Enwrapped

Chapter 13

"Mama! What are you doing?!"

Saboor peeked through the door, squinting in confusion. Why was Moustafa screeching like that?

Her confusion turned into relief when she saw Moustafa sitting on the floor, hugging his knees while Mama kneaded her fingers through his scalp, making him look like an adult macaque. A soft chuckle escaped her lips; she couldn't control it any longer.

"Bhabhi?" Moustafa looked up, and something akin to shame crossed his face. He had already told his mother that he was grown-up now and not the child she could order around anymore, but Israa had tugged him by the roots of his hair to sit down and get his head oiled.

"Tail maalish champi?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, and a hearty laugh erupted from Israa's lips. Moustafa pursed his lips in even greater annoyance.

"Come, sit. I'll oil your hair too, beta." Israa raised a hand toward Saboor while lightly pushing Moustafa away.

"Me?"

"Why not? You're also my sweet child, just like these ghoday," Israa cooed. She often used the word 'horse' to describe her sons; to her, they resembled horses—huge, bulky, and strong, but soft-hearted about the smallest things. Saboor knew it all too well; her husband, too, was just like a giant teddy bear.

Hesitantly, she sat on the floor, hugging her knees the same way her brother-in-law had a few moments ago. Israa told her to remain seated, as she was going to wash her hands—otherwise, Saboor would get all of Moustafa's dandruff in her hair. As Mama's footsteps faded, another pair of feet shuffled lazily toward her.

A smile appeared on her face when she saw her husband leaning against the doorframe.

"Parey hato, aashiq saaheb," Israa mumbled, pushing him aside as she entered the room. She sat behind Saboor and began pouring a generous amount of oil into her hands.

Muzammil sat on the floor in front of her. She squinted, raising her chin in his direction, asking with her eyes, 'What happened?'

He only shook his head and continued staring at her. Who knew he didn't even want to let her out of his sight?

"Aren't you tired of him already? Peechhay-peechhay phirta rehta hai tumhaaray...kisi paaltu billi ki tarah..."

Israa mumbled as she rubbed more oil into Saboor's scalp, and Saboor's eyes closed, trying to savor the sensation. It was strange. It had been ages since anyone had oiled her hair, and while Israa was only touching her scalp, she felt a tingling in the pit of her stomach.

Saboor flinched, almost moving away from Israa.

"All good?" Muzammil asked. Saboor hesitantly nodded.

"Haan, wo... I never really got my hair oiled by someone, na? So, it felt a little weird."

Israa smiled. "Now, you come get your hair oiled by me every week."

~

As she sat arranging her clothes in the wardrobe, the day's events played out in her mind. She had gone to visit her parents today. It was rare, but important, if she was to face society. Truth be told, she didn't like going there—most of the time, Aynoor would be at college, and she didn't have much to discuss with her parents.

Abbu was starting a new business soon—this time, a personal styling service that would help clients pick out their outfits and wardrobes more efficiently. For Saboor, this was a golden opportunity—she loved styling people, even her parents, sister, and now her in-laws. This business venture excited her greatly. But there was something that puzzled her—a lingering feeling that made her question her excitement. Yes, her father had asked her for help, as he had for all his previous businesses, but now she was married. Perhaps it was the change in her life after marriage, or maybe it was her restaurant...