Dilbar (دلبر) -
Lover
*****
Samaira Baksh has sworn off love. The emotion in itself brought memories that were synonymous with a weak nightmare. For her, love was a forgotten feeling and farthest away from what could be considered...
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*****
After a lifetime did it happen that something or someone fascinated Zaigham Abbasi to an extent of sharing greetings of politeness along with a tad bit of mischief?
The first time he saw her was when Azlan decided to drag him off his government office and to his wedding, even though there had been numerous meetings that he had planned for that day. It was as though the world wanted him to move around with a scowl, one that dissolved faster than it had appeared at the sight of the annoyed female.
Samaira Baksh.
That is her name.
A woman who had single-handedly made Zaigham question all his cold choices. To see her crying, not once but twice, had unsettled him enough to offer silent company while she calmed herself down. For him, comforting someone was a tough job, especially if the person in the picture was a stranger- one who had unknowingly piqued his interest.
There was an aura she wore like pride. An aura that sang to his soul in a rhythm painful enough to numb his thoughts. He had seen her smile. A smile that angered him for the better part due to its ugly reality. He had seen her tears, the ones he had wiped when it all got too much for his heart to bear.
For Zaigham Abbasi, Samaira Baksh was a puzzle similar to him in more sense than one.
The difference though lay in how they conveyed their thoughts. He didn't stand back to be polite just to save someone's feelings while she, from how much he had known her in two encounters each that lasted for mere minutes, proved that her heart was too fragile to take the accusation of someone else's hurt.
To say he had to rein in his amusement when he saw her bewildered expression was an understatement. His fingers itched to pull her cheeks that had in seconds been drenched in carmine. For him, she was enough of a motivation to handle the 3 hours of torturous overload of appreciation.
"My my, is it a coincidence or destiny, Miss. Baksh?"
To his question, she blinked in surprise, taking in his presence a second at a time. When after a few beats of silence she had finally collected herself, a professional smile slipped onto her lips but the doubts swirling in her eyes were not appreciated by him.
"Coincidence sounds better."
"Does it?"
It was a rhetorical question with the way he tilted his head a little to the side, urging her to defy what she truly felt. He knew the hesitations in her actions, in her words. It was the simple reactions that were laid out for the world to see but alas, the world didn't stop to comfort one's grief.
If emotion is worn on one's sleeves, the world ignores it. For them, something kept in the open isn't precious enough. And that was what Samaira did. She wore her pain, her heartache right, where it could all be crystal clear because as they say, it weren't the eyes but the hearts that are blind.
