Chapter 9.

The air was potent and heavily laced with the scent of gardenias and lit up seduction. It was sparkling with the curiosity of the dry air — heaving under the weight of celebration and the gust of emotions that stemmed from the event on head, tonight. A riverine of effects sauntered around the orange air, the flashing lights beneath the soft river bed lit up the man made pond and elicited the most softest of moans from the onslaught of water that without remorse struck the roots and grass. There was a heaving array of emotions inside the thin chambers of the heart, mellow and perhaps muted.

Soft murmurs and whispers of the nightly beings that descended amongst the shadowy branches were unheard. The stalking eyes in the large gardens — pertinent to the ghosts of the not so long ago lost past, threaded in between the figures like an unspoken prayer. A myriad of emotions. Each one, darker than the previous in their dull capacities. Large posters with the reason of celebration written in cursive, the gold name struck on top with plenty of glitters. It was to celebrate the beginnings of a new bond. Of something that was yet to unfold itself in strengths unknown.

Lined next to the rows of the pure white flower beds was a table, lit up with thin fairy lights and an array of desserts. Covered in a dark caramel the tower of profiteroles surrounded the two ends, in the middle anything from cake pops to tarts found. In the very centre, the pastel fresh cream cake had just been slice through and the pink candy that flooded out ; it was an explanation that the couple was going to have a daughter. The Saqib's an industrialist couple were welcoming their first child into the world that was filled with dangers.

Gauze and chiffon ran plenty in the lit up garden where a long list of tables in a circular arrangement had been placed, the guests walking around the couple, filling them up with compliments. The snarky remarks about the gaudiness — of course, were kept under folds and would later be opened on their dinner tables. Pinks and blues amongst an array of vast neutrals kept the place from suffocating, in the otherwise raunchy use of bold glitters and sparkles. Money had thrown up in the place — most of it would go to a remorseful waste. It's life only to appease.

It was not her they were celebrating but it seemed that it was. All eyes remained, steadfast, on her bony shoulders that peaked from her crystalline dress. Swarovski in nature the crystals on the Prabal Gurung celeste dress squinted like a million stars on Earth under the inanimate lighting. It's pale blue struck against her cool tone skin like stars do to the midnight sky. Feeling along the strapless top, her nimble fingers running down the length she looked like royalty.
A mirage of their dreams.
The truth of his life.
With her face angled to a grim and stony look, the captivating honey of her eyes solid like gold, gazed at the sleazy gazes. Claret red in nature, her lips were like a siren's.

There was no need of a cupid's bow when she breathed. Just a whiff of her perfume and their hearts drank her up like bottomless champagne. Served in a bed of ice. Pale blue ruffles followed behind her a close second to the staring gazes of the men and women. At her sheer audacity to show up in a dress that displayed her fluorescent skin with such might. Her hair were left open in a straightened gelled back look, the multi shaped fringe necklace, with diamonds resting delicately above her cleavage. Snowfall earrings and a platinum ear cuff completed the look. Barekhna looked a like a million bucks and the testament to the untapped wealth was the large rock on her left ring finger.

The autumnal abyss, when one seizes to remain and something new, more raw is born, was the perfect back drop for the baby shower — cum gender reveal. Fancier, more westernized names to the simple godh bharai. She held on to the jimmy choo celeste clutch, the silver matched the look inside her eyes. Like a fury of ice frozen above the magma in the centre of the earth. She was fire, in the middle of water. Hell, in the centre of heaven.

From the thigh high slit her toned calves breathed the air free and caused dreams — one of merriment and nightmares that would haunt. She perked up at her younger brother's sight who walked towards with a glass of rose shaded punch. Her fingers reached out and the platinum band of her engagement ring struck the crystal of the glass, his warm arm going around her shoulders — perks of being taller.

"Found anyone?" She teased, sipping the cocktail with her eyes fluttering over the many feminine silhouettes.

"No. Not yet." He shrugged, his free hand tucked away into his trouser's pockets.

"What a shame." She spoke, clicking her tongue.

"And where is your fiancé?"

Aman peeked at her, tousling away the curls of his blonde hair kissing the top of his forehead. He hissed as her sharp nails pinched his lower abdomen, the sharp smile on her face not dimmed in the least. His own blue eyes were suddenly home to the most mischievous of thoughts, sparkling like still waters in the moonlight as he walked his sister towards the entrance of the gardens.

"Will you answer me api?"

"On his way." She gazed at her phone, the bright screen lit up her eyes as she held back the rage, "this man is twenty minutes late! You best be glad I haven't met our family yet."

Pushing off her brother's arm she walked out through the gold archway, her fitted dress accentuated her curves and the way the guards gawked she knew she looked good. With an arrogant air, she froze the atoms and cosmos above, carving her way through the crowded parking. Her Renè Caovilla heels with the sunflower strass, crawled up to mid calf length, the toes painted a light shade of silver squeezed together in the tight grip. Barekhna pushed her shoulders back a few inches, holding the clutch between her elbow she texted away, a frown creased her spotless skin.

Under the naked moonlight with not an ounce of obstruction she was covered in a glassy halo. It seemed as if the light came from within her supple chest and not the full moon that was ghastly pale compared to her. Yellow lights strung on either side marred her aura and she almost seemed to be blushing. That — and Barekhna were not to be used in a single sentence, of course. It was instead the ocean of fury that mystified on her cheeks, crushing her sides until her lungs were full off the horrors. Groaning she slammed her phone against her forehead, pressing her body against the bonnet of her car, watching her reflection be joined by that of another's.

They made quite a pair — her first thought as the anger began to dissolve at the sight of his bright eyes. She could see a million stars inside his humble eyes, the tuxedo with the powder blue dress shirt was quite a pair. Barekhna was glad she had sent it to him, for he looked just like she had imagined — a king. His hair looked soft and lustrous, it felt the same too as she reached out to mess up their strong hold. Aliyaar was a melting pot — of love, divinity and an obtuse mess. His rugged jawline with the spruced brunette beard made him, him. Smiling at her he forwarded a box wrapped in a matte gift wrap. Tiny bows and cars printed along the white page, intrigued her.

"What in the world is this?" She frowned, her voice an octave too high.

"It's a gift for — for the kid." He shrugged.

"Aliyaar you weren't supposed to bring one."

"I— it's the first time I was visiting so I couldn't possibly come empty handed."

His ears turned pink, his hands rubbing the back of his sweaty neck. Aliyaar's gaze drowned her face in their intensity as he tried to come up with a plausible explanation. Had he messed up? In the period of their engagement, he had not ever seen her so pissed. Not even when he missed Aman's graduation due to a sudden meeting.

"Why are you so late?"

"I couldn't figure out what to get, there were too many options." He shrugged nonchalantly, his hands sweating instantly.

"You don't have to suck up to them Aliyaar."

"But—"

"No. They hate me already okay? So it's totally fine! You don't have to appease them." She shook her head, placing the gift in his hands, "well I guess we better go in and meet the couple of the evening."

Aliyaar fidgeted in his place, holding the rectangular box in a tight grip, wondering if he should follow behind her or walk instep. Decisions — hard ones at that. Responding to the various signals inside his brain, he wrapped an arm around her waist, hoping it was not too soon. His heartbeat calmed and the cramps inside his shoulder blade instantly died down as she pressed her figure into his, the two walking into the large event as each other's arm candy. Aliyaar's slow steps contrasted her sharp ones, with the heels pressing into the soft ground and his oxfords just about skimming the edge of the carpets.

Sliding the gift on the table beside the entrance, the two made their rounds greeting the n number of guests. Saving the worst for last — her family. He squeezed her waist in reassurance, for himself, as they walked towards the old pair who were busy conversing with Hareem and Saliha. The mother to be radiant and her bulging belly pridefully in display as she sipped on the glass of ice cold water. Seated on a coral colored sofa set, in a round arrangement, they looked like the most perfect of families, and the image was about to be destroyed in mere seconds.

The greetings were uttered with high traces of venom, sharp retorts whispered into ears as they hugged and polite smiles offered to the man who was willing to handle the black mark on the family name for the rest of his life. Praises for his handsomeness fell on to deaf ears for he could only focus on the way his heart beat at an alarming pace. Aliyaar's ears throbbed with a loud ease, building around him a shell where it was him and the thoughts that would perhaps never see the light of the day. From the corner of his eyes he caught sight of his fiancée engaged in a passionate debate — that title still tricking his heart into losing it's pace.

"Aliyaar your family didn't come?" The overly sweet phopho of his fawned over him.

He felt trapped all of a sudden, like his throat closed up and nails clawed at his esophagus. Gently he stepped back an inch, sliding his hands into his trousers as he shrugged in reply, words seeming to fail him.

"They uh — they were busy." All the reassurance he could offer them.

"Wouldn't have expected this from them, but oh well," her grandmother sighed, as if sympathetic towards her granddaughter, "if they don't value Barekhna how would they value her family?"

"I agree amma. Their younger daughter-in-law, they spoil her too much and couldn't attend an event for Barekhna's sake." Hareem tsked.

"It's a shame they couldn't attend. Unfortunately," Barekhna smirked, walking back into Aliyaar's arms as she continued, "Lyana aunty told me she wouldn't attend an event that was held on the very purpose of delaying Aliyaar and I's wedding!"

"This event was planned before you even agreed." Saliha spoke in defense, her voice weak against Barekhna's raging tone.

"Jhut kisi jahil sai ja kar bolna Saliha. I've got enough proof to know what it was that you intended."
[Lie to someone that is stupid Saliha.]

"Aliyaar stop your wife to be!" Hareem chided.

"I can stop myself, I'm mature enough. It's best if you don't drag him into petty arguments." Barekhna pinched her nose to calm the anger, "unlike your husbands the only time he argues is when he's making deals worth billions."

"Good one api!" Aman chuckled, hugging Aliyaar, "the two of you are being called by Sadiq sahab and his business partners."

On the other more darker end of the ground, with barely any light pouring through the men all accumulated with their wives or mistresses of choice hanging off of their arms. Diamonds and rubies trickled like water in the corner and save for the burning sage behind the bushes it smelt heavily of cigars and cigarette smoke. It morphed into a fusion of a dark grey smoke and attracted the eyes of everyone as they brushed against each other, moving in circles and maintaining a simultaneous conversation of money and muses. With laughter that was redder than the meat being served in scalloping portions — for dinner, and drinks softer than the bubble less champagne, the mood was light.

Their presence was greeted with narrowed eyes and snide quips that died down at the up turn of their noses. Boot licking Saqib was important but hurting Aliyaar, the man opposite him, would end their careers. Blinking at the sight of his narrow torso with the shoulders that were broad enough to support the responsibilities of thousands, the women sighed. There were silent exchanges too, at the sight of the womanly figure beside him, that had an aura to threaten and kill with so much as a short glance.

"Aliyaar."

"Saqib." He nodded stiffly, his chest brushing against Barekhna's back.

"It's been a while since I saw you, you too flower." He gazed at Barekhna.

Aliyaar clenched his fist, his nails turning pale at the force and digging marks into the flesh of his palms as he wrapped an arm around her, pushing her against himself. Gulping he took a sip of the drink in his hand, untapped warning swam in his eyes and warned. There was a spark, it ticked his jaw off and his cheekbones sharpened a few millimeters as he all but crushed the glass inside his grip. Ire filled his being and like octane ran through his veins, pumping the rage in hi as a result of the daunting tone. The man was senile, punching him where it was the most tender — and he would not sit back.

He straightened his posture, staring into the man's eyes as he sipped his drink, Barekhna's attention on the game of cards that was being played. He stroked her hips building up the fire inside his own palms and setting a warning on hers. Aliyaar felt her legs tense up as she pressed her front against the glass table, he too leaning over her as they played the game as a team — not necessarily their favorite activity but they were also not one to pass up a challenge. His head dipped and rested in the crook of her neck, her perfume most strongest their. He took a shaky breath, feeling the violent outburst of his heart against his rib cage like a horse galloping in the sunny meadows. She hummed, pressing her derrière against him, sweet revenge for the touch he branded her with.

"She's not your wife so keep calm with all that rubbing and grinding." Ameen Liyan coughed out his words.

Barekhna grimaced at the sight of him, why was Saqib related to all the worst men?

"Could say the same about you and miss Delvina." She quipped, hinting at the infamous affair of his and his French assistant.

"Oh please, none of us here are children. We've all had our fair share of," Saqib stared at her before engaging with the crowd, "of the other gender — for the lack of a better word."

"Speak for yourself Saqib bhai, some of us have never wished to be a walking STD." Barekhna batted her eyes lashes softly, placing down the queen of hearts on to the table.

"Interesting."

"Very." She tilted her head, sliding a cigar out of the leather sleeve.

Pushing it in between her teeth she lit it up, taking a long puff. Her breasts rose and fell with a softness that was calming. With the curve of her back moulded against Aliyaar's frame she carelessly smoke the cigar, her lips wrapping around it's thickness seduction enough. He felt something stir inside him, an untouched part of his mind that was forced shut. Aliyaar was taken aback at her boldness and the show of an innocent seduction that took place before the eyes of many. His lungs filled up with the air mixed with her peach and freesia perfume, making it hard for him to breathe and think rationally. Without calculation his own hand dipped, dragging slowly against her bare thighs. Tension built up as she gasped and moaned into her bourbon, slamming another card with shaky fingers, feeling his trace dangerously close.

"I call bluff!" Ameen smirked, seeing the slip in Barekhna's stony eyes.

She chuckled, biting her tongue to hold back the heated moan, unfolding her cards. Ace. All of them, like she had announced. A round to her name.

"Let's play another!" Saqib spoke up.

"I only play once at a time," she rolled her eyes, "and you Mr.Liyan send a check signed to my name to my office by tomorrow! Good evening gentlemen!"

Moments later he found himself in the hold of a dark choking corner within the outskirts of the venue, seated by himself on the table, a small medallion served with asparagus and mashed potatoes, glazed with a thick wine reduction until the alcohol had been cooked out slow and nothing but a bright taste remained. His knife sliced through the meat and he chewed with calculation, waiting for someone — anyone to join him in the obsidian corner. Aliyaar cleansed his palate with the sparkling water, wiping the outer corner of his mouth with the linen cloth as he thought and mulled over his words. Over his actions.

Taking sparse bites, he pushed around the meat more than eating. His mind was, in more than one lines spread across a torrent of rivers. There was not a singular thought in solidarity. Yet there were many. A thin air blew and the sheen of sweat on his brow evaporated as he relaxed himself into it, his hands folded over the table working with an ingenuity. Stars sparkled in the midnight blue sky and a moon between the branches rose to lighten up his feast of one. A king in truth he was ; surrounded by many, still by himself. His attention was won over by the hand brushing his shoulders, massaging his toughened muscles that had been knotted for days now. The stress of an impending wedding and a wife leagues beyond him ; a man could only do so much.

"Join me." He whispered, eyes fixed on the empty seat before him, though he could very well imagine the eyes behind him.

Barekhna giggled at his words, stalking around the table on the seat to his left, pushing it out with the toe of her shoes, a hand dragging down his arm stilling at his palms clenched around the knife. She whispered into his ears, her breasts brushing the dip of his elbows. The dark her accomplice in the viable seduction as she pressed a ghost of a kiss to his ear shell.

"Sirens don't dine with saints."

Aliyaar's skin lit up with hundreds of goosebumps, his hair curled around his neck and there was a twitch in his muscles. Clenching his teeth he tightened his grip around the stem of his glass, drinking rapidly — spilling a few droplets that she wiped away softly with a touch of her fingers. Under her gaze he felt as if he could be cut into two and examined like a rat is during an experiment. Taking shaky breathes and forcing his eyes to focus on the shadowed face before him, he stuttered and found it extremely impossible to come up with a singular thought. It was just him and a puddle.

"Don't think to hard," she whispered, straightening out the crumpled bow.

"Saints don't feast alone."

He uttered, finally gaining some semblance and placing his fork against her lips, that wrapped around it slow. The tip of her heels dragged up his calf, stirring a fire that was forsaken. Chewing on the bite she let out a sultry moan, with the twinkle in her eyes he knew it was on purpose.

"That was good," she whispered, "but I'm sure you can offer me better than that."

Aliyaar blushed at that, his ears almost falling off with the speed of the blood inside his veins. Reaching out, his thumb slowly dragged across the skin beneath her plump lips, wiping away at the sauce that smeared her skin. He sucked on it slow, high off if the adrenaline that sparked his curiosity. Bouncing his leg, Aliyaar bit his tongue before cautiously uttering his next words.

"That was sweet," he breathed out, "but I'm sure you taste sweeter." He completed, placing his lips on the corner of hers.

"A saint teasing a siren? That's a first!" She pinched his chin, dragging a nail down his throat.

Aliyaar held her hand, raising the finger to his lips and placed a chaste kiss on it, "you'll see and be a lot of my firsts siren. For now though, wanna get ice cream?"

"Black currant?" She piqued.

"Of course my beloved."

Barekhna tossed her keys into the arms of her brother who like a chauffeur waited for her next to the familiar red car. Kissing her mother's cheeks and hugging her father a last time, she followed behind Aliyaar to his car. The black car matched the cloak that night wrapped around herself, his hands grazing her lower back as he opened the car door, folding the ruffles on the edge of her dress as she sat in. Smiling in gratitude, she hummed under her breath as he ran to the driver's seat. The German engine came to live with a silence that stunned, the bright headlights turned night into day as they drove out of the illustrious farmhouse, her hand in his, on his thigh as he drove. Every now and then, he used his index finger to push back his glasses that kept sliding down his nose.

The car smelt of him. A deep bourbon mixed with a whiff of cigarette. Through the tinted windows a smeared moonlight fell on to her lap, the streetlights coming to view only further turning her pale skin iridescent. Unclasping her heels she took a deep breath, wiggling her toes around and letting them sink into the thick carpet. It's glossy interior and the pristine condition of the arm rest was testament to his cleaning ethics — a plus point already in her books. Draping a hand over the console, her face perched in the centre of her palm she stared at the side profile she was beginning to dream of. An alarming state ; a calming realization.

His lips in warmth turned towards the northern lights, like a big dipper his eyes twinkled with all the warmth of the world. The hide and seek playing light in the world outside covered him in a list of shadows. Dark and hazy, others not so much. In all though one thing remained steady and strong — the presence of an undisputed handsomeness. Aliyaar's hair that flopped over his forehead now, she pushed back with her fingers, curling a few pieces behind his ears. A grin stretched over her own lips until her muscles hurt, his warm eyes suddenly even more deep. There was a fairness to his skin and the ruggedness of his look — with the sleeves rolled up and the bow tie alongside the suit's jacket tossed into the boot of the car.

He made her want to have a home.
A dizzying sensation, so crippling, Barekhna wanted — needed to loose to it.

The neon signs in front of the small ice cream shop, tucked away into the alley next to the highway, won their attention. The bubblegum pink of the ice cream cone and the electric blue that buzzed in the cursive words 'Gupta's creamery' — a shop that had existed since long pre partition and had exchanged a number of hands before becoming a hot spot to the young folks of Lahore's elite. A stout man dressed in a two piece white uniform with a sage green hat, rushed out to take their orders — had to love the service of course. The wait was not long and Aliyaar slid in a few orange notes in between the leather cuff, passing Barekhna her four scoops of black currant before resting his own sepia colored chocolate between his thighs. The white cardboard of the cup with the pale blue spoons — a small symbol of joy.

Driving into a lowly crowded with the view of a clear sky, Aliyaar opened the panoramic roof and a cool air flew in immediately. Sliding their seats back and leaning them lower, he turned his attention to Barekhna. Her back was pressed against the door of the car, legs tucked underneath her derrière. She hummed in delight as the ice cream made contact with her heated tongue, smiling at him with a laziness, almost too sultry to be thought of as innocent. The plastic spoon made contact with the alert buds on his tongue, rendering them incapable of sensation as the cold ice cream froze his cells. Chocolate— a basic flavor and his absolute favorite, one could of course never go wrong with it.

"Talk saint." Barekhna spoke mid bite, leaning her shoulder over the seat until the moonlight painted her bony shoulders.

"What do I say?" He frowned.

"Something. Anything. You talk too less."

"Urm—about that I just—" Aliyaar mulled over the words that seemed to have suddenly left him.

"You should talk more saint, it's a pity," she leaned over the console, brushing her lips over his, "that deep voice needs to be heard more often."

"Oh!" He blushed, turning a coral shade on the apples of his cheek.

Hovering over him still, she wrapped her arms around his neck. The ice cream lay forgotten on the dashboard as she pressed her lips to the base of his throat, humming as she felt his heart beat thrum against her her hands. The beats against her lips on his jugular a sensation that brought her over the edge. Lit her up.

"Thank you saint," she stared into his eyes as if they were her source of air, "for eloping with me. For fulling my dream Aliyaar."

"For you," he smiled, his fingers brushing the hair strands out of her face as he spoke with ten folds more emotion, "a hundred life times over."

"Okay."

"Okay!"

➖➖➖➖➖

It was a reality he was yet to accept, that he was, already seated on the white curving sofa for his wedding. His khussas, done in ivory with gold metal work brushed behind the copper legs of the sofa, his hands folded over on his lap as the autumnal sun fell on the chopped nails. The dial of his wrist watch and the platinum band he had now worn for a few months were spritely under the orange of the mid afternoon sun, a zephyr just about beginning to blow through his hair left uncovered. He had tried on a turban but it with it's tightness left him a throbbing head ache, hence why it lay in his car's seat. A gentle violin play in the back ground as he fiddled with the gold embroidery on top of his white achkan. Spread across his shoulders, they made him look like a king from the lore of yesteryears.

Jasmines, in a garland lay on the glossy table before him as the officiant recited the words of his marriage, only Aman and his father staring at him with a knowing look. Aliyaar's tense fingers gripped the pen and loosened the cap on it as he signed away his life to the woman he had loved for five years. It was an experience. With a shaky vision and hands that turned sweaty, he felt the pen slip out of his grip and he had to fight to hold on to it. In anticipation he bounced his legs, signing his name with power, hands raising for a short prayer.

Then there was a commotion. The violin stopped and was replaced by a soft tune being played over the key board, his fingers drumming the tune on his lap as he followed mentally. His brown eyes were fixated on the entrance to the grand gardens, a large circle of flowers arranged for the guests to pass through. Now, for the bride of course. It started with a gentle procession and her extended family walked in. Aliyaar could make out the hazy figure of a woman in a grand dress, a peach almost ivory dress he made out from his blurred vision. Breathing in through his nose, Aliyaar smiled at his mother who squeezed his shoulders in assurance.

Nothing could separate them now.

"Uth jao Aliyaar humari naak mat katwao!" Arham whispered into his brother's ears, seeing his inaction even as Barekhna was a few feet away.
[Get up Aliyaar don't embarrass us!]

Startled, he stood up, his knee hit the coffee table and he bowed over, wincing at the pain before limping — invisibly to her. He felt a sear inside his pain as he pushed a hand in her direction, staring deeply into the soft mocha eyes that looked ethereal lined with khol. Her lips widened at seeing the hot tears fill into his eyes as he was still in disbelief over the happenings. The peach lipstick and her champagne highlight on top of her cheekbones, reminded him of one of the many renaissance paintings. Walking her over to the sofa, her peace lehnga, covered in gold embellishments, with a criss crossed hemline. It spilled and covered his legs, the veil in it's heaviness crossed over her breasts, the copper blouse with a v-neckline peaking underneath.

Aliyaar dabbed at his eyes with the napkin he had held in nervousness, not minding the jokes his brother and cousins cracked at his expense. They were all smitten as he was. Well — that was a bit of lie ; none of them had suffered through a one sided love as long as he had. He pinched his palms, in reassurance that it was not one of those vivid dreams that turned his nights better but his days worse. Holding her hand between his sweaty ones, he squeezed it tight, still on a high. Riding on the joys. Yet he knew, it was the first step alone, and he had more than a few hurdles to cross.

"Barekhna bhabi, now that you've married Aliyaar, be prepared to regret your decision." Arham grinned, passing the two a glass of juice each.

"Excuse me?" She blinked.

"He's a lost cause. Our best wishes with you."

"I'll have you know Arham," she turned to Aliyaar before continuing, her eyes staring dead into his, "I wouldn't ever choose a man or a case that I know isn't worth fighting for."

"Interesting." He chuckled.

"Oh come on Arham, eik lawyer sai argument nahi jeet saktay ap." Filza pinched his cheek, hugging her new sister-in-law.
[You can't win an argument from a lawyer.]

"I'm for everyone's kind information a law graduate as well." Arham rose to his own defense.

"Well as a part of the law community, I'd like to thank you," Barekhna grinned, "for not practicing as one."

Aliyaar chuckled at their friendly banter, taking a soft sip of his freshly squeezed juice. Finally he relaxed into his seat, letting the weight of his responsibilities fall off of his shoulders for the moment. It was an infinite moment of curious sparks. The air buzzed and he relished in the warmth of their crinkling eyes and her petunia like laughter, that fell on to his ears like the softest of petals. Soft orange of the setting sun met with the blues of an impossibly large sky, a never ending experience of eternity. It was a patient trickle of time ; gently dissolving in the millions of grains. The out pour of love in his heart squeezed his chest tight. Like a rubber band knotted around the fingers quite a few times. He was blue. He was purple. He was emotion and he was declaration. Beside the love of half a decade, her hands tight on his own, Aliyaar was complete.

Lunch, an almost early supper was cleared and the soft music had changed into something more vibrant, waiting for the signal when the bride and groom would be prepared for their departure. Making rounds around the open farm, the two met both the bitter and buoyant guests. They made a picturesque sight, with arms around each others frames and leaning in to the warmth, to grin at the camera lenses and offer small words to the specially invited media cell. Blinding light from the ball of fire, the morning star created long shadows over the large trees. Stood under the iron wrought circle, covered in wild flowers, the two grinned for pictures that would make the headlines tomorrow morning. More than an arranged wedding, more than him winning his beloved over ; it was a testament to the union of two respected families.

Barekhna and Aliyaar's pale shadows on the sage green grass shifted into a pile of moulded mess, the core of them joint as she rested her head on top of his chest, a hand curled over his bicep and his around her waist, splayed over the bare flesh hidden by the generous folds of her veil. His face covered the bright rays of light, stopping them from harming her vibrant brown eyes that were darker than any chocolate he had seen. Barekhna's cheeks brushed into a bloom as her family joined them for portraits. Every which way they looked like royalty. Goosebumps lined their skins as they stared into each others eyes, their foreheads pressed together in a show of intimacy. Aliyaar closed his eyes and let the moment wash him anew, whilst Barekhna's continued to stare at his handsome face.

Only in the season that killed would a saint marry a siren.
Only in between the fallen leaves would a love so forbidden bloom.

Peeling away from his embrace she took a shaky breath. Her heart was not broken though, only it felt empty. Deep in a state of disbelief that it had occurred. She had married in his absence. The rib cage squeezed her lungs and she wheezed into Aliyaar's chest, pushing her head into his neck. There was a dwindling weakness inside her veins, something amiss. Though she could not put a finger on it, Barekhna followed him around in silence. There was a heaviness on her chest, it weighed and pushed her down to the point she felt she would pass away anytime soon. Biting her lips she held back the hiccups and wrapped the gauze of steel around herself once more. It was a day for her. Her day. But in his absence, she felt orphaned. A singular warmth too large, robbed.

In the rosy backdrop of yellows and oranges, the marshmallow like clouds and a trinket of stars that appeared a bit too soon, Aliyaar led Barekhna out of the venue. They were followed by their families and the guests at large, his car covered in white roses lined up at the front, the doors opened already. The linear lights in the shades of golds covered their sparkling attire and the ancestral choker that Barekhna's father had gifted to her shone with a might. She kissed her three lifelines, her lips hurting as the skin of the fourth was missing. Clenching her teeth she hugged each of them, wiping at the tears that fell from their eyes, promising that she'd stick around still. Her senses were clouded as he helped her into the car, sliding in from the other side, her hand in his. His thumb running circles into it as the driver began to pull the car out. Barekhna waved at the smiling faces, turning to face Aliyaar's sanguine gaze. Cozying into his arms, pressing her lips together lest she feel.

"Who do you search for in the crowd?" His words were like coals against her skin.

"What do you mean?" She feigned innocence, pressing her hands tighter into his.

"I've noticed that even in a crowd, that cheers you on you search for someone. Then when you don't catch sight of them, your eyes they—" Aliyaar stopped, there was a line between adoration and obsession, that he was not willing to cross.

"Complete that sentence Aliyaar."

"No."

"Will you, please?"

Barekhna doused her tone in a thick honey, fluttering her lashes as she watched red take over his fair face. It was the oldest trick in the book, one she had learnt to master as a teenager. Blink softly and speak with a sense of no understanding. They would melt — because at the end of the day, all men were the same. Damsels in distresses the object of their desire, anyone not ; a whore they wanted to get out their systems.

"Those tricks don't work on me Barekhna."

Unfortunate — really, she thought under her breath, that he would not take the bait. His sharp cheekbones were much to high for her fingers to pinch them and the heart shaped lips that were the perfect pink, far too precious for her to savagely kiss.

"You'll give in eventually." She shrugged, her heartbeat finally softening.

"Well if you think casual seduction is going to have me unraveling my secrets, you're wrong," he grinned, "my love — and the secrets that come with have a far more larger price than having you under me or over, it's a choice you can make."

Aliyaar's eyes lined up with a riveting challenge. He seemed to be the undisputed king of the world as his fingers stroked her soft chin, his thumb resting on the edge of her cheek. The vicious look of power within hers pinched his heart, he wanted to let her know what went on inside his mind but Aliyaar would not give up. He hated making her suffer, but it was endearing the way she thought he was an average man. If he were, he would have married with or without asking for her opinion a long time ago. Surely, he would not have suffered in silence and distance for five years and nor would he have planned a musical performance for their reception.

"You complete that sentence Aliyaar and I'll tell you a secret about myself." Barekhna bargained.

"While you drive hard bargain, my precious siren, there is nothing about you that I haven't learnt in the past five years."

"No-no trust me this you won't know!" She shook her head, curiosity the driving force.

"Okay," he kissed her head, "if you don't catch sight of them your eyes loose the bright opal jewels in them and the air around you no longer breathes. Who ever it is, you hold dear to yourself and I can only hope you love me that much one day."

"Oh!" She whispered, stunned.

"Now my secret?"

"I've never been to the mountains in Pakistan." She whispered, too scared to speak it out loud.

"Interesting." Aliyaar grinned, so that indeed he had not known.

Through an underpass and over a joining head bridge, the car rolled into the driveway with ease. The house was covered in lights of various colors and each one lit up, much like the Northern lights she had seen with her Raphe, counting down the stars that left her mind reeling. The moon was full, it's obstructed crater like structure hid behind the southern arch of the gated home, guards roamed the territory with sleek guns in hand. An obstructed view of what appeared to be a garden of wild lavenders caught the sight of stray onlookers whose faces were plastered against the iron doors. To catch a glimpse of the rich bride. They had all of course been brought over days ago when the expensive luggage was being shifted into the household. All they wanted to know was : did she live up to the hype?

Her skirts swished the gravel and her heels crunched the stray leaf that had stubbornly flown over. Aliyaar reached out to hold her hand but his mother won, wrapping an arm around her, leading her into the house amongst a shower of roses on either sides. The tall walls of the foyer were airy and led into the brightly lit up lounge where the family had all gathered. Kisses were exchanged and hands shook with a tightness. It was only half past eight, but it seemed to have been forever since they were up and Barekhna amongst the long list of guests had to stifle their yawns. An entourage of maids headed by Gulaab walked in and served the newly weds a cup of warm tea, the aroma of cardamom coming from within.

Barekhna took gentle sips, her eyes taking in the tasteful decor of the lounge. The colors for once were not at all bold, the muted browns almost the color of her eyes were a calming change from the reds at her grandparents place. Running a finger around the painted edges of her cup, she breathed in the soft aroma and sighed in respite. Her lips remained sealed for most of the conversation, opening only when engaged in conversation. All she could think of was the large bed she had caught sight of in Aliyaar's room on her last visit to this place. Perhaps it was the itch in her palm or the way she gazed time and again at the doors, but she grinned as Lyana walked her out and into her new bedroom, helping her settle on top of the soft sheets.

"Barekhna I—" Lyana stopped, wondering if what she was to say would be taken well or not.

"Yes mama?" She smiled, watching Lyana stare at her in shock.

"Ma-ma?"

"Of course! I've always wanted to call someone that and you're the most deserving person."

Barekhna squeezed Lyana's hands, kissing the back of them in assurance, placing them next to her eyes in a sense of respect.

"Barekhna please don't take my words in a negative manner," she spoke with newfound confidence, "but Aliyaar isn't like Arham or his father. He's soft spoken and very naïve. Please don't ever take advantage of his gentle heart. I fear Aliyaar won't survive that shock."

"Mama," Barekhna softened her mouth into a grin, "I know the worth of love. Despite the fact that I do not yet love him, I respect him. It's almost impossible to not love Aliyaar. I know one day I will too," she sighed, "and I promise you as a woman to a woman, I will cherish him as much as I can."

"Thank you." Lyana spoke teary eyed.

"No, thank you, for giving me a son that deserves more."

➖➖➖➖➖

Pushing the door open with all his strength, Aliyaar walked into a dimly lit bedroom. Save for the small lamp on his side table, all the lights had been turned down. The room smelt of roses and freesia's, just a few moments and she was already suffocating his room with her presence. She had already done so to your life — his thoughts mocked him. The truth was like a bitter cup of tea, a sudden realization but he relished in it's warmth and after affects. With trembling steps and a tenacious grip on his discarded jacket, he walked towards the shadowed bed. He skimmed the sheets and felt over the duvet, for sight of his wife who had disappeared. Sighing in defeat, he cursed the weak vision nature gifted him and squinted his eyes.

In the pitch black darkness, marred only by the small yellow lights, he saw her open brunette hair spill over his pillow. Aliyaar smiled gently, holding the soft ends with a genteel grip, he sat beside her figure. The heavily embellished wedding dress still tight on her body. Barekhna stirred under the sheets, his hand forced back as she nuzzled only into the pillow. He could make out a barely there smile on her face, the muscles that were used to a toughened hold finally relaxed. Cursing under his breath he almost touched her cheeks with the back of his hand, pulling back too soon. Afraid. Aghast. Alarmed. He did not want her to think of him as a creep, nor did he wish to pass through a boundary he had no idea of.

"Barekhna?"

Aliyaar stared at her as she moved slowly, her head resting on his open palm. Time stopped and a sweet buzz filled the air as she peeled her gentle eyes open. Behind the lined eyes were brown orbs of graciousness and her soft pink lips fell into a frown. Barekhna's brows angled sharply as she felt around the cold side of the bed, still too muddleheaded to think clearly. Her hand pushed on to his palm and she slid it out softly, her jaw blended into the swan like neck as she let out a pitiful groan. The sheets rustled with movement as Aliyaar pulled them over her, his eyes avoiding the deeply inviting cleavage.

"You should change." He coughed out, his eyes fixed on her face.

"I'm too tired Aliyaar."

"You might develop a rash though." He reminded, finally placing his palm against her cheek.

"I'm too tired Aliyaar. How about I undress and sleep naked?" She enquired with a lop sided grin.

Aliyaar felt stuck by her words and blushed at the openness of them. His hands rubbed the back of his neck, until it matched the color of the red roses on the creme duvet. His face twitched and left leg bounced with an array of nerves as he chocked out an incomprehensible answer.

"What?" Barekhna frowned.

"I said — said whatever you're comfortable with."

"I'm comfortable with you Aliyaar. I was the moment I said 'qubool hai'."
[I do.]

At those words his heart swelled and he kissed each of her eye lids gently. For the first time in forever, it made sense when they said 'home is where the heart is'. Finally after five years it seemed, he was home.