Izzat An-Nisa (Pakistani Short Stories)

Hadsaa Part 2 🌸

Almas stared with unease as Zohreh and Amina, the other servant she had met last name, left the room after setting up an entire half of the dressing room with countless clothes, undergarments, shoes, purses, and jewelry. The dresser was full of makeup now, only the best of foundation, moisturizing tints, blushes of both powder and liquid variety, lipsticks and lip glosses and liner and eye products of every single type. She had watched in utmost awe and shock as piled of clothing and items, anything she could ever need. Pads, liners, other sanitary products as well as hair supplies such as women's shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Waxing and shaving supplies. Deodorant and perfume. Curling iron, straightener, and blow drier. Brushes.

For a few moments, she couldn't move. Couldn't think. There was such a display of wealth and power. Of excessiveness. She was rendered silent.

It was nearly one as she got up, eager to change out of her clothes. Going into the bathroom to grab her bra she saw that it was gone, panicking she looked around, finding it in the trash.

Her cheeks colored. He had seen it.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face with the new moisturizing face wash. Then, she went into the closet, looking carefully at her new clothes, touching the material as if she'd tarnish it. She opened a drawer to find herself go red. Amongst bras of each color, type, and material as well as panties, there was lingerie: baby dolls, negligees, two pieces leaving nothing to the imagination.

She tried to avert her gaze, and grabbed a pale blue lace set of bra and panties. Quickly wearing it and then choosing the first outfit she could find. The bra fit so well and she realized he had seen her size and then asked Zohreh to get it.

He was so straightforward. Without filter.

She pulled out the burnt orange ensemble, grimly checking the tag and gasping at the price. She slipped into it and then marveled at the shine of the fabric. She simply brushed her hair into a ponytail, wore a pair of the matching flats and then stepped into the bedroom, sitting on the arm chair and not knowing when he'd come back.

She didn't have to wait long because minutes later, Dawud was opening the door, his eyes falling onto hers and raking up and down her form in satisfaction.

"Is everything to your liking?" He gruffly asked, placing the folder of papers on the dresser, before sitting besides her, and relaxing his tie. In the daylight, he was even more handsome, his eyes honeyed almost.

"It's a lot. Did you throw away my...umm, my-!"

"Yes I threw away your undergarments and clothes. You don't need those anymore."

She looked away from the surliness of his tone.

"I need you to explain who you are, what you were running from, and what I'm up against. Then you will sign some documents."

She looked at him shock. "Who I am?"

He nodded. "Yes. I need to know everything about you now that you're under my protection."

She bit her lip, not knowing where to start. "Umm. My name is Almas Farhan. I'm 21. My father is the heir of an oil company, Farhan Peerzada. My mother was a model. After my birth, they had some marital problems and when I was 8 they left me at my grandmother, Zulekha's haveli in Lahore. My mother and father moved to the UK and she continued modeling and they never really looked back."

She hated being pitied, yet there was nothing but intrigue on Dawud's face.

"My grandmother wasn't very fond of my mother, and therefore not of me either. Her two sons and their wives lived with her, and their children. My first few years were alright because their children were mostly abroad and only the girls remained in the haveli. Then when I was about 16, they came back and, um, took an interest in me."