Believers of Paradise

Z A R A

The look in Arzaan's eyes just stuck to his face for a number of seconds. They were sunken deep in his face with pity that I could comprehend easily that he was trying to conceal. He tried meeting my eyes but also looked away with a hint of nervousness to give me some space for my emotions that ran down my cheeks.

"I, uh," he tried to think of words. Arzaan's face was hard again. "Am sorry for your loss," each word he spoke was slow, as if the language was foreign to him.

      All I could do was simply nod.

     There was a pause. Just silence. The only sound was the train wheels against the tracks and maybe voices of random people outside the compartment door.

    "Tell me about you," some voice inside me came out. I didn't plan on saying that, it came from somewhere deep inside.

     "There isn't much to tell," Arzaan shrugged.

     His gaze on me made me look down at the ground.

    "A-although," he started as if realizing what his words sometimes felt like. "I could tell you about abba,"

     I nodded. "Yeah," I sniffed. "Go ahead,"

     Arzaan took a deep breath and glimpsed at his hands which were fiddling with something in his jacket pocket. "Abba was a journalist. He loved travelling and finding out about people in order to write articles about them," the guy's voice shook. "He also loved taking photos to go along with his articles,"

     My face turned to the window as tears threatened to pour out any second. Where was this man Arzaan is talking about now?

     "Growing up, abba always choose his work more than bhai or me," My nails dug in my skin through the fabric of my dress that I tightly grabbed onto to keep my emotions in. My eyelids curtained my view. When I looked back at Arzaan, he was staring at me and speaking. "And there was nothing I hated more,"

     "Our mother had passed away soon after my birth, so I never felt that connection with her," I hugged myself and looked down in a reaction to the lowered temperature in the compartment. "Zara," Arzaan called. I looked at him with my whole heart to hear him out. "Isn't there a something about when I mother passes away, a father is both the mom and dad, and vice versa?"

   I didn't respond, I don't think he needs one. After all, the saying goes for all.

  "Then how come abba couldn't even take on his role right?"

Once again, I couldn't hold myself from crying. Every inch of my chest ached. Except this time, I had silent tears rather than sobs.

How much more could a heart give out?

"Arzaan," my voice pleaded out.

"Zara," he called back, as if to stop me from uttering my next words.

Somewhere in him, I saw a hint of feelings ready to burst out. But then I thought, this isn't Mahir. This isn't the man from ten years ago who smiled at me with warmth.

This is Arzaan. I might have known him for only a few hours, but I could easily tell he always tried to act tough.

But then again, at the end of the day, he was Mahir's son. I knew there was a soft spot in him.

Arzaan looked at the door for a bit and then at me. "Abba passed away soon after he came back from Rainwater Valley," he continued. "He was content with when he went there. I still remember that day. He talked about that place for the next week,"

Amongst all the woe, I felt a tiny simper making its way up to my face. I wiped away the drops of melancholy from my cheeks. Images of him from that day flashed before me.