یہ تیری بے وفائ بھی ایک ادا ہے کہ
ہم تواس پر بھی مر مٹے
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It was past three in the night when Isa came back, the darkness in his room was haunting. Stepping forward, he came sae the bed empty, the silk black sheets creaseless. She was sleeping on the sofa, her figure buried beneath a large cover. Unconsciously, he stepped foreword, eyes drinking in her features. He wanted her, but not like this. Never like this.

His jaw clenched when he thought of how he had warned her but he was angry. Angry at himself and this world, the universe.

When he was younger, he had always loved her. The first moment he remembered, when the realisation hit him was just a regular when he had come back from school in third grade and there she was in the lawn, with her pretty pink dress and curly, poofy hair, trying to rub her knees to remove the dirt and hide the fact from her mother that she was climbing the tree again to see those little sparrows in the nest on the large tree.

He was fascinated by her hair, her eyes. He knew she always treated him like a little brother even though he was a couple years older than her because she treated Musa as the big brother. Or maybe she didn't treat Musa as a brother at all. Musa was a paradox, he would tease Amra, but he was also the one who'd fight anyone if he saw a single tear in her eyes. Amra gave her utmost attention to Musa, and he to her. He remembered he always used to tease Amra so that maybe she'd remember him, too. Maybe she'd give him as much attention as dhe gave Musa. Then Musa went away to study and Isa got closer to her.

He remembered one day, when he saw Amra sitting on the stairs wih led to the vast terrace and he sat beside her.
"What are you doing here, Mara?"
He had asked, eyes still lost on the twirls of her hair.

"Why do you call me Mara?"
She scrunched her nose.

"Why does Baba call you princess?" , He asked.

"Wo tau pyaar sey bulatay hain."
(He calls me princess with love.)

Isa lightly shrugged, biting his inner lips a little before saying,
"Mey bhi pyaar sey hi Mara kehta hun."
(I call you Mara with love too)

Her eyes looked upwards at the sky in thought and then she nodded, leaning a little closer mischievously.

"Do you know what Musa calls me sometimes?"

Isa shook his head and then she leaned more closer to his ear to whisper in the most secretive tone,
" He calls me layla."

Isa scrunched his eyes brows, how did Musa infer layla from Amra?
"Why?"

Amra's face blushed red and he was fascinated by that too, she used to cast a magic on him so easily.
"I shouldn't tell you but it's a secret okay? He says that... I am layla and he is majnun."

Isa jaw clenched uncontrollably and then he was in his own thoughts while Amra was rambling about something else.

Then from that day, he tried to stop himself from liking her. If she liked Musa and Musa liked her back, who was he to interfere. Those were the days when he accepted defeat and left to study abroad too. He couldn't bear the thought that she was so close to him, yet so unreachable.

He had suffered through many sleepless nights when his mind went against him, his heart wanting to get her, even if he had to snatch her from his brother. But then, the shine in her eyes whenever someone mentioned Musa would come to his mind. If he truly loved her, wouldn't he want her to be happy. What if her happiness was not with him? He wanted her happy, loved like she always was.

One weak night when he couldn't control himself after knowing that Dadi had decided Amra and Musa's marriage, he went to her room, one last try to beg for his love.

With red eyes he knelt before his Dadi, "How could you do this to me Dadi? Didn't you know?"

His grandmother's eyes widened for a second then she placed her hand on his head in a thoughtful expression.
"Mjhe maaf kardena meray betay. Tumsey barh kar mjhe koi aziz nahi lekin tum bhi such jaantay ho. Mey kesay ussay inkaar kar deti jab wo pooray yakeen sey meray paas aya tha?"
(Forgive me, my child. No one is dearer to me than you but you the truth too, don't you? How could I separate them when he came to me himself with so much trust?)

Isa's head bowed and eyes watered.
"Mjh par reham nahi aaya?"
(Didn't you feel pity for me?)

His Dadi just looked at him with sorrowful eyes but he got up left before he could see the water pooling into those aged eyes and those trembling hands could leave his head.

Between that day and this day, he started to ignore himself. He locked his heart in a grave and then accepted her as his brother's wife. Even he was the one who started calling her bhabi first.He didn't care that his heart died a silent death, he just wanted her happy and he got it, after seeing her in that maroon dress with a shy smile on her face.

He couldn't say that all this time, he had been successful at keeping his feelings at bay. There were moments of weaknesses when he would want to confront her, when he didn't want to care for anyone else but himself. Those nights he locked himself up, stayed awake all night to work and keep himself busy. He wanted her gone from his mind, his heart but how could he forget her when she was right in front him twenty four hours a day with that shy smile always on her face?

Then Musa was gone and he blamed himself. Evil eye, whatever you want to call it, he blamed himself because he was the one who wanted him gone wasn't he? He was the one who wanted something that was his. And now, he had her but at what cost?

Impulsively, he bent down to removing the strand of hair kissing her lips when he felt the hotness of her skin. He felt her forehead and it was burning hot. Shaking his head, he eyed the think blanket she had on. He walked straight to his bathroom, changed and came back, picking her up without waking her up. With one hand under her burning waist and the other supporting her legs, he took her to the bed bridal style and made her lay in the middle. Getting in himself, he shifter closer to her made her head lean against his chest, an arm encircling her waist. It was the first night he had slept peacefully after ages.

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Amra shifted in her sleep, getting closer to the warmth. Her throat felt parched and her body was hurting but the warmth was comforting so she tried to envelop herself in it. Her head snuggled deeper and she felt the warm, silky flesh beneath that made her freeze for a second then she jolted away like she was electrocuted.

He opened his eyes with surprise and extended his arm to get his glasses, putting them on and raised himself on one elbow, he asked in a deep coarse voice that ran through her body,
"Kya hua? Yey subah subah kya dora parr gaya?"
(What happened? Why are you having a fit so early in the morning?)

She was so spell-bounded by the dark gaze beneath that metal frame, eyes taking in his shirtless body. With elbow supporting him up, his muscles flexed and the golden skin reflected the sunlight pouring in through the balcony window. When he spoke, the spell broke and she quickly tried to look for her dupatta which was missing. He watched for a second and then raised his hand to feel her forehead, a second later and turned around and raised the comforter up, ready to sleep again.
"The fever is less now. And your dupatta is on the sofa I think."

Was this shame or shyness that she was feeling when her face coloured red, first her nose, then cheeks and then her neck?

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I wrote that shair myself.
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