*new header gifted to me by a reader and I love it🤭*

Chapter 13.

Seven days.
One hundred and sixty eight hours later — she still wondered how could his curiosity not have gotten the best of him. Was it even humanly possible to have for so long let your thoughts and the dwellings of trust gain dust. In the speckle of lights that broke from the cracks, they threatened to touch her sore wounds and she knew sooner rather than later, she would have to speak. A characteristic. An understanding for her work ; highly despicable for her private life. Every breath was bartered for, with the after thought of his questions. The thin streak of 'does he not care enough' triggered.

Bleu affections that slipped under the carefully hidden wraps of her confidence threatened to seize. Sampling the odds and evens she straightened her mind, the shades of carmine in her necklace gripped the base of her throat with finesse. It was unlike her to sit and allow her breath to turn stale. To creep up the vines without a single creak — to hide behind ; Barekhna was more the type to come from the front. The air slid around her as she stirred up the fingers that typed away fates, and stripped of the diamonds — their cushion was gone.
It was more than just her emotions.
It was more than a nightmare.
It was a case of trust, the lack of it.

The ear cuff of platinum — studded with the most sheltered rubies crept up the curves of her ears. Claret red the animosity of her soft lips, plump like the clouds on the sky, smacked together and tasted like nothingness on her tongue. Barekhna pinched her nose and shaded the side of it with her nail, nose ring? Perhaps. She debated it. Glitters on the sage tray smoked out on the top of her soft lids, the brush mixed the layers around until it was well enough. Put together with care, she had joined each disrupted piece of her peace. The tricks up her sleeve were plenty. Though not all were proper.

The complacent white that she wore, in tune with the skies, covered in an icy blanket of ivory, hugged her figure like a glove and fell above her knees. Collared with high stakes, the red embroidery snaked around the v. Vines and semi circles, swirled with threads of silver and maroon, lined with white too. Peach and maroon buttons with mirrors in the centre scrubbed over the piping and her fingers nudged them with a thoughtful smile almost. Her hair blow dried curved under her chin, the volume up top carried till the ends and she was glad the hair oils were paying of. Paneled, the shirt was somewhat of a masterpiece in itself.

The Swiss lawn material of it breezed against her cool skin, the perfect attire for the weather that was yet to to pick it's side. Raking her fingers, Barekhna perched the organza veil over one of her shoulders in a careless attempt to deal with it. Perfect — her mind praised as she moved around the dressing room on the tips of her toes. A soft pink the soles of her feet barely grazed the carpet or the hardwood floors, her fingers traipsed along the shelves choosing a perfect pair of shoes. Then her eyes struck with the red bottom heels — white Louboutin's, were just the perfect calling for the day. Mentally she ran through a checklist and felt her accented voice hum ; a visit to the court and a meeting with a client, followed shortly with lunch with her brother and husband.

Perfecto.

Bouncing the hair clip between her raven hair, that like a siren's pull fell over her shoulders and seduced with calmness. With a mother's gentleness she pressed on it with her white teeth, sliding it in place until the over grown fringe framed her face. Spinning in the floor length mirror she passed her self a last look before sliding the framework of her long fingers around the slouching handbag.
Fashion over practicality, always.

Barekhna's frame whizzed through the stairs and the private parlor in an array of white and raven — her attire and hair dominating sight as she rushed out of the door. Their home, a fuzzy realization still, had well and truly lost a bit of it's life ever since the youngest, Lilah, had moved to Italy. Gone were the sounds of giggles that though she planned to be silent were instead dominating. Dinner and breakfast were more so abandoned as a central piece left. It made Barekhna realize even more the emptiness of her own household, no one save for her parents and brother had mourned her absence. The rest were renowned for rejoicing.

The carte blanche fate had offered her with a family that cared not enough, was a personal advantage. An arrogant grin accessorized her face a hundred times better than any other jewel, it was the true spirit of her being. The air of indifference cooled and froze the vibrating of molecules as she drove her car softly through the crowded street, painting an image of envy. Peeking from behind her large sunglasses she took in the grins and looks of disgusts plastered on their faces. Of course, Barekhna scoffed internally — to them she was a woman leeching off of a rich man, a harlot even given the seductive lipstick. To their petty minds it was unheard of — a woman affording a car far more than an average man's net worth. Absolutely not.

A fairytale bled itself on to the skies as the soft pale blues were marred with an off white sky, only thin sunlight made it's way and in the mid morning cast just a haze of shadows on to the carpeted roads. The hilt of her palm was plastered on to the horn as everyone drove ; their blind cuts a life hazard. Soft curses spilled out of her mouth, her tongue clicked against the soft palate, perforating wholly on the windows next to her. The after affects of rain still covered the green belts, the vegetation suddenly a bit more vibrant than it had been in the days before. Light like glitters glimmered through the collected rain drops a collection of which formed potholes. From the side of her eye, as she cruised slowly through the heavy traffic she saw the thinly dressed children jump into the water.

Splashes.
Splattering muddy water.
Siphoning off the water from the canal, they relished in the little that nature had given. Thankfulness was ever part of the human mind, without it life was besieged in a depressing castle. Pulling her windows down she was instantly met with the sounds of their laughter, their giddy jumps and the push-pulls. For a long while after her ears rung with their voices, even as she parked the car in front of the High court. Even as lawyers far older than her ran to her side, with files in hand to convince her.

"Ms.Saleem?"

A serene voice cornered her as she turned to enter her rented office. It, much like the many other advantages was part of the perks her firm bestowed upon her. Her hand slid on to the dusty handle, the softness of her lips twisted into an ugly grin as she waited for the person to come to face. Inside the room was untouched. The hired help was of course not doing their job — she knew who was partly to blame. Clenching her teeth she massaged the side of her head, slamming her files on to the table that she felt would break any moment.

Light ran into the room through the opened window — the large hole in it's latticed net precisely where most of the dust made it's way in from. Thick books lined the walls behind the worn out leather chair, her name curved on to a thick plaque that had been ripped out of a medieval age. Heavy footfall followed by the generous huffing met her ears as she wiped down the chair with an alcoholic wipe.
Sometimes practicality over fashion was a necessity.

"Who is it?" Barekhna called out without turning, the heavy breathing — not hers was a dead giveaway of the intruder.

That was if they thought they were light on their feet.

"I'm a repo-reporter for the TAC." The voice replied.

Barekhna hummed, catching sight of the thin silhouette. The voice was not at all familiar to her. Clicking her tongue, she pushed her hair behind her ear. Pivoting she stretched her hand with a stoic look, ice completely wrapped itself around her eyes as she wordlessly motioned for the woman to sit.

"Do you have a name?"

Barekhna's eyes wandered over the nervous novice's figure. Her hands twitched, and she fought the amusement off of her face, sliding into her seat. Tipping her pen on to the thick white page before her, she pushed her lips into a thin line. The woman was pretty, Barekhna deduced. Large doe eyes that were framed by soft lashes and hair that ran down to her waist. Not to mention the lithe figure she hid underneath her ill fitted suit — oh she was indeed pretty. The kind that was innocent enough to invoke anyone's hero complex.
Not you — her conscious reminded.
'Course, not her, Barekhna hummed, she was always into playing the villain anyways.

"San-Sana Fakhar."

"Well Sana," she tasted the name, perching an arm over the open files, her head resting on top with a softness as she added the words to her sentence, "why were you looking for me?"

"For an interview." Sana explained.

"That's ballsy of you." Barekhna replied.

"So can I — can I interview you?"

"Can you?" She grinned, her eyes narrowed into slits that shot poison.

"Now listen Sana, and listen good."

Barekhna rounded the table, her hand grazed the top of it and made it's way round the parameters before stilling on top of the nervous woman's hand. The tip of her nail dug in, her face leaned closer as she touched the strands of hair that were wrapped into a loose braid. The jitters on Sana's skin gave away the fright — a feeling Barekhna enjoyed in particular. Placing her hips on the table she whispered her words with prowess, her minty breath crushed against Sana's frame until they rendered her speechless.

"I know that the world is interested in the scoop — insider information about my husband and I but," she scoffed, streaks of red fled into her eyes, "I won't give any interviews. So you can run your pretty ass to your boss, and tell him, he can get an article on Barekhna Saleem. That too if I feel kind."

"But?" Sana spoke.

"But Barekhna Aliyaar is off limits."

"It could give you good public-"

"Keep that word in your pretty mouth pet. As a billionaire heiress — in pounds, married to a billionaire, making millions on my own ; the last thing I need is approval from a society that has nothing better to do with their time." Barekhna replied.

"People just want to know you." Sana weakly offered an explanation.

"No. They want to pick at my values," Barekhna sighed, "sadly none of them can afford it."

"However—"

"Leave miss Sana, you've overstayed your welcome. And don't make me call security!"

And then time was ticking again. A few more hours, and in this lonely silence she would count down eight days of a stalemate from his side. Few more before they would leave for her childhood country — her motherland, England.

A gush of wind whizzed and rattled the gentle bones of the frames. It was worn out, the iron rusted along the sides from ages of wear and tear. The glass panes collected the shadowy bones of rain that had collected on it's pasty shutters. Frozen in time — death warmed their hearts ; behind them remained only a dusty crust of drops. Foggy sunlight like the rays of iridescent glitter fostered themselves into her path, hugging her frame with the giddiness of former lovers. Spunky wardens that dared, inched around the open doors — peaking from the delicate frames, her frame hunched over the paperwork for a pending case. Delicate as she was her aura solidified any doubts that remained of her superiority, the power she could ; she would wield was unnecessary but a damn good birth right.
Though of course much of it remained hidden.

Her clients were a no-show, she realized as the hearing neared every minute and the chairs in front of her remained empty. Last minute abandonment was an issue, even more so when they were up against the Governor of Punjab. His authority won over what little right the people thought they had. A public hearing, the land owners had gathered to watch the audacity of a fragile female. Governor Chohan Faiz knew what he was doing, and suddenly it clicked in her mind the smirks he had casually thrown in her direction in the pervious hearing. The man knew. It was a set up. All of it — there was no case. Except for the one made simply to show her down. To humiliate her.

The temperature outside lowered, until at noon only grey skies covered the horizon and put out the last of any sunlight. Harsh winds tore through the trees with their tempest attitudes reigning them champions. Hail struck hard and fast. Nothing remained safe, not even the crowded entrance to the courts as they were shut with the intense outpour of the clouds. Howls of pain — the likes of a mother's wail on her child's funeral, kept the city alarmed. Pedestrians and all else that were exposed first hand ran for cover and in that there was a shared intimacy as their hot breaths condensed over the water that weighed their attires down. Cars were force in place. Freedom not so much of the owners who sat behind the expensive steering's and waited.

Dubious intentions were handled by nature itself.

The tip of her gold plated pen served circles on to the soft sheet of paper. Small words printed in neat lines — a last minute measure, covered it's otherwise pale appearance. It smelt and felt like linen against her finger tips, the pen wrapped around her slender joints as she pursed her lips. Feather soft lashes brushed against her cheeks dusted in shades of champagne, the loose strands of hair that had escaped their home with quick wit, punched her lips every few seconds. A welcome nuisance as she signed her name at the edge. The lines on her forehead disappeared as she lined the parchment folder with her seal — fates were on her side after all. Barekhna's teeth met the junction of her plump bottom lip as she toyed with the idea of leaving a hint for the authorities as she headed out.

Let them find out on their own.
That was for the best, Barekhna hummed under her breath, the charcoal umbrella inside her office coming in hand as she made the run to her car. Rain — a natural phenomenon they had not been expecting worked in her favor. Both the parties were a no show ; the court had been forced to push the hearing to a new date. Dashing into her car, Barekhna slipped against the leather seats and dropped the umbrella on the opposite end. Her fingers ran through the flaxen hair, slight droplets stumbled down her cheeks and melted against the mascara that coated her wispy lashes.

Willows shelled along the shadowy marble stairs, covered in a steady puddle of water. Uncountable thickets of the sharp hail gathered around the brick lined floors, the carpets leading up to the glass doors were water logged too. Thousands, millions of droplets meshed into one and ran against time — for gravity. Soft smells of nature in it's singular state of existing captured the nostrils and filled them with petrichor. It offered the signs of delight and solitude against the lonely afternoons that were coming. A result of the weather changing. Waiters lined the doors and pulled them open as she slid inside, her hands wiped against the warm towels they offered.

Juggling each of her items in between her palms she sauntered towards the table in the centre of the restaurant. The familiar mess of blonde hair and blue eyes struck her sight from across the room — his figure covered in a black dress shirt caught the female eye. Barekhna's hips moved like a zephyr, her legs pressed the gentlest of pressures into the floor as she walked closer. Her hands held on to the bag, light filled into her eyes as she saw her brother after weeks. It was a distance — haunting and inculcated in her a fear of losing him.

Giddiness bubbled into her chest, her lips pressed into the side of his head in a surprising kiss. Their arms wrapped around their frames and in the eyes of everyone in attendance they made a handsome pair. His cologne and her perfume mixed and lapped the room in a thick encasing of luxury, their welcomes murmured in hushed accents, as they slid into their seats once more. Barekhna's back pressed into the red leather of the wood finished sofa seat. Her legs crossed and the cusp of her ankles rested against the leg of the round table. An emptiness remained still. Awaiting the arrival of Aliyaar.

She kept her hair between her fingers, feeling the strands loose their silkiness as the rain dried on them. The top of her lips kissed the tip of her nose in sheer disappointment of the fact. Shampooing her hair again — a disaster for her hair, Barekhna thought. Her eyes hazed and fog filled them, with the edge of her nails she outlined the embossings of the words. Still though she manipulated the complimentary glass of the bright green mint margarita. Her lips wrapped over the straw and the muscles of her throat as she sipped with a hurricane of need.

"How's work?"

Barekhna spoke, her lips pushed into a soft relaxed state. The back of her hand held her face in place, the sharp structure of her jaw struck the soft flesh and turned it tender with force. Her shoulders fell into a stupor — her back still arched with precision, the widened orbs of her almond shaped eyes calculating the change in emotions on Aman's face.

"Tiring."

Barekhna's gaze filled up with a stray light, the gold turned into light flecks of amber as she tightened her hold on her brother's hand.

"Sab theek hai na?"
[Is everything alright?]

The British accent snubbed the Urdu words that sounded ruffled — endearing to the ears of her younger brother who adored his sister. Aman's blonde eyebrows pushed deeper into the creases of his forehead. His hand smacked at hers as she slid her fingers to soften them. He was her everything, and she would rip everyone apart for hurting him.

"It's not really a nice sight to watch people die in front of you." Aman sighed.

"I understand. I mean law isn't as hard as watching people die," she clicked her tongue.

"Stop undermining your efforts."

Barekhna laughed — the sound like the bluebells flying in the mid afternoon sky tumbled over the music. Coughing she pushed her hand over her mouth, hiding the satiated grin. Seemingly, nothing was as joyous as the sight of her resting in the low lights inside the restaurant, languidly brushing over the topics most would wretch over. The bottom layers of her hair curled smoothly on top of her breasts, her fingers drummed the smooth stitchings of the couch. Her legs bounced in delight, the cusp of her fingers pushed the straw around.

Undermine — it was a funny word and it's weightage in her dictionary was not enough. Barekhna never underplayed her efforts ; she was instead low balling. Her heart and sweat had poured into the career with everything else that she could, no breathing being could tell her she was not good enough. Only her Raphe ; and he would never utter those words. Confidence was an issue she had breezed over in her teen-ages, the tumultuous waves that were the British blue bloods, showed her where she stood. Then of course, Barekhna took their throne from them.

"You know that's not my forte Aman. Although," she tipped her head with excitement brimming from her cheeks, the shadows of the trees behind them grazed her cheek, "your sister might be loosing her first case."

"I bet my share of our hefty inheritance that you will not." Aman said.

"See you're a smart boy Aman!"

Their conversation blanched over as the the doors to the five star place opened once again. The narrow figure of Aliyaar, with his wide shoulders and tanned waist covered by a maroon dress shirt, caught Barekhna's eye. Her mouth almost watered as his slightly tanned skin came to view, the long legs — toned and slender covered in the black slacks captivated. She yearned internally for him to remove the shades that hid his every gleaming eyes — though they were words and requests she would keep to herself. Nerves exploded inside her hands, tiny tremors erupted in the middle of her back as he walked towards them. His hands ran through the brunette locks and rain drizzled on to her face. Aliyaar's soft voice, apologized and Barekhna sighed in relief.

Perhaps she was thinking too much.
Perhaps he was too trusting.
Perhaps. She. He. They.
A lot was weighing down her heart all of a sudden ; the sight of him triggered anxiousness.

"Aliyaar." Barekhna nodded as he took up the seat beside her.

Aliyaar's eyes collided against her frame, he had missed her in the morning — leaving at an hour earlier than her. His throat clogged up with emotions the longer he stared at the face that was tranquil. Her eyes were sweet like honey and in them was an ocean of desire. There was more in her heart that he was yet not allowed to touch. Under the guise of fixing his cuff he stared at the side of her face, all but burning the smallest of pores and scars into his brain. He was sure, Aliyaar demurely thought to himself, he was sure if his head was sliced open there would be one thing alone.

Barekhna.
Her name and her figure. The facts he knew of her, and everything else. In him there were a billion atoms that had the capacity to hold the entire potential of this planet. Yet, but, however — all the conjunctions in the world would not change the facts.
Yet all he wanted was for every speck of him to be dedicated to her. Alive and in death. He was hers.

"Let's order?" Aman cleared his throat.

Aliyaar buzzed with blood rushing straight to his cheeks as he looked up at the sibling duo. They stared at him as if he were an entity altogether unknown. He coughed, the ball of emotions in his throat settled slightly into his veins.

"Of-of course."

"Great because I for one am ravenous!"

Barekhna winked at Aliyaar, wheezing as his face turned a bright red.

"Italian or?" Aman read the words, his voice hung over the atmosphere.

"Italian."
"Italian!"

Aliyaar and Barekhan exchanged a soft look, the spark between them was palpable, and even the serves in the furthest of corners could see the charm their bodies radiated. They were in a cocoon, much to everyone's surprise, it was transparent and thin to the point that those that were covered in it's hold could not see it either.

"Can we get a chicken cacciatore?"

Barekhna inquired with her eyes softly staring at her husband — her lips pursed in anticipation to hear his deep voice. That as of late had been hidden from her. It was her fault entirely but the sufferings were equal.

Aliyaar stared at her, his eyes losing the last bits of sheets that separated the natural allure of them from her. He nodded, his shades now replaced with the rimless spectacles. His stomach clenched as she rested her hand over his thighs, squeezing them softly. He was sure his heart skipped a beat and that an appointment with a cardiologist was becoming more necessary than ever. What did they know was not as much as he knew. And he knew, his heart could do with mushrooms but not an ounce of sadness in her eyes. No, those his heart reminded him - as if it was required - that was off limits. The centers of her dark brown eyes deserved to glitter always. Even at the expense of his own life ; Aliyaar would always ensure.

"You two can share I'm leaning towards aglio e olio." Aman tutted.

"That won't be a problem, I'm not that hungry anyways." Aliyaar shrugged.

"Sain— Aliyaar mama told me you left without breakfast. How come you're still not hungry?"

"I just am not." Aliyaar shook his head, staring into her eyes with innocence.

"To balance all of that, we should get insalata caprese too." Aman suggested, over riding their conversation.

"Get anything you want," Barekhna smiled with purpose lining her words, digging the edge of her heels into Aliyaar's calf she spoke with a snubbed tone, "your brother-in-law is paying after all."

"Huh— yeah Aman get whatever you feel like enjoying."

Just like that he had melted. Gone was the icy corners on his heart that had been building into a thick sheet strength from the past seven days. All it took was a soft smile, and he was ready — more than prepared to run himself to the ground. She acknowledged their relationship to a third person — what a time to be alive, Aliyaar sighed softly.

➖➖➖➖➖

Barekhna sipped the sweet beverage, steam still swirled in front of her eyes as she sat on the more than comfortable couch. An easy conversation carried steadily across the low rise coffee table was more than she was used to. The extra care shown to her choices, her preferences pinched her heart as first — though later she graciously received the mug of coffee her grandmother in law had brewed for her. The beans steamed and came through, the dollop of cream mixed with honey that dado insisted was a good combination won her heart. Prancing around the open veranda of the small home she sat in the middle of her sister-in-law's.

Perhaps heaven could be desired after all.

The moonlight with it's flourishing paleness dwelled on to the gravel that cracked at places and became home to water. The silvery light smeared against her face and she was left a blubbering mess as the women made soft teasing remarks. It was a breath of fresh air ; her guard relaxed as she felt at home. Somewhere where she belonged — a feeling she hadn't known for a decade.

"Mama I need your help." Barekhna whispered as she watched Lyana walk away from the party.

"Everything okay Barekhna?"

"I don't know," she sighed.

"Tell me what's bothering you." Lyana smiled in reassurance.

"Do you think it's wrong if I don't tell Aliyaar my secrets?"

"Well, Alamgeer and I sometimes have our secrets but we end up telling each other because we know that it won't be used against us in case we fight. If you trust him Barekhna then tell him," she kissed her hands, "and if you don't then don't. It will break him."

"So silence?" She sounded skeptical.

"Sometimes silence is your only friend."

Is this foreshadowing or what?
I adore Aman guys (I thought id makw that clear)
Also you should 100000% check out 'Pursuit of Perfection' if you're looking for your next Politically charged, young adult fiction. It's by Malikadoc and so worth it guys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!