Who knew being hit in the head would turn out to be an auspicious event? Not her — definitely not her. Nope. Nada. Myra had never in a hundred years imagined she would fall in love — let alone with the man whose bag had hit her in the head. Sharp. Like a rap on a thick door. A bruise left behind, and a hundred curses slipped out of her lips as she threw the bag back — unfortunately, it landed a few feet away and she instantly regretted not taking her father up on his offer of going to the gym with him. This of course, was a leap in their tale, she explained to her sons, placing her back against the headboard, her hand running through the curious creatures head.
"Mama maan hi nahi sakta keh ap aur abu itni araam sai shaadi kar bethay. Na bhai na, dil maan hi nahi sakta!" Usman shook his head.
[Mother I can not believe that you and father got married so easily. Nope, my heart can't trust this!]
"Kaha tou hai unka bag sar par laga, then he brought biryani over as an apology and I fell in love!" She explained.
[I told you his bag hit me.]
"Where is the pizzaz though?"
"Okay — okay let me start!" She shook her head.
Myra closed her eyes in peace, placing a hand over her eldest child's head, her fingers running through the thick roots as she travelled back in time. As the memories reeled inside her head, over the curves of all their trauma and pain, the distance and the sovereignty of it all. She felt the beginnings of smile lines on her soft mouth dissolve away, her heart soften up, bruises on her knees from the accident wash ashore, her skin once more spotless. In eagerness, she felt the joy fill her up like sunlight does to sunflowers. Oh how lucky she was! How she had lucked out. Thinking the perfect words over in her head, the incidents of fifteen years ago played out in her head like a movie, she the protagonist.
📜
Fifteen Years Ago.
Myra Khan. Her parents only daughter, the apple of their eyes and a successful entrepreneur in the making stepped into the grounds of the large university. Her honeycomb eyes were filled with the prospect of success that would find her as soon as she held her degree in hand. Dressed to kill, in the sweltering heat of September, silk black pants with wide bottoms and a sleeveless top with thin straps kept her from melting completely. Her skin, like spun copper and gold glinted under the sunlight, thick almost spruced up curly hair pulled into a ponytail gave a perfect glimpse at her sapphire earrings.
Gripping the maroon leather tote in her left hand, swinging it softly in the air with the sway of her hips. She was natural at that. Growing up in a home, in the heart of the city with amenities to rival that of a seven star hotel in the streets of England — Myra was privileged and she knew it. Often times, people were left stunned at the young heiresses kindness. Her father owned a chain of hospitals around the continent, with expensive hotels and restaurants too. Myra walked like a siren on the gravel path lined by creme colored stones, tiny tulips growing in bunches whilst a handful of squirrels sat on the tree tops, watching in glee as students returned once more after a few months of vacation.
Myra's head bobbed up and down, her teeth holding on to the peppermint gum. She chewed softly on it, her head bobbing up and down as the soulful voice of Sonu Nigam set the tone for her day. The Cartier bracelet hung to her round wrists clear as day as she tucked a piece of her curtains bangs behind her ear. Her heeled boots tapped against the floor as she trekked off into the vast gardens of the university, the blue and white symbol flashing at her from afar. Myra's eyes squinted, from one corner to the other, desiring the appearance of one, or more of her friends. All of whom had arrived before her — like always.
