Fizah

رنجش|Ranjish

"رنجش ہی سہی۔۔۔"

Again.

As if Zahid wanted that. His coal black eyes lingered on the lady who tried to hold her brother back. Her mind hadn't registered anything even after they reached Adnan residence- his home. The place he would come back, looking for his mother after a long exhausting day. The place where Zahid and his sister nagged each other while pretending to make chocolates. The place where he accepted his lady love as his wife. The place where Manahil was taken away from under his nose.

He was there, sitting in the middle of the living hall and paying no heed to anyone's shit. He was so done with every-fucking-thing his father pulled on him. Saleh argued with his father for dragging his sister into his mess even though she must have been kept away from it at all costs. His mother sat on the sofa with her gaze on Fizah and smiled down at her in adoration.

Even though he returned after years, he could still feel the darkness and emptiness of the place. The place was huge but no single corner in the house had been touched by the warmth of a complete family or by the love of a father. The emptiness that slowly consumed him when he lived there. His bones turned cold after breathing in the house as his father– yearning to burn it all down just to get a little warmth. 

The flowers of his life wilted the day he saw Manahil fall lifeless in front of his eyes. Neither the sun nor the moon shone out ever since– he lurked in the darkness so much that it began to embrace him when he hadn't embraced himself and when he was so full of resentments. He explored dark corners of his soul while he was at it.

And when he locked himself away in the apartment, he vowed to never become a person like his father who would only put his political status before his own family and how would Zahid prioritize when he had cut his ties off with his family and had nothing left. The days of torment felt real as a gust of cold air brushed past his skin. Thirteen months of tormenting. Thirteen months of self-pity. Thirteen months of self-restraint. Thirteen months of hatred and thirteen months of ache. He winced when his mother's affection filled gaze turned to him. The concern and relief– both tangible. He had never thought to see her again– not in such ridiculous circumstances.

"Try living with yourself when everyone else is gone and dead." Zahid added for Saleh when his father almost shut him up from speaking. He turned his face away from his mother and looked at Fizah who was still holding Saleh's arm, holding him back in urgency like he would go on a war if she let his hand go. Her calculating gaze still on his father.

"I'll live a better life then." The old man shrugged.

"Better life? Do you seriously hope for it when you have only ruined lives?"

"Mera koi kasoor nahi hai, Zahid." He roared when Zahid accused him square on his face.

"To kiska kasoor hai? Mera?" He mocked. His eyes still ablaze after being rekindled by years old grudges.

"It wasn't in my hands." Waseem Adnan didn't care to say more.

"It sure was but you didn't think it was important. Aap hain hi khudgarz insaan aap ko apni kursi ke aagay kabhi kuch kahan nazar aata. Bahu ka toh chalein bol lain meri zammedari thi, main bacha nahi paya magar beti bhi thi na aapki usme? Uske baarame bhi toh nahi socha aapne. Pehle behan ko marte huye dekha phir biwi ko-"

"Get lost."

"Don't you dare pull your I-was-helpless card on me right now because we both know you weren't. You were right there," Zahid pointed his finger to the staircase, "- watching my wife die while I almost died. It would have been so damn better if I had died along with her. At least I wouldn't have lived with fire inside me."