I will never be a morning person. For the moon and I are too much in love. — Christopher Poindexter

Mornings, early ones, with pretty, white fog settling on the minarets of mosques. Ones that filled the dark green grass with heavy dew drops ; one that had flowers blooming. Sunshine, lazily falling on the horizon. Such mystical mornings, were mornings Laila slightly tolerated. She thrived in the night. When the moon was out and sprinkled its purity over them. In the dark sinning sky, the moon was the speckle of innocence. Nights in all their dark glory held a charm so rustic ; it spoke of a story many refused to hear and coddled you into the most sweetest love affair between the giant natural satellite that glowed with the love of the bright, morning star.

Laila spent her days off on the rooftop. Away from all cover simply staring up at the vast sky. They made her feel like she was no one, while hundreds of, thousands of stars twinkled to make the world a brighter place —— she was just a microscopic being infront of them. Comparing herself with the marvels that nature had to offer brought her a sense of warmth and comfort. They reminded her of the fact that everything was relative. From the cup of tea she left in the sink, to the client she had kissed, it was all a large intricate web that pulled tighter at the strings to bring her closer to her eternal duty.

On the particular wintery night, the fog had descended on Lahore like a thick blanket. For miles, everything was invisible. The steam that escaped the peach mug camouflaged in the fog well. Her cheek's turned rosy as the cold struck against them, her fingers holding the thick shawl around her body tight, a duvet covering her body and thick fuzzy socks on her feet. Her hair softly cascaded down the length of her back, head resting against the wall.

At this hour of the night, the city's life dwindled. Everyone was busy dosing off deep into their warm beds. Servants slumped against the kitchen hearths, the embers dusting their white apparel. Parties ended on a high note and homes smelled of perfume and cigarette smoke. Dancers and prostitutes alike, returned to their respective places, brimming with excitement on getting paid. Everything happened between the protection of walls leaving the streets bare. An occasional motorbike whizzed by, splashing a puddle —— another delivery for a night owl's craving.

Sipping her tea softly, the warmth covering her throat, she hummed a soft tune under her breath. Closing her eyes and reminiscing her performance of the night prior. Still high on the drums beating and the giggling of her anklet. She remembered how soft the chiffon had felt against her skin, how alive she had felt. The eyes that burned her flesh; gazed at her the way a man does when aroused —— wide eyed ofcourse. There was thrill in playing, toying with the hearts of men. She would move them at the tip of her little finger's nail and they followed; she was the flute and they like the cobra powerless.

One man in particular, the nawab sahab had caught her eye for one reason. He was a passionate man; the sounds that fell from his mouth were like music to her ears, his fingers that touched and danced along her warm skin were like the most powerful magic. His toned body had been one of the most perfect she had entertained yet. Unfortunately, he was thinking a bit too much. She never broke her rule of 'one time is enough'. It was a promise to herself, to not get attached. After all that took away the thrill of her profession. Undressing a different man each night was a beautiful game. Discovering all kinds of bodies, all kinds of touches, Laila was proud to be a woman learned. Grateful for the knowledge she was acquiring over this topic.

Drinking the remaining tea in one big gulp, Laila parted ways with the rooftop, entering her bedroom. It was a small room, to the door frame strings of colourful rhinestones had been attached to act as a make shift curtain. The pink walls of the room had all kinds of sparkly stickers, a vanity with her makeup and hair care equipment, a small bed, enough to house her and an occasional client. A divider behind which she changed clothes. On the south facing wall of her bedroom was a bathroom. It was small and cozy, absolutely perfect for her.

Lifting the thick red blanket, Laila sighed. Relief coursing through her body as her head touched the soft pillow. Her hands going under her face, soft breaths escaping her slightly parted lips as she began to doze off. Thankful to her menstruation cycle, she had a whole week off of work and Laila was buzzing with excitement to visit the markets with her mother.

————

Laila jumped down the stairs with a pep in her step. Her hands trailing against the water damaged walls, the cross body bag hanging loosely from her shoulder. Clipping her hair behind her ears, she looked ethereal the navy blue shirt and white trousers. Her signature tan ballet flats on her feet. The tiny chandelier earrings grazing her skin with each jump that she took.

"Araam sai!" [Carefully!] Sarah shouted.

Standing at the bottom of the stair case, Sarah stood with a frown. Her hands on her waist, holding an oily spatula. Clearly she had rushed out of the kitchen upon hearing Laila's steps.

"Aaj na roko amma". [Don't stop me today mother.] Laila tsked.

The wide smile on her lips showed off her perfectly aligned teeth, the front two teeth have a slight gap in them. Eyes twinkling with life as she fixed the ends of her trousers. The metallic bangles clinking against each other.

"Kis khushi mein? Hadi wadi nikal gai tou mein nai khidmat koi nahi karni!" [For what? If you dislocate a bone don't expect me to look after you!] Sarah smacked the back of her forehead in anger.

Giggling, Laila ran over to her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Kissing Sarah's cheeks to calm her down, she retorted.

"Suna nahi amma? Jeenay keh hain chaar din, baaki hain bekar din, ek baar jo jaye jawani phir na aaye!" [Didn't you hear mom? There are only four days of living, all other days are useless, once this youth goes it won't come back!] Laila belted out the lyrics.

The grin on her face instantly wiped out seeing Sarah narrow her eyes in her direction. Smacking the hilt of the spatula against her palm, flinging it in the air softly.

"Badmash! Chalo aakar nashta lagao!" [Mischief maker! Come and set the table for breakfast!] The elderly woman spat.

Laila nodded, running to get the cutlery. She did not need her mother pissed today of all days, when she had promised to take her to the markets nearby. Laila had already made a mental checklist of all that she going to buy. It ranged from the new shade of plum nail polish she had seen to earrings for her beloved Ayna baaji and a thick shawl for her mother.

"Ayna baaji, join mama and I today". Laila enthusiastically invited her elder sister.

Ayna, who was bush indulging in her breakfast, gave a slow nod. Gesturing for Laila to sit down next to her.

"Okay, but first finish your paratha," [fried bread,] Ayna replied.

Nodding, Laila did as told. Sliding into the chair and serving herself a warm, crisp one. The golden exterior and tender interior, with steam still piping out had her stomach rumbling. Placing a perfectly fried egg with it, she tore in. Dipping the bread into the silky, warm yolk of the egg. Its viscosity covering her tounge like a thick cover. The salt and pepper thrown on top, balancing out the umami flavour. She moaned at the flavour. Taking an occasional sip of her constant companion —— milk tea.

"Why are you so eager to go shopping?" Asma Bi raised a brow, her fingers gripping onto the cup of tea.

"Asma Bi I just want to decorate my room better now that I make my own money," Laila politely smiled.

"Take Chaand with you". She announced.

Laila nodded, Asma Bi's words were final in the brothel and no one ever challenged them. Chaand was a guard at their brothel, in his early forties, he had a lean body and a thick beard. He was perhaps the most kind man Laila had ever come across. Giving them the respect humans of all jobs deserved. Infact he was married to a woman called Kiran, and the couple had been kind enough to look after her and Ayna when Sarah went out of city.

Winding up their breakfast, the three stepped out into the broken street with Chaand in tow. The sewerage was being repaired as a result of which the narrow, baked roads had been broken. Leaving the wet, muddy ground open to the skies. The progress of maintenance was slow, the pace of a snail. One had to carefully avoid the potholes and puddles of stagnant water. Laila happily skipped along the road, keeping a hand securely around her sling bag.

The skies were clear of grey clouds. The sun was out after quite a few days and she loved the feel of its warmth against her skin. Cars and motorcycles drove past them, not caring about the water that they splashed on the pedestrians. The roadside restaurants, still serving breakfast as families pooled in to the Old City for family friendly activities. Vendors with shops of all sizes had opened their doors and were busy dusting the clothes as they put them on for display.

"Ayna do you like this?" Sarah turned to her elder daughter.

Her fingers holding a lead grey raw silk fabric. White beads and rhinestones fixed on top, forming the pattern of celestial bodies.

"It's nice amma. Ask him how much," Ayna whispered.

Sarah nodded, turning her attention towards the salesperson, bargaining with him for a reasonable price.

"Barasoo ka theek hai!" [Twelve hundred is enough!] Sarah was adamant.

"Itna hota tou mein ap ka kar deta. Humari khareed itnay ki hai. Pandra soo final". [If I could I would. We bought ut for this price. Fifteen hundred is final.] The man clicked his tongue.

Sarah nodded, leaving the dress and walking out. Everyone else following her. In the crowded streets, people shout loudly. Selling their goods with the rhythmic jingles they had written. Singing them on top of their lungs, religiously. Waving hands, calling out with endearments, every man tried a new tactic to attract customers. Staring at them, their eyes showing their need of a client.

"Kitnay ka?" [How much?] Sarah held up the same dress at a new shop.

The markets were brimming with the design, given its popularity amongst the female population. Sarah was sure she would find a cheaper alternate.

"Twelve-fifty". The man began to take it off of the mannequin.

Sarah sighed, agreeing as she forwarded the money. Handing the bag over to Ayna.

"Lai—" Sarah turned around.

Her voice got stuck in her throat on the realisation that Laila was not with them. She began to fear the worst for her young daughter. Not only that, she could already imagine the cruel sister of hers planning to torture Ayna.

"Mama she must have wandered off. Let's go back and look calmly. Chaand uncle you go to the other side. Call us if you find her," Ayna calmly rubbed Sarah's back.

They parted ways and had only gone a few steps when Laila appeared from the large crowd, huffing as she made it to them. Her cheeks flushed, and hands gripping onto a few bags.

"Sorry— chaand uncle — amma, Ayna baaji. I wanted to get surprise gifts. Whew! Let's go?" She sighed, rubbing her aching ribs from the power walk.

Everyone nodded and the incident was forgotten. But the predator had locked it's gaze onto the prey.

AH! YOU GUYS AN INSIGHT TO LAILA
THOUGHTS & COMMENTS
CAN YOU TELL ME WHAT THE LAST LINE MEANS 😼😼😼😼😼😼😼😼

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