Chapter 18.

"I'm so sorry for hiding everything from you Barek jaan."

Gingerly her mother pressed the curve of her lips against the top of her head, her soft hands pressed into the flesh of her face in sincere apology. The eye's that had been in a life been the symbol of calmness, changed into a piercing of a corrupt display, her heart ached. Limp and lifeless the once articulately displayed locks of hair lost their life in a single night — or perhaps it had been more, her childhood best friend turned lover turned friend, was dying. A mortifying loss, and all they had was each other.

"Don't stress mummy, you're going to give yourself a high blood pressure."

Barekhna kissed the inside of the palms that had cradled her ever since she was born. Wrapping the length of her fingers around the width of her arms, she placed it in between her palms. Running her eyes, the shade of liquid molten gold, over the top of her mother's hair, down the worried face that had lost the life inside their eyes. Barekhna was worried to say the least. Slipping her fingers through the greying hair that had yet to be touched up — the flossy blonde peaking from beneath, she felt her heart lurch.

Seated on top of the Egyptian cotton bedsheets with her legs tucked underneath the curve of her behind, an organza veil lay discarded in her lap. The loose sleeves patched up with a lace of white organza and silver thread work, grazed the back of her mother's arms. Thin earrings dangled from her earlobes and the peach lipstick added an uncharacteristic softness to her allure. The pear and freesia tones from her perfume sifted through the thick burning candles inside her childhood bedroom. Gasping for air she stared at the eyes that were pale, swelled up from the sight of her mother that was suffering.

Upon their return a few days ago from London she had held herself back, not barging into her parents mansion had taken a lot more than just willpower. Fighting her father — a title that was still hard to grasp, she had forced the man to change countries just like she had done once. There was a gaping hole in the centre of her chest that was sore, it hurt still and she was doing her best to ignore it's affects. Seeing her parents in their home, with pale faces and heart broken eyes did the damage no good either. There was no satisfaction, nor was there any disregard. Tears had been shed so slow that anyone from a distance would have failed to notice. Only her husband and brother held them, guiding her into the bedroom where her mother relented at last.

"I know that it's a huge change Barekhna. Forgive me my love, all I wanted as a mother was to give you a good life and I—" she broke down, her withered shoulders shook like a leaf in a wind, "failed. Failed you!"

"Mummy you did not. You were selfless in giving up your life, love and future for me." She spoke.

"You had the right to know," Sophia sighed.

"I had already guessed that it was a possibility. My childhood pictures were similar to dad's, a part of me wished to be related to him as well because abu's family is no good." She sniffed, "it's just hit me out of the blue and to know after a decade I have nothing but a handful of months with him. I'll be okay mummy, I promise."

"Oh I know my little princess, even if you won't be I know Aliyaar will pick your pieces."

Sophia stared into her daughter's eyes for the first time that night. Streaks of red the originated from the centre of her soft eyes ran into the deep lines of kohl, spectacles of tiny brown marked the otherwise calm territory, the drops of tears thick like the diamonds of great rarity slid down her cheeks once more, though her daughter's hands tried to wipe them. Touch seared her in that moment as the throb in her heart reached the end of her spine, she would not change her decision, not even in a heartbeat. For her daughter's sake though, Sophia's heart broke, into pieces of flesh and shards that would have to wait to pierce her husband who had been the epitome of selflessness.

"Mummy I have a question."

Sophia nodded, her fingers rested underneath her chin, the soft bones there shred into the pieces of her skin. It was the best feeling, having her daughter know their past — Sophia felt like she could breathe for the first time in months.

"I'll always be abu's daughter right?"

"Of course! You're our first child. The apple of our eyes Barekhna."

"Marvelous. Now stop crying and feed me! I've got a long day tomorrow!"

Sliding her legs from under herself, she stretched her toes, massaging the lower ends of her calves that were covered by the silken trousers. The dress had been part of her hefty trousseau, it's thin tassels that held the neckline in place were shaped into an intricate knot by the hands of her mother-in-law, whose artistic skills she was still in awe of. Curls on the ends of her hair, fell into entanglements with the necklace that had been part of her many wedding gifts, a glittering diamond bracelet— a cherished gift from her biological father kissed her wrist's warm flesh. Barekhna stood over the thick cashmere carpet, her mother had recently placed it into the room, sinking the warm soles of her feet into it. Humming under her breath she slid her feet into the heels, wrapping the strands over her ankles and calves.

An airy hum surrounded their heads as they stepped out of the room at last. Their faces, wiped from the tears and rejuvenated with the kisses of soft affections. Combing their hands over the rich wood of the railings, their shoes drowned out in the thick carpet, manifesting a spiritual silence that was otherwise afforded at sharp, unimaginable prices. The veil that had once rested loosely between her neck and shoulder was forgotten on to her bed, not that anyone except for them would care. A thin wind blew through the windows that had been thrown open around the peekaboo staircase, curving in to the lateral wall, it landed right into the centre of their foyer.

There had been changes — exchange in power and a bit more, eyes noticed. What was once a sparsely decorated foyer, with the most cluttered of paintings and architectures, had been transformed into an artistic manifesto. The families had split the home, the stairs and upper part falling into the hands of Sophia Saleem — and every inch was a dedication to that.

China ware with images of London decorated the walls in a pattern—their rims painted gold matched the beige walls of the room, contrasting with the deep maroon carpet that now covered the staircase whole. Succulents rested on the corners and crept over the walls with a fierce prowess, window sills propped open and the bushes of the rose trees fell into the room. The air smelt sweet and full of a sugary thickness, bright jade green leaves watered down under the spray of rain tapped away at the metal bones of the windows. Tiny lights passed through the vines and created shadows of sizes and shapes, undefinable.

Conversations were softly pinching the air that vibrated with full force otherwise. Eclectic topics drummed around and reverberated from the wooden trims and the glass dividers, shocking those that managed to pass by. Crisscross patterns under the wood tucked away in the corner that was turned in a sharp hundred and eighty degrees, scratches from the children's nail told tales of a time that was from a past life it almost seemed. Like ghosts the workers whizzed past in their uniforms, tasks performed with great meticulousness, holding the hot pink dusters and linoleum wipes, they ignored the guests present. Air diffusers burnt the sage and the spirits until it smelt of nothing but a sharp mint, mixed with the familiar tones of chocolate.

Guffaws of laughter paired with the thick silence that was outside in the since almost entirely abandoned corridors, was a vast contrast in the atmosphere. Red — a deep visceral red greeted their eyes as they stepped into the lounge that had reluctantly been offered to them in exchange of giving up the dining room entirely. The Khawar's were a cruel bunch, entitled and spoilt in their actions — they seemed to have forgotten that retribution was a thing. Sofas aligned against the boarded walls with large windows were the epitome of their ancestral architecture. The caricature's painted on the walls of their once aristocratic family, kept company to their dwindling family name. The misery had been gifted as a sense of failure — a kiss from the hate that nature could possess in it's passion.

Perched on the cushions that had been recently redone to match the new decor of the room, the men related to her painted a wholesome image. One that warranted praise — for their manners and good looks. Especially for the way they stared in awe at the two women who had just stepped in, both of them looking more radiant and lighter than they had a moment ago. The coffee table was covered in two half full, and one completely full glass of juice, condensation on them turned into a puddle over the stained glass that had been painted by Aman in his free time. Over a copper mantle the sword of their great grandfather rested, hung up on the wall his shield that had once been used to restore order.

Chatter from the conversations about a new investment into the field of surgical expansion dwindled like the fire burning in the fireplace. Stars in the windows reflected, stilled in the glass like a morbid realization of death and life, they separated thinly. The double layered glass — meticulously placed to offer privacy otherwise robbed from them. Control was important. A sliver of the full moon hid behind the thick trees, the plantation around the grafted lawn had never seemed as rich as it did, rain just the night before had changed the way the place looked. Washing away with itself the dirt and lies strewn on top.

Barekhna hugged her father, nuzzling her face into the soft flesh of his chest, the scent of cardamom and roses was everything. It was Saleem Khawar in a nutshell — her first hero and her last one. Generous and kind, she looked at him with a pride that was befitting the moral status of his doings. Kissing his cheek ever so lightly, the gloss of her lips left behind their marks on the plain skin, wrapped around his frame, the length of her nimble arms seemed like an after thought. An additional access, they could have done without. His tears grazed her shoulders and she felt them burn her skin — like acid. Tipping her head, her eyes found his to reassure. Lights and stories in them swam with the prowess of a penguin, reminding him to breathe as she stroked his balding head.

"I love you abu. Nothing will change that."

Her words were incoherent whispers but to the heart and ears that wanted to hear, they were the world. The frowns that rose upon his forehead in thick diagonals shimmied off, a trail of age old indents left behind but not much to harm his youthful charm that he still carried.

"You'll always be my daughter."

"I know," she grinned, the pads of her thumbs placed under his eyes to wipe at the accumulating moistness, "and I know you'll always love me more than Aman." She added.

"Welcome home!" Saleem chuckled, watching his son openly frown.

"Good to be back," she winked, feeling at peace.

The hands that were clasped over each of their breast bones parted with a newfound sense of freedom. They could at last breathe free, from the pasts that were hidden, to the lies they had to tread over with caution. Eyes that would have once held a sheen of disappointment, a thin haze that separated from the avid truth was gone. For the first time in forever, their orbs were clear and so was the dexterity within them. An inanimate need to slowly prod and pinch at their chins with the vicious vividness of an emotion so raw that it bled into their tingling spines — alarmed the masses but did little to deter them from their goals.
To fight.
To feast.
To fly.

Whizzing through the room with an arm tangled around her brother's neck, her lips softly pressed against the skin of his ears, the dirty blonde of his hair caressed the closed eyelids framed with wisps of curled lashes. Fear dwelled and dimmed from their soaring spirts as she broke away, running a finger along the length of his cheek diagonally, a tinge of red smeared behind it at the open show of affection. Like a statue his arms remained around her shoulders, sniffing under his breath. Glitters in the shade of copper smeared across her eye lids was high quality and his orbs gauged in every spec of it, in it's perfection they represented his sister wholly.

Then with the airs of a royal refused a special counsel with the Queen herself she stormed to the seat beside her now comfortably seated husband. Crossing her legs, the apples of her cheeks sweltered as her feet grazed his toned claves — a feeling she knew all too well though still indescribable tightened the knots in her stomach. A fingernail prodded over the velveteen upholstery, gold trims and the tussles form the new lineage wrapped in the gossamer extravagance of the sheshem wood was a benevolent masterpiece. A carnal image of attention and detail paid to it, in all it's classic air. Carvings of domestic animals and vines sprung across the legs that were shaped to match the hoofs of a goat — honorary for a family that started of as shepherds sometime long ago.

Underneath the designer heels that had taken a few months to arrive at their doorstep was an inherited carpet. The lushness of it's impeccable thread count and the meticulous work of the colors — shading cherrywood into an inky black, a peach centre with beige and crème maneuvering through it was an artistic taste. For years it had been lounged up in storage, though, her brother a history fanatic had always eyed it — using it to his favor now. Loose white threads that were the base formed little tassels on either ends and comfortably allows the pencil heel to sink in a few millimeters, though the heavy coffee table sat with great comfort over it.

Barred, the grills of the windows had been slid into place even as the glass remained open from a few places. Chilly winds blew in — a significant effect from the autumn dwindling into the winter weather. Leaves brushed in and grazed the hair of those that sat in their way. Lights blended in the shadows were not enough and the large chandelier with its curving glass bulbs formed a clandestine arrangement of glamour. Dripping from the walls, paint and chemical smells diffused to their mouths and left a bitter taste — though not strong enough against the lavender and chamomile diffuser burning. Heavy base copper ashtrays covered in the remnants of grey ashes spread around the borders. Reminder that smoking cigars rolled by the well trained cuban workers, was a trait both of Saleem's children had inherited. Despite the worrisome glances of the woman of the house.

Capricious merriment filled the tips of her fingers and the fingernails sharpened by the hands of professionals, wrapping around the tall glass of a still untouched juice. Her throat crackled and heaved with an unknown scratchiness as she placed her lips over the cusp, her tongue ever so softly propped into the glass and a guttural moan drowned in the base of her throat at it's iciness. Smallest of her fingers sat below the base of the glass, propping it upright in her grip as she relaxed into the wooden frame of her chair. Warmth from the side of her husband's biceps stilled never and brought comfort as she shivered ever so softly in the chill. A pleasantly welcome sensation.

It's citrus undertones with the well blended honey and sugar ran down her throat. A savior after a day of emotional terror and turmoil. Taping the cracks in the middle of her chest the sips finally gifted them with the relief that they needed. That they wished for. It was imminent as her cheeks flushed and the back of her hands wiped against the corner of her lips, the stains of her lipstick smeared on to the pads of her peachy thumb. The bracelet dangled low and grazed the wedding band she wore with pride, only realizing it had become a habit after watching Aliyaar practically live with his. Mint leaves added the bitterness, cutting through some of the tartness — much as she preferred.

Complacent with the degree of nature and it's ischemic manners, the family was served dinner in the astute drawing room. The sofas housed their weights, porcelain plates and tumblers were drawn in on a glass trolley with a vase of flowers placed in the centre. In silence the extravagant plates were passed around, gold and a pale blue in their aztec prints, the wide plates swallowed whole their palms and much more. It crushed the wrists that splayed over, servings of the tangy desi Chinese served in large quantities to the guests.

Aliyaar's gold spoon mixed the gravy with the long grain rice, fried with egg and soy sauce, the onions inside glistening. Fragrant, they rose to the nostrils and melted into his mouth already before he could place a bite into his mouth. The stir fried chicken, black pepper and sesame seeds sat on it with the power of kings, undefinable in their stature as his kind mother-in-law served him more than needed. Lingering his gaze over the side of his wife's face, a title to this moment so alarmingly new, that it brought a blush into his earlobes just thinking about it.

"Aliyaar you're barely eating."

His mother-in-law fawned over him, spooning in a bit more gravies and rice. The centre of her eyes were filled with a worry that he had oft seen in the eyes of his own maternal figures. Food was to him an art and the essence of his life — so of course he would eat. Though he was shy, silent as the conversation around him seemed a bit alien. Law and medicine had not been his forte, would never be.

"I'm eating auntie, you on the other hand," he spoke with a pointed glance.

"You cheeky lad!" She pinched his cheek, the sounds of cutlery keeping up with the gaps.

"I'll stay the night!"

Barekhna announced, moving on the balls of her feet she spoke with confidence, pushing a piece of the calzone into her rosy mouth, as the crowd stared at her as if she had lost it.

"Was this part of the plan?"

Sophia raised a brow and fixed the chiffon veil in her hair, tucking a lock of hair that had lost it's way through the crystal studded clips.

"Spontaneity is a virtue. Saint would agree."

"Which saint are you following?" Aman teased, his sister had found God a sore topic always.

"It's a secret," she smiled knowingly, "isn't it Aliyaar?"

"Uh— yes of course! It's half past ten, I should leave then," he coughed out, dusting the front of his shirt as he stood up.

"Stay beta." Saleem offered.

"Thank you for the offer uncle but my parents will be returning and I want to meet them."

"Of course." He replied.

"Aliyaar," Barekhna spoke his name softly, like a siren's call she called from behind him.

Pacing her steps softly she walked over to him in the dimly lit foyer, abandoned from any signs of human interference she passed her husband an overly friendly smile. The palpitations in her palms grew and the throbs thrust like a painful reminder against the spread out centers of them. Warmth like a bright fire spread for them as she wrapped her fingers around his starchy collar, pressing her lips in a kiss against the corner of his mouth with ferocious power she pulled back.
A lustrous array of constellations within her eyes.

"Drive safe and text me when you get back, okay?" She whispered.

"Of course. Enjoy your time Barekhna."

"Don't worry about that saint, dream of me."

"Oh don't worry about that siren." He grinned, tucking the strands of hair behind her ears he pressed a chaste kiss against her skin, whizzing out like the winds.

➖➖➖➖➖

Barekhna's fingers wrapped around the silken hair that was the result of hefty treatments, but more than that the genes that had left her with the better end of the deal. Underneath the lights of her vanity she stared at her reflection in the large mirror, droplets from the ends of her freshly shampooed hair ran down the centre of her chest into the depths of her deep negligée's neckline. Soft satin, the shade of ivory sat against her skin — a sign of an innocent aura that she had never held in herself, though it was more fun this way she would debate. Twirling it back and forth, lathering her palms in the cream mixed with opals — for their healing abilities her mother had explained when she was a teenager.

Spreading her hands over her other arm she scratched the back of her bicep, a zit had popped up out of nowhere. A frown kissed her plump lips — losing the rosiness in them that kept her orbs covered in a pink lens. Structuring her posture she leaned over the vanity, it's glass top covered in the expensive cosmetics, she massaged it into her skin. The light perfumed scent of her body wash mixed with the body butter. Slipping her feet into the soft slides she crossed the threshold with genteel steps, wrapped in a silk wrap. It's sheerness covered her body and the lace detailing of her slip dress.

"Barekhna?"

The sweetness inside her mother's voice could be vouched for. Turning her upper body just the slightest, she stared at the nearing figure of her mother, whose face carried at last a calmness.

"Mummy?"

"Can we talk?"

Patting the mattress of Barekhna's memory foam, Sophia sunk her legs under her weight, passing the cup of heavily sweetened coffee to her daughter. Thanking her she took a sip softly, a thick beard of cream left behind on her upper lip. She darted her tongue across the skin and like a kitten mewled at the rich flavor of vanilla.

"Is everything alright?"

"You tell me is it?" Sophia narrowed her eyes.

Pale deft moonlight washed the skin that was in truth a shade of peach that was family friendly. Turning like the swirls of stars in a large alignment, the blacks and slender silvers sparkled through with a filtering beauty. Crushed peach shades flittered on top of her skin like a reminder of the spoilt life she thrived in. Clipping back her wet hair with the clasp that had once belonged to her youthful mother, Barekhna allowed a wet piece to fall over her face, to hide the skepticism inside her skin. To her mother she was an open book — nothing more nothing less.

"Barekhna you're confused aren't you?" Sophia spoke with a knowing tone.

"Why would I be?"

"About Aliyaar. You're confused about how you feel."

"How—how do you know?" She stuttered.

"I've been there once," Sophia smiled, "I had barred love from my life but it knows how to crawl in from the gaps between our walls jaan. You're not at fault for feeling defenseless."

"Mummy!" She gasped, mortified at the suggestive hints.

"Oh hush! You're an adult now," Sophia snickered.

"He's too innocent," she relented, "I'm too corrupted."

"How can you decide that? You're his world, his eyes adore you, and somewhere you feel the same!"

"I don't know how love feels mummy," she spoke, the suppressed feelings rising to the top at last, "he makes me breathless. Aliyaar forces me to be better, for him. All I want is to protect him, tease and him and to treasure him in the way he deserves."

"Would you die for him?" She spoke, brushing Barekhna's hair.

"Never mummy," she tutted, coming to a realization, "I would kill for him."

"Why not die?"

"If I die it'll break him, and I'll be damned if I allow anyone to hurt him, myself included." She spoke fiercely.

Sophia nodded, in the silence a string of words hung with an impossible essence.
Mortifying.
Magnanimous.
Mutual.
Mature.

She loved Aliyaar.

🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶
SAY SHAVA SHAVA EVERYBODY SHAVA SHAVA
HO GAYA HAI TUJH KO TO PIYAAR SAJNAAAA LAAKH KAR LE TU INKAAR SAJNA
UFFF MY HORT IS SO BURST WITH JOY GUYS OMG ITS HAPPENING 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳