Unapologetically

chapter seventeen

"Har baat pe badtameezi karna zaroori nahi hoti."

Rohail looked at her, as her eyes met his, narrowed. Onyx hair falling over her face.

"Konsi badtameezi? Kaisi badtameezi? Meine kya kiya hai?" She sat up completely, pointedly staring at him.

He bit back a smirk. He was having too much fun seeing her distressed. "Pata nahi kahan se seekha hai tumne yeh sab. I knew you were a difficult woman, but to this extent?"

"Rohail. Agar bakwas karni hai toh karte raho, mujhe nap lena hai." She collapsed into her original position.

Rohail had been writing patient notes and responding to messages from the hospital. They had yet to hear from Ehtisham. He took off his glasses, shutting the laptop lid as he slid besides her.

Very tentatively, as if almost afraid of her reaction, he slid his arm around her waist and-!

She smacked him. Hard.

"Mein bohot badtameez hoon. Bach k raho mujhse!" She vehemently whispered as she pulled the covers of her head.

He didn't know whether to look at her in shock or burst out laughing. Today he didn't feel as sleepy, he slipped out of bed after she had fallen asleep, gingerly pulling back the comforter off of her face and brushing the hair near it so she could breathe properly.

His destination was the library his great grandfather had built almost 60 years ago. There were texts of every kind. Correlating to each person who had ever lived at the Manor, who had added their touch to the home.

He was just opening up a random title when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He shoved a hand in and grabbed it, answering it almost automatically as he saw the name flash on his screen.

"Tum aaj kal kuch zyada hi nahi velay?" A drawled voice teased, baritone and rich.

Rohail rolled his eyes, but couldn't fight the smile on his face. "Tum apni baat karo. Kahan hai Neelam?"

There was a sudden silence on the other end. Almost as if the man had stopped breathing. Rohail's smirk wavered.

"Ehtisham—!"

"Neelam ki baat nahin karenge hum." This time, there was no emotion in the dulcet tone. There was no warmth.

"Ehtisham, tum baat naah karo, lekin at least allow yourself to feel something."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Agar meine usko yaad kiya, toh mein kuch nahi kar sakun ga. Mein saray waadein tor dun ga."

There was a pregnant pause. As if both of them didn't want to breach the silence.

"Woh maaf kar degi tumhe."

A chuckle. Hoarse. Throaty. "Woh bohot sang dil hai."

Rohail remembered a woman in a white chador. It looked like it had seen better days. Faded in color, the fabric having been washed a million times. It was wrapped around a woman, her face housing a strange sort of contentment, a glow. A noor. She had looked at her hands and he had looked at the teacup in his own.

"People like me survive." She had said it like it was a fact. "We work to eat, to provide shelter, to keep safe."

He had tried to look at her, but he couldn't. He hadn't been able to.