ETCHED IN FORBEARANCE (A MINI SERIES)

EPISODE 07: "THE LAST"

I miss him you know. I miss him. Can I have him back please? Can I? For just a day please, so I could store all what I want of him in a safe box. For just a day please, so I could give him my box of surprise before I am being given his. For just a day please, so that he could see the positive pregnancy report in the box rolled and tied with a red bow. For only and only just a day please, so my child could have a moment with his father. The migraine dances on my head as the heavy eye lids shut again and I whisper his name. "Shoaib"

***

He has rejected me and I deserve it. I am an unwanted soul and I have a warrant to be one. I am cast off from his life because I have earned it. He has thrown me out and I am worthy of being radiated away. You know why? Because my negativity has eaten him alive. He is lying in a hospital bed scarred and ripped only because of me. It has been 5 days and not once has he asked for me because I provoked him.

The feeling of betraying Zavir had never left me since the day Abu had given me the orders to get married again but Ami has always believed in the power of nikkah. She says that the sovereignty of Quranic verses bless the relation and sprouts up an enchanting bond even in the firm hearts of all.

May be the spirits were working after all, because I found myself staring at him in his sleep. A slight touch of essence would lift up my mood. I would desperately wait for him to return home after his office and I felt happy when it was Sunday. These minute events were becoming obsessions until that ill-fated day when he left the house with anger boxed inside him, only because I rested my faith in the dream I saw last night.

Because I am a believer of omens and dreams, I interpreted it as a signal of disloyalty with Shoaib. That remembrance of his death brought back my old inmates. How could I forget about him? He was everything to me wasn't he? I had cried desperately for weeks and months and years up till now. Where were all those tears gone? I was feeling guilty and the lilies helped resurfacing my misery. Little did I know that all the mess in my head will cost me my guardian angel!

***

The peaks of her perfect lips tremble and she lifts her hand and tries to stop him, but she can't hear her own shout. She wakes up just in time, she wakes up to the same nightmare every day.

He snores peacefully resting his head on the armrest of the couch. She adores him from a distance measuring his face, looking for signs of past. A lot has changed; a lot has transformed. The stubble is now nowhere to be seen and to top it off he has cropped up his hair, military style. A cut on his lip reminds of that straight jab punch which also led to a broken tooth. She sighs. They say time heals the deepest but she prays for the damages both physical and internal to mend up quickly though it seems quite erratic.

She couldn't resist herself but was scared to touch him. Not because she would wake him up. She was afraid of his wrath. Never before has she seen that disgust for herself in those oh so beautiful eyes. So she just stayed there standing by his side counting the rise and fall of his chest. She sighs. They say time heals the deepest of wound but she knows they scar up and trap inside them the utmost pain and hurt. She gathers up the courage to pull the blanket to cover his feet. With a jolt she moved away her hand. Her eyes could not accept what she had seen. All she could see was a wound where his great toe should be. Another sigh; another reminder that things have changed and it will take time to heal. But would they heal or leave an intense mark as a token of past?

***

"And as they say all an artist needs is a broken heart. This is to the people who have hurt, tormented and destroyed me. Every poesy that has made its way to the paper is thanks to you." He lifts up his trophy to show his gratitude. The thunderous claps from the audience salute his gesture.

The sun sets leaving the sky with shades of auburn and mauve. He rubs the grains of sand between his fingers, holding the trophy in his other hand. The salted sea water cleans his feet. This is his safe haven. This is his refuge. There are no borders here. There are no boundaries here. But still he feels like captured in a room with no doors. There is silence. There is serenity. But the uproar of this peace has engulfed him.

Even his pen and paper don't know the truth; He has concealed his reality in that wooden box his father gave him that he vowed never to use in his life. But destiny makes your decisions for you.

He writes in the middle of the night, he writes when she cries. He writes when his broken body hurts. He writes when there is nothing to write and then at the end he stabs his burning cigar on to the paper leaving the mark as his signature to his long gloomy verses. The trauma led him to do the things he never expected himself to achieve. He now was a possessor for all the worldly things possible except for the only thing he ever wanted. It was now time to go home and get some rest. A stinging pain runs through his leg when he tries to stand up. He moves towards his black Chevrolet leaving a trail of his foot prints and marks of his walking stick on the beach.

EPILOGUE

With the drift of time things reconcile. Grief settles down leaving a clear blue water to reflect the present. Occasionally there are spells of misery because the scars prompt of the deeds in the past. But even in a cold breeze hold hands tight, embrace each other, protect each other. And if your love is eternal you will walk bare-foot on the water.

THE END