| Hawaaon Ke Paighaam | Messages Of The Wind

| The Paradise & The Warzone |

Note:

-The chapter has two musical inspirations. The first part remains the string-quartet cover of Wildest Dreams. Link in the comments.
-The second part is a beautiful Turkish song called Ąsk Izi. I highly recommend a listen, not only to enhance the reading experience but also to discover the amazing song :) Goes wonderfully with the vibe of the second part.

His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room
And his voice is a familiar sound
Nothing lasts forever...

The art of gracefully avoiding an individual was one which was achieved through great effort, fortuitous timing and impeccable restraint. It certainly wasn't for all, and many had tried in vain. It required a resilient resolve, a steady gaze and most importantly, the correct body language. So far, Meerab Murtasim Khan had managed to uphold all the golden rules of social avoidance and was succeeding rather wonderfully.

Her puffed organza sleeve moved about as she lifted her hand to push the bangs back off her face. The bangs were a new addition; only a week old. Meerab had never really understood what women achieved by going out and getting a brand new hairstyle after a break-up or a similar life-altering event. It had always seemed to Hollywood-ish; what would a haircut do that a relaxing bath, a mug of hot chocolate or some retail therapy couldn't do? Well, it turns out, a lot. Meerab had had a life-altering event; it had quite literally turned her world upside down. And after recovering in Pakistan for fourteen days under the care of her parents, she had come back to Doha for the new term. And had regretted it the moment she'd stepped foot into The Mandarin Oriental.

It had been too much. She had technically left Doha to recover from the ohysical and emotional trauma of the hijack nad crash; it wasn't the same as running away. from him. from it. she had repeated those words to herself as she'd gotten into the lift and walked the familiar path back to her room. And had failed spectacularly. She had had one foot in her room when she had turned, called Leena and asked her to recommend a hairstylist. Leena had come along, and that was how Meerab now had shoulder length, dark caramel waves with flirty bangs at the front.

Leena had looked at her suspiciously and poked and prodded until Meerab had shamelessly used the crash as a reason to want a new, fresh look. It had shut Leena up for exactly five minutes before she snorted and called her shameless for using her misery as a fake excuse. Meerab had given her a look to let it go, at least for then, and that had been that.

It was how Meerab was now part of the legion of women who went and got their hair cut after any significant upset in their lives. Meerab herself couldn't explain exactly what it did, but it worked. The cathartic feeling of watching bunches of your hair fall to the ground seemed to be symbolic of you shedding your old baggage and starting afresh. It had felt freeing; it had allowed her to breathe in this bloody hotel where suddenly everything was Murtasim this, Murtasim that. And Meerab really didn't want to do Murtasim anything. She'd need another haircut if she went down that lane and she knew she didn't have enough hair left for the baggage another Murtasim encounter would bring.

She had only been back in Doha a few days, and courtesy of the haircut, could now finally enjoy the life she'd gotten very fond of. Despite the familiarity, everything suddenly seemed new. Like a child learning to walk for the very first time, Meerab felt unsure, her actions hesitant and her thoughts overwhelmed. She felt like she was this new person; like somehow one decision, one act had turned her entire being inside out. And it had nothing to do with the crash and everything to do with the man standing across the ballroom from her, nursing a drink in his hand and having a serious conversation with one of the Phoenix executives.