12. A STORY

"As we run to a Holmes,

The rushing you yelling in the air,

Happiness can bring what's lost in the fear",

__

Zohra

I remember asking my mom were does the cartoon of episode went away when I closed the television to save and see it the next day. I remember her laughing on my words and answering me "things doesn't wait in this world". I also remembers pondering over her words with a scowl on my face and then showering my father with questions of what does it means. Only to be answered by time. Time told me that it doesn't wait, truly.

It gathers the memories into a earthen pot only to be crushed on the right time. I always use to ask my parents different questions and they would always answer me with smile. I used to think that world is made up of smile and shines only to be met with a blatant lie.

Sometimes, I wonder- why does clouds run?, when they know; that in the end of the day they will be covered with a darkness of a blanket over them with twinkling stars teasing them. Do the clouds run to meet the stars? Or does it go around all over the world only to see them? I wonder if it’s latter or former.

I just wonder. It’s past two at night and I still wonder, if the stars are still there.

Waqas is sound asleep but how do I tell him that neither I am awake nor I am asleep. How do I get my hands up? How do I move? Why am I tied down with the invisible cage? Why someone is screaming in my mind? Why couldn't I touch Waqas?

He turns, facing me. His arm tightening around my waist. Warm breath fanning over my neck. How do I hug him back?

I see, I see it, clearly. A dark shadow looming over the door. There is someone. I should wake Waqas. But I can't move, can't speak. It comes inside, it's thin but, but shadowy. And I am not scared why? I have seen it earlier. It comes from the box in my mind I have tied with memories, my happy memories.

"Tell him the truth, darling! He will help you."

It spoke exactly nine words and fade away. I still wonder, if I am going to wake up. The cage tightens over me making me thrash on the bed, but I couldn't move. My hands flailing in the air, but I can't hold something. Waqas has disappeared. I wonder where? I can't breathe. My lungs are stuffed with memories I have never left out. I see her, the well, the fence, the jar of letters. I hear the sobbing cry of agony, the laughter full of sinister, the water splashing, the loud scream echoing, and the apology with no regret. I recite every surah, I remember.

A gasp escaped my mouth as I thrashed-sit on the bed. The familiarity of our room filling the comfort in me. Comfort, it’s not room, someone's rubbing my back with warmth and I see, see him. His green pupils filled with concern and something, I wonder if I could even name it. His lips moves and I see him speak, but don't hear anything. His voice is heavy with blurriness outing it.

My ears feel like they have filled with water. Water, I am drowning in water of air. I can't breathe.

Someone's tapping on my back. I can't breathe. My chest heaves up and down. I can't breathe.Someone slapped my back. Not hard. But, I gasped out of the edge of drowning in the air.

He catches me, gathering me in his big form. I hear, his and mine rushing breaths as if we have ran a marathon.

"Flower, speak to me." I hear him demanding. But something aches as I even try to speak.

He nods his head as if assuring me I could speak. He passes me something. A glass. Water. I am thirsty. Grabbing the glass, I drink it, till it empties.

He wipes my mouth with back of his hands. And I find myself speaking something, no soul knows about.

"Let me tell you story of a love, which was not serve by justice." I hear voice shook as I tell a story, I witnessed.

"I had a babysitter at the ripe age of seven. She was lovely and twenty one. She was thin and with slender fingers and pitch black body waves hair. She always wore a maxi dress. I loved her. She was so sweet and matured at the same time.

She came from a small village of myths and love defined as forbidden. She always brought me some cupcakes on Wednesdays. She loved doing my makeup. Her voice was sweet.

She always told me 'I am a sister she never had'. And now she was a sister to me whom I will never have.

She stopped working when her mother fell ill. She stopped coming. She was the only friend I ever had,-" he exhaled a deep breath. His arms moving so close to my stomach, I fear he will hear my heart pulsating.

"I was fifteen and I was sad. But, my school conducted a camp in her village. And I was happy as stars twinkle in the sky or as ocean flowing on the earth flirting with sky. I guess, I was happy just as child to meet his lost toy.

I met her on the first day." I can sense my voice tremble under the pressure of surfacing memories. His nose grazed my nape and my shiver made it obvious to him, as his lips curled into a smile.

"Focus, Waqas." my voice was stern but enough soft for him to pull me more into his embrace. His warm embrace.

"I am focusing, flower." his husky voice calmed me but my heart thrashed against my will. I fear if he can hear that too.

"We were happy. Catching upon each other. I told her about everything- my academics, my friend, my parents, my sister, my journalism. She told me about her cloth shop, sewing machine, her mother's health, her very-not-favorite cousin and her lover.

Thirty-two year old baker. Who bakes a blue berry cupcake only for her, not caring if that was the only thing he could not purchase. He baked her blueberry cupcake, Waqas. They were the best. They should have a good ending. But, her cousin found her waiting for him behind the general Sherman tree.

He threatened her to not meet him." my voice wavered up with the emotions clogged in my throat. Something tightens around my throat, it's so suffocating, I can't breath.

"When she denied, he dragged her to the well and threatened her to push her. I saw it all, her thrashing and flailing arms to let her set free, her muffled scream escaping from her mouth as he pushed her into the well. And he didn't apologized, Waqas, he was not regretting his doings. He had a sinister smile on his face. I saw that all, Waqas with my own eyes.

I ran. Ran to the baker where he slept. My wobbly legs took a good and bad fifteen minutes of a run to him. I told him all what happened. And I saw him yelling and running with huffed breath, he was screaming with cries. Waqas, he was in pain no one could feel. I saw it all. And w-when he somehow with the help of people pulled her out. She w-was white. D-octor said her organs were filled with water. Waqas. She died. In front of my eyes and I did n-nothing.

No one helped her, Waqas, no one. They were standing like statues, me too. We did nothing to save her. I saw everything, but did nothing. I did nothing, Waqas,-" my voice shook with heavy emotion. The weighed paining down on my chest lessened. I felt like, I lost a heavy part of mine. I saw the box disappearing into the mist as I spit out all the things kept captive in the cage. I felt like a bird ready to fly.

Author's POV

Waqas spoke exactly nothing. His chest tightened with the trigger of emotions as he cradled her sobbing mess into his arms. His lips feather kissed her head crown, as she willingly snuggled into his chest.

"I am sure, she is happy Zohra; for how far you have come and we should pray for her magfirat." his voice raw with emotions as he patted her arm.

"She is proud of you, for who you have become. She knows you are safe. She wants you to be happy."

"But, how can she be happy, when no one fought for her?" her innocent question ached his heart.

"Because, Allah must have blessed her with something better. Because she knows, that you will fight against the world for your love. Because she knows you are too good for this world, because she knows you can fight for what is yours. Tell me, Zohra, will you fight. Will you against your daydreams and against your nightmares?" His voice full of curiosity and filled with questions underlying in his tongue. His eyes full of questions searching for answers in her brown, cold, numb and empty eyes.

She stopped messing with his button and directly gazed into his soul. Her thumb tracing his beard. Something warm brewing up in her eyes, like a warm coffee on a cold day.

"I would fight for us, for you, for me, for our future even if I have to die." her voice full of promise, her gaze promising him something no one has promised him. Her regular brown eyes scream fierceness and a promise for them.