Fanaa || فنی

10 | the bewitched and the stardusted

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ankhain thi jo keh gayi sab kuch
lafz hote toh mukar gaye hote
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Mustafa had always been horrified of being useless, he was well educated with a degree in Business Administration, brilliantly promising for what his age was, had everything within the flick of his wrist until the night before, yet he was useless. He had always pedunculated between certainties and doubts of his existence.

He had wept and wept his entirety of teenage years, muffled sobs into his silk pillows, room embellished with the finest of decor yet his heart had no cure to the throbbing pain. He had alas, come to the conclusion that the more he wanted something, needed something, the throbbing increased and that itself was a promise within itself that he would not get it.

His Liya Aapi had told him once jokingly as they sat talking about the destruction of his beloved curls, that he had fallaciously gotten cut a little too short and that was enough for him to cry over a river. She had said, "You know, loving intensely always leads to mourning. You are bound to get hurt if you care too much." Of course, in that context it was his hair, but it was something Mustafa thought about a lot. Because all the things he desired were never destined to be his.

So he had stopped desiring, stopped dreaming. He just went along with everything that life offered or didn't, hopelessly wishing that it wouldn't make his life more abhorrently miserable than it already was.

He wanted to call his elder sister, his heart felt homesick to hear her soothing voice. He wondered once again for the nth time as to what must be going on since he had left. Should he call her?

His eyes wandered off to Madiha, who was talking animatedly with a shopkeeper. Her abaya & niqab still on. He then, scrunched his eyes and looked down at himself dressed the same way. The delirious but extremely kind Momin Ejaz had managed to avoid security check points and had dropped them safely in the city before bidding farewell. Madiha and him hadn't spoken to each other at all after her "outburst" at him in the Van. He didn't think, she would try initiating conversation with him any time soon. He just hoped she would listen to him and get medical assistance for her arm.

Coming back, there might be some risk involved in calling Liya Aapi, Mustafa concluded. Because knowing his father, he must be tracking her phone. But, he could call his brother in law. Despite his wretched ways, his father wouldn't dare disrespect his wealthy and influential son in law that way.

Sighing in resignation, Mustafa took unsteady strides towards the local PCO which was pretty empty given how progressive the mobile phones had become. Pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper, his shaking fingers traced over the few numbers he had managed to note down—of people he cared about— before he disposed off his phone.

Taking another deep puff of air, his juddering fingers inserted a coin in the narrow slot and then dialled the number. His entire body heating up in nervousness. The bell rang a few times and Mustafa's hope began fading every-time that happened, his heart unsettling into the pit of his stomach. Just when he was about to give up and put the receiver down, the line connected with a beep, his brother in laws rough voice echoing.

"Hello? Who is this?"

Mustafa's breath got caught in his throat, his mouth drying up as it refused to form words.

"Hello?"

"Fahad Bhai. It's me." A few beats later Mustafa finally managed to reply.