Bahaar

Three red roses on the shoulder covering half of her upper milky arm, Arabic script following them to her elbow. Sitting in a tight black dress sipping her flute of champagne. What else could be more interesting about the night.

"What's the story behind them?" The lanky pale man clad in a dark grey suit asked taking his glass

"Huh-" the blue eyed lady sitting alone at the bar raised her eyebrows, coming out of her oblivion as if the man was clearly disturbing her stance.

"Every drop of ink has a story and the ones on the skin have deeper one's, so what's yours?" His eyes eagerly waiting to strip her out of the ink.

"Do they? Then I am utterly sorry to disappoint you, I am no author. And if I was one why would I be enlightening you for free." He took the seat beside her unbuttoning his blazer

"Then what could I loose to have the deal. I am keen on playing heavy bets." His Armani stated it very clearly.

"You can't put a price on a story that's not yet written now could you." She said pulling a sly smile on her plum lips.

"So I guess the best deal would be me playing audience and wait for you to live it." Both of them burst in slight giggle diving to each other's eyes.

"You would have made a great man to go for. By far the best night could offer."

"Would? I am the best darling."

"Of course you are but once upon a time back in life."

"What's wrong now don't you have tine or got no life?"

"Now I just don't find married men attractive. Not anymore." She said gliding her slender fingers over his ring and and vanished away into the thin air leaving him alone the crowd.

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𝘽𝙖𝙝𝙖𝙖𝙧 means 𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜

बहार•بَہار

Origin: Persian

Vazn: 121