Complications of Heart

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"Ouch!"

"Sorry, Sir." The man, in a traditional shalwar kameez, smiled sheepishly as he pinched Affan with his needles.

Nodding his head dismissively, Affan turned to see me through the mirror.

Damn! Did he always look this good or aj kuch-

"Hello" dragging it a bit more, Affan was staring at me with his eyebrows quirked up. Not now to drool, Samreen.

"Hey." I breathed out, not sure if it was the run or the sight in front which left me breathless. Clearing my throat, I dragged my feet inside. Itna nervous toh interview mein bhi nahi thi. The things you do to me, Affan Alyan!

(I wasn't this nervous in the interview even.)

"Af-"

"Baji, jara woh dena." the third wheel injected. Pointing towards a pile of pocket squares at the table beside me, he again gave a smile.

(Sister, could you give me that?)

"Oh yeah, sure." What the heck am I doing? I thought as I moved forward to pass the pile to the man.

"Ok, so how are you?" Affan asked. The sight was funny actually. The man was trying to reach his height to fix the pocket squares in his sherwani with some flower arrangements, while I stood there with the rest of the pile in hand beside Affan staring at the third wheel.

"Huh?" I was too focused on what to say to him that I didn't know what to do.

Just feel yaar.

"I am tired of running." I blurted out. I have half a heart to smack myself. Running my hand on the fine fabrics of the soft shades, I tried to gather what I wanted to say. What I want to say.

"I-um- I know now is the worst kind of timing. But I couldn't think of anything else when I heard about it." I continued, softly as the man continued to struggle his way to get the perfect match with his sherwani. He is so distracting!

"Hmm." sensing my diversion, Affan urged me to continue. I could feel his eyes on me tracing my expressions. He could always read me. Smiling at that thought, I felt warm.

"The thing is-" again I started as Affan fixed the sleeves of the sherwani while eyeing me.

"Well, the thing is-" And I made a mistake, to look up and see those ethereal shades of stormy grey eyes and forget everything. Usually, storms are cold, but his ones give me a sense of calmness and warmth. Always did. So why the hell did I notice it just 14 hours back?

"Yeh nahi." Interruptions are third-wheels. I know that now as I glared back at the man, finally standing on a stool, with his hands searching through the pile to look for another pocket square to go with the sherwani and flowers.

(Not this.)

"So, what I want to say is that I thought a lot." I turned to face the man who brought turbulence to my life goals of avoiding running after trains. "No, scratch that. I didn't want to think about it."

Our eyes were steady on each other. His and mine on the mirror. Steady, yet turbulent.

"I was just- you know..." I trailed off.

"Scared, I know Samreen. You made it clear last time." Turning to face me, Affan spoke the words that were weighing in between us.

"Found it! Just a little to the left side." the man ordered Affan as he motioned his hands to fix the fabric in the pocket.

"I did, didn't I? But that was then, Affan. I know it is bad timing. Hell, there is all that decoration and you in this sherwani. But all I could think of is to get to you. Catch the train-"

"Yup the train, Samreen." This time it was the grey-eyed man who interrupted. Why was I being interrupted again and again?

"I mean catching you." Correcting myself, I continued.

"No, you call love 'train', Sammy. Not me." He smiled, wistfully as his eyes shone a familiar glint to the ones six months back. Ouch!

"I do. But that's it. I came here all this way and you know why." My patience was running thin.

"I don't actually." He retorted.

"Affan Alyan, I know I am late, but one thing I realized in these six months is that I missed you terribly. I missed you. I missed us. I missed talking to you. I missed walking with you, bantering with you, laughing with you. Though I didn't wanna admit it, I did. I was afraid of becoming what I saw in movies to happen."

"Becoming what?" Affan probed.

"Bhai jaan, sidha khare rehiye."

(Brother, stand straight, please.)

"Becoming what, Sammy?" Affan asked once again, ignoring the man.

"Be-" I tried to start.

"Aur ek pin yaha." See tried.

(One more pin here.)

Rolling his eyes to oblivion, Affan had a blank look on his face. He was losing it and so was I. Were all tailors in Pakistan oblivious or is he just a special case?

"Ab yeh phool kaise lagayenge-"

(Now how would I put this flower?)

"That's it, man." I turned to take things into my hands. Not before noticing the mischievous glint in the grey eyes. 'He was enjoying it, wasn't he?' "Get down the stool." Sensing my tone, the man got down in a flashlight. "Leave your things, hold your pile and hand your phools to me, I have better use for them. Lastly, go to the door and shut it after you pass through it. Got it, third-wheel?" Passing the man, a smile I released my fumes. I watched with stinking eyes to see the disruption finally leaving through the door.

I turned to see the smirking man. "You done, Alyan?"

"Yup. So you begin, Waheed." 

Glossary:

1. Salwar Kameez- A traditional attire worn by South-Asian men

2. Yaar- Friend

3. Phools- Flowers