Chapter 20.

✵

Their terrified lips froze in the middle, the sanguine warmth of the hearth and the tray full of food relished their spirits full. It filled them up, with graciousness, it gave that which words could not have provided them with ; security and sublime spirits — love and bit more. From the anticipation of touching each other's skin, in the devilish of ways, so wrong but — just right for them ; for each other. If that were not the essence of their being, so wholly wrong but so devoted, then they were deceived and doomed as two lovers. Then their ends would be short, and the flame of their romance a tiny wax stub.

The cream of mushroom soup, warmed their throats instantly. All irritated inflammations were softened as the rich flavor infused itself into their pores, transported into their veins that were just a few minutes ago, icy blue from the chill. A borderline hypothermia, slid out of their shell like frames, the closeness of their bodies warming away the remains of the icicle shards. With gentle fingers Arham picked the shards of ice out of her hair, the ones that had yet to melt into a puddle — much like his heart in front of her. His lips rested on top of her forehead, numb against her forehead warming up her skin. His hands, lifting spoonful upon spoonful of soup to her lips.

Filza's hands still shivered, popping a fish cracker into his mouth. While her body was warm and heart sated at last, the mind still was ; stuck in the tiny hut. The dingy dilapidated state of it, the scratchy voice and slap that had her cheek still throbbing kept her from being completely normal. Her body shivered underneath the thick duvet and shawl, his arms around her did little to stable her but still they ignored everything that was wrong — they were married and that was all that mattered. After the horrors of the scary six hours that she was kept away from her family, fears — unknown had taken over. Feeling Arham beside her as she gained consciousness and found herself in the walls of her bedroom, at peace, she felt afraid. Filza was not risking it ; she did not want to loose her beloved, even if it meant rushing the wedding and wearing her pajama's as they signed away their lives — into the names of each other.

The fragrant hydrangea bouquet of the bride lay on one side of her bed. The green stems were tied together by a thin gold string, their pink bushy heads with pollen in the centre were still fresh, a few curling inwards as they withered — most immortalized into a scathing memory. Fervently they turned her skin red, the marks of the wounds turning redder, an ache in her muscles tearing at her, tears spilling out of her soft doe eyes.

"Filza are you — are you alright?"

Arham fretted over her like a worried mother hen. His thumbs wiped away the tears, placing the bowl of soup away lest it's scalding contents burn her skin.

"It hurts — it hurts! I feel so much pain and anger. I — I don't know what I want to say but my mind it— it won't stop thinking!"

She threw her fists on the sides of her head, boxing them. Her swollen lips wobbled with anxiousness, her fingers tightened into a grip on top of her head, squeezing the life out of it as the incessant ache spilled to the ends of her jaw. Filza clenched her teeth, biting her tongue in the midst of it.

"Should — should I call the doctor?"

Arham slapped his forehead, retrieving his phone from the side tae, dialing the number of his private doctor in the province. His fingers massaged her head, his phone held between his ears and shoulders waiting for the buzzing to end and for the familiar warm voice to spill out. Filza's pale skin and frightened eyes would be forever imprinted in to his memory. They carried in them an empty, haunting look. She twitched, her fingers shook as they rested over the bruised cheek. Slowly dragging a finger across them, the thick warmth that oozed from the skin slipped the embrace of peace and happiness off, like hands removing a thin shift with sultry motions.

"Arham — Arham I am scared — I am scared." She sobbed relentlessly, her skin shriveled up, her nose scrunching the back of her hand roughly wiping at the tears despite the ache it caused on her wound.

"Shh it's okay Filza. Nothing is going to happen to you. No one will hurt you anymore, okay?" He stared into her eyes, passing a gentle smile to her. "Nothing is going to happen. You're safe." Arham squeezed her hand in reassurance.

"Promise?" She whimpered.

Looking at him from the burrow she had cuddled herself into, in between his arm and chest. Her eyes looked to him with plenty of light — hope in them like the ceaseless waters of the sil-sil. Outside the ebony darkness reflected on to the window of her bedroom, the stars around in the centre of them, the moon. Her eyes wavered to the sight of the moon, it's paleness a bit dimmer a tinge of red, a hue of pink sprayed out of it's centre. The craters she assumed on top of it, had moved places — everyone was migrating. It was time, to spread out in the ferocious winters, to find a new home.

"I promise Filza. I promise," he said.

"Do you know Arham, I — I was so scared in there. It was so so so scar-y."

Her hiccups caused her words to stumble one over the other, his hands smoothed out her hair, straightening out the tresses that fell over her cheek in a messy — yet adorable way. Curving like the thin moon, her nose attracted the lock to itself, the piercings in her ears kept a thin hair hostage. Such childish loveliness even in a state of disappointment was a rarity indeed.

"You don't have to talk about it Filza, okay? You don't have to relive the horrors."

He pressed his dry lips against the top of her head, strumming his fingers up and down the length of her arm, calming her down — just a little.

"I fear it will haunt me. The faces, the voices, they'll come for me when I'm alone at night Arham. They will take me away — they will take me away again!"

Hysteria gripped her as she shivered under the sheets. Pushing her knees to her chest she sobbed into them, the door thrown upon as her cries stormed the peaceful estate. Everyone — the doctor, their family and the security rushing in. With a sharp alertness they rushed over to the brittle bride. Arham wrapped her into his arms, moving with her softly, gently whispering words of comfort. Laila too held her hand, stroking it in the manner she had done ever since her daughter was a kid. Kissing the back of her hand, Laila held it to her eyes. Filza sensed the familiar touch and pushed herself into her arms, right now she wanted her mother more than anyone.

"What are you looking at? You said she was fine! Does she look okay to you?"

Arham pulled the doctor to one side, his hand wrapped around his collar in sheer rage. Seething, his vision clouded with the colors on the spectrum of red he felt his hands itch. A part of him knew, his anger was pointed at the wrong person, however, a struggling brain calls out anyone that it can just for the sake of feeling better. His minty breath fogged the doctor's thin glasses, the man withering like a leaf under his strong hold.

"Arham let him go! Yeh kia pagalpan hai? Is this how you're mother has raised you?" Alamgeer held him back, his voice free of emotions.
[What is this madness]

Arham gulped, letting the man go he straightened out his shirt. He turned to his father, his eyes rimmed red. They dripped with anger and fury, he snarled at the floor. He hated himself in that moment. His mind was in a frazzled fix. The dismantling throb inside his brain rendered him useless to think rationally. On the bed, a hysterical bride — his bride, cried a storm. Seeing her helpless, even with all the wealth at his disposal, he could not help her. Useless. Failure. Burned out — he wanted to slam his head in the wall. The imminent urge, he had to!

"Arham leave this room and go calm yourself. You can't behave like a rogue in front of everyone." Lyana walked closer, wrapping a hand around his arm.

"I can not leave her alone mama, have you not seen the state she is in?" He shook his head.

"We do! That is why you need to step out for a breather. She needs her husband in a good state of mind. Not someone so full of fury." She said.

"I am calm."

"You aren't." His parents replied simultaneously.

"Arham we aren't your enemies, okay? You need to go and meet Major Raheel as well — they said there has been some footage recovered okay? Meanwhile let's give the family some space, okay?"

Arham nodded, a painful realization descended on his face, "what if she thinks I abandoned her?" He whimpered.

"She won't ever. Trust your wife Arham, okay?"

Lyana kissed his brow, guiding her out of the heavily decorated bedroom. Her skirts swished along the carpet in the hallways, an arm wrapped around him in a tight grip. Her husband followed suit in silence, closing the door gently. Leaving behind the parents and the daughter — all of them shattered by the day's event.

Thin, translucent pale moonlight dissolved on to the table inside his study in the annex. His windows drawn shut, the curtains though pulled far back. From the burning candles inside her bedroom he could see the figures walk in and out. So she was not alone — in the daunting night she was not alone and it calmed him a bit. He took seat on the leather chair, his fingers drummed the armrest, a pen in between his fingers as he read through what was a letter found in Filza's room.

Whoever it was had crooked handwriting — they had faked a letter, from her perspective — she had run away. Unfortunately, the 'r''s curved over and their sticks in it were beyond upright. The penmanship was weak — he could even with his eyes shut identify that it was not written by his now wife. The dusty hard drive ran in his laptop, warming it as the videos played. The silhouettes that escaped the estate from the Eastern wall — a completely abandoned corner for the time as a guest house was in construction, they carried Filza without care, appearing as if out of nowhere.

"Pause it."'

He whispered to Azaan — the man having taken over Burhan's job for the time being. Azaan nodded, stilling the video he zoomed in as per his boss's orders. Arham narrowed his eyes, the camera quality had dropped upon zooming in but he could still read the emblem's words on their jersey's.

"That's the logo of Khalid Sarwar's company," Azaan whispered.

Arham hummed in affirmation, his hands stroking his jawline — eyes covered with a deceptive light as he thought hard.

"He wouldn't — he wouldn't make such a mistake of sending his men in his uniform. If you replay the video," he spoke, retracting the video, he pointed at the figures, "they come out of the walls. It's an inside job. Or atleast, someone is involved. I want you to find out who has access to the secret passages in the estate. Report on my desk by the end of this week."

"Sir the wedding—"

"The wedding will go on, the person might strike again. Stay on your toes."

Turning his attention from the video, he focused on the man in the crisp blue uniform. The fair skin of the man looked ghastly in the yellow lights of his study, Arham stood up, his hands wrapped around his back, his back pressed up against the wooden shelves. He narrowed his vision, the man in front of him too relaxed for someone who had allowed such a monstrosity to occur on his watch.

"Major Raheel what do you have to say?" He raised a brow, his hands holding on to the shelves.

"You need my help?" He chuckled.

"Not really Major. However, how did the bride get kidnapped on your watch?"

He leaned in, his hands pressed on the table. His eyes scrutinized Raheel's facial expressions. There was no sign of worry, as cool as a cucumber, he shrugged. The devilish looks a symbol of his powerful youth ; made him a man of iron — even in front of the nation's young kings.

"You're correct. It is an inside job. No one save for our team, the trusted servants and family know the routes. In fact, it might be Khalid Sarwar for he was hired to cater the wedding, it is  difficult to follow the servants and see which path leads to which entrance. Unless of course, someone helped them and drew them a map." Major Raheel spoke.

"That's a very blatant accusation. I'm sure he won't take it in a good light Raheel." Arham smirked.

The hidden prideful smirks, are visible — and eventually lead to downfalls.

"It's just a thought. We'll look deeper into this matter. However, wasn't your late assistant doing some research on the Ilyas family?"

"That is for private reasons!"

"Well maybe they know and this was a warning, after all Arham you have plenty of enemies." Major Raheel spoke.

With those parting words, he walked out of the office. An almost blooming smile painted his face with a bright light as he walked out, the suspicion inside Arham's chest strengthened. The reappearance of this man was an alarming sight.

"Azaan follow Major Raheel. I think he might be behind this!"

"Why?" Azaan spoke, puzzled.

"Don't ask, just do as I say if you value your job!"

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Amber lights against the low wooden floors, a raised stage right beside the gates of the annex covered in white lights and chicken wool, small green and yellow flowers tied around it. Their star petals fought to the top, thin vines, with leaves that curled around the iron triangles for the backdrop kept them from falling down. Yellow translucent flood lights over the dance floors, and in between the large trees, added a hue of warmth. Sofas around the round dance floor, a stereo system placed around the lawn, a covered walkway with white chiffon curtains led to the secluded part of the gardens, where dinner had been arranged.

Life in the estate had continued at it's natural pace. Like the free flowing, sharp icy waters of the sil-sil, everyone had dissolved into the course of nature. They cared not, for the pain and torment that might be born as a result of the pain, nay — they were all ; at the insistence of the victim of the events, the wedding was going to go on at the planned times. She had found solace in the final preparations, finding between the skirts and veils, her happiness. Selecting the jewels final for her dress — brought a giddiness to the top of her throat. Between the wedding and her nikkah there was a gap of only three days, and those three days — were spent in tough planning and ignoring her husband, who had turned into a forlorn lover at the lack of attention.

Gold skirts — a dull yellow flew around her, the underskirts kept the dress from laying limp, flowing in every which direction, block printed flowers and leaves in the pinks and neutrals, purples and greens were pressed over the cotton net fabric, thin strings of gota acted as dividers between the panels. The blouse, fitted bodice and sleeves with a halter neckline, the same geometric leaves printed on all top of them, like the shape of a beetle leaf. Her waist length hair straightened into a neat ponytail and the organza veil that wrapped around her waist and over her shoulder and under the crook of her other arm.

"Oh my! Oh my! Look at you Fizzy pop you look so beautiful!" Her mother kissed the side of her head.

Placing the thick gold choker in the crook of her neck, deep purple gems hanging from the ends of it, placed on the bare skin of her chest. Filza took a deep breath of peace, her eyes filled up with stars as her mother placed her choice of jewels in her neck and ears. Twirling around the span of her room she dragged her thin fingers over the bruised cheeks and lip — hidden under the layers of foundation and nude lipstick. The smoked out eye shadow on her eyes blended out until it brought the green in her eyes out.

"Thank you mor. You think I'm the prettiest bride ever?"

Her lips morphed into a smile, the one that paints the face when love finds the soul. When peace takes to the ends of the tips of the fingers and toes. When, above all, you find people of your own.

"You are! I've never seen someone as youthful and radiant as you Filza — you look every inch a royal. A princess," Azmaray replied in his wife's stead.

Filza nodded her head, hugging her father, she kissed his chin, "more of a queen now aren't I?" Her voice filled with humor.

"You are—" he stared at her, his eyes resting over her orbs, staring into the centre of her soul, "I'm surprised, it's all been too fast."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Your father is very—very shocked that you're getting married at such a young age. He was hoping you'd stay with us for at-least your masters." Laila spoke.

"Masters? Bachelors mushkil sai ho raha hai mujh sai!" Filza spoke — scandalized at the prospect of doing a masters, "palor ab tou mein ap keh saath hamesha rahun gi na!"
[I'm barely managing through my bachelors!]
[Father now I'll stay with you forever!]

"That is indeed something we lucked out with, a son-in-law that will stay with us." Azmaray nodded.

"Ap sab farigh ho gaye hon tou ham apni dulhan le jain?" Anbar knocked on the bedroom door, her burgundy saree wrapped the ends of the door frame in the six yards of her drape.
[If you're all done can we take our bride?]

"Of course Anbar. We're done talking, is the groom's party here?" Laila enquired.

"Ji aagaye hain aur humary dulhay raja sai tou bilkul bhi intezar nahi ho raha!" She replied, pinching Filza's blushing cheeks.
[Yes they are here and our beloved groom can not wait at all!]

With each step an impending good was to befall the woman in yellow. Her hands still free of the henna stains that would signify her status as the bride, wrapped around the arms of her parents. The setting sun melted the sky into a raging pot of orange and purple, birds in the centre flew to their homes — much like her who was to walk to hers. In a person, a frame — a singular soul. Large bodies of people rushed to the walkway, phones and cameras raised in all directions, flashes blinded her, the scent of jasmines and roses painted the sky with their gold pollen and were in truth— a primary highlight of the event. And the lights were dim against the bright sky — artificial illumination was nothing compared to the feelings inside her heart, all but held back in the name of propriety.

Descending the stairs from the backyard, into the main lawn, curving cobblestone pathways in the shapes of the free flowing river that once cut through the centre of the city, lead to the pavilion. In front of which was the actual stage, the Sun setting behind it. Trees blowed gently in the zephyr, God somehow generous enough to sieze the wild snowstorm that had covered the horizon in nothing but a thick sheet of ice. Bright sunlight had melted most of it away until they remained in nothingness, dissolving on the tips of the sharp grass blades like dew drops. Fresh dew brushed the skins of everyone in attendance, the smell of petrichor held the heart in it's gentlest of capacities. Red light of the sun, glaring wild at the guests, falling into the shadows of the trees in the steps of the bride.

Walking at the pace of a turtle, with a grace of a swan, she walked towards her husband. Their contact had been limited to the written letters they had exchanged over the past two days. Her family had — strictly reminded her of the traditions, the only way she caught a glimpse of her husband was from the window in her bedroom. In the pale moonlight the two would sit in their windows, talking with their fingers. Silent giggles and bright blushes were all that were written in their fate. Even until six in this morning, the yolky sun's bright rays had done little to curb his confidence. He had left behind a bouquet of flowers on her balcony, how she managed it was a big question — however, he had somehow managed it. Then again, the man had in this infinite world of possibilities convinced her over protective male heroes — namely her father and uncle's, that he would be a perfect husband. So of course, anything was possible.

The ends of her crisp lehnga brushed over the steps as she climbed the bridge. It's curving wooden planks covered the natural stream flowing into the riverbed, her hands wrapped around her parents still as they neared the stage. Filza gulped, her heartbeat increased and the sweat inside her palms increased ten folds, adrenaline pumped through her veins as she felt her mouth water at the sight of her husband. His gold kurta and white trousers, with a mustard floral printed waistcoat managed the print  of her own dress. His sleeves rolled up to flex the veiny muscles of his arm and the wristwatch on his palms. Arham's eyes met hers for a second, in that moment an electricity coursed through their beings — simultaneously. Like a zing, an ember of fire that spits out of the coals, burning their skin in it's motionless wake.

"Congratulations Filza! Azmaray and Laila, ap ko bhi bohat mubarak ho!" Lyana greeted them before her restless son.
[Congratulations to you too!]

"Ap ko bhi Lyana khala," Filza blushed, hugging the elder woman.
[Congratulations to you too.]

Lyana smiled softly, turning to her best friend of decades, "dekha mein nai apna vada pura kia ap sai Laila jaan."
[See I fulfilled my promise to you too Laila my love.]

Laila nodded, staring at the lights behind them, remembering the blissful days of their youth and the day she had gotten married. Her best friend had perhaps not even meant what she said but fate had a funny way of accepting that which escaped the mouth even in a joyous manner. Filza stepped over towards her groom, his warm hands wrapped around her thin wrists and a truckloads of aww's filled into the lawn.

The cameramen squeezed their shutters, Arham's arm around her waist and arm, pulling her to himself as they smiled at the cameras. He stared down at her, gliding his fingers across her elbows. Tiny sparks — flashes of color filled her being as they stood closer than ever. His firm back pressed to her skin, their auras flickered, bouncing back and forth — joining into a larger than life affair. Finally seated, their palms rested against each others, the celebrations beginning.

A profound richness of their perfumes intermingled with the senes, it weighed down on their consciousness, turned their life into a beautiful explanation of a mutiny. A hard glare in his eyes, a soft smile on her lips — they were already living their lives, in the essence of each other.

How their hearts were wronged — imagining what was a whole hearted affair of their souls merging into one, to be something as simple as two maimed hearts, as small as the word 'love'.

"Do you see the moon?" Arham spoke first, his facial muscles barely moving as his gaze fluttered to her lips for a second.

"Arham it's still only six, the moon won't be out for at least another hour." She pointed, her eyes reflecting the river of thin stars appearing on the darkening sky.

"When a being as illustrious as yours is seated beside me ; a man tends to loose all his senses."

The red hue crept up her skin as his brother stepped forward to begin the rasam. Bowls of turmeric already placed in front of them. Filza perked up at the sight of the vibrant green beetle leaf, she had always found the ritual always magical and could not help but be engrossed in it with a grin — ignoring the way Arham's face contorted into disgust.

"Filza we're — we're sister's now!" Lilah grinned at her.

"I know! I can't believe it still that you're my sister!" Filza giggled.

"Oh boy Arham! You're in for a big ride — wife and sister are best friends, it's gonna be a struggle eh—" Aliyaar teased his younger brother.

"Does it matter? One can be bought with an ice cream and another — she can—"

"Leave that part out, I'm not interested." Aliyaar groaned.

Filza blushed at his reactions. Her hands held Lilah's face in her grip, pressing her lips against her sister-in-law's cheeks in sheer joy the young woman could not help but squeal. Her picture perfect family — a doting spouse and a loving extended family ; just like her favorite characters.

The event continued on as people visited the stage time and again, Rangeen and Baarish taking to the dance floor. The loud music tore through their ear drums with a unanimous power. Filza's hands brushed his hair that fell over his forehead. While the world complained of the frown on his face, she could not help but notice the brightness inside his deep warm orbs. The mocha — gold glare inside his pupils was like las flicker of light ; one that never goes out, a permanent illumination — it would always have her heart.

"How did you place those flowers in my balcony?" She questioned, her face bright like the morning star.

"I've picked up a few talents in my life." He shrugged.

"What if someone spotted you?"

"Who says they didn't?" He smirked.

"Oh! Who was it?" She spoke — scandalized.

"Your youngest uncle. That's why I'm here otherwise—"

His voice drawled off as two familiar figures filled their vision. Filza perked up at the sight of them, reaching out with her hands to wave them over. Arham winced at her excitement, her joy scared him a bit, her fairytale would come crashing as the truth unfolded.

"Arham this is Professor Raheel."

"— Abeer Raheel."

Arham replied in her stead as the couple walked towards them. The woman in deep green, a long maxi with bedazzled sequins and her hair curled into a soft bun. Her signature red lips were set into a deep smile, with her arms around the infamous major Raheel.

"How do you know her?" Filza enquired, intrigued.

"How would he not know?" Major Raheel replied for him, smirking before he continued, "it is not every day you meet the woman you had an affair with."

"What?" Filza whisper-yelled.

"Yes Filza, I'm your husband's ex-lover. We began dating a few months after my marriage, it lasted a solid two years." Abeer softly added.

"After — after marriage?" She frowned.

"We'll have to leave now though — have a happily married life!" Raheel smirked, walking away with his wife.

Filza stared in confusion, tears pricked her vision as she whimpered under her breath. She turned to look at him, his face set in a deep frown, worried as he raised his thumb to wipe off her tears. She stopped him, her hands halting his in place.

"You promised me you wouldn't give up on me Filza."

He sounded broken, wearing the callous tears of his heart on his sleeve. Filza sighed, sniffing as she tried to come up with the perfect words to make him understand her perspective.

"I — I don't mind you had a relationship before us Arham. You had one with a married woman," she inhaled sharply, staring at her husband with a poisonous distaste, "that's disgusting. It's repulsive!" She spat.

Arham clenched his fist, the seething rage that hung down from the tip of his nose weighted it low. It met the crescent of his lips, his cupids bow crushed in the forceful squeezing of the facial muscles. In the yellow fairy lights and dim moonlight that was just about making appearance, Arham looked like a mistaken divinity.

"Filza please trust me, I did not know she was married — I promise!" He explained, working with care so that no one caught sight of their first fight.

"How can I trust you? How did you find out? Answer me!"

"I—"

Arham stared in the distance, his face flashed with pain, searing through his chest. He held his fist to his lips, subtly biting into the skin of it. The horrors of his past still kept him up, they were placed on a shelf high up, no one allowed to open them. Then her was his wife in bright yellow, like the Sun, pulling him towards herself, forcing him to speak the truth.

"You can ask abu he knows everything. It is a memory I do not want to relive. I didn't know — they'd attend and announce our past like this. I wanted to tell you when the time was right."

"Oh Arham! I can't even be mad at you. I'm trusting you just this once — because I know Alamgeer uncle would have probably disowned you if you were in the wrong. Plus, Lyana khala wouldn't raise you to be the second man. However, I need to know you guys's story Arham. It is my right."

"And you will know, I promise," he whispered, placing a kiss against the back of her hand, "just give me some time. I'll come clear to you in a few days."

"We have all the time in the world jaanana. Misunderstandings won't break us."

"InshAllah zarrgiya."

He smiled at her, like she was the centre of his universe, like she was the pale blue ocean and he the coral seeking root in her.

Now that is Arham's past!
Did we see it coming?
I assume so.
But now with the professor.
Not at all.
Tehehe!
Filza is pissed — rightly so.

Thoughts & Comments Here.