Written in the Stars

epilogue

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aapki tareef mein kya kahe
aap hamari jaan ban gaye
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The morning came, daylight unwrapping the hues of the world in its wide open palms. It came as such intricately woven threads of gold so light that its creator can only be divine.

Anabiya sat propped up on the kitchen island, the heart of her palm resting against the curve of her cheek.  Her eyes fleeting towards Meezan, with a dreamy look to them as he methodically moved around the kitchen making lunch for them.

Oh, Man. Looking or just thinking about him made her haywire. She got obsessed with the smallest of things he did. Like, how everytime he made a small spill on the surface of the induction stove, his forehead would bunch up in tension. Or when he would grab some all purpose flour from the top shelf, his neck would cure. His spine stretching against the thin material of his grey t-shirt. Or the way his glasses turn all foggy if he oversaw the boiling liquid in the pot. Or..See she could continue on an eternity just talking about the man before her. That's how wonderful, enchanting, Meezan Zardari was. Perhaps not to the world, but definitely to Anabiya Ibrahim.

"It's rude." He voiced out, removing his now foggy glasses as he eyed them with brows raised in frustration.

"What is?" She questioned grabbing the glasses from his hand and started wiping them with the end of her discarded hijab.

"Staring. You keep staring at me."

Even though, she had a witty answer right at the tip of her tongue. She got wordless. All tangled heat and longing. In reality, if it were up to Anabiya, she would build a universe where it was just them within the confines of their sweet sweet home. He would make food for her and after a tiring day she would climb up into his arms like ivy, crack a silly joke or an inappropriate one, just to hear his precious laughter or have him blush. And all of that she would spin it into a blanket and hold it close to her chest, for the days when she missed him terribly or when he was far.

"It would be cruel not to stare at art in a museum, Meezan."  Anabiya whispered out motioning him to come towards her, her eyes shining with nothing but love and admiration for him.

"Are you objectifying me, Biya?" Meezan exclaimed, coming towards her and standing in between her legs, his ears turning bright red because of his bold wife.

Anabiya felt the pit of her stomach flutter up with what most would call butterflies, when she heard that nickname. It had been two weeks since the end of their trip to UAE and they had shifted to a house of their own. Even since then, everytime Meezan called her "Biya" she couldn't stop the boyish grin from spreading across her face.

"Tsk tsk, Zardari Sahab. Seekh rahe hain aap." She smirked placing his now fog free glasses on his nose.

(You are learning, Mister Zardari.)

"From the very best." Meezan smiled back, wounding his hands around her waist as her legs dangled beside his thighs.

Anabiya threw her head back and laughed against her husband's chest, pride brimming over her skin as a sense of surreal accomplishment took over her body.
"You are so precious, Meezan. You truly are. Just like your name, you bring balence to my existence."

(a/n, the name "meezan" itself means: balence, scales)

"Biya!" Meezan shrieked, not giving Anabiya the reaction she was hoping for. But, then again with him it was always the opposite. "Meri biryani, jal jayegi! Hato!"

(My biryani will burn.)

Anabiya scowled as she saw him scrambling towards his pots and pans hoping to salvage his biryani.
"Kahan phas gayi mein, ya Allah."