02 Oblivious

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The first time I saw her, everything in my head went quiet.

Neil Hilborn

The flame claws at the air as it flickers and burns in the cold, biting night of late winter. He sits a good few feet away from where it dances in the center of a dozen men surrounding it, dancing around it too under a shade from the insanity of the bizarre rain that's falling. They seem oblivious to the freezing atmosphere out here in the countryside, a noticeable drop of a few degrees from how it was in the city.

Hurairah laughs as one of the man says something, seemingly more happy than him on this day, lost in the local songs playing with everyone else. He twirls his body and jerks his head in sync with the others, once more proving with his moves that he'll always be better than him at attan. The Pashtun traditional dance isn't for him, he admits secretly.

His gaze sails across the others, recognizing only Mughis and Nufail besides Hurairah among the men, before moving to his now father-in-law.

Humayun Asad sits with a few of his companions, possibly his friends from his political party, chatting idly and smiling occasionally, his own sharp eyes sweeping over everyone subtly like an eagle. He's still unsure of how a man of such political influence has agreed to give him his daughter in marriage. Deep in his heart he's afraid it must be his father than him to have compelled him upon making such a decision. His father, Idris Khalil, is no ordinary man either.

He shifts his attention to Hurairah again, his only friend and family to have joined him at this occasion, and the one to have found him his bride too. He only needed a simple girl to settle with, no demands, who can accept him and his daughter and make a home with him-- someone to love. But this extravagance he's seeing is proving to him that his bride and her family can be anything but simple.

Shirin was different.

He's quick to shush his heart as soon as the thought crosses his mind. It has been so long since the tragedy, and he has finally given himself another chance, after much insisting from his sister. The officiant of the nikah (Muslim ceremony of signing marriage contract) has only left with everyone dispersing after congratulating him and he's already back into his past again. He scolds himself mentally.

Banafsha, he says the name in his head. Banafsha, his wife. He never thought he'd remarry, trade his heart again, or give the place to someone else which always only belonged to Shirin. Though they've signed the marriage contract and are legally wedded, the wedding celebrations still remain. He isn't even sure when will they be, but he knows not anytime soon. His wife won't be leaving with him yet.

"Aurang?"

He looks up to find Mughis walking towards him. He sits up straighter as he approaches nearer.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Mughis asks, sitting beside him on an empty chair.

He smiles and nods briskly. "I am."

"Then why aren't you participating in the celebration?" His brother-in-law gestures around. "Why are you sitting here by yourself?"

"I don't know anyone," he excuses. "But I'm entertaining myself by watching everyone being happy."

Mughis hums low in his throat and adjusts his shawl around his shoulders. "How do you like everything?"

"I like the place. It's beautiful," he compliments and looks around their country house, his sight going as far as it can before getting lost. He turns to Mughis again. "You've outdone yourselves with the arrangements. You didn't have to."

"Nonsense," he waves him off lightly. "You're family now. This is only a small welcome."

He smiles. "Thank you."

"Our pleasure." He leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs, locking his fingers. "Wish your family could join us too."

"My sister couldn't come. She's expecting and the delivery is due soon," he explains. "I thought Hurairah might have told you."

"He did, said his wife really wanted to come but couldn't get the doctor's permission." Mughis parallels his gaze. "I was talking about your father."

He refrains himself from frowning and stares back at him flatly. "I think it's already clear why he's not here."

"Aurang," Mughis drops his voice, "I'm well aware of your position, but this cannot go on forever."

"I suppose this a discussion for another time," he dismisses politely.

"Baba!"

A little girl, around four year old, runs to Mughis and clings to his legs. His tense demeanor instantly fades away as he grins at her and picks her up in his arms.

"Jaan zama (my life)." He kisses her temple. "What are you doing here out in the cold?"

"Mama and Pari are with Afsha so I came to you."

Afsha. Banafsha. He repeats her name in his head.

"Afsha looks beautiful, baba. I want a dress like her too," the child says and Mughis chuckles before looking at him.

"This is my daughter, Abeer."

He smiles at her and she only blinks at him.

"Hello, little one," he greets and now she grins.

"Abeer, this is your uncle, Aurang," Mughis tells his daughter and now she eyes him curiously. "What's her name?" Mughis asks him. He looks at his brother-in-law in puzzlement. "Your daughter, I mean," Mughis adds.

"Zimal," he answers briefly.

"How old is she?"

"Eight year old."

"Hurairah didn't tell us much about your past, neither did we ask, but assured us of your goodness," Mughis speaks. "Our family prioritizes lineage over everything else. And you, like us, have a strong background. For us, it was enough that you're Idris Khalil's son."

He assesses his response. It's clear to him he and his wife's family are on unparalleled track. He's not sure what Hurairah has told them about him, but what Mughis is telling him sounds repulsive to him.

"I can be a very bad man for all you know," he says lightheartedly.

Mughis laughs heartily, not minding him joking. "I've known Hurairah long enough for me to trust him with my life. So I trusted him when he said you're a good man." His eyes soften as he gazes at him. "My sister is dear to me, Aurang. But these principles we follow make us, can also break us. So we must honor them to live in this society."

"Society can be wicked so I prefer the principles of God instead."

Mughis's lips pull up to one side into an amused smirk. "I respect your values, whatever they may be. But let's just admit it: when things are crooked, you bend a little too. Now whatever life you're living currently, it has to change at some point. Time ain't stagnant. Yesterday, you were single. Today, you're married. Tomorrow, you'll have to take responsibility of your wife too. Then you'll have to make adjustments accordingly, will you not?"

"Certainly."

"Similarly, today your father is in charge of his political party. Tomorrow, it will be you. Because who else?"

He doesn't answer; he doesn't want to discuss politics this night. What are even their expectations?

"Baba and Mr. Idris are old friends," Mughis adds. "It's an honor for us to have turned that friendship into a relationship."

"I'm humbled."

"Banafsha wants to continue her practice abroad. It's a fair coincidence she has found a job in Dublin and you live there too." Mughis notices his daughter shiver and wraps her into his shawl with him; she keeps dozing off. "She'll be staying with our younger brother, Zoraiz."

"I haven't met him," he points out.

"He's not here. That guy lives in his own world," Mughis replies, sounding disappointed. "Anyways, you'll hopefully meet him at the wedding soon. Baba will discuss the dates with you, whenever convenient."

"Sure."

"Zoraiz is youngest of us all, but he has spend most of his time away from home," Mughis continues. "So everyone treated Afsha as the young one of the family."

He smiles at that. "Ah, I see. Like a princess."

"Exactly." Mughis smiles back. "Baba never said no to her. Whatever she wanted, she always got. And that's why she can be difficult sometimes."

"Are you trying to scare me?" he kids.

"No, just warning you of how she can be." Mughis reaches out to squeeze his knee in a gesture of encouragement. "Keep her like a queen, Aurang. Give her the world."

"I'll try my best."

He doesn't question his definition of the world. For some people, it's simply heart itself. For others, everything on the face of earth can't even satisfy it.

Mughis stands up, picking up his daughter in his arms who has now fallen asleep. "I'll take her inside. Hurairah told me you wanted to see Banafsha?"

"That's right," he confirms.

"I'll check on her and you can meet her then."

"Very well."

"Whatever you have to say to her, keep it short," Mughis advises. "The hour is late and until the official wedding day, it's not appropriate. People here mind it."

People and their traditions, he thinks. But to each culture its own. So he only nods in agreement.

"I know you only arrived this morning from Dublin and you had to come directly to your nikah ceremony, you must be tired, but we'd appreciate if you could spare some time to make a few introductions before you leave," Mughis requests.

He smiles in agreement. "I'll stay for that."

"Thank you. I'll send someone to fetch you in a while."

Twenty minutes later, a servant comes to take him inside the house. Parisha meets him in the living room before taking him to the rooftop, making casual talk with him along the way. But the tense posture of his sister-in-law doesn't go unnoticed, although he doesn't comment on it.

Upon arriving to the airport earlier today, Mughis and Nufail had received him. He had made introduction with his in-laws, but there was still a lot to know. This decision of rushed marriage came with its own risks and complications, and he was already too deep into the affair to step back now.

Parisha stops at the a door that leads out to the open; he halts too. He can hear the rain beating against different surfaces outside, creating its own melody, natural but alarming. He glances outside.

"She's waiting for you," Parisha says and he shifts his attention to her.

"Out there in the cold?"

Her lips twist into an ironic smile. "Don't worry, there's a shade. And she likes the cold anyway."

He catches the double meaning to her words but she's quick to dismiss it, gesturing for him to go.

"You've only half hour."

She excuses herself and leaves. He inhales deeply and carefully pushes open the door to step outside.

The wind instantly pricks his skin, the cold seeping through it so he can feel it in his bones. He numbs his senses as his eyes start searching around for her. The sky is dark, so is the rooftop, except for the glow coming from down below where the celebration is going on, and the small decoration lights beautifying the walls.

His pupils zoom on the lone figure standing at the opposite end of the veranda, busy staring down to whatever has her attention, probably the men dancing, leaning over the handrail. He carefully steps towards her, sticking to the shadows, before stopping where the darkness concealed his form. He hears her chuckle and turn in his direction.

"You're hiding from me?" She tilts her head and the golden glow exquisitely swims over her features, letting him have the first look of his bride, right away knowing no word in his knowledge can do justice to what he's seeing.

"I don't like shy men," she comments.

The corners of his mouth pull upward at her remark in amusement but he doesn't respond, too lost for words, finding his gaze stuck to her-- worshipping her. The embroidery on her dress sparkle whenever light grazes it, momentarily blinding him, the brilliant red color a sharp contrast to her fair skin. The dress sticks to her slender form, and he notices her head veil gone, no single piece of jewelry adorning her, her hair tousled down over her shoulders messily. He feels a glitch in his heart for whatever reason.

She lifts up her chin, appearing bold, but painstakingly beautiful, so much so that staring at her starts hurting. He blinks before meeting those big orbs again. Marble hard, ice cold. He doesn't like how they look.

But he learns one thing: Banafsha is a crafted artwork of God, meticulous to even imagine for humankind, the one people don't believe to be from this world-- the kind to turn saints into satans. Has he really married a woman or some angel from heaven?

"Aurang," she says his name and he releases his breath slowly.

Mikael. He wants to ask her to call him by the name his mother has given him rather than his father. But before he can, she speaks up again.

"Everyone asked me to behave, as if I were going to kill you upon seeing you." She chuckles again, humorlessly. "I can't even see you, neither do I desire to. But you're innocent in all of this, so I will behave."

She turns around, her hair coming to cover her back, facing away from him.

"Do you know why I've married you?"

The two consecutive updates were meant to introduce both the leads together sooner than later. Further updates will depend upon the balance between my classes and writing.

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