Thirteen Years Ago.

In flairs of pomp and in hues of gold their married life began. It was different— far more different than Myra had imagined her life to be. The horrors painted in pinks by the soap operas her mother watched without fail every evening. Or the grey smoke from the news every evening at five her father adored. They, and everyone else had prepared her for a battle field. Where she would be the only woman without a weapon in her possession. It had taken almost complete conscious control for her to not have outright enquired about the scheming sister-in-law and the gullible mother-in-law.

As a newly wed bride she spent most of her days lounging out in the splendid lounge than her own bedroom. Guests, family, foe everyone arrived at their doorstep to meet the newly wedded brides. Her days were beginning to whizz by with the melted viscosity of ice cream. Everything was red — with streaks of yellow as she spent time raking in the compliments, her hands filled with the thick envelopes for gifts. Taking small bird sized bites, sipping on water was all that she could stomach as the eyes of everyone fell on her. In the centre, the spotlight, Myra felt like running away.

Though there was no prior doubt about it, she was reassured after the wedding that Aryan was nothing but a thorough gentleman. He was tender as ever, his emotions still as publicly pronounced as ever. The man could seldom keep any secret from her — a streak and talent in him which she adored. He was like a scrap book, and her fingers could change the page with a snap. No big deal. Waking up in his arms and pressed to his chest, the soft rise and fall of it followed along with the steady heartbeat underneath his ribs kept Myra grounded. They gave her a sense of belonging. An anchor.

Three weeks and a honeymoon in, things were finally settling down. The tempo had slowed down, softened into something more enjoyable for them all. Tensions around them sprung but the two remained entirely consumed by their cocoon of affections. It was bright yellow in their minds, in their auras and souls even as the rest of the world burned into embers. Bridging the gap to their dreams and reality was the washed weather. The sunlight fought with the dull clouds and baked the roads until they swelled and burst. Birds fluttered and trees continued to bear fruit from their hefty branches. Suddenly, everything and anything — nothing too ; made sense.

Mornings, the sunny ones. The kinds of which reminded them of home were his favorite kind. The one where the bright sun, washed their champagne colored bedroom a hue of deep orange. It would first spill on the large, metallic frames of the window, they're industrial look would cast shadows on to their large floating bed. Then, the two light gold velveteen chairs would fall in the trap of the sunlight, slowly but steadily, it would take over the entire room until finally it basked their skins in itself. He would nuzzled his head into the bare neck of his wife, his beard tickling her skin right before the alarm sounded.

Seven am on the dot. Each morning, in a home inside his home, he would wake up. With lazy hands he'd switch of the clock, cuddling his wife who had somehow managed to escape his embrace in the middle of the night. Her lithe waist, wrapped in the body hugging silk dress, felt like heaven. The warmth of her body against his bare chest reminded him of the luck he had possessed in marrying her. Stealing her from the hands of fate, rewriting their story with the pen in his fingers. Small smiles were paced against her sleeping figure, a gentle kiss graced the apples of her cheek.

Their bedroom was on one of the top most floors of their home, a perk of them two being successful in their businesses and winning the bet he and his brother's had placed when the home was under construction. Having had his fill of laying in bed, at seven minutes past seven, Aryan slid out from behind his wife. His platinum wedding band with a small diamond in the centre glinted in the sunlight, the thick Persian carpet that matched the nude pinks and champagne tones of their bedroom. His fingers scooped up the Thierry Mugler heels she had worn to the business dinner last night. Walking through the doors of the large closet he placed them on the glass rack, stepping inside the large ensuite that had some streaks of his taste. The silver fixtures and white marble with light brown veining.

His shower was fast, by the time he had dressed into his slacks, she had woken up and taken his place in the large rain shower. There eyes had made minimal contact, the two shades of brown clashed as she stepped out of her nightdress. Aryan was sure he saw some silver dust remain in the inner corner of her eyes, that were still swollen with sleep. Rubbing the signature Tom Ford cologne on his neck, he hummed to himself the soft tunes of his favorite song.

As his fingers clasped the buttons of his shirt shut, Myra slid out of the shower — her eyes still laden heavily with sleep and lips stolen from their sweaty kisses. She passed him a wobbling smile before brushing her teeth with magnified rage. Pissed at what exactly? He did not know. Her hands scalloped the tangled mess of her hair into a bun before stepping into the dress she had selected for herself the night prior. It was a habit — he was learning. Myra would not be Myra without having things for the next day in place already.

With dexterity her fingers held his tie in hand, her own ivory silky shirt with beads hugging the curves of her skin and the trousers carving out the muscles of her lower legs he loved to pepper kisses on. Gayly she moved towards him losing some of her previous tenacious temperament Myra began to tie it around his neck, his hand going around her waist to hold her in place. He tapped the curve of her plump ass, nipping at her nose as she placed her lips at the centre of his throat.

"Don't start what you can't finish." Aryan rasped, his fingers stroking her chin.

"I don't intend to."

Maneuvering her hand across his covered washboard abs, Myra winked at him. Peaking through her soft eyes she was the epitome of innocence, her touch and intentions though anything but that.

"Will you miss me?"

It was his first day at work, post their wedding. Aryan's warm eyes stared into Myra's, a layer of complexity inside them kept it hazy for the onlookers, protecting her from damage that could otherwise ruin Myra's soft shell of a heart. Running a hand through her hair he undid the knot, the tame mess falling on to her shoulders, covering the nimble frame he had begun to adore. Had memorized like the back of his hand.

"Probably not. I mean, it's not like you're going far away, and I have better things to do with my day." She giggled, watching the crestfallen look on his face.

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

"What things?" He rose a brow, biting into her cheek, not letting go despite her many protests.

"Eating, and breathing. Just the usual." She shrugged.

"What if I were to not return from work today?" He whispered.

"Ziada bakwas nahi karo warna eik laga dun gi mein, kaan keh neechay. Go and ace that meeting with your investors."
[Don't talk too much or else I'll slap you under you ear.]

Aryan laughed at her reaction, sliding his hands inside hers as the two walked out of their bedroom. Their hands being what they would hold on to for the rest of forever.

📜

Work was an awful, awful thing and a feeling Myra had not realized until the weekend rolled around. Her shoulders were hunched over her desk even on a Friday night as she read through a new contract. A European businessman had contacted her company to work on a manufacturing deal, and as she did her reaserch, Myra wanted to run away from her own self. The creeping goosbumps on her arms, the tousled waves of her hair now nothing but a meshed together mess reminded her, that she was so out of touch with herself. Tipping her head back into her leather seat, she rubbed her eyes, a grumbling sound erupting from the pits of her stomach as she moaned softly.

Tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks, soft sniffs escaping her parted lips. The french manicured nails curled around the length of her eyes as she rubbed them harshly, it was a Friday night and at her young age she should be out, not in her office at her home, typing away on blank documents. Whispering profanities under her breath, Myra took her time stepping out of her office, her bare feet hissing against the cold floors. Her fingers traced the beige painted walls, lifting only to pull the rough strands of hair into a bun. Her teeth sunk into the warm flesh of her lower lip, pain searing through her lower abdomen — periods, she cursed.

"Woah, woah, woah what's cookin' good lookin'?" Her husband interrupted her personal pity party.

"Chup ho jao Aryan," [Please be quiet Aryan,] she whispered.

All strength had drained out of her body, as the clock in their lounge struck twelve. She had been inside her office for more than four hours, time that she could have spent with him, lost.

"Huwa kia hai? Abhi tou bilkul theek thi ap." [What happened? Just now you were perfectly alright.]

"Tou woh tab ki baat thi, ap ab ki baat karein!" [That is about then, you talk about right now!] She sighed in frustration.

"Ap batain gi nahi keh kia huwa hai tou mein maslay ka hal kaisay nikalun ga?" If you don't tell me what's wrong then how will I find a solution for your problem?]

"Mein hun apna masla. Ajeeb, aaj jumma hai ap keh saath waqt guzarnay ki bajay kaam kar rahi hun, bhuk lagi hai aur – aur" [I am my own problem. Ugh, it's Friday and rather than spending time with you I'm working, I'm hungry and — and] she hiccuped at the end.

"And what Myra?" Aryan enquired.

Taking soft steps he walked closer towards her, his arms going around her waist, pulling him into himself. Myra instantly wrapped her arms around his wide shoulders, nuzzling her head into the crook of his shoulder she cried as tears of frustration continued to come out one after the other with full force. Her heart and lungs burnt with a deep ache, her nails pierced Aryan's bare back as she held on for as long as she could. He stood in silence, watching the moon's light carve out her back in the glass windows, his hands stroking her neck cooing in to her ears words of confidence, while his own heart ached for her.

"Myra is everything alright?"

"I think — I think my period started and that's why my emotions are all over the place." She nodded her head.

"Are you sure or are you hiding something from me?"

"Why would I lie to you?"

"I don't know, you would do it to save me heartbreak maybe, so lay the news on me without holding a word back." He gripped her arms softly, staring into her eyes as if reassuring her soul.

"I'm just so tired of working all the time. I want to put my brain out of my body so I could relax without any worries Aryan." She whispered.

"Seems like you need a vacation and I'm always up for one, so let's go to Switzerland. What do you think?"

"Phir kabhi sahi. Abhi bohat kaam hai." [Sometimes else. There is a lot of work right now.]

"Myra?"

She hummed in reply, looking at him with wide eyes, eyes that shone of innocence.

"If you keep giving time to work you'll never have time for yourself. This work load isn't going to lessen ever, so Switzerland or not?"

"You know Aryan you're good at this!"

"At what? Wooing my wife?" He grinned.

"No Aryan of course not, I meant at convincing people." She chuckled watching the enthusiasm drain out of his face.

"Han han ura lein mera mazak, ab mein ap ko kuch khanay ko nahi la kar dun ga." [Okay okay make fun of me but now I won't get you anything to eat.]

"Haw haye! Aisay tou nahi kartay!"[Tsk! You shouldn't do this!]

"Oh but I will!"

"If you want to play dirty then okay, I'll call Alamgeer bhai first thing in the morning." Myra shrugged, nonchalantly.

"Haye zalim aurat apnay shohar ko marwao gi?" [Oh you cruel woman do you want to get your husband killed?]

"Ap bhi tou bhook sai mujhe marna chahtay hain." [You too want to kill me of hunger.]

"Allah na kare! Khuda ap ko meri bhi umar lagaye Layla. Ap keh bagheir meray wajood ka koi kaam nahi,"[God forbid! May God give you life of my share too Layla. Without you my existence has no use]. Aryan whispered against her lips.

"Aur ap ko kia lagta hai? Myra ap keh baghier reh lai gi?" [And what do you think? That Layla can live without you?]

A second later, Myra spoke up again, "because if you think that, you're absolutely correct!"She giggled.