Bekaraan [Limitless]

1. Wedding

“Like a compass needle that points north, a man's accusing finger always finds a woman.”
~ Khaled Hosseini

The smell of heartache and buried dreams permeated in the air and got lost somewhere within the current rotten atmosphere of Faisalabad. The orange and golden hue of the light bulbs cast over her, lulling the raging storm inside her to a deep slumber-- too deep to never wake up.

Sitting in front of the mirror in her room, she looked at her reflection with the hollow of her eyes-- her eyes that held nothing in them. For any girl in her place, it would be the happiest day of her life but for Mahrukh Zanjani, it was no less than the call of doom. She stared blankly at the mirror, completely still. If one saw her like this, they'd consider her a carcass.

But then again, that's what she was from inside. A carcass.

But from the outside, she was an epitome of the moon in its rawest form.

With her red dupatta discreetly set on her head and her dark hair pulled into an intricate bun, she looked as beautiful and ethereal as a moon.

But just like the moon has dark strokes marring it, so did she. She reached her hand to her face lightly and traced the bruise on the corner of her red stained lips. Her finger then moved upwards towards her temple and touched the stark cut. She hissed under the piercing pain at the contact. But the pain was dull against the agony of her heart. She brandished her hand down to her throat and grazed the marks of fingers still etched there.

She had specifically told the makeup artist to not conceal any of the marks on her body. After all, everyone should get to see the artwork of her great father. The feudal landlord with a reputation.

One night.

It had taken just one night for her world to spin from its axis. She took a shuddering breath as she recalled the fateful night. The night that came whispering of the future she had secured in her eyes while leaving this God forsaken house, but ended like a hailstorm that destroyed her and everything she had ever wanted within its wake. It had taken too much and left nothing.

How could life be so cruel?

How could she be so unlucky?

She dropped her gaze on her henna clad hands and that's when a small cry escaped her mouth. This was not the person she had wanted to put henna on her hands for. Never in her wildest dream she could have thought to wear henna on his name. He wasn't the person she could've ever even dreamt of marrying.

But now here she was, in her red and golden attire with makeup slapped on her face just like the slaps she had received two nights ago. But tonight, she had been prepped and readied for none other than Maaz Jahangir.

The great Maaz Jahangir who was the hope of those in need. That's what he must have considered her when he announced he'd marry her-- needy.

Her, a damsel in distress, and him, a knight in shining armor.

He saw the golden opportunity and grabbed it.

How mighty he must be feeling right now. Rescuing her from her father's wrath and getting into everyone's good books, his big elephantine ego must have been satiated. That controlling aura that was a part of his personality must be reveling and gloating in the fact that he saved a damsel in distress, whom he could now use in accordance with his own needs and desires.

She disdained the thought alone as she felt bile rising up her throat. There was an ache so profound she felt somewhere inside her. It had spread across each crevice and every nerve of her body, but she couldn't pinpoint the most striking part. Maybe it was her heart.