Raah-e-ishq

CHAPTER 13

کیسے بتاؤں کیا ہوا ہے میرے دل کا حال
مدحوش کر رہا ہے تیرا حسن بے مثال

AUTHOR'S POV :

Zimal stood by the window, gazing out at the open sky, her expression distant, as if her thoughts were wandering through the clouds. The sunset filtered through, casting a gentle glow on her face, enhancing the soft blush on her cheeks and the depth of the kohl outlining her eyes. Her gaze seemed far away, filled with unspoken emotions that only she understood, her deep rose lips slightly parted in a sigh.

The ivory and gold lehenga she wore seemed to shimmer under the sunlight. Intricate embroidery wove across the fabric in delicate patterns, each thread of golden detail catching the light as she shifted. The lehenga flowed elegantly, each fold crafted with such care that it wrapped around her figure with a grace that was almost regal. Draped over her head was a dupatta, its borders adorned with delicate beads that glimmered softly, framing her face and casting a gentle shadow over her features.

A maroon shawl rested on her shoulders, embroidered as beautifully as her dress, adding a hint of warmth to the elegance of her ivory attire. It contrasted against her outfit, bringing out the gold tones in her lehenga and highlighting the richness of her look.

Around her collarbone lay a choker, fitted snugly, layers of shimmering beads resting just above a pendant that hung close to her heart. A maang tikka adorned her forehead, while a jhumar, tucked under her dupatta, added a touch of tradition to the side of her head, resting gracefully against her temple. Long jhumkas framed her face, swaying gently as she turned to look outside.

Her wrists were encircled by stacks of gold and ivory bangles, each one a melody waiting to chime with her every move. The henna on her hands told its own story, with intricate designs swirling over her skin in dark, rich patterns that stood out beautifully against the soft gold of her dress.

The gold dust on her eyelids shimmered as her lashes blinked slowly, her eyes lost in the vastness of the sky she watched so intently. In this moment, Zimal was a vision—an embodiment of tradition and grace, a bride wrapped in elegance.

*****

A soft knock on the door pulled Zimal out of her thoughts, her gaze shifting slightly. "Aa jaen," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

As the door opened, the warm, dim yellow glow of the room softened Bi Jaan's face, casting a gentle light on her features. She closed the door quietly behind her, and the young girls present in the room silently filed out, offering them a moment alone.

Bi Jaan moved toward Zimal with slow, deliberate steps, stopping just a few feet away. Her eyes held a softness that Zimal couldn't look away from, a deep, unconditional adoration that only a mother's heart could carry. It was as if Bi Jaan's gaze wrapped around her, wordlessly saying everything Zimal had longed to hear.

Zimal's lips felt dry, her throat constricted with a surge of emotions she had kept hidden for so long. Her gaze lowered as she fought the tears threatening to spill, knowing that the slightest sound, a single word, might unravel her completely.

Bi Jaan reached out, her hand coming to rest on Zimal's shoulder, a touch so gentle it felt like it could heal wounds Zimal hadn't known were there.

Zimal's fingers trembled, and she clenched them slightly to hold herself together. She wanted to speak, but the words seemed trapped somewhere between her heart and her lips, tangled in the ache of everything left unsaid.