly nudged her, "Don't sleep without changing, Riya."
With a click, her eyes were wide open. She saw her mother placing some jewels back in the jewellery box neatly and in the dimmed room, her eyes caught one of the gems glinting. Something triggered. She touched her ears and found that one of her earrings were missing! She wanted to sit up with a jerk, but her head felt heavy, pushing away everything off her mind, she shut her eyes tight.
Exhaling sharply, she started to detect the telltale signs that her brain was waking up from a short nap. There were some vestiges of a dream, turning in nonsensical ways, grasping to remain a little longer.
She heard a door creak open, then Arshiya's soft voice calling out to their mother. Some whisperings and the door shut again with the lights completely out.
So was she, perhaps abstractedly trying to resonate the illusion she had been in, a few minutes earlier. Moutasim was now haunting her even in dreams! How else could the girl get more screwed?
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"I want no intruders, the next two days are very crucial," he ordered to someone on the phone and let in a sharp breath.
Rubbing his throbbing temple, he leant back in the sun lounger by the pool and pressed the phone to his ear when the other person remarked, "You've wasted about a month just for those two days."
Moutasim's eyebrow shot up, "Just do your job, leave me to mine," he snapped back curtly and hung up.
He kneaded his shoulders and rotated his head to loosen the tight muscles around his neck, glancing at the pool, he stood up. The turquoise depths gave away the beautiful reflection of the dimmed lights that flickered like an old burning candle and were strung in a canopy above. The fancy decorations that had been done for the night were still in place, reminding him of the chaos that had descended. That he had made.
For the many guests present at the time, he must have seemed a menace, a psychopath just out of an asylum. Courage washed through him like a perfect surfer's wave, he never cared what people had to say about him nor he felt any less about the kind of work he did. Capable of doing whatever he wanted; he felt at power over everyone, he was a bad guy, yet had a strange control, domination and at times, they all were mostly confined to his deeds. He gave no one the right to question him for what he chose to do, Agha Jaan being the only exception; that too if his grandfather was being fair with his own reasoning, otherwise, even he'd be excused as well.
His beady eyes still had the evil glint as if he could kill the photographer if he appeared before him. His dad who had been holding back for quite long had exploded big time back in his guest room upstairs, demanding to know why Moutasim made a scene in the ongoing party; not realising it was intended towards Riya only.
"You'd have done the same if you saw what that twerp was doing, Dad...," That was all he had told him.
His father had clasped his hands at the back, the anger filled eyes had softened. Giving him a long stare, he had stepped away and left.
His father, Mustafa Ali Khan was a proud man. He was quite strict, disciplined and of high principal, although he was a little short-tempered, he wasn't a bad father. When Moutasim was a kid, his father wasn't the kind who said "I love you, son", "I'm proud of you" or one of those cool dads who spun their children around until their giggles echoed in the air.
Now, when he was all grown up and had taken the path of his choice, somewhere at the back of his mind, Moutasim knew his dad didn't completely dissent him. There was the slightest hint of trust that he'd often seen in his stern eyes. He gave him scoldings alright, which dad doesn't? But, he knew that he had given him his freedom, even if it had led him to do the illegal, underworld business...
He never gave advice, unless his children asked him, excluding Moutasim, of course. Because Moutasim was self-made, never finding anyone else's opinion worthy enough to be taken for himself. On the other hand, he was also not a disobedient son to both of his parents, at least he tried not to be one, somethings were awfully knotted up in his life to have him behaving like he was. Otherwise, he was pretty family oriented and he kept them all above anything else in the world.
Kicking his shoes, he pulled his shirt off and dived right into the pool, letting his limbs work in full action. He moved in robotic precision but natural fluidity, stroke after stroke nailed to perfection. Some water splashed and cleaved, spray falling outwards by several feet with his powerful rhythmic chucking.
Those perfect moments, underneath the water, made him forget whatever hovered at his mind as the cold water engulfed him all at once, in its depth. Enveloping his soul to have peace, drop by drop.
Only to break havoc minutes later.
When he poked his head out to the pearly surface in a dramatic fashion, his hair was soaked flat with some wet spikes sticking out. That's when he noticed Gul Khan standing by the railing, apprehension all over his face.
"What is it, Lala?" He combed back his slick hair and glided towards the stainless, steel pool ladder.
"Agha Jaan has called you in his room," the old butler informed him, with a sharp nod he turned around, gave him a brief glance once more and trudged away.
He grimaced, pinched his nose and dipped under the water with a sudden bounce. It was bad timing for a confrontation but he couldn't just turn his back on Agha Jaan.
However Moutasim was, he wasn't disrespectful, that was sure.
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He knocked the door and entered briskly into Agha Jaan's bedroom. He was seated on a recliner with his legs stretched out and a book in hand, he peered above his big reading glasses as Moutasim neared him.
He threw a questioning glance at him and asked hesitantly, "You called me Agha Jaan?"
Giving him a broad smile, he nodded, "Yes I did... I did call you. Sit. Let's have some talk, shall we?"
Moutasim flinched as he sat on a chair, he obviously knew what was coming up, something like, "Why did you beat the sh*t out of that man?"
Agha Jaan snickered and waved his hand, "No, you're not going through it again. There's something else I want to talk to you about."
Moutasim's lips twisted in a small smile and his dull face brightened a little. He relaxed and crossed his arms, riveting his attention towards him, completely, "It's alright, Agha Jaan. You know, you've got a right to demand an explanation."
"You've got a very big heart there, Moutasim," he continued in his low subtle tone, "And, without you or anyone else having to tell me, I know everything. I may be old and expiring, but believe me, I understand. What you did there, only someone like you could do." He patted his shoulder.
"I would have done the same for anyone else, Agha Jaan," There wasn't a need for a clarification, but he still did.
"Oh, absolutely. As I said, you've got a good heart, my son. I know you would do everything to stop any harm reaching for the ones you love, especially Riya."
His face went blank, staring at Agha Jaan, he shook his head and drew in a long breath, taken aback at his sheer frankness, "I don't-."
"Well, my son, whatever it is, you're fond of her. You can't easily deny that. I've seen you grow up in front of my eyes and its impossible that I'd go wrong," he reasoned.
"What's your point, Agha Jaan?"
"Marry her."
His mouth hung, with lips slightly parted and his eyes were as wide as they could stretch. He grabbed the armrests on either side, unable to believe his grandfather's such effortless style, he was throwing him off the edge one after the other with his controversial statements. He had never imagined a conversation like this ever happening with anyone, let alone the man who sat before him.
He finally spoke up after what seemed an eternity, "She has someone..."
He cut him off, "I don't trust anyone else for her."
"She hates me."
"Do you?"
He kept quiet.
"Any more reasons to reject this proposal?" Agha Jaan eyed him, daringly when he didn't say anything for too long.
"She'd never agree to this," He knew he was beginning to lose it.
He replied sternly, "Leave that to me."
"No matter how much you'd insist me for this marriage, I can never agree, Agha Jaan. I'm sorry." He tried backing out in the most gentle way he could.
"It's about her statement in the court, isn't it?"
"She's not to blame."
"Then, what's holding you back, Moutasim?"
"Her."
Agha Jaan gave a shout of laughter, "Not everyone's lucky to have their love provided to them like its being given to you. You kids are ungrateful."
Moutasim scratched his scruff, "Ungratefulness is better than regret."
"Exactly! You'll regret in ten years from now if you continue to be a fool."
"Agha Jaan..."
He gestured him to stop, "Enough, I only hear your ego talking. I don't see any solid reason for you to not accept. I'm getting you and Riya married on the same day Aleesha gets married. This is done."
Agha Jaan didn't argue stubbornly but his words packed a powerful punch. Carefully spoken, without drama, his words had an air of finality to them and no matter how hard he tried castigating against him, nothing would change the decision he had made, years ago.