The Flying Dreams

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

When all the guests left after making a complete mess of the living room, Shifa had lingered by the door for a few more minutes after sending the last one, Abhi on his way, hugging him and laughing upon something he whispered in her ear, a small smile playing about on his own lips. She stood there and I had counted, for ten seconds left in five minutes, her back to me with her phone in her hands and a scowl on her mouth. Then her phone rang, and she had groaned, threw her head back and every single hair on her head had fallen back, almost touching neck but she didn't pick up the call. That had made me wonder who the unfortunate caller was. Either her mother or... that Riya. Though I hadn't really caught another moment of them in the spotlight, I was sure they still talked—a fact that almost made my happy mood sad. I had watched all her actions from the sofa, a pillow on my lap and hijab finally on the armchair. It was absurd, the way she seemed to enchant me with even a littlest of movement of her hair. Looking at Shifa always left me torn in two pieces, one who couldn't avert her gaze away from her and one who was disgusted with that feeling. I loved looking at her and I hated all the emotion the mere act erected. I had tried, not once, but multiple times to confine my heart in its cage, to keep my eyes far from her, to force my lips into a line when all they demanded was a smile. I couldn't stop smiling when she did. It drove me crazy and then in the enormousness of my divided heart, on one side lay Wahab and with him, lived my belief. Homosexuality didn't go well with girls made up of religious faith.

Then, she turned and faced me, her face soon twisted into a smile bit by bit as if she just remembered a silly anecdote and could not keep the burst of amusement inside her. She laughed and seeing her do so brought a willing grin on my face. Well, I thought to myself, the contemplation must wait if Shifa desired humor.

"Finally!", she swept her hand over her brow in an exaggerated manner of wiping imaginary sweat and dropped herself beside me on the sofa. She might have not done it on purpose, but I noticed the vast space between us. The sofa was of moderate size, comfortable for two and just enough for three and judging by all the space, she must not be totally comfortable. The sides of her sofa had rough, unpolished wooden carving which caused a good amount of pain if touched. I didn't mention it and Shifa remained hunched over with her head thrown on the headrest.

I tried to keep my focus on her words, "I know. Look at the mess they made."

"Shouldn't have invited them. I'll clean it in the morning, we still have a movie to watch."

I nodded even though she couldn't see me, "Yes. We do. Put it on and I'm gonna make some tea."

Just as I stood up, wrapping my woolen shawl around my shoulder, she looked up, "When did you take off your hijab?"

I chuckled, assuming she was kidding but seeing her raised brow, I could not surpass the urge to roll my eyes.

"After Abhi left."

She bobbled her head and I thought she was going to put on the movie she kept talking about but instead her steps followed mine and upon reaching the kitchen, she leaned over the center table without saying a single word. I began to make tea and felt her eyes on me. The space felt too hot and cold at the same time, my feet were freezing inside the socks and yet my ears were probably red from the heat. I tried not to notice but at the end, I met her eyes.

"What?"

She shook her head and still said, "You don't trust me, do you?"

Well. If she expected me to answer that, then I could, with the wholeheartedness, affirm her mad. And stupid. Why would I trust someone I didn't even know? I just liked the way she looked and... that was all. Sure, I had seen girls three times prettier than her, but it was the way she carried her beauty, she had molded it to fit her own standard, when I saw her, she didn't seem beautiful to me, instead her whole demeanor permeated a subtle touch of masculinity which had struck me, at first, as absurd and embarrassing but soon I found myself drowned in it. Shifa was a mix of both— grace and bold. Both the traits, I lacked and perhaps, that was the sole reason I was so infatuated with her. But trust? No, I didn't.

When no words left my mouth, she scoffed, "I promised you that I wouldn't tell Wahab about your outing with your friends. I did, didn't I?"

Oh. I went back to my tea and hoped she would drop the topic. But obviously, luck hardly played on my side. Wahab told her. Or maybe he asked. I didn't want to know. Though, I should have known better that that conversation was bound to happen to moment I ratted myself out.

"Your fiancé asked me to keep an eye on you— ", she grinned at my sudden reaction of dropping my jaw on the floor, and added with a little hint of mischief, "So, rest assured that my eyes are ­always going to be on you."

I should have felt something along the lines of rage and humiliation, that would have been logical seeing how my fiancé thought of me, as a mere piece property which needed to be looked after at all costs but the flutter in my stomach and warmth creeping on my neck was anything but fathomable.

I ducked my head and heard her laugh before her words reached my ears, "Let's go."

I silently handed her the tray and grabbed a red packet of Sunfeast biscuits and followed her to the living room. I took my seat and Shifa went to the TV after placing the tray on the small coffee table which had been moved to the side to make extra room on the floor for five more people. Picking up the hot cup, I curved my hands around it and instantly felt lighter, somehow. Shifa quickly came back to the sofa and her whole face was full of excitement and it made me ask what I had been wondering for a while now.

"Why do you like watching movies so much?"

"Because my mother never let me when I was little."

She said those words without a single thought, and it rendered me unable to produce a syllable. There was a TV in my home but watching anything on it was a struggle with my brother always handing around. I preferred Zoya's phone whenever we got time to actually do something other than house chores and studies. I watched her for a second and thought how I should answer. Show empathy or ask her to elaborate? The movie started and I casted a glance on it, there were some insects being shown and I swiftly turned my eyes on her.

I considered my mother strict, but she never stopped me from turning on the TV, in fact she usually sat with me to watch daily repeating episodes of Jodha Akbar in the evening after abbu went to sleep. We both had a stupid crush on the actor who played Akbar.

Shifa sipped on her and sighed loudly, briefly closing her eyes, "Adia! This is so good."

"I put extra ginger."