Blooming Love

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(Tw:/ $uicide ideation)

The morning sun cowered behind a veil of sullen clouds, painting the sky in shades of grey. As Hira Noor emerged from her restless sleep, a profound ache gripped her heart, threatening to burst through her chest. The memories of her mother's death were a festering wound. She recalled the choices her mother had made, the horrors she had faced to protect her, the price had been her life. On top of it all, Hira Noor had been consumed by a sense of helplessness that rendered her powerless to intervene. Maybe, she could have saved her mother's life?
It was like her existence itself was like an incessant trial, an endless cycle of suffering.
Sorrow upon sorrow. The weight of it all became unbearable, pushing her to the brink. In the darkest recesses of her mind, the overwhelming desire to end it all arose. Hira Noor felt her hands twitching with a macabre desire to inflict pain, to carve out her face, her arms, her being. The sight of her own blood would be a potential solace but deep down, she knew it was a false promise of peace that would only lead to more suffering, more scars, and more sins. How would she face her creator? Would Allah forgive her?
In an attempt to momentarily escape the self-destructive thoughts, Hira Noor's mind drifted back to the haunting memories of her mother.
When she had felt she had cried her heart out,
she trudged inside the bathroom, her feet carrying her on autopilot. As she stood before the sink. She splashed water onto her face, with a deliberate slowness as if trying to savor the fleeting sense of normalcy. Her crimson grey eyes zeroed in on her reflection, it was a haunting sight. The girl staring back at her appeared ghostly, her complexion was pale, trapped within a shell of helplessness and desolateness. She looked at herself woodenly for a while, then her fingers slowly brushed through her long tresses trying to get through the tangled knots but it was like her hair was also mirroring her life, complex.

When Hira Noor descended the stairs the following day, she found Aaban in the kitchen, engrossed in a phone conversation conducted in what sounded like fluent English with the task of whisking eggs with his free hand. She lingered in the corner, her eyes fixated on his every movement with intrigue. Aaban's blue shirt clung to his chiseled chest, accentuating his muscles as he worked. The way his arms flexed with each movement was a captivating sight. Witnessing a man working in the kitchen was an unfamiliar sight for Hira Noor. In her village, men were rarely seen in the kitchen, let alone cooking with such ease. The traditional gender roles were deeply in-rooted, women were expected to manage the household and cook for the family. Hira Noor's upbringing stemmed from this tradition. The contrast between her familiar world and this unfamiliar scene was striking, and she found herself drawn to the novelty of it all.

"Hira Noor Wahan kyun Khari hain Ap? Idhar ajayen"
Aaban called out. He had noticed her lingering in the corner, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he beckoned her over. He felt a surge of happiness seeing her make her way downstairs on her own. After last night, the unsettling nightmares had made Aaban acutely aware of her aversion of touch and he was determined to respect her boundaries. Aaban would never overstep, never force his presence on her.
Hira Noor's eyes widened as she took in Aaban's radiant smile. The memory of her outburst last night flooded her thoughts and she was mortified. She had pushed him away, yelled at him, and yet, there was no hint of bitterness in his demeanor. Instead, he was treating her with kindness.
Aaban...he was an enigma that continued to fascinate her. His ability to forgive, to understand, and to empathize left her in awe.
Do men like him exist in the outside world? Or...was he just playing her?