infinity on high

(i) honeytonednymph

//aimen//

i wake up with a jolt as i hear my door's rusty hinges slam open. i used to oil them, but now i don't, because security. you need to hear someone coming in.

to my relief, it's only musa. "oh. it's only you," i tell him so, mostly because the 'only' part offends him. it shouldn't really. the word 'only' is a novelty, as i have told him countless times, but of course, nothing i say sticks with him, because he wants to offend me too.

i cover my body with my white chaader, even though he has no interest in seeing a half-naked girl, because his alarming amount of homosexuality prevents him to care.

he scrambles around, looking for my brother's hair gel to tame his messy charcoal curls. i find the unnatural black colour of his hair very fascinating. i heavily suspect he uses kala kola to get it so dark, but i have never found it in his house, despite my searching many times.

"can you please leave?" i inquire.

"oh, please," he scoffs. "as if you care about modesty. i checked your tumblr blog, by the way, if you want some saboot. interesting pictures, honeytonednymph. i like the username too."

"of course i don't care about modesty." i say, getting up.  "it would be a shame to waste this body." i motion to my heart-necked saari top and patiala shalwar. "is this saboot enough for you?" i ask, wiggling my hips a little.

i toss him my phone. "take a picture, will you?" i ask, as i comb through my hair, making sure it's morning-sex messy instead of homeless messy.

i go to the window, letting the warm, ochre sunlight illuminate my brown skin, making me the subject of mughal miniatures. brown people and sunlight are a solid aesthetic, ask anybody.

i lean against the window, letting the sunlight make half of my skin golden, while the dark room inside lets half of my body remain a mystery. i widen my eyes, and make my lips plumper as he snaps a few pictures.

"you're like qandeel baloch. except with a better accent, and less paindu." he remarks.

"i'll take that as a compiment." i tell him. of course, i do. i have a thing for martyrs.

i walk over to the iron stand, where my uniform lies, pressed.

it is, after all, the first day of school.

//

saboot: proof
chaader: protective cloth
kala kola; a black hair dye
paindu: tacky

and as for qandeel baloch, she was a  famous pakistani woman, somewhat of a pornstar, who was honour killed by her brother because of her misdeeds.

////