ZAHARA'S POV

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. Nor 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. My step mother.

"Aren't you ready yet? They are here already." She barked out, her eyes roaming up and down my figure making me clutch the fabric of my dupatta.

"I...I am." I whispered, eyes not meeting hers 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.

My gaze remained fixed downward while she practically dragged me in the Living room where Abba was sitting along with a man. His back faced me and moreover I wasn't exactly looking into their direction thus I couldn't recognise him.

Making me sit in front of them, she removed her grip from my wrist and stood aside. "Ji yeh hai humari 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. (So This is our Zahara...)

It was just........I just 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." The man sitting across me drawled and the moment that voice reached my ears, my whole body shivered. (My soon to be wife is really.... beautiful.)

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

The man sitting across her 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.

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

Iqbal'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.

Dragging in a breath, she clenched her hands into fists-her nails biting into her palm as she slowly looked up. Those oceanic orbs of hers collided with his. 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 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, 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."

He practically demanded, 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.

Her eyes stung with tears but she managed to mumble. "Maaf kijiyega.... I-I am not feeling well."

(I'm sorry.)

Stumbling the words out, she spun around 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 handling a bag to Iqbal. "She is worth the money, Bhaijaan..... Can't wait until Nikkah." Letting out a short laugh, he said while Iqbal glanced down the bag in his hands and murmured.

"Ofcourse....She is all yours, Arham."

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.

The Discomfort.

The fear.

The Suffocation.

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

Until the tears itself gave up.

***

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