1 Chapter One
It is seven in the morning, my sleep is disrupted by the music and vibration of the alarm on my mobile which is kept on the side table on my right. I extend my right hand to find my mobile. I open my right eye slightly to turn it off. As soon as I turn off my alarm, the date that is displayed on the screen grabs my attention, the first of March. I didn't unlock the screen.
I slowly get up and look around the room. Mine is a master bedroom which is painted in coral white on three sides and onyx shade on the wall behind the bed. There's a 3ft x 5ft painting of a tulip garden on the wall behind the bed. My bedroom has a king-size bed with side tables on both sides. There's a sofa near the large window on my left side. Adjacent to that there's a door to the balcony. In front of the bed, there's a study table with a bookshelf. All the furniture is in carbon black shade, and the furnishings of the room are in Ivory shade. On my right next to the room entrance door, there's a dressing room where I have four coffee brown-colored wardrobes. Inside it, on the left, there's the door for the bathroom. The bathroom is designed in aqua blue shade, which has a shower area covered with glass, a bathtub, a western toilet, washbasin with a large wall mirror. I redesigned every single thing when I moved in back here three years ago.
After she left, I spent seventy-five days alone in our apartment. Till today I haven't shed a drop of tear for her. But there's a heaviness in my heart that is increasing day by day. I moved in here for my mom's health. As she is getting older, she couldn't manage the business and the pressure all the time. I had no other option left but to take over the business for her. People say everything happens for a reason, and I convinced myself that the reason behind this is an indication from Allah to tell me to concentrate on business. Having to maintain my business along with hers, I made it a habit to keep myself occupied all the time so that I wouldn't get time to be depressed.
Staying away from her memories is not just hard but it is impossible, I am not even trying to keep that away. I always want to remember her, my Hitler.
I have even stopped drinking tea and coffee, but still, her memory flashes in my mind again. I know how much she dislikes making tea and coffee.
Initially, I didn't tell her I prefer tea over coffee. I was a guest in her house, I said anything is fine when her mother asked whether I prefer tea or coffee. As most people preferred coffee that day, she made coffee for everyone. But Farhat opted for black coffee, I assumed she was diet-conscious only to find later that she dislikes milk.
Flashback:
It was the second week after our marriage, she woke me up with the tray of coffee in her hand, accidentally I messed with it while waking up, the coffee spilled over her, and the mug had been broken.
"Heyyyyyyyy" she shouted.
As soon as I sat up, I noticed her infuriated stare at me, then on looking down at her condition, coffee was spilled all over her, I couldn't control myself and burst into laughter.
She murmured in irritation, "It's my mistake that I had brought coffee for you. I am not gonna get you another one now." After taking a look at the chaos there, she frowned, "Now I had to clean this too."
She washed her hands, legs, and clothes and came back. She continued mumbling due to irritation in her hands. I felt sorry for her but didn't say sorry at all.
She went to the kitchen and came back with a wet cloth. She was hurrying back in without noticing the glass pieces around, I quickly extended my hand in front of her to stop her.
"Now what?"
I gestured to look down.
"Allahhhh!" her eyes widened on seeing the glass pieces.
I took the cloth from her and knelt to clean.
"Hey I will do it" she knelt too, trying to get the cloth back from me.
"I did this, I will clean it."
She let me clean that and stood up. After cleaning it, I put the broken pieces in the dustbin, then looked at her, gestured 'Okay?'
She nodded, taking the cloth from me, she left.
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I try to break free from my flashback session and encourage myself to get ready for the month ahead since I have a lot planned.
I take a quick shower and come back. Opening the wardrobe, again a wave of her memory passes. Her words echo in my mind, 'What's your favorite color?' 'Buy a good pair of jeans, not the faded and torn ones.'
I stare at myself in the mirror after changing into my semi-formal attire. I appear to be years older than my actual age of twenty-eight. In the mirror, I see a six-foot-tall brown man of ideal weight with beard and moustache, groomed and combed black hair, brownish eyes that completely disguise all the melancholy, and lips that have forgotten how to smile again.
I walk down the stairs towards the main door entrance. I see Fathma, my mother coming towards me from the kitchen on my right, with a glass of orange juice.
"Shahrul, at least have this."
"No thanks maa. I'm getting late, I will have breakfast on my way as always."
I can sense her dissatisfaction and helplessness in her eyes, but I'm not ready to melt away. Even though I am a responsible person, I maintain a safe distance from everyone because I know that the moment the distance goes, their major attention would be on either questioning me about why she left or persuading me to move on with my life.
My elder sister, Saba, and Fathma are relieved that I am staying in our home. Sana, my almost-seven-year-old niece, runs up to me from her room on the ground floor on my left. She is dressed in a purple floral gown; she normally dresses in frocks rather than full-length gowns. ′She likes gowns,′ my heart whispers. I swiftly stoop to hug her and wave goodbye, ignoring the whispers.
Flashback:
In the living room, Sana and Farhat were chatting. Both were dressed in cream-colored outfits, which was a coincidence.
"Mami, We'll make a plan and wear the same colour outfit every day so you may offer me candy on a daily basis."
"No Sana, Candy is bad for your teeth if you eat it on a regular basis. Are you in need of strong teeth as we are?"
"Yes mami"
"Then no candy daily."
"Okay mami," she promptly and without hesitation obeyed her.
As I walked out of my room, I overheard their chat.
"Good girl. But I promise you that one day we will dress up in matching outfits and take pictures together."
Sana jumped in joy.
"Matching dress? Are you gonna make her wear salwar?" I teased her casually.
"No. I'm gonna get a full gown for both of us. Any problem with that my saiyaan ji?" she snapped back at me
'My Saiyaan ji' was unexpected from her, but if I teased her, she would have never said that again.
I chose to act cool, "But I haven't seen you wear any full gown"
"Just because you didn't see doesn't mean I don't wear. Before I married, my closet was nearly full of gowns."
"Do you mean I am the reason you are not wearing it now?"
"I won't let others dictate me. I stop myself from doing the things I love".
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'You stop yourself from doing the things you love, I adapted that from you. I didn't allow you to tell me that I couldn't communicate with you anymore. That isn't to say I am not longing to feel your presence, see your smile, or hear your voice.'
My thoughts are interrupted by the intercom at my office table. When I go to work, I usually spend the first fifteen minutes reading all of my emails and messages, then the following fifteen minutes reviewing the day's calendar and meetings, but I haven't done anything yet. At 10 a.m., I have my first meeting with Mrs. Risha Sinha from Uniq Designs, Jaipur. I know it'll be her when the intercom goes off. I turn on the loudspeaker, say, "Send her in," and quickly cut it off.
My gaze is drawn quickly to the clock on my desk. I have to say that Mrs. Risha Sinha's timeliness has pleased me; she arrived fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.
'Just like her,' my heart whispers again. Every day and night, my heart aches for her. Today, though, it is more than usual. I don't have time to consider whether this is a positive or negative indicator.
Before I am being swept away by another memory of her, I hear a knock on my cabin door.
"Come in," I say as I look at the door, expecting a 35-year-old, 5′2" tall fair modern lady based on her LinkedIn profile, but I am surprised to see a 24-year-old, 5′7" tall dusky young lady.
My eyes scan her again to reassure me since I can't believe what I'm seeing. She is still at an ideal weight, neither too thin nor too obese. Her face is round, with a couple of freckles on both cheeks, a cleft chin, and almond-shaped dark brown eyes with arched brows. I can't tell how long her hair is because she always wears a shawl around her head that is perfectly fastened on the sides. Her only makeup item is kajal, which she does not wear. Her eyes are worn and simple, but they are nonetheless intense and intriguing. Her eyes have widened slightly, indicating that she is shocked to see me. Her hands appear to be quickly adjusting her sling. Her nails are clipped and her fingers are lengthy. She's dressed in a sky blue salwar kameez and black wedges with a two-inch heel. Because it is longer than the other toes, her toe next to the thumb protrudes. She is wearing a silver stud, no nose rings, and finger rings that Miksha and Shravya, her bestest friends, gave her. Even after three years, she looks exactly the same, except she's wearing a different sort of watch in her right hand, one with no straps and instead a fabric lace looped around it. I hoped and tried in vain to locate the bracelet. Her left hand is also unadorned.
