The Flying Dreams

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

My ummi smiled in the mirror, her hand came to rest on my shoulder and though I couldn't share in her glee and satisfaction of seeing her daughter being married, I still dared myself to keep my gaze steady and hold it even for a mere minute before it became too suffocating. Each line of her face embedded hope of a bright future for her only daughter. I couldn't deprive her of her right to watch me reflect her joy and smile, the stretch was too forced and painful and it brought a dull ache in my throat. That was the day she had been waiting for since I was born, and 1. I had no right to snatch it away from her when all she did was wish for me to be a splitting image of her. It wasn't her fault if she failed to see the misery and anguish in my smile, it wasn't her fault if she misunderstood my stare for contentment when it was a shackle, binding me to my reality. It wasn't her fault, really but a part of me still bore a shade of hate for her oblivion. How could she not know her own daughter? How could she not understand the pain it took me to not despair for my own ill fate? How could she stand there and smile?

"You look so beautiful, my jan," she swept a thumb under her eye and her eyes looked glassy in the mirror, I couldn't force myself to look so I stared at my image instead. The slight swell in my eyelids was covered perfectly with dark eyeshadow and thick lines of black liner, the rest hid behind the kohl under the lashes. Almost a believable lie. As if I hadn't lain awake, contemplating the worst scenarios and having the devil's thoughts and woken up on a damp pillow. As if I hadn't clutched my own fingers in a death grip to stop myself from breaking down as hands worked on my face and hair and the golden lehenga. All that embellishment to make me appear pleasing for first a crowd of strangers and then desirable for a man I didn't care for.

Her hand then came to lay over my arm, "Subhanallah, you'd make a much better daughter-in-law than Jihan's wife, I am sure. She has these weird eyes. Look at yours, so delightful."

I couldn't bear it any longer, "Ummi, I need to use the washroom."

She nodded, the hint of grin clinging to her mouth and retrieved her hands, "I'll send the girls in."

I inclined my chin and remained silent, watching her walk out the room. The door opened and then closed after her, and I stood up, grabbing the hem of my lehnga and reminding myself, again and again, to not ruin the hard work my cousins had done, all the fussing and swiftness with precise details. The makeup would go down in one single streak of tear and after the smudged mehndi, I didn't find it in me to repeat the careless act. My hair laid over the right shoulder in an interwoven plait, white gleaming pins stuck between each gap, I yet had to adorn the weight of the beaded dupatta over my head and the very thought of it sent a chill through my spine, unpleasant and horrid. The blouse stopped right where the skirt started, the maroon embroidery ornated with sparkling beads that glittered when caught the light. The force of seeing myself looking so different from how I felt pushed me onto the footstool again. The girl in the mirror appeared so arresting.

My heart rang loud in my ears and in a quick moment, the air tightened, and it became harder to breathe. I parted my lips in a vain hope to let the air through but all it did was dry my throat raw, the sandy texture rubbed against my palate and the wheeze of coughs escaped in a long, prolonged puff. The cold sweat settling on my forehead and on the base of my neck made me raise my hand and I started fanning. With a tug of will, I fanned my face and then my neck but the lack of air in my lungs burned somewhere in my chest. My hand dropped on my lap and the uninvited tears welled in such a thrust that not even my frantic attempt to keep them from running down my cheeks failed. My shoulders hunched over and all the wasted struggle to remain sane and steady only shoved me further over my torse, resting heavily on my back.

I didn't hear the door open but recognised Zoya's voice in my ear, calm and panicked at the same time. I pitied her at that moment. What was her fault in all of this? In my problem? And yet there she was, holding me, talking to me as if I were listening as if I could over the shrill noise in my head. An eternity passed, her hold never loosened and when the air returned, I inhaled, greedy and desperate.

"Adia... Adia... the baraat's arrived."

Something bubbled just below the hollow of my neck, and I pressed my knuckles over my mouth to spare Zoya from the sound of my pathetic heartbreak. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my free hand over them and kept pressing until a sudden jolt of pain travelled to my skull and I saw red dots floating in the dark.

"My Allah, Adia. Stop, stop it. Adia, you must stop. The ladies will be here any moment now, you need to stop this."

"I can't. I can't," she was a blur of green and purple, "Zoya, I can't. Please. Please."

A knock on the door made Zoya jump, and I couldn't stop the tears no matter how much I tried, the sobs turned into quick hiccups, and I let her lead me to the stool before passing me a cotton scarf and going to check the door. I pressed the scarf over my face and stared at the colours of my makeup staining the fabric. The sight brought another row of hiccoughing.

Another girl came into the view with Zoya and when I saw her face, my own twisted and turned and soon I was engulfed in an embrace. I felt the wetness on her dress and drew back before I could ruin her effort, too. Divya's hand remained on my arms and her face scrunched up as if she was a whisker away from crying but the crease between her brows deepened and her eyes roamed about my face, inspecting and pitying.

"We can help you run."

Despite the halt in my breath at the suggestion, I laughed a little, forcing my voice out of my lungs, "Run?"

Divya nodded, a strange determination in her gesture that I was left to wonder if she would hold her word or leave in the middle when the thrill of helping a friend in need vanished and a dread of being caught crept up to her. Run, she said, and I had entertained the idea before, multiple nights when I lay awake in constant worry of my future but the idea always perished without a sound in the broad daylight when I wasn't the only one awake and the faces of my parents loomed in my view, their smiles and the slight lines on their faces deepening with age too much a burden to carry and yet I could not just drop it on the floor like it meant nothing, and why? Because they wanted for me what I didn't? Too cheap an excuse to hurt them over with. But... still, the notion of being able to run and never look back at that day ignited a rebellious flame.

"You don't have to do this, Adia."

"I don't want to. But... where would I even run to?"

Zoya scoffed behind Divya, stepping a little closer, she regarded the other girl with disdain before directing her scrutiny to me, I waited for her words, so confident that she would set me right on the path but then her eyes met mine and in something in her demeanour changed. Her shoulders softened and when she spoke, she made sure to hold my gaze. Perhaps she was searching for a crack, any indication that it would pass in a few moments, and I would go to Wahab's house with my dignity intact and my parents' pride resting on my shoulders, but I knew the moment her brows furrowed that whatever she was looking for in my face scratched past her, hurting her in the process.

"You'd have to hurry then; change your clothes and I'll manage the rest, buy you some time."