One.

"A white elephant, is she not that?" Zayed spoke, ready to loose his mind.

"Every cloud has a silver lining, mind you."

"And I can't see any. You're in love with her. Have been for years. She doesn't even know you exist!"

"You can't just expect me to kick her out of her home!"

"Oh Aliyaar you need help." He sighed, "move on mate. Get married." His own wedding band falling under the golden sunlight.

In contempt his finger's slid of course, rapping harshly into the C keys of the grand piano. Off tune, the middle C unpressed, his fingers drumming in hard and long, frustrations inching out of his skin by the minute.

"Ouch man! I'm sorry if I offended you."

"It's fine. I know it's stupid — too still — completely be in love but what can I do? It's nearly impossible for me to move on." He sighed, a calloused palm running over the tired ridges of his face.

"Aliyaar I think what you need is to go to that reunion trip in Dubai with our university batch mates. Work and family won't get your mind off of things." Zayed patted his arms, taking a sip of the lukewarm coffee.

"You're right. However, there isn't anytime." Aliyaar shook his head.

Zayed opened his mouth, soft air escaping it as his phone buzzed. "I've gotta go Aliyaar, however, I'm booking you a ticket too. We're going on this trip — don't make me call up aunty about this." His words sharp, the slap on his back warm as he left the private saloon in Aliyaar's chambers.

He pressed his fingers in the lonesome room on middle C a last time. A sad parted tone ; a joyful cry rumbled in the back of his throat. Pinching the starchy fabric of his sleeves he stood up — legs uncrossed as they stalked towards the curtains overlooking the bright gardens. Aliyaar pressed his hands into the thick velveteen curtains, a small floral print on the crushed material sank under his warm palms. Closed shut — like his heart. Orange sunlight from a thin strip fell on his skin, the gold undeniably underneath his skin glinting. His soft lips, arched, brushed against the sweet smelling fabric.

Over the upholstered crème chairs in his saloon, attached to his study and bedroom, his suit rested like a messy heap. The crook of his finger held the weight, veins on his arms throbbing with thought of what was — what would be. Trapped in his own web of thoughts still sticky with the memories of his elaborate ; non existent affair maimed him a bit more. A buzz on his phone, the snapping sounds on his iPad not enough to tear through the thick reverie as the thirty one year old stepped into his bedroom. Sunlight— filterless right before sunset, drenched his crème walls in their bright clementine color, the deep wood sharply contrasting against it.

Aliyaar unbuttoned each of his buttons with thoughtful dexterity. He was drained of his energies, rightly so at that. The meetings — one after the other had slowly bled him, his blood white now. A drop to the pits of his stomach, his heart's emotions as he stood under the blasting icy shower. His muscles clenched, the back rippling under the pelting harshness of the drops. Massaging the thick coconut shampoo into his scalp, he rubbed the weariness, or that which was palpable out of him. Eyes rimmed red stared at his reflection under the warm yellow lights, on the wet glass doors of his shower. Out of place. The brown warm and swirling with mystique looked out of place on the tired face. A scruff sprouting up on his taut jaw.

Rubbing the fluffy towel through his hair, dabbing at his skin the thick moisturizer that smelt like air — pure and unmarred, he closed his eyes to relish in the moments of loneliness. He liked them. Thrived in this ; being alone — it was a luxury he could not oft afford. As his hands rubbed the cream in, he painted his favorite memory inside his mind once more. Just like the day, five years ago, the memory was crisp and sharp. Her, with the deep brown hair that she tousled over her bare shoulders and the pert British accent. An angle at the gates of heaven — what she resembled as she passed through the arched doors of the university. A transfer student, in her last semester of her bachelors degree. She had struck the chord of his heart ; and ever since she played it to her tunes. Even now, in the long absence.

"Aliyaar bhai?" A knock broke the dream, it always did.

"Y-yes?" He replied, flustered, his skin turning red as he dressed into his casual attire.

"Chai lag gayi hai, sab ap ka intezar kar rahay hain."
[Tea has been served, everyone is waiting for you.]

"Mein araha hun," he replied.
[I am coming.]

Aliyaar raked his hands through his damp locks, rushing down the large stairs of their quarters one at a time. A few years prior, a large construction had taken place, proper quarters to offer the three son's of his grandfather some privacy. He trailed his hand along the dark oak railing, skimming over the stairs. A flossy spun gold covered the marble floors and pale Persian carpets, trapped in the still manor by the crystal glasses. Sounds of chimes and chatters filled in through the lounge, giving their part of the mansion a hubbub — that had been lost for sometime since Arham moved out and began his life in Mushkpur. Aliyaar trespassed the doors thrown open in hospitality, his parents and sister surrounded by a glass trolley, a porcelain tea set, sat in front of them.

"Aiye janab ap hi ka intezar tha!" Lyana spoke with a wistful tone, sauntering towards him, her hands wrapped around his frame.
[Come sir we were waiting for you!]

"Thank you for that." He smiled generously, dropping a feather light kiss on the top of her head.

"Zayed didn't stay?" Alamgeer questioned.

Looking up from the game of cards both he and Lilah were engrossed in, the elderly man nodded in the direction of his son.

"He had a tea to attend with his wife."

"Ah! Ab tou sab meray hum umar dadi aur saas ban gayi hain. Magar mein—" Lyana chuckled, her words hanging in the floral air.
[Everyone my age now is either a grandmother or a mother-in-law. But me—]

"You're one too. Arham got married a few months ago, remember?"

He knew where the conversation was headed. Aliyaar's weight sunk into the love seat's arm beside his sister. He wrapped an arm around her, throwing the cards for her. Marriage. The topic irked him. Pricked his skin in a unusual sensation. Of course, he had dreams. To be one with the woman he loved. However, his fears held him back. She knew him mortally as his brother's brother. No other strings attached. It was an icy relationship, only the warmth of his emotions melting the icy gates.

"But I want to see you married happily too Aliyaar, like Arham."

He shook his head, stirring in the warm milk. The tiny porcelain cup was swallowed entirely by the cusp of his palms, the steam whizzed on to the bony back of his hands. A pinky pushed out, the sweet baklava lightening up the sour taste of the oily tenders, he sipped lightly. Aliyaar thanked his father as he threw in a dollop of honey into his tea. Truthfully, he wished he was not a coward. His eyes warmly ran over his mother's face who was blossoming pink with joy — he knew an approval and it would turn tenfolds. She deserved it. Could he though, deserve her?

"I am mama. I am happy with you and abu and Lilah." He emphasized.

"Eik din hum nahi rahein gai. Eik din Lilah ki shaadi ho jayi gi. Tab?" She spoke.
[One day we won't stay. One day Lilah will get married. Then what?]

"Never ever talk about you dying. I can't imagine a life without you two." He tapped the corner of his eye, a burning couplet escaping down his cheek.

Aliyaar felt weak.
Depraved.
Shallow.
A grip on emotions — an art that most had developed early on in their life seemed to have escaped him as a child. It had not, even brushed the top of his cheek even as a child — nor now. Dripping with anxiousness his shoes tapped against the floors, his hands tightened around the cup. Thin fires spread along his skin ; icy and dreadful.
Fear of the unknown.
Fear of being alone.
Silent fears — blossomed.
Perhaps his parents did not know either, the anxiousness in his eyes clenched and turned the river of molten chocolate to a snappy one. Hardened.

"Sorry Aliyaar. You know that's not what I meant okay? I just want you happy."

"And I will be—" he smiled curtly, "maybe." He whispered under his breath.

"Who is it?" Alamgeer's warm voice broke their conversation.

"What?"

"Who is it that you love? Give us a name, we'll take a proposal tomorrow Aliyaar." He said.

"Abu I—"

"Aliyaar naam batao!" Lyana spoke cheerily.
[Aliyaar tell us the name]

"No one."

I'm not worthy of her — the facts reinstated inside his head. Forever. Always. If she were the sun, he was a tiny dust spec. If she was the universe, he was a lowly asteroid. She a queen — he the dust under her feet.

"Fine then. As soon as you come back from the reunion weekend in Dubai I'm going to start looking for someone."

Dubai reunion weekend — Zayed, of course, he cursed under his breath. Betrayal. Aliyaar could only, nod his head shortly. He would no longer keep his parents from joy. But he would also not — promise his heart, to another.

➖➖➖➖➖

Tumbling through the cross chambers of the Chantilly duvet, legs divided in between Aliyaar stepped into his ensuite. His fingers clicked the lights open, flirtatious sounds were his muse as he undressed. Each morning, with a dutiful pep in his step, he wore the persona of an accomplished businessman. As he swept the buttons one after the other into the crisp cotton dress shirts, he perched on a small smile ; affectionate without attachment. Impersonal. Delivering to the best of his capabilities, he straightened out the edges sliding in the ends — with creased neatness. Spot on. Aliyaar was infamous for being spotless amongst the troubles. He forced a smile at his tried reflection, dark circles like a painted raccoons face kept his pale skin from washing away.

Today though, he was not the CEO Aliyaar Alamgeer on whose command an entire empire danced. Not the heir to his father's empire. Nor the caretaker of the sugar mills they owned. Today — for the rest of the weekend he was simply Aliyaar. The man who was besotted. Who was drinking the pain of his love ; of his desperate patience. For the weekend, he would be away from work. For the weekend — at-least, he would enjoy. In distance. In silence. He would. Or else his mother would make Bullion out of his head.

"Goodbye dearest lightning. I'll miss you."

He dropped a kiss on the head of his female Rottweiler. His neatly chopped nails scratched the back of her head, a smile, her tongue protruding from behind her sharp teeth in glee. Aliyaar had named her after the woman he loved, lightning. Was it offensive or borderline obsessive? He was still wondering what it meant. Only he hoped — she would never feel offended.

Aliyaar locked his bedroom door, sliding the keys into the crystal ball beside the door — it could only be accessed by a six digit code. The wheels of his suitcase dragged through the saloon and the corridor. His parents waited for him at the bottom of the staircase, hugging him whilst the servants loaded the car. Outside the sun had set and the sky was turning into a shade of light black. The blue in it's paleness had dissolved and the creme clouds that sprouted every few miles had turned darker to match their new fate. Stars twinkled overhead. As the suv rolled through the carpeted streets, his hands dangled over the console, fingers typing away at the screen of his phone. Back and forth in banter with his brother.

"What?" He spoke with an offended tone, handling his suitcase as he stepped into the large airport.

White lights washed out the eerie darkness of the abandoned streets outside. Life seemed to be brimming with full capacity inside the place. Men, women and all those in between ran around, screaming or whispering as they passed through customs. At the arrivals gate people hugged each other and roses covered the marble floors of the airport. Cars whizzed to and fro, men holding trolleys offered their services to taxi the heavy luggage. Taking large steps, his long legs swallowing the distance in a few seconds whilst Arham raged to him on the phone. Aliyaar voicelessly hired a man, who followed suit with his bags on the silver trolley.

"Wow Aliyaar. I'm surprised you can be pissed too." The sound of his brother's voice, chuckling on the other side annoyed him.

"What do you want Arham?" Aliyaar said.

"Urm— I don't know if your lawyer will be there though." Aliyaar quipped, nodding his head at his words, "I'll be there for the final court hearing. Don't worry. Twin code, remember?" He chuckled.

Aliyaar's warm eyes drank up the details of the huge entourage gathering at the doors of the international departures. Curtly he paid the man his dues, sliding his bag off and placing his phone into his pockets. Everyone was there. He gulped the emotions that threatened to fight him for all his conscious. Hell froze over him ; thin ice burnt his blood. Startling as it was, even dressed as opulent as those in front of him, the square of his shoulders and the slender fall of his neck held him below water. Inferior. In all capacity he was inferior. Aliyaar though, still walked nearer, rolling on his heels as he hugged his only friend. Zain's circle dispersed after that, Aliyaar's smile dying.

"Glad you could make it Ali." Zayed slapped his back.

"Wish I could say the same. Clearly, still not liked much." He chuckled dryly, "but of course you're the life of the party."

"Live a little Aliyaar. You can be just as loved."

"I'm fine," he said, "there's only one I wish to be loved by." He murmured with despondency.

"Hi Zayed! And—" the shrill voice of their former class mate forced the conversation to an early death. Her eyes moulded into her skull the longer she looked at Aliyaar, before shouting loudly, "and Zayed's friend!"

There they went again.
Nameless.
Faceless.
That's all he was. A forgettable man. Even in the handsomeness of his square jaw that his mother loved to kiss, and the sharp brown eyes she said resembled her favorite chocolate, he was every inch a man could forget. Brimming fire in his orbs turned into a low flame, it's life flung out of his body. Crushed with disappointment— rightly so. Even after years of having been at the top of the business world, Aliyaar sighed in pain, his classmates — people he claimed friends were yet to remember him.

"Meeha Dar?" He raised a brow, his hand forwarding on it's own accord, "Aliyaar Alamgeer. Your classmate from business law class."

"I do-don't recall." She frowned, her blue eyes hidden beneath the shade of her eye lids.

"Well we were doing our masters when you were in your bachelors so makes sense." He played it off.

"'Course. Anyways it's nice to meet you and you too Zayed," she beamed, pushing her hair behind her ears, "excited for Dubai!"

"We all are. I don't see your group of friends though." Zayed spoke.

"Oh! Barekhna and Maria are on there way. Stuck in traffic — poor things." She giggled.

And there it was ; the name that struck a chord in his heart.

➖➖➖➖➖

There she stood. Under the washed out fair lights of the restaurant. Over the bridge, in front of the Burj Khalifa, she stood. Her hair swayed gently with the air — every inch smelling of sand and smoke. Of lobsters and steaks. Gayly, her arms wound around the necks of her friends, the pools of her umber eyes hardened as flashes blinded their sight. Arms slipped and slid, hands brushed skins and through it all, Aliyaar found himself once more mere inches ; yet lightyears away from her. With confidence her soft shoulders wound the white midi length dress around the rest of her frame. The dip and curve of her hip, the soft curves of her bosom and chin — every inch deprived of the worshippers it deserved. Like always, he noticed from the background, her nails painted claret red. They always were. She never missed out.

Her soft voice, energetic and gripping told the tales of yet another court case. Twenty - nine she was but the stars to her name, increased the power of her aura by seconds. The mere concept of her existence was like a pitch black — power incarnated. Ice melted in her palms from the heat of her gaze. She was seduction personified. Every word ; be it a curse, fell against the skin of her admirers like soft jasmines. The signature English Pear and Freesia — a scent his grandmother wore every day; astounded his senses. In ways she reminded him of his grandmother— the same strength and resilience. Honored to know two such women.

"Sir what would you like?" The waiter cleared his throat.

Aliyaar averted his gaze, clearing his throat. A flush settled on his pale face, the width of his palms shielding him from the views of his smirking best friend.

"I'll have the poached lobster, please."

"And drink sir?"

"Just a sprite please."

"Of course, sir."

Aliyaar smiled politely in return, drumming the wooden table with his fingers — as if it were the keys of his glass grand piano. He crossed his legs under the table, the silken slacks rising at the ankles. A white polo stretched across his chest, and hid the heart that ashamedly thrived for another.

"Go talk to her Aliyaar! Grow a pair!" Zayed snickered.

"Not now."

"Acha phir kab? Jab tumharay bhai ko woh apnay shaadi ka card bhejay gi?" He said.
[Alright then when? When she'll send your brother her wedding card?]

"Agar meri takdeer mein huwi tou bin kahe mil jaye gi."
[If she is in my destiny then I'll get her without a word.]

Aliyaar smiled behind the glass of mint margarita, winking in the direction of his friend. His fingers tousled the hair from one side to the next, skimming the span of his slick forehead with the base of her palm. Blistered affections primed him ready for the heart ache that was waiting, for the heart break that was ready to unfurl. Some truth swam in the words of his confidant. His leap of faith was great but the hope that kept the world working was — greater. Tapping his oxfords against the cobblestones he pinched the menu in disbelief.

He skimmed over the sight. Her slender figure moved nearer and nearer by the second, in her hands the sleek phone that was most oft pressed against her elfin ears. Her fingers tapped on the back of the gorilla glass. Her gaze flickered, curiosity swimming with earnest. If he could ; he would have ran to her with open arms. Aliyaar dipped his head mournfully. A funeral set in stone as she slid beside the it boy of their university. Mirhan Latif — a prodigy in the research world. Pride of the country. Someone she deserved. Someone equal. A man she should be next to.
And not him ; a lost man.
A lost cause.

"Hi— if I'm not wrong you're Aliyaar, right?" Her British accent from across the table had it's full affect on him.

"Uh—urm—uh— no— of-of course!" He coughed out.

She giggled.
He made her laugh.
Aliyaar lost himself into her starry eyes that seemed to have captured the whole world in them. It was honor. He had elicited a reaction out of her. For the first time in the five years she had gripped his heart, she initiated the conversation. Joy bloomed inside his chest, like tiny ivy's and roses blooming on the planes of his valves. In and out thinly, from the chambers. Squeezing it in rapture ; in pain that melted into pleasure.

"So yes or no?"

Speaking softly, tucking a strand behind her ear — an act she did with no reason, he had observed. He nodded his head.

"Aliyaar. Right. Right." Aliyaar spoke.

"Ah! Your brother is a delight to work with. The easiest client I've had in a while." She beamed, the apples of her cheeks protruding.

"Arham — yeah he is like that." He nodded.

Just like that.
Without even trying.
His brother had forced him into the shadows. The evident truth of his life. His only claim. Aliyaar's bones rattled with life. With a keenness his eyes noticed the hungry gazes of men on her shoulders, still wrung straight with confidence.
He would make his first move.
He had to.
He would.
Surely.
Probably not — his mind chuckled at him ; you fear rejection more than you love her.

➖➖➖➖➖

Welcome to A Court's Maim.
I hope you enjoy this journey. We have waited for you all, for far too long.

Next update : Thursday