Gunnah e Shab

12. Turn • موڑ

I will never be a morning person. For the moon and I are too much in love. — Christopher Poindexter

Mornings, early ones, with pretty, white fog settling on the minarets of mosques. Ones that filled the dark green grass with heavy dew drops ; one that had flowers blooming. Sunshine, lazily falling on the horizon. Such mystical mornings, were mornings Laila slightly tolerated. She thrived in the night. When the moon was out and sprinkled its purity over them. In the dark sinning sky, the moon was the speckle of innocence. Nights in all their dark glory held a charm so rustic ; it spoke of a story many refused to hear and coddled you into the most sweetest love affair between the giant natural satellite that glowed with the love of the bright, morning star.

Laila spent her days off on the rooftop. Away from all cover simply staring up at the vast sky. They made her feel like she was no one, while hundreds of, thousands of stars twinkled to make the world a brighter place —— she was just a microscopic being infront of them. Comparing herself with the marvels that nature had to offer brought her a sense of warmth and comfort. They reminded her of the fact that everything was relative. From the cup of tea she left in the sink, to the client she had kissed, it was all a large intricate web that pulled tighter at the strings to bring her closer to her eternal duty.

On the particular wintery night, the fog had descended on Lahore like a thick blanket. For miles, everything was invisible. The steam that escaped the peach mug camouflaged in the fog well. Her cheek's turned rosy as the cold struck against them, her fingers holding the thick shawl around her body tight, a duvet covering her body and thick fuzzy socks on her feet. Her hair softly cascaded down the length of her back, head resting against the wall.

At this hour of the night, the city's life dwindled. Everyone was busy dosing off deep into their warm beds. Servants slumped against the kitchen hearths, the embers dusting their white apparel. Parties ended on a high note and homes smelled of perfume and cigarette smoke. Dancers and prostitutes alike, returned to their respective places, brimming with excitement on getting paid. Everything happened between the protection of walls leaving the streets bare. An occasional motorbike whizzed by, splashing a puddle —— another delivery for a night owl's craving.

Sipping her tea softly, the warmth covering her throat, she hummed a soft tune under her breath. Closing her eyes and reminiscing her performance of the night prior. Still high on the drums beating and the giggling of her anklet. She remembered how soft the chiffon had felt against her skin, how alive she had felt. The eyes that burned her flesh; gazed at her the way a man does when aroused —— wide eyed ofcourse. There was thrill in playing, toying with the hearts of men. She would move them at the tip of her little finger's nail and they followed; she was the flute and they like the cobra powerless.

One man in particular, the nawab sahab had caught her eye for one reason. He was a passionate man; the sounds that fell from his mouth were like music to her ears, his fingers that touched and danced along her warm skin were like the most powerful magic. His toned body had been one of the most perfect she had entertained yet. Unfortunately, he was thinking a bit too much. She never broke her rule of 'one time is enough'. It was a promise to herself, to not get attached. After all that took away the thrill of her profession. Undressing a different man each night was a beautiful game. Discovering all kinds of bodies, all kinds of touches, Laila was proud to be a woman learned. Grateful for the knowledge she was acquiring over this topic.

Drinking the remaining tea in one big gulp, Laila parted ways with the rooftop, entering her bedroom. It was a small room, to the door frame strings of colourful rhinestones had been attached to act as a make shift curtain. The pink walls of the room had all kinds of sparkly stickers, a vanity with her makeup and hair care equipment, a small bed, enough to house her and an occasional client. A divider behind which she changed clothes. On the south facing wall of her bedroom was a bathroom. It was small and cozy, absolutely perfect for her.