Riwayat- Pt 8

*****

Dilawar held his breath for a good few seconds, afraid to make the slightest move as he stared at the woman who was now tied to him by the bond.

Ethereal was what she looked like.

Magnificence was what surrounded her form.

Clad in a simple attire, she beheld his gaze like none other. The shoulder length hair had been let down, flowing freely and framing her face with their wavy patterns. Her hands dragged themselves down, a look of nervousness coated her features as she became the first to avert her gaze and fiddle with her fingers.

Dilawar shook his head and reprimanded his thoughts and cautiously closed the door behind him. His eyes did a quick sweep of the room that was his- now theirs- and he couldn't help but cringe. Suppressing the urge to just throw the petals that were sprawled on his bed out of the room, he went and sat on the edge of the very same mattress, unable to start a conversation.

The situation could be taken as a synonym to the word 'awkward' without a second thought. Dilawar was busy battling whether to remove the overcoat or not since the material was adding to the heat of the blazing summer season while Zaahira found her once courage to do as she pleased vaporizing into thin air and what was left behind was a feeling of utter cluelessness.

"Main-"

"I-"

The two spoke simultaneously, voices low and unsure. Zaahira suppressed an annoyed breath while Dilawar cleared his throat.

"Aap bole."

Dilawar spoke, sending a small smile her way, hoping to clear the air that was getting more suffocating second by second. He could feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck and discreetly fanned himself while trying to loosen the overcoat. The thick material didn't budge and Dilawar could sigh in helplessness.

He officially hated summer.

"Is there something to talk about?"

She mumbled to herself and with a new found confidence started undoing the small portion of the braid without a care of the man sitting on the bed. The dress, even though it was fully traditional and the skirt was a little heavy, the inner lining of the material was comfortable enough and did not bother her throughout the nikah.

Nikah.

She was married.

The thought pricked like shards of glasses at her heart. She wasn't the one who'd sit for hours and fantasize the day she'd be tied down to someone but it all happening in such circumstances was surely not imagined either.

Zaahira closed her eyes for a second. The subtle talks between her mother and tayi ammi flashed in her mind. The two women often talked about her wedding, seemingly excited about all the decorations, the invitations and the masti that'd follow.

She felt bile rising up her throat. The corners of her eyes burned with the soul intention to cry- sob. Biting her lips to not make a sound, she took in deep breaths, trying to ward off the images of her family members who most likely wouldn't take the news well- as they should.

But what remained most prominent was the disappointed of her father. The prick of betrayal and the fear of being abandoned by the ones she cherished more than her own life.

And just like that, she felt her voice slipping from the restraints of her mind's control and a sob sounded in the eerie silent room. And the small voice became many, tears kept flowing like the streams of waterfall down her cheeks and she felt her knees giving away.

But what she didn't feel were the hands who wrapped themselves around her shoulder, gently stabling her form and silently providing her a shoulder to cry on. Zaahira didn't hold back. She cried, cried until she didn't have any tears left but alas, her sorrow was too great for her eyes to run out of the precious pearls.

Soft coos and soothing pats were registered by her body but she didn't pull away. Warmth like that of a cocoon made her melt under the touch and she felt her own hands working on their own accord.

"Bas abhi, itna ro gi toh dehydration ho jayega."

Dilawar's poor sense of humor was met with a harsh smack on his chest with a force that couldn't harm a fly. Suppressing a chuckle, he kept running a gentle hand atop her head, waiting for her to get back to her stiff and confident self.

He waited for her to calm down and she did. After a few more sniffles, Zaahira slowly pulled away from him, her face and eyes were slightly red while her cheeks were stained with tears that she was now wiping. Dilawar brought his hands back to himself and watched as she took a few steps back.

Zaahira cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed due to her sudden breakdown in front of him. Trying to clear her hazy mind, she took deep breaths to calm herself down and gulped a few times, hoping to soothe her now dry throat.

She heard shuffling beside her and with a frown, looked up, only to find Dilawar pouring water into a glass kept on the drawer placed beside the bed. A flutter was what she felt, even if it was for a while and watched in a daze as he walked up to her and forwarded it to her, all the while, no words were exchanged.

She gulped down the water and softly thanked him, a small smile played on Dilawar's lips as he watched her huff and wipe her lips by the sleeves of her top.

"Your sense of humour is wakhi."

She made the vomiting sound, slightly annoyed and slightly dismissive about the fact that he saw her crying. Her words were met with a raised eyebrow and Dilawar was thankful for at least taking a little interest in his studies all those years back or else, her words would've been nothing but gibberish.

"Ab jaisi jiski soch."

He shrugged, a little amused with the conversation that was taking place.

Another wave of silence settled between the two and Zaahira knew she couldn't take it this way. With a sigh, she settled on one end of the bed, her face contorted in deep thought. Meanwhile Dilawar stared at her for a few seconds before following suit and settling on the other end.

"Ab kya?"

It was a whisper. Slightly hesitant and filled with immense doubts.

Dilawar tried not to show how the hopelessness in her voice pricked the sane part of him. Closing his eyes, he could only hum in response, not knowing a verbal reply to her philosophical question.

"Mama always wanted to do my makeup for my wedding."

She stated randomly, a chuckle left her lips with the words and Dilawar turned a little to take a good look at her. The fondness in her features made him smile, and upon seeing no reply from him, she continued,

"She always said ki yeh makeup artist pata nahi sahi se karenge ya nahi- she always had trust issues when the person was outside the family circle. Aur phir woh tv serial ki main lead ki tarah a gasp would escape her lips and she would shudder fakely, trying to show if it didn't go well, she'd either wreck havoc or the artist would leave with a few damaged goods."

Dilawar bit back an amusement filled laugh. Her mother clearly seemed just like her.

Wildness seemed to be running through the genes.

"Aur Murad, my younger brother, woh toh bas yeh kehta rehta tha ki he'd team up with my future husband and test my patience at every chance he got- not like he doesn't do it already. And Zameer, mera cousin, woh toh bas mera nikah isliye karna chahta tha kyu ki usko shaadi ka khana muft mein khana hai. Aur-"

And she kept going on and on. About how her father would first make the man walk on burning coals before handing her to him or how her taya abbu would try to make him back off by his glares and her tayi ammi would scold her taya abbu before gushing at her husband.

And in all this, she didn't forget about her cousin Darya who'd eat her husband's mind with million questions- most of which might be rhetorical and how her nephew, Damurrah would probably be busy sulking about how his khala was sitting beside a man he had never seen before.

Dilawar remained shush through it all. He watched as her smile grew wider before dimming when her rant came to an end. His smile too fell on seeing her pained expression- one that showed how she was guilt ridden that she couldn't fulfill what all her family had planned albeit in a joking manner.

"Dilawar?"

She softly called out, unsure with what destiny had in store for her- for them.

Dilawar smiled gently at her, his eyes urging her to ask whatever it was but never had he imagined her next words to be one that could shake the foundation of his promises.

"Mujhe jaane denge?"

He gulped and looked away. The once lost stiffness made itself prominent and his soul tugged his heart, as though complaining about whatever was going through his mind.

"Abhi bhi jana chahti ho?"

Zaahira looked up and towards him. The action made Dilawar turn his gaze to her and he couldn't form the right words on seeing her eyes welling up with tears.

"W-woh sab-"

She shook her head, more to herself and stared at her hands again. Her fingers kept tugging at each other, slightly peeling the skin due to her nails but the stingy sensations didn't register in her mind.

She'd have kept going if not for a pair of hands that wrapped themselves around her palms. Being caught off guard, she flinched a little and her wide eyes met Dilawar's worried and stern ones.

"Yeh kya kar rahi ho?"

He bit out, not at all happy with the way the skin on her fingers had come out a little. Clenching his jaw, he took deep breaths to not scold her when she was already too deep in an emotional mess.

"Zaahira, nikah kiya hai tumse, khel nahi khel raha hu."

He spoke with such conviction that she found it tough to look away even though she wanted to.

His eyes bore into hers and he raised one of his palms and gently caressed her cheeks. The warmth that he radiated made Zaahira lean towards the rough yet tender touch.

"Andaza hai mujhe ki kya chal raha hai tumhare dil-o-dimag mein lekin iss nikah ko itni aasani se nazar andaaz kar du? 'Qubool hai' kaha hai tumhare saath zindagi guzarne ke liye, tumhe apni zojah banane ke liye, tumhara sahara aur humsafar banne ke liye. Aur yeh Kazim khandaan ki riwayat hai zojah, ek baar jiske saath nikah ki dor bandh di jaye, phir zindagi uske alawa kisi aur ke saath guzarna gunah se kam nahi hai."

He placed his forehead against hers. A gentle breeze passed through and a silence so comforting yet so conflicting rendered Zaahira speechless. Closing her eyes, she breathed in his presence, the wave of guilt had reduced considerably but was still present.

"L-lekin, woh sab.."

She choked on her sob and immediately found herself within the comforting embrace of her husband. He placed a kiss on the top of her head that she had placed on his shoulder.

"Ek hafta."

She raised her head to look at him, confused about what he was talking about.

Caressing her cheeks softly, he offered her a small smile that looked forced.

"Aaj tumhe tumhare ghar tak chod deta hu, lekin ek hafte baad, apni zojah ko pure haq se lene wapas aaunga. Saath din tumhe diye apne dil ko razi karne ke liye, uske baad, ya toh tum apni marzi se meri shaan banne ke liye tayyar ho jana ya toh apni khushi ke vaaste is nikah se aazadi mang lena."

To say she was rendered immobile would be the best. The intensity of his words settled in little by little and Zaahira found the last words of his statement unsettling and repulsive.

Dilawar placed another soft kiss on her forehead and parted ways. Standing up, he offered her the smallest of smiles and started walking out of the room.

"Kuch lena hai toh le lo, main gaadi nikalta hu."

And just like that, he had already plucked a piece from Zaahira's heart and placed himself within it, without her knowing or him trying.

*****

The trip to the airport was silent- almost too silent and Zaahira debated whether she should speak or not. She had checked out of the hotel along the way and had changed into a pair of offwhite knitted long sleeved loose top that reached a little past her mid thigh and loose jeans. At first, she was a little doubtful about whether he'd approve of such clothing due to the change of settings and dressing style but on seeing the calm expression and welcoming smile on his face, she eventually relaxed.

And Dilawar too had finally discarded his overcoat with a grateful look.

Oh, and she definitely did not forget to give feedback about the fabulous tour guide team.

"Flight 2 baje ki hai."

2 at night with a small number of people around.

Dilawar had booked the ticket after sending a glare at Zaahira when she tried to decline the offer. She was his responsibility whether she liked it or not.

What felt like seconds but was actually more than 40 minutes, Zaahira found herself ready to board the airplane that would lead her away from what her mind once claimed to be a nightmare.

But who knew that her heart would become a traitor at the last moment.

Clutching the handle of her suitcase, she debated whether to go inside the airport or wait for sometime- to say something, anything.

A gentle tug at her elbow made her look up. Dilawar stared down at her with an indecipherable look, one that stole her breath albeit made her soul crave for more.

Dilawar took a step forward and closed the distance by placing a few kisses on her forehead and the crown of her head. The touch soothed the fresh burns that Zaahira felt within her heart and as he gingerly rubbed her back, she heard him speak with a determination so strong that it made her soul lurch towards his.

"Apna number aapke phone mein save kar diya hai. Ek hafta, usse zyada mere sabr ka imtehaan na lena. Jald milenge zojah, apni duaon ek do dafa zaroor yaad kar li jiyega."

And once again, Zaahira Malik found herself losing every bit of sanity that remained as the last bit of connection between her mind and heart melting away and what remained, were thoughts of him.

Or maybe, him and her in a circumstance completely different and more promising.

***********

Who's gushing? Not me, nope....

Well, maybe just a little, like teeny weeny...

Hayee, the man's behind my heart but wasn't it inevitable? Why do I do this to myself?!

Whyyyy?!..

***********