The Dawn Is On Us

C H A P T E R 3 7

S T U N N I N G was a simple word to describe how ethereal Hoor looked. Her skin was glowing and the serenity of her face was something that was absent on the day of their Nikkah. Her lips stretched in an everlasting smile.

She had woken up very early in the morning. And had arrived at the saloon quite a few hours ago. The beauticians had made her go through what she would say pure torture. They applied all these different sorts of creams on her face. A few took to her hands and feet, giving her a mani-pedi. Then the saloons senior henna artist came over. Decorating her hands in a series of intricate patterns. The peachy toned nail polish highlighted the designs.

She had felt utterly embarrassed when a group of ladies pulled her into a room for waxing. She fought a thick, incoming blush on her face as they made their way down there. Hoor tried to stop them, but all they did was ignore her pleadings, doing their jobs that they were paid for.

Now, after a painstaking five hours, Hoor was finally ready for her walima. Her hair was pulled into a slender, low bun. Pinned to it was her heavy chiffon duppata. The dress was a beautiful lehnga choli. It was a shade of light blue. With the top and sleeves covered in heavy beadwork that swirled around to make branches. The neck reached the base of her throat, featuring a thin line of delicate work, leaving no need for any kind of necklace. The bottom half was identical to the shirt, with the exception of that fact that it had flowers in peach colour.

In her hands, Hoor wore diamond karay. That Mustafa had given to her. They were precious as his mother had left them for his future wife. Hoor smiled looking at her hands. Standing and walking to the exit on wobbly feet. Still not used to wearing such high heels.

Alia warded off any evil eye as she looked at her for the first time.
"MashAllah," she smiled.
Meanwhile, Mustafa who sat in the car, looked at her from the window. Losing his breath. He had no idea what he had done to be married to someone so beautiful. As Hoor was seated in the car, her brown eyes twinkled with happiness. She grabbed Mustafa's hand out of her own accord for the first time.

"Mein kaisi lag rahi hun?" She asked him.
He knew she was blushing. In that moment, he hated the peachy powder on her cheeks. It would have been so much better to see her natural blush, that dyed her cheeks a shade of rose.
"Bohat haseen," he smiled at her.
Lifting their entwined hands, kissing the back of them.

Hoor rested her head on his arms. Sighing in content. She was so glad that she had chosen to see the side of Mustafa that she was refusing to acknowledge. He was a man that she had always dreamt of. She was still nowhere near being a hundred percent comfortable with him. However, she had to start somewhere. And where they stood now was a good enough place for her.

The car entered the venue. The large white building, illuminated with all kind of lights. Cars entered and exited at a fast rate, and yet the entrance was still crowded. Which made absolute sense. P.C Lahore was one of the most renowned places to hold weddings in. And despite the fact that only the rich could afford to host weddings here, it did not stop people's obsession with it. Everyone from every walk of life, dreamed to visit the large place.

The hall they had booked was one of the largest that was being offered. It was due to the fact that Mustafa had invited a lot of his business partners. Hoor was led to the bridal room, meanwhile Mustafa was wheeled to the pool side, for his photo shoot.

The photographer was a bit awkward. How could one take pictures of a paralysed groom? And it was exceptionally difficult when Hoor joined them. They had to improvise, the classic poses did not work for this couple. The photographer and his assistant, gave Hoor looks of pity.

Hoor hated it. She did not want to be pitied. She was happy with her husband. He was different. He had a condition not a lot had. However, it was something that was not in Mustafa's control. Her heart ached for him. How could she have treated him the way she did? She was despising the way everyone treated her. It made her think. If she, could not live with this treatment, how was Mustafa okay?

Life had treated him unfair. And people had made him the outsider. She vowed to not treat him like an alien. She would work on loving him. Treating him like an equal.

Mustafa and Hoor, entered the hall. The hall was decorated to match Hoor's outfit. The pastel shades of blue and peach looked perfect. All the tables were decorated with pink roses. The stage was flat. With a mirror floor and white sofa.

They looked like a funny pair. Whilst usually a couple would enter hand in hand, Mustafa was being wheeled by Raees as she walked slowly to match his pace. No sooner had they sat on the stage, a line of guests began to come over. Each handing her an envelope thicker than the next.

Forty-five minutes after their arrival, the buffer was opened. The trencher filled to the brim. From biryani to ghoti daal everything was to the preference of the bride and groom. Luckily, since it was their wedding, they were served on the stage. Saving Hoor from the troubles of having to fight with aunties in the heavy outfit that she was wearing.

Unfortunately, they could not enjoy the food properly. As guests kept interrupting them rudely. Hoor sighed. The last time she had a proper meal was breakfast. Now at 9 pm, she was starving. Her happiness knew no bounds when people stopped coming up to them. She enjoyed the food. Moaning at the flavours that burst into her mouth.

"Shukriya Raees bhai!" Hoor gave him a blinding smile.
He had brought her kheer. And it was no easy feat. Everyone seemed to be fighting for a bit of it. So if it was not for him, Hoor would not have been able to taste her favourite desert.

J A M A L H O U S E, ANDROON LHR
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Ali looked at his parents who were engrossed in a deep conversation. Although, Mustafa had come personally yesterday to invite them, they had outrightly rejected it. They would not be going to any wedding ceremony of his sister. She had caused them enough damage. Now they were not interested to see her rub her wealth in their faces.

"Ammi mein ata hun!" Ali shouted.
Without waiting for a reply, he headed out into the dark street. Touching his pockets repeatedly to make sure that the money was still there.

He walked swiftly to the place where he gambled. He wanted to return the money he owed them as soon as possible. So that he could live without the tension of having a death threat.

"Yeh lo. Apke paisay!" Ali handed the envelope to one of the men.
They all smirked. They all knew how he got the money. After all, they had their eyes on him.
"Kangan sai kaafi milay thay. Aur paisay de. Interest kon utaray ga?" Their head sneered.

There was a reason why no one did transactions with them. They had ways to make people their slaves and then have them suffer. Seeing Ali's resistance, they did not hesitate. Shooting him in his chest. Taking the remainder out of his pocket. Leaving him on the ground, as he bled profusely.

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