Gunnah e Shab

24. White • سفید

Book recommendation of the chapter : Life Sentence by JaveriaNaeem9

The poem is always incomplete, the butterflies make it whole. - Mahmoud Darwish

Azmaray gaped at his aunt. His grandfather had always been distant and cold, but never had he imagined the man to be the murderer of his own blood. Anything, he would belive that man to do anything but had hope he had not stooped so low. Murder. Killing. Homicide. No word made it easier on his soul. The hurt, the open wound filling up with blood once again. He clenched his jaw, observing his aunt. He knew she was not lying, Hooriya never lied. What he wanted to know was what the truth was. What was he hiding.

"Why? What is he hiding?" Azmaray spoke.

"A lot. I can't tell it all to you right now, over here. Soon though". She replied.

"Give me a hint. Please," he begged.

"Listen Azmaray, your father and aunt were about to reveal the truth to you. It would change everything. Your truth will slip from your fingers like sand". She stood up.

"You can't just say that and leave!"

"Azmaray next week is a joint reception of yours and Asghar's. Your grandfather plans to announce Asghar as the new Duke—but remember you have the seal. Don't denounce this place!" She pursed her lips.

Taking a deep breath, Hooriya walked around the table and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

"I will give you the proof and the truth—soon". She promised.

"I trust you," he patted her hand.

Her exit prompted Laila to rush into the bedroom. Her eyes narrowed onto him, taking in his hunched figure. She brushed her lips against the shell of his ear, breathing on his earlobe softly. Her fingers brushed across the plains of his chest. Dragging her nails softly on the visible skin of his neck. Her lips following suit.

"Not now Laila," he groaned.

Taking a seat once again, he rubbed his eyes. His aunt had perhaps shattered the remaining illusion he held of his family. Gripping his collar, she had shaken him. His eyes had finally opened to the cruelty of humanity. The one that wasn't hidden behind the large statues and expensive, historical literature. A crime that was the same in all languages, English, Urdu, Pashto and Greek. The sin was equally shameful in them all.

"Let me Azmaray," she spoke.

Dipping low, she fiddled with the clasp of his trousers. Her hands tracing the veins that disappeared below. Breath and heart beat racing, Laila took a deep breath. She could do this, she had done this for a long time. Her tounge rested on the skin of his stomach. His muscles turning hard as they made contact, his large palms tightened over her hands. Pulling her back, Azmaray forced her onto his lap. His eyes hazy and contorted in deep pain it seemed.

"I said not now," he whispered.

"Let me take your stress away," she spoke, her voice trembling.

"Laila there are other ways to de-stress. Sex isn't the only one!"

"I—I didn't wish to offend you,"she replied.

Huddling into his body, into a small ball she whimpered. Her shoulders shaking and tears rapidly filling into her once lust filled eyes.

"You didn't. But you also need to stop looking at seduction as the only way you can calm me".