آج ایک وعدہ کرتی ہوں
مر کر بھی بس تیری ہوں

Chapter 3 : Abhi safar lamba hai

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Pink, the shade of a light bubblegum she was used to chewing on in nervousness, coated her cheeks. Their pale, subdued complexion wandered somewhere unknown. Trapped beneath the wrap of a pastel cotton, much like the setting sun. Puckering her lips, her fingers scratched the skin of her left earlobe. Tapping the edge of her khussas into the soft soil, unable to hide the sheer nervousness. Loose, escaping from the hold of her pearl studded clip, the fiery tresses dragged themselves across her cheeks in a lazy drawl.

Golnar's eyes turned glassy as she cast a long glance towards the thin dial of her wristwatch. The arms ticked by, time though like a heavy weight had stilled over her. Underneath the canopy of trees that lined the main shed, the dreaded wintry chill danced to the tunes of death. Whispering secrets of ravishing and ravaging against her delicate frame. Her bones shivering within, despite the shawl that wrapped around her figure.

It took her entire strength to force a crooked smile on her lips as a group of freshmen rolled by her. Their laughter far too loud for her sensitive ears to enjoy. Swiping her thumb over the almost frozen screen, she dialled the number—the only number she memorised. Against her ribs the thralling beats of her heart were comforting. Her pastel pistachio shirt wrinkled as the marina found itself between her fingers.

The university was emptied. Spectators watched in small groups as she tapped her heel against the tarmac, the thin veil on her hair slipping every now and then. Golnar shuddered under the leering gaze of a patronising class fellow, one who had made it his job to woo her. As his burly figured stalked closer to her, perspiration danced across her brow. An exasperated sigh escaped her lips as she turned over her heel. Taking brisk steps towards the extravagant gates.

Relief filled her vision as she spotted the familiar Cruiser. It's glossy black coat glimmered in the mild sunlight of December. The cry of prayer rang around the vicinity, the sun setting between the arms of the trees, thick branches holding the basking glory of the star from dying. A thin sheet of fog appeared, ghastly and pale, covering the grounds. Making it look as if she was floating in the air, each step that she took, soft. Gripping the ends of her shawl, her knuckles whitened in fury as she felt a tug on her Pashmina shawl, the fold slipping over her shoulder.

"Yeh yeh ap kia kar rahay hain?" She whisper yelled, narrowing her gaze in the direction of man.
[What are you doing?]

"I wanted to talk to you about something." He explained, his eyes zeroing in on her pouty lips.

"Mujhe ap sai koi baat nahi karni."
[I do not want to talk to you about anything.]

"You're being unfair!" He pressed on.

"How?" She spat, her clipped British accent was like the fury of hell itself.

Golnar swatted at the hand holding her shawl, straightening it over her frame. The micro second action, allowing the chill to rush in and brush against her exposed collar bones. Her platinum pendant turning icy in a murmur of a moment. Red lined her eyes, narrowed in the direction of the young man, Zaroon Khan.

"How is it being unfair," she rambled on, "have I ever deceived you or lead you on?"

"Golnar bibi sahab puch rahay hain yeh aadmi ap ko tang to nai kar raha?"
[Miss Golnar sir is asking is this man annoying you?]

A third voice broke their battle of heated stares. Taking a deep breath, she pivoted, tremors filling her legs as the adrenaline washed itself out of her stream. Replaced by the unwarranted gazes and shivers of merciless whispers. Licking the corner of her small mouth, she shook her head, passing a short glance to the figure behind them. Filled with a violent rage, her untouched eyes swam with unshed tears. Clogging her throat, the words closing in on her.

"Nai Agha," she replied, politeness dripping from every word, a wordless thank you to her saviour.
[No Agha.]

Picking up the pace, she followed behind her father's trusted servant, vanishing into the deep fog. Her feet rested on the loose gravel with a delicate softness. The sharper pieces digging into her delicate sole from beneath the shoe, whimpers of helplessness just about climbing out of her throat. Gulping the barrels of fresh and calming air she sneezed lightly into the crook of her arm. The glass bangles crashing against each other with her action.

Numb to the cold, her fingers painted a cherry shade rubbed the tip of her arched nose. The thin diamond nose ring scratching her finger in response. Watching her breath fog before her, she thanked the man in cream as he pulled the car door open. Her lithe frame sliding in with fluid motions. Muscle memory.

Heat from the air vents instantly lashed against her alabaster skin. Warming up the guzzles of white, until they had returned to their usual shade of cherub. A soft peach, a whisper of red painted in between. Catching sight of herself in the rearview mirror, Golnar smiled in appreciation at her tint having held it's place. The grin widened only as she spotted her father, his burly frame lounging on the wide seat, eyes watching her actions with a merry emotion.

Whispering their hello's, the two sat in comfortable silence as the car moved through the main streets of Islamabad, the carpeted roads, wide green belts and the hills of Margala making for a scenic backdrop. Occasionally his hand squeezed hers, her head resting over his shoulder. Slipping into the caveat of his arm, the rest of it pulling her into his side as he left a short kiss over her brow. Running the crook of his fingers along the length of her arm in circles. Pulling her into a slumber.

Albeit it was short lived. Twenty minutes later, the car parked into the garage of the Hakim's estate. Running to the left were luxurious cars, an entourage of gloss and sparkle. To the right, a thicket of trees that enclosed the front yard. White iron-wrought garden chairs and a rectangular table set into the centre. Cobblestones thrown along the razor sharp grass, led to the marble steps that ran to the front door made of thick shishem wood. Carvings, floral, inspired by the early geometric traditions of the Arabs that had arrived into the subcontinent, in the early hundred AD's.

Arbaz slid his palm over her face, tiny pins pricked his flesh as her head slumped over his shoulder blade. The weight was a delirious feeling — knowing that she trusted him enough to let go of her worries, the other half though, could no longer ignore the pain in his hand.

"Gol jaana uth jao." He spoke, whispering into her hair.
[Gol my love wake up.]

"Aba jaan utha kar le jain ap, mein bohat sakoon mein hun abhi." She replied, her eyes squeezed shut.
[Father dearest you can lift me and take me, I'm in too much peace right now.]

"Ap ki adatein bigar di hai mei nai," he chuckled.
[I have spoilt you.]

"Itni mohabbat na karein mujh sai, aur mazar nai bana sakti mein ab." The words slipped out in her unconscious state.
[Do not love me too much, I can not make any more tombs.]

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Golanr's fingers with a fastidious manner pulled her hair into a low bun. The silken strands slipped out of the hold, grazing her slant collar bone that slipped out of the boat neck of her plain silk shirt. It's sky blue was a light hearted affair, silver trims at the end matched the worn out silver shade of her earrings. The metallic bangles spun around her soft, thin wrists. Rubbing her moisturiser around her swan like neck, slathering the remnants under her breast bone, just above her neck line.

A soft smile was etched on to her features, the lip balm that she had rubbed on a few moments ago, glossed under the gold lights of her bedroom. Gripping the yards of her tapered veil, she threw it over her shoulders. The thick, Indian chiffon rested over the round bones, sliding down her chest.

Wrapping her hands around the deep green stems of the dandelions she had picked from their garden in the afternoon, Golnar stepped out of her bedroom. The depth of warmth exchanged for a mirage of bone ebbing chills. Her nose reddened, her palms matching the shade of embers in the hearth. Gauging the attention of the mid-height woman with a breezy hum, she nodded, resting her hand over the bronze handle of the familiar room. Sliding in, pulling the door apart for Tanzil — the head-chef to walk in.

A room solely off limits, unless she or the master of the home were present in the room, attracted Tanzil's gaze. As it was expected to do. Although her stay was short lived, Golnar's hands plucked the copper tray from her hands. Offering a courteous smile in return. No matter how much the staff loved their boss's daughter. She remained reserved.

For good reason.

As the door closed behind her, with a soft thud. A silence fell on to the room. Her lithe fingers placing the sleek vinyl into the player, waiting for her father to end his prayer before she let the needle fall over the glass.

The study was covered with leather bound journals, a thick desk in the centre with red upholstered chairs on either side. Thick rugs, crafted in the workshops of their village, covered the floor, their reds contrasting with the earthy woodiness of the walls. Hanging low, the chandler, filled with short thick wax stubs, burned to keep the room illuminated in a shade of orange.

Like the first, spent, kiss of dawn.
Like the last, reserved, breath of dusk.

Dropping the flowers into the round vase, she inhaled their soft scent. Ink and dried paper mixed into the aroma of the roses, wafting through and through. The scent of the cardamom tea, only added to the despondent aura of the room. Covered in the drapes of shadows and forgotten secrets, the vast room was not so vast. It's rich history not so small. Frames of her pictures lined the cabinet tops, collections of ghazals piled neatly underneath. Old to recent, the change in their family was palpable.

Golnar dropped the needle on to the vinyl, hearing the rusty cracks before the sitar came to play with the strings of the fragile air. Her father wrapped his prayer mat and she slipped on to the ottoman. Pulling her legs beneath herself, she dropped in two sugar cubes for him, and one of herself. Stirring with a rich languid pace, her eyes watched him take seat beside her. Tearing the crisp samosa into two, raising the first morsel to her mouth.

"Aj ap nai samosa bana kaisay liya meri Gol?" He teased, knowing they were something she reserved for important days.
[How did you make samosa's today my Gol?]

"Imtehan khatam honay ka jashan mana rahi hun." She giggled, wiping the crumbs off of his beard.
[I'm celebrating the end of my exams.]

"Wah!" He replied, "kisi ki aulaad meri Gol jaisi ho hi nai sakti.
[Wow! No one's offspring can be like my Gol.]

🌬✨
Happy Father's day
I lowkey forgot about this update..AGAIN 😭🙏🏻.
I sincerely hope you guys are enjoying this book because if not..an angry penguin 🐧🔪 shall come to haunt ☺️🫵🏻.
Chalo achay bacho shower votes likes & comments.

Translation for the verse up top :
"Today I make a vow
Even after I die I will be yours."