Ishq | (complete)

28 | zawal

تُو میرا حوصلہ تو دیکھ داد تو دے کہ اب مجھے
شوق کمال بھی نہیں ، خوف زوال بھی نہیں

❝Tu Mera Hosla To Dekh , Daad To Dy Ke Ab Mujhy
Shoq e Kamaal Bhi Nahi Khoof e Zawaal Bhi Nahi❞

Laila stirred the pot. Her thoughts were swirling like the soup in it. There were so many questions haunting her, but she couldn't voice any of them to the man sitting across space on the couch. She glanced up from the pot, he was hunched over with his elbows on his knees, hands covering his face. All she could think about was the amount of pain he still held within him. Did he even remember anything else apart from pain?

She poured the chicken soup in the bowl. Something Malka always made for her whenever their world was falling apart and they could do nothing, but just pray. She'd make the soup for her reminding her of comfort and warmth. Today, she was extending her warmth to him. She couldn't do anything that was tangible to lessen his pain, but at least she could offer him a taste of comfort and warmth.

"Here." She put the steaming bowl on the coffee table. The aroma wafted between them and it smelled like home. He shook his head, still bent, avoiding her. "My Jinn friends snitched on you. They were laughing shaming you again for wasting so much food."

He paused for a second, looking into her eyes as she stared back at him with a smile creeping on her lips. He shook his head laughing even with all the misery of the past surrounding her.

"And trust me, this is better than your five-star restaurants." She curled her arms, sitting across from him proudly.

He took the bowl with caution, blowing on the spoon before taking a sip. With that one sip, he closed his eyes, savoring the taste. There was something so soothing in the simple taste of it, like a balm on his pricking nerves.

A taste of home he had not been to in years. The taste of his family as they would surround the fireplace during the winter nights. Hadiya and He would fight for the place next to the wall. His oldest sister would be trying some weird recipe she had learned in her cooking class. Zain was the quietest of them all just eating oranges on the side.

"Ali Sir?" His assistant breathed his name.

"Rapunzel?" He stared at her concerned face. "What the fuck did you put in it?" He took another sip from it, savoring the simple taste.

She made a face, rolling her eyes at him. His gaze fell on discretely twiddling hands on the side.

"I actually didn't mean it, you know." He kept drinking the soup, making her glance at him, all confused. "about cutting your fingers." He broke into a small laugh before he could finish his sentence. She froze for a second before throwing him a dirty look, scrunching her nose. "What is it?"

"Huh?" She looked back at him.

"All the questions that are not going to let you rest, Miss Laila." She took a long breath, looking at her hands then back at him.

"Why didn't she let you see him even after he passed away?" Of course, she was Laila. She went straight for the kill.

"I don't know. I never saw her again. The last time I went there was to beg him to let me see him for the one last time before they buried him, but the coldness I saw in her father's eyes, it scared me. Laila, he was ruthless. All because Asmara married me without his consent."

"That was his grandson!" She couldn't comprehend the reality of it, but then she remembered that her own parents had thrown her wrapped in a bag.

"I hurt his ego. Apparently humiliated him in front of his world." He put the bowl away as the taste turned bitter on his tongue along with the memories.