Maham wiped the dust off Aaima's side table while she stood in front of the mirror, curling her hair. Aaima was beautiful: pale skin, blue eyes, lightish brown hair, and a skinny but curvy figure.
Maham finished dusting and stood up, looking at Aaima and smiling a little.
"Pyaari lag rahi hoon na?" Aaima asked, smiling at herself. Maham nodded in response.
(I look pretty right?)
"Janti hoon," She said making Maham shake her head, playfully. Maham turned to walk away but Aaima stopped her, "Mere kuch kapre rakhe hain le jana." Maham nodded and grabbed the clothes from the floor.
(I know. There are some of my clothes. keep them.)
"Dusting hogayi? Jao pohancha lagao. Zayan ke aane se pehle sab kuch saaf ho chahiye," Asham, her second mami said. Maham nodded and left.
(Have you dusted? Go mop the floor. Everything should be clean before Zayan comes.)
Maham grabbed the wooden handle of the mop before cleaning the giant dining room first. Her hair is in a messy bun. She had made the bun perfectly but it got disheveled during the cleaning. She huffed, moping the mop around.
"Bete ko 5 saal ke liya London bhej diya. Beti aur Bhateeja bheteeji ko mahenge se mahenge college aur university mai parhaya apni bhanji ko government school aur college bhejne ke baad. Inse itna nahi howa keh maasi rakh lete. Magar nahi, behn ki beti hai na. Yateem aur haramzadi. Maasi ki kya zaroorat?" Maham complained under her breath.
(He sent his son to London for 5 years. Put his daughter, nephew, and niece into the most expensive college and university while sending his sister's daughter to a government school and college. He couldn't even hire a maid. But no, there is a sister's daughter. Orphan and bastard. What is the need for a maid?)
She mopped the rest of the two-floor house before falling on her bed. She decided to take a shower to feel more clean. During her shower, she felt as if she was having a panic attack. Her breathing had become more noticeable as she felt her heart racing.
She could not stop thinking of her male culprit's hands on her. It has been three -- almost four years since she was harassed, but the trauma was still fresh. She quickly showered, rubbing her skin until her hands were tired and her skin was red.
She dressed in a simple black shalwar kameez with a see-through black dupatta. She kept her dupatta on her head at all times. She stood in the corner away from the welcoming of the Agha Heir, Zayan Arafat Agha, the sophisticated London University graduate and the future CEO of Agha and Sons Ind.
She stared as he widely smiled, greeting his mother. The mother who has ruined her life. She couldn't understand people like her, people like them. So phlegmatic to the abuse. They act so religious, yet sin continuously and unstoppable.
Indeed, a person who prays five times doesn't make him or her a good person.
"Ghoor kya rahi ho? Jao chai banao," Shehnaz said to her making her break out of the trance.
(What are you staring at? Go make tea.)
Maham didn't bother nodding or responding as she walked away. She prepared tea, took the cups into the living room, and handed each one of them the cup because they wouldn't bother getting it themselves.
Maham was about to hand Zayan his cup, but he stopped her. He reached forward, picking up the cup and keeping his eyes down. During dinner, Maham was called over by her younger mamo. He handed her a plate with one chappati and a bit of salan. She never had a place on the dining table, even with Zayan gone. She didn't belong there.
Tears formed in her eyes as she stared down at the plate of food in her hands. She didn't know why she was tearing up. Maybe she was grateful to be blessed with food. They probably did it in the celebration of Zayan coming and decided to feed the poor.
Note the sarcasm.
Maham backed away, not noticing the pair of eyes on her as she walked to her room. She cried with each bite while sitting on her bed. She longed for a family. She missed her mother. She missed her father even if she didn't have any recollection of him.
She drank a glass of water and cried and cried for a family. For happiness. For love. For care. For peace.
YOU ARE READING
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐍 - rewritten | ✓
Romance"Zayan, you don't believe that is true, right? You know I am not that type of girl. That- It's not me in that video, Zayan, you believe me, right?" She asked, desperate as she held onto his warm hands, looking deep into his brown cold eyes. "How ca...
