ZAHARA

ZAHARA

My lips curved up into a slight smile as I stood in front of the mirror, gazing at my own reflection. I looked.....good. Uhm really good. The Maroon Anarkali Suit suited me really well, I must say. It was full sleeved and comfortable.

I had always loved getting ready but.......never got many chances to besides the occasion of Eid. Neither I ever got something nice to wear except Abayas and Hijab. It's not like I hated dressing according to my tradition. It's just......I too sometimes wished to dress differently-wished to try something new.

Like those bangles I saw that one uncle gifting his wife. Or those earrings I only caught a glimpse when my brother took me for shopping. Or those sarees I had often seen women wearing and shining out there. Or---

The chain of my thoughts came to an abrupt halt when I heard the door of the room being knocked. Startled from the sudden sound, I grabbed my dupatta and draped it hurriedly over my shoulders prior to moving towards the door.

Reaching out, I grabbed the handle and opened the door only to see her. Khala.

"Aren't you ready yet? They are here already." 

She spoke, not really meeting my eyes as she looked once over at me.

"I...I am." 

I whispered, while she pursed her lips in a thin line. She nodded her head once in approval prior to clutching my wrist as she tugged me along with her towards the direction of Living room.

The swirls of my suit brushing against my feet with every step as I descended the stairs slowly with a strange terror creeping up to my chest.

I am not exactly good when it comes to socializing. To be specific, I don't even know how to talk properly. Maybe the uneasiness was the result of that, I thought.

Feeling the weight of several gazes, my feet froze at the last stair only for her to tug on my wrist forcefully. I didn't look up but.....something felt strangely wrong. There was this prickling sensation in the back of my ears.

My gaze remained fixed downward while she dragged me futher in the Living room where Abba was sitting along with two men. Their back faced me and moreover I wasn't exactly looking into their direction thus I couldn't recognise them.

Making me sit in front of them, she removed her grip from my wrist and stood aside. 

"Ji yeh hai humari Zahara." 
 (So This is our Zahara...)

She gushed while I gripped the edge of my dupatta, twisting the fabric as though it could somehow help all my anxieties and confusion.

It was just........I wasn't able to breathe all of a sudden. It felt as though an unknown weight was pressing on my chest, making my lungs constricted.

"Kaafi khoobsurat hain humari....hone wali begum." 
(My soon to be wife is really.... beautiful.)

One of the men sitting across me drawled and the moment that voice reached my ears, my whole body shivered. 

That voice. My heart fell in the pit of my stomach when I recognised it. No it couldn't be........ My breathing deepened further as I stared at my lap. Sweat beads started forming on my forehead and my fingers started quivering as I clutched the hem of my dupatta to take rid of the shivers.

For the first time, I willingly wanted to cover myself anyhow—Hijab or Naqab. Anything. So that I could hide myself from that unbearable gaze of his.

The gaze that seemed to burn holes through my soul. I......I wanted to get away from there; It was getting intolerable-my hands and feet freezing and sweating.

AUTHOR'S POV

Phoolbano's eyes went wide slightly as she heard those words while the same man sitting across Zahara smirked, his eyes raking up and down her form as he murmured further to her.

"Zahara. The name is as beautiful as you." 

The words made her ears buzz but she refused to look up. Phoolbano who was wearing a polite smile vanished, leaving a shadow of confusion and something terrifyingly close to fear over her face.

It felt suffocating. Gut wrenching as though everything in Zahara was screaming—begging for her to just stand up and run from there.

Iqbal, her father's jaw clenched at Zahara's dismissive behaviour as he cleared his throat and said. 

"Zahara. Look up and greet your soon to be Shohar properly. Don't be rude." 

His commanding and strict voice rang in her ears, pulling her out of her stupor as she gulped slightly. 

And the moment Phoolbano heard that one word, her heart collapsed. It.......It can't be, she screamed in her mind, wishing it all to be a nightmare but............ it wasn't.

Dragging in a breath, Zahara clenched her hands into fists—her nails biting into her palm as she slowly looked up. Arham Haider. One of her father's close friends' brother.

She had met him only twice during family gatherings and other functions, but the way he looked at her? It had her stomach churning and guts twisting—coiling, making her want to throw up.

Barely holding herself together, she looked back down at her lap while Phoolbano cleared her throat, interrupting gently.

"Vo....humein to laga aap apne bete ke liye humari bachi ko pasand karne aaye hain, Rehman Bhaijaan." She addressed the other name, named Rehman who was Arham's elder brother and Iqbal's closest friend.
(uh.... I thought you came with the intention of your son's marriage with our Zahara, Rehman brother.)

Rehman shook his head slightly with a light, amused smile, replying. "Nahin, bhabhi. Mein to apne iss nalayak bhai ke nikkah ki chah se aaya tha. Iqbal ne bataya nahi aapko?"
(No, bhabhi. I came for the marriage of this idiot brother of mine. Didn't Iqbal tell you?)

Rehman casted a glance at Iqbal who let out a short chuckle, glaring deliberately at Phoolbano as he said. "Aree bhoolne ki aadat hai iss aurat ko."
(Oh, this woman has a very bad habit of forgetting. Don't mind her.)

Phoolbano fell silent at that, knowing she had just managed to dig her own grave while Arham let out a chuckle and drawled. "Mujhe Zahara kaafi pasand hai, Bhaijaan.." Leaning back against the headrest, he continued. "Nikkah ki tayyari shuru kar dein."

(I really like Zahara, Brother. Begin with the wedding's Preparations.)

Completing his words with another chuckle, he took a morsel of sweet from the plate laid on the coffee table and leaned way too closer to Zahara, who was sitting there with her head bowed as though tons of bricks were weighing it down.
He was close—so close that she could almost feel the warmth of his breaths against her cheek.

Inching the morsel closer until his fingers brushed against her lips rather purposely, he whispered. 

"Come on. Open your mouth."

His words were more like a demand, his words suggestive and laced with something that sent a chill running down her spine, bile already rising up her throat as she immediately stood up making Iqbal's jaw clench.

Her eyes stung with tears but Phoolbano was by her side instant, forcing a small smile. "Maaf kijiyega.... She's not really feeling well ever since this morning."
(I'm sorry.)

Stumbling the words out, she grabbed Zahara's hand, wincing at how cold her skin felt and rushed back upstairs while he let out a scoff—somewhere between a mocking laugh and warning. "You can't run forever, Zahara Bano."

Murmuring under his breath, he stood up as well and cleared his throat prior to stretching his arms over his head lazily before casting a glance at his brother who had stepped out to take a call. 

"She is worth everything, Bhaijaan..... Can't wait until Nikkah." Letting out a short laugh, he looked at Iqbal who muttered.

"Ofcourse....She is all yours, Arham. Just don't forget to sign what you're giving her as haq mehr under my name."

.

.

.

.

Meanwhile, running inside the washroom, she stared at her reflection in the mirror while barely supporting herself against the edge of the counter. Her reflection—red rimmed eyes, trembling lips and smudged makeup, stared back at her as she finally let her tears fall.

Phoolbano continued to knock against the door, trying to coax her to come out but she didn't reply.

The Discomfort.
The fear.
The Suffocation.

It came rushing back all at once as she pressed her palms to her mouth and cried.

Until the tears itself gave up and she didn't realise when she ended up sleeping there on the cold floor.

While Phoolbano let out a defeated sigh and walked out of Zahara's room, knowing she needed some time alone. She knew Zahara was going to misunderstand it all, but how was she supposed to say she didn't when she was one of the causes of Zahara's sufferings?

Lost in her thought, she walked down the silent hallway until a shadow fell over her from behind, making her breaths hitch.

Iqbal.

"Bohot zyada muh khulne laga hai na tumhara?"
(You really have started speaking a lot, no?)

He whispered, seething with anger as his hand clamped around her wrist, dragging her towards their room while she tried to struggle but all went in vain as the door shut close.

(Note :- The writer does not promote domestic and physical violence in any way. Kindly try to understand the prospect with which everything is written.)

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