Fanaa || فنی

01 | the conflicted and the homewrecker

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hazaar naakam hasraton ke bojh tale
ye jo dil dhadakta hai kamaal karta hai
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Mustafa, had spent close to three decades trying to be the perfect child, as per the wishes of his domineering father and socialite mother. But, he was never good enough. To him it always felt like he was running to catch a train but he never did make it on time. Somehow though, he never lost that last thread of imprudent hope, he clung to, maybe he'll finally board the train, maybe he'll finally be good enough.

And just like that, he stood in front of the mirror in his grandeur suite, clasping up the last few buttons of his exquisitely crafted jacquard sherwani. The superlative beige garment was undoubtedly handpicked and customized by his mother from the most commended of designers. The twill weaved fabric rested modestly against his broad frame and harmonized with his already god-gifted looks.

"You have made your father and I immensely exuberant today, honey." His mother chirruped, as she straightened out the already wrinkle less fabric on his chest.

Mustafa managed to give out a languid smile as his mother took out a sword broach from a black velvet covered box and started fixing it on his breast pocket, Mustafa sighed already fatigued as he eyed the single ruby encrusted sheathed sword, it was a family heirloom and he had seen it one too many times to forget. It was a Rahamanzai patrimony and was given only to the men of the household when they marry someone dignitary. Mustafa had always, admired how beautiful it was when he was a kid, but as he grew up he realised how it signified something so repugnant.

"Mera khubsurat beta, Aabish will fit right into our family. I am so happy you picked her." His mother gushed as she pulled him to her height and placed a chaste kiss against his cheek.

But I didn't pick her, your husband did, Was all Mustafa want to scream at his delusional mother, but once again managed to smile through gritted teeth as he fisted his palms into balls.
Aabish Hamdani, was the name of his to-be bride, the bride that his father had picked for him to marry and it wasn't like his mother was oblivious to all this, she just refused to let it become another reason for rupturing her already estranged marriage.

Noman and Yumna Rahamanzai were a picturesque couple to the world, but in reality, there was rarely a time when Mustafa could remember they had remained in the same room without butting heads.

"Where is, Liya Aapi?" Mustafa questioned, having enough of being around someone as overbearing and hoaxy like his mother.

"Must be meandering around that husband of hers, I'll ask her to come see you." His mother dismissied with somewhat hidden disgust. Mustafa still wondered how a mother could speak about her own daughter this way.

He nodded solemnly as his mother placed another kiss on his cheek before sauntering away in her designer attire.
Heaving a long sigh he sat down on the bed that decorated a part of his huge suite, being around either of his parents was suffocating as ever but especially today he wanted to tear everything apart. There was an elusive underlying fury in his body and it was eating him up bit by bit. He felt pathetic, he didn't want to get married. Not as a part of a buisness deal.