Pendulum

Eighteen

Firdaus

My eyes snapped open at the realisation that Dev and Mehr belonged to different religious backgrounds. Inter-religious marriages were still frowned upon unless they were done in convenience to forge ties with other kingdoms. Did they manage to get married? How did she die? There were so many questions that filled my mind, and I was fighting the battle to give in to my curiosity and seek the answers from Noor himself. I sat up, shaking my head as if the action helped me clear my head of everything, but I had to know. I threw a pillow aside, leaping to my feet as I stepped towards the door. I wrapped my hands around the knob, knowing fully well that it was no use trying to open it—he always made sure to lock it up especially after I tried to make a run for it once. I placed my hand on the wooden door, smooth to touch and sturdy before I called out to him. "Noor?"

I stayed put for a second before I heard a click when he unlocked the door, taking a step back to allow him in. He opened the door, his eyes widening in surprise as he took me in. His lashes were damp, making his lashes look thicker and darker—he had been crying. I averted my gaze to his shoulder. "I'm ready to hear everything." His eyes flitted to mine, looking for a lie he would never find. I truly wanted to know what had happened, to find any glimmer of hope I could hold on to before I tried convincing him to bring me home. I held my hand out to him, and he stared blankly at it—"Are you alright?" 

He nodded with a small smile, threading his fingers through mine before giving it a squeeze. I tugged on his hand, looking over to the bed. His gaze moved back to mine, unsure of what my intentions were. "We could sit on the floor if you want," I offered. He chuckled. "I think that would be best." I hadn't let go of his hand, and his grip on mine wasn't going to loosen anytime soon. I cleared my throat, unsure of how to approach the subject. "Mehr was a Muslim woman, wasn't she?" He was staring at our hands linked together, but I caught his nod. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A lifetime ago...

She grabbed her journal, running out of her home as quickly as she could. This was the only time her family allowed her to leave the house, so she could sit in the fields and write to her heart's content. It was going to be a cold evening, so she grabbed a thick shawl before running all the way to the fields. She paused to catch her breath when she caught sight of him waiting deep in the middle of the field for her, a wide smile on his face. She had been dreaming of this face for many nights now. He haunted her in every corner, sometimes it was a soft breeze across her skin or his face amongst a crowd of strangers.

When she reached him, he reached out to push the shawl off her head, revealing a beautiful mess of red curls that reached her waist. "I love your hair," he whispered, tracing the wild strands with his fingers. "Dev," she whispered. His eyes bore into hers, and she had to look away in order to say those words she dreaded the most. "I cannot marry you," she started—her voice wavering as she realised the finality of these words. Here was a man she was ready to spend the rest of her life with, but she just could not reconcile with the fact that she would have to leave her family for love. She wasn't ready to sacrifice either one of them, but it was the easiest to let one go than all five of them in her family.

His smile died with those words, his eyes hardening as he understood what she was doing. He dropped his hands from her face, glaring at the flowers around them as he made a decision. "I will be at the mandir tomorrow morning, waiting for you. If you feel as strongly about me as I feel about you, you will come—we will get married, and tell your parents. Why would they prevent you from having your happiness?" he wanted to know. She shook her head, unable to explain to him that her parents would never allow her to marry a Hindu man, let alone one from an upper-class family. Socialising and making appearances at events was frowned upon in her family—"Log kya sochenge?"*

"I can't," she whispered, a tear escaping down her cheek. 

"I'll be waiting for you," he promised, pushing her hair away from her face to take a good look at it before he backed away.

He turned around when he reached the outskirts of the field, she was watching him the whole way with a tortured expression—he longed to rectify that. He had never meant to add to her worries or misery. Raising a hand to say goodbye, he whispered to the wind that he loved her. When a sudden breeze ruffled his hair and caressed his face, he knew her answer.

*"Log kya sochenge" - "What will people think of you?"