Chapter 15.

This is because some of you kept texting about an update. I'm not even going bother setting goals at this point because they are NOT going to be fulfilled in any case.

Happy reading.

✵

Once covered in white and pinks ; neutrals the shade of joy and pride, the large garden was doused in red. Ripped straight from the veins, stolen without permission never to be seen again. The melodious sounds of laughter were far gone, in the blistering boils of pain that exploded every now and then, curbed them from feeling the happiness they had so carelessly indulged in.  Limbs and flesh were torn off, was it a blast or gunshots? No one had seen it clear enough. Those that had, survived not, and left behind them a group of vaguely blubbering men and women.

It was a nightmare. The specks of blood had been lifted into the skies, on to the walls, some would claim that a few had deftly stroked the moon too. It was anarchy. Everywhere, the smell of death lingered. It hid, behind the junipers, underneath the roses, over the firs. In the selfish ecstasy of devouring it's fill in one go, death had rendered the living from smiling again. Soon enough, was a delay in justice, and in giving life. A second too late and they were gone, the bright light inside their eyes had dimmed and hollow, ghostly smiles left behind has they felt it all dim.

Verily, life was but the harshest of lies.

Running through the annex, his father in tow, Arham was hit by the cloud of dust first. It pinched at their eyes, as they rubbed the tiny shards of rock out. Still though — they continued to run through the joining path ways. Their eyes blinded to the sight of red blood that streaked the grey stone. His breath hitched inside his throat, masked men surrounded his family and the dead bodies lay in a heap on one side — mercilessly. Scent of decay and burning firearms caused him to wretch, nothing but a dry heave left his lips. Alamgeer held his son by the elbow, stilling him. His own eyes were lost of the life as he saw the terror stricken — bruised face of his soulmate.

One last shot, in the air, and then one in their direction. Arham too numbed to function watched rooted to his place. The 35 mm bullet tore through the crisp air and fought with sound and light — a race on who would tear through him. His mouth filled up with a tasteless flavor, saliva rushed into his mouth and he felt the senses alarm. His ears perked up, eyes sharpened in vision as the bullet approached, with each second, bringing his death closer. Arham had come to terms with it, his father pushed behind him by his arms. If he were to go, it would be in the honor of having protected his father. With an aching tongue he read his last prayers, for a second he looked up at his mother and sister. His brother next to them, on his knees. He passed them a smile — 'Till we meet again', the words uttered.

To Filza, he looked for a last second too, her face pale from the horror she had witnessed. His heart ached to hold her in between the cavity of his arms. Was it love? No — it was far too bit of a stretch.
Yet no one ; nothing could make him ignore the way she made him feel.
So young.
So new.
Full of life.
With a will of iron to breathe with a newfound perspective. If he had the chance to live, perhaps he would give in to the dark feelings inside his heart, it would remain an if. As the bullet reached closer he closed his eyes. Imagining kissing her with his soul as he left the realm of the living.

"Thank you for being such a good dad. Thank you for hiding my mistakes abu. I will wait to meet you, even if it is for a fleeting moment. You in your heaven then — and I, in the fire of hell for my sins."

He recited the words of shahada, the wind around him turned electric, razor sharp as the bullet tore through his shoulder — one after the other. A third round was fired, aimed straight to his heart. Sticky warmth bled down his shoulders, a single teardrop ran down his mother's face. The sound of his heartbeat inside his ears, and the heavy breaths — one more difficult than the previous one crushed his spirit. The last one, it would smack him in the chest he knew. Yet he could not, for the life of him move.

In the blink of an eye, a figure dressed in black jumped in front of him, falling to the ground as the bullet shot through his heart. Arham sunk to his knees, in relief and pain both. The hired mercenaries, vanishing within a second as the ambulance and police arrived. Atleast, they had successfully stopped anymore loss of lives. As the adrenaline wore off, he felt the ace in his shoulder. His pastel blue shirt, stained a deep maroon. He pressed on to the flesh hissing as he neared the man who had saved him. Cries bubbled up in his throat as he held the head in his lap, his bloodied fingers holding the warm face.

"Why? Why would you do this?"

He screamed. The first of the winters rain, falling on to his cheek. It was an air of mourning as the rescue teams began their operation, his hold tightening on the body that was still living. Arham rested his ear over the shot chest, not caring that his face was covered in blood. His heart had succumbed into a deep level of self-hatred. He kissed the sweaty forehead, wiping the stains of blood on Burhan's face with his palms. Like a young child cries over the body of a dead pigeon.

"Burhan why? Why did you do this? Answer me!"

"Be-because you - you deserve to live."

The man coughed out, heaving as he took a deep breath. His life was burning out of him, he was lucky enough to have gotten a few sentences out. Cold rain fell on their hugging bodies. Their blood and sweat mixed with the water and formed a puddle around them. It was a gut wrenching sight, two men in their early thirties mourning the loss of a short lived friendship.

"No. If it was one of us, it would be you Burhan. You have your whole life to live. Your daughter she — she needs you! Don't talk like this. You'll live, see - see the help is here."

His own voice to himself, like that of a stranger.

"No you're wrong Arham. My daughter she — she needs men like you to rule, to keep — keep her safe. I trust you, I know you'll look after her well."

"I will never be able to look after her like her father Burhan. You should have let me die. It's about time I pray the price of my mistakes!"

"N-no. Stop hurting yourself over what wasn't even your fault."

"Forgive me Burhan. Forgive me! I have treated you —"

"Like a brother. Ap nai mujh sai bhai jaisi mohabbat ki hai Arham," he wheezed, taking a shaky breath as he continued, "mujh jaisay soo ap par qurban."
[You have loved me like a brother Arham.]
[For you a hundred like me would die.]

"Tum par mujhe jaisay lakh bhi hon tou kam hai Burhan. Himmat nahi haro."
[A million of me would not be enough for you Burhan. Please do not loose hope.]

"I haven't. I know that the world I leave behind is safe for my wife and daughter. That my best friend, will find love soon. I trust you Arham. Zindagi ka kia hai? As Faiz once said ;
'Jis dhaj sai joi maqtal mein gaya woh shaan hamesha salamat rehti hai,
Yeh jaan tou ani jani hai ; is jaan ki tou koi baat nahi."
[What of life?]
[With the might one stands on the stage of his hanging is a pride that lives always,
What of this life, it comes and goes.]

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

A week of mourning had been declared after the death of Burhan Naeem — his assistant and best friend since grade one. Arham had lost himself in the midst of the stitches on his shoulder and the funeral in Lahore. He had sobbed on seeing the six month old cherub that was his daughter, but Burhan's wife like her late husband stood with pride and calmness that shook even him to the core. Burhan's parents had treated him like their son — as usual, and not an eye had been wet save for his. The rest, knew the man had received martyrdom — a highest reward for any muslim man. While their hearts grieved, they knew God would avenge their son.

By the time he returned to Mushkpur, the bloody mess had been cleared up. The authorities were already on the lookout for the culprits behind this incident. For a security of such an important estate to fail — at all ends was a form of humiliation and cause for worry. They only had the clues Burhan had collected for him before, nothing more nothing less. While the walls had been repainted, the flowers laid into neat arrangements and the blood washed out, Arham could still feel the blood of his friend on his hands. Flashes of the incident struck his sight, as he stood in the window, he could imagine it all — the pain only doubled and the wound festered itself even worse.

The gifts on the table inside his study had gathered dust. On top, a book wrapped in a baby pink gift wrap had turned almost brown from it. His mind after a week of throbbing aches, stirred towards other thoughts. He gripped the book — a hardcover he could already feel it. His fingers peeled back the wrap, a brown worn out leather dust cover wrapped around it. Arham coughed as the dust stirred into the air, pulling the cover off of the book — his eyes coming to a halt at the cover page. It was his copy of 'Wuthering Heights'. He frowned, looking out of his window to the back of the main home — from his own bedroom he had noticed the shut curtains. It was no secret that Filza had taken to this event the hardest. Nightmares plagued her to the point she had to put her semester on hold and seek serious therapy.

"Interesting."

He whispered to himself, lifting the cover, his fingers rubbed through the edges. Ignoring the painful paper cuts that shredded his red fingers, surprise covered his face as he saw the pages annotated. Her cursive handwriting over the yellow pages in white ink, stickers and highlighted lines. They told tales of a time long ago. Had his birthday not been marked by the blood of his best friend, Arham would have chuckled. But the event had drained him of his energies, left him incapable of feeling joy — atleast not now. Not this soon.

Sifting through the pages, he stumbled across a manila envelope, his name encased in a glittery heart on top. Arham fought the anger inside his chest, the urge to punch a wall had never been as strong as it was in that moment. With the tip of his little finger, he plucked the seal open, unwrapping the letter folded neatly into four quarters out. It smelt like her — the instant scent of lavender and vanilla calmed him, like an armistice between the suffering that stopped joy, and the joy sparked from a letter from someone he had — as his sister had whispered to him in hopes of cheering him up — a crush on.

His eyes skimmed over the words. The cursive penmanship was extraordinary and he fluttered over the words 'like', 'of age' and the last one, that broke all barriers keeping him calm — 'asking you out on a date.'
Rage crippled his senses as he stormed out of the annex. Arham had caught sight of the woman in question in the backyard. It was best he ended whatever it was that bubbled in the chest of the teenage woman.

"Filza?"

"Ar—Arham?"

Stuttering she stood up from the ground, looking at him with a pained expression.

"What is this?"

He waved the letter in front of her eyes.

"It's — it's a letter I wrote."

"Why? What were you thinking?"

Rage dripped from every letter he spoke.

"It's how I feel!"

"You're nineteen. You have no idea what you want!" He hissed.

"I know! I know I'm nineteen. Yet I know what I want! I'm not an indecisive person Arham!"

"I'm no good for you. It's best if you stay away Filza."

"No! Please Arham try to understand," she said.

"Leave me alone. I'm not interested in you."

"Why?"

"You are a kid. Frankly, I'm not ready to be called a predator."

Thoughts & Comments here