To those that have no extra classes today.

Bonus — I

A drop of honey slipped down the edge of his pinky finger as he placed the spoon back into it's enclosure. His lips latched on to the dripping and sucked at it, the soft sugar melted into his mouth. The void of his soft palate melted from the darkness of perfumed silence, the honey in it's gold ringlets he could feel drip down the back of his throat. Coating the span of his oesophagus. Covered in saliva he retreated it from his buccal cavity. Wiping it against the coarse linen handkerchief that his brother had insisted their family adopt too.

On the linen the gold silhouettes of meshed together frames were to be a reminder of their family. With the tip of his finger he rubbed the coarse edge, his thumb rolled over the cursive embroidery of their family name. Squinting his nose, Aliyaar pressed a hand against the rimless spectacles that had once more slid down his sharp nose bridge. The butterknife cut through the golden pancakes with buttery smoothness, dipped into the deep brown honey, he chewed on slowly. Throwing a piece of smoked Turkey bacon to his — soon to be their — pet, Lightning.

Sunlight slipped in through the thick raw silk curtains his mother had insisted on being changed, much like the polishing on his bed that she said had to be refreshed. The tiles and wooden details, all redone. Just yesterday professional cleaners had wiped down the every last inch of the glass shards of his chandelier. Now it glimmered. Casting ringlets of a sharp rainbow over his breakfast spread. One that he was uncharacteristically taking in his private apartments far later than he would usually. 

Yet than again, he reminded himself, sipping on the glass of apple juice, nothing about the day was characteristic.

Wiping the ends of his aristocratic mouth with the plain beige napkin, he covered the dishes once more with the covers. The deep brown chair — one that resembled the shades of her hair — tucked into it's neat place once more. Mindlessly, Aliyaar finger spun the thick platinum band around his ring finger, dreaming of the moments that would soon slip inside of his life. Tucking the sleek glass back phone into the pockets of his vanilla trousers he slipped out of the door. Closing it softly behind himself. Feeling the embedded handle against his flesh — one last time.

As a single man.

Sun overhead, with lingering puddles of water against the cobblestone drive way were an ode to the weather of Lahore in the unfeeling Monsoon's. Bright and orange — the sun's unfiltered and un fleeting rays shadowed over the vast expanse of trees and greenery, the undersides painted a riveting shadowy shade of grey, and the sky a reflection of their electric greens. Washed at last of the dust that had been collecting on the top most levels of their branches. Flowers bursted across the curving driveway, with the youngest of hydrangeas finally bursting their heads against the ever green rose tree.

Aliyaar's Audi purred softly as he slid inside the already chilled back seat. The door closing with a satisfied click and the driver disengaging the hand breaks before rolling through the tall iron gates. On to the open, vast boulevards of Model Town. Through the tinted windows the sunlight lost it's sharp intensity and fall along the upper half of his toned thigh. The flesh that throbbed with life hidden beneath the enclosure of the plain white cotton-silk fabric.

His trousers fell with a straight hem to his ankles, from where his beige socks took over and cut off smoothly where the deep auburn — almost charcoal tie shoes began. Their heels sinking, the tuft of suede on the shoes, matching that of the carpets. With a hand propped over the arm rest, the fingers resting in a crooked crown's hold against his thigh, the thick platinum buttons embossed with their initials and the impression of her favourite flowers, struck the plastic. The large discs matched the ones that lined his coat, the buttoned white shirt stitched to his flesh almost. 

Amongst that his eyes — woody and homey as they were shown with delighted anticipation as the day continued to unfold. The car continued to rev on. His feet tapped along to the soft beats of his father's playlist. The mixed humble aroma of their colognes and the clean scent of the car created a new sensation. His thudding heart, against the round build of his ribs, ached. It almost lurched against his soft flesh and tore into the sky. Painting the calm, clear blue a shade of such intense red it would put all color palates of the world to shame.

Breathing in through his nose, Aliyaar exhaled from the ends of his gaping mouth. Counting down the minutes as the car rolled through the familiar gates of their farmhouse. The signature black SUV of his brother-in-law to be, parked underneath the parking lot's canopy.

"If your mother finds out about this Aliyaar—" his father spoke with warning.

The first time he had spoken since they had left their home.

"I know," he sighed, tousling his hair from their gelled position, his eyes squinting as the bright rays of sunlight burnt his pupils.

"Boy she'll have your head and the whole of me before that," he tutted, "aulad kia kia karwati hai ya khuda!" He whispered.
[What all you have to do for your children O God!]

Aliyaar choked on his chuckles, his father's glare sent arrows through his forehead. Stepping over the loose gravel, with his shoes making sounds of soft rustling, he clenched and then softened his knuckles. Licking the ends of his lips — the dry skin flaking as blood rushed to his cheeks and the upper ends of his elfin ears. His hand urged to tuck into his father's warm palm — as it had done once when he was a kid. The flesh of his stomach tightened into untangle-able knots, his throat burned with the flavour of nausea, painting him all shades of emotions as they stepped through the threshold.

"Getting cold feet?" Alamgeer chuckled at his son's shaky figure.

"Don't act as if you didn't feel the same."

"But I didn't my boy," he replied, slamming a hand in comfort against Aliyaar's upper back, "I was sure it was your mom I wanted to marry."

"I am too. I can't imagine my life without Barekhna, but to do it without  ma—"

"Phir tou yeh kartay hai mat karo Nikkah, honay do aglay haftay."
[Then let's do this that don't get married, we can let it happen next week.]

"No!" Aliyaar almost screamed at the top of his lungs, his throat throbbing from the intensity of his tone.

"'Yaar—stop doubting yourself," Alamgeer gripped his upper bicep before his hand wrapped around his palm, pressing a kiss against the back of it in seldom assurance, offering his son some of his own strength, "she deserves you as much as you deserve her. Barekhna agreed to — in fact she proposed the idea of eloping to you, stop doubting that she's gonna stand you up—"

"Bu—"

"A marriage has no room for buts. Or if's for that matter. And if it does then well, you're in some trouble." He sighed.

"Aliyaar you can do this beta. Your mama and I are proud of you, and no matter what, we always will be. Now get inside and get married. We've kept your Barekhna waiting for too long."

Nodding, Aliyaar wiped the corner of his eye with the edge of his knuckle, "just so we're on the same page, she's not my Barekhna, I'm her Aliyaar."

Their steps were synchronised as they stepped over the vast glass doors that lead to the vast gardens of the farm house. The beloved horses of the family grazing lazily on to some pasture as the sunlight glossed over their shiny coats, their full, thick tails brushing into the air with dignity. A few cats ran around the parameters and the gazebo next to the water fountain was crowded already with the witnesses and officiant.

Tucked into the arms of the branches of the papaya and rose trees, the gazebo made of marble and stone, with it's indented pillars was covered in a thick blanket of deep red roses and a spotting of white jasmines. Sprawling along the roof and the iron bannisters around the circular side of it. Bushes of hibiscus crowded the stepping stones that led up to the staircase of the gazebo itself, the clear blue skies filled with the pigeons and their delicate wings was close to nature. As close as one could get in the busyness of Lahore.

Through the curving stairs that shortened into the cemented sides of the private space, the hexagonal top spanning a few feet on either side, kept the marble table with sharp veining from deteriorating under the harsh weather. It's merciless winters and melting summers had done little damage to the iron wrought legs that curved into the air and housed the table top — fit for an audience with the king's council itself.

Aliyaar's mouth twitched with surprise at the sight of his distorted bride. Her back to him — and the barely there back of her dress put to the naked eye her soft flesh — yet the veil that covered the ends of her mouth and body blurred her just enough.

An intriguing mystery.
An unanswered prayer.
An arduous manifestation of his dreams.

She looked like all of those and his mouth turned drier than the Sahara. It's inside like the roughness of sandpaper collapsed in on itself. The idea that he would in some sense belong to her at the end of fifteen minutes, and the sight of her delicate frame, set him and his soul on fire. Burning it bright like a gasoline lamp lit ablaze under the careful eyes of a well written erotica. His fingers spasmed and the corners of his mouth twitched with profound need.

To whisper.
To utter.

Yet no words at all came from his voice box, and none from his brain. It — him and his memories — all of it had been wiped clear of everything. Leaving him stranded against the myriad of his own dreams and aspirations. All of which included her — it was not important to have him, so long as they held her.

Her.
Her.
Her.
Her.
The epi-centre of his universe.
The reason for his existence.
The very air he breathed.

Casting his towards the ground his feet were rooted to, he took heavy steps, passing by her. His gaze fixated on the mundane ground — both him and the soil luck to share a base with her. The cusp of his dress shirt grazed the end of her veil as he passed by, the soft chiffon brushed his palm and burnt from the inside out. His flesh seared in the emancipating heat of her perfume. It's chic scent mixed with softness of her sleepily smile that was reflected the glass of his smartwatch, a loose thread tearing off as he tugged at it in awkwardness. Averting his gaze, murmuring his greetings Aliyaar pocketed the thin thread, not before his fingers had memorised it's very build. Cradling it with gentleness.

Clearing his gruff throat the officiant slipped his fingers over the large pages, licking his finger as he did so before sliding it down the general information. His bored voice was redundant. The charm of performing a marriage had escaped his heart entirely, leaving him with nothing but a cold face as he moved his lips. Yet Aliyaar ignored all of that. His eyes remained trained over the words where their names sat against one an another, the humbleness of his orbs could not take in the divinity of the event.

"Aliya—"

"Qabool hai." He blurted.
[I accept.]

Sinking his teeth into the flesh of his tongue he held back an awkward cough as his bride broke into a waddling fit of short, breathy laughter. Her bony hand covered in diamonds rested against her veiled throat, a short gasp escaping as she turned to her equally amused brother.

Aliyaar's cheeks were stroked — airbrushed with the succulent orange of a delightful blush as his own father made fun of his apparent need to be married, the qazi continuing without a hitch, staring down at his wristwatch as the air of humour managed to shake the endless torrents of the calm fair clouds. His mouth twisted into half a smile, the pen between his fingers signing his name against the long line in one sleek stroke before signing away his name. To her. Just as he had dreamed of doing five years.

"Barekhna bint Saleem ap ka Nikkah Aliyaar bin Alamgeer ke saath te paya hai, kia ap ko qabool hai?"
[Barekhna daughter of Saleem your wedding has been arranged with Aliyaar son of Alamgeer, do you accept?]

"Qabool hai."
[I accept.]

She spoke as a light rustling of air tore through the trees and managed to clamber down through the iron railings, carrying her soft spoken words with itself into a realm of far away dream. Her fingers wrapped around the glimmering pen, his heated stare focused on the french tipped nails that scribbled her name against his in a dilute, soft cursive. The power inside of her beint striking through with each stroke that she brushed against the starchy paper, her other hand shaking inside of her brother's grip he noted. Stealing his eyes away to stare at the bark as her gaze caught his.

The blush on his cheeks rejuvenated once more.

➖➖➖➖➖

As soon as the marriage proceedings had been cleared, the two had been abandoned by their families for a first private counsel. The sun setting against the white barked trees and their scabby leaves, spread from beneath their unforgiving shade and painted on their frames light shadows underneath the gazebo. A zephyr blew and brought with itself the smell of rain, it's pure clearness burned the thicket of clouds that fought to gain power overhead, a lone star appearing on the horizon in it's show of impatience.

Painted a shade of every powdery color the sky was like the after math of a maestro artist's palate following a long day of work. The strobes of peach met a fair maiden blue — the kinds that matched her veil and attire. Soft tufts of pure virginal clouds in a dim whispering spruced around the centre of the vast skies and the birds sung tunes of fair praises as they set in search of home.

Much like he had done.

Clearing his throat, Aliyaar stared at her with his eyes still wrapped in a veil of vivacious piety and innocence. His mouth pulled apart softly as she tugged the veil that wrapped around the entire gazebo off of her head. Wind gushed from his lungs and burnt his nostrils as he stared at her face. The gently tanned shades of her pallor skin, brushed with the strokes an invisible foundation and concealer only brought out in all fairness the shadows of her bony face, the full high cheek bones painted a soft pink and the red matte lipstick coated over her full lips. The role of a seductress vying for attention—only to slaughter, played to perfection by his wife.

Aliyaar rubbed the back of his neck as he took in the details of her face, the wisps of her eye lashes matched the shade of her glossy hair that had been straightened to a T, and pinned behind her ear. The ivory sequins and embroidery against the drape of her sheer saree matched the finery that she was deserving of. Her polki necklace with a loose brooch pinned to it's centre, kissed the skin beneath her breast bone. The centre of which dipped and the delicate structure that hid underneath the blouse of raw-silk and handcrafted work. Lined with sequins similar to the heavy leaves designed on to the dress itself, the back sinking deep, yet her hair now thrown over her shoulder kept it from sight.

"You look pretty." Aliyaar swallowed.

The string of verses that his mind sung were not for the ears of anyone to hear. His mouth twitched in performative misery as he caught on to the web of synonyms defined his mind that would explain what a magnifico she looked like. Or what she meant in that moment — and for the rest of eternity for him.

Yet how could his words stop as he noticed the soft dimness of light within her curious eyes, wanting yet, failing to speak what it was that her tongue wished to convey. An emotion he was so well versed in. A tongue that was his entire identity.

"You look—okay," he sighed, bracing his heart and mouth for the stream of words, "you look as if a painter plucked the starlight from the entirety of stars in the crux of universe, like the skies were robbed of their heavens and then melted into an ire of my deepest most profound wishes. Painted with the shades of all the gems and jewels in the worlds. To stand before me as the only woman that has, and shall rule my heart, forever and after. Loving you was my heart's choice and staying in the folds of my emotions for you is my souls."

Barekhna flinched as his words brushed the caveat softness of her ear shell, her hands running to scratch the flesh behind her ears in recurrent muscle memory. Sinking into the chair, she took a stride upwards, clambering down the steps as her face flushed from the intensity of his intelligently put together words. Each of his syllables drummed against her dermis, like a vibrato it ran through her bones and deep flesh, palming her cheeks she felt the burning sensation deep against her palms.

Pivoting on her ankles she waited for her husband to reach up to her, her eyes brimming with a sheen of unshed, purest of emotions. Barekhna's fingers reached out to touch his sunken cheeks and feel how his stubby beard felt against her fingertips. Stepping closer into his embrace, yearning at the heat that escaped his figure and crowded them, she caught sight of her clear reflection in his orbs. Her heart tugged as she thought of their newly tied bond, her mouth pulsating into a soft, sincere smile as her hands softly dragged down the side of his neck and gripped on to his sturdy collar.

Aliyaar's eyes were the epitome of his innocence and the reflection of his sheer sincerity that he had for her. Despite the deepening neckline and all rights he had newly been appointed his gaze has seldom moved from her eyes and nose. Barekhna's heart softened it's rushed beats and made more sense of his intelligent being, taking in the sight of his gold, mellow skin and the lips that uttered — rarely — but with complete genuineness words that left her short on breath. Emotions swirled in the centre of her chest unlike anything she had ever known, or understood.

In one full sentence he had defined for her what this marriage would be. A lot of him making room for her. A little of her learning to devot to him. Even if he would never ask for it, she wanted to hand it over to him.

Barekhna's hands tightened around his collar as his hand rested softly on to one of her wrists, so lightly as if he feared the gentlest of pressures would shatter her bones. Taking in the soft blurred pores of her face a tear escaped his eye and then was blurred with a droplet of rain falling to him. Electricity coursed his being as he tightened his hand and shifted on his feet, watching the droplets of sudden rain fall on to their almost one frames, harsher and faster by the second. Her eyes tore away from his eyes and wavered between his lips that were the perfect shade of pink — as if they had been chewed on for far too long. A habit she knew he had.

Leaning in, the cold droplets of rain thundering against her flesh, Barekhna brushed her lips against his, feeling the warmth of his touch the coolness of hers. Beneath her palm, his heartbeat racing like the intelligent gallops of her beloved Champion. His fast and warm breaths brushed her face as she tilted her to press the fullness of her lips to the corner of his mouth, ignoring the icy rain as it dripped down her skin and melted the fabric of her saree against her warm flesh.

"You're so good with your words Aliyaar."

"You make me." He replied in a heartbeat.

Blinking straight before he wrapped his coat over her shivering shoulders, his warmth and scent, housing her from the rain that had gifted her far more tonight than it had ever done. Leaving a bursting chest of feelings within the chambers of her heart. Emotions she was dreading ; delightfully to explore.