I deadass forgot about this update, but it's here.
Ramadan Mubarak babies <3

Chapter 21.

Winding into the foot of the flat topped hills that aligned with the plains of Punjab, safe guarding the federal capital of the city, the motorway seemed never ending. Driving uphill, the SUV moved at a turtle's pace. Slate grey the roads had at this particular part turned an ashy grey, the salt from the hills tended to do that. It was known for the slippery roads and the deep loose soil with sparse vegetation. Goats and cattle only seen sporadically amongst the throngs of cars that whizzed by through the centre. Loose gravel crushed underneath the heavy tires. A backdrop of nudes against the sights of black and whites — a magnificent spectacle of power. Of God.

Slinging through the crowd of cars that stopped near the edge of the road as rain poured over, the bulletproof car moved by, the indicators blaring. Volatile, the vipers swished against the windshield. Rapid droplets smacked the roof of the car with harsh paces and slid down the car's sides. Moving at a rough angle as the air blew against its sides — hardening in their perfect shapes, rubbing the pearl exterior of the charcoal vehicle. In the dark clouds that roared beneath, it's engine kept the strength up to par. Defiance — temperamental defiance in front of the smothering lightning, a talent true to the owners.

Terrors seized her throat as the car moved up the road. The pressure at the ends of her claves, met with the pain in her ear drums. Clenching and then unwinding the bones of her jaw she angled her head to the right side, curving a palm around her chin to stare at his chiseled face. Sleep blurred her vision still, tearing her lower lids away from the upper ones forcefully. A cramp popped itself into the apex of her lower calf, freezing the nerves at the tip of her toes underneath her tennis shoes. Wincing, she straightened the bent foot, moving it over the thick carpet, raising her eyes to meet the sights outside.

Rubbing her eyes with the crook of her index finger, her lips wrapped around the chilled bottle of water, drinking it in one large gulp. The mixed shadows passed through the windows and reflect on to her warm skin as they continued to drive at a pace of forty kilometers an hour, her hand in his over the console — a soft tune playing to keep them company. Picking at her scalp with the back of her nails, Barekhna felt the nervousness creep up her spine as they crept uphill, a sharp turn in front — all the more reason for her to loose breath. The water struck the back of her throat with an instant pain. A cough fought it's way out of her throat.

Fatigue trimmed her shoulders, the bun her hair was in tugged at the roots with a sharpness. Her hands massaged the throbbing temples — a result of the drive they were on. Long drives did that to her, especially ones in such a tense situation. Aliyaar's great grandfather was in the hospital, ailing with a heart disease and the doctor had yet to fly in from England. A panicked Lilah slept in the back of their car as they drove with Aliyaar, his eyes covered by rimmed spectacles. Her parents in law had left for Islamabad before them, her mother-in-law was hysterical as soon as she received the call from her mother and the rash tears had not stopped. Barekhna had been reminded of the call her mother had gotten when she was a child. The grandmother she had never known had died. It was an emotionless title to her, but seeing the pain on Aliyaar's face she realized it was more than just that.

Under a scrutiny she popped a piece of minty gum, the explosion of freshness melted on her tongue and trapped her mind. Barekhna at-last felt awake. The dull aches in her body seemed to have found a permanent home, even as she straightened the sweatshirt she had borrowed from Aliyaar over her waist, the yoga pants folding over. Stretching in her seat Barekhna turned the heater away from her face. Sharp stings pricked her throat. The demure weather outside was unforgivable. It's darkness matched not the time the clock struck on her phone. Eight minutes past eight in the morning. The sky matched midnight.
Bleak.
Black.
Blinding.

"Aliyaar you sure you don't want me to drive?" Barekhna whispered.

Turning her head she threw a glance at her sister-in-law. Wrapped in a fleece blanket the young woman was more than comfortable and had managed to sleep for the entirety of the drive. Facing her husband once more, his eyes covered with deep eye bag like trenches and the skin below his cheeks sagging — were just the hints of his sleep deprivation. He had not slept in twenty four hours. In between managing his sister's return and arranging the doctor, Aliyaar had had not even had time to eat a sufficient meal. Noticing the pallor of his face meet the blankness of his eyes as they stared out of the blurry windshield, her heart lurched.

The gel no longer performed it's duty as the strands of his hair fell over his wide forehead, the sharp nose was etched with the indents of his glasses. Aliyaar's knuckles tightened over the steering wheel, his nails dug into the leather and had turned white. Taking a deep breath he shook his head once. Despite the pain that shot through his leg and the deep yawns that unfurled in the centre of his chest, he knew he was more than capable of making the journey. Sleep — it would bring him closer to face his fears. It would throw him into a web of pain and loss he was fearing already. The face of his parents — his loved ones and his wife danced in front of his eyes anytime he blinked.
Sleep would only ruin.
Sleep would only bring damnation.

"Aliyaar you look like a mess. Let me take over." Barekhna urged once more.

"It's fine. Just an hour anyways," Aliyaar replied.

Shrugging his broad shoulders, he rested the crook of his elbow over the car's door, his free hand tightened his grip around her soft palm. With generosity he leeched off of the confidence she possessed. There was something in her spirit that urged her to fight.
Herself.
Her haters.
Her supporters.
All of them.
Aliyaar rested his head over the leather seat, the cruise aiding him, his leg finally pulled back. With a hand on the steering he took a breath of relief as the rain dulled — visibility returning to help him at last.

"You're scared." Barekhna spoke matter-of-factly.

Hiding the truth would always hurt you — the advice of his mother brushed his ears. Through the corner of his bleak eyes — the light squeezed out of them, he ran over her tired face. The muscles on the side of her face were pulled into a taut smirk, the edges of her lips were dangling. Her lengthy fingers scratched the back of his palm. Warmth brought in from her touch turned the tips of his ears a burning red. Aliyaar's jaw ticked with pain, his heart slowed as he thought of what lay ahead. His head was heavy. It was impossible, not believable to imagine the man that had always stood at the doors of his house to greet them would not be there to meet him. His hands would not run through his hair.

Tears thickened into a concoction around his eyes, the centre of his orbs pinched the rest of his nerves in place. The sweet scent of her perfume enriched his nostrils with prowess. He licked his lips, crumbling for a second almost. Tapping his fingers harshly over the steering, the hilt of his palm pushed into the horn as a car steered into their lane. Breath punched out of his lungs at an alarming pace. From the sides of his vision black dots appeared and danced on the forefront. Loss was a magnanimous truth of the world they lived in. Yet it was the only truth he had never accepted. Imagining a life without anyone he knew — impossible. His conscious was bitter. Rightly so.

Why must he loose?
Why must he face the saddened faces?
Why must he live with the guilt?

The why's would always hang over his head like a blaring alarm. Aliyaar's throat clenched as he read the signboard, Islamabad — twenty five kilometers away. Finally, he sighed in relief. At last he would get the chance to turn away from Barekhna's inquisitive eyes that had learnt to read every bit of him.
The past him.
The present him.
The future him.

"I am."

Aliyaar spoke into the merry silence. His words married the bleak atmosphere outside. Dissolving into the helplessness. The bridge of his nose burned with a calculated response. His teeth bit the insides of his cheek — keeping the obsidian howls inside his chest. Digging his nails into the steering wheel Aliyaar turned as the arrow pointed to an exit. The car gained speed over the highway. His heart lurched to the centre of his stomach.

"Why Aliyaar?"

"I am not strong enough to loose anyone."

"You're not losing anyone!" Barekhna squeezed his hand.

"Can you promise me?"

Hope laced his words, like thick vines around his throat, they spread over the back of his seat. Blossoming into a fix. The lilt of his tone carried fissures of hurt, like the underlaying of blue in the seams of red. As if the stars on the midnight sky had come to twinkle a little less. Umber specs in the centre of his eyes were kept from seeing light, dissolved in the depths of sadness — depressed at the prospect of losing.
This game.
This life.
Her.

"I promise you Aliyaar," Barekhna squeezed his hand in assurance, her lips shaky as she whispered words she hoped would be true, "you won't lose anyone."

Barekhan's limbs shook with a hidden strength as she held his hand over the flesh of her thighs. It was hot — his hands were full of deep pain, tracing the lines of his palms she realized. Her nails traced over the back of his hands, the veins prodding the top layer of the cool toned skin. Raising them only to brush aside the dusting of hair that flopped against his cheek. Rush had not given him the time to perfect his hairstyle. That was one trait amongst many others. It made Aliyaar, Aliyaar. Spending time caring for his skin and hair. Vain as it was, it brought life to her veins. Her lips dried and cracked from the long hours of travel and lack of water pressed into his open palms. A silent murmur hung between them.

➖➖➖➖➖

A colossal sea of white moved through the terraced properties of the private hospital. The large counter terraces opened, alternatively over the large on gardens beneath, ducklings swam in the s-shaped pond and the doves fluttered their wings on top of the willow trees. Flat mouthed leaves spread across the furious skies — it's grey matched the affluence of the luxurious parking lot where each car defied the status of a developing country. Even the tarmac shone with vigor and seemed to have been flown out from somewhere where pearls were used to line the roads. Patients seated in the conspicuously thick wheel chairs flailed their arms around as the staff drove them.
Power.
Peace.

Polluting the starlight vision were the broken and dingy cabs that drove on the streets of the federal city outside. The black and yellow was an alarming difference from the luxurious paints of the cars that rolled in through the sliding doors. At the entrance a large clavicle shaped round about led to two doors — one to a private entrance and the other to the emergency room. Sharp hawk eyes maintained decorum, dressed in a patterned uniform with their names stitched over with gold threads. A spot of light shone through blanket of clouds, like a mushroom cropping up in the bleak autumns. Posh accents, faux as the designer carpeting in the waiting lounge of the walk in clinic. Any professional eye on a singular glance could tell. It was not pashmina.

Cardiology— the largest ward in the most extravagant hospital was guarded like a well kept secret. The investment had been well worth it for the owners. Given the oily diets, heart diseases plagued the rich more than enough, and turned their pockets heavier. Unlike usual though, their foreheads perspired with tension, sweat dripped down the side of their large foreheads as they met in the boardroom to discuss the case of Ali Ahmad — grandfather in law of former prime minister and great grandfather of the sitting minister of Mushkpur. As the pens ticked, tracing over the X-rays. Medical terms exchanged, the pillowy atmosphere was lost in the heat. A grave mistake on their end had lead the patient to fall into a coma — a clot pinching the nerves of his brain.

Doctor Idris Sarsilmaz stared at the panic stricken faces. Stepping out of the operation theatre, he stared at the young novice who had delayed the process — resulting in a sharp few words from him. Shrugging his gloves off, the scrubs a bit too tight around his biceps, he walked over to meet the worried family. Their flaxen faces, white and eyes lined with red, punched his gut for a second before he cleared his throat. The green light over the OT suddenly blinking much to their relief. He gauged.

"The operation was successful. The patient should be waking up within forty eight hours."

"Ya Allah shukar!"
[Thank God!]

Cries of relief escaped their lips, instant color bloomed on his face. Returning the rosiness that was an aftermath of wealth and proper care. Figures at last slumped against the soft sofa seats, legs crossed and hands instantaneously rose in prayer. Soft whimpering murmurs rushed through the tumultuous air, the warmth rose around and the icy chillness inched away from their huddled figures. Tears of thankfulness solemnly poured out of the swollen eyes. Headaches at last drawled to an end and the sun outside set.
A promise of a better day.
A new start.

Polished wood trims against the paneled lower half of the walls inside the waiting room, added texture to the plainness. The large window at the corner, meeting the southern and eastern walls at the crux, performed a show of lights and shadows. Headlights threw on to the bark of the wood, which in turn passed as a textural shadow over the flooring inside. A round coffee table with chipping on the bottom layer, thick black and white fashion magazines rested on it. Sprinkled across the base the potpourri's nudes matched the lining of the carpets. Sprinkled across the beige upholstered chairs the family sat in a united silence. Sobs and prayers hushed with the edges of their fists pressed against their lips. A tray of assortments forgotten, the matriarch not well enough to feed.

Spent figures lounged around with lethargic sense of responsibilities, the arms of the men around their women whom they soothed to the best of capacities. Fingers stroked the bands and strands of hair that fought for a better place. Weighing — sinking in a reverie of pain, the longing and the throbbing ache inside the limbs met in  a tired marriage already. What was once a lustrous assortment of power, with sprinkled cashews and silver had changed. Lost the affluence. It was ripped — apart into smithereens with a thick bite. Bleeding with a raw, open wound. Sliding down their fingers and legs, staining the carpets and floorings with a gentle brushing.
Pain caused separation and pushed into a box.
In pain past remained.
In pain only the if's thrived.
Everything else — a mortal enemy.

Clasping her phone with her left hand, tapping away with the fingers of her right one she left her assistant a large note. Setting a reminder. To forward the court date. To get a replacement for her, in the time being. Blowing out air from her plump lips, the sides of them crackling as she had bit into it for more than an immeasurable amount of times. Spooning her hair into a low chignon, the clip with it's crystal and pearl studs was opalescent. Reflecting on to the windows in the corridor as she paced nervously. Winding her hands down the sides of her charcoal trousers, the fitted form rising a few inches above her ankles, she felt the coarse material of the khaddar soften the pain. Tipping her head against the pillar, the open hole leading into the gardens, the wind blew through her hair.

Zephyrs blew in through the opening and twisted the fitted shirt that hung above her kneecaps. The wedding band on her finger sparkled, the thin bracelet with tiny sapphires made her skin cool — warming only as her gaze stuck to it. The wind moving the tiny charm her dad had gifted her with. Rolling skittishly over the balls of her feet, she twisted her ankles until the toes cushioned into the comfortable surface of the khussas, ached from the pressure. Gently her eyes closed on their own accord. Feeling. Facing what she felt. The adrenaline pumping through her veins with electricity. Barekhna tucked her jaw, her tongue slid against the top of her mouth. A burning sensation preened into her nose. The sharp vision blurrier still.

Did I not deserve a family as gentle as this? The question inside her mind popped up moment after moment. Like an annoyance it rang through her being, striking the very chord of her being. Reverberating inside her lungs, drumming her dense ribs under her shallow bones that sank into a narrow stream of her own blood.
You're alone — it mocked. Pinching her valves as she saw through the foggy doors.
Where everyone consoled.
Where everyone suffered.
Where everyone celebrated.
Shaking the nerves off, Barekhna sighed, fisting her card out of the wallet attached to her phone's cover, she walked over to the cafeteria. Purchasing a bottle of water, with a caving in heart she tipped it against her lips. Her chin brushing the top of her breastbone in disappointment.

"Barekhna."

A voice shrouded in the thick cloak of honey, called out from behind. Her feet froze. Anchored to the solid ground. Curling her fingers into her palms, digging into the softness of her palm she stared with eyes open wide. Barekhna's pain warped her mind, pushed the throb in depth of her temples to the forefront. The bow of her lips frowned, a painful sigh erupted past her lips at last. Once more. Her eyes stared with emptiness as the man walked closer. Bucking under her weight she slumped over the bench. Wide eyed. Heavy breath. Harsh hands gripped the leather of the chair, her lower calf shook with violence — undeserved.

The elderly man with his hair turning grey in spruces amongst the hair on his temple. The scruff of his chin lightened a shade from the usual charcoal she saw in the images of his youth. Dressed in white, the kurta fitting over his still sturdy frame, Alamgeer Ahad was still handsome. In a euphoric way. His eyes held friendliness and his posture was powerful. Taking a seat beside her, running his fingers through his silken roots, he painted a startling resemblance to his elder son. Their straight noses and the gentle grins — immaculately similar. Alarming at times the similarities in their nature.

Crossing his legs at the ankles, winding his hands in between his own fingers he turned to face her. There was a twist of comfortability in them — a punch to her gut as they reminded her of how her fathers, plural, looked at her.
Respect.
Righteous.
The bed of his lips curved upwards at a short angle, the calloused palms with tiny scars from the pain of his past, held her nimble hands in his. A stark difference. Hers — pale and cold like the winters of the arctic. His — warm and tanned like the winters of the gulf. Rubbing the pads of his thumbs into the back of her skin, he mumbled words of comfort through his silence.

"What is it that bugs you beta?"

Alamgeer questioned softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Squeezing her hands in assurance, he offered her himself to confide in. Barekhna's lungs squeezed in pain, her breath gushed out of her mouth as she stared at the man before. Generous and a thorough gentlemen — her father-in-law was one amongst billions. The guards against the part of her that felt fought the will to speak. Her lips, they were tied with threads that pinched her nerves.

"Nothing." Her tone sharper than intended.

"Do you lie to your father?" He spoke.

Barekhna's head rose with a sharpness. A jolt of pain ran down the left side of her neck. Staring into his boundless eyes that reminded her of Aliyaar's, in them an ocean of questions. Her reflection clear as day. Nerves ran down her back in sheer nervousness. Alamgeer's gaze looked through her — flesh, bone and soul. Everything. He read her like a book, she could see. Cold crept up her legs as the air that blew around them kissed their skins. Sliding her hand out of his, shaking like a leaf she wrapped them around her frame. Great ire possessed her as she challenged him with a glance. Unstoppable.

"You know you can talk Barekhna," he smiled still, impossible to upset, "we have more in common than you'd imagine."

"Which is?"

"Cruel families."

Alamgeer's words carried the pain and the understanding of feelings buried eons ago. His lengthy fingers stroked the wedding band on his fingers, rubbing the weariness out of his eyes as he relived his past. Every pain. Every injustice was just as fresh in his brain. The tumultuous seas of life had broadened his horizons, given him a multitude of perspectives. However, there was one thing they could never change. It was how he felt about the pain his own aunts and uncles had given him.
The food-less nights.
The water deprived summers.
The missing blanket winters.
Privilege had prevailed in his life — a gold star that was known and written of.
Pain had plagued his life — a black hole that was kept hidden and forgotten.

"What does that mean?"

"I had, and don't tell your mama I used this word, satan for relatives, until my father disowned them when Lyana was pregnant with our sons."

"No way! I don't believe this!"

"Hard to believe but my life wasn't always full of stars, moons and suns." He chuckled, his eyes shining with the unforgettable suffering.

"Is that why you love mama so much?"

"I love her just because beta. To love you don't need reason."

"Apparently you don't need reason to hate either." She sighed.

Scratching the back of her ear, the tip of her nails brushed against the round hoops in her elfin ears. Scooping the strands of hair that had fallen out of the clip's teeth she pushed them behind her ear, toying as they got stuck in between the tiny ridges of her second piercing. Running her tongue over her lower lip, brushing the seam of it, her fingers tapped away at the top of her thighs. Embroidered with silver the soft fabric of her shoes was bleak. Hidden in the abyss with the secrets that had been washed over it, the graphite words she had once written into it rubbed out. Like life. Worn out — but new still, the broken in shoes brought her relief. In the world of not knowing, they knew.
For they had seen. For they had heard.

Outside the vast openness was covered in a unwrapped blanket of ebony. Stars with smoked out trails, yellow streaks and blinded out glimmers pinched the tops of the trees. The hills of Margalla rose beyond sight, the cushioned walls built from the finest of bricks the horns could not be kept out. They taunted — as cars whizzed by to the wealthy. All that wealth yet they could not use it freely, bound by their ailments. Spurning shadows desecrated over the plain walls, the dingy dispenser buzzed in the silence of the hallways. It smelt of disinfectant, of death. A nauseating permanence that was more than profound now.

"I feel misplaced," Barekhna sniffed, "this family is so awfully full of love. Everyone feels the suffering and joys. Abu I never had that. It was a pick and choose. To save my life I was shipped off to my father, my celebrations broken. To save my life then again — I came back to the country, divided between liars and killers. I feel as if I'm invading their moments."

"Barekhna beta you're our family too."

"It's just my own father is dying, but I know I'll never have all this support. My head will be tipped over a borrowed shoulder of a man who raised me in a selfless sacrifice."

Burning hot tears dripped down one at a moment from her bambi eyes. A well of pain sweltered out from her eyes, bleeding raw she breathed heavily. Her hands shook with a tumultuous rapping as she placed them over her face. The bones underneath the pale of her skin shook with power. Muffling her sobs and the river of suffering that flew with an insane tension out of her chest, Barekhna allowed herself to be weak. Sinking her teeth into the flesh of her arm, biting the tempting hurt out. The doves in her heart flew and it stopped for a second. The chambers existed for no purpose as she bled.
For herself.
For her childhood.
For all that had been pained for her.

Gently prying the cage of her fingers away from her face, Alamgeer wiped the tears off of her cheeks. Her lashes curled upwards, sunk — buckling under the weight of the drops. With her lips parted a few inches she breathed harshly. Tiny choking coughs passed through her aching oesophagus. Barekhna's lips shook, teeming with life of their own. The bottle of water inside her lap slid out of them. Barekhna was weak. Her sniffles broke the strength that had taken years of practice to build it up. Like water she followed his motions, resting her head on his shoulder, crying into it as she felt wronged.
As she felt herself be the wrong doer.

"You'll have all of us Barekhna. You married our son and that makes your our daughter as well. Do not feel alienated amongst us, you belong here. Our home is empty without you and so are our lives."

"Really?" She stared at him from the spot on his shoulder.

"Truly. Everyone here is your family. All of us will stand by you beta. You don't have to suffer alone."

"Promise abu?"

"Abu bhi kehti ho aur baat ka yakein bhi nahi kartein ap! I promise Barekhna—and I don't make these lightly." He smiled.
[You call me your father but then also don't trust what I say!]

➖➖➖➖➖

"Aliyaar you're crying!"

Barekhna's voice was filled with air as she stepped inside their bedroom. The ends of her dress brushed the feline that walked beside in attendance, her ears too alert as they sought the eyes of it's master. Draping an arm around the heavy veil she carried, Barekhna threw it over the ottoman, her figure jumping on top of the soft sheets, crossing her legs mid-air. Humbly, her fingers met his face, pushing underneath his chin, tipping his head until it met her gaze. The kohl that lined her eyes smudged with the sharp eye liner, added a sultriness to the timber of her eyes — a power unlike any other. Wiping the stray tears with the back of her hand she offered him a tiny smile. Words fell short.

"What happened Aliyaar?"

"No-thing."

He shook his head with vigor. The bunched up strands of hair spilled into the suddenly jolting air. Everything was awake around them, the winds sparked with warmth and curiosity of their touches. With gentle movements he wiped his eyes, cuffing his hands above them with the innocence of a toddler.

"You're upset because of Lilah getting married," she gasped as realization dawned on her, "oh Aliyaar!"

The youngest Alamgeer child — Lilah, had gotten married with a ceremony that people would talk about for days. She had abruptly brought up her affections for a family friend's son — Taimoor, and her parents had only been full of joy to make the dream come to life. Although, it had taken more toll than they let on. A day after her wedding and departure to Italy, the family was still reeling with the affects. The loneliness of a whole new level swam in the air, it was brushed up in the sculptures her talented hands had created. It was in the plates she made. It was in the bareness of her bedroom.

Barekhna stroked Lightning's head, she found it endearing still that he had named his pet after her. Even before their union. The dog whined into her hand, wagging it's tail as the empty eyes stared at her upset owner. Her fingers brushed through its recently trimmed fur, the left front paw rested on top of Aliyaar's kneecap in comfort. Chuckling underneath his breath, he rubbed the dog's back, slipping his back over the mattress. Satiated perhaps the dog ran out of the vast room, toppling the vase of flowers near the entrance in it's haste.

Curled with the gentlest of hands her hair reached a few inches above her collarbone, the deep honeydew shade of them a bit too dark under the moonless night. Rubbing her fingers over the ends, she massaged the back of her neck. Her muscles cramped from days of carrying heavy jewelry. Stretching her arms overhead, a yawn escaped her lips — fatigue catching up after a few days worth of adrenaline had finally run out. Crossing her legs, she faced Aliyaar, stroking his chin with her hands. Angling her muscles, relaxing the back of her jaw she whistled lowly, blowing air at the piece of her outgrown fringe that kept slipping towards her face. The gauze sleeves of her bejeweled gown slid over as she rose her arms, laying them across Aliyaar's harshly beating chest.

Laying her legs at an angle, she rested her head on her palms, the weight pressed over his beating heart. Flickering her gaze to the suddenly dim chandelier, she gasped. A lightbulb had blown out — saved only by the smallest of differences. Her heart paced as she imagined the shards hitting either her or Aliyaar. n absolutely impossible thought. She skimmed her nails over his throat. The red of them a comfort against the seducing pain of the world. Shunning the overcoat of her dress, remaining in a silken slip dress alone, Barekhna sighed with remote glee. Enjoying the freeness. Her fingers stopped over his wet, patchy cheeks. Sliding her lips over his face, she kissed what she imagined to be his visible pain. Most kept hidden under the wraps of his Zuhair Murad shirt.

"You know you can talk to me," Barekhna whispered, "someone once told me that that's the entire purpose of having a significant other."

"You're a funny woman, my beautiful siren."

"Humor gets you places saint."

"I don't doubt that one bit."

Sudden light filled his broken eyes, building a web of hope amongst them that was bridged together by kindness and trust. Trust in her. Tracing patterns into her back with his rough fingers, he felt the tremors on her skin dance like a jagged sword in the hands of a rusty sword wielder. Tapping patterns, to the tunes of his most beloved song to play on the grand piano in their parlor. Deep hums traced out of his throat, whispering against her soft skin. A love song — forgotten beyond the ages washed her skin anew, turning his ears and her lips redder by the second. Popping a kiss at the corner of her mouth, he strained his eyes to count the stars he could see.

Nill.
Zero.
None.

"You play a dangerous game my saint."

"The company of a siren has that affect."

Barekhna stifled a laugh, swallowing it with her eyes wide open. Taking in Aliyaar's dried face — the sheen from his tears still spread across his face like a thin film. Placing her lips onto his she moved them defiantly. As soft as she could, feeling his hands stroke the sides of her torso, pulling her towards him until no distance remained. Their sweet breaths washed the tops of their faces with a rawness unknown. Captivating them wholly ; the kiss not so reliant. Quivering with the blooms of the winds — strength and hostility toyed with their frames. Testing.
Trying.
His thumb rolled down her cheeks, twitching at the sides of her chin and sharp jawline. Aliyaar drew his index finger down the swan like neck, a shudder of pleasure produced in her mind.

Breathless she placed her head on to his chest, his arms pulled her into place. Laying across the generous length of the bed, their legs hung over the edge of the feather mattress. Nuzzling her face into his pectoral, his fingers strobed around the edge of her shoulders — soothing. Himself more than her. Propping her lips against his cheek she kissed him once, then twice. Aliyaar's spiced cologne mixed with her irreversibly sweet one — creating a wandering scent that dazed anyone who would dare to walk close enough.

The shards of the bulb lay forgotten. The moonless night dimmed into a callous experiment of what could not be. Thunderous winds exploded in the heart of the city, traveling through the crowded streets, sidelining the cars parked in their ever stagnant spots it caused havoc. The city of Lahore — a city of gardens faced destruction in it's rawness. It rapped against the doors ; thin or thick it did not matter. Death fluttered around the avenues and the skies remained desolate. Stars — hollow with trails around them had lost their otherwise unchallenged spark. All night as the clocks struck nearer to three in the morning, the moon despite it being the fourteenth remained out of sight. It's wholeness devoted to beauty and sonnets nowhere to be seen.

Calmness knocked on to their bedroom door. Sharp raps of four.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The sounds were uniform, alert and demanded the attention of the slumped figures on the other side. Eyes behind the wide backs clothed in a deep blue stared with worry, whimpering with sobs that escaped from the matriarch's lips. The tan fingers with their thick rings knocked without mercy. Forcing the sleeping figures to rise. Eyes swollen with sleep, and minds full of question they fixed themselves. Walking with gentle steps towards the door. Not knowing what lay beyond.

It will all be okay. Barekhna squeezed Aliyaar's hand in assurance as he unlocked the door. Their shoes having just missed the broken glass by mere centimeters. Pinching her lips together she waited with a queasy stomach as the handle was twisted. The knocks stopping. Silence permeating. Men in uniforms greeted their eyes. Their oiled mustaches ran down their figures, tracing chills on to her bare skin, breaking the aura of calm that had taken over inside. Tapping their thick sticks, they motioned for the couple to step out, the rest of the family already stood with worried faces.

"Aliyaar Alamgeer?" The police officer's voice rang with clarity.

He tipped his head, motioning for the man to continue. The front of his body shielded by his wife's frame. To most a sign of shame. To him a sign of blatant strength.

"You're under arrest for the murder of Sukhera sahab."

"What?"

The voices cried in strength. It was an impossible claim. Aliyaar could not hurt a fly, let alone kill a man.

"Do you have an arrest warrant or are you here out of plain spite?" Barekhna challenged with her words.

"Bibi puri tiyaari sai aye hain. Dekh lijye," he waved the paper, thrusting it into her hands.
[Madam we came with complete preparations. Here see.]

Barekhna watched like the rest of the family. Frozen in action as they handcuffed her innocent husband. Her legs shook with the rampant urge to go on a killing spree. Blinded by the dark spots in her vision she rubbed her hands over her face, following behind them as he followed compliantly. Blocking their way, she pushed the guards out of way, staring into Aliyaar's unaffected eyes. Not a single ounce of self doubt plagued them. Not even as he knelt and kissed her forehead. Not even as he whispered his parting words to her.

"Take care of everyone and yourself Barekhna. I'll be home soon."

"You'll be executed sahab." The officer taunted.

"They won't hang an innocent man!" Barekhna replied.

"Even if justice is denied," Aliyaar smiled softly, with an air of maturity, "I have trust in one supreme court."