Adj~ mysterious and entrancing
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His breath got stuck in his throat as he held the pen above the paper, his eyes searching the room in hopes of having at least a glance of her face.
"Answer the maulvi" his father spoke.
"Son" his mot...
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Hadiya's pov.
My days were ruined, destroyed and traumatized by the people showing up at my doorstep every day just to sympathize my mom or to out salt on her wounds.
Aunties and uncles seemed opportunities to ask for my hand in marriage for their older sons or men who needed a care taker for his children.
No one was talking to me, not because they hated me but because I couldn't stand their pitiful gazes or their hatred for my friend.
Zoya.
I hadn't seen her since long. Our exams had ended and Ammi had forbidden me to leave the house even with my brothers or not.
It was late in the morning when my younger brother came running up in the house. His face tears stricken.
"Hasan what's wrong?" Baba asked seeing his youngest son in such a state.
"Baba. Yasir chacha. Chacha" he couldn't speak as he hiccupped. My heart picked up its pace and soon I was shaking him to answer me.
"Yasir. Death... Janaza" he mumbled under his breath making all of gasp.
"Hasan tell us what's wrong in the white haveli?" Bhai asked. I was numb.
Yasir baba.
Zoya.
Ya khuda.
"Hadiya" Ammi yelled as she watched me hurriedly put my chaddar over my shoulders.
"I have to go ammi " I said over the sound of her shouting. I heart bhai following after me but not to stop me i knew that much.
"Bring her back Dilawar" she yelled but I stopped in my tracks.
"She needs me and I'm going. None of you can stop me" I cried. "You hear. You can't stop me now. Not this time" i ran towards the white haveli that could be seen even from a far. Baba and bhai in short my whole family following behind me.
What I saw numbed my to my core. Men in white carried the carrier over their shoulders with tear stricken faces. Zahan bhai was at the back holding the rear handle.
His eyes met mine for a second and I knew what Hasan has uttered was ridiculously true. My steps hurried as I walked to the house filled with ladies, crying and reciting the Quran. The broken woman sat on the stairs outside watching the men leave. Her green eyes streaked red and face pale.
"Zoya" I uttered with tears rushing down my cheeks. She looked up at me.
"Hadiya?" She questioned seeing me and then abruptly got up as her eyes met my mother's own moist ones.
