11 Daggers

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Know that if people are impressed with you, in reality they are impressed with the beauty of God's covering of your sins.

Ibn Jawzi

She sits lost in her thoughts by the closed balcony doors in Zoraiz's small apartment. Through the glass, she watches the sky raging as it has been for the last few days, alternating between storms and rain. Her feet rest on the chair opposite to her and she nurses a tea cup in her hands. The weather has been upset lately.

A streak of lightning cracks the gray clouds with neon blue for a flicker of a second before disappearing, but enough for her to hang onto the blue of it until she drifts somewhere far away. To Mikael. It reminds her of his eyes, and she doesn't know why. But she doesn't try shaking him off her mind. Something in her head keeps humming, thoughts of him that are keeping her occupied unknowingly.

The sound of the door opening and closing interrupts her musings and she cranes her neck to see Zoraiz walking out of his room towards the open kitchen. He's only in his trousers, shirt absent, and hair damp from the shower, a towel resting around his shoulders. Banafsha knits her eyebrows disapprovingly.

"It's cold. You want to get sick?"

He grunts dismissively and pours himself a glass of orange juice from the fridge.

"Mr. No-Brains," she mutters under her breath before announcing loudly, "If you do get sick, God forbid, I'm not tending to you."

"I expect no less," he mocks.

She scowls at him. "Quit being nasty. I told you already that I went to check on your professor's daughter."

He takes his glass and walks towards her, nudging her feet gently with his knee off the chair and sitting in front of her. He holds his earlobe apologetically.

"Thank you for that, and I'm sorry for my misbehavior."

She rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her tea. "The good news is that the child's condition is diagnosed early and has excellent prognosis since she hasn't developed any complications so far with it. She can live normal and healthy life with treatment. The bad news? The shunt size is big enough that it requires surgery and her father is reluctant to the option. Waiting to see if the defect closes on its own with time is risky as the symptoms have already started to manifest."

"But it's not fatal and she'll be okay, right?"

"Yes, with surgery."

"That's a relief." Zoraiz gulps down half of his juice before smiling ruefully. "Although I understand professor's trouble. He lost his wife on the OT table. He's afraid of putting his daughter on that table too."

Curious, Banafsha leans towards to him, the photograph of his wife flashing in her mind. "What happened to her? To his wife, I mean."

"A car hit her." He takes another gulp of the juice, continuing, "They got her to the hospital but she died during the operation. He saw it all firsthand: the accident and her taking her last breaths in his arms."

"That's tragic," she comments passively with only a tinge of sorrow and empathy for him, having dealt with such tragedies for many years now to adapt.

Zoraiz shrugs one shoulder. "That's life, Afsha."

"How long has it been?"

"Seven years."

"So long and yet he's unable to move on from her," she remarks, recalling Mikael carrying his late wife's photo all three times she has run into him.

"Yeah, has been hard for him. She was pregnant with a boy when it all happened."

"Ah." She finds herself at loss of words.

Zoraiz gulps down the remaining of his juice and licks his lips. "The doctor would council him for his daughter's surgery, right?"

"Of course."

"As long as Zimal is fine."

"She will be, don't worry."

Zoraiz gets up and walks back towards the kitchen, washing his glass before searching the cabinets for something.

Banafsha lifts her tea cup to her lips, asking from behind it, "So, he teaches you poetry?"

"Who?"

"Mikael."

He sticks his head from behind the cabinet door, raising an eyebrow in amazement. "Since when did you get on first name basis with him?"

"I didn't mention to you, but I met him at the airport the day I arrived. He introduced himself as Mikael to me," Banafsha replies casually.

He goes back to searching for his something. "They didn't teach me poetry while studying law, sis. And I didn't take arts and literature courses at the university."

"Then how is he your teacher?" she inquires, puzzled and interested to know.

"He teaches off campus too, in an academy. I used to go there." He appears from behind the cabinet door and shuts it, holding a cigarette between his lips. He opens a drawer and pulls out a lighter, burning the cigarette with it and then taking a long drag of it. Banafsha watches it with malcontent.

"So if you weren't learning poetry from him, what did he teach you?" she asks, masking her displeasure at his smoking.

"History." He puffs out smoke. "He's a learned man; I regard him highly."

Banafsha carefully pushes open the balcony doors with her leg a bit, letting the air in before passive smoking can damage her lungs, sipping her tea empty.

"They didn't teach you history on campus?" She casts a side look to Zoraiz. "And why the need to learn it?"

"He didn't teach history on campus, and no one else on campus taught it like him." He ruffles off water droplets from his hair. "I just ended in his class one day with my friend, and then continued to go there because his lectures were compelling. He had answers to my questions and it made me feel at peace."

"Learning history gave you peace?" She scoffs, unconvinced. "Over what?"

"Over my messy life."

She smirks and regards him critically. "And yet here you are smoking as if your life depends on it. I wonder if it's still not messy. Or did he teach you how to be at peace with the mess?"

Instead of taking offense, Zoraiz smirks back. "At least you can credit me for not being as messy as the men of our family, sister."

She frowns at him. "Excuse me, can you be more specific?"

"If your ego can take it, since you obsess over our family's name." He taps the cigarette's butt before taking another drag. "But we both know the ill repute of our circle our riches are barely covering."

"You're not being loyal to your blood," she scolds him, unsettled by his statement. "I don't approve of many of our ways, but we're still honorable people."

"If it pleases you to think so." He rubs his cigarette against the ash try to burn it out before dumping it in the dustbin. "For me, men spending their nights at brothels and having tobacco addictions don't count as honorable."

Banafsha clenches her jaw, staring daggers at her brother for laying so brazenly the faults of her family on the table-- for giving her reasons to dislike them or be ashamed of them. But most of all, reminding her why she always sought an escape from that life yet despite her effort, is tied to Aurang and stuck there instead.

She feels upset and angry at Zoraiz disrupting her peace in the process. What if she cannot free herself from Aurang? What if despite her asking him, he refuses to divorce her and she has to go back to that life? She doesn't care about him being a good man, she knows she cannot love any man falling into her family's circle. Her beliefs have been crooked and broken by the environment she has grown up in.

"You think baba is dishonorable?" She stands up and walks towards the kitchen where he's still standing behind the counter, placing the cup down on it. "You say Mughis lala is too?"

Zoraiz casually places both palms on the counter and leans forward, speaking in hushed tone, "Our parents never had a happy marriage and we're witnesses to it. I've hurt every moment of every day growing up with it. Do you deny it?"

She doesn't deny it, neither admits, silently battling him with her eyes. His eyes glow golden under the yellow kitchen light, adamantly fighting her back.

"Have you ever asked Ferozeh if she's happy with lala?" he questions challengingly.

"She is," Banafsha replies insistently, remembering Ferozeh telling her on her nikah night the reason of marrying Mughis: because she finds him a good man and that she loves him. "Ferozeh loves lala," she adds.

"She might love him, Afsha, but whether she's happy with his ways is another debate. And if you cannot understand your best friend without her saying it, then maybe you're not a good enough friend to her."

Banafsha curls her hands into fists. "And you think you're so noble being different? Everyone has their flaws, brother. If baba and lala have theirs, they still provided their families with the best of everything. Look at me," she gestures towards herself, "everyone keeps telling me I've married a noble man, but that noble man still cannot give me the life I want. How is that any different?"

"There's probably something wrong with your definition of happy life," he fires back. "Nobility of character is way superior to the quantity of riches. If your husband has that, consider yourself fortunate."

"Oh yeah?" she huffs. "His nobility isn't going to provide me a quality life. I'd still rather die on a bed than rot on streets with him."

"Then that's your pick to deal with the consequences of. But from what I've gathered, you doesn't even know your husband, do you? Yet you're quick to judge," he argues heatedly.

"I don't need to know him to decide he's not the one for me. I know enough about him to make this decision: he's poor, widowed, with a child, and disowned by his family. He's everything I don't want in a man."

Zoraiz grits his teeth and shakes his head in disapproval. "I'm sorry to say this, but you bring the epitome of materialism to life. I can't believe my sister is one of those mean girls from the movies everyone dislikes."

She gasps as her eyes pop out. "How dare you? I hate you for saying this!" She hits his bare chest with the back of her hand. "No one judged Parisha when she married Nufail. He's rich, good looking, and has a respectable character and family background. If I'm looking for the same, what's wrong with that?"

"Because God blesses everyone in His own way," he reasons firmly.

"But I don't feel blessed with anything. In fact, I'm ripped of everything!" she yells in frustration.

Zoraiz slaps his forehead and mutters something inaudibly.

"What?" Banafsha demands, annoyed with her brother.

He glares at her. "Nothing. I had to tell you something but forgot to due to this stupid argument."

He walks around the counter towards the couch and grabs his shirt lying there, slipping it on before turning back to face her.

"Mughis lala called me earlier. Said he's planning on coming over."

Banafsha feels blood draining from her body at the information. "What for?"

"To meet with your husband. He lives here in Dublin, right? Lala said he needed to settle some affairs with him, and that I need to meet him too since I couldn't make it to your nikah."

She almost growls in rage as she storms towards him, clutching his forearm, a thousand worries buzzing in her head at once. "Why didn't you refuse him?"

"Why would I?"

"Because I don't want to marry Aurang!"

Zoraiz stares at her in disbelief, mouth agape. "But you're already married to him."

"And I've already asked him for divorce too!"

Now his jaw falls limp. "What?"

"Lala doesn't know this. If he meets Aurang and finds out..." she doesn't finish, dreading the worst.

"What have you done, Afsha?" Zoraiz hisses. "I thought this marriage had your will in it. You should've thought it through before agreeing to this."

"I didn't have an option. I was forced," she defends herself.

He sighs and slumps down on the couch, covering his face with both hands and groaning loudly.

"Everything is a joke to you," Zoraiz spits. "Have you ever considered once what trouble you've put that man into? Emotionally, mentally, physically. Aurang not only has to deal with your demand now, but our family's pressure too if he takes any such step. Baba will make his life a living hell."

"No, baba won't." She quickly comes to sit beside him, holding his arm. "Aurang is Idris Khalil's son, and baba wants to be in Mr. Khalil's good grace. He won't hurt his son in any way." She shakes his arm like a child trying to make someone listen to their whims. "Zoraiz, please, ask lala not to come here. Make up any excuse. And if he still insists, then go and talk to Aurang for me before Mughis lala gets here."

He looks at her, eyes full of reprimand and objection. "You know nothing. You don't know their ways-- they're both dirty and ugly. Do you know why Idris Khalil disowned his son, Afsha?"

She holds her breath for whatever revelation Zoraiz has to make.

"Because he married a prostitute against his father's will," he says and her heart feels to be pierced by daggers. "Idris Khalil has nothing to do with Aurang now. You getting married to him might bridge this relationship of father and son, because finally his son would've a wife of their status to carry their family's legacy; he wouldn't have to be ashamed of Aurang in front of the public anymore. But if you divorce him, Aurang remains at the mercy of our family."

Her breaths becomes heavy with the weight of Zoraiz's words. She feels her eyes watering but quickly blinks back tears, biting back a sob that has swelled up in her throat.

"And I'm a pawn in this game?" She chuckles humorlessly, pitiful of herself. "You're saying I need to sacrifice my life for Aurang's?"

Zoraiz's eyes soften and he sits up, shaking his head as he holds her face in his hands. "I'm asking you not to rush anything. Give him a chance."

"At the cost of my happiness? I don't want to." She scoots away from him. "How do you know all this?"

"I did my homework before your nikah," he jokes. "Made sure the guy you were marrying is capable of giving you the happiness you deserve."

Banafsha sniffs and glances away.

"For me, please, at least once consider the possibility," Zoraiz requests. "Take your time and think about it. Aurang could be the man you never know you needed. If you want me, I can arrange for you to meet him and know him for real. But if you still don't want to be with him," he holds her hand and squeezes it reassuringly, "then I myself will stand with you against everyone, Afsha. I promise."

And for once in her life, she feels she's not alone. For once in forever, she feels truly loved. She gazes at her brother and smiles.

"Thank you, jaan."

Thoughts?

Trying to write more often so here's an early update. I hope I won't take so long finishing this book.

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