Sahir Arzoo FF | Love, law, inter alia | Chapter 20: Pg 91 [COMPLETE] - Page 30

Originally posted by: -Amri-

I am so addicted to this story. Kab update karoge? :)

Originally posted by: _.serendipity._

Aw thanks! 😳 I am currently a bit taken up (courtesy real life Gabbar Chaudhary, inter alia), but hopefully by this Sunday, or worst comes to worst, Monday.

Originally posted by: bsomaya

Take your time we understand you being tied up except that our Friday night blockbuster has got busted.😭 Last 2 weeks you've been updating Friday nights and have really spoilt us. But no worries, this is one story we can wait any number of days...

Take care.

Chapter 12

A fortiori

Arzoo would have gladly given up everything that she had, every hope of happiness, every promise of fulfilled prayers, every shred of peace... if it could lessen Sahir's suffering in any way.

She had lived through a fair share of trials and tribulations in her short life. She had seen the ugly, twisted face that love could take on, she had experienced that crushing disappointment when her own family had failed to stand up for her, and within a year, she had been stripped of her loved ones, of her faith in love, of her self-esteem and dignity, and everything that had previously made her who she was. She had come dangerously close to giving up entirely and allowing herself to crumble at the hands of what she had grown to accept as her fate.

But it had all been her pain, hers to combat or succumb to. To see what she saw in Sahir's eyes when he realised that his mother had passed away, filled her with a most agonising sense of helplessness. The choice was not in her hands, it was his to make. And as he allowed himself to drown deeper and deeper into the abyss, she felt increasingly distanced from him, unbearably so.

Yet, at the same time, his pain seemed to mirror hers, so poignantly, that the tears that flowed from his eyes were her own. He, was her own, she realised, in a way that nobody had ever been. And she would bring him back from the edge of that precipice she knew too well. They were not so different after all. She had learnt from Pervez Qureshi of the amount of pain Sahir had kept suppressed within him for so many years and decided that whether or not she managed to find her own happiness, she would fight to bring back his. She would fight as though her life was at stake, because strangely enough, she felt that it was.

Truth be told, she was terrified at the idea that she may have fallen in love with him, but whatever it was that she felt for him - that fierce sense of protectiveness and excruciating yearning - overpowered everything else.

Perhaps that was why she had not even spared a moment of hesitation before offering to stay back at his apartment. It had been quite understandable for her to have offered to drive him from the hospital to his apartment, given the state that he was in. But as she was preparing to hail a rickshaw for herself, she had turned back to look at him, and had realised that she could not bear to leave him alone.

"I'll manage," he had muttered, when she had asked him if he had something to eat.

"I can make you something," she had offered.

He had taken some time before he protested, insisting that he did not need anything, but the despondent look in his eyes had said it all. So she had thrown in the "that's what friends are for" argument, and he had shrugged in agreement, his expression as vacant, as lifeless as ever. As agonising as it was to see him in tears, Arzoo found herself wishing that he would cry again, or rage and shout, or even just talk - anything that could return some specks of light to those defeated eyes. And if he would not, she wished that she could cry away all his grief for him.

The microwave beeped. The rice was ready.

She smiled briefly at the memory of the day when he had brought her food at the hotel, and at the same time, remembered how she had shouted at him. Maybe it had upset him too, to see her in that state. Maybe he did not show it, but it bothered him that while she was privy to his most intimate moments, she remained as guarded as ever, adamant that he could not be trusted. And yet, he never insisted, he never made any demands, he let her be, respecting her for who she was. She knew deep in her heart, that she could not have been more wrong to think that he was like the others.

In fact, she had begrudged him his inexplicable inclination to judge and dislike her without getting to know her. But hadn't she done the same? For how could a person who was able to forgive the mother who had abandoned him... who mourned her passing with such sincerity and purity, be in any way comparable to the men that she had known? How could that man who sat hunched at the side of his bed, be in any way deserving of her distrust?

"Sahir?" she said, tentatively.

He looked up and attempted a feeble smile when he caught sight of the plate in her hands, "Arzoo, I don't think I can eat."

"You haven't had lunch either. Have something at least. Or do you want biscuits? Coffee?"

"I'm fine, really. You can cover the plate and keep it in the microwave. I will have it later. It is getting late, your family will be getting worried about you."

"My family," she echoed, struck once again by how little he knew about her. But then, this was hardly the time. She assumed an offhand air as she said, "My family is in Lucknow. I live alone."

Her mind travelled to what they would have had to say about her being in the company of a man in his apartment after dark. They would never understand that she was safer with this man who was unrelated to her, than with the monster she had been married to. And how would they understand what Sahir meant to her, when in their eyes, she had never been a person with a right to emotions and dreams of her own? She had only ever been a carrier of the family's honour and good name, of their traditions and beliefs. Even seeing the bruises on her face could not have moved them enough, to understand that their insistence on being dictated by what people would say, was killing her, day by day. A dead daughter was preferable to a defiant one, any day.

"You haven't eaten either, have you?" he said, interrupting her thoughts, his eyes piercing into hers, with that intensity that somehow always seemed to render her breathless.

"We will eat together," she replied, softly, but firmly.

His eyes misted with a fleeting memory, and he averted his gaze away from her, towards the floor once again. Soon drops of tears began to fall heavily from his eyes. She set the plate on his bedside table and sitting next to him on the bed, she placed her arms around his quaking frame. His sobs subsided after some time, and resting his head on her shoulder, he said, "Ammi used to say that no matter how sad or angry we are, food always comes first."

"I agree," Arzoo smiled through her tears.

"I was very hurt when Ammi left, even though I knew how unhappy she had been. My father never loved her. He could never appreciate her qualities, or anyone's for that matter. His language was... has always been one of taunts and ridicule. He crushed her self-confidence every single day, and treated her like a servant. After she left, he did not even seem remotely affected. Within two weeks, another woman had taken her place in the house. They had been together for years. I knew everything, I understood it all... But I still hated her for leaving. And even when I managed to come to terms with it all, I never tried to find her. Maybe... if I had, we would have had more time together. But instead, I chose to escape all the memories. I kept running... If only I had at least tried to look for her..."

"You would have tortured yourself, perhaps to no avail" Arzoo replied, "And maybe, you would not have become the accomplished lawyer whom she was so proud of... You did not have much time together, but you were destined to meet, and you did."

Sahir lifted his head to look at her, and said, "I'm glad you are here with me."

His face was so close hers, that she could feel his warm, minty breath on her lips. She could smell his aftershave, almost taste the saltiness of his tears. It was a strange intoxicating feeling, that made her feel light-headed and suddenly, entirely at peace with herself and the world. She wanted to turn her eyes away from his, but found that somehow, she could not. She could barely even bring herself to think. All that she could do was feel... the pounding of her heart, or possibly his.

It was with some difficulty that she inched away, and in doing so, perhaps nudged him into consciousness as well.

"So, what's for dinner?" he asked.

"Rice, moong dal and potatoes," she announced, feigning nonchalance too.

"You are spoiling me. If I get used to you being around, what will I do when you leave?"

He had spoken in jest at first - because the meal that she had whipped up, was pretty much all she could manage with the available ingredients and her deplorable lack of cooking skills, but his question was a disguised plea, undoubtedly sincere, tinged with yearning and a palpable sense of fear. She wanted to reply and reassure him that she would not leave him. She wanted to tell him how she felt. But she had never learnt to express such emotions, and the words she began to formulate in her mind sounded awkward and woefully inadequate, like mere platitudes.

But she would tell him one day. She knew now, for sure, that if he was the candle flame to her moth, she would willingly allow herself to burn, again, and again, and again.

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Chapter 13: Page 51