Chapter 18.

Shaadi mubarak to our kiddos ✨

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Filza's belief in 'do and good shall come', was reaffirmed with complete solidarity as she walked with her shoulders pushed back and her fiancé's arm around her frame. Fiancé. Her fiancé. The words would take some getting used to, from the blush on her bare shoulders — the lovely cherry shade it was obvious that the heart she wore on her sleeve now had found it's cuff forever. With a wide grin that could, light up the world for days she followed behind to the grounds of celebration where everyone seemed to be rejoicing already. From the smirk on her parents face, and the look of awe on her aunt's, Filza knew it was a scheme part of greater affairs and she was the only one the truth had been — withheld from.

Pushing his jacket off of her shoulders, she returned it to him, with a polite smile on her face. The scandalized faces of figures not so familiar were a comical sight to her. Cue the taunts — she thought, her father was in for a lecture once more, of the dangers of giving his daughter free reign. Her skirts were painting the city red. With her lovers and sordid escapades — wouldn't be the first, nor the last time her strict character was questioned. The women of high society with their faces stuffed with a sweet crème brûlée had of course, nothing better to do, than to reprimand the daughter of a previously loose woman. Ignoring the questioning gazes, the pointed fingers and everything in between, Filza walked with confidence towards her parents.

The voluminous skirts brushed against the beige carpets, everything else in the open air, a deep green. Her hands wrapped around her mother's shoulders, from the mirth inside her eyes, and the giant pear shaped ring on her left ring finger, everyone could make out that things had turned out — positively well. Filza's lips smacked against the cheekbones of her mother, before kissing her father's cheeks. For the first time in a fortnight, her painful heartache had died down, returning the color to her pale cheeks almost instantly.

"You knew! Mor, palar, the two of you knew!" She murmured in delight, her hands whizzing in the air, body too full of energy.

"Of course we did. In fact, your father was very much involved in the entire plan, Fizzy pop."

Laila's heart stilled, skipping a beat as she realized her daughter was engaged. At the age of nineteen, when she herself was busy in imagining all the wonders of life, the greatness it could offer. Wondering of the life of the wealthy, of the opulence that reeked from their food. When she herself was still in the midst of a wild naivety, her child, had found herself a man to marry. An exceptional one at that.

"Oh! Thank you so much, the two of you. I don't know how to explain what my heart feels."

"We're your parents darling, we know how you feel. And we are so very proud of you."

"Even if it means that I might drop the idea of someday being a published author? To live my life as a simple housewife, would that still make you proud of me?"

"Filza—anything that brings you joy makes us happy. Even if, it means you want to sacrifice your childhood aspirations." Azmaray reassured, squeezing her shoulder gently.

"She won't have to, I'll make sure of that."

Arham added, seeing both the sides basking in silence, he stated his beliefs. For him, his happiness was in fulfilling Filza's dreams — like he had once hoped someone would do for him.

"I trust you would. Although, you make her cry once more, and I mean once more, I'll break of this engagement myself, understood?"

"Very much so, sir. Now I was wondering if I could take the lady in green to dance with me, that is if you have no problems."

"Of course not, enjoy the two of you!"

Laila cut Azmaray's words off before he could rebuke the idea. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and passed him a warning glare. He sighed, fixing the collar of his tuxedo, he led his own woman to the dance floor as a soft tune began to play in the background, the lights above the stage dimming as more and more couples walked over to join them in a ballroom dance.

Arham wrapped his hand around her waist, his large palms flexed and touched the bare skin of her back. Sparks flew wild, as he pulled her closer, her hands around his neck. He stared down at her, their eyes meeting for a few seconds. No words could have ever, explained what the contact of their eyes did. In silence, feelings of devotion were shared and their stoic faces exchanged expressions. His lips finding themselves set into a grin and her lips in a ghost of a smile. Barely there, but still affecting him with their full capacity.

In the backdrop of the night's satellite — a pale slender moon with nothingness surrounding it, they danced to their heart's desire. With their height difference, Filza's head only managed to graze the top of his chest, her ear flat against his heartbeat. Never had she in her life, heard a tune so majestically rhythmic. The sounds softened her nerves, calmed her down as he twirled her around — only for her to stumble back into his figure, that was the only explanation she had, about their relationship. He would always have her back, she knew.

"Filza can I say something?"

Arham whispered as he led her back to her friends, he wanted to get a few words out of his chest, the first chance he got.

"You can Arham, go ahead, speak what it is that bothers you."

"I've sinned gravely in my youth, and if it's horror ever find themselves back into my life, forgive me — please."

"Arham! What you did before we met isn't that important. I'll let it all go, I'm not one to be petty."

"How I wish you'd have these thoughts once you find the truth out."

"I'm not one to back down. If I say something, I mean it. If I trust you enough to marry you, I know you won't stumble back into the crimes of your youth!"

"I hope your faith keeps me from going astray."

"It will! Mor says I'm passionately devoted to all my causes."

"And I am passionately devoted to you — you are my only cause."

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Mushkpur was not only the centre of it's province, enjoying the views of snow cap peaks and rivers that flew with untouched wilderness, it was also gifted a stormy winter. Each year, the arrival of December brought with it strong snowfalls that threatened to tear down even the strongest of pillars. Five inches of snow on the carpeted roads of the city — was a sight not unusual to the locals. Before the winters every year, the city would increase it's storage lest there be a food shortage during a snowstorm. Thunderous rains with thunder rumbling the clouds and skies alike, were known by the locals like the back of their hand. So used to it were they, that not a single person bat their eyelash, and laughs were exchanged at the expense of travelers who shrieked at the sight of it.

One thing that never changed in the winters unlike the strength of the rains and snows each year, was the examination schedule of the local university. On the outskirts of the city, a government funded university stood tall, it attracted students and professors from all over the nation. It's scenic views coupled with modern education made it a haven for anyone that wanted a bright future. As per custom, the mid of December meant midterm exams for the students, and that lead to chaos. Gone were the days of lingering lazily in the courtyard and cafeterias, instead, everyone rushed in and out of one of ten libraries within the university's vicinity, anything to have a peaceful vacation.

Amongst the students of the freshman year, in the faculty of literature, the terror was increased ten folds. The newest instructor for their History of Literature was a woman in her mid thirties. Her hair died a deep auburn, almost the color of cocoa nibs, pulled into a graceful ponytail and posture to match scared even the most rebellious of students. With a prim British accent, dressed in suits and heels almost at all times Abeer Raheel was the definition of propriety and that was what she demanded from her students. A woman of strict morals, she inflicted them on to her students — in particular the female ones, her sharp cheekbones and plump lips never seemed to relax and dark pupils the shade of hot chocolate were always pointed at the direction of her innocent students.

Filza followed behind the large crowd of students, her hands held the assignment in a tight grip. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes she yawned. She knew she was in for a lecture — having ditched the class's prescribed 'uniform', however, having slept only at three in the morning completing her god forsaken assignment, Filza could care less. She deserved some time to relax, with the pending wedding — on the day of her twentieth, just two weeks away, and the beginning of her midterms, Filza felt like she would burst at any given moment.

"Ms.Khan would you like to inform the class as to why you're dressed in a sweatshirt — five sizes too big for you, especially considering you've been instructed to step into this class only dressed in formal wear. Is this attire formal enough to wear in an office surrounding?"

Professor Raheel slammed her hand in front of her desk. Filza stumbled out of her stupor, her hair falling out of the loose clasp she had tied them up with in a rush. Her mouth hung low, tears filled her vision from the embarrassment. Never had she before, been called out in class. Her work was always neat and done on time, she was a teacher's pet, staying in the shadows to keep safe. Being thrust into the light, her confidence shattered. Her eyes flickered to the white lights and then the blackboard inside her class, her fingers rubbing against her tights underneath the desk.

"I'm — I'm very so-sorry professor."

She gulped nervously, her fingers crossed that the woman would let the matter slide.

"It does not work this way! How can you ignore a strict instruction? I will be striking the ten points of class participation out of your grade Ms.Khan. Unless of course, you can serve us all with a valid explanation."

"I com-completed the assignment late — late last night so I - I"

"So you decided to take liberties. You were given this assignment a week ago. Is it my fault you left it to a last minute?"

"It won't happen again! I was sick this past week, had two mid terms to write and — and preparing for my wedding is very tiring pro-professor Raheel. This won't happen again, though. I promise you."

Abeer shifted on her feet, the rage inside her calmed at the last few words. Humming, she shook her head, snagging the piece of paper off of her desk, her red painted nails like talons gripping on to the starchy white papers. Who better than her could know of the duties that came with being a bride? The pressure was killing – unless you got married to a man that was willing to overlook any mistakes you made — much like her own husband. Despite being a notorious major, he had never reprimanded her, only words of softness.

"Congratulations Filza," she beamed, "I'm looking forward to being invited to that wedding!" She winked.

"Oh! I'll bring the wedding invite tomorrow, I'd love for you to attend it!"

Blissful oblivion — Abeer calculated. The joy hid the dark parts, but it was alright, the woman would learn with time, the pains of being one.

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Wisteria and ivy covered chicken wire formed a mystical arch over the entrance of the bride's home. Decked with white lights and pink flowers, their heads popping out from every which way, cherry blossoms filed into neat rows to greet their guests. A neutral palate followed the home, the large ball room surrounded with statues of the God's their ancestors had once worshiped, had been decorated in the manner it had once been decades ago — on the fateful day that Azmaray had taken his chances and ran from home to marry the love of his life. The stage had been set in a circular arrangement, with a overhanging curtain of white flowers that separated the bride from seeing the groom and vice versa.

Beige wooden seats with plush white cushions had been arranged on both sides of the curtain for the wedding. The two would only get to see each other after they were rightfully each other's. A tradition that had followed along for years — and no one wanted to cut it out for it kept the magic and mystique loving heart alive. Woody branches with a flower or two only left on them formed prideful arches on the bride's insistence. The house smelt of flowers of all kinds — the sweet scents were reminiscent of childhood's ecstasy. Pure happiness — not a single ounce of ill feeling in between. Outside snow continued to fall like in a slow globe, and the couple of the hour was set to shoot pictures in the moor near the southern gate of the estate, it was only fitting of course.

The groom's party had arrived from a nearby private hotel — keeping in mind the traditions. Arham had ditched the classic South Asian attire for weddings — a sherwani. Instead, he sported a tuxedo, the white shirt, starch with pleats on top, underneath the collar a pre tied Tom Ford bow rested, his chin barely grazing at as he fixed his sleeves in nervousness. The Chopard classic cufflinks he had borrowed from his father, slipping in and out with ease to keep his anxiousness at bay. The shelton satin tux covered his wide shoulders, his piercings ditched for the day as he walked at the head of the procession, greeting his future family with a wide smile.

Arham was seated, his legs crossed at the ankles as he waited with anxiousness. His siblings joined him, taking a seat on either side of him. Lilah dressed in a beige lehnga, matching the neutral themes of the wedding that Filza had insisted on. He stroked her hair softly, kissing her head every few moments in reassurance, calming down both of their nerves engaging in a battle of the thumbs.

"Bhai I have a question." Lilah whispered, afraid of his reaction.

Anger did not mean he would resort to violence — the words of her father gave her confidence to continue.

"Will you — will you forget me after you're married?"

"What! Why would I Lilah? You're my baby sister and no one can take you out of my life!"

"But—but the girls at the studio—"

"They know nothing alright? I'm still always available at your disposal okay? Filza is your closest friend, so that just means we're going to annoy you just as much as we did before getting married!"

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise!"

Arham kissed her forehead, the bride's entourage entering the room just as their conversation. He felt a panic surge through him as they filled into the room, he was about to get married. In their hands, bouquets of Hydrangeas were gripped, presented to him one at a time. He thanked them, waiting for his bride, who would turn twenty as soon as the clock struck twelve in under six hours. He would be a married man, married to the love of his life. The train of his thoughts were broken as a sobbing Laila ran inside the room, into the arms of her husband.

"Filza — Filza's gone missing!"

You thought I was gonna give you their wedding super fast?
Ha! You look dumb right now :))))
So stupid.
Camera ko haath hila dein aap keh saath prank ho gaya hai.

Suffer until Saturday now you fools ;)

Thoughts & Comments Here.