•Love Never Loved•
They said this marriage would change her life, it did.
They said she would be surrounded with luxuries in Kashana House, she was.
They said her future would transform, it did.
They said she would be lucky to be married to their h...
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Death
It's strange how a person can go from being called by their name to being called a 'body' in mere seconds.
And how strange; when a person dies he just disappears from the living room, the garage, the kitchen, the bedroom. He just vanishes and never returns. It's his body that dies yet it takes away the soul of everything that once surrounded him. That once he touched. The things stay in their place but they don't feel the same anymore. Their soul doesn't feel the same anymore. The deceased person takes away nothing yet takes a lot when they die.
The Sun had risen yet it was still dark outside. The sun rays were faintly streaming through the dark clouds.
It was 5:39 am in the morning when Silah wrapped her dupatta around herself and left her bedroom. She couldn't sleep after fajr. Nor had she slept the night before. Walking across the floor softly she found Hunzalah sleeping outside in the living room on one of the sofas and she halted for a moment. Khuraisa had stayed the night and was sleeping in her room. As much as she knew Hunzalah had gone back home last night with Saifee and Ferhat. So it was only possible he came back after fajr.
She was very grateful for her in laws, or maybe her family. Last night everyone had come to meet her. Rahat baji and her husband and Amma begum with Rukkaiya aunty. Only Sheratoon hadn't come.
But she was still grateful. Her family had stayed and made sure she was fed before they left her to rest. After her little fainting episode, she woke up in her bedroom with her brother and family hovering over her. Her brother.
She had yet to talk to Mutahir because she had refused to have any conversation with him last night. She hated him last night.
She moved across the living room, passing by the large windows and towards the kitchen. Her head was a mess and she needed some tea to calm herself down. Leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen she found one man she didn't expect this early in the morning. The large man sat at the kitchen table, hunched. His white cotton kurta pajama neat and ironed with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had gone to the graveyard after fajr prayer with Silah's uncle and had just returned.
Silah pulled in a deep breath the minute she noticed Altamash at her mother's kitchen table.
Deciding to ignore him in her head, she walked in. Fetching the kettle she washed it with trembling hands. Altamash watched with his honey brown eyes. He remained quiet as he saw the woman struggle with the kettle. He watched as she stiffened, shielding herself in her own misery.
An awkward silence brew between them with the slight clinks of the cutlery.
Altamash watched as she opened cabinets to find the cups and his patience cracked as he stood up. Opening the cupboard over the sink he pulled out the cups and placed them on the counter smoothly. Silah met his eyes briefly before she looked away.
