Asya SS ~ Maanlo sitaaron ki bhool hai ~

Chapter 4

Final Chapter

Stars Mismatched...love's an abstract art

Zoya sat in the middle of the wooden bench looking at the evening sky. It was starting to rain slowly. She felt the light drizzle on her face and sighed. It was almost time to go home. She was past his curfew already. But...home? Was it really?

There were always fights, but the worst ones were when he made her feel estranged.

An outsider.

The way he yelled at her not caring who heard him threw her into hard times, painful memories.

She'd kept it close to her heart.  She was nothing but eight when it had happened. It was carnival day, she walked hand in hand with her Aapi until she didn't. The crowd pushed her around and Zoya felt herself colliding into people like they were walls. She yelled – for her Aapi, her Ammi – but no one listened, no one showed.

Scared she sat herself down on a bench nearby– a small rustic wooden bench with an oak tree shadowing– like the one she sat on presently. Slow rain trickled down then too, she'd tried to stop crying and fall asleep pretending it was all a bad dream.

My brave girl, her Aapi's words vibrated in her mind. The officers found her an hour later shivering in the rain, sobbing uncontrollably.

Zoya smiled ruefully. The only difference? Her heart was doing the sobbing silent this time.

That memory soothed her for she was found; but it was almost always throbbing like a pulse ticking under a bruise, that reminded her what she would be if she hadn't been found.

Lost.

He'd managed to make her feel lost once again.

Unbelonging in his world. In his life. In his house.

Her mistakes – he'd counted on his fingertips. How quickly and easily, was the part that astounded her.

She had a count too you know. Ready on her fingertips. Every terrible word, his routine impertinence. Maybe she could lose all her shame and throw them at his face next time he decided to enlighten everyone of how incapable she was.

As if on cue, her phone lightened up in the dark. Mr. Khan – it said on the screen.

'It is 7:30 Miss Faaroqui. Don't be childish. Ammi is starting to worry. Or at least pick up the phone.'

Only Ammi? But she ended up texting her phuphi instead 'On my way. Be there in 10' it read.

It was a timed choreographed dance of destruction, she realised as she opened the door to the house. Suddenly, it felt colder.

His anger was going to turn her love into ashes one day.

***

Peace and quiet obtained in the last hours left her body when she opened the shiny blue box on her bed. She was excited for a split second until she found herself a...

...a pink saree and a flattering note.

She repeated it in her head, trying to make it sound sane.

A. Pink. Saree. And. A. Flattering. Note.

A gift?... gift... GIFT... was what he thought would fix this?!

He could surely do better than this. She knew he could. Disappointment and anger flaring up, cool ice melted from her veins. Indifferent mask was starting to slip away. Her façade was starting to slip away.