Bikhre huye Zulfain
Band aankhei karu, Din ko raatei karu.
Teri zulfon ko sehla ke baatei karun.
Ishq mein unn, baaton, se ho meethi si...... naraaziyaa~~aaa
The faint glow of the early morning sun filtered through the windows of their old, dilapidated home. Mustafa was having trouble sleeping in his new abode. He groggily blinked his eyes open, greeted not by the quiet calm of dawn but by a familiar, soft tickle against his face. Sharjeena's long, silky hair had drifted onto his face again, her soft breaths nestled against his chest as she lay peacefully in his arms, making it impossible for Mustafa to move without disturbing the warmth of their closeness.
Mustafa carefully shifted, trying to move away without waking her, gently brushing her hair aside as he slipped out from beneath her, hoping to preserve the serenity of her sleep while he quietly made his way out of bed.
“Phir se,” he muttered to himself. He could hear the city slowly stirring outside, the honk of faraway buses and the buzz of life in Karachi just beginning.
Dragging himself out of bed, Mustafa shuffled to the bathroom, hoping a shower would shake off his grogginess. He turned the tap, the water splashing cold onto his feet before it gradually warmed up. But just as he stepped into the tub, the water pooled around his ankles. His eyes rolled toward the ceiling.
“Yeh toh hona hi tha,” he grumbled, knowing exactly what the culprit was. Sure enough, after a quick glance, there it was—a clump of Sharjeena’s hair clogging the drain. He bent down, fishing it out, muttering under his breath, “Ek din main araam se shower le lu, yeh bhi badi baat hogi.”
As Mustafa finished his shower, he reached for the towel, his eyes catching sight of something familiar yet again—Sharjeena’s loose hair artfully arranged on the bathroom tiles, stuck to the walls like abstract art. He chuckled, despite his mild irritation.
“Bathroom ko museum bana rakha hai tumhare baalon ne,” he muttered, shaking his head in amusement. He wiped the mirror, his reflection looking back at him with a mix of affection and exasperation.
After getting ready, Mustafa sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his jeans. As he slid his leg through, he felt a scratchy sensation. With a raised eyebrow, he reached into his pocket and pulled out, yes, yet another long strand of Sharjeena’s hair.
“Yeh mere jeans mein kaise ghus gaya?” He shook his head, tossing the hair onto the floor, deciding he’d deal with it later.
The day passed by uneventfully, and before long, it was time for lunch. Mustafa sat down, eagerly digging into the plate of daal chawal Sharjeena had made for him before he dropped her off at work. Lately, no matter how early she woke up, she always seemed to miss her van, almost as if it had become a convenient habit.
But as he took a bite, he felt something thin and stringy against his tongue. “Sharjeena!” he called out, upset as he pulled out another hair from his mouth. “Tumhare baal lunch mein bhi aa gaye!”. He made a mental note to bring this up with her.
As the day stretched on, Mustafa found himself adjusting the speed on the ceiling fan in the living room, trying to get some cool air circulating. But as he pulled on the fan string, he felt something strange—a long, familiar strand of hair tangled in the cord. He looked up in disbelief.
“Bas yeh reh gaya tha.” He carefully untangled it, shaking his head. “Ab to fan bhi nahi bacha tumhare baalon se.”
Sharjeena passed by, raising an eyebrow. “Mera fan bhi tumhe tang kar raha hai?”
Mustafa just chuckled in response. “Tumhare baal har jagah hain, Sharjeena. Hame iss ghar mein aye hue itne din nehi guzrein par tumharein in baalon ne isse apna ghar bana liya hain.”
Sharjeena made a face, but focused back on her assignment.
Later that night, they both settled on the bed, snuggling close as the quiet of the evening filled their home. Mustafa wrapped his arm around Sharjeena as she rested her head on his shoulder. For a moment, everything was peaceful. But then, once again, Mustafa felt a familiar tickle on his face.
“Sharjeena,” he said, trying not to laugh. “Tumhare baal mere naak mein ghus rahe hain!”
Sharjeena sat up, laughing softly, but Mustafa’s patience had finally run out.“Yaar, seriously, yeh baalon ka kuch karna padega,” Mustafa blurted out, half-joking, half-serious. “Har jagah baal hain. Bed pe, kapdon mein, khaane mein… main tang aa gaya hoon!”
Sharjeena’s smile faded as her face became small. “Tumhe itna bura lag raha tha, toh tumhe mujhse kehna chahiye tha na. I didn’t know it was bothering you this much. Mein dur ho jaati hun”
Mustafa immediately regretted his words. “Nahi, nahi, that’s not what I meant,” he murmured softly, pulling her gently into his arms. “Mujhe pata hai tum kuch galat nahi kar rahi ho, it’s just… maybe it’s the water? Hard water shayad aur zyada rough bana raha ho. ”
He brushed his thumb, lingering on her soft and squeaky cheeks. The silence between them was tender now, their closeness speaking louder than words. Sharjeena leaned into his chest, her breathing steadying. “Shayad ye hi ho,” she whispered, her voice soft, her fingers tracing light circles on his back as she rested against him, comforted by the warmth of the moment.
Mustafa ran his fingers gently through her hair and said softly, "Tumhare baalon ka apna hi charm hai"
And so, the next day, Mustafa installed a water filter, hoping it would help reduce the hair fall caused by the hard water in their home. As he finished his job, he called out Sharjeena to check the fit. Mustafa gave Sharjeena a playful nudge. “Ab dekhte hain tumhare baalon ka masla hal hota hai ya nahi.”
Sharjeena, leaned her head on his shoulder, her voice small. “Aur agar nahi hou toh”
With a soft chuckle, Mustafa wrapped his arms around her, pretending to think, brows furrowed. “Nehi hua toh, nehi hua toh.... tumhare liey main ek bariya sa wig lein aunga.”
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