T.S. Lover

Chapter Eight - The Cravings for Kisses

C h a p t e r E i g h t : THE CRAVE FOR KISSES

Noor's P.O.V

The familiar sensation of the soothing touch of Ammi's (Mother's) gentle hands oil-massaging on my head forces me to go back to sleep. But I manage to keep my head from falling back. The surrounding is quiet and warm. It feels like it is supposed to feel- homely.

The wall in front of me holds sweet memories of my childhood- pictures and some certificates from school and college. And of course, my engineering degree from IIT, framed. Abbu hung them all even before essential furniture like the bed came into this house. Abbu's (Father's) pride and Ammi's love are two things absolutely priceless for me.

'Since how many decades have you not oiled your hair, Noor?' Ammi peeks from behind me on the sofa.

'Ammi I don't have time to oil my hair. I keep busy you know,' I say groggily.

'You keep busy? Busy doing what shopping and roaming around with Jasseeka?'

'No Ammi. I have work I am an engineer-'

'And that too from IIT. You think that is an easy job Shafia?' Abbu sits beside her with his newspaper in hand, as usual.

'Now you don't start with all of it. Thousands of girls come from IIT. Why talk about thousands? Jasseeka, have you ever seen her hair? She oils them regularly. Whenever I go to meet the two, always she has oily hair,' she complains.

Of course.

J always oils her hair the night before Ammi comes in order to avoid Ammi's lecture.

'My daughter's hair is naturally beautiful. They don't need the aid of oil. So stop overreacting, Shafia.'

'Overreact?' Ammi's hands stop, 'Great, now the father-daughter call me a drama queen!' she throws her hands in the air melodramatically, 'Oh God why am I even alive?'

'Because we love you!' Abbu and I sing the usual reply to her trump card, in unison.

֎

I slip the aqua green maxi dress with unnecessary slits revealing the better part of my arm and back after toweling my body. Something that Arif bought for me for our tenth official date. Though I'm dead tired after long hours of work at Lithium and driving for a total of six hours, I manage to do a little makeup. Light pink lipstick and a bit of kohl with lots of concealer under my eyes. Lastly, I put on some pinkie-tip tiny pearl studs and sprinkle some of my favorite pour femmes by Bvlgari. I love its raw orange plus warm honey fragrance. I make sure I wear it on either side of my neck and wrist.

Done.

Oh no.

I look into the mirror to find a painted face with a mop of tangled hair on top. I sigh and pull my hair in the front and look at the hopelessly long length of it. Doing my hair is one mother of tiring tasks.

Should I braid them or bun?

I settle for a bun.

As I finally manage to get a perfect no-partition-on-scalp high and neat bun after twenty minutes, I hear footsteps approaching my room. J walks in staring at the screen of her phone through her black-rimmed specs and reads, '"I called Noor, her phone is switched off please ask her to be ready, I'll reach there in ten." message from Arif. Where the hell on earth is your phone?' she asks her head tilted, 'And what the hell? You're not yet ready? Don't you wanna go for the date?'