Chapter 16.

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He had never been the brightest of the bunch, quite the opposite in truth. Arham was the kind that lingered in the sub levels, they floated around between the extremes. Their kindly spirits kindled them to lives otherwise far beyond their reach. On the usual, a man like him would have been stuck in the rounds of a clerical job, by the clock exhausting his potential on work that was ill fitting. His remarks from the teachers at his school and university both, were not gilded in words of gold. He had barely passed the bar exam in England — in truth. It was the kindness though, of his heart, and of God, that carried him to the top.

Seated on the creaking iron wrought chair, it's exterior painted a milky white with it's feet long since lost to vines that had claimed it has home. Ferns grew around him in spruces out of the tall conifer, crows above his head flew and the hawk's — symbolical of the poet Iqbal, kept it all in check. It was lone, left behind as the runt of the pack still though, it's grace and might could not be ignored. The leg was wounded and a feather fell from it's crippled wingspan, though from miles far away anyone could sense why it was better than a crow who only had — moments of stolen victory by roaring.

True kings ; be it of the land or skies, or the vast jungles, did not need to announce their power.

With an overlap of intentions, he sipped on the lavender infused tea. His mother had called the chef he had hired, instructing her to make it just like he preferred; after the showdown with Filza, after which she had completely vanished, he no longer felt at peace asking to be fed by her family. It was well above time that he find workers of his own, that would hold their loyalties to him and not the former rulers of the land. Despite already being on there way to the province of Mushkpur, she had sent one of their trusted sous chef's that had served them for years beforehand. Everyone had an inkling of what had happened — with the two, Arham and Filza, having gone into a recluse.

His eyes ran over the aria font, the headlines in red and the compressed columns in default black over the starchy white pages held his attention for not long. Now and then, between tiny intervals, as he sipped on the tea that had his nerves even more frazzled, he searched for the frame he had grown so used to. There had been complete silence, a stalemate of sorts. No longer did her cheerful voice wake the birds in the morning, nor did she accompany her father or uncles in their walks after dinner. There had been talk amongst the servants that the young woman was haunted. Pale ghosts with bony eyes kept her up at night, her screams had been eating at the patience of her families. Was there truth or not in the words he did not know, and his curious heart would not let him rest.

"Arham do you have some time?"

Azmaray walked over to him, questioning from behind the green garden gates. The father was worried, it was palpable his tensions. He nodded, straightening up in his seat, offering the man a slice of tuna sandwich — which was politely declined. His diet had dwindled gravely ever since his heart had fallen ill.

"Is everything alright?"

Arham hoped it was, in the silence between his question and reply, the two murmured words of prayer. Stringed together by a worried father and the other, a confused man — was he in love or was it that he just wished to have her? He would not know, and the blisters on his heart forbid him from knowing.

"It's not Arham. It's not. Filza she—" he sighed, rubbing his swollen eyes.

"What of her? Is she alright?"

"Some say it's the ailment of her heart, others think she's a psychopath."

Azmaray uttered those words. The worlds crashed against the sea does to a cliff. He hunched his shoulders, he had bowed devoutly, he never wanted his daughter to suffer. How he hoped for the smile on her face to return. Tens of doctors had rushed in and out of their home in the week, day and night, none had been able to pinpoint the actual cause. The medication and drops had done little to help, save for sending her into a drowsy state — even then her lips would murmur words in a state of despondency.

"How did this happen? She was alright a few days ago."

"She was. Laila thinks — she thinks Filza has fallen prey to an evil eye. Our radiant daughter no more the flower she was. However, as her father, I can not help but be worried."

"I-I'm sorry—"

"You should be Arham, you should be. It is you that is the cause of this. My daughter has a broken heart — nothing more. No doctor can help her. I've been her shoes once, and how I wish she had never set sight on you."

"I—"

Arham was stunned. The explicit accusation made sense but it was unexpected. He had not imagined that his uncle would put two and two together so fast. Filza was not one to speak of this matter — or so he wished. Had he damaged the bonds of decades with his stupidity? Arham clenched his fist, it was his fault — much like always. Being the elder one, he could have handled it all maturely, instead he had shown that he was far more naive than the woman he had rejected.

"Arham only you can save her. I do not ask you to love her — never. My daughter is not a burden that I'll hand over to the first man she shows interest in. She hasn't spoken a word to any of us about this, my daughter never blames anyone," he spoke, pride evident in his eyes, "I know she'll pass this test from life with flying colors. I know her heart will heal itself — it always does. She's young, she'll move on, I'll do whatever it takes to do that. However, Arham don't make a decision you'll regret in days to come."

"I don't understand."

"Jab waqt apnay katheray mein kahara karay ga sab samajh mein aaye ga, abhi imtehan Filza keh hissay ka hai, kal tumharay hissay mein bhi ho ga. Mohabbat naam hi tarap ka hai."
[When time makes you stand in it's court you will understand, right now it is the test of Filza, tomorrow it will be your turn. Love is the name of suffering after all.]

As the elderly man walked out, he left a puzzled Arham behind. Words that were said, and those that were left unsaid in between the lines left him puzzled. He could not, inflict the pain he had felt on himself to another. She would move on soon enough, even if it meant for him to hold the shards of his broken heart in his palm.

It wasn't age no ; it was the safety of his heart he feared. Giving in was no difficult feat — but it would be suffice if he could, see her from the dark corners. His heart was okay with that. It would not though, bring her into the world of the corrupt.

Filza — a rose from heaven, he would preserve her fragrance at the cost of his own blood.

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"Arham there is always a better way at handling matters of the heart. Why, oh why would you speak to her so harshly?"

Filza stopped at the edge of the staircase. After a week of sulking in bed, drowsy and aching as she sat on the soft mattress. Her mother and aunts, uncles and father had explained to her calmly, it was obvious that she was suffering from a heartache. Nothing had made her feel better, not the reruns of Tangled nor the soothing voice of her elder uncle reading the words of Wuthering Heights to her in his still somewhat crooked english was adorable and usually fixed her up.

Last night she had, finally had enough. Drinking the french onion soup, her aunt Anbar had cooked with great zeal, she came to terms with how she felt. One last time, her heart had promised to her. She would try one last time for the sake of her rosy — bleeding heart. Her parents had not raised her to give up. It was a formidable task to walk again, into the den of the lion once more. She was, inviting pain her soul knew, however, Filza had vowed to try.

"You don't understand mama," his voice was clipped.

Filza's heart stilled on hearing the voice she had missed devoutly. For a second she forgot to breathe, her eyes shut down and a tear — a valiant tear fought it's way out of her eyes. Pain and anguish manifested under her skin, her fingers pushed the door open, catching sight of him. His hair was a mess and the tan of his skin had died down a bit. She clenched her fist, 'dear heart of mine be stilled', she whispered under her breath.

"Do you, or do you not like her?"

"I do not know."

"Arham who knows then?"

"I don't know mama — all I know is she's far too young. She doesn't know what she wants."

"Your father and I share the same age gap Arham!"

"You were in your twenties when you guys got married mama. You were mature!"

"Oh God! Alamgeer samjhain apnay betay ko!" Lyana groaned.
[Alamgeer make your son understand!]

"Lyana I think we should give him some space, he needs to think this through. We can not force an opinion on him," he explained calmly.

Filza fiddled with her fingers, biting the skin of her lip she chewed it raw. Hissing at the sting, she felt herself come back to reality. Her mind had been lost to the rosy thoughts it had been nurturing with care. In her hands, the formal invite to her parent's anniversary was clenched. It was to be a large affair — to get her mind off of things, she knew. Her parents were otherwise private people. The matter inside would go on forever. It was a now or never situation. Gathering her wits about her, she knocked on the heavy wooden door, breaking thick tension as she announced her presence.

"Hi Lyana aunty." She whispered, hiding her hands behind her figure.

"Hello Filza, how are you now?"

"Better now, I think. However, how good can a woman in my shoes be?"

"I'm so sorry for whatever he has done meri jaan."

"No harm done, how-however, if it's not too much can I talk to him alone?"

She looked from her aunt to the man in question, her eyes held expectations like tiny little stars in the sky, waiting for their turn to explode. A bouquet of dried roses lay discarded in the corner of the room, somehow though, a sweet smell still lingered from the tops of the shelves. Sunlight peeled the cloud of darkness inside the bedroom, the sheets roughly pushed to one side and Arham's figure defeated, seated on the ottoman at last.

"Of course Filza. Arham I hope we don't have a repeat of what happened last time."

Alamgeer added in a pointed tone, walking out of the bedroom with Lyana in tow. Alone at last, she turned to Arham, smiling lightly she sat herself down on the bed. The mattress sunk under her weight, her gaze running through the delicate trims. Hydrangeas had been worked into the trims, on her insistence. A pain stopped her from speaking, try as she might the words were stuck inside.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

The two spoke, their voices overlapped — her question stopping Arham in his way.

"What do you mean?" He looked at her.

"Why did you speak like that to me? Why are you not talking about how you feel clearly?"

"I've spoken to you whatever I feel. I am not interested in a child."

He spoke the words with distaste, placing a heavy stone on his heart as he faked the hatred. Arham pinched the insides of his palm to stop himself from speaking too much, he was afraid — for once, he was afraid.

"What if I was a bit older? Is there no part of me you like?"

Filza felt like a beggar, seeking attention from a highly affluent man.

"Filza respect yourself please."

"Answer me!"

"If you were older, I'd have thought about it. Right now there is no room for questions."

"So you can't love me, can't you even respect me?"

"I respect you Filza." He spoke, giving a curt nod.

"Yet you don't know what you want, it's plain infatuation!"

"Oh please stop! Stop at once Arham! You know why I love Tangled and Wuthering Heights so much? The protagonists — I see myself in them. We're three women, from rich families crippled by society. The do's and don'ts are fed down our throat. Everyone thinks they know what is best for us! We're not kids! We can make choices for ourselves. My great grandmother had kids at my age, and you think I don't know love?"

"I'm — I'm sorry Filza. I'm sorry that is how you feel, it was not my intention."

"No listen. You don't love me because I'm a kid right? Alright then, I hope you can see me marry a man that isn't you. If not this year then in a few down the line, my father will find the best man in the world — I know. Will you be happy then?"

Filza taunted. Rage that seized his face for a second, the colors of his face turning pale were all the indication of what she wanted to know. Even as he shook his head in affirmative, Filza was filled with a melancholic peace. Standing up, she pushed the invite into his lap, saying the parting words that would kindle a wild fire.

"You know what Arham? It's so stupid of me to love you. You're a — you're a coward! You hide behind your façade of strength — if you were, you'd have screamed about your feelings. It's alright. You can be the coward that you are Arham. Coward's don't get what they want!"

Alright ladies & gentlemen
You are in for a shock.
Chapter 17 is my absolute favourite chapter in this entire world so I can't wait to share it with everyone <3333
But
Don't we all love Filza for standing up for herself?

Thoughts & Comments here