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The spell broke.
Love had lulled the wolf to sleep, but it awoke again.
"No, no!" he cried in grief-tinged anger. "Take this away—I don't want this tea."
The night passed. Naz was restless, waiting for Jaida. The tea utensils were still lying on the table. Naz knew Jaida's return was uncertain. Whether he came back or not—he must have fallen asleep at one of his dens or at some prostitute's brothel. His world was vast and he had countless hideouts. But Naz felt with great intensity that she could not spend this night alone, she would not be able to sleep. If Jaida didn't return, she would remain restless all night. This uneasiness was something different.
Her eyes kept returning to the door. Every sound seemed to her like Jaida's footsteps. She would sit on the cot, then suddenly get up and rush into the courtyard. She would press her ear to the door, then come back again. She felt a spark of jealousy flare up inside her, and her restlessness grew even more.
Tired of it all, she threw herself down on the cot with a thud, and her thoughts drifted elsewhere. She remembered how she once considered herself fit only for the company of wealthy and powerful men, how society valued her highly. But what had she begun to desire now? The thought made her blush, and that blush was painfully humiliating.
She tried to convince herself that she did not want this drug-addicted drunkard, this thug—and that she would deceive him and escape from here. But then, what would she tell her society? Where had she been for so long? This very question tore at her like claws. She collapsed like froth settling down.
Her thoughts tangled around her like a dupatta caught in thorny bushes. Free one side, and the thorns on the other would trap it again.
Suddenly, the door opened. Naz startled and looked up. Jaida was standing there. He was drunk—his head swayed, his face flushed red from the heat of alcohol, his legs staggering. Naz stood up but did not move forward.
Jaida leaned against the door for support, then stumbled forward with wavering steps. His body was limp. He had taken hardly two steps before he staggered so badly it seemed he would fall. He could not steady himself. Naz rushed to his side, supported him, and began leading him toward the cot. Jaida's lifeless body leaned heavily against her.
This was the second time Naz and Jaida's bodies had come so close. Otherwise, Jaida had always kept himself at a distance. Even in the room on Napier Road, he had not gone near her, nor had he approached her while keeping her confined in his own quarters. That very distance was the reason Naz had begun to like him. Tonight, when Jaida's helpless body rested completely in her arms, she felt a peace seep into her soul. All the troubling thoughts that had clouded her mind a few moments ago dissolved like mist under the sun. A stench of alcohol was rising from Jaida's mouth, but Naz seemed oblivious and unaffected by it.
When they reached the cot, she tried to lay him down, but for some reason, she paused. She placed her hand on his forehead, lifted his drooping head, and pressed her cheek so firmly against his brow that she herself was startled.
"God knows how much you've drunk," Naz said as she laid him on the cot. "You should at least take some care of yourself."
Jaida was in no condition to hear or understand. Naz knew how to deal with such intoxicated men. She wanted to bring him back to his senses, otherwise she felt she herself would not be able to sleep. Inside her, a strange emotion was stirring—something that carried a wife's love, a sister's affection, and a mother's selfless care.
She tucked him in properly, then went to the kitchen, filled a bowl with water, and returned. Sitting by his side, she dipped a cloth into the water, wrung it out, and placed it on his forehead. Jaida's breathing was uneven, his breaths rough and heavy.
The night wore on. Naz kept his head in her lap, stroking his forehead, cooling it with the damp cloth. Again and again she leaned close to him, yet the reek of liquor did not bother her.
The lamp oil burned out—the flame flickered, trembled, and slowly died away. In that darkness there was a strange tranquility, in that wakeful night a kind of sweetness, in serving Jaida with his head resting in her lap an unfamiliar peace. Naz sank into an intoxication of her own—the taste of which she had never known before.
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To be continue