5 Chapter 5

A knock on her door startled her awake. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she took a quick peek in the oval mirror in her room, wincing at the sight of her swollen kohl smeared eyes and knotted hair. She'd spent the remainder of the evening cooped up inside her room, muffling her angry frustrated sobs into the silk encased pillows.

"Coming," She called, as the knock came again, running her fingers through her hair and using the edge of her dupatta to wipe her eyes.

Opening the door, her eyes widened in surprise taking an involuntarily step back, as she took in Asfandyar's stoic form standing in front of her.

"May I come in?" He enquired; his arms folded across his chest, his grey eyes narrowing as he took in her swollen eyes.

Hooria nodded dumbly stepping aside to let him pass, suddenly self-conscious of her shabby appearance as he stalked in, dressed in a crisp white kurta, with the sleeves rolled up casually to his elbows, a dove-grey waistcoat adding a touch of formality to his attire. His black hair was still wet-presumably from his morning ablutions and was slicked back.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," He said.  

"It's okay. It was time to get up anyway," Hooria shrugged, suddenly nervous. This was the first time they'd been in the same room together alone and she had no idea what to expect, especially after the spectacle of the night before, where against her expectations he'd stood up for her against Phupho Ja. Although she could sense a discord between them, she was still grateful for his support-it made her feel less alone in this strange place.

"I wanted to apologize for Phupho Ja's behaviour last night," He began with his back towards her. "She had no right to say any of those things to you," He turned to look at her, his grey eyes churning with regret and…shame?

 "Rest be assured that nothing like that will happen again. I promise you that you'll be treated with the utmost respect in this house. And if anyone crosses a line with you, I want you to tell me immediately, and I'll deal with it."

"Thank you," Hooria mumbled, tongue-tied at his sudden compassion and graciousness towards her.

Asfandyar nodded, as he looked away again eyeing the untouched tray of food Laila had sent up to her last night.

"I know how discomfiting all this must be for you, coming to a new place so suddenly. This place," He walked toward the window, parting the white gauzy curtains to gaze at the valley below, "Can be overwhelming, to say the least, and I didn't want to thrust this upon you so suddenly. Unfortunately, I had to attend to some urgent business here, and Taimoor Taya insisted we bring you here."

He turned to look at her, "Don't worry though. We won't be staying long. No more than a week or so. In the meantime, I'll ask Chammi to show you around the village…if you want?"

Hooria eyed him, floundering at the sudden change of dynamics between them even as she felt a flood of relief to be rid of the stiff silence that had stretched between them.

"I would like that," She replied suddenly shy as she looked down at her hands.

"I'll tell her," He said a bit distractedly and when she looked up, she saw him staring at her hands-the bracelets.

"Hooria?"

There was a strange stillness in the air, and expectancy as if invisible eyes were now trained on them waiting for something cataclysmic to happen.

His face had lost the softness it carried, his face a blank canvas once again, devoid of expression. However, his eyes were turbulent, like dark clouds gathering, shrouding the sky as a dreadful omen, before a storm.

"Yes?" She replied, confused by the sudden change in his demeanour.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I would request you to give those bracelets back to me."

Her first instinct was to run away, at the thought of parting with them. And then was the truly frightening desire to maul Asfandyar; tear him to bits, ravaging his handsome face with her nails.

It was the ferociousness of the thought that snapped her back to reality.

She hadn't realized that she'd backed away from him, as she bumped into the dressing table, its sharp edge jarring her back to sanity.

She knew then that she had to get rid of them. She didn't believe in magic or curses, but there was something truly unnatural about them and the possessiveness they stirred within people.

"Okay," She whispered, still reeling from the onslaught of violence within her, as she slipped them off her wrists, holding them out for him.

"I don't mean to offend you," Asfandyar said quietly as he made his way toward her, "I just don't have very fond memories attached to them. And I'd rather you wear wristlets of thorns than these."

"That's a bit dramatic," Hooria said, breathless at his proximity, "Not to mention, incredibly morbid."

Asfandyar shrugged as he reached out to take the bracelets dangling from her fingers, "It's true."

As he hooked his index finger to pull the bracelets away, his finger touched hers in an infinitesimal caress that sent a spark of electricity racing across her skin.

She jolted, drawing her hand back as if burned, her eyes glued to his, as he looked at her curiously, his grey eyes drinking in her features as if seeing her for the first time.

"You have pretty eyes," He whispered, his eyes widening as if he couldn't believe he just said that.

Hooria swallowed thickly, as her heart thudded a crescendo and blood rushed up to her cheeks.

"Th-thank you,"

His lips stretched into a small shy smile, and he looked as if he was about to say something more, when a tall vase of flowers on a small table next to the window suddenly fell to the floor, shattering in a piercing scream.

The jarring sound broke the spell surrounding them, the intimacy of the moment fizzling away, leaving behind nothing but the same awkwardness that existed between them since they'd met.

Asfandyar stepped back, turning to see the shattered porcelain vase, as Hooria gaped bemused.

"How did that fall?" She asked.

"From the breeze, maybe," Asfandyar whispered as he turned back.

Hooria frowned looking at the window, it was sealed shut.

"But the window isn't- "

"Laila Chachi is in the family dining room. I'll ask Chammi to come and clean up the mess," He said brusquely, striding toward the door, without giving her a look, as if he couldn't bear to be in her presence a moment longer.

She watched him open the door, pausing at the threshold he looked at her eyes hard as stone, and face carved of granite, "You can explore the palace as much as you want and the village. But the third story is off-limits. To everyone."

With that he went out, leaving her disturbed by the sudden shift in him and the anger that had radiated from him as he had gone out.

Smarting with hurt, she had no right feeling, she made her way to the smashed vase. Trying to figure out how it had fallen. The table was sturdy enough, and the vase-despite its delicate porcelain structure had been quite heavy.

Parting the curtains, she inspected the window, searching for gaps in the frame, but the glass had been sealed shut with no way to open it, the small open space above the door being the only source of ventilation in the room.

Frowning she wondered why this window had been sealed shut with relatively modern glass when all the other windows had stained glass and could open to let in the mountain breeze. As she contemplated this, she felt a slight flutter of warm air-like someone's hot breath whisper across the skin of her neck, ruffling the stray strands of her hair.

Flinching away instinctively she whirled around, looking about her as a thrill of awareness ratcheted through her, of invisible eyes watching her, tracking her movement. Swallowing back the trepidation and senseless fear, she moved toward her suitcase, to distract herself from the feeling.

You need to get a grip, she told herself firmly, you're being baselessly paranoid about things since the wedding.

She'd never thought herself to be of weak nerves, but perhaps, she was one of those people who could conjure up elaborate scenarios in their mind due to stress.

Somebody knocked.

"Come in," She called rummaging through her suitcase to dig out a long tea pink Anarkali with small embroidered motifs all over it, laced with silver gota at the edges."

"Salam, Hooria baji," Chammi chimed as she bounded in with a broom and dustpan, her elaborate braids bouncing with her energy.

"Asfandyar Bhai told me that a vase broke here,"

"Yes," Hooria pointed to the carnage of shattered porcelain and battered flowers.

"Oho, how did this break?" Chammi asked as she swept the pieces onto the dustpan.

"I don't know," Hooria mumbled, as she took out her large toiletry bag.

"Chammi? Can you get my clothes ironed for me? I want to take a bath before going down for breakfast."

Chammi looked up, pleased to be assigned such a task, "Don't worry, Hooria Baji, you go take a bath I'll bring them to you."

Hooria smiled gratefully, "Where are the bathrooms?"

"Go down the corridor to the left, you'll find stairs leading down into the basement. There is only one door that leads to the Hamam. You better hurry before all the hot water gets used up."

Scooping up her toiletry bags Hooria walked out of the room, inhaling the crisp morning air that wafted in from the open veranda.

Padding down the silent corridor in the opposite direction of the opening to the veranda, she wondered at the silence in the palace. Despite the hoard of servants, the palace was oddly…still. As Chammi had told her, a set of stone steps led down into the basement, which ended in a small gallery leading to a humongous wooden door that took up most of the wall opposite the stairs.

Pushing open the door hesitantly she was surprised at how easily it swung open.

It was empty inside, and for a few moments, she stood still, mesmerized by the beauty of the place. It was as if she had gone back in time, when Rajas and Malikas lazed around in steaming pools, while servant girls fed them fruit, massaging their bodies and rubbing exotic fragrant oils on their skins.

The hamam had a vaulted ceiling with multiple windows that let light stream in, with various unlit scones propped up on the walls, which had now been filled with light bulbs. The entire room had been carved out of marble, with long gleaming benches, and a hexagonal pool, in the middle.

The pool was empty, but she craved for it to be filled with steaming water, in which she could submerge herself and let it relax her tense muscles and soothe her aches.

Other modern touches had been added over the years such as the multiple mirrors all around the circular room, reflecting light to make it appear bigger, hovering over white porcelain sinks with brass faucets.

Separate stalls had been built to the side for bathing purposes, with long red curtains for privacy. Setting her bag onto the bench Hooria spread out her things: toothbrush, toothpaste, face wash, body wash, and towel, before removing her chappals.

Gathering her things, she walked into one of the stalls, drawing the curtain behind her. The water was deliciously warm, steaming up the stall instantly, as she lathered her hair with shampoo, the small space erupting with the smooth scent of cashmere.

She heard the door open and the soft pitter-patter of footsteps.

"Hooria Baji, I brought your clothes," Chammi called out.

"Thank you, Chammi."

Hooria heard her receding footsteps and the sound of the door closing, leaving her alone once again.

Her stomach growled. Ravenous for not having eaten properly for the past forty-eight hours. Hurriedly rinsing her hair so she didn't miss breakfast completely, she heard the door open once again. Eyes shut she listened for sounds of movement; of footsteps, or squeak of faucets as they were turned.

Nothing.

Shrugging it off, she completed the rest of her bathing rituals, towel drying her hair before wrapping the large towel around herself as she stepped out.

Snatching up her toothbrush and face wash she went up to one of the sinks. Brushing her teeth, she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her face had gotten thinner over the past few months-pronouncing her cheekbones to give her a slightly gaunt appearance, a manifestation of the anxiety that had been plaguing her.

You have pretty eyes.

Peering closer she observed her eyes. The deep brown with flecks of fine gold had always been her prettiest feature, the long almond shape fringed with thick lashes had garnered her compliments throughout her life.

And yet, she had never felt a flutter of excitement, that warm nervousness that melted her insides into a puddle of sludge, that she felt when he had said it.

Perhaps, it was the out of character compliment or the fact that perhaps it had been a secret thought he had let slip.

Whatever it was, had excited her immensely.

And yet he had closed off within an instant-back to the cool and distant man she'd come to know.

Rinsing her mouth, she searched for her clothes, perusing the bench, and the rungs hung up on the side, to no avail.

Where did she put them?

Passing the pool, something caught her eye. Looking down she gasped, her eyes horrified as she took in her delicate Anarkali lying at the bottom of the pool. With streaks of red marring the pink tattered fabric.