Sang e Marmar

1. Aghaz-e-safar hi toh hai

Tërë chëhrë ko pardë ki zaroorat hi kya hai,
Kaun rehta hai hosh mein tujhe dekhne ke baad…

The morning sun rose in quiet authority, its golden light spilling across the vast estate. The white marble floors of the mansion reflected it flawlessly, casting a soft glow that made the entire space feel almost unreal like a place untouched by time.

Outside, the trees stood still in the crisp winter air, their silence broken only by the distant chirping of birds. A faint mist lingered, wrapping the surroundings in a gentle haze.

Inside, the household had long awakened.

Servants moved with practiced efficiency, maids dusting already pristine surfaces, chefs preparing breakfast, the gardener trimming hedges with meticulous care. Every corner of the mansion whispered wealth, discipline, and legacy.

At the head of the grand dining table sat an elderly man.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit, he held a newspaper in one hand, his posture straight, his presence commanding. Time had aged him, but gracefully like something refined rather than worn.

Yet, there was impatience in the way his fingers tapped lightly against the table.

He glanced at his watch.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

A faint frown settled on his face.

“Ahmed.”

His voice, though not raised, carried across the hall with quiet authority.

Within seconds, an elderly butler appeared, dressed in a neatly pressed shalwar kameez with a turban tied carefully over his head.

“Ji huzoor,” he bowed slightly.

“Send someone to Zar e Noor’s room. Mehrmah went to call her… it’s been fifteen minutes.”

“Ji huzoor, abhi bhejta hoon.”

Ahmed stepped back without another word.

Upstairs, the stillness of the corridor was broken by hurried footsteps.

A woman in her early thirties moved quickly, her shawl slipping slightly as she approached an open double door.

Inside, an elderly woman stood near the bed, her dupatta covering her head, a soft white shawl wrapped around her petite frame. Her expression carried both patience and quiet exhaustion.

“Zar e Noor… uth jain beta,” she said gently.
“Kitni dair se hum ap ko uthane ki koshish kar rahe hain.”

A light knock sounded at the door.

“Ji, Amna?” she turned.

A maid stood respectfully at the entrance.

“Sahab ji intezaar kar rahe hain. Nashta taiyaar hai.”

The elderly woman nodded.