Hasil e Lahasil | حاصلِ لا حاصل

14

Chapter 14

Broken yet Fine

4 months later
-March

An artistry of swirls and rings, rose from the branded cigar, the man smoked. The bundle of tobacco leaves rolled into a stick, was held skilfully as the man had mastered it for years. He sat behind the large furnished table, dressed immaculately in a suit. The hardened lines on his face and the white streaks of his hair screamed the vigilance of his character, for he was Sajawal Malik, a man of hardened exterior and few words.

A knock resounded on the door of the study, waiting for his approval to enter the room. Exhaling another wisp of smoke, he stubbed the cigar in an ashtray, before letting the person in. As the door opened, a strong smell of tobacco entered the nostrils of Anwar, the butler of Malik household, made his way towards the coffee table in the study.

He placed the tray holding a cup of black coffee and moved efficiently towards Sajawal. The man nodded in his direction and with a flick of his finger dismissed him. Anwar left the study, closing the large doors softly behind him, not disturbing the peace of his master.

He walked back to the kitchen taking large steps at a time. The sight he witnessed in the lavish kitchen of the house was of an elegant woman, her every step filled with grace. Dressed neatly and modestly, she worked beside the servants, preparing breakfast.

Her entire attention on the man, who had been sneaking around the kitchen, picking up food from different plates, sometimes earning a playful slap on the back of his head or when she swatted his hands away from the plates. Her eyes crinkled whenever she smiled, her elderly gaze resided with adoration for her son, her only heaven. For whom she lived, for whom she breathed every breath.

"Don't Dilawar," Mariam Malik warned her son with expressions of playfulness marring her gentle features.

"Come on, Amma. You're already taking so much time." Dilawar groaned as his stomach protested.

"Go and sit on the table. Your father will be downstairs any moment and he won't appreciate your presence in the kitchen." Mariam spoke, flipping a paratha on the griddle pan.

"Your husband is high on caffeine, Amma." He chuckled softly, for he knew that his mother would definitely throw him out of the kitchen now.

"And he will be quite alert, so behave yourself and out now." She warned pointing the tongs in his direction, eyes hardening in worry.

"Fine," he grumbled before walking out and into the dining room as he took a seat. His arms flexed under a grey button-up shirt as he poured himself water. The dark stubble turned into a full beard now, requiring a trim, though it suited him. His features reflected maturity instead of the boyish looks, described on his face. He looked every inch of the man, his name depicted; bold and brave. A man raised by a fine woman.

The lightness in the atmosphere was curtained by an aura of gloom, when Sajawal Malik entered the dining room. He was a man carved with stone; with none emotions and feelings, a character of indifferent personality. Distinct smell of tobacco lingered around him, as a permanent part of him.

Dilawar, never fond of the cigar and related products, difficulty held his expressions of scrunching his nose at the smell. He gluped the glass of water and placed it on the table. His father seated himself on the head place, eyeing Dilawar from the corner of his eyes and before he could remark on something, Mariam entered the dining room, followed by a few servants holding plates of freshly prepared breakfast.

Soon enough, the dining table held variety of items for the three of them. Parathas, omelette, fruits, toast, juices, etc. occupied the place. Sajawal quit the attempt on making any comment on Dilawar and put all his attention on the food.