Chapter 11.

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White peaceful fog descended on to the moors that surrounded the isolated estate. Through the trickling thickness of serial grey and white, tiny tuft of bright green grass spooning the soil, wildly fertile like the history that ran rampant in the bloods of the estuaries. Clear rivers that slid down the angry river beds of the ever calm Silsil, perched the tiny gems, broken shards of rock to the top. Red anguish filled sunlight, had long since abandoned the world of the believers, leaving them on to the hands of it's forlorn, cold and in mourning lover — the moon.

Like translucent cups that were hung over the metal railing to dry, the stars twinkled on the bleak sky. The fir trees with their spread out branches collided with air and all that came in their way with a merciless anger. Buckling mountain slopes, a few sheep littered still on them, even in the lightless hills they grazed on the wildflowers and heavy dew laced blades. There was no fear in their muscles as they bleated every now and then, their innocence juggled between their teeth and eyes. Like sirens luring in the prey that too had given up at the moment — God was good.

Without fail the security changed positions, shifts exchanged just ten minutes ago as the brass bell to dinner rang. An old tradition, an age old classification of how everyone was to be alerted, it had gone on for so long that the hands that set the bell in the corner of the vintage mansion had long turned into dust — finer than the grains of hands and yet his actions preceded him, and it would still for eons. Not a muscle twitched as the positions were changed and the roads leading towards the brightly lit building were shut — they visiting hours were now done.

Only recently had a stone walled annex been built next to the southern wall of the estate, a door leading straight to it's own private driveway and onto the highway of Mushkpur. Giving the minister complete privacy of how they left and entered. Three bedrooms, a study and a modern kitchen fit to serve the top class chefs. The windows of the rooms, opened into the pride of the home, it's large gardens. Doused in the fog, the tall green metal that wound around the white filament lamps rose to the top like soldiers in alertness, waiting for their orders. Flowers and shrubs on the floor, with cobblestone pathways were hidden, like women of great piousness, who hid from the lingering gazes of the hot headed men to them — namehram.

Amidst the silence reeking mountains and the low rising moors, in between the ditches that invited into their deep darkness the kitchens of the Khan's palatial residence were still working. The yellow lights against the grey stone created an illusion of a foaming sea in the summer equinox, with warmth tingling the senses as one after the other the servants rushed about. Everything screamed perfection as the ladies cleared up after dinner. Sweeping the dust, gathering the grains of rice from the stove, everything was and packed and arranged into neat rows.

"Have the dishes from the annex been brought back?" The mistress of the estate, questioned.

Her hands rested on the stones and fingered the edge of one, feeling the smooth yet cutting sides prick her skin. Laila raised a brow in question and stood in silence as she waited for the help to reply — in affirmative she hoped. She did not want anyone knocking on his door at ten.

"Laila they have been. Rangeen brought them back for us." A woman's cheery voice dressed in formality seeped from the space behind her.

Baarish Khanum, Rangeen's British-Pakistani wife. The two crossed their paths in a university seminar. His bright clothes and her perfect poise had won them each other's hearts over and the marriage had taken place shortly after. Baarish — translated to the rain, was exactly what her parents wanted. She had been born in the middle of a chaotic storm in England, as the torrents of rain poured down on the hospital room's windows, Baarish cried a storm of her own.

"Ap dono is tarah hum sab ko sharminda kartay hain." Laila frowned.
[The two of you embarrass us all.]

Baarish and his wife were to them like an extended family, and had many a-times warned them against acting as if they kept them on a payroll. For how could one have such rigid loyalty to someone they claimed family? How had their hearts and minds never wavered to establish a life of their own, away from them and the hectic routines that it came with.

"Yeh kar tou ap nai humein paraya kar diya hai. Kia farak parta hai? Apnay hi apnon keh kaam atay hain." Baarish replied.
[By saying this you have made us strangers. Why does it matter? It's always family that helps family.]

Laila sighed, shaking her head in silence. Fighting the woman would get her nowhere and she knew that. Uncrossing her arms she walked out of the kitchen. They could clear up themselves she hoped. With weak steps she joined Azmaray in the garden, her hands wrapped around his bicep and her head found itself on his shoulder. In silence the two stared at the forlorn moon. It reminded them of the loneliness, the separation they had dealt with, the ache to be — but the fate to not.

Tiny speckles of dust that flew in the air, hiding amongst the tiny atoms lost cover as starlight fell on them, an iridescent glow transpired and grazed the cheeks of all in it's path. Tonight the world was in a melancholic loneliness. There was something about it, so lost in translation. The skies were bright and pristine, not a hair out of place. Trees taller than seven feet that were lost to the clouds, showed off their tops with pride as they perched above the softness of white foam. Yet still, in all it's might — the heart was worn out.

"It has been eighteen years since that fateful day Azmaray. I won't ever forgive myself for what happened."

Laila sighed into his chest. Her anguish ridden tears brandished the material of his shirt sliding past its walls and colliding with his skin. His fingers dragged tunes across her arm and he puckered his lips before dragging them across the top of her head.

"None of what happened is your fault. It was an honest mistake Laila—"

"An honest mistake that led to grave consequences. My heart still shudders at the thought of it all."

"The mistakes that eat you up, were never a result of what you did. It was a downside of my blood. The darkness of it that lingers like a sour taste on the edge of a knife."

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Filza placed a finger across her plump lips, widening her eyes in warning to the entourage that surrounded her on all sides. She pulled back the sheer curtains and unlocked the doors that led straight to the balcony. It's cemented floors were covered in a rug, the color of the morning sun with blacks and reds strewn around in tiny flowers set to bloom. Her hands placed firmly against the black iron, the tilt of her head motioning a look at the annex in front of them.

"That's where he is residing." She exclaimed with excitement.

The propriety of being a noble woman lost in the chuckles and loud laughter of her friends — Heer and Afiya, as well as her cousin Ameena. Heer and Afiya, after a long morning of convincing agreed to stay the night at her place. It was the weekend after all, and waking up on a Sunday with your friends around you is more often than not a dream come true.

"Oh good lord! You're so lucky! Which room is his?" Heer grinned.

"It's that one!"

Filza pointed at the set of windows right in front of hers. She had caught sight of his silhouette more than once during the day and night. Her mind had reprimanded her for acting like a stalker, but at the hands of her heart she was left no other option. He was winning her over with his silence and his actions. The sight of him praying in the small garden attached to his quarters, his face raised to the skies as he mumbled what only God knew. Their paths had crossed twice, as she strolled in the garden sipping on the caramel latte, taking her time to breathe in the seasonal flowers.

"You're so lucky man. I'd die to have a view of his room." Afiya sighed, in her eyes the dreams like tiny stars already twinkling.

"He's so much older than us. Respect please!" Ameena gulped.

"Speak for yourself babe, age gap sounds hot to me." Heer winked in her direction.

Filza giggled at that, watching Ameena's face redden like the cherries in their many orchards was a delight to her. The ever confident girl turning shy, what a rare sight and a treat for the eyes. Ushering her group of friends back inside the room, they settled on to her bed once more the game of truth and dares commencing.

"Truth or dare?" Heer questioned, her gaze fixated on Filza's face.

It was her turn, and the decision was a tough one to make. Biting her lip, weighing the pros and cons on a mental scale she took a deep breath before replying in affirmative for the latter option — dare.

"I have the perfect one for her!" Afiya squealed, whispering it into the ears of the other two, whose faces bloomed up like sunflowers in a sunny meadow.

"Alright so Filza your dare is that you need to go the minister's annex and steal a book from his library."

"Are you guys crazy? Mein nahi ja rahai!" She replied.
[I'm not going!]

Filza shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut in protest. Not only would she have to cross the dark gardens and then sneak into the home, but there was also a risk of running into him, for which she would have no reply.

"You have to! A dare is a dare!" Ameena said.

"But this isn't fair!"

"All is fair in love and war. No run along, you don't want the clock to strike three am now do you?"

Afiya pointed to the grandfather clock in the bedroom, only twenty minutes to three. Cursing Filza jumped off of her bed and marched out of the room. Taking two steps at a time, the flashlight of her phone keeping the path infront of her illuminated, she moaned under her breath. Her teeth clenched together as she smoothly slid the lock out of it's place. She risked her mother's anger with such an action but what could she do? Her hands were tied.

The outside world was covered in a thicket of darkness and a blanket of white fog. Winters were always early in Mushkpur. It was just the beginning of Autumn and already, the signs of it had begun taking the province by storm. Goosebumps littered her skin as the chill cut through her bone. It seeped in until her blood was completely frozen over. Both her hands held the phone to her chest, it's white light did little to help.

Her legs ached with each step, screaming at her to stop in place. Sounds of the crickets dancing between the trees and silent twitches of the fallen branches kept her alert. Taking a step at a time, the sole of her shoes crushed against the pathway. The garden lamps still bore holes into the ground with their brightness, but her heart was still stricken with fear. Wrapping her fingers around the top half of the gate, she opened it just enough to let her pass through. The creaking sounds made her wince as she passed into the annex, her friends watching her from the balcony.

"Allah tala har bar mein hi kyun phansti hun?" She whined in protest.
[Allah why is it always me that is stuck in such places?]

Filza rested her hand on top of the engraved handle. It would lead her directly into the kitchen of the house, she hoped it be locked and save her the taxing act of stealing a book. Saying her prayers she turned, and the door opened as smoothly as slicing butter. Inside there was a rough darkness, she could make out shapes of what she knew had been placed there months ago. The rational part of her wanted out of this expedition but just a tiniest part of her heart was excited to enter.

Tip toeing, Filza entered the kitchen. The flash of her phone turned off as she allowed the one almost burned out stub of candle guide her. The wooden floorboards were sturdy under her weight, her fingers dragged slowly across the creme walls, her breath stuck inside her throat as she continued to go in deeper and deeper by the minute. Her throat turned sandy and an itch to cough rose to her chest. Bumping her way in and out of the small lounge to the staircase she thanked God for not letting her get caught.

The study room was the first room on the left. Inside a round table covered most of the space other than the occasional rack covered in books. From poetry to non fiction, the room was a safe haven for any and everyone. Filza took a deep breath as she entered the room, the rest of the house was silent which meant the owner was asleep — a win in her books. Her hands slid over the table top, gripping the first book that came into her contact. She let her fingers run over the spine, reading out the words with her touch.

Filza sensed it before she saw it. A presence behind her. A musky scent doused in a eucalyptus — a scent she had recently become familiar with. She gulped as an orange flame rose to a safe distance beside her cheek. She could feel the warmth from a soft chest play with the ends of her hair. Clenching her fists, her eyes squeezed shut in the anticipation of what was to come, Filza hoped for some divine intervention.

"Wuthering heights eh? A classic choice miss Azmaray Khan."

Filza yelped, pivoting, she hid the book behind her back. The orange of the flame cast a glow on his hollowed out, delicately chiseled cheeks. A small earring dangled from his ears and his bare chest was all but placed against hers. She squeaked out silent noises, trying to come up with an excuse.

Arham rolled his eyes, leaning forward until their fronts were flush against each others. His large hands wrapped themselves around her delicate wrists, prying them open gently as he took the book out of it. With the edge, he dragged it over her forehead, smirking all the while. Her nimble frame huddled and shivering was a funny sight, the confidence all shriveled.

"How can I help you miss?"

"I- I — sorry I shouldn't have come here!"

Filza tried to make a run for the door but one step and his frame was towering over it. He smirked at her, ruffling his hair and dangling the book in the air.

"Yes you should not have come. Coming to a man's home at this hour, all by yourself — should I be worried for my safety?"

"You—you—" she stuttered, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Miss Khan — Filza, you're a good girl aren't you? Don't break the rules. I've seen you stalk me through your bedroom window, the need in your motions cradles my tongue in a painful grip I must say. I'm letting you leave honorably tonight," his minty breath fanned her face as he neared her, his lips grazing the top of her cheek before he continued, "I won't be such a gentleman the next time around — even if you're a tad bit too young for my tastes."

Raising up from eye level, he thrust the book back into her hands, motioning for her to leave. Filza nodded, her face flushed and turned red. Her heartbeat raced inside her chest and as the adrenaline died down she felt the quivering in her lower abdomen. The affect he had on her was illegal — she hoped.

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This chapter was so fun to write! To gauge their reactions and how they feel surrounded by each other. The chemistry and budding romance. Oof.

How did you like it?

Gotta love Filza's friends 😭.

Thoughts & comments here.