Chapter 12.

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Monday's were days that followed the sunny Sunday's. They were days where the province worked slow and steady — like gentle ants who preserver no matter the situation. The days generally started of with the large brass bell at the entrance to the capital city — Mushkpur ( named after the province itself), it would ring at four in the morning before the call to prayer, it had been a tradition and only on day of mournings would the bell collect dust on top of it's barrel. The ringing would rouse the Imam in turn who called his brethren to prayer, the start of the day in the worship of the glorious.

That particular Monday, the skies had reigned terror on the land. The thin roads were blocked with muddy puddles, crisply ironed uniforms of the children stained with the mud and rain drops, which they wore with pride as they ran back home — a holiday declared what more could they want? Grey of the skies that rumbled with the ferociousness of the khemaas — a monster in the fables of those that lived near the city. From the centre of the clouds a gaping whole formed and sunlight fell undiluted on to the roof of the minister's residence.

A thin rainbow danced near the edge of his windowsill, which Arham observed with a smile so small it barely seemed real. His eyes were glassy, the rainbow reflected in them with perfection not a color out of place. The sight before him was new, sunlight and rain together, rainbows and hail accomplice. Vapors of his breath materialized themselves to life, the tip of his nose all but squashed against the panes as he saw the under construction part of the garden turn into a mess of broken rock, bricks and discarded roots. Nature in it's truest form was the eye witness of tragedy and despair.

"Uh—sir the - the reports have been emailed to you — unfortunately they found nothing that could be an odd interaction."

Burhan's head lowered until the edge of his beard brushed past the buttons of his formal shirt. His hands were neatly folded in the crook of his lap, awaiting judgment. The man he called boss was an enigma, the power that he held, his words enough to influence for days — the silence he reeked in search of whatever it was in his mind, caused his own brain to turn to mush.

"Burhan—Burhan—Burhan how long have you worked for me?"

His words were monotonous, where there should have been a hidden meaning or threat, there was an abyss and it was even more dangerous.

Burhan gulped his thoughts and fears down, anger did not mean he would resort to violence — at least he hadn't in the time he had served him.

Breaking the silence, he wiped his hands discretely against his trousers, "s-sir fo-four years."

"Speak clearly Naeem. I did not hire a kid to work for me!"

He slammed his palms against the desk, rage dripping from his actions as he slid into his chair once more.

"Sir four years!"

"In those four years have you not learnt anything? It's unfortunate really that you're still working under me. A withering, shivering flower petal has no place in the lion's dungeon. Am I clear?"

"Sir yes sir!"

"Very good. Excellent!" He pulled back in joy, faux joy.

"You will hire ten more men, I place my funds at your disposal entirely. There is something amiss. No one has such squeaky clean transactions — especially when they're so high up in the game. Hire men, I don't care who, infiltrate them. Become the very essence of their breath! This attempt to murder my brother will not go unpaid. After all returning a debt is a virtue."

The conversation was halted as a knocking sound on the door turned the two mute. Arham cleared his throat, ordering the person in. A maid dressed in the primary colors of the once ruling Khan family — yellow and purple, walked in. In her hands a starchy white envelope that she passed to him in silence. He motioned with the crook of his finger for her to leave. Her exit left the room in a deathly state. The pages and pens all shivered as he read the words in blue cursive. Old money families and their traditions — a call would have sufficed, a hand written letter was a bit too much even for his own standards.

"You're dismissed. The next time I see you, I want some development in this case do you understand?"

"Yes sir. Of course sir."

He hummed in reply, motioning him out of the study. Arham studied the paper inside his hand for a few more seconds before he abandoned his chair. Duty called him.

As he slid into his bullet proof vehicle, a train of guards following behind him, he revved the engine at the gates of the place. Flashing the lights at the walls on the opposite end of the road, he steered on to the highway. The rain by now had turned into a mystical drizzle, rushing down on to the ground through sunlight, a few hailstones falling on top of his car. He placed his hands atop the steering wheel, the leather of it pulsed to life under his hands.

Arham's fingers grazed the controls on the side of his door, pulling the windows down, he slid a pair of glasses on, the tires of his car striking up a conversation with the lubricated highways. They screeched as he built up the torque, releasing the pedal ever so slowly, the momentum that had built up rushed through his veins simultaneously, driving him to clear ecstasy. His nostrils flared and he felt the tension in his brain dissolve into nothingness. It was him and the fire of his engine, nothing and no one in between mattered.

The hilt of his fist rested on top of the gear, shifting it smoothly to the sports mode, the vessels inside roaring to life with a new found power. He smoked the security behind him, increasing his speed as he neared the curb flickering the headlights at the mirror on the blind side, his gaze faltered momentarily before it once more gauged the roads in front him. His calculations were in all their perfection, the maths was set — he hoped the odds were in his favor.

He grinned in delight as the wind blew through his hair with a maddening velocity. The rain drops rushed inside and dampened the material of his pants — all was ignored in that moment. He looked youthful and his age fell by a few years as he fist pumped the air in joy, successfully doing that which he had wanted to do. The valves of his heart were in a turmoil, stuck between flooding enough oxygen to his mind and filling up with elation as he for once let the stress that clouded him dissolve.

He drifted the car into place, motioning for the woman he was order to pick up to take seat. She slid in beside him in silence. Her black stilettos were somehow still safe from the waters outside, the ends of her sharp heels dug into the thick carpet. The lavender scent of Filza's perfume was like a fresh rush of euphoria. Still high off of the adrenaline, Arham looked at her pouty lips from the view finder. He had spent the rest of the weekend in a recluse and her thoughts had filled him up. Like bread to a hungry duck, like water to a thirsty sparrow. Arham clenched the steering wheel, the other hand resting on the console, the bulge of his muscle brushed her arms — forcing her to hunch into her own self.

The collision of their covered, heated skins was an indulgence, a sin — and an unapologetic sinner he was.

The scent of his cologne diffused into her skin, bringing it to life, a rosy hue on her cheeks and a deep burning fire — ready to grip her in it's flames.

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"Surprise!"

Iridescent streamers flew through the crisp ceilings of his lounge. Pastel blue balloons strung around from the tiny screws in the coffee colored walls. Rose petals perished on top of the glass table, laughter and breathy whistles filled the air and turned it taut. Brought the suffering of separation to an end, as the family wrapped their arms around each other. The cake lay forgotten, it's fresh cream melting down the sides like the iciness of the hearts, and it's thick walls diminishing.

"How?" Arham looked at them in surprise, his hands stroking Lilah's hair.

"It's your thirtieth, of course we'd be coming over to celebrate." Lyana replied.

"Weren't you all busy?"

Confusion dripped from his eyes, meeting the valley of his lips where they sunk deep into the trenches of his tongue. Gone.
Lost forever.
Never to be remembered.

"For family? Never. We planned this long ago, we got fortunate that your birthday is on Saturday, tomorrow is a national holiday, and Lilah's graduation just happened so we all had time on our hands."

"I'm glad you guys decided to come, it get's lonely here," Arham sighed.

"The cake is melting!"

Lilah shrieked in worry, they had brought one with themselves as an early celebration, and finding the white spotless cream melt on to the rim of the plate it was served in panic ensued — atleast in her head. Arham smiled at her softly, throwing a kiss on the top of her head. His brother and father were missing, one had fallen asleep after hours of driving and the other had spotted a horse and went in search of it. The three cut a slice in silence and munched on it, reassuring his mother and sister that he would clear up, he sent them up to their rooms too, walking out of the annex and into the grounds beside the estate — where the horses were plenty.

It was a short walk, turned into a long one after the potholes had opened up after a night of rampant rain. The drizzle too had stopped, heavens had cried enough for the past that lingered she was hopeful of the new dawn. A mourning was as good as the mourner — and the two needed healing before the wounds opened up again. A horse trotted along him as he crossed the vine covered bridge, his shoes sloshing against the wet soil. Petrichor filled the otherwise inanimate senses and turned them to the skies for peace and mercy. With hearts all soaring alongside.

Shadows of leaves, barks, tiny creatures that flittered in and out of there sturdy homes danced in tunes of the cosmos, with arms wrapped around each other in a remarkable delicateness. Open cries from the beaks of the regal doves and the deeper cries of the hawks above were a marriage of their own, calling and rectifying those that threatened it nearer, luring it in for a merciless kill with the sharpness of it's gaze and the song of it's beaks. A combat much like that of the heart and mind, the strong and the soft against each other always but in front of foe — united like never before. In the days of yore they had been mighty beings, time had dwindled them into small birds, their feet still told the tales of their once might strength — like a broken man who knows he will one day soar again.

One errs in his youth and repents in the modest middle ages. It is seemingly the way of life not only amongst those that swim in gold and shower with milk but amongst them too who search for their shelter and nutrition in the trash of the unappeased rich. In the time that is free — of work and of thought, the pain that one in their riveting handsomeness has inflicted upon a wounded soul comes to mind and as is — as always will be, it cripples one to knee until he is but a mere memory to his own self. Contemplation, calculating the results is a virtue in the youth and a vice when what you have sown can not be pulled for the roots are far to sturdy to give in to the feeble hand. However, ever so oft; the wrong arrogance does not diminish until the grave is ready and filled with the limp body.

Arham too was subjected to the memories of the near past, ones he had made in naivety, when all to him was set in stone. With every step he neared the stables, the wooden building painted a bright red stood out from the unusually green surroundings. It's top painted a creme shade was like the morning sky just when the sun's rays begun to pull apart the thick drowsy curtains of the velvety sky. With his hands slipped inside his pockets and eyes set on the floor beneath him, he jumped his way, leaping over puddles and dashing towards the barn doors. He hoped Aliyaar would be there — for the man could not be seen anywhere else.

"Aliyaar bhai!"

A genteel voice that was enough for his heart to skip a beat cut his path. Stopping in front him, dressed in a black sweat suit and her hair curling around the softest tip of her chin, Filza pouted. He was stunned, a brow raising in her direction as he motioned for her to continue. The complaint inside her eyes tortured his very faith. Lights played with their vision, his back taut facing her front, his hands hiding his face as he scratched his beard.

"Your brother is nothing like you."

She added with distaste, her eyes catching the birds flying on top of their heads. Unseemly, careless, free from the niceties of society — they were so lucky to be so wholeheartedly free. Crossing her arms against her chest, Filza took a deep breath, averting her gaze from his being as she continued to rant — after all the moment her eyes would look at him she would shy away, the eyes that kept her awake at night were familiar to his, the effect they had on her was like giving caffeine to a young child.

"And by that you mean?" He cleared his throat, the gruffness a bit more than usual.

Filza brushed it off, running a hand through her hair as she looked for words that would explain the way she felt about him with a rigid clarity.

"Suffice to say he is nothing short of an arrogant, deceptive — clod."

"Hi Arham — Filza, who are we raging about?"

Aliyaar walked out of the stables greeting the two with his ever present grin. The color dropped from Filza's face, her mouth turned a blubbering mess as she shuffled on her feet — embarrassed. But how the shade of red that spilled on her cheeks, turned the onyx of his eyes into a carcass of memories. A gate to his soul, enraptured by her sight, each crook of her life and being imprinted on his hands without mercy. Arham found himself in a fix as he stared at her walking away.

"What was she saying?"

"Nothing — nothing that concerns you at least." Arham shrugged.

"Arham don't — she's ten years younger than you."

"I know Aliyaar, I'm not interested either. She's an inquisitive creature. Almost reminds of the elfin folk in the movies Lilah made us watch."

"Tumhari in baaton sai tou lag raha hai piyaar ho gaya hai." Aliyaar chuckled.
[Hearing your words it seems as if you have fallen in love.]

Arham scoffed, pulling Aliyaar out of the grounds and towards the annex. His mind home to thoughts, incorrigible thoughts that refused to leave him alone, to let him rest in peace.

She was a firefly and like everyone else he was intrigued by her mighty spirit.

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Their chemistry is off the charts and it only gets better from here.
I was reading the book last night (perks of being the author), and I am in AWE. I forgot just how well this was written and all the dialogues and steam coming your way *smirks*

You are not ready.

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