Gunnah e Shab

10. Dance • ناچ

I am tired of myself tonight, I should like to be someone else - Oscar Wilde

The fire in the brick hearth, studded with a metal net, burned high. The embers fluttering around the large, spacious room. The wood crackling as it burnt, adding a beat to the silent space. The bright oranges, yellows and reds fostered a glaring look. Unforgiving as they roared, their heat reaching heights, unknown. They cast a gloomy shadow on the otherwise dark room, a hollow light on the obsidian bedroom. Shadows fell onto the wooden floors, of a raging beast and a calm beauty. They told their own tales, as the fire continued to lap at the wooden sticks, and the chairs stood still, in silence. Muted, to avoid the rage of their master.

On a dark pine, velvet upholstered Victorian chair, Azmaray sat in complete silence. His breath came out in small whispers, touching the cupids bow of his lip. His hands resting against the carved walnut arms. Legs crossed and the dark blue robe pulled into a tight knot. His ring clad finger, tapped away at the edge, eyes staring at the fire infront him. The other hand, swirling a glass of whiskey, his drink of choice —— always. His lips set into a grim smile, head still filled with thoughts of the woman he had encountered over a week ago.

His mind was clouded with her, enamoured completely. The bitter liquid dwelled on his tounge, leaving a mark behind, for a few seconds, unlike of course the woman named 'Rani'. He could still feel her gaze on him, the eyes that were the brightest of browns he had ever seen. Her touch, like the lightest of feathers, and yet it had burned, brandished him. He felt like he wore an invisible mark. Maybe the kisses she had littered across his hot skin, had burned deep. Seeped into the very being of him.

However, a part of him believed it to be infatuation. There was no way in hell or heaven, that he would fall for a woman in one night. It was out of the question. 'Love', was stretching it a bit to far. The woman had been dominating in bed, her eyes had burned him, her touch and cut through him and the wild kisses that they shared, left him wanting more. It could be contributed to the fact that she was not docile, or complacent like most Pakistani women were raised to be. The spark of sin and desire ran inside her wildly, and that had left him wanting more. He concluded it was the hot blooded male in him, that wanted to control her spirit. A case of infatuation, nothing more, nothing less.

Resting his head on the plush headrest, Azmaray pinched his eyes. Bouncing his leg, deep in thought. The warmth from the fire rested against his cool skin, well. In the background his phone rang, wildly. Calls from his family, asking him to return to Swat. Yet he had it not in himself to show his face to them just yet. In Lahore, away from their manipulative clutches, away from the toxic atmosphere of London and Swat, Azmaray was thriving. He was at peace finally, he felt new. Like his life was changing for the better, and he would not risk his peace for his family's age old traditions just yet.

Completely immersed in his thoughts, Azmaray continued to ignore the ringing of his phone. His fingers undoing the knot on his robe, his feet automatically sliding out of the plum satin slippers. Sliding the thick robe off of his muscular arms, he threw it over the orange ottoman, his hands fiddling with the covers as he slid under them. Head resting on top of the fluffy satin pillows. His hair sloppily laying against the cover. Mind emptied as the gentle ache in his frontal lobe began to spread out into a radiating pain, moving like waves in a sea. Gripping his phone, Azmaray turned it off. Turning to his left, sinking in deeper. Ignoring the list of responsibilities that awaited.

————

Azan Khan stared at his unmarried daughter. Samira, his youngest, was at the age of forty eight, still unmarried. She had rejected good enough proposals left, right and centre. Years of being under her father's care, had turned her into a vicious woman. She had eaten her weight in, and despite the many warnings from the doctor, she had refused to change weighs. Weighing in at a solid hundred kilograms with a height of five feet and five inches.