Love at First Heist

NINETEEN

Seconds morphed into minutes, hours then days and into centuries until it became eternity as Shehnaz stared at her palms. "Idris" was written vaguely on her wrist, right above her pulse, engraving it's weight on her veins with every passing second. Her eyes traced over the lines of her palm, underneath the deep maroon of the mehendi, as she mentally strung the syllables of his name over them, before she looked up meeting Idris' eyes.

He caught her hand, his eyes moving to where her attention was, and he decides to find his soul engulfed in the crescent lines embrace. His gaze travels to her face, tracing over the surrender of pecan flesh, terracotta arched cheekbones, and the wake of a night sky behind her eyes, strongly resembling Cleopetra. Her lips are stained in a sensual and promising vermilion, and it takes every fibre in his being to not reach out.

She looks painstakingly beautiful— the kind that succumbs you in if you stare for too long, which you do. Because you will never get enough, an eternity lies behind her eyes.

She isn't covered in jewellery, besides the headpiece. And it is almost if it is metaphorical, a crown for a Malka. She reigns over his qalb as she strides down the staircase of Idris' mother's ancestral Mahal ( palace ) where they've arranged the rukhsati.

White peacocks are scattered around the lawn, a contrast against the scarlet and golden decorations. The rukhsati was passing swiftly, and Aleena then came up with a glass of saffron milk for Doodh Pilai.

Shehnaz took a small sip from the glass as Idris held it out to her, with another hand placed under her chin in case it spilled. Which it did, trailing from the corner of her lip and brushing over his fingertip. Idris brought his thumb to his mouth, licking it clean as a deep maroon flushed over Shehnaz's cheeks when she noticed what he was doing. Then it came to Idris' turn, as his fingertips unconsciously brushed against her's over the glass. The small action causing her pulse to quicken.

The intricate intimacy in their actions go unnoticed by the rest of their families, and the couple exchanges a silent look the entire time.

The function comes to and end eventually, while the open air of the outskirts turn colder. Fireworks are scheduled now to mark the end of the event, and everyone turns to face the sky behind the palace. Idris places his sherwani over her shoulders causing her to look at him questioningly.

"Shehnaz," he starts, placing her hand in his, "I prefer the shade of vermillion over any other, and the smell of vanilla and musk in your hair is a constant torment. Lastly, I will never forget the memory of when you accepted me as your partner. Now until forevermore, I call you my wife— beyond life, beyond death. They say your spouse is half of your deen, and you are. You are eternal, as is everything between us, and it'll remain after the universe itself doesn't. Our souls are eternal, nafasm, and with every fibre of my being— I will cherish you, even when we've returned to dust— my soul reach for yours. For not even the sun, or the moon, could even begin to compare the wonder of you. So I'll write in the boundless sky, that my loyalty is yours. All of it, I'm yours,"

Shehnaz stares at him with tears in her eyes, absolutely spellbound. And then, the fireworks spread towards the axis of the deep indigo myriad, and the two face them. The enthralling luminescence shadowing over their figures.

Even after the final final firework goes off, Shehnaz's eyes don't waver, transfixed from the show. The sky turns to smoke and ash, and Shehnaz stands there, waiting, like there will be one more just for her.

Idris watches her, and she's never looked more magical. He tugs her wrist, spinning her towards him, and momentarily places his lips over her eyelid.

"I love you," he thinks.