Chapter 14.

Although the goal for chapter 13 remains incomplete, you get an update because when that was posted, Wattpad was down.
So in the case you missed the previous chapter please go & have a read of it first.

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Spellbound.
Starstruck.
Simply breathless.
Stripped of all senses.
Arham's life was a kaleidoscope of such moments at the very second he stood in the centre of the dial. His hand was around his sister's and brother's, as they cut through the chiffon cake, slicing through the decadent buttercream frosting. He felt the tiny pinky finger of his sister smear the turquoise cream on his cheek — for a second, the noises were back and his tunnel vision lost as he rubbed his cheek against her forehead. Revenge was sweet — quite literally as he tasted the cream on his finger. His eyes focused on the woman in pink and blue — her blushing cheeks reminded him of his fondness for roses, so delicate, so rosy and yet one hard grip and destroyed forever.

Crushed nuts, the centre of the white stars were an added textural change from all the richness. It was breezy, as he took bite on bite of the riveting slice of cake. His mouth exploded with flavor, his heart with gratitude of emotions. Sucking the last bit of cream off of his spoon, he forwarded the porcelain plate, noticing the change in expression of everyone around him — since when did he have a sweet tooth? Lately to him, he was not the Arham that had lived and grown up in the streets of Lahore. No, he was someone different.

In Mushkpur, he had turned a leaf anew. Gone were the deep set frowns on his perfectly angular visage, replaced by the bloom of something new. The breeze of the city was light and it meddled with his brain, more often than not. His decision making skills and devotion to cause were still as strong as day one — everything in between an architectural disaster. For the walls were collapsing like balls of cotton, sunk in the ocean of his heart, they would remain hidden — beneath the ice that had kept him from feeling this long. His men too, had noticed, a virtual change. The affection for white still there but added to it were light shades of colors — shirts that he had discarded, were finally worn out in to the world. Absolute turn around of events.

The heart is fond before the mind ; is born of thought.

Affixed to the very thought of the person whose marvelous hands were behind the conception, he lost all sort of sense. The vision dimmed and like a vignette, threw direct focus at the centre stage, the starlet of the show, Filza Azmaray Khan — who without trying and without caution claimed him whole. Her being resounded with his thoughts, and then amplified the worries that increased. Proportional to the thickness of the fog that transcended the realms of vision. If the world would turn into an abysmal graveyard where nothing but dead souls and matter survived — Arham would still feel her. So immersed was her being in his veins already.

Without thought, without mind — ill had fallen on him.
The ill, that was the whisper of satan first hand.
His heart, stirred for a woman — he could never have.

"Arham?"

His mother's voice was soothing the burnt mark of separation. The distance from something that was never and would never be attached to his name — not in this world of gentlemen at-least.

"Kahan gum ho? Ho kya gaya hai?" She was worried, Lyana as she kissed the back of his hand, the coldness of it alarming.
[Where are you lost? What has happened?]

"Abhi tou kuch huwa hi nahi aur lagta hai sab khatam ho chuka hai. Jab ho ga, tou mujhe mujh sai hi koi nahi bacha sakay ga." He whispered.
[Right now nothing has happened and it seems as if everything is over. When something will happen, then, no one will be able to save me from me.]

The words gave voice to an opinion, to a topic untouchable. His breaths, harsh and heft hid the words from her ears. Like incoherent words they filled her ears. Over the moor, behind the house, the full moon arose with dignity. It was hung low, like a bowl of vanilla ice cream dusted with gold glitter. Lyana's eyes were filled with the starry vision, she could only pat his face in reassurance, guiding it to the sky behind them.

The pallor of it was like a clandestine wedding dress. It had from the edges roughened, the seams broken apart as it came on to the dark sky each night — yearning for it's love. He who was the necessity of living, forgot her, the essence of being. Like a melancholy divine, she filled the vision with a dazzling light. Her existence was an extension of him — but he had failed to understand. The trees tried with their mighty wand like branches to hide her, the moors open and wide, planned to bury her alive without hearing the tale of her heart break. She needed only one forlorn lover, who would, see the cold in her. Who could, ask her lover, invoke his fire, ask him for answers and turn him back to her devoted sire.

Zoning in and out of his being, the soul pulled towards the satellite, the mind towards his own life. It was a battle that would go on — for a long tine coming. Between the richness and grandeur of his birthright and the spritely sordid manner of his thoughts, the forced aristocratic uniform would always be worn first. Duty called of him.
To his duty he had to go.
A man like him, devoted to a secular cause has no identity of his own. And as his heart pulsed, underneath the scabbing wound he pulled at — tears burned his throat in protest. A chance was what they asked for. A chance was to expensive.
A tiny tremor of mistake — and all that he stood for, all that he made, would fall without fail.

"Arham?"

His name was called in that soft voice, the one that kept him awake at night. His body and thought indulging, conceiving illegal thoughts. More than once, he had dreamt of her soft drawling moans. He could feel the touch of his fingers transpire on his chest and her minty warm breath dissolve against his lips. It asked of him for too much. To have control, to not give in.

"Arham bhai your father is calling you to the gates of your annex."

Filza addressed him, the devouring fire dying as she called him brother. He nodded, walking away — thankful. Leaving a puzzled and dazzled woman behind.
The heart was star struck she was sure, but would he ever give in? With an ache in her heart she walked away, soothing the bruise formed of over expectations. She turned to the moon, smiling at it with an abandoned fondness. They were similar — her and the moon.
Their lovers were in denial.
Their hearts could not function.

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"Arham I need to ask you something of importance." Alamgeer was alert as he looked around them.

His father in such a panicked state was something new for him. He was worried, he hoped nothing had gone amiss. Nodding his head he gestured his father to follow him inside, leading him into his office. The two sat down in the darkness, nothing but a thin candle burning. The orange hues on their faces painted pictures of a myriad of problems. Their hearts were not at peace. Outside the noises of chatter and hurray's, were resembling the innocent citizens of Mushkpur, who slept — peacefully unaware of the sinister. Anxiety, and apprehensions rendered the father and son speechless, the two too full of fear to speak.

"You first abu. The news I have can wait." Arham spoke.
He cleared his throat and waited for his father, whose roots growing grey, were every bit the reflection of skill he had.

"There is something wrong. Something is off Arham. It's not just the threats we've been getting. A plan larger than our perception is being put to action after having cajoled the leaders to conspire against you." Alamgeer explained.
Each word spoken with calculated caution, the father's heart bleeding as he spoke.

"Listen abu, I know. I know that some tribal leaders in the outskirt cities have not taken to my ascension to power positive. However, I think I can talk to them. I can turn them to our side."

"You don't get it do you Arham? This isn't about you anymore. They're plotting against the nation as a whole. They're going to uproot the very foundation of unity your grandfather spent years building. This is now a matter of national security."

Alamgeer was terrorized. This in particular, was one of the many reasons he wanted his children out of politics. The enemies built here, were ones that would last forever. Generation after generation, the plucked the weakest links and attacked them without heart. His son, despite thinking himself capable, was naive. Just like he had once been — too arrogant in his youth to admit it. The profession had given him a life of pains, the greatest the bullet wound his wife had suffered in her abdomen — a miscarriage following suit, incapable of conceiving until eight years later God showed them mercy.

"Abu I think this is very much to do with us. I've had Burhan look at a few opposition members activities. My suspicions have been locked since Aliyaar's acc—"

"What do you mean? You were asked to drop the issue Arham!"

Unfiltered rage brimmed the words Alamgeer spoke to his son. It had not been intentional, the human mind is curious but Alamgeer knew of the repercussions. One inkling of doubt, and all would unite against him until they had pushed and bullied the man into losing all senses.

"I'm sorry okay? I had to find out who has been attacking us!"

In a fit of rage, Arham stormed off of his seat. It fell behind him, smashing the glass trophies to tiny particles. Very much like his heart, the shattered pieces could never be picked up, atleast not for a long time coming. He punched his forehead with the butt of his fist, pacing back and forth. Usually he remained calm in front of his father, but right now, in that very moment there was no going back. The first trigger had been successfully pulled — there were cracks in the family, or so the observer from the neighboring balcony thought.

"Arham this is not a civilized manner. You will tell me what you have found, am I clear?"

"Ugh! Okay! Just — just trust me a little, okay?" He sounded defeated.

Nodding, Alamgeer motioned for him to sit on the chair beside him. Sighing, Arham removed the file from in between the many novels in his shelf, forwarding it.

"It was highly suspicious, the accident of Aliyaar. I looked into it, why would the person run? It became clear later. The car is mine, it's registered on my name. I was supposed to take it out for a street race that night however — Aliyaar's car broke down and he had to take mine. It was unplanned. They were meant to hit and kill me."

Even uttering the words pained Arham. The flashes of Aliyaar's bloodied face, with smears of glass in between his cheeks hit him like a truck. It was a regret that he would take to his grave, and just thinking about it punched all air out of his lungs.

"What?" Alamgeer was shocked, an understandable reaction, his son thought.

"Yes. There have also been break in attempts, however, ever since I've been in Mushkpur, the hired security has been pleased to tell me that no more suspicious activity is going on."

"That's not the end of it."

Alamgeer deadpanned, it never was. It never was enough in politics.

"Correct abu. We have our suspicions, the attack, it was funded by offshore accounts, we're looking into who it may be. I have my suspicions that it may be the Ilyas's behind this fiasco. Yet — yet one thing is set in stone."

"And what may that be?"

"That there is a mole amongst us."

There was heavy silence on both sides, there lips parting at the same time — though all voices were killed as sounds of gunshots rung outside.

Dun! Dun! Dun!
Gunshots fired (literally!)
I love this chapter. Their inner struggles to accept emotions and stuff.
Arham being big stupid.
Alamgeer still as charming as ever.

Thoughts & Comments here.