وہ قیامت ہی غنیمت تھی جو یکجا گزری
— احمد فرازؔ

٭

Chapter 21 : Gol, Dar aur Margala

Amongst the troops that lounged around the estates parameter in an absentminded stroll. Beneath the cerulean blue skies that were not as cruel as they had been the past few weeks. Alongside the large strolling parks made with man's greatest prowess — attention paid to each minuscule detail — the benches painted a shrub green and the rotten barks that had just been chopped off. Perpendicular to the garage, where luxury cars in their gleaming exteriors and perfumed interiors were parked. Their roars silenced. The estate that had been abandoned for over two months was once again teeming with life.

The red sandstone walls that surrounded the round patio were covered in florentine lights, flooding the marble floors that lead to the curving staircase. Wooden banister and it's copper accents spread over the vastness and the softly bent steps lead to the foyer on the first floor. A large round chandelier hung and the opulence of it's yellow lights that reflected on the beige walls after weeks of not being used — were a reminder of the former glory. A large portrait of the owners hung on one wall, opposite it a large wooden door that lead to a bedroom.

Covered in copper trims and green foliage, the money plant hung down the wooden trims and the floors covered in rust Persian carpets made for a contrast. Dark chocolate accents on the trims, hand painted sceneries and mirror work embedded into the walls created for a reflective pattern during the evenings as the sun set right before the balcony. Thin sheer curtains swam from the ceiling to the floor, it's ends torn from the attacks of  Maum — and despite it's many timely repairs, Golnar had given up on fixing it.

Her bedroom was an amalgamation of her personality. The riveting features the world loved and the vulnerabilities her father adored. An iron post bed with a canopy covered her feather mattress from the outside world with it's net lined cover. Her pillows covered in frilly covers and the duvet — a soft peach, matched the shade of her favourite nail colour. Gas lamps and ones that required candles to be burnt in them had been placed over the mantle piece and a real fire place had been installed to keep the large space warm. Around it a book shelf that climbed the open walls and the worn out spines met the eyes of those that walked in.

Golnar thanked the female servants as they brought in their trays laden with dinner. Outside the sun had long set and the new moon had just about skirted itself on to the horizon. It's thin silvery glow over the Margala hills had fascinated Darab — so much so that he had requested food be brought to him as he sat on the balcony. Staring at the stars twinkling in the far distance, with the thick green hills acting as a backdrop.

The aroma of the star anise and cardamom inside the pulao made itself known as a gentle breeze moved into the room, bringing with itself the thick sweet scent of the jasmines. Silver spoons rested under the warm bed of rice, each grain glistening and the slow cooked mutton poked through. In a glass dish the qourma with it's layer of oil and deep golden shade was reminiscent of home. Tall glasses filled already with water and bottles of coke. A small bowl of salad and raita — her father had assured the both of them be fed like royalty.

Golnar's lips had been morphed into a small smile as she fixed the organza veil against one of her arms—frowning as it slid still only to hide the glass bangles she wore. Ditching it altogether, she threw it over the ottoman in a careless bid and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. The air felt pleasant as the temperatures had begun to rise. Walking on the tips of her toes, the soles screaming as the cold ground of the balcony kissed her feet, she lay a hand over his shoulder.

Taking another liberty.

"Kha'na kha lein."
[Have dinner.]

Though she spoke with a soft mirth, the sternness in her jaw was palpable and Darab grunted in reply.

Rising from his chair he walked inside the bedroom, the breadth of his shoulders brushed the curtain, grazing the gold topped coat hanger against the window. Darab's boski kameez matched the forlorn — outdated softness of the bedroom yet his manly frame with the scary look he carried inside his eyes did not match the shy softness.

Like water Golnar fled to the small chaise and waited for him to take seat on the chair she had pulled from her vanity. The sleeves of her silk kameez rose as she gripped the ladle, scooping the food into a large porcelain plate. Steam buzzed against her warm skin and the intense aroma of the seven spices suddenly clouded up the space between their silence, catching home against the crackling fire. Escaping with the rest of the smoke through the chimney.

Golnar picked the dinner spoon, raising a spoonful of the rice, she dipped it into the raita and hummed at the marriage of flavour. With the ends of the sharp spoon she tore into the soft meat. It pulled apart with a softness that reminded her of her heart — it had with just an ease crumbled in front of Darab's eyes. Her resolve had strengthened watching him fight the ghost of his mother ; despite as comical as it sounded.

From establishing her place as his wife inside his estate — stating to his step-mother that she deserved an equal respect. Then staying at her father's home in their village to following her to Islamabad for a session of his chemotherapy. Darab had stepped up and yet still held his eyes had the arrogance the entirety of Naazimgarh knew him for. Though his words had been chosen kinder ; the accent of rudeness remained.

Darab's gaze remained trained on to the side of her face — half of it shielded from the drape of her hair. His eyes slid down her nose bridge, in silent murmurs with himself he praised the small nose ring before falling to her lips and then the long neck that curved into the protruding collar bones. Tracing the boat shaped neckline, her skin a rare pink hue. Before rising again to the tiny mole she had on the corner of her lips. Shaped like a morphed three point star.

Often he found himself wondering how it would feel like to kiss it.

"Ap kha'na kyun nahi kha rahay?" Golnar prodded, her voice tucking him out of the folds of his dream.
[Why are you not eat?]

Darab dropped his gaze to the still empty plate, lifting a spoonful of rice into his dish with a stoic coldness. Inside his chest, his heart drummed on with a sharp cleverness. Matching the intensity of his car's roar when the driver pressed on to the pedal hard enough.

"Kha rehya an." He spoke, chewing open mouthed as grains of rise fell on to his over grown beard.
[I am eating.]

With his fingers he lifted another morsel to his lips, licking on to his fingers before taking an unmanly gulp of the water.

"Jhut bol rahay hai? Mujhe dein garam karwa dun. Ab tak tou thanda ho gaya hai sab kuch Darab."
[Are you lying? Give it to me I'll have it warmed. By now everything has probably gone cold Darab.]

There she went again, his heart fluttered. The gentleness of her lips and tongue as she took his name so gracefully. Though she pronounced it wrong—to him it was the most studious of pronunciations. After all his wife was the most educated person he knew so of course, how could she ever be wrong? He had long since concluded that his name was pronounced as Dar-eb, like a small dip in a river and not the mighty Dar-ab.

Wiping down his hands on the thick starchy linen, he folded it into crooked folds. Just like Golnar did. Tapping the corners of his lips with it, though the cloth slid inside and scratched against his tongue, he took a sip of water again. His fingers rose to meet her hand, raising it into the air. Pressing his lips lightly into the skin he drew out the shape of her sharp knuckles with his lips before offering her a frozen smile.

A gesture he was not used to — yet.

"Ustani sahiba," he spoke gently, "mein jhut nai bol rehaya. Jina khana si kha leta ae."
[Miss professor, I am not lying. I have eaten what I wanted to eat.]

"Ap Darab itnay baray aadmi hai aur khatay tou bilkul—" Golnar bit her tongue.
[Darab you are such a large man and yet you have eaten like a—]

"Bilkul ki? Keh deyo. Ustaad da bura nai mana'anda mein." He chuckled.
[Like what? You may say it. I will not feel bad about what my professor says.]

"Bilkul chidiya jitna hai." Golnar replied in a heart beat.
[Like a sparrow.]

A belly rumbling laughter escaped Darab's lips and he placed a hand over his stomach as a fit of raging coughs took his throat. His eyes filled up with water and yet through the blur he could still see her frame that watched him with a worried glance.

"Ustaad ji tussi baray mazakiya ho."
[Professor sir you are very funny.]

٭

Dressed in a light woody colour, a cream waistcoat stretched over his torso, hanging down his broad shoulders to his midriff. His hair — gelled and pulled back by the hands of an artist's especially capable fingers. He smelt of sandalwood and a rich, deep spice. The swells of his eyes matched the bark of the trees inside the large open air space, and his back pressed into the side of his polished cruiser. A pair of shades sat high on top of his nose bridge. With arms pulled over his chest — the bulge of his bicep protruded through the fabric of his kameez and the fabric of his shalwar shivered with the air.

Watching straight at the emptying ground, his fingers played along the strings of buttons on his worn out phone. The tiny screen of his Nokia had dimmed under the bright sunlight, and he could barely make out the body of the growing snake as he pressed the buttons in an inanimate order. Sounds of chatter and ceaseless laughter, along with the crooning of the birds helped him drown out the loudness of his own thoughts.

Darab existed breath after breath. He took them with a calculated decisiveness, his chin sunk and brushed the stand of his collar that wrapped around his throat. Upon the insistence of his wife he had done the first button too — a first for him. With his index finger wrapped around the top of his phone he passed Golnar's approaching frame an appreciative grin.

Dressed in a simple raw silk kameez with zardosi flowers embedded on at calculated distances — the white and bronze matching his own, from even underneath the graduation gown the silhouette of her curvy figure could not be hid yet he continued to watch her frame. Her eyes bursting with so much joy as she strolled towards him, her fingers wrapped around the black leather of her degree, the hat tucked underneath her arm.

"Mubarkan ustaad ji." Darab spoke.
[Congratulations miss professor.]

"Shukriya," Golnar smiled, placing the square edged hat against her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun, "ap ko—"
[Thank you, to you—]

"Menu?" He hummed.
[Me?]

"Ap ko bhi."
[To you too.]

Golnar slipped inside of the car to hide her blush from his intelligently inquisitive eyes. Inside the a.c was already purring at a low fan speed, breezing against her hot cheeks. Though whether it was due to the sun's sharp rays or the sudden change in her husband's personality, she did not know.

It seemed as if coming to Islamabad had changed him. With no one around him to fill in his ears with whispers of battle and revenge, her husband had changed. There was a softness inside of his lips and tongue that complimented her at every action she performed. Praising her.

Offering him a small smile she looked out of the car's tinted window. Her finger tapped at the controls on the arm of the door, fixing the vents on to her face she slipped the veil into her neck. With neat motions she folded the gown she had discarded as soon as she got into the car. Pressing her back into the camel toned leather, Golnar straightened her legs, sliding the clasp out of it's position before tucking her legs beneath herself. Wrapping loosely the shawl Darab had graciously let her borrow.

Closing her eyes she breathed softly. Feeling the embossing of her former university's logo against the tip of her finger. Her finger nails digging into the gold metal clasps. The thin wedding band clashed against the fabric of her attire and the branch shaped bracelet her father had gifted her in the morning strummed the wooden car trim as she softened into the fabric.

Softly swallowing her own saliva, her eyes still closed softly, she searched for her bottle of water. The insides of the car almost instantly smelling of flowers — a mix of roses and jasmines. Golnar opened her eyes with an alertness as she felt something cool slide against her warm wrist. The familiar feel of his warm calloused fingers against her wrist bone shocked her to no end.

"Y-yeh kia hai?" Golnar thought out loud.
[W-what is this?]

"Gajray." He explained, matter-of-factly.

"Kyun?" She spoke baffled at his randomness, running her fingers over the loose edges of the thread.
[Why?]

"Aedi jaldi kuj hor samajh ni aya," he shrugged.
[I could not understand anything else this fast.]

"Ustaad ji," he spoke, "kinvay de ne? Mei ap banay si." Explaining with pride.
[Miss professor, how are they? I made them myself.]

"Bohat khubsurat." She replied.
[Extremely pretty.]

A soft smile kissing her lips as she inhaled the smell of the flowers. Everything seeming like an indication to a better start.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Ap sab ko laga tha Darab nashay mein bol raha hai. Uss mein aur ap sab mein farq hai ... farq hai ... farq hai. 
Darab is my second most favourite character I've ever written after Aliyaar. Barekhna and Golnar my favourite female leads. Obviously these guys will soon become the spectators rather than the main show ;)

Also koi mujhe motivation to make reels de de.

Until tomorrow,

خدا کے ایمان میں۔