Mehr-o-Mah (مہر و ماہ) -
The sun and the moon
A collection of short stories filled with love, spice, drama and a roller coaster of emotions and of course, a huge part of my imagination.
(The second generation of Ahd-e-Vafa)...
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*****
Dilawar held his breath for a good few seconds, afraid to make the slightest move as he stared at the woman who was now tied to him by the bond.
Ethereal was what she looked like.
Magnificence was what surrounded her form.
Clad in a simple attire, she beheld his gaze like none other. The shoulder length hair had been let down, flowing freely and framing her face with their wavy patterns. Her hands dragged themselves down, a look of nervousness coated her features as she became the first to avert her gaze and fiddle with her fingers.
Dilawar shook his head and reprimanded his thoughts and cautiously closed the door behind him. His eyes did a quick sweep of the room that was his- now theirs- and he couldn't help but cringe. Suppressing the urge to just throw the petals that were sprawled on his bed out of the room, he went and sat on the edge of the very same mattress, unable to start a conversation.
The situation could be taken as a synonym to the word 'awkward' without a second thought. Dilawar was busy battling whether to remove the overcoat or not since the material was adding to the heat of the blazing summer season while Zaahira found her once courage to do as she pleased vaporizing into thin air and what was left behind was a feeling of utter cluelessness.
"Main-"
"I-"
The two spoke simultaneously, voices low and unsure. Zaahira suppressed an annoyed breath while Dilawar cleared his throat.
"Aap bole."
Dilawar spoke, sending a small smile her way, hoping to clear the air that was getting more suffocating second by second. He could feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck and discreetly fanned himself while trying to loosen the overcoat. The thick material didn't budge and Dilawar could sigh in helplessness.
He officially hated summer.
"Is there something to talk about?"
She mumbled to herself and with a new found confidence started undoing the small portion of the braid without a care of the man sitting on the bed. The dress, even though it was fully traditional and the skirt was a little heavy, the inner lining of the material was comfortable enough and did not bother her throughout the nikah.
Nikah.
She was married.
The thought pricked like shards of glasses at her heart. She wasn't the one who'd sit for hours and fantasize the day she'd be tied down to someone but it all happening in such circumstances was surely not imagined either.
Zaahira closed her eyes for a second. The subtle talks between her mother and tayi ammi flashed in her mind. The two women often talked about her wedding, seemingly excited about all the decorations, the invitations and the masti that'd follow.
