Dawaar Mehmood. He was an enigma, sometimes even to his own self. A part of him was in search, yearning to find out who he was and where he stood in life, his fingers that were always wrapped around the thin frame of his sleek pen had the powerful urge to wrap against his hand and turn them over, to read between the lines of his palm, to find himself between the twirling ones. From work to home, and from home to work. His identity was left to that alone, in fact, his best friend had to for the most part drag him out of his office for a simple lunch.
Dawaar had a tan skin, the only one that sported one in a family of fair skins. He had sharp brows and chiseled cheek bones, with dark brown eyes that blended in with his pupils for most of the time, the only who sported that trait in a family of light colored eyes. His raven hair was coarse and straight, curling if it ever felt like it. He was different. That much was understood in silence since the day of his birth, his parents knew. He did not blend in with the uniformity of his family, and that was where it began, the pushing him into a shell.
Dawaar was born into a family of marble merchants, the best one in the province. Money was never a problem, he always had what he demanded, or his father tried to. The cruel words his grandmother threw at his mother in his childhood had forever carved themselves into the sinews of his mind. The accusations on his innocent mother for having an affair, because he was nothing like his father, the torture at school from the hands of his cousins, everything was the reason why he was so cold to everyone. Everyone except his parents.
First chance he got, he moved his parents out of the family home into a luxurious home in the suburbs of DHA. Dawaar had started from scratch, he had denounced his inheritance. Not a single part of him wanted to be associated with his paternal family. They had left wounds on his soul, the kind which could never heal. Those words that had tarnished his self respect, ruined his self worth in his own eyes, would never be undone. Wealth had found its way to him from his hard work and the will of God, as was the case with everyone.
Dawaar had established a factory that dealt with refined sugar and produced paper. His father had given him some capital, and his mother had given him her entire inheritance that she had received after the death of her father. He had worked day and night, his eyes would burn with unshed tears as he slept a bare two hours, back to work before the sun was on the horizon. The early days were tough, Dawaar could feel the sun on his back most nights as he stood under the blazing heat of it, sweating alongside the workers. But the relief that followed after, was a sweet one.
He fixed the ironed collar of his black kameez, running his fingers through his hair. Contemplating in deep silence wether he wanted to ruin his morning by driving his parents to the home of his grandparents. His beard was neatly trimmed, not a hair out of place, the dial of his wristwatch sat cooly on his palm, the scent of his spicy cologne filled his senses. He wrapped his hands on the table top, his nails digging in to them, deep shaky breath escaped his parted lips.
"Da–waar?" His mother called.
"Are you okay?"
She held his jaw inside her hand, her eyes full of worry. He nodded in silence, kissing the inside of her palms.
"I'm perfectly alright ma," his voice carried no hints of worry.
"You're lying to me!"
"I am not. I would have told you if that were the case".
His eyes held sincerity, staring down into the slightly red eyes of his mother. He knew she too, put up a façade of strength for his father. Arriving at her -in law's was a struggle for her too. They had stained her reputation, told her that her only child was a bastard, had it not been for his father, any mother man would have beaten her or divorced her, leaving her to the streets. So her worries, and pain were justified.
