سال ختم ہونے کو ہے
کچھ نیا شروع ہونے کو ہے

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Chapter 7 : Yeh nain sharabi

Pots of dried powder rested over the makeshift vanity inside their lounge. It's copper cover, with fine detailings rested lazily in her palm as the make up artist dipped her felt tipped brush into the loose powder. Sprinkling dustings of it over the table as she went. Rubbing it in her water line, a tissue kept between the length of her fingers. Golnar pressed the fine pulp tissue in her eye, gathering the tears as it spread.

Her eyes that were dipped into a shade of light gold, as well as a dusty green, matched the tones of her dress. The black velveteen shirt, with it's curving neckline, brushing the ends of her collarbone before it dipped. Lined with gold threads. Scattered in the length of it's opium abyss, tiny motifs. Roses — made of burnt bronze sequins and threads of green zardosi.

Sniffing, her fingers fixed the slipping neckline. The three quarter sleeves, lined with lateral running layers of sequins, rose. Her glass bangles running rampant over her thin wrists.

The gold hues over her face were subtle. She nodded at the sight Charlotte Tilbury's peach blush, puckering her lips as the make up artist's assistant brushed a coral shade over her plump lips. Swiping gloss over it next. Her breath festered before her in a sharp icicle, rubbing her finger to spread the shards of highlight across her collarbone.

"Tusi ta bilkul hoor wagre je." The woman gushed, running the metal tipped hair brush through her silken auburn strands.
[You are so angelic.]

"Mujh—mujhe punjabi nahi ati." She murmured, apologetically.
[I—I do not understand punjabi.]

Placing her arms against her plump hips, the stylist tsked, "ap bohat khoobsurat hai."
[You are very pretty.]

Golnar whispered a soft thank you, rising from her seat as the woman motioned her to walk over. Sliding the fine organza veil over her left shoulder, tucking an edge into the waistband of her skirts. The makeshift saree clung to her figure. Her heavy bosom hid under the spread of the veil, sliding over one of her arms in a delicious grip. The rest of the dress wrapping around her curvaceous hips before falling into an elaborate spell of  gauze and velvet. Her heels — peaking only as she lifted the train to walk with ease.

Falling over her slender back, the strands of dyed hair were a curtain between her neck and the eyes of spectators. Aimlessly, she wandered through the top most floor of their home, peaking at the grounds decorated like the bride herself. Lights and flowers going hand in hand, covering the spread of land until her gaze ran.

Pressing a hand on to the mang tikka, feeling the opalescent red and blue gems, she fixed it in place. Above the centre of her brows. Covering the width of her forehead. The bahuballi's clinging to her ears, thin strands of jilted gold pinned to the front of her hair. They danced with the wind and kissed the skin of her neck.

Golnar took in the sight with an exasperated sigh. Her breath was short, the open bridge that connected the guest wing to the main part of the home, over looked the property at an altitude that shook her. In the midst of grey clouds, beneath her a sea of sharp green foliage. She stared at the workers and her father's back. Making the final arrangements before the guests arrived.

Gusts of winds crossed. Swimming against the edge of her skirt, that danced over the floor itself. Running the tip of her finger alongside the brick safety walls, delicate stars carved into the sides of it, she felt the temperatures drop as she entered the building on the other side. Far colder than the wind had been outside. Gulping her breath, the dryness of her throat finally catching up to her, she took short steps. Drawling towards the west staircase, in the murky darkness that spread throughout.

Golnar breathed.
Once. Then twice. The heart inside of her fragile ribs beating in harsh crushes against the exterior of her body. Her thick skin — melted in rage. Heat pelted over the edge of her ears, and a whisper landed against the shell of her ear. Feat lapped at her bright spirit as she sensed the presence of someone behind her. The crashing of a vase, only adding to her belief.

"K-kon hai?" She stuttered, screaming at the top of her lungs.
[W-who is it?]

The edge of her eyebrows rose into a frown. Her soft features morphed into a stoic, almost icy scar as she searched for a familiar figure in the darkness. Inside her veins the blood froze over, though it rushed in the spacious depths, life ran out of her. Coughing at the pain squeezing her chest all of a sudden, she doubled over. Wheezing as a putrid scent accompanied her. Following her even as she ran in the direction of the bridge. Heaving over the sides.

Tipsy in pain she slid down the sides, falling on her ass over the bridge. Pulling her knees into her chest. Wrapping the width of her arms around her kneecaps, Golnar pressed her cheeks on the scapulas. Breathing into the familiar lint of her attire, the thick sugar aroma of rose blended into the air beside her. Squeezing her eyes shut. Hiding the sight of her otherwise feline eyes from the darkness that leapt. Jumped and whizzed around her.

Overhead — the milky moon hung low. A star after the other, twinkled in their mirth. Despite being above the edge of the world, glimmering in their intensity, they were still miles away from the centre. Touching gently the globe, their brightness barely melted over the plains of lower Naazimgarh. Evil in the darkness of unbeknownst hatred, spurred. Ferocious, it fought against the rays of the moon and the stars. Their silvery glory fell into confusion as shadows jumped over the bridge where her figure remained.

"Golnar!"

The scream of her father, followed by his heavy footsteps, rouse Golnar from the haze she had fallen into. Softly opening her eyes, she turned her neck, blinking at the deft difference between the night. Before and behind her.

"Ab-abba jaan!" She croaked out in reply.

Stumbling over her weight and the train of her dress, she fisted the side between her fingers. The threads stubbed the wells of her palms, leaving behind soft bruises. Gaining the failing intensity of her short lived strength, Golnar pressed her back into the minaret that rose on the side. Offering strength to the roof.

Breathing harshly, she moved her torso forward, jerking her legs to follow suit. A cry bubbled through her lips and a splitting headache hammered over her brow bone. Bile, in it's strength, burnt the back of her throat. Hissing at the sudden weakness, she cried out for help, holding her body upright. Despite the weight turning into a delirious pain.

"Gol?"

Arbaz wrapped his shawl around her whimpering frame. Pressing kisses over the crown of her head, he stroked her back. Murmuring verses over her, blowing them as she closed her eyes. Breathing softly.

"Abba?" She smiled dreamily, staring into his eyes.

"Ji meri jaan? Kia huwa hai?" He inquired.
[Yes my life? What happened?]

"Wo-woh phir aai — aai thi." Golnar explained, taking short steps in his embrace towards the stair case, speaking in a hushed whisper, "muj-mujhe bohat dar lag raha hai."
[She—she came again.]
[I-I was so scared.]

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"Aiye beta ap ka hi intezar tha."
[Come son we were waiting for you.]

The elderly man dressed in a white bosky shalwaar kameez, with a black waistcoat greeted them. Wrapping his arms around Husayn's shoulder, he kissed his cheek in customary greeting before turning towards Darab.

Arbaz nodded his head at his sight, running his gaze over the frame of the young man. He had turned out just like his father, the same eyes and hair. Passing a short smile, keeping the mood light for the sake of his niece, he led them towards the stage.

A curtain ran vertically between the giant lawn, separating the men's side from the women's. The stage too had been divided by a sheer curtain, the life on either side hidden from the opposite gender.
Only the sounds of giggles and music flew from the women's side.
Only the sounds of loud laughter and curses flew from the men's side.

Darab pinched his waistcoat, fixing the hemline that had rolled over in the drive over from their village. Thanking the waiter, keeping his tone formal, he sipped on the glass of juice. His eyes raked in the sight of the streamers and confetti. The rose petals that still clung to his beard, fell as he comber his fingers through them. Chuckling without humour as the petal fell into his lap.

Taking a large gulp of the sugary juice, he nodded along to the conversation. His legs itched to run around, create a blood bath to avenge the blood of his own family. The even that had torn the village into two — his heart beat hastened at the idea of seeking revenge. Raising his lips, his facial muscles aching as he threw a lopsided grin to his best friend, Darab rose to his feet. Marching towards the staircase that rounded around the rectangular stage.

"Mubarkan veeray!" Darab spoke.
[Congratulations brother!]

"Shukriya." Husayn replied.
[Thank you.]

"Galay nai lagen ga?"
[Won't you hug me?]

The best friends laughed at their inside joke, spreading the width of their arms. Swallowing the breadth of their towering frames into a platonic embrace. Husayn kissed the beard of his best friend, showing respect to the man that ruled their land, before dropping one on his knuckles. Darab slapped the skin of his neck, humming appreciatively.

Darab turned over his heel, running down the side towards the sofa where he sat previously. The glance of his eyes covered in sharp ice like once before. Picking a stuffed, sweet betel leaf he placed it between his teeth. Chewing it softly as he walked around the span of the men's section. Although he wore an arrogant grin over his face, chewing with his mouth open. The opulence of his attire and the eyes on his face were representative of his status.

Walking out of the marquee, he stepped into the shadows of the trees, placing a cigarette between his lips. Lighting it with the ends of his American lighter. Running the tip of his thumb over the embossed name on it's sides. Throwing another of the betel leaves into his mouth. Chewing obnoxiously under the white lights.

"Ap ko pata nahi mun band kar ke kahna chahiye!" A sweet voice doused the flames of his sensual thoughts, gathering his attention.
[Don't you know you should eat with your mouth shut!]

"Kia?" He spat.
[What?]

Turning as the fast muttered response fell on to his dense ears, Darab came face to face with the sight of her. Dressed in the shade of midnight, the embroidery on her attire, like the stars plucked from the sky, complimented the undertone of her cool skin. Her bosom — hidden from his hungry gaze, and the redness of her chin made the woman far more ethereal than Chenab. His heart skipping a beat the longer he stared at her, leaving him capable of whispering only one phrase as she walked away.

"Warr gaye."
[I'm fucked.]

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This is my favourite chapter! They met, and such different reactions. Young love, am I right??