ZAHARA'S POV

My heart hammered against my ribs as I stood in front of Abba. Keeping my gaze lowered, I clutched the fabric of my dupatta to stop the tremors in my fingers. My mind raced with millions of thoughts, confusion clouding as I wondered why Abba was here, in my room.

It's been years. Years. He hadn't even looked at me with the eyes of a father, let alone approaching me for a conversation. It was as though he resented the fact that I was his own daughter. But I guess it was better that way. At least he was staying away from me.

The chain of my thoughts came to an end when I felt a hand pressing on the back of my head. And it made me flinch, not because it was sudden but because it was his hand. And for some unknown reason, I didn't like it.

His touch. I so much wanted to recoil, to move back but I was afraid as well. Afraid of being the one to witness his anger.....again. Taking in a deep breath, I tried to keep myself together. To keep my composure.

"Zahara." His voice, commanding and strict as always, broke the heavy silence screening the room as my lips parted.

"Ji..." The familiar smell of tobacco hit my nostrils, making me suffocate as I stammered out, my voice barely audible to my own ears that I doubt if he even heard it.

"There is someone coming to meet you this Evening. Kaafi khaas shakhs hain vo. Ummeed karte hain tum humein ruswa nahi karogi." He stated, hand falling back by his side and I let out a short, unnoticeable breath. Not looking up, I nodded my head once to let him know I heard his words. (He's a special person. I hope you won't disgrace us.)

Last time I remembered, he'd slapped me for not giving a visible or audible response to his words.

Despite the dread weighing down on my heart and confusion battling with my mind, I didn't ask anything. Didn't dare to. They taught me that an ideal woman is the one who does and functions as per she's told. And I didn't want to mess things up or there will be consequences as they said.

"I've asked Phoolbano to give you a new pair of clothes and everything you'd need. Aur theek se tayyar hona." With those words, he went out and I was left there, all perplexed. (Do get ready well.)

Get ready well? Did he really say that? But wasn't I supposed to keep myself veiled in Naqab in front of strangers as he always said? Who must those guests be?

A FEW MOMENTS LATER

AUTHOR'S POV

Phoolbano walked in with a couple of Paper bags in her grasp when her eyes fell over Zahara's figure who was all curled up on a chair near window. A scoff escaped her lips as she walked forward and shoved the bags in her hands.

ZAHARA'S POV

My mind was still filled with the thoughts from earlier as I stared out at the sky blankly. The birds were chirping and chasing each other while I sat there with an uneasy heaviness pressing down on my heart. It'd be good if I were one of them. No care of the world. Nothing. Just me, freedom and the endless horizon.

The mere thought was enough for a smile to bloom on my lips but it never made to them when I felt a presence.

Before I could even watch out, the bags were shoved in my hands. Startled from the sudden movement, I looked up only for my eyes to meet with the sight of her. My Step Mother. But I never addressed her as one. She could never be my Amma. She had gone long ago.

"Zahara. Get ready quickly and come downstairs. Don't make your Abba and the guests wait otherwise you know..." She trailed off, the weight of her unfinished words hovering over me as she turned to leave.

My throat worked with a hard swallow as I stood up slowly. Fidgeting with the bags she'd shoved in my hands earlier; I took a deep breath prior to opening my mouth.

"K-Kon aa raha hai........humse milne....?" I forced the words out of my throat, my voice barely audible against the hum of ceiling fan as I watched her halt just a step away from the doorway. (Who is coming......to meet me..?)

She turned back, her lips curling into one of those small-almost cruel smiles of hers as she strolled back towards me. And I regretted daring to utter those words even. I shouldn't have spoken up.

She stood in front me, her presence making me feel small as her hand shot out and gripped my jaw harshly. Lowering my eyes, I bit back a hiss when I felt her nails digging in my skin.

It burnt and yet I stayed quiet. It was my fault afterall. I should have kept my mouth sealed as always. They never liked me speaking and I'd learnt to live accordingly long ago.

"Bolna seekh rahi ho to tum ab...huh?" Her voice echoed in my ears, low and smug as I gulped down the tears stinging in my eyes. When I didn't say anything, she let out a mocking chuckle and finally released me from her tight grip. (So you're learning to speak now...huh?)

She took a couple of steps back as her eyes roamed all over my body. "Fifteen minutes. Doll up well and come downstairs." With that she went from there and a sob escaped from my lips.

Covering my face with my palms, I slid down the wall as more and more tears spilled from my eyes. I could still feel the stinging sensations from her nails and it just made me sob harder. But it is my fault. Only if I had never asked that and simply got ready.

After calming myself, I wiped my damp cheeks prior to going in the washroom to change.

***

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