Unapologetically

chapter eight

Rumaisa had taken one look at Rohail and had broken out into a smile.

"Sahi samjhti thi mein! Waqayi bohot handsome ho tum toh!"

Marwa glared at her as Rumaisa stared back sheepishly. "Tum kya behti mera muh dekh rahi ho? Jaldi jao aur chai banao."

Marwa rolled her eyes, noticing the uncomfortable expression on Rohail's face as he stood awkwardly in the entryway to the small one portion flat.

"Sit down, beta. Don't worry. I won't eat you. These dentures don't allow me to have a strong bite."

Rohail didn't know if he should be puzzled or consider this her odd sense of humor. All he knew was that she wasn't screaming at him when he probably deserved it.

He took a seat in the ornate wooden chai positioned opposite to the couch where Rumaisa had settled herself into. She was older than his Dadi. Maybe by half a decade. Her hair was fully grey and wildly curly. Her smile was constantly playing at her lips as she looked down at the crossword in her lap.

"A sense of longing for time past, love past, a different past than you remember." She sighed, as of retiring after a long day but contentment spread across her face. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes full of mirth as she looked up at him.

Rohail was sitting straight. He could hear Marwa walk around in the kitchen that was likely behind the wall against which a circular table and chairs were positioned. On the wall was Islamic calligraphy. Some of it likely done by skilled hands, others by a shakier, childlike touch.

"Kya plan hai?" She broke the silence between them.

His eyes narrowed and he felt his throat constrict. "I don't know."

He hated saying the words but they were the truth. He had never been so grossly unprepared for anything in his life before.

"Phir karna kya hai?"

"Nahi pata." He admitted, rubbing the back of his head with the palm of his hand sheepishly.

"Pasand hai meri bachi?" She murmured, peering at him, her hands still in her lap, the ink pen clutched between slender fingers.

"Thi. Bohot zyada. Ab soch raha hun k agar hoti toh phir mein aisay na karta." He averted his gaze, focusing on the slight fraying edges of the carpet.

She smiled proudly. The same pride visible on her granddaughter's face. "Nadamat. Achi baat hai."

He looked up surprised. "Apko ghussa nahi hai?"

Rumaisa flicked her wrist his way as if she wasn't concerned. "Mere ghussay walay din gaye. Tum apni biwi ki tension lo. Bohot ghussay wali hai."

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Waqayi."

"Seh lo gaye uska ghussa? Uski narazgi?"

He clenched his fist. "Mein ab usko tang nahi karna chahta. Woh kisi se pyar karti thi. She was committed. I stole that from her."

Rumaisa raised a brow. "Committed?"

He nodded. "I can understand how much of a tough position I've put you in. You're probably answerable to them and I'm the reason."

Rumaisa leaned forward. "The only place Marwa Kafeel should be committed is the mental asylum."

And then she cackled, a warm sound that lit up the room but poured cold water over him.

"I don't understand." He gave the older woman a pensive look.

"Of course not beta. Tum toh pehle hi ghadday ho."