Suffocation ھوٹن (A Pakistani Romance)

Part 1

Her shoulders ached as she collapsed onto the floor, ashen face staring at the wooden door in front of her. Behind her, the metal bedpost dig into her skin, cooling it. Five minutes. She had five minutes. Five minutes before she had to mask her own desolation and resume her duties.

The door knob turned but she found herself not caring about who it was behind that door. Three days she had spent in the throes of grief. So many hours without a single moment of relief. No one to turn to.

The man she had looked up to her whole life. The one who had never raised his voice, had given her everything. Gone.

When Omair saw his wife of a year slumped against the bed, the color stripped from her face and her clothes, he wanted to turn back time. He stood in front of her after six months. Six months in which she had written him countless letters professing her love, her wishes, her apologies. 13 letters he had discarded without opening. He only had the last three.

The first six months of his marriage with her, he'd done everything to avoid her. Hadn't come back at nights to avoid finding her in his bed. Long business trips. Avoiding her presence as if she was the plague itself. Tried his hardest to hurt her and ignore the pang of guilt when he saw her face crumble.

But he'd never expected to see her like this.

Blank. There was nothing left in her eyes. No spark in those pretty eyes she'd set on him as she lay on her side as they slept. Her face had gone pale, her eyes ridden with dark circles. Lips devoid of pigment, cracked.

He took a step forward and she didn't move an inch, didn't react at all. His heart seemed to beat wildly, as if in a panic.

"Rubina." He called, his voice a meek whisper amongst the silence of the room.

She startled, eyes looking up at him but nothing flashed across them. Not surprise, not anger, not elation, and no relief either.

He bent down as she tried to raise herself up, a steady hand on her shoulder lowering her alongside him.

She was frail, thin to the touch as she sat back down. Her head was turned away from him and she gazed at the door.

"I'm sorry, Angel." He whispered, but she wouldn't look at him. He tried to wrap his arms around her but she attempted to stand up, albeit shakily.

"Talk to me." He begged, turning her around into his chest. But she simply stood there, not wrapping her arms around him like she used to. Not seeking his warmth.

"I need to go." She finally said, her voice raspy as if she hadn't spoken in a long time.

"Where, Nina?" He tried to take in her familiar gardenia scent but she was shrouded in incense. He tugged her closer, kissing the top of her head covered with the plain white chador.

"I have things to do." Rubina meekly replied. Omair parted from her to take a good look at her face.

"You don't look good. When was the last time you ate?"

Rubina wanted to laugh. This was the same Omair who hadn't bothered to ask her how she was this past year. All it took to have him was the death of her father.

"It doesn't matter. I'll go see if the guests need anything. I can show you to your room as well."

Omair's face bleached. "I'm staying with you."

Rubina stared at her hands, images of her father being lowered into his grave flashing before her eyes. "I don't need you to stay with me. You'll be comfortable and happy in the room you usually stay in. I'll have it cleaned."

He caught her arm as she tried to leave. "No. I won't be. I'm staying with you." He was adamant, unrelenting.

Rubina fixed him with a stare. "OK. Will you let me go?"