Qurban

•02• Remorseful / پچھتاوا

"A stronger man knows when to be kind..."

The Nawaz Villa was stretched out at a land of massive 5 acres. Its dark and gothic view could be seen from miles away. Located in one of the best places in Karachi, it was the epitome of pure money and luxury. A gigantic driveway followed by a garage surrounded the villa as soon as someone enters from the grand gates reading the words 'NAWAZ VILLA' written in big bold letters and gold colour. After the initial entrance, the villa led to the garden adorned with different kind of flowers and fountains lit up by golden lights adding warmth to the otherwise scary looking beast of a house. Just as the garden ended, started the actual house with gates of oak brown and large bulky handles. Two gruff guards holding a weapon in their arms stood tall and unmoving by the gates providing security to the inhabitants of the house.

The house was scary, deadly and everything luxurious. With ten bedrooms, separate guest room, garden, larger than life terrace area, a vast dining room that could easily accommodate an army of soldiers and separate allocated area for all the servants working inside the Villa, it could be mistaken for a big city instead of a House of very few people. People that were more acquaintances than blood related family.

The kitchen of the NAWAZ VILLA buzzed with life as the dishes clattered here and there with the maids working their backs off as the stove hissed as the chai boiled over. The tip toe of the steps of someone entering the kitchen didn't deter the maids but alerted them enough to look up at the lean figure approaching them.

"Everything done?"

Nafisa Nawaz, the eldest daughter of the house and second oldest in the siblings, asked no one in particular. Rounded eyes looked at the maids with not an ounce of menace, but kindness. Her grey hair were twisted in a neat bun at her nape as she casually went to the stove to pour the hot blazing tea in the kettle.

"Bibi, ap rehne den. Parveen kar legi."
(You leave it, Miss. Parveen can handle it)

Nafisa turned at the voice, at the maid who had her hands joined before her chest and eyes down casted. Shaking her head, she grabbed the kettle and the tray lining the cups and muttered

"It's no big deal. Get the other things on the table. Abba must be at the table by now."

She announced before heading toward the dining room. The tall round glass table with 12 chairs on both sides each greeted her before her eyes caught up to the tall figure sitting on the Head Chair. Her father, Idris Nawaz, a prominent name in the Pakistani Politics, sat on the chair reading his newspaper. His aura was blended equally with manipulation and pretenses. An air of chaos and destruction always surrounded him. He was the strategist the world may or may not needed. His eyes never wavered from his paper as Nafisa sat the tray and kettle on the table. Beside her father, her sister in law and wife of her late brother, Anam sat while drinking her coffee. She was the only one who chose coffee over tea in the household.

Anam passed her a small, almost neglecting glance like she couldn't even be bothered to acknowledge her presence and went back to sipping her bitter black coffee. Nafisa was used to hateful glances like these. She perfected the art of not showing any response to them and continued pouring the tea into a cup before placing it before her father. His dark eyes finally took note of her presence and he just folded the newspaper before putting it right beside his steaming cup of tea. Loud click of heels resonated in the air as Anam's head whipped in the direction of the stairs where a beautiful, stunningly tall girl strolled confidently inside the room. Her light brown hair were curled and falling down her back into smooth waves. Big large hoops dangled from her ears as her four inch heels clicked on the floor as she strolled to the dining room.