Real love is always chaotic. — Jonathan Carroll

The next morning the valley was a bit more chilled than usual. Though no breeze blew through the tall branches, there was a freshness in the air. Dew covered the vegetation, everything a bright green after being freed from the weight of silt. Flowers bloomed with twice as much might, their large petals and bright centres called forth the eager honey bees who buzzed around. The warm walls had turned cold. A tremor running through the finger as they glided against the sage green walls of the house. In the still of the world, scents traveled slow but with a determined might in their toes.

The kitchen burned bright. The chef's sweating infront of the burners as they whisked at the eggs and brushed the fresh bun with butter. In a large pot, dough was being fried whilst in another tea leaves steeped in the boiling water. A hint of ginger and cardamom going in next followed shortly by the spoonfuls of cinnamon. A spiced tea—to beat the weather of course. Nuts were ground and placed in a large blender, milk and sugar next. Rows upon rows of maids carried the large brunch into the dinning room, working mechanically in silence.

Azmaray helped Laila with her earring. The two standing on top of the stair case, looking for the stopper that had fallen off. She groaned in frustration, knowing that it would have camouflaged well with the marble flooring. She turned her head around, the sunlight that streamed in from the curved glass roof, casted a rainbow over the painting. The life-size portrait of a man Azmaray called his Great, times twenty, Grandfather. Her head ached to even imagine tracing her family line so back. She was Laila and had her mother, Sarah and a sister, Ayna. It was as simple as that—and now she was thankful to have no crazy family.

"Did you find it?"

"Yes Laila. I did, but I enjoy staring at the floor as a hobby," he rolled his eyes.

"No need to be rude!" She whined.

Azmaray let out a silent laugh on her attempt at raising protests. Shaking his head, he moved his fingers on the floor, stumbling upon a small circular nub. Gently, he lifted it in his fingers and observed closely—here it was.

"Found it. Aao mein pehna dun," [Come let me help you wear it,] he smiled.

Nodding she silently walked over to him, moving her long hair out of his way. Azmaray slid in the gold crescent shaped earring, tiny faux diamonds studded on it. His fingers lingered on her soft earlobe, taking their sweet time on sliding the stopper on. He moved his fingers towards the back of her ear, grazing the side of her neck. His face lowered towards her ear, a small smirk on his face as he observed Laila loose her breath. Her heart beating fast.

"Chalein?" [Let's go?] He whispered.

Laila felt her soul jump out of her body. His words having caught her off guard. She was too engrossed in his torturous touch that she lost her senses. With him, she had no recollection of time. It was no concept, it stopped. In those moments it was just the two of them and the heavy desire of being in his arms. Laying and listening to his heart beat.

"Urm—ye- ye- yeah! Yeah let's go," she rapidly shook her head in agreement.

He let out a chortle on seeing her shy face. The blush that spread over her cheeks made him want to hide her away. In a space where no one could come, except for himself. There were times his blood boiled with rage, remembering how Laila had had other partners before him. They had seen her body and had touched her skin in ways no one should have. Yet, he could not hold her accountable when he himself was guilty of those. Whilst Laila had enjoyed who she was, as Rani, she would have had no option anyways. His though was of free will and if one of them were to be furious, it should be her and not him.

They stepped down in silence. His hand resting on her waist and pulling her into his body. If it were upto him, she would be completely moulded into his being. Laila passed him a half smile as they approached the dinning table, her hand squeezing him before sliding next to him. Rapidly filling her mouth with the food, excited at the prospect of meeting her mother and sister after breakfast.

Thankfully everyone was tired and breakfast went by without any problems. With Azmaray following Azaan Khan to his study, Laila decided to take the short walk to the guest house. On her way there, she heard voices. It seemed to be her mother-in-law, furious with someone. Tiptoeing her way towards Saheefa's bedroom, she gulped on seeing a sobbing Anbar.

"Is this they way? That prostitute acts like a better wife! Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" She chided.

"But—"

"Shut up. You better fix yourself and give me a grandchild! That whore's kid will not be the next heir!"

Pinching her nose, Saheefa turned around, continuing in full rage.

"Ab dekh kia rahi ho? Dafa ho jao idhr sai! Absolutely useless," [What are you looking at now? Get lost!]

Laila moved behind the pillar, frowning as a crying Anbar exited. She followed behind her. Her heart went out to the polite women's heart. Anbar may have been cruel to her, but she knew why it was that way and held no resentment in her heart for her.

"Anbar?" She placed her hand on her shoulder.

"What?" Anbar turned, her eyes rimmed red.

"Are— are you okay?"

"So what if I am not? Are you here to laugh at my misery again?" Anbar all but screamed.

"What—no. Can we talk?" She sighed.

Anbar curtly nodded, leading her into hers and Asghar's bedroom. She motioned for her to take a seat on the ottoman, while settling herself onto the soft bed. Wiping her tears, she asked for Laila to continue. Wanting to get over with it all.

"Listen Anbar, I understand you do not like me. Rightly so. I have no resentment against you—"

"Aur ho gi bhi kis haq sai? Ap nai meri mohabbat cheeni hai mujh sai!" [And with which right will you have it? You have stolen my love from me!] Anbar was furious.

"Please just listen to me. Mein yeh sab nafrat isliye bardasht kar rahi hun kyun keh jo ap keh saath huwa ghalat tha! Par agar ap aankhein khol kar dekhain gi tou maloom ho ga na keh dushman koi aur hai ap ka. Mujhe tou saari zindagi randi ka taana milay ga, magar ap kab tak uss ki saza mujhe dein gi jo meray shohar nai ap keh saath kia?" [I am withstanding all this hate because what happened with you was wrong! But you should open your eyes and realise that someone else is your enemy. I will get the taunt of being a prostitue all my life, but how long will you punish me for the sin my husband committed with you?] Laila spoke, at the end of her wits.

"So what do you want from me?"

"For us to get along. I saw how Azmaray's mother treats you. And that isn't okay Anbar. You need to move and stand up for yourself," she sighed.

"Get along?" Anbar scoffed.

"Yes! How else do you expect us to live under the same roof? Whenever you want come find me. You'll have a friend in me," she patted the back of her hand, exiting the bedroom.

———

Laila's words had stirred something deep within Anbar. Her mind was miles away, while her eyes were fixated on the yellowed pages of the book she was reading. Her fingers rubbed the once starchy pages, going a mile a minute in her head. Her thoughts were a mess, like a tornado had torn through them. Everything was in shambles. Laila had not said anything wrong. Asghar was being patient and soon enough their families would snap at her too. There was more than love at play. And she could not reject what her sister-in-law had said. Especially because Azmaray had time and again told her that he did not want to marry her.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the window pane. A dull throb had spread across the top hemisphere of her head. Her fingers chilled and clutching to the book tightly. Dawn had turned to dusk and the skies were a prussian blue. While everyone slept, she was up. Awake for her husband to return from the duties of the day. Yawning she massaged her temple. Energy draining from her being by the minute.

"Anbar?" His gruff voice broke her out of the spell of sleep.

She hummed in response, moving around as her eyes fluttered open. He looked like a brute, a caveman out of one of those paintings. His long hair tied into a man bun with his scruffy beard going wild. The black boski dress fit his frame as he dropped next to her feet. Taking off his shoes and removing his hair tie. His fingers running through the unruly locks.

"Anbar utho na bhook lagi hai," [Anbar wake up I'm hungry,] he groaned.

Usually he would not have woken her up. But today had been an especially tiring day and now his muscles screamed with pain. He was out of the house soon after Fajar and the only thing he had eaten was a measly slice of toast and lukewarm tea. His stomach felt like it would eat itself, and darkness covered his eyes as both hunger and fatigue fought to claim him first.

"Go get it yourself," she groaned.

Asghar sighed, turning towards her with a frown on his face.

"Please Anbar, I'm not in the mood to fight. Would you mind fetching me something to eat?" He pleaded, feeling tears clog his throat.

They were tears of frustration. He was failing—miserably and everyone seemed to be immune to his sadness.

"No. I'm tired," she rolled her eyes.

"You're tired—you know what I'll get it myself". With that he stormed out of the room, banging the door harshly against the frame.

The loud sound brought Anbar out of her sleep immediately and she chased after Asghar. How could she be so dumb? Maybe Laila was right. She was her own enemy. Her husband had returned after twelve hours and she had not even offered him a glass of water. Moreover, something in his voice told her there was something wrong.

Entering the kitchen, she found Asghar dozing off on the marble counter. His figure slumped against it as the microwave beeped in alarm. His food was heated and ready to be eaten. Taking out the plate of mutton pulao she carried it towards him. Placing a glass of water and curd next to it. Sliding onto the counter, she poked his cheek, frowning as he refused to get up.

"Asghar wake up. The food will get cold otherwise," she whined.

Asghar hummed, his eyes peeking at her with an unknown emotion.

"I'm too tired. Khud khila do," [feed me,] he requested, his face like that of an innocent child.

She nodded, lifting a spoonful of rice to his lips, feeding him in complete silence.

"Why are you so stressed Asghar?"

"Do you want to know?" He sighed.

To that, she eagerly nodded head.

"Azmaray has denied giving up his place as the Duke. Tomorrow the local newspaper will confirm his ascent to power as Nawab of Mushkpur".

And with those words, Anbar's world collapsed. What they had feared most, was happening. Everything was out of their hands.

DUN DUN DUN

SO DO WE WANT ANBAR AND LAILA AS FRIENDS?

YOU WILL GET TO SEE AYNA, SARAH AND LAILA IN THE NEXT ONE

I KEEP SAYING A LOT IS ABOUT TO BE EXPOSED SO GET R-E-A-D-Y

THOUGHTS & COMMENTS