In the quiet recesses of the heart, there exists a mystery that has confounded men for centuries-a creation so delicate, yet so resilient, that even a mere glance, if harsh, can unravel her.
She weeps not just with her eyes, but with her very soul...
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"No, Apa, don't apologize," Noor Jahan said softly, her voice calm as she held the door handle. Pushing the door open, she halted a little, her attention unwavering from the conversation on call.
Inside the room, the space was a blend of luxury and disarray. The bed was filled with gorgeous, heavy dresses, their rich fabrics spread out in a luxurious mess. Scattered shopping bags lay on the floor, and jewellery boxes, with their shimmering treasures, were placed among the clothing, sparkling under the soft light.
Nazlae sat in this chaos, her body slightly slumped as she stared at a maroon saree laid out before her. The fabric was rich and heavy, mirroring the weight in her heart. Her fingers traced the intricate embroidery absentmindedly as her thoughts drifted to the upcoming marriage that loomed over her like a dark cloud.
Her gaze was fixed, but it was the kind of stare that suggested her mind was far away, lost in a place disconnected from the present. The intricate beauty of the saree seemed to hold no sway over her, serving only as a backdrop to the deeper thoughts that occupied her.
"You could've come with us today," her mother said gently as she took a seat beside her, her voice softly pulling Nazlae from her trance.
Nazlae looked up, her eyes meeting her mother's with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of her thoughts. She leaned back slightly against the headrest, the hint of a soft smile tugging at her lips. "I'm fasting, Ma. It would've been too tiring."
Since the night her marriage was announced, Nazlae's heart had been a tumult of restless emotions. The uncertainty gnawed at her, leaving her uneasy in ways she couldn't fully articulate. But fasting had always brought a measure of peace to her troubled heart, a calm that soothed the chaos within. It was a Monday, and she had seized the chance to fast, hoping to find some solace in the act.
Her mother returned her smile and, after rummaging through a few things, finally found a small box. Opening it with a hint of excitement, she revealed a beautiful choker—a simple yet elegant piece in gold, exactly the kind of understated beauty her daughter preferred.
"I bought this for you," she murmured, gently brushing Nazlae's hair back to fasten the choker around her neck.
Her face lit up as she admired how the delicate jewellery enhanced her daughter's features, making her look even more radiant. Nazlae's fingers instinctively reached up to touch the choker, but a slight frown creased her brow. "Why did you bother to buy it, Ma?" she asked, her voice tinged with annoyance as she moved to take it off.
Her mother's expression faltered, her voice carrying a note of gentle reproach. "How could I not, Naz?" she asked, a trace of hurt evident in her tone. "You're my daughter... I've always dreamed of seeing you as a beautiful bride." Nazlae's reaction surely did sting, but she could also understand the depth of her daughter's turmoil.
Noticing the shift in her mother's demeanour, Nazlae hesitated, her hand slowly retreating from the choker. She decided to leave it where it was, letting it rest against her neck. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she gently steered the conversation in a different direction.
