Risen from dust

Forty Three

Zaviyaar felt very angry at his mother. He didn't understand why she acted this way. He wasn't taught about Allah or prayer when he was young. Instead, his mother always told him not to pray, saying he was too young and should enjoy life. Now that he was older, he wanted to feel close to Allah, but it was hard.

He couldn't help but steal glances at Noor, who followed him timidly. She looked pure and beautiful in her white shalwar kameez, and her eyes, a captivating grey with a hint of green, held a certain allure. He wished he could hold her tiny hands, look into those compelling eyes, and shield her from the world's cruelty.  Her eyes were special, grey with a hint of green.

Lost in these thoughts, Noor's gentle snap of her fingers stirred him from his thoughts, and he became aware of their present surroundings. They were now standing outside his father's room. Zaviyaar drew in a steadying breath, his determination warring with uncertainty. He knocked on the door and asked, "Baba, may I come in?"

Ibrahim lowered his reading glasses and kept his book away sitting up straight, "Yes betta, come in, what's the matter?"

Zaviyaar, with Noor by his side, entered the room and began, "Baba, I wanted to talk to you about Mama. Her behaviour towards Noor has been increasingly unreasonable. Just now, she had Noor punished simply because Zenia was praying next to her."

Ibrahim listened attentively, his expression growing more serious with each word. He considered the situation and then spoke, "I see. Well, I will have a chat with her. This isn't right. But, my boy, you should try to stay away from these matters. The women of the house can handle it. You shouldn't interfere."

Zaviyaar's frustration was evident as he replied, "Baba, didn't you always teach me to stand up for what's right? I can't believe you're telling me to look away."

Ibrahim acknowledged, "I did acknowledge that what she did was wrong. What I'm saying is that your Mama can handle these matters on her own. I will ask her not to treat Noor harshly again. Okay? And Zaviyaar, please stop doing this for the house servant. Who is more important? Your mama or this girl who's here just for Daadi. One day, she will just steal something from the house and run away, and then all your heroism will die. There are many women out there much better and more beautiful than her. Stop wasting your time with her because our family will never accept a servant as our daughter in law. I know I sound very harsh, but this is reality. I have noticed you running around like a love sick puppy, and it's pathetic. If I see you being involved with her, it will be her last day working here."

Noor was deeply hurt by Mr. Ibrahims words, but he was right. She's just a servant. What was she thinking?

Zaviyaar, still disturbed by the situation, replied through gritted teeth, "Okay." His sense of justice was at odds with the desire to respect his father's wishes, leaving him conflicted about how to proceed.

Leaving the room in a cloud of anger, Zaviyaar's back was turned to Noor as he spoke bitterly, "I think you should go check on Daadi. She will be waiting for you. I can't do anything for you. Look out for yourself."

His words cut through the air, leaving Noor feeling a sense of abandonment. She didn't understand the true reason behind his frustration; instead, she assumed he was done with her. Her voice trembled with a mixture of hurt and frustration as she retorted, "I never wanted your help, Zaviyaar. I didn't even ask you to help me. You insisted. You should stop toying with me. You're Zaviyaar Ibrahim Khan, a wealthy man with high status, and I am just ordinary Noor, a low life in the eyes of society. You and I shouldn't even be talking."

Tears welled up in Noor's eyes, her pain palpable in her voice. Zaviyaar was about to politely tell her that what she was thinking was wrong, but his anger got the better of him. Why had he even tried to change? It seemed that every time he attempted to do something good, the world conspired to thwart his efforts.