Bonus Three.

With a hand spiralled along the arm of the chair, a foot presses into the wooden legs of the cheaply varnished table, Darab stared blankly at the woman before him. His hand rubbed the coarse beard along his jaw, his cheek pressed into the side of his palm and his mouth turned into a straight line. The inside of his eyes — blank. A yawn fought it's way through the back of his throat as he listened to her advice, bored out of his wits. Ticking between her red mouth and the black arms of the clock behind her head, he counted every second.

With bated breath.

"Mr.Dara it seems as if you're not interested in what I have to say." Anila—his wife's trusted psychiatrist spoke.

Darab blinked, once and then twice, keeping his unintelligent response to himself as her voice rang through his ears. The language despite it's foreign barricade ; was somewhat full of words he was becoming familiar with. A month in the federal capital does that to anyone. Especially him—whose wife had been born on the very foreign soil. Licking the corner of his mouth, Darab did what anyone in his place would do. He nodded. Without so much as a certain hint of what she had just spoken.

"Tou phir ap kia chahtay hain?" She leaned over her desk, sliding the spectacles over her thin nose.
[Then what do you want?]

"O dekho ji," he grumbled, coughing to fix his tone as he imagined the red face of his wife, "menu sari galan pata ne. Meri voti na kehndi te mei kadi ethay nai si ana. Menu nai lgada koi faida ho reya ae menu."
[Look miss, I know all of this. Had my wife not asked me to I would not have come here. I don't think I'm getting any benefit by coming here.]

"Par koi nuksan bhi tou nahi hai." She replied.
[But there is no loss either.]

"Tusi ilaj karna ae te karo warna meri jaan chado."
[If you want to work on curing me do that otherwise leave me alone.]

"Darab sahab mujhe lagta hai shaid ap ka ilaj sirf ap ki biwi hi kar sakti hai. Or if you want another suggestion tou mein yeh kehti hun ilm hasil karein. Kitabein parhein taakay ap ka dimagh behtar ho sakay—"
[Mister Darab I think only your wife can cure you not me. Or if you want another suggestion then I'd say get an education. Read books so that your mind can get better—]

"Parhn likhn di umar gai ji." Darab chuckled.
[The age to read and write is gone now.]

Through the thick beige walls the sounds of his baritone chuckles reverberated. It danced around over the thick carpet made of suede and then knocked over the thick ice figurines placed on to the minimalistic rack behind her head. His throat rumbled and the insides of his stomach curled in a twisted curtsy from the intensity of his guffaw. The nails of his left hand scratching his throat at the unimaginable suggestion of the doctor.

Yet his eyes they lingered with a sheen of tears that he had long since forbidden himself to muster. Staring at his shadow on the one way glass windows opposite him. With his burly figure, and the unbrushed curls that fell behind his ears, shining with a waxy sheen, he looked out of place in the tastefully decorated room. The white pasty lights on the ceiling dyed his tan skin in their richness, and the controlled laughter of the elites of the city — people he had been forced to meet, rang inside his head. Like a forgotten melody.

Darab's heart throbbed as he thought of the child deprived of education. Whilst his siblings sat in the luxurious cars of their father, dressed in starchy uniforms ; he was forced by his step-mother to head to the fields and learn the workings of the family business. When his siblings were dressing up for farewells and group study sessions, he was helping Majjo arrange for sowing and thrashing. His fingers tightened and the flesh around his knuckles turned pale as he thought of it. A tear curling in to the centre of his orbs like a glassy resin.

"Ilm hasil karnay ki umar nahi khwahish honi chahiye Darab. Is sai ap ka dil kahin lage ga aur ap ke andar ki khalish kam huwye gi. Waisay bhi ap ki biwi ap sai kaafi mohabbat karti hai, woh is mein ap ki madad karein gi." She pressed on as his hand reached out to brush a hand against his eye.
[To get an education you should not be of age but should have the wish Darab. This way your attention will be diverted and your insecurities will be lessened. Plus your wife loves you a lot, she will help you in this.]

"Me-mein chalna aan dactar saab. Waqt muk gaya ae."
[I-I shall leave miss doctor. The time is over.]

Darab pulled away from the chair and slammed a hand against the glass table in accident. His vision blurred from the rising head of his childhood wishes. The wristwatch around his palm ticked softly, and the ring that hung from his neck tied itself into the threads of the unbuttoned buttons of his kameez. His slippers sliding over the floor as he burst through the door. Slamming the wooden door shut with a loud buzz behind himself.

Clearing his throat he took the bottle of water his wife offered him. The plastic was weightless against his strength, it crushed inside of his hold as he drank the half empty bottle in one go. His lips pressed squarely against the lipstick imprints in the mouth of it. The coolness parched his thirst and some more. Within his eyes, the silver hardness calmed and the shade of his eyes returned to the familiar warm honey that she was used to. His hand pressed into her soft cheek, brushing the soft auburn tendrils away from her face as he continued to gulp.

Wordlessly, she offered him her soft smile. Her eyes blinking with a soft docility in them, the butt of her lip painted a soft pink tucked like a blanket neatly beneath her teeth. The indents rested over the soft flesh, her breath hitched as he offered her a smile in return. Small — ghost like in it's appearance. Her breath, coursing out of her lungs like spirits fighting an unwarranted battle. Guns and fire ready ; loaded in her direction as his bright pink gums peaked from beneath his lips. The tan skin, with it's indented lines reminded her of the heated kisses he peppered along her shoulders just this morning.

Golnar's fingers inched slowly towards his free hand as he threw the bottle of water into the trash can. Her index and middle finger coiled softly around his, their width swallowing her hand's. The ends of her embellished veil slipped until it gently brushed their entwined hands, soft shadows dancing behind them as they stepped towards the already roaring SUV. It's white lights illuminated their frames as they stepped nearer, the gasps and gazes of those around them a tune they were used to. By now. At least.

"Kia kaha unhon nai?" She whispered as they sat in the backseat, Majjo sitting beside Agha ji in the front, the two murmuring something about a glass base hookah.
[What did she say?]

"Kehndi e school pe ja. Bachay khedan di umar ich kehndi ae parh." He laughed, his voice lacking luster as he pinched his nose bridge.
[She says go to school. In the age of raising kids she says study.]

"Taleem ki koi umar nahi hoti Darab." She sighed.
[Education has no age Darab.]

Who knew more than her the pain it was to be thrown into a vortex of your childhood's deepest desires? Each time they left the clinic, Darab returned chipped to humanity, but a bit of him lost itself to the murky darkness of his wishes. Those that he had failed at, those that were the scars of his dreams. Those that were not even a fault of his own. Rubbing her hand through his palm, her fingers stroked the warmth of his skin. Golnar stared at him, hiding her gaze from the sun vizier in which the bowing sun settled. Just low enough to turn his skin gold.

Who knew better than her the incompetence he felt on the lavish restaurants she forced him to go to. Who knew better than her the way his eyes averted from the menu, getting applause under the guise of letting his wife choose for them.
Who knew better than her?
Who knew better than?
Who knew better?
Who knew?
Who?

"Ae kitabi galan nai Golnar. Agar mein kam chad kar paran be janva te kam da dhayan kon kare ga?" He shook his head.
[This are all fictional words Golnar. If I stop working to study then who will look after the work?]

Darab's eyes stared at the ruffled organza loops that had been stitched on to the ends of her kameez. Absent minded, he twirled a loose thread between the pads of his thumb. He squeezed his eyes shut, lest they come face to face with hers. Even with the skin of his eye lids squeezed shut, the length of his eye lashes mingling with the buds of his dreams. Darab forced the tears back inside. Coughing as a tear choked the inside of his throat.

"Ap ki marzi hai Darab, mujhe tou ap har haal mein achay lagtay hain." She whispered, resting her head against his bicep as a soft yawn escaped her lips.
[It's your choice Darab, I like you in every way.]

"Kuffar nu pasand karna vadi bhul ae." He mused, running his finger over her nose, tracing the nose ring lightly.
[Liking a sinner is a mistake.]

"Jab kaffara ada kar dia tou kuffar kaisa?"
[When you've atoned for them then what 'sinner'?]

Pinching his hand she blew over the marks of her nail gently, rubbing the skin as blood tore through the thin skin of his hand. It's small maroon droplet was just like him. Fighting to save and heal wounds that had been gifted to him under the guise of pure love. Peeking at his darkened eyes, she offered him a smile — hoping it would be enough to help them both power through the next few weeks. With the court proceedings, her father's cancer spreading and his sessions at the clinic. She hoped her husband would survive.

Like he always had.
For her sake.
And for his own.

Golnar knew he would survive.
Just like he always had. Darab was a survivor. She just prayed, he strength did not leave, did not weaken his resolve.

Like it had.
For her sake.
And for his own.