چو تو تلخ گویی، همان است پاسخ
عدوگاه دشنام شکر نخاید
When you speak bitterly, the answer will be the same
If you curse an enemy, he won't reply sweetly

Wednesday - 2:05pm

"You're his wife." Mehmal said and a nerve ignited in Hemayal's heart but she refused to pay a heed, a thing she had been doing for a lifetime now.

"Unwillingly, you forgot to add. And don't remind me of that, please." Hemayal's clipped reply only made Mehmal drop her head in sheer annoyance.

"Give it up already, Hemayal. Give it up, for heaven's sake." Mehmal shook her head, slight tinge of anger evident in her voice.

"Excuse me? Am I not right?" Hemayal's eyebrow shot up as she questioned.

"Yes, you are right, but it was you who said that you are past it, that you have made peace with it, that you have accepted this marriage. Was it not you?" Mehmal asked in a tight voice and Hemayal sighed

The past few days have been too heavy on her - unexpected encounter with Ibrahim, revelation that it was Ibrahim who had kidnapped her, Dadu's painful death, Ibrahim's desire to meet her - and right now, she had no energy left in her to argue with Mehmal, who was hell bent on trying to prove her wrong.

"Things have changed, Mehmal, and they are not going back to normal, if that even was normal." Hemayal drew a shaky breath as she replied, voice low but holding the gravity of entire scenario.

"What changed?" Mehmal was quick to notice the hollowness that came to reside in Hemayal's tone, "Why have you begun to hate him so much?"

"Because, honestly, it the only thing that he deserves - finest form of hatred, unflinching disgust and sheer detestation. Nothing else." Hemayal said, every inch of bitterness in her voice.

"What did that man even do to you? It has been ages since you last saw him, met him, or even talked to him. How can you form such loathsome opinions about him? As far as I know, he is such a gentleman." Mehmal said, clearly hinting at her previous encounter with Ibrahim only a few minutes ago.

"A gentleman?" Hemayal scoffed, an eyebrow rising in mock disgust, "Label him anything you want to, but not a gentleman."

"I met that man a few minutes ago downstairs and he was nothing but a gentleman. I don't know why you have formed such image of him in your mind, and even if you did that, I must tell you that it is a mighty wrong picture, Hami." Mehmal responded.

"That is where you are wrong, Mehmal. That is where you lag behind, because you don't know a thing about what he did. " Hemayal said, a sardonic smile coming to slide across her face.

"What did he do? Please tell me, I really want to know." Mehmal said, inching a little closer at the mystery that resided in Hemayal's tone, her tone however still sarcastic.

It was a moment of complete thought, of deep contemplation, a single glance in the direction of her worried but annoyed cousin when Hemayal decided to reveal her biggest secret, her scariest nightmare, her worst reality.

"It was Ibrahim who kidnapped me, Mehmal. Ibrahim Yazdani, my husband."

Hemayal uttered and Mehmal silenced.

Hemayal revealed and Mehmal shook.

"What?" The smallest of voice that left Mehmal's throat would not have reached Hemayal if she were not sitting too close to her, if she had not been observing her expressions closely.

"Yes." Hemayal sighed, leaning back in the chair in relief as the expressions of dread blessed Mehmal's face - thankfully, she could stop defending that goddamn man now.

"No, that is not humanly possible. How can he kidnap you? How can your husband kidnap you?" Mehmal could not believe her ears, her eyes too bewildered to move, her brain too startled to process even a thought.

"He did, Ibrahim kidnapped me." Hemayal said, voice turning bitter as she pronounced each word with venom and misery lacing it simultaneously.

Hemayal saw as Mehmal's face paled, emotions leaving it in hurry but a second later, it crumpled in absolute affliction and a sudden sob wreck through her body, a gasp of a startled woman, a cry of the wounded being.

"Oh, Hami." Mehmal breathed before inching closer to Hemayal and embracing her, arms going around her, and although Hemayal winced at the sudden encounter, she did not push Mehmal away; only hugged her back.

"I'm sorry, so sorry." Mehmal said, whispering in the crook of Hemayal's neck who patted her on the back slowly.

Hemayal did not say a word, just held Mehmal's softly crying figure, ignoring the waves of pain that kept rising in her, its long tides threatening to engulf Hemayal completely. She still was not healed yet - neither physically nor emotionally - and Mehmal's sobs only added to the weight of her already crushing heart.

"I thought...he did not...he was so damn worried..." Mehmal pulled away from the hug, eyes moving over Hemayal's face as she studied every inch of it with new consideration, newly formed vision.

Her words were incoherent, not due to the cries for they had ceased, but because of the bewilderment of the scenario she had just encountered. Everything was humanly possible, but a man kidnapping his own wife was beyond the understanding of any saint or sinner. Ibrahim Yazdani kidnapping Hemayal Khakwani, his wife, was a reality she wished she had never faced.

"Why?" She asked after a moment in finest incredulity, "Why would he do that?"

"Because of his mother." Hemayal sighed before narrating the whole story to Mehmal, word by word, inch by inch.

"He didn't recognize you? He didn't recognize you?" Mehmal sounded absolutely bewildered as she questioned.

"He didn't. Maybe because he had not seen me in such a long time or maybe because he had forgotten that he even has a wife. But whatever the case, Mehmal, he did not recognize me." Hemayal sounded sad, hurt and agonized - all same but different levels of broken heart.

"I...I still can't believe it. How can a man not recognize his wife? However much time had passed since he last met you, however long years have gone by without facing each other, how can a man not recognize his wife?" Mehmal still could not grasp her mind around this particular thought.

"And these scars on your body - on your face, feet, arm - the fact that these are because of Ibrahim, doesn't it break you, Hami?" Mehmal let out a grieved breath as she looked at Hemayal's face closely and the hurt that crossed her face on Mehmal's words was unbearable.

"I am absolutely broken, Mehmal. Absolutely. Beyond repair." Hemayal said, eyes losing focus as they settled somewhere along the lines of the wooden frame of the window.

"My husband kidnapped me; my grandfather died; my whole world has ended, Mehmal." Hemayal added with utmost misery in her voice.

"You should have told everyone when they asked, Hami. In fact, you should have come downstairs and told his family about everything. How can you not?" Mehmal asked, incredulous.

"Now is not the time, Mehmal." Hemayal said, eyes creased in deep thought, "I want him to find out for himself, I want him to fall down on his knees when he does, and I want to be there when everything happens. Right now, my family won't leave him but I want him to come to me when he finds out, and I swear to God, it would be me who won't leave him."

The determination and hatred that resided in Hemayal's tone did not surprise Mehmal this time. This time, it only added to the contempt that rose in her heart at the mention of his name. Mehmal had learned, after a very long time, that character and morals can be as deceptive as appearances; that sometimes, the most beautiful people have the ugliest personalities.

"You are right. Although everyone's attention has been diverted for now because of Dadu's death but soon enough, it will be back on that, and nobody will rest until they have found your kidnappers. You have to be ready, Hami." Mehmal warned her beforehand and Hemayal smiled, a sardonic and cutting smile that hid well concealed meaning.

"I am ready, Mehmal."

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Wednesday - 11:37pm

The cold gushes of wind swirled around the city in utmost sophistication, giving rise to tides of emotions all around the sky. The pitch black canvas with a hint of glow here and there and the promise of rain in the air, the city depicted a different kind of splendour today, a kind which forced men to leave the sanctuary of their room and step out in the open air to breath a gulp of fresh air and arrival of winter in the atmosphere.

One of these men was Ibrahim Yazdani who inhaled the comforting air deeply, the steady rise and fall of his chest a pleasant sight to witness, and the only thing which happened to show any movement - much contrasting to his other body which was all still, all motionless.

The mind housed a great number of thoughts as he stared up at the sky, no sign of moon, no light entering his eyes as he continued gazing. The wind still played gently around him, ruffling his thick hair, making them softly fall on his forehead but he paid little attention in that direction - he had more pressing matters that needed to be addressed at this moment, the most significant being Hemayal Khakwani.

The woman today had been nothing but an enigma.

Yes, it had been years since he last saw her; yes, he had never made his presence known in her life but what harm could possibly arise if she had just met him once? One goddamn time? What could possibly go wrong? The excuses she had presented were beyond him, but nevertheless, he was forced to respect them - despite the reservations he had regarding them.

Life had thrown him in a pit of emotions he was not prepared for at all. Tossing Hemayal Khakwani back in his life out of nowhere was what he regarded as a sheer sign of emotions running back in his life, a declaration of surprises, and Allah, he was not ready for it. He knew this day would come, that one day that woman would walk back in his life, sitting cross-legged in the front row of his mind, running her fingers through her lustrous hair and would make things for this heart even more difficult but he wasn't prepared one bit for that.

Life had, once again, taken him off guard.

But in this case, he had been on the safe side a bit - he had not met her, much to his relief and disappointment. Had he met her, he would not be as normal as he was right now, he would have definitely lost some shred of sanity. And he hated himself for the effect that woman had on him. Yes, they were not related to each other emotionally but the sacred relationship that they shared was enough to make him stop for a second when she was the subject.

She was his wife, after all.

"Abi?" Mustafa's voice sounded from behind and Ibrahim did not turn his head or even bat an eye, continuing to sit where he was without a concern.

"Have you fallen asleep?" Mustafa asked as he took a seat beside Ibrahim, both of them sitting in their lawn as the cold but gentle wind blew around them in perfect mannerism.

"No, I'm up." Ibrahim responded, still gazing up at the sky that had always been a source of profound mystery for him.

"Ammu slept?" Ibrahim asked, eyes turning to Mustafa but head remained in place.

"Yes, a long time ago. She is still on heavy dosage so she sleeps quite a lot these days." Mustafa replied.

Ammu had been discharged from the hospital the same day she gained consciousness, owing to her stubbornness to return home and promises to take a nurse with her and take better care of herself. She was better now, a lot, much to Ibrahim's relief whose bad days had finally come to a stop with her return.

"Are you fine?" Mustafa asked and Ibrahim's eyes narrowed around the edges before he straightened his head and glanced in Mustafa's direction.

"Yes, what happened to me?" He asked before straightening up his spine too and sitting formally on the chair, legs crossed at the knee as the mobile phone vibrated in his lap but he paid no attention to it.

"Nothing, I was just wondering. You're still sitting here, it is almost midnight." Mustafa shrugged his shoulders, voice turning indifferent, but Ibrahim knew his elder brother a little too well.

"What is it, Mustafa?" Ibrahim questioned, lips coming to press in a thin line as e regarded his brother with a steady gaze, every feature demanding answer.

"I don't know, you went to her house after such a long time today. Are you fine?" He asked, eyeing his brother with a calculating gaze.

"I do not think me going to my wife's house would render me completely incapable of functioning. Relax, jeez, I'm fine." Ibrahim forced a chuckle as he replied, the voice flowing a long distance in the subtle breeze that blew around them.

"And besides, she is a wife I have not met in years, man." Ibrahim shook his head, lips pressed tightly but curved in a small, forced smile.

"But wife nevertheless, Abi." Mustafa added with concern but force lacing his voice.

"But we're strangers too. That is what we are. So asking me if I'm fine after going to her house is quite absurd, don't you think?" Ibrahim punctured his voice with amusement but it hardly worked on his elder brother.

"Don't play with words, not with me, at least. And no, that is not absurd. You two have a strong relationship and you can't just wipe it off after years of negligence and ignorance." Mustafa said, sounding suddenly annoyed.

"Mustafa, do you really think mere sign on some papers and saying I do three times work or is strong enough to hold us together in thick times? No, it is not. She might be my wife legally, but we have long years between us. It will take time to reach an end." Ibrahim said, voice turning gloomy.

"And honestly, judging by your words and actions, I don't think you have any mind to cover these times." Mustafa's voice turned sarcastic.

Ibrahim, who had been paying attention to his brother's words forced a chuckle on hearing him, this time a little genuine as he ran long fingers through black strands, eyes shutting for a moment, looking exhausted as his brother's words registered in her brain.

"I don't know anything yet. We do not know each other and living a life with a complete stranger is not my cup of tea or anything I'd like to do, but you do know the situation in which we got married - it won't be easy to divorce her. So honestly, I'm in quite a dilemma at this moment." Ibrahim answered in some detail, shedding light to the parts that gave no joy whatsoever to his brother.

"Don't you think you have had enough time to decide? You are 28, Abi. For heaven's sake, decide!" Mustafa said, irritation swelling his voice.

"I can't decide anything alone, Mustafa. And even if I do, Hemayal and I have to make the final decision together. This is not my marriage or life alone." Ibrahim smiled with thoughtful eyes this time, an image less woman flashing before his eyes.

"Well, in order to decide, you have to meet her - which you clearly haven't in a long time. How do you plan to proceed any further?" Mustafa asked, genuinely concerned.

"I'll think of something, man. You don't worry. I will find a solution to this, irrespective of whether we plan to continue this marriage or not." Ibrahim patted Mustafa's knee and smiled in the direction of his brother, overwhelmed at the concern he had in his heart for Ibrahim.

"Do you really think Abbu will take it easy if you so even mention to divorce Hemayal?" Mustafa asked, hint of mockery and challenge in his eyes.

"Mustafa, let's just not assume things beforehand. For all we know, I might never end this marriage." Ibrahim nodded towards his brother, who laughed at the end a little.

"Yes and maybe she will be the one to take your love virginity." Mustafa said and a rich laughter left Ibrahim's lips, making him tip his head backwards as the brown eyes closed momentarily, planes of the aristocratic cheeks sliding up.

"I don't think it is available to take but we will see." Ibrahim said between the laughter, amused at even the thought of it.

"We will, hopefully." He laughed, joined by Ibrahim whose small chuckle was magnificent and splendid, a rich sound that did well to hide the hollowness inside him.

A long silence stretched between the two brothers afterwards, one lost in regrets and disappointments, other in deep thoughts. Both of their minds were, however, wrapped around the same being - Hemayal Khakwani. It was only a moment before anyone voiced.

"Abi?" Mustafa was the first one and Ibrahim turned to face him, eyebrows raised in question.

"Where did you go when we were in her house? You disappeared for quite some time." Mustafa remembered and did not take much long to mouth his thoughts.

"I went to see her." Ibrahim responded truthfully in a beat, voice lacking emotions that would give away the torrent of them in his heart.

"Did you?" Mustafa's eyes narrowed as he questioned with incredulity inflating his voice.

"I didn't. As it happened, she did not want to see me." Ibrahim replied, voice still the same.

After having thought it through, he had come to understand the woman, at least a little bit. He understood her refusal to meet him, her vulnerable emotions, her chaotic thoughts. What he, however, still did not understand were her excuses, which not only confused him, but made him think, in ways more than one, of things greater in magnitude than he himself.

"Why?" Mustafa's question was spontaneous, making Ibrahim shrug his shoulders slightly.

"Well, she said that she was not ready." Ibrahim responded indifferently.

"What kind of excuse is that?" Mustafa raised an eyebrow in amusement, a grin lifting the curve of his lips.

"I'm trying to figure that out too." Ibrahim shrugged with pressed lips.

"Can I ask you something? Mustafa asked after a question and Ibrahim directed him a sideways glance.

"As if my refusal would stop you from asking." Ibrahim shook his head, knowing his elder brother too well.

"Fair enough." Mustafa laughed an unashamed laughter, making the frown across Ibrahim's face crumple, replacing it instead with a small smile.

"Why were you so worried about her today, worried to the extent that you wanted to meet her at any cost, not caring about anyone?" Mustafa's serious questions, in contrast to his previous mockery did not leave much time for Ibrahim to brace himself.

"She is my wife, Mustafa." Ibrahim opted for an excuse he knew Mustafa would never buy, but nevertheless, he tested his luck.

"Bullshit. You don't give a rat's ass about that, that much we have concluded." Mustafa swatted the proposition away in a blink of the eye.

"No, we have not." Ibrahim sounded incredulous, eyes wide as he replied, "I do give all the rat's asses in the world."

And that was true, he really did. He might not be emotionally attached to Hemayal Khakwani but he would definitely be worried if she ever was in a mess. If not for their relationship, then for humanity; and if not even for that, then for his own peace of mind. But at the end, he will always be concerned.

As least that is what he liked to tell himself.

"Even if you do, you definitely would not be all pumped up to meet her just because of that." Mustafa stated the obvious.

Mustafa had guessed that much right and Ibrahim heaved a deep breath as he tore his glance away from his brother, staring ahead at the night sky that housed no moon today, its darkness heightening his senses and making him more vulnerable to emotions.

"Yes, I wanted to meet her for some other reasons too." Ibrahim accepted without closing the lids, staring at the pitch black sky that covered his head in absolute elegance.

"And they are?" Mustafa inquired.

"Hadeed told me that she was extremely close to her grandfather and his death did not affect any of them as much as it affected her, so I wanted to at least meet her once, tell her all the things life had taught me till yet, that life should not be stopped for anyone, that this too shall pass." Ibrahim began in an achingly slow voice, and if Mustafa had not been sitting too close, he would never have understood the motion of his lips.

"There are other reasons too, right?" Mustafa asked after he had well registered the first reason in his mind.

"Of course there are. Do you really think I would stress to meet her just because of one reason?" Ibrahim leaned back against the chair, a sad but enchanting smile sliding across his face.

"I know, I know. And what were they?" Mustafa too leaned back, both of them tired after a long and heavy day.

"Before their grandfather died, Hadeed called me. He sounded worried, he was almost crying and that was not because of their grandfather, it was because of Hemayal. When I asked him later, he didn't tell me and ignored it, saying that it was because of his grandfather and stuff but who would believe that?" Ibrahim talked more to himself at the end than to Mustafa but despite that, the message was conveyed.

"You think something happened to Hemayal?" Mustafa was quick to catch up, making Ibrahim nod energetically, glad that his point was understood without much effort.

"Exactly. Something happened to her, something bad. I wanted to know what and that is why I wanted to meet her." Ibrahim said, not looking at Mustafa, drowned in his own world and words.

"Don't you think that is a bit wrong? The woman lost her grandfather; you should have given her a little time before shooting questions her way." Mustafa responded, lips pressing afterwards.

"Do you really think I would have questioned her? Come on, there are other ways to find out what is wrong with a person." Ibrahim replied, deep in thought, almost smiling at the end.

"And they are?" Mustafa narrowed his eyes as he asked.

"Sympathy." Ibrahim said, voice reserved.

"You cold-hearted bastard." Mustafa exclaimed, stunned at Ibrahim's reply.

"No, seriously, no. I do feel her pain; I have been in her place quite a few times, and I would never have used this on her, not in this state, of course." Ibrahim was quick to explain, making Mustafa exhale a relieved breath.

"You scared the shit out of me. I thought you have turned into this heartless, emotionless prick?" Mustafa glared at his brother who only laughed slightly, a small, genuine one.

"Well, how good I feel at your trust in me right now," Ibrahim grinned sarcastically, "But seriously, no, I would not have done that. There are other ways too. This was just an example."

"And what are they?" Mustafa was cautious this time as he asked, eyeing Ibrahim with narrowed gaze.

"Mustafa, do you really think I would not find out what's wrong after talking to her once, be it even a random discussion of sports?" Ibrahim exclaimed all of a sudden, making Mustafa's eyes narrow dangerously.

"Yes, I do think like that. You are not a psychiatrist, she is." Mustafa shrugged his shoulders, making Ibrahim roll his eyes before dropping his head back against the chair.

"Anyways, I still think it was wrong. You wanted to meet her for your own selfish reasons?" Mustafa was not much pleased with the idea, its taste sour on his tongue.

"Well, I did not so loosen up your horses a bit." Ibrahim replied, well amused at Mustafa's response.

"Thankfully." He sighed and Ibrahim only slowly rolled his eyes before turning his head sideways a little.

Both of them quieted after that, engrossed in their own privy thoughts as wind fiddled with their hair, the creased clothes from all day's work adding nothing but a sense of roughness to their attire, making them look appealing to the eyes that saw.

"Are there any other reasons too?" Mustafa had not given up yet and Ibrahim laughed, a rich but short one, making Mustafa understand the answers too well.

"What was it?" Mustafa asked, inching a little closer as he regarded his brother's face with narrowed eyes.

"Two are enough, Mustafa." Ibrahim hesitated, not willing to give away his one, final secret.

"Not if there are three." Mustafa reiterated much to Ibrahim's irritation and dread.

This reason was not something Ibrahim Yazdani could give away so easily, this was the reason that had been the perfect stimulus for his desire to meet Hemayal Khakwani, his wife. It was because of this reason why he had left the room where his family was seated, why he had repeatedly insisted Mehmal to arrange the meeting, and why he had the sudden urge to see her and condole.

"Is it private?" Mustafa asked with narrow gaze, deducing the said statement from Ibrahim's prolonged silence.

"Yes, very." Ibrahim replied in a beat.

"Fine then, as you wish." Mustafa gave up, making Ibrahim sigh in pure relief, "If it is private, I won't insist."

And that was the thing he loved and looked for in people - their noninterference, their ability to mind their own businesses and their ability to leave things when need be. That is what he had always treasured, and that was something he had always expected from people - friends or family, whatsoever.

Ibrahim was a kind of a man who was reserved without being unkind, who knew his boundaries without being disrespectful, who would not interfere in people's life without coming out as rude; in contrast to many people the world was filled with today, he knew balance was integral, and he well knew how to keep it too.

"Thank you." Ibrahim mouthed in his direction, a whisper so low it did not reach Mustafa but he could read the movement of those thin lips.

Ibrahim, however close he was to Mustafa, could not tell a lot of things to him; would not tell a lot of things to him. Closeness, understanding, trust - all these traits are essential but nothing is greater than the desire to hide the haunting weaknesses and conceal the chaotic shortcomings of yours. Hiding flaws is a desire everyone holds dear, it is a worship everyone does willingly.

He could not tell his brother that he was ashamed of himself, disgusted with the paths he had tread on, that life had gotten back at him for his wrong deeds not a day afterwards, that his wife had wounded her foot, rendering her incapable to walk, only a day after a woman injured her foot because of him. He held no emotions in his heart for her but the fact that she was injured, only a day after, did make tides of them rise in his heart.

He could not tell his brother that despite knowing that she was not injured because of him, he could not help but feel guilty; that karma had come to bite him, slicing through his heart like a needle picking at the wounded skin.

And God, it hurt.

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A short one but it is the best I can manage as my exams are going on!

Do tell me what you think and vote!

Till next time,
Salam!