Sahir Arzoo FF | Love, law, inter alia | Chapter 20: Pg 91 [COMPLETE] - Page 35

Ya and harshad was looking cute in the interview

Originally posted by: tikit

I guess we should watch humsafars since its harshads birthday today and appreciate it.

Originally posted by: _.serendipity._

Aww! So heartwarming to see how we have all bonded into a small community of sorts!

Group hug and Happy Harshad Day to you all ❤️

when Humsafars ended I was very very sad.But on this FF I have made wonderful friends whose updates and reviews have given me so much joy👏 and seem to fill the void left by premature ending of Beautiful story of SaAz. Harshad is an amazing actor. His eyes spoke volumes,so full of expression.I had heard that music brings people together, but now i believe that brilliant writing also helps in bonding people together all across the globe.Group Hug to all! and as Arzoo would have said Bahut Shukriya !! Mere Dost.❤️

Waiittinggg...

😭 😡

😛 😆 😃

Originally posted by: fatimarahaman

when Humsafars ended I was very very sad.But on this FF I have made wonderful friends whose updates and reviews have given me so much joy👏 and seem to fill the void left by premature ending of Beautiful story of SaAz. Harshad is an amazing actor. His eyes spoke volumes,so full of expression.I had heard that music brings people together, but now i believe that brilliant writing also helps in bonding people together all across the globe.Group Hug to all! and as Arzoo would have said Bahut Shukriya !! Mere Dost.❤️

Hema Dear, please don't apologize. No worries at all! Take as much time as you need.I will be patient.

Its okay we're used to waiting 😊

Thank you for being so understanding!

A/N: Sorry for the slight delay. I kind of made up for it with a VM which inspired the first half of this chapter (see previous post) 😛

Heads up, next update may be delayed as well, because - life 😳 Sorry!

Chapter 13

Estoppel

Something had changed... suddenly, drastically so. Sahir felt it like the aftershock of being knocked out cold - dizzying and disorienting. He could not understand it, he could not explain it, and sometimes he could not even convince himself that things could have changed thus. But how could he deny the existence of that Arzoo-shaped void in his life. The pain of his mother's passing was still poignantly fresh, although he had begun to come to terms with it with Arzoo's support. But now, the part of his being that she had begun to thaw with her presence was beginning to ice up again, and this time, with such violent rapidity that it physically hurt.

He had tried and tried to understand what happened, analysing and overanalysing every tiny occurrence that had transpired between them, but he could just not put his finger over what it was that had changed it all. He had truly believed that his friendship with Arzoo had been slowly and steadily deepening, to the point where he knew he could trust her with the most vulnerable moments of his life. And yet, there he was, unconsciously whispering her name to himself, whispers that only reverberated back with her ringing silence.

He could not help but wonder if something had been amiss from before, and he had failed to see it. Arzoo was an extremely private person, even more reticent than him, it seemed. And he was self-centred enough to have missed the signs of any trouble that could have been brewing on her side. After all, she never shared her pain with him. She bore it all, alone, in stoic silence, even as she spared no effort in making him feel better. Perhaps he had done something to upset her and she would have suffered in silence without letting him know of it. But what was it?

The last time he had seen her was when, on the day of his mother's demise and after they had had dinner together, he had dropped her at her apartment. He had gone through the weekend without speaking to her because he knew that she devoted her weekends to studying for the Bar exams, and did not want to disturb her, and that too, after everything she had done for him. He had been most desperately hoping to hear from her, especially after returning from his mother's funeral to the deafening echoes of acute loneliness resonating in his apartment like inescapable nightmares.

But Arzoo had not called. He had been sorely tempted to give her a call himself, but had resisted the urge, not wanting to seem clingy, and thinking that he would see her on the coming Monday anyway, but that was when he learnt that she had taken study leave from work, after applying directly to the senior associates. She had not even said bye to him, let alone informed him in advance. She had spoken to Linda. But not a word to him.

He could not help but be reminded of how his mother had left, just like that, all of a sudden, without looking back. Every haunting, harrowing memory of his was coming back to life, merging with the present, until it was all a confused blur that obscured and distorted his ability to reason through what was happening. He was aware of the fact that he was conflating events that did not necessarily belong together, but found himself powerless to do otherwise, since there was practically nothing to explain Arzoo's sudden aloofness.

He was reminded that he had vowed never to form crippling attachments to other people, because he had learnt, the hard way, that the people he loved most dearly invariably left. And yet, he had been irresistibly drawn to Arzoo, to her glowing smiles, her pained eyes, her unbridled kindness, her tenderness and warmth, her courage and silent strength. When she was by his side, he felt that all his pain had found a purpose, a destination. She had a way of infusing everything around her with beauty, magic. And when she looked at him, and held him, she had a way of intoxicating his senses, until all that there was, was her soft flowery talc-like scent, her deep brown eyes, her warm embrace in which every feverish fear of his just melted away.

Yet, maybe he was the only one who had felt that fiery, overwhelming attraction. Maybe when they had sat at the edge of his bed, with her arms around him, and their eyes had met, he had been the only one who had felt that intense yearning for the moment to last forever. Maybe, to her, he was nothing but a colleague, for whom her concern and care was merely a matter of courtesy. Maybe the love he had thought to have read in her eyes was nothing but a reflection of his own reckless folly. After all, he was the one who had tendered an offer of friendship, who had opened himself to her, confided in her. She had not even replied when he had indirectly asked her not to leave him. But what she was kind enough not to say then, to spare him the embarrassment perhaps, she had conveyed perfectly by her subsequent actions.

He swept his hand across his desk, sending files and papers flying and slamming against the walls of his cabin. How could he have been so blind? And now that he knew that his feelings for her had been so hopelessly one-sided... why could he still find it so excruciatingly difficult to stop thinking of her, of every tiny mannerism of hers, of the way she talked and smiled and laughed... of the way she walked away from him... Every memory hammered down upon his pounding head ruthlessly, filling him with a burning, devastating hatred towards himself. He had always known that he was undeserving of love, then why had he imposed himself on her and driven away the one hope of happiness that life had graced him with? How naive he had been to see in Arzoo, the humsafar that his mother had spoken to him about, without, for a moment, realising that the sense of companionship that he had felt was not mutual after all.

The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. It was a client. He composed himself and responded to the man's queries. Life went on, after all, with or without Arzoo. It was drudgery, perhaps, devoid of light and joy, but he had endured, before she had breezed into his life, and he would survive in her aftermath. Just like he had when his mother had left. Yes, it would take some time to restore normalcy to his life, but he would do it, and this time, his resolve to be cold and detached would be cast in stone, absolutely unshakeable.

And then, for some reason, as he was gathering the papers that he had flung across his cabin, suddenly, an image flashed before his eyes - the scars on her back.

He felt all the air being whipped away from his lungs, and an icy sense of dread invading his senses. Could she be in trouble? Granted, she had spoken to Linda. But wasn't it extremely unlike her to not even bother to say goodbye to him, towards whom she had always shown gratitude and appreciation? She had always been extremely courteous, almost to a fault, no matter how badly he behaved towards her. Would she really so unceremoniously let go of an opportunity to continue her internship at such a reputed law firm, just because of him? He had known her to be a very driven person, who bravely battled on, despite all obstacles, and his judgment could not have been so mistaken. And why hadn't she even come to collect her things? His mind had spun into overdrive. Without the blinkers of his emotional baggage, the whole picture was revealing itself to him, and it became increasingly apparent to him, that things were not adding up.

He glanced at his watch. His court case was not for another two hours. She did not live very far, he remembered, from having dropped her home the other night. He could easily drive to her apartment and check on her, and be back in time. Whether or not she felt for him, in the way that he did for her, was immaterial. His friendship, his love, had been heartfelt, and he would fulfill it to the end of his days, annihilating himself if needed, to protect her from every harm. His premonition or apprehension, or whatever it was, may have been completely unfounded and irrational, but he could not take the risk of allowing his misplaced ego to come in the way of ensuring that Arzoo was safe.

Of all the things he had been expecting when he rang the doorbell, it was certainly not that somebody else should open the door. She had said that she lived alone.

"Yes?" the man said, with a shadow of a frown on his face.

"I'm sorry," Sahir replied, "I think I may have come to the wrong apartment. Would you know where Arzoo Nawsheen Khan lives?"

"You've come to the right place. I am her husband, Shiraz Ahmed. And you are?"

It was fortunate that Sahir had mentally steeled himself into his former impassive self, in order not to allow any emotions to cloud his reason, because he was able to give nothing away even as he felt the entire world shatter and crumble down around him. Married. Arzoo was married. And he was even more insignificant to her than he had previously thought, because she had not felt it in any way necessary to let drop this essential nugget of information.

"I am her boss," Sahir said, in a voice that sounded slightly strangled after all, "I... am sorry to disturb. I needed to discuss a case... with... your wife... and... I could not get her on the phone."

"Oh, sure. Come on in, and have a seat. I will just go get her."

Sahir was grateful for the seat and the opportunity to catch his breath and try and hold himself together while her husband went inside. A part of him wanted nothing better than to run away while he had the chance, so that he would not have to see Arzoo as somebody else's wife, as somebody else's. The mere thought filled with him with a devastating sense of raw physical pain, as though someone had punched a gaping hole through his heart. But he had come to see if she was okay, and could not leave before seeing her. The man might be her husband, but if he had ever caused her the slightest pain, Sahir would tear him apart, bit by bit. Besides, if she was happily married after all, the sooner he came to accept the truth of the place that he held in her life, the better it would be.

Her hair was wet and swept to the side when she walked in, accompanied by that whiff of her characteristic powdery fragrance. There were still tiny droplets of water clinging to her wavy locks of hair, and he felt an uncontrollable prickling in his eyes as found himself falling in love with her once again. He had to look at a spot somewhere over her right shoulder because he could not bear to allow his eyes to meet with hers just then, without his secret being given away in treacherous burning tears.

"How are you?" he asked, somewhat casually, even though everything hung on her response. If she was happy, if she was well, he knew he would need to distance himself from her so as not to, even inadvertently, come in the way, between her and her husband.

"I am good, thanks. How are you?" she said, brightly. He almost hung his head in resignation, but then, remembered how good she was at masking her pain. He forced himself to observe her intently, for anything that might blow her cover.

"Right. Good. Uhh... I wanted to discuss the case of... the case of Mrs Mehta. Since you have been following the case, I thought I'd get your input. You know the... scars on her back? We are thinking of going on the issue of domestic violence, and... getting a protection order against her husband... and stuff, you know the usual. What do you think?"

She did lose her composure momentarily, as she understood what he was getting at, but when she spoke next, it was with bitter calmness, and a sense of brutal finality, "Mrs Mehta has bipolar disorder, for which she has been following medical treatment. It is quite possible that she inflicted the blows on herself. I personally think it's a weak case. Her husband loves her very much, and he would never hurt her. Um... I mean, divorce by mutual consent would be best, Sir. It would not be correct to interfere further."

"Spoken like a true lawyer," Sahir replied dryly.

Her cold, dismissive words had felt like the twist of a knife in the stabbing wounds that punctured his heart. But Sahir was not deceived. Arzoo was a brilliant actress, and she had been perfectly convincing with the factual details she had provided... but her eyes could never lie. Her words were somebody else's. They continued to discuss work for some time thereafter, under the keen gaze of her husband, before Sahir left, with a silent promise that he would get to the truth, come what may.

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Chapter 14: Page 56