Ittefaq Say (MeeraSim FF)

21 - Jalan

When Meerab reached home, Younis welcomed her with a bag full of freshly sewn and pressed dresses. 'Bibi, pehn kar dekh len. Koi alteration chahiye tou abhi bata de jiye,' he curtly instructed. He remained standing in wait at the side as Meerab changed in the washroom. (Miss, try them on. Let me know if you require any alterations.)

Perhaps that's why Murtasim spent a couple extra moments lounging around in the foyer, after all it was his own house- obviously, not to see her adorned in fabrics grown on his ancestral lands- for them to be blessed upon her frame.

Soon enough she emerged with a wide smile gracing her radiant face. She was caught in the reflection of the glass door- they were mirror like, producing crystal clear vision of her hourglass silhouette.

It was a calm baby pink that moulded around the curves of her body like fine silk, expertly taken in at the waist, and the dress flowed outwards like a bloomed tulip at the hem. She approached and stood poised infront of Maa Saab and Mai, and they both hummed in appreciation. 'Theek lagta hai. Comfortable tou hou?' Maa Saab asked, and Meerab nodded in response, entirely fulfilled by the new closet. (Looks good. Are you comfortable?)

'Pyaari lag rahe hai,' Mai commented. Maybe this is why Murtasim walked in, unable to stop himself from taking a clear view of how pyaari she looked, as if anyone asked for his opinion. (You look lovely.)

Maa Saab's eye flickered off to her son, obviously lingering needlessly- it was unlike him to involve himself in such matters. 'Tum yahan kya kar rahe hou? Tumhare mehmaan aaye nahi?,' she asked, already knowing that his guests were waiting in his office. Maa Saab had already offered them coffee until Murtasim arrived. (What are you doing here? Haven't your guests arrived?)

'Aaye hai.....' he trailed, his finger coming trail his forehead as in deep thought- like configuring an excuse for his frivolous presence. (They have.)

'To yahan kya kar rahe hou?' She said, seeking an explanation for becoming Meerab's shadow. (What are you doing here then?)

There was a pause in which his mind whipped together incomprehensible words, then 'Kapre,' slipped out by accident. (Clothes)

His mother's eyebrows quirked, unimpressed by his never-ending tardiness. 'Tumhein iske kapron say kya hai?' (What do you have to do with her clothes?)

They were gifted by him, causing a wash of fulfilment as he turned to Meerab to drink in the sight- Enough of being grilled by his mother, he asked, 'Kapre theek hain?' He was seeking confirmation that his gift was upto par. (Are the dresses good?)

She nodded, not missing his intense gaze as if it was all his, every thread that twisted into fabric and the girl it adorned. The regal hue bounced off her moon-face, somehow amplifying the twinkle in her ebony eyes.

'Bete tum darzi bhi ho?,' Maa Saab quipped sarcastically, and Murtasim eyes narrowed at being called out so bluntly. (Dear, are you a tailor?)

'Kapre ke quality dekhne kay liye aaya tha Maa Saab,' he replied, his voice carrying a hint of irritation for being put on the spot when all he wanted to do was etch the heavenly curve of her smile into his memory, so the rest of his day would be more pleasant. (Maa sahab, I came her just to check the quality of the dresses.)

Mai urged, 'Aur quality kaisi lgi?' A knowing smile graced her face, every wrinkle housing kindness and adoration for the boy she had raised into someone so empathetic, yet so unmoving when he wished. (And how is it?)

Well the quality of the fabric couldn't be evaluated from only looking. He caught onto the edge of her dupatta and rubbed it between his fingers, getting a feel for the thickness of the thread, the weave's density, the texture from the dyes on the fabric- not daring to looking upwards to her. He concluded, 'Achi quality hai,' in a hushed tone after much deliberation. It was worthy of her enigmatic grandeur. (It's good.)