Gulshan

The good thing about being invited to a dinner is, it involves food. The grand supper resembled the shadows on the table. A well served connoisseur of the classic dinner, ranging from minced meat balls to saucy cremé spaghetti. Two untouched glasses of wine laid on the table. The stem of it dangled with the touch of my spoon. It was unintended. But it had managed to get the attention of the man sitting on the opposite end of the square table.

The dining hall was a marvel of its own. It was every bit what rich people paid their architects to make it seem. Regal, and structured, and drawn to its details. Though, the years had marked the walls rough and the musty smell of mould marred the vicinity. Yet, the dining table was the most humble thing about the room.

I presumed that the dinner would be a regal affair, with trails and trails of chairs and people clicking their glasses. It made me more repulsed by the idea of it. Yet, I was quick to remember that the manor was deserted except for the company of two at night. The house helped leave sharp to the seven. I lifted my gaze, and our eyes met. He held his glass by the stem, swirling it lightly and then brought it close to his lips.

If there was something, he hadn't said it yet. The chandelier burned with a thousand candles. Their dalliance casted shadows on the walls. He hadn't touched his food yet. His wine glasses were emptied, and filled. The bottle on the table would have been half empty. The scent of the roses in the garden seeped from the cracks in the windows. I scrunched my nose in retaliation.

"Is something the matter?" He asked, and I shifted in my seat.

"No." I said, astutely. My gaze lowered, as I stabbed a baked kebab, and then sliced it. I popped the bit into my mouth. It was saucy, and yet well done. It was better than being impolite. He cleared his throat. I stopped chewing. "I hope you are liking it here," he stirred in his seat. An understatement. "Yes." No. I was not really liking it. If I had worried less about making ends meet, I wouldn't be sitting here. For the polites, I wanted to be everything but overbearing.

"Good." His voice dropped by a baritone. I tried to get a quick glance but not stare. His eyes dipped. If there was a frown marking his forehead, there were crow's feet close to his eyes now.

"This is about the rent," he began, and my shoulders tensed. My lips pressed together, with distaste. All my fears clawed in. The narrow space between my brows ached and I felt the pulse under my temples. A cool breeze washed over, leaving shivers in its wake. Aware, and worried my lips parted but my throat turned dry. All I managed to say was, "yes", and our eyes met again. He looked uncertain, and if I didn't know better, a little lost.

"Miss Zahidi," the wine glass was left on the table now, unattended. My skin burnt from the lack there of. I felt my breath, trying to get a rise out of my lungs. My toes curled a little, as my knee flexed. Clumsy, and still they touched something warm. The bare touch of skin against my sole, leaving me with a gasp.

"I am sorry," I said withdrawing, as his eyes widened. My feet crooned closer to my chair. "It's alright. It's fine," he said, coldly.
"I am not sure if you can stay here with the rent you are offering at the moment," his words came like a blow. Searing flames burnt my tongue. The lingering taste of the kebabs turned acrid. The pungent revelation left me far from famished. "I see," was all I could offer him. My options were few. But this was the safest, if not the only one. His chest heaved up and down, in a dramatic fashion.

"What do you want me to do?" I couldn't think of anything else. He shook his head gently. "No, it's not- It's not what I implied. You are way out of line, Miss Zahidi," he didn't lose his composure. Another glass of wine was gulped down, before he said more. "You cannot be here. I do not know much about you, and what you pay for the room leaves a dent in my savings," he said, coolly. "But there's nowhere I could be," I argued. "I cannot leave in the middle of the night!" If there could be anything more disappointing than the grimace on his face, I would take it. "I am sorry. That was all. Please, eat to your heart's content," he left the table. The empty plate reflected the light off the ceiling. Numbness consumed me slowly, leaving me in a state of bafflement.

***
Sir Derek

God could have chosen to curse man simply, but then he exaggerated his mis-favour, and curated a woman. Her hair was thrown casually over her shoulder. If she was disappointed to attend the dinner, she hadn't said it in those many words; but the way she had put no efforts to doll up summed it. I have had fewer encounters with women like her, but none of them seemed too indifferent to my presence. For the life of me, I could say I was displeased, and relieved. It would be easier this way. Her collarbone peeked through her dress, as she leaned in and took a bite from her plate. I filled my glass again. It burned and chastised my tongue.

The conversation that followed had left her in a frenzy. Good riddance. It was best if I told her sooner. I didn't feel the remorse kick in, anyway. Her shoulders squared. The brazen touch of her feet hadn't grown sublime yet. I stormed into my study, closing the door shut behind me.

Restlessness turned my gut out. I didn't really want the money, but I knew better than to have a tenant like that. There was nothing about her that seemed safe. Her big brown eyes, or her busty curves, or her tired gaze. Seclusion wasn't something I was foreign to. And I could sense it with no bother. The window panes were shut tight, yet an eerie coolness swept in. I ran my fingers through my hair. Doubt churned my calm, when fine moments touched me and passed. Silence washed over the manor, and I heard the walls creaking with their whisper. Then, the lapping sound of water against the shutters clanked. I watched the windows, getting washed as the dust receded and the sky cried.

A loud thud ringed upstairs. My breath escalated, as my footsteps paced. The doorknob turned, and I soon closed the distance between the study, and my now colonized empty room.

"Miss Zahidi, is everything alright?" Sweat trickled down my temple. My gaze paced between her, and the suitcase that lay scattered on the floor. She laid on the bed, with her face buried between her hands. She hadn't changed her dress. Her hair was now tied into French braids, and she didn't steer. Her response curled up in her throat. A quaking spine pressed against the back of her dress.

"I am just leaving... Sir Derek," if she was crying, she didn't want to show it. Her cheeks were wet regardless. Red rimmed her eyes, her nose coloured with a streak of crimson. Wild locks framed her forehead. My lips pressed together.

"I will excuse you then," my footsteps were quick to take me far and away from her misery. I had no obligation to comfort or console the likes of her, given, I was the deemed cause of her impending misery. The splatters of water made the windows shudder. I leaned back into my chair. The thunderstorm crashed, and left the manor with a quake in its wake.

Footsteps were heard on the creaking hardwood. Even with the thunderclaps, and the patter of the drops, their echo was too loud to be missed. The creaking ghost danced on the tip of his toes, shaking everything that I could muster to keep myself together. I wanted to think nothing about it. She was one of the many who came and would now leave. Nothing good comes from sheltering a wounded bird with ambers in her eyes. I could have asked her to stay the night. Leave, when the weather favours it, but I knew better.

The door flung open. My eyes darted at the source of Intrusion. "Miss Zahidi..." The words came out with a croak. She limped before walking in. Her suitcase sat behind her. "Thank you for letting me stay. I apologise for any inconveniences," her pride wallowed louder than her wiped sobs. Her weak neck turned with the grace of a swan. Her arm carried the weight of both, her grace and her misery. Her steps resembled a wounded deer in the headlights, as the door turned behind her. She spared me no glance. More creaking followed.

I followed her out of my reasoning. My hand gently pressed on her wrist and shallow anticipation churned in my belly. "You can stay the night, Miss Zahidi. There's no hurry," the words rolled out of my tongue. It caught her off guard, as she took a step back. As if she was burnt with my warmth, she slithered. Her back knocked off the suitcase. Her knees knocked together, banging on the floor as they went down. She crouched with a gasp, losing her equilibrium; wounded and hurt. Her eyes were betraying every emotion she had suppressed. A tear crawled out from the corner of her eye. An ache arched her back, and when she turned, blood marked the back of her dress. Like roses blooming in the wild, they patched one after one. The hook on the floor already tore a hole through it.

"Miss Za-..." Her lips parted, as she lifted her hands in a state of frenzy. "Please...let go," her voice quaked, and more voices followed. Her ear pressed on the floor, as her body trembled and blood soaked her dress.

"Do not move," I offered, out of pity. I wasn't sure what I was doing with her. I pushed all the reason to the back of my head. My hands reached for the bucket, as the tap poured out hot water. I slowly walked back to her, as she stood with her face planted to the wall. "I wash your from the waist. I will get some rubbing alcohol for the wounds," I whispered softly. I reached for the tumbler, slowly pouring it down her lower spine. The flow of water fashioned into a crimson stream, draining out the blood. The soft cotton of her panties drenched, soaking into her skin. A hand colder around her waist, holding her steady. My fingers hooked into the fabric, pulling it down slowly. "You're safe," I whispered in her ear. "I am not going to hurt you-" I reached for the towel, when she turned. Her face was mere inches away, when she leaned in. I coiled the soft fabric around her female modesty, and her breath fanned on my neck. Her arms rested around me, in an embrace and I tried to shake off the awkwardness growing between us.

"You shouldn't hold onto me like that, Sir Derek," her voice was almost a whisper.

"I am not a fan of the moment, but I would be darned less of a gentleman if I don't," I stroked her hair, feeling my breath was hitched.

Her eyes glassed, when she lifted her face. Her body freezed when my hands cupped her hips, pulling her closer. "I am going to throw you over my shoulder. Do not be alarmed," I said, and she nodded. Quickly, I gathered her with all my strength, and she stayed still. Her hands moved mindlessly against my back, and I ignored the blood pounding in my ear.

When we reached the couch, the loosely hung towel parted to form a slit on her thigh. She struggled, but soon regained her composure. Lying flat on her belly, she stayed still. I searched the drawers in the study for the rubbing alcohol,and the ointment. A few solitary gauze pieces laid in the bottom shelf. I took them all, and found her sound asleep, when I reached her. Whether in pain, or amusement, it was hard to make out. Gulshan Zahidi was a mystery to most, and I was second to none.

I pressed my fingers on the gauze pieces as they stick to her back. They changed colors quick, soaking red with her blood. The wounds weren't fresh, but they hadn't healed well. Some trauma had caused them to open. Yet, they were not infected with puss. Did she readily hide them that well? I gulped the lump in my throat. For some reason, the sight of blood didn't make me throw up.

Perhaps I was quick to judge her. When I was done, she had barely made any noise. Only the side where her ears pressed down to the pillow, an oasis of her misery pooled. I sat on the chair, and the rest of the night we had forgotten the primary paradigm between us. I had fallen prey to a wounded bird.