Chapter 11: Chapter 11/Ghost
Haya's POV
It was done. Oh my God! My oldest brother was finally married!
I don't know what was causing this rush of adrenal in my blood. . .the excitement of having Maira live with us, or the thought I was next to tie the knots. Technically it was Azaan's turn, but I have this sick feeling it's going to be me.
We are all in the living room. Me, Maira, mom, my brothers, some of my relatives from Mom's side, and this Zehrish girl I just don't like. Every time she looks at me, it's as if she wants to claw at me. Also, she's undeniably artificial with her fake nails and fake eye lashes. And sometimes her accent too.
Everyone's getting pictures taken at one corner of the room with the newly wed couple who are blushing like crazy. I shake my head, wondering if they could act at least a little mature.
Anddd sitting across from me, examining her nails with both interest and concern is Zehrish. Per usual she has her long caramel hair in smooth curls spread over her shoulders, and her trademark pink lip gloss coating her lips. She's known for hitting the gym more than normal people, thus she has a very toned body and gushes that she would not have any problem finding a suitable husband for her because in her eyes nobody could reject her.
I almost roll my eyes.
Almost a few seconds later she gasps lightly, which causes me to look up in bafflement.
Her eyes are fixed on something—or someone above my head. Her posture straightens suddenly and a bright smile is being put on display for. . .who? I frown at her, slowly turning to see what's the matter.
His eyes connect with me before I even register what is happening.
Aarib stares back at me with a look I can't decipher. Those pools of blue widen a fraction at me or whatever surprise he feels before he clears his throat and I hurriedly get up from my seat.
Being around Aarib does something to me. I am not sure what it is, but it could be somewhere between a longing and wanting to be as far away from him as possible. Sometimes. . .he gazes at me. Not just a peek or once look, but he actually full on observes me silently. I don't exactly count that as something I personally prefer. . .for many reasons.
"You came," I smile.
He almost smiles back. Almost. "I couldn't disrespect your mom, now, could I."
Right. He's here for mom. Not me. I feel like I would need that reminder a lot.
Aarib looks around, taking in the chaotic mess my family is being right now with all the noise and crowd they're causing in the living room.
"Here, sit. I'll notify my fam," I chirp, motioning a hand at the spot I was sitting a few minutes ago.
He gives me a nod. No smile. No emotion. Just a formal nod. Takes a seat on the sofa while I stand next to him as if I'm his wife.
Wife? Ugh. I need to calm down.
"We haven't met. I saw you before as well," comes Zehrish's too excited voice as comes closer to
Aarib and extends a perfect manicured hand to him.
Aarib, the gentleman that he is, gets up. . .but doesn't take her hand. He puts them in his pockets and acts like he didn't notice the physical greeting that awaits him.
"Selam," he says back, then turns to me. "Can you show me to the loo?"
Wait a second. . .
What just happened?
Did he. . .did he actually ignore the pretty perfect Zehrish and acknowledge me? ME? Okay, although the acknowledgment was for the directions of the bathroom, but still!
"Yeah sure. Follow me," I mumble, turn around and guide him upstairs to my room. "We locked Mom's room because we didn't want random people to go there, and the guest bedroom is strictly off limits because it has been decorated for the new couple, so. . .that's my bathroom." I point to the white door that says 'NO BOYS' as if he couldn't see it for himself.
He leans in the doorway, his brows knitting in the middle. "But it says no boys allowed. Am I an exception?"
I shrug, kind of regretting not taking off the stupid sign. "Nah. Maybe I just pity you."
His head snaps at me. Why does he all of a sudden look. . .mad at me? A wave of something similar to anger washes over his features, but is gone the very next second.
"I hope you don't expect a thank you," he mutters and as he walks past me, hurt slams in my chest.
I stand there gaping at his disappearing form, a shiver coursing through me because of the sudden shock. I thought. . .I thought we were getting on the road of mutual understanding and not hating each other anymore.
Guess I was wrong.
My school friend always used to say, 'Relationships were fragile. Just like a glass. If you don't hold onto it tightly, if you let it fall, the relationship shatters just like a glass would.' I used to wonder why Samantha said that a lot until I found out there was some serious trouble going on between her parents.
I didn't understand her words then. Not even now. But I feel like I can relate now.
Aarib is my nothing. Not even a friend. We're just classmates and he never fails to slap that truth in my face whenever he feels I'm trying to be more than that. Yet still my chest constricts to think we would continue our separate lives with different goals and missions and probably never see each other.
I wrap my arms around myself, wanting the warmth I could get. Aarib's cold words left an icy feeling on me and a bitter taste in my mouth. I look heavenwards and blow out a huge breath. . .maybe someday I will know why Aarib is so impeccably beautiful with an obnoxious attitude to the people who care about him.
Around five minutes later he's back from the bathroom looking as if he took a shower, his hair wet from the front dripping water onto his jacket. Maybe he did take a shower but I was too much lost in the thoughts to hear the water running.
Stop being idiotic, I scold myself.
He notices me observing him like a report and says, "Like what you see?"
I look away, not quite fast enough because there was a ghost of a smile I saw on his lips. He knows I am embarrassed.
Great.
By the time we enter the living room everyone's done with the pictures and just chilling on the sofa's and couches. As we make a grand entry with Aarib just behind me, all of them raise their heads to look at us and whatever talking was going on stops. The room goes silent with all the eyes fixed on the two of us, Azaan's specially being hard.
I just don't know where he gets that anger from. Perhaps our father who left us many years ago for another woman.
Anyway, that's a story for some other time.
"Ah, look at the two of you!" a lady I recognize as our neighbor claps her hands in delight. Is she talking about me and Aarib? "So beautiful together." She turns to my mother who is ALSO looking at us with an adorable expression on her face, her eyes soft, and says to her, "You see that too, don't you?"
Okay. . .did someone mix something in the drinks? Why are they acting so strange?
"What I see," Azaan snaps, gets up from the couch and stalks towards us, "is that he needs to maintain some respectable distance from her."
My eyes widen in horror but before I have the time to argue back, Azaan pulls me away from Aarib.
"What is wrong with you!" I shout, trying to get my arm out of his hold but he just applies more pressure. "Let go of my arm!"
"How many times do I have to tell you to stay away from him!" he yells back, shooting daggers at me.
"Azaan! Enough!" Mom gets up, along with Hassan and two of my female cousins.
"Let go of her. Now."
I stop fighting back to peer at Aarib. He looks angry. . .almost to the point of seething. His nostrils flare when his eyes meet mine, but he looks away the next heartbeat, glaring at Azaan. The room grows thick with tension as the two males stare at each other with pure and utter hatred. I know
Aarib didn't look at Azaan that way earlier, but he definitely did now.
Azaan drops my arm, fully facing my classmate. One would've thought Azaan let go of my arm only because he didn't want to hurt his sister, yet that did not seem much of a truth.
I don't know who screamed, but it was loud, piercing through all the gasps and noises of shock as Azaan lunges forward and throws a punch at Aarib's face.
Me. It was me who was screaming. I still am.
Aarib loses balance and falls to the floor, cupping a hand to his nose that has blood gushing out of it.
Oh my God.
This can't be happening!
"Aarib!" I rush towards him at the same time Hassan sprints forward too. "Oh my God! I am so sorry! Let me see it," I shudder, guilt blossoming inside me like a flower in spring.
Tears flood my eyes when he removes his hand. There's so much blood, enough to make me nauseous. I can't even begin to imagine how much pain he would be going through. Next to me, Hassan mutters something under his breath and yells that someone should bring towels and ice.
"It does not look like it's broken," Hassan examines Aarib's nose carefully. "But I am not sure. We'd have to go to the hospital."
My brother helps Aarib stand up. I move a step back to give Aarib some room to breathe in properly, and praying in my heart he doesn't go to the police station. Azaan could be in big trouble, and although I am currently despising even seeing him, he is still my brother and I love him.
"This boy has gone mad!" Mom yells at Azaan who pushes past me and storms out of the room to God knows where. "Ya Allah! What do I do about him." Mom's voice breaks in the end, a single tear rolling down her cheeks. I wipe away my own tears, sadness overcoming any other emotions I feel.
Blood is dripping to the ground yet nobody seems fazed about it.
"It's fine," Aarib addresses mom, eyes emotionless. The scary Aarib is back. The one that wears a mask in public. The one that stops caring. "He's just looking out for his sister. I would've done the same thing."
"No," I correct him, looking down at my feet. For some reason I cannot look into those blank eyes.
"What?" he asks.
"You would never hit anyone. I know you wouldn't."
Zehrish comes running back with a wet towel and an ice tray in her hands, panting loudly. I don't waste a second before snatching it from her hands and quickly putting some ice in the towel.
But as I look up after finishing with the task, I see Hassan's outstretched hand with a genuine honest smile on his face. I get why he wants to help Aarib. And why would I put ice to Aarib's wounds anyway? He is a na mehram for me.
I nod in understanding and hand over the towel, the warmth from my palm already melting the ice. Hassan guides Aarib to the nearest sofa, cleaning up the blood from his face.
Everyone around the room is shocked, their faces pale white. Like they've seen a ghost. Maira passes me a sad smile from across the room.
What did Aarib do to deserve this? Nothing. Azaan shouldn't have done that. He should not have raised a hand on Aarib!
I leave the living room.
One thing. I want one thing right now.
I want to hit Azaan back.
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