kar rahā thā ġham-e-jahāñ kā hisāb
aaj tum yaad be-hisāb aa.e
❧❧❧
She picked up the wallet, his blood stained the beige leather wallet. Her hands turned clammy at the sight of the broken glass and the traces of blood. Snapping out of the anxious haze, she dumped everything in her bag and ran after the man. Her heart slamming with fear in her ribcage. He was standing in front of the elevator. His hand was curled in a tight fist. Oh, God. The pressure was making him bleed severely, but he seemed to not even realize it. His jaw was clenched as he scowled at the numbers on the elevator. He punched the button with his bleeding hand. The hell. Did he not feel pain? What was he... hulk? And oh my god, he stained the wall. Ugh. She was going to convulsed at the sight of it.
" Ali Sir," She called after him, but he seemed to have turned deaf ear to her. His head was bent, his shoulders were sagging. "Sir." She stood behind him, but he ] walked into the elevator without even looking up. He leaned back against the back of the elevator, defeated. She followed him in. "Sir." She tried again.
"Miss Lubna, please stay back, before I lose it all." He rubbed his eyes with his left hand, his right hand was still bleeding. She scowled at him for messing up her name again, but she stayed quiet because Mr. Ali had decided to let his hand bleed and die in that elevator. She shivered at the sight of bloodstains on the pristine elevator floor. If he didn't care about himself at least he should have been mindful of the swanky elevator.
She shadowed him as he stepped out of the elevator. The guests and patrons turned their heads at them watching the blood drops trail from his hand, the turned to each other and then whispered. So insensitive. He had decided he was going to die bleeding but how rude to make a mess behind on the glossy marble floors.
Sliding behind the driver's seat, her eyes were still set on his bleeding hand. She gulped, her hands trembled. She was never the one to handle blood, but this man wasn't going to treat it any time soon, and she wasn't about to let him bleed all over the car. The cut must have been deep because even after minutes the blood still ran down his hand... oh and he was staining the pristine leather seats. She turned to him. He was staring out the window, his head resting back on the seat. He had been disheveled by the meeting. He seemed like he could use a year of sleep with he way tiredness covered him in a wave.
And then there was this guilt. If the man in front of her got amputated or died with the looks of it. She'd be forever down that spiral so she decided to treat him like the child he was and force the treatment on him.
matlab ajeeb insaan hai. Marna hai to koi tareeka dhondo. Ab kissi aur ko kyun guilt mein daal ke saath maarna hai.
❧❧❧
Anger rolled in his veins in waves, his muscles tightened. How dare they? He had blacklisted the company, and they still had the audacity to suggest it. He curled his hand again as he tightened his eyes shut. He had the urge to go and burn down that whole family and their company.
And then he felt a pull on his tie. He scowled and flashed open his eyes. The quiet woman next to him had moved over and was pulling on his tie.
"Miss Lubna, what the hell are you even doing?" He snapped at her. She wasn't even fazed by his anger. He tried to pry her hand away, but she pushed his hands away and went for the tie again and pulled it. He glanced at Junaid whose eyes looked like they were going to fall out of his sockets and he was two seconds away from slamming the car in shock. What was this woman up to?
"Junaid give me the tissue box and turn the car towards the hospital." He watched her with his mouth wide open, too frozen for words, what the hell was she doing? Her lips were pressed in a grim line as she pressed the tissues on his hand removing the excess blood.
"Miss Lai-"
"Shut up," She didn't even lookup. Her eyes were still trained on his wounds.
The strength had drained from him so he leaned back again watching her. Her voice was stern, yet she hadn't raised the tone of her voice. The woman could probably kill with her expressions, yet her tone would be so soft. He furrowed his eyebrows watching her. The dupatta had fallen from her head as she bent a little, focussing her eyes on his wound. Her light brown hair tied in a bun, minimal makeup with her eyes laden with kohl, She was such a plain Jane, yet she had an attitude of a Lion.
She cleaned the blood with tissue then took the tie. Slowly and carefully, she wrapped it around the wound, making sure it wasn't too tight. She rolled his suit jacket, bunching it, then took his hand and carefully rested it on the jacket.
"You ruined my tie and jacket." He glared at her as she finished it by tying a knot. "You could've just used this long useless fabric that's always trailing behind you." He picked up the end of her black dupatta, flailing it. She snatched it from his hand, fixing the fabric on her head.
"Don't touch it with your dirty hands!" She wrapped the ends of the fabric around her arm. "Why would I ruin my clothes?" She stared at him as if he was dumb. Wow. What a piece of art his assistant was.
"Junaid turned the car towards the office." He snapped turning away from her.
"Hospital, please." The prim and proper voice pissed him off more. She scooted away calmly.
"I said to the office." He raised his voice again, the anguish lacing his words.
"No." He could barely hear the satiny voice, but it held a lot more authority and command than his raised voice.
"And why not, Miss Lubna?" He leaned over, trying to cross his arms, but she clamped her hand on her wrist, reminding him any movement whatsoever would lead to more bleeding.
"Because you'll bleed all over the office and papers. And then I'll have to clean the stuff and redraft all the contracts. Nope, I'm going to be proactive and save myself from the hassle." She shrugged, crossing her own arms in defense. "And you are bleeding a lot, you can damage your nerves... even get amputated.. or die."
"Your imagination is quite lively." He deadpanned, leaning back in his seat.
"Thank you, it's pretty active." She scoffed his comment and continued with her lecture. "But like I was saying the latter ones are your personal choices. I can't do much about it if you want to thrill yourself with amputation, but I'd rather not have blood all over my papers."
For the first time in years, he was at a loss of words. He just didn't even know what to say. So he shut his mouth while Junaid kept coughing in the front. Traitor. He sighed, staring out the car window.
❧❧❧
Laila left the hospital room, leaving him behind with Junaid. She never could stomach the sight of needles and cuts. She found the washroom to get the bloodstains off herself. God knows what kind of disgusting diseases he had in his blood with all his rang raliyan. She shuddered as she scrubbed off his cold blood from her hands.
Once she returned from the washroom, she remembered he had asked for her to pay up in the front. She found the wallet in her bag, picking it up with a wipe. She wiped off the blood and pulled out the card he had said. As she waited for the reception lady to ring her up, Laila's eyes fell on the tattered edge of a photo. Well, it seemed like a photo, but it was flipped with a stamp dating back to a decade earlier. Part of her wanted to reach out and flip it over, but she didn't want to cross into someone's privacy. What if it was an obsene photo? There were totally chances of it.
She knocked on the door in order to return the wallet and then leave home. She still needed to pray, and it was Jummah so she definitely couldn't miss it. When she walked in, the kamina was sitting on the bed, seemed like he'd faint from boredom as scrolled through his phone with disdain in his eyes. She wouldn't mind if the doctor sedated him for a couple of months hence pardon her sanity for a while.
"Your wallet." She walked passed Junaid who was sitting on the chair and placed the wallet on the side table next to his suit jacket.
"I'm sure you're disappointed that the anticipated amputation didn't take place. I would d have given you my hand as a souvenir."
"If you could have the psychiatrist visit this room too before leaving that'd be really amazing souvenir." She plastered the saccharine sweet smile which wiped the annoying smugness from his face. "Is there anything else that needs to be done for the day before I leave. Ali Sir?"
"I needed to arrange the visit with the property dealer for the hospital." He didn't bother to look up from his phone anymore, his disheveled hair fell over his forehead. Laila was about to say something that Zain had told her, but he cut her off. "And I swear on this universe if you reiterated anything my little shit of a brother said, I will have your brain amputated."
"I was going to say that I can't stay further." Laila lied, but his eyes went to her ears, she knew they were turning red. They always did when she lied or when she was embarrassed. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Namaz parhni hai." His expressions hardened at her reply. She tilted her head in confusion,
"I need the deal done today."
"But it was supposed to be my day off." She tried to reason with him, but he shook his head without even giving it a thought. "I have the email from Zain Sir."
"Are you my assistant or his?" He looked up from his phone and narrowed his eyes at her.
"Well I'm the company's assistant since hired by Zain Sir-" She could see him sneer. "well... technically yours." She sighed heavily at her bad luck.
"So in the contract it says, I can call you anytime, any day, at any hour if it is something related to work. So gather your stuff, we are going to the office."
"Sure, sir." She gritted her teeth. This man needed to be hospitalized in a psych ward. "And what'd would you like for lunch, Ali Sir?"
"Whatever is special at The Craft today." He dismissed her.
"Sure." But the wheels in Laila's head were turning. She'd take her revenge.
Before going on her lunch break, Laila ordered his lunch. She usually placed it online, but this time she called because she needed to customize it. Just you know, add extra spice to everything... well she may just pretend that she hadn't read the note at the end of his profile that he couldn't handle spice. Oh well. Innocent mistake. She put the phone down smirked at the door across from her office as she left to make wudhu.
Isko bari mirchi lagi hoti hai na har wakat. Ab sahi wali lagay gi to maza aayega.
❧❧❧
He grimaced at the sight of the expensively packaged food. He knew what each bite would bring... those bitter memories. For years he'd been eating food from The Craft, but for the life of him, he couldn't savor the taste of it because the only thing he could remember was the bitterness attached to it. It was as if he was shoving down the memories through his throat instead.
He knew exactly what propelled him to gravitate towards The Craft and why was he punishing himself again, and again. But it wasn't whirlpool he was willing to dwell down yet... or ever.
He opened the boxes pushing away the little bit of conscience that had survived his years of suffocation. He sipped the soup and the moment it traveled down his throat, he coughed like he was about to die. What the fuck did she order? Shit. Shit. Shit. He couldn't breathe. Popping off the cap of the sparkling water he chugged it down. Damn it. What the hell? He took a file and started fanning his mouth, hoping the burn in his throat would calm down. I'm going to fucking kill you, Prude. He flopped in his chair as the burn slightly went away with him constantly chugging down water.
"What the hell did she put in it?" He plucked the order confirmation from the box. Extra, Extra Spicy. Prude had nerves to come after him. He threw away the paper and went after her, but the moment he came out of his office, his feet came to a sudden halt.
Prude was wrapping her 100 yards of fabric around her head. Her dupatta could give Repunzul's hair run for its money. She took the prayer matt out of her desk and started the prayer. The Fuck. She really wasn't kidding. He cast one last glance her way with memories coming to life within him. Memories he could no longer suppress. He turned around quietly returning to his office.
Yaqeen. Imaan. Deen.
Yeh sab uske liye zindagi ke ek waqt mein bohat maiyne rakhta tha. Jab woh Abu ki ungli pakar kar roz unke saath namaz parhne jaata. Aur Masjid ke kone mein baith kar woh Apne Abu ki pursukoon awaz sunta jab woh aazaan dete. Uska bachpan masjid ke aangaan mein khelte huwai guzra. Aur aise he karte karte badha ho gaya. Phir bhi sukoon wahi tha, mohalleh ke us chote se masjid mein. Jahan woh din bhar parhai karta, aur khayal rakhne ki zimadari bhi uski thi.
His left hand curled around the edge of the desk as he remembered the memories flourishing. He didn't want to remember, he'd locked that Shehryar Ali somewhere and let him rot there to die. But the gust of the memories was too strong.
aur phir woh din aagaya jahan usne apni saari raat wohi Masjid mein sajde mein jhuk ke guzari magar usko kuch nahi mila. Na he sukoon aur na he itni duaon ka sila. Aur ussi raat uska sukoon aur yaqeen toot kar bikhar gaye. Aur woh zarre aaj tak uski ruh mein kaanto ki tarhan phase the. Uske aansoon ke saath uska imaan aur yaqeen bhi bhikar gaye. Woh uski aakhri raat thi wahan. Woh wahan se mudh gaya. Apne imaan, ruh, aur yaqeen ko marne ke liye piche chorh gaya.
A scream bubbled up in his throat but suppressed like each and every emotion and memory he had suppressed for the past decade. Now, there was a volcano burning within him. He knew it was only a matter of time it would erupt and destroy everything around him. But for the first time, he let him breathe, letting himself miss his father.
He missed his Abu. He missed sitting next to him and watching cricket as they ate daal and roti. God, he missed home. Acid surged in his throat, making him want to throw up right there. Just then his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled out and it was Zain. Of course, Zainu called him like always on Friday at the exact time. He must be done with his Jummah Prayers. Now, they all were going to sit in the courtyard and eat together. Ami probably made her famous Chicken Karahi. He missed home.
"Sherry." This was the only time within the week he'd use that name, looking for his older brother in the wreckage. Zainu. He always believed in him no matter what. "Will you be coming home for lunch?" Wasn't he tired of asking every Friday? Wasn't he fed up with carrying his damn hope that his older brother would come home one day?
"Zain..." for the first time in years his voice wavered. Something broke within him, but then he looked at the hospital blueprints and the hope shattered. He steeled his spine, turning his heart cold again. "No."
But no. He couldn't go home. He had no right to go home with what he had become. He couldn't look in the eyes of his father and stand straight. He'd look once in his kind eyes and collapse like a house of cards. Shehryar couldn't look in the eyes of his father and tell him he no longer believed in anything. Shehryar couldn't look in his hopeful eyes and tell him that he hasn't stepped in the masjid in over ten years. He couldn't look in the eyes of his father, The muezzin, That sometimes when he heard Adhan, he only remembered the night he lost everything and the bitterness that came with it. He couldn't face his Abu who put faith in him and tell him that he had no faith.
Fuck this all. He threw away the folder across the room. He needed a damn drink. He took his phone and walked out of his office.
"Ali Sir-" Repunzal still had the fabric tied around her as she approached him.
"Go Home, Miss Lubna."
Leaving her seething there he left, sending Junaid home too. He found himself at the underground bar again. The weekend had brought out people even during the day. The bartender looked at him and nodded. He'd drink his memories away and tomorrow he wouldn't remember a thing. Then he'd look at the mirror the next day and despise the person staring at him with cold eyes, broken heart, and soulless with no faith.