Chapter 22.

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Glory belongs to the Creator as His creation rises over the world He made. The call to prayer like a natural alarm over the hearts of humans, with every word that was called out with pride, people rose from their deep sleeps. They rubbed their eyes and washed out that which was left of sleep inside of them. A light azure blue sky brushed over the horizon, waking up the newly weds. Flowers opened their buds and the pollen spilled out into the world — even in the dead of winter. The flowers outside his window curved into the bedroom, the rose petals flown all over the floors from the intensity of the zephyr.

Dusky lights danced over the dark skies and threatened to spill into the bedroom. It smelt of lust, of love and an emotion so strong that nothing else had managed to penetrate it's fortified walls just yet. In the love nest of the newly weds, the aroma of dried roses and tears acted as the gentle alarm. With achy bones, heavy eyes and swollen lips they shifted underneath the thick duvets. The furry blankets thrown on top of the silk covered duvet kept the cold at bay, and their bare skin from freezing. Warmth from each others bodies kept them going, their legs entangled and the sheets stained with the irrevocable truth of their union.

They had slept like two young babes sated by their mother's milk. After the resounding sounds of their passion, not even the energy to move the tiniest of their toes remained in them. They had, well and truly, satiated their hunger for each other. By the time they got done, going at it again and again like feral animals — they were two halves of one soul. The sound of their alarms broke the web of peace, his hands turning the phones off. With eyes still shut, he took a deep breath, feeling the win in his tousled hair and the soft press of his wife's body against his own — Arham woke up from the dreams of his future feeing nothing short of a king.

His fingers stroked her knotted back, softly massaging the skin. She shifted under his touch, taking deep breaths, trembling almost at the instant comfort. A vague pain in the region between her legs, intensified as she gained her senses. Her hands pressed against her lower belly to calm the tremors inside, the apples of her cheeks once more stroked a peachy red — it was her first morning. The morning after. She squealed still unable to believe her reality was as sweet as her dreams. Her hands found their way to his face, pressing along the sides of them to make sure it was not a play of light — not a distraught hallucination.

He smiled into her hands, his lips brushing through the inner well of her palms. His eyes opened softly, breaking the spell of sleep, his hands tightened around her waist, pulling her in closer. The soft sunlight that was still trapped beneath the grey clouds of terror, escaped through a single sliver and fell in to the centre of his eyes, the hazel of the pronounced. The green flecks in his eyes fought with the strong brown radial muscles. Every inch of his eye was filled with a watery fluid that reflected her sleepy face to near perfection. From the scrunch of her nose to the very small bruise on the corner of her lips. Her face was captured in between the glass walls of his for ever after.

"Sahaar mo pa kheyr." Filza murmured, her voice dissolved all the remainders of slumber from his being.
[Good morning.]

Arham stretched his arms, flexing the toned torso and biceps he had spent a good amount of hours perfecting in the gym. He smiled slyly at her direction, running a hand over her knotted hair — there was something about hearing the woman you married greet you in her mother tongue.
Something rustic.
Something beyond the description of cultural.
It was the purest of sensations, the white that filled the vision at such innocent gestures.

"Shaba bakher." He replied in his own tongue, sliding out of the bed.
[Good morning.]

"Kahan ja rahay hain? Itni thand hai!" Filza shivered, rising on her elbows to observe her busy husband.
[Where are you going? It's so cold!]

"I'm going to run you a bath so that we can pray darling." He smiled.

Returning to her side, he placed his lips against her forehead. He stepped out of sight, sliding on grey sweatpants that hung low over his waist, the abs on full display for her to swoon over. She sighed, feeling her bones fill up with a gentle sweetness. Everything was perfect — too perfect to even be true. However, she reprimanded herself. No longer was she going to be the one to question the good and the bad, whatever came her way she would take it with pride. She deserved every good that came her way — she would no longer send it away at the cost of her insecurities.

"Come on Filza it's ready." Arham stepped into the room, leaning his back against the deep green wall.

"I feel tired. I don't think I can get out of bed!" She groaned in response.

"Want me to carry you?" He cooed.

"Please!"

He walked towards her at a leisurely pace, his steps slow and cautious. His hands wrapped around her frame, lifting her, pressing her against his chest. She squealed in joy cuddling into the warmth laying tender kisses over his bare chest. His heart beat under her lips, the comfort of it melted the iciness on her lips like warm sunlight to a snow flake. The en suite, decorated in neutrals and shades of a gemstone green invoked awe, and Filza could not help but audibly gasp. Despite the steam that wafted around the place rising from the claw foot tub in the centre of the room, she could make out the design clearly. The sandy tiled floors, mosaic patterns — Scandinavian architecture inspired.

Calm, comforting aroma of the chamomile filled her nostrils at the first instance. He sat her down on the counters, the bath tub still filling up with water. Flower petals floated around in soft ecstasy and the water turned a pastel pink as the bath salts dissolved in. Grabbing a damp towel from the side, Arham dragged it slowly on her inner thighs, softly working his way against the dried blood. Filza blushed, ashamed at having him stare at a part so vulnerable. Her hands slammed against his eyes, his palms too strong to be removed from her skin.

"Why would you do that Filza?"

Arham chuckled, sensing her hesitation. She whined, mortified, mumbling under her breath words that made no sense to him or to her.

"What are you saying zarrgiya?" Arham sighed. "Don't be ashamed," he spoke, as if sensing her shyness, "we're married now. You and I, we're meant to be each other's protection at our best and our worst. You don't have to be shy about it my darling dearest."

"Arh-am you don't get it! I'm not that pretty. Now that we're in bright light — I can not help but wonder if you end up disliking me for being so naive." Filza voiced out her concerns, her throat clogged up with tears by the end, that scratched her throat with their harshness.

"Oh! Filza I'm not a teenage guy who married you for your looks! You're the prettiest woman I've set my sight on, you have nothing to be insecure about."

"I wasn't always — but"

"But what?"

Arham removed her hand gently, staring into her eyes with worry. His heart ached at the sight of her bloodshot orbs, her lips that were meant to always be in a serene grin suddenly twitched with the need to sob. He rubbed his thumb over her chin, placing his lips against her skin he hugged her to his chest. She wrapped his arms around his frame, the musky smell of his skin was the reassurance she needed to continue.

"I wasn't always so insecure," she pulled back, on the verge of diamond like tears dropping from her eyes, "but, those unnecessary tabloid articles and the comments underneath them did this to me! I've never been picked on for my looks — I — I know there are women beyond stunning out there but it never, never Arham I promise," she hiccuped, "never felt worse about my looks. Yet in front of your eyes those words torment me. Like I'm in the eye of the hurricane, surrounded."

"Oh Filza! You shouldn't feel this way okay? There are hundreds of tiny things about you that I love, physical appearance may have been what started my attraction to you but it is definitely not the reason why I want to continue loving you for the rest of my life zarrgiya."

He wiped her tears, carrying her in to the tub, the chamomile and lavender instantly working on soothing their nerves. Arham could not help but grin as he watched her breath even out, the panic from earlier settling a bit. His hands massaged her shoulders, digging into the soft muscles, dragging in strokes long and precise. Her moans were like music to his ears — yet such was the piousness of the moment that he could think of nothing more than simply kissing her in the softest of way. Nothing more nothing less.

The art of ardor-sly loving someone after all find's its home in the depth of simplicity. In the generous innocence of the heart ; not in the beds, in the reds of lust that render the mind incapable of anything else.

"Arham?" Her voice broke the tension in the air.

"Yes my darling?"

"Will you always love me? No matter how I look?"

"I will forever be a man devoted to you Filza. In this life and the one after. I am yours, only yours to corrupt and save." He replied.

Grabbing her hand, he kissed the back of it, in the centre of the henna made mandalas. His fingers toyed with the engagement ring on her finger, his own wedding band glinted in the ambient lights of the bathroom. He was worried. The partial meltdown, that had been triggered at a gentle motion left him second guessing himself. He did not, ever, want to cause her to cry, to make her feel that she is not enough. For he knew, even in the most immature part of his mind — the one that was useless at making decisions, that there was no one he would love and cherish like her. There was something about her kindness to the stray kittens, the way she stayed up and ensured all their workers were fed, going out of her way to visit the many orphanages around Mushkpur — those were the parts that cemented his decision. Her bright eyes had just been the tip of the ice berg.

Arham's warm breath touched her skin, his hands brushing aside the wet hair that stuck to her skin. His lips dropped soft kisses along the length of her shoulder blade, all the while his hands massaged her lower back. It was pure bliss as they rinsed off the water, their bodies still damp as they got dressed into their night suits. Filza followed him out, the two standing next to each other on the thick prayer mats. The serenity of the small moments, stolen from the time that was still theirs, was above anything. She breathed freely, inhaling the light rain, smiling at the sky that was finally a pale blue. The first rays of sunshine across the horizon, in their light pastel colors, the oranges and pinks, split into rays of intoxication spreading on the grounds, their comforting presence lightened the air and Filza watched in silent awe as Arham straightened the room.

Ignoring the ache in between her legs, she walked towards him, gripping the sheets marred with her blood from his grip. A bashful smile covered her face, in embarrassment she walked to the bathroom — glad that there was a washing machine installed in there as well. Inside, finally alone with her thoughts — a generous mix of romantic and logical comments she slammed her palms against her face. Squealing under her breath, Filza waved her arm in the air staring at the eye of the washing machine, the spinning sheets rendered her speechless. She felt like the sheets, in a fix ; messed up and absolutely crazy in love.

Out of all that she had to be thankful for today ; her husband's heart was the one that mattered most.

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Gradually time passed with the slow gratitude, the grains fell one after the other. In the light of the morning, the clocks striking just three minutes past nine as the couple got dressed for the day. The garden outside the window filled with white fog, a light grey as the light fell on it. One could make out the dew drops on the leaves and grass blades even from this distance. A burning sun — a mighty morning star covered the world in it's might. The bright light of it was enough to make the hearts of those that dared to stare at it tremble. A soft silence breathed into the space of the bedroom. They existed in peaceful co existence. His hands rapidly buttoning the tops of his white kurta ; her fingers tightening the strings of her ivory heels.

Rushed sounds of the blow dryer silenced finally as she curled the last bits of hair. Her lips pressed together, smothering them in the peach lipstick — a staple in her life. The sharp eye liner emphasized the almond shape of her eye and the green orbs encased within it. Dressed in a fitted raw silk shirt that ended a few inches above her ankles, a fitted capris trouser underneath — she played the part of a new bride well. Her organza veil flowed from her neck, slipping over her shoulders as she stalked over to her husband. The natural curve of her hips was emphasized with every step that she took, his wrist watch in hand and a blush on her cheeks, as she made her way across the room.

"What goes on in that mind of yours?" He tapped her forehead, wrapping his other arm around her waist.

"Nothing — except you see," she stalled, wrapping his watch around his wrist as she continued, "you didn't give me my mun dikhai!" She stared at him through her lashes.

"Ah! I see. I haven't forgotten it, it's just something I couldn't exactly keep in out bedroom." He explained.

"What is it? You can't keep it a secret from me!" She whined.

"Oh I will, just a few more minutes until you get your gift."

Arham grinned with his teeth on full display. Gingerly, he placed his lips on top of her head, inhaling the lavender scent of her shampoo. It was a new kind of feeling for him — the one that was being cultivated in some parts of his heart. He could not, fathom thinking of anything else other than his wife. He was completely hooked — lured into the web of her breaths, trapped by her delicate arms, held in place by the beats of her heart. Arham knew himself to be a lost cause ; a cause he had found himself in.

Filza hummed in delight, reaching out to straighten his collar, her fingers brushing against the hair that curled at the nape of his neck. She felt freed. Her vision was suddenly better and there was a different kind of light in it all, something new. The perspectives and passions she had stood with on an iron pedestal had found themselves melted into nothingness the longer she stayed in his presence. The scent of his cologne —hay-wired her senses and mind, rendered her useless. Until all that remained was her and her fairytale of dreams.

He pressed his lips against hers, in a soft kiss. They breathed in slowly, the moment solely theirs. She could feel his smile as he continued to stroke her neck, his favorite motion perhaps. The sugary sweetness filled her with a rapture unlike any before. If he were the rain, she was the petrichor. If he were the morning, she was the dew drops. Everything of their existence was interlinked — useless without the other. Breathless they broke apart, staring into each other's eyes, grinning with no signs of return.

"Shall we leave my lady?" He whispered.

"Let me fix my lipstick sire." She replied, wiping the smudged lipstick off of his face.

The marital bliss could be sensed by everyone in the lounge as the two stepped in hand in hand. With Arham's hand holding hers in a death like grip, the equally sated grins on their faces — words were not needed. Lyana walked over to them first, pressing soft kisses against both their heads. The rest followed suit, congratulating the couple once more, before allowing Lyana to lead them into the dining room. It was in silence that this exchange occurred, the only words that left were through their eyes, that they peaked into shyly.

The dining room was set into the once curving staircase that lead to the underground chambers. Hence why the roof curved over their heads, and some of the wall was made of exposed brick. A steel armor suit, set into the crook of the room beneath the tall light fixtures. All entrances to the underground apartments sealed shut from the dining room. A huge window behind the dining table fit to seat eight, overlooked the gardens. A shrub of roses planted underneath it, checked over by a dedicated gardener — which would soon have to be changed to Hydrangea's, Arham thought.

"If you guys need anything let me know, okay?" Lyana said.

"Khala won't the rest of you guys eat with us?" Filza replied, her nose scrunching in confusion.

"We've already had our breakfast. I didn't want to wake you guys up seeing as weddings are awfully tiring so we ate before you guys got up."

"Oh!" Filza sighed.

Disappointment struck her heart's cords, tugging at them. Used to a large, loud meal times, Filza realized this would be her routine now. Just the two of them and the silence of their comforting auras. His hand held hers, the pads of his thumb softly brushing the vines of her henna stain, his name written in cursive in one of the small circles.

"Please don't be upset Filza, it hurts me to see you like this."

"I know. Sorry — it's just it'll take some getting used to this loneliness. I've always been surrounded by people and now—" she swallowed the lump of tears in her throat.

"You've still got your family around zarrgiya. Anytime you want us to dine with them, stay with them or just simply be with them we will. I won't ever stop you."

He explained, making promises he would keep with his heart as he scooped up the hareesa into glass plates for both of them. Filza nibbled on a piece of naan, sprinkling hers with julienned ginger and leaves of parsley.

"What if I'm pissed? You'll have to come to yours susral then too."

"I'd follow you to the ends of the world my darling dearest. A sasural with three strong male figures isn't that threatening."

Arham moaned at the flavor of the slow cooked gravy, he had been ravenous since last night. The aroma of the heavy food weighed heavily over the atmosphere, a true symbol of the winter weather, the dish was like comfort food to him. He had eaten plates on plates as a child, one after the other eating his feelings away. Even when he was in the hospital, his father had cooked it for him in his apartment, scooping spoonfuls down his throat. Hareesa was not just a dish that reminded him of joy, it was his favorite food, hands down.

"Uh– sir your delivery is here." The butler knocked on the door of the dining room.

"Could you sign it and bring the parcel in?" He replied without looking up from his plate.

The man nodded, leaving, only to return shortly with a pink cardboard box with holes on it. Arham wiped his hands against the starchy white napkins, wiping the corners of his lips before grabbing the box. Filza stared at him in confusion as he rested it on top of the table.

"What is this?" She looked at him with her eyes crossed.

"Your mun dikhai zarrgiya. Open the box." He grinned.

Skeptical, Filza removed the lid. Squealing, she lifted the furry pet out of the box. It's raven fur and tiny claws evoked feelings of awe from her heart. She stroked the kittens pink paws, kissing the top of her head. A small heart locket rested from her white collar. Filza grinned at him, she had after all always wanted to buy a pet kitten.

"Does she have a name?" She looked at him with surprise.

"No. You can choose one. We'll have it engraved on the locket then." He explained.

"Alright! Alright. Um— how about Luna? Her dark fur reminds me of the moon!"

"You and your obsession with the moon." He chuckled.

"The moon reminds me of myself. Forlorn lovers — the ones we love are the centre of everyone's universe. Barely any time for us, in fact we're always separated from them — or well one of us is."

"How poetic —eh? I'd have you know that the only sky whose sun I'd be willing to be is yours." He kissed her cheek.

"So.. Luna Arashi Filza—Arham Khan!" She spoke with great care.

"The name is a mouthful!"

"She's the first of her name. The heir to our fortune until we have kids — she deserves this!" Filza reprimanded, walking out towards the lounge with the kitten in hand.

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"Peach is one hundred percent your color Filza!" Lyana kissed her daughter-in-law's cheek.

"Thank you khala. Your choice is just immaculate." She replied, twirling in front of the floor length mirror.

Her fingers dragged along the heavy embroidery pattern of the dress, the floral gown, with silver tilla work and zardosi, creeped up the lengths of the dress, the ivory contrasted against the deep pink on the hemline of the frock. The peach shade, acting as the base against the work. The fitted bodice highlighted her curves, the sheer sleeves climbed down to her wrists. Hugging her hands in a choking grip. With the heavy organza veil resting on one of her shoulders, the jhoomar made of mother of pearls rested on the side of her head, her lightly wavy hair sat on the other shoulder. The skirts were unnecessarily long and covered the span of her bedroom in their length — almost whole.

"Filza I'd like for you to address me as mama, like Arham does. You've always been a daughter to me and that relationship has been solidified now, more than ever." Lyana patted her cheek.

"Of course kha– I mean mama. I'll try to call you that now."

"Good. Now let's go downstairs your groom is waiting for you."

Filza followed her mother-in-law out, her hands holding her skirts as they climbed down the stairs. She reminisced the day she had first walked into this annex, to steal a book from his collection as a part of a silly dare. How shy had she been then, how the tables had turned over, she was now the mistress of this home. Everything in it including the man who owned it was hers now, in every sense of the world. Her fingers danced over the wooden railing, its deep polished wood covered under the heavy curtain of white flowers and thin fairy lights. With a straight back, a petite little smile on her face, she steeped down the stairs. Her head held high, she played the part of the princess perfectly.

Responsibilities follow everyone around, laden on their backs they can be seldom forgotten. At the end of the stair case, dressed in a black hand tailored suit with a peach dress shirt, Arham stood with his hand held out. He was responsible enough, to note, that the woman behind his mother was his responsibility now. More than ever, he had to prove himself worthy. Dropping a kiss on his mother's forehead, he complemented her dress. No doubt, it had been his father's choice. They were notorious for wearing clothes they had selected for each other — and he only hoped to carry this tradition forward with his own bride.

"Filza beta do you have a moment?" His grandmother walked towards her, filling him with disappointment as she nodded her head respectfully.

"Of course aunty." She nodded, wondering what title would be apt for the beaming woman.

"You can call me dado. After all you're just like our Lilah to us."

"What about me?" The woman looked up from her grandfather's lap, chocolate smeared across her cheek.

"Nothing my little butterfly. Come with me, let's go clean your face." Alamgeer cooed, leading his daughter out of the room.

"Dado is everything alright?" She looked at her, worried.

"Of course it is. I just wanted to give you a gift from your grandfather and I." Gulaab beamed, passing an envelope into her hand.

"Yeh kia hai? Ap tou mujhe already itnay tohfay de chuki hain. I can't — can't accept this." She shook her head, turning to Arham for help.
[What is this? You've already given me so many gifts.]

"Those were your wedding gifts. Don't think we've forgotten your birthday was on the day of your wedding beta." Ahad spoke up, "keep it, it's not every day your granddaughter turns twenty now is it?"

"Than-k you, it means a lot to me!"

The two shook their head, all they had made in their life, it was all for their children anyway. All they wanted was to see them grinning for their entire life. Nothing more, nothing less.

"What is it?"

Arham walked over once everyone had left them, his hands out of memory wrapping around her waist. Filza shrugged, opening the seal from the manilla folders. Reading through the papers the couple stared at them — baffled. Her eyes filled up with tears of joy and thankfulness, the gift was so thoughtful, she would thank them later at the ball she vowed.

The drive to the ballroom was short. Arham drove at a respectable pace, not wanting to freak her out despite the many urges he had to cut through the line. Soft music played and kept them company. The two were fully devoted to their thoughts, even after their arrival at the hall. Glass chandeliers hung over the circular room, stairs covered in red carpet led to the centre of the room where guests stood in line to meet them. Political personalities as well as businessmen had all been invited, including a few of their rivals — some wounds were meant to be kept a secret from the eye of the media after all.

"Congratulations bride and groom." The familiar British accent gained their attention as soon as they had greeted a few guests.

There, behind them in a pale blue one shoulder feathered dress. The white heels dug into the carpet and her fingers held on to the clutch in her hand in a death tight grip. Abeer's face was set in a leer, her gaze mocking as she walked towards them. Out of the blue she hugged Filza, breaking the grip of her hand on Arham's palm. Despite the sweet floral perfume, Filza could sense the heavy waves of bitterness that wafted off of the woman.

"Professor Abeer I'm so glad you could make it." Filza nodded curtly.

"Thank you for attending our wedding, we're glad you could take out time for a student of yours." Arham spoke, handing a glass of apple juice served in champagne flutes to Filza.

"It's more of a funeral don't you think? Of the chances of you coming back?" Abeer clicked her tongue, laughing as the color drained from their cheeks, "I'm really just kidding. Yet I can't help but wonder, we're you not into older, more mature women Arham? Not into petite little délicate women?" She hummed, straightening out Filza's hair.

"I think you're stepping over the line Mrs.Raheel. I'd rather you create no show at my wedding, I assure you, this time I won't take it in silence." Arham responded, his face stoic, as if bored at the woman's attempt to rile them up.

"I guess you needed someone like her. So feminine and delicate to soothe your ego, couldn't handle anyone else, just throw some money at daddy's spoilt princess and she'll be good isn't it? Can't handle a real woman."

"Professor I suggest you leave, or else you'll have to answer the authorities for threatening someone and inciting violence!" Filza warned.

"Whatever babe. Being sultry may have gotten you into his bed, but it's a useless task in the real world."

"I'd have you know Abeer Ghaffar Raheel, that I think being in touch with her femininity is the most powerful thing a woman can do!" Arham spoke, "now leave before your husband has to bail you out for a case of verbal abuse."

"Best of luck handling a coward Filza. I'll see you in class next week." Abeer rolled her eyes, stepping away from the new couple.

Okay.
So sorry for the late update but like meh.
Uni keeps me busy & out of my comfort zone.
Good change I guess?
I hate the professor so much I don't even remember her name 3 months after I completed typing this book :)
Also super duper uber sick so pray for my health <3333
Thoughts & Comments here.