Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
help me forget that this world is so cold.
~~~
(Flashbacks are in bold and italics)
~~~
10 years...
10 long fucking years, he'd been away from Pakistan.
Suppressing the flood of emotions threatening to spill, he maintained his tall brooding composure.
Islamabad airport, here he was again, not too different from when he was 17 –still alone. Although the new Ghasaan's story was not too different from his 17 year old version, there was one prominent difference, he was no longer weak –he was now a man who had the ability to crush people under his heavy, demanding gaze.
As he settled into the comfortable seats of the car, one of the family's many chauffeurs began to drive the long journey to their village, without even so much as a Salam directed at Ghasaan. He let out a sarcastic laugh, almost taunting, as the driver's head bowed down, presumably in shame –of course, even after 10 years, Dada jaan's orders remained unchanged.
Ghasaan remained unfazed by the scent of leather, cigar smoke and luxury, as he always had been.
Just as the sun loomed over the mountains, engulfing the sky into a lamp's shade of colours, the car halted before a tall haveli, erect between tall trees of pine, dark and thick with secrets and shadows.
Each step, out of the car and towards the haveli was laced with unwavering confidence and power. When he approached the towering door, looming over his frame –almost accusatorily, he attempted to gulp down the lump lodged in between his throat, and fisted his palms to stop them from shaking uncontrollably, all in vain.
The door was soon opened and Ghasaan walked into the foyer, his gaze trailing over the interior of the house, pastel Victorian wallpapers, mahogany furniture and large crystal centerpieces adorned with arrangements of flowers –seemingly perfect, almost idealistic, and unchanged.
Stepping further into the house, his eyes glazed over when he saw the grand staircase, polished and proud.
The sound of laughter and chatter disrupted his train of thoughts as a spark of hope ignited within his being, and Ghasaan made his way to the living room where the evening chai was being enjoyed.
He held his breath and stopped in the door frame, and as his presence became known, sudden thick silence blanketed the room and a frown appeared on Dada jaan's features as he stood; The sound of Ghasaan's shoes on the wooden flooring resonated through the walls of the room as he approached the old man, with his head bowed, he stopped, leaning forward, using his eyes to silently ask his grandfather to place his hand on Ghasaan's head. Time stretched longer than usual as his heart beat wildly, the anticipation wringing his bones, as he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the old man had had a change of heart.
