Ye Dil Mera

•| 22nd November and Maybes |•

Aina stared at the report in her hand with growing dread that rapidly filled itself onto her chest cavity preventing her from taking in fresh breathe. Like a ribbon on a gift wrap, the reality of the situation invisibly twined around her... Except this was no birthday gift that she received on her special day, but a death sentence with numbered days yet no clear end date.

She needed some time alone, to do what exactly she knew not, but her mind screamed for it.

"Prolonged drug abuse"... "Blood poisoning", rang in her ears, as all the moments spent with her Agha Jaan flicked through her mind's eyes. The same father who couldn't take a bite of food if not for her presence, was the same man who intentionally medicated her to repress her memory, full well knowing the consequences! Hot tears leaked through her eyes. Her chest painfully constraining on the barrage of memories once again, and she drifted away in a flurry of memories, ranging from early childhood ones to the recent more gaping ones.

She snapped out of her maudlin musings as the faint melody of Suna Suna wafted through the air, "yaadon ke dhaagon mein hum tum bandhe hai zara dor tum thaam lo..." and her unbridled thoughts rushed back this time to her husband's, indeed she realised with misty eyes that the threads of memories, of moments spent together bind her to him as she caressed the petals of the potted yellow Edelweiss kept at her nightstand which transported her back to the time when he as a kid painstakingly plucked Edelweiss growing at his garden for her.

Maybe... Just maybe this is her punishment for all the sufferings Amaan had to meet with as a child because of her father. Maybe this is poetic justice, who knows? She thought, gingerly caressing his photo on her lockscreen.

**********************

On this chilly winter morning of 22nd November, Amaan looked and felt content after a really long time, baking Chocolate Bundt Cake in the honour of Aina's 22nd birthday. He was preparing the chocolate glaze when his eyes caught Maryam running after butterflies in the lawn wearing a pink tutu, and a memory came crashing back of their first meet... He stared outside the window a bit longer wistfully hoping what if the little girl was a miniature version of his Princess...

The thought which used to gnaw his insides few years back in self loathe now fills his hollowed inside with a cool scald of what if? He had run far too long in his quest for revenge as a son, and a brother too. But was he not a lover and a husband, as well?

Can he not dream of a future with a lady who had him wrapped around her pinky from the moment their worlds collided? His Aina would have made a fantastic mother he knew, and he would have learnt to be a parent under her wing... He chuckled recalling how she used to mother her doll, making him the Baba Jaan of her guriya, pink dusting his cheeks. He missed those innocent days where they used to be themselves without a worry of the world.

The ping of the oven brought him out of his reverie: his cake was ready, all that was needed to be done was to layer it the chocolate glaze. After finishing off preparing the cake, he was tempted to wish his wife a very happy birthday. His finger hovering over the WhatsApp icon, but he paused.... Her pained plea of "agar tumne waqai mujhse sacchi mohabbat ki hai na, toh mujhe chhodke chale jao!" ringing in his ears. He had destroyed her life in his quest of revenge once, blinded to her suffering, how could he then crumple whatever of that is left which she valiantly is trying to rebuild?

Maybe.... The indescribable plethora of anguish that washes over him, as the mental throes of yearning and sick pining for her warmth wraps him in choking vines of kudzu is his comeuppance for wrecking the only positive and good thing in his life: her!