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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.
As the morning rays entered the room, Naz gently lifted Jaida's head from her lap and placed it on the pillow, then went into the kitchen. A little while later, the boy entered the room. He placed a small table near the cot, set a chair beside it, and went away.
A few minutes later, Naz came in carrying breakfast. She placed the tray on the table and began running her fingers through Jaida's hair. The boy returned with a pot of water and a towel. He set the pot near the cot and placed the towel on it before leaving again.
Jaida opened his eyes.
"Shami!" he whispered, then turned his head slightly and called louder, "Shami!"
Naz stepped forward.
"Oh Naz!" he said, startled. He sat up, looked at the bed, the room, then at Naz.
"Wash your face and hands," Naz said, pushing the water vessel closer to him.
Jaida, dazed with surprise, kept staring at her. Naz understood his state. She placed the pot at his feet and pressed his head down.
"You've grown so big, and still don't know how to wash your face?" she said, tilting his head further, scooping water with her hands, and splashing it onto his face like one would a child. Then she lifted his face, wiped it dry with the towel, and placed it over his shoulder.
She did all this with such briskness and ease that Jaida had no chance to resist, speak, or even think. There was such spontaneity and warmth in Naz's actions that Jaida was left spellbound. Shami, Guli, Bali, and Gulnar had all given him physical pleasure and delight, but in Naz's tender devotion today he felt a strange joy and comfort he had never known. He felt like a man tasting wine for the first time—his heart heavy with dizziness, his mind intoxicated.
"Here, have breakfast," Naz said.
"Where did these dishes come from?" Jaida asked in surprise.
"With all the money you gave yesterday," Naz replied, "I bought these and a few other things."
"I slept here last night?"
"Yes."
"And you?"
"On the floor."
"Who brought me here? I was at Shami's place."
"You came yourself."
"Why were you on the floor?" Jaida asked in a tone that carried a hint of affection, as if her sleeping on the floor displeased him. "Why didn't you throw me into that other room?"
"You're not a stone that I would throw," Naz replied tenderly.
"Then what am I?" He looked at her, paused a moment, then said in a voice full of hurt:
"Naz, I am a stone."
"But you are a precious stone," Naz answered playfully, showing him the gem of her ring. "This too is just a stone."
"Naz," Jaida sighed deeply, "do me one favor… promise me one thing."
"What?"
"Let me live my own life," Jaida said. "I destroy homes, I do not build them."
"Is that what you call living?" Naz asked.
"See, I'm still alive, aren't I?"
"Go and destroy a hundred homes, Jaida, burn them if you will—just let me build one home, only one, and keep it safe… Have your tea, it's getting cold."
Jaida lifted the cup, sipped, then picked up a toast. "I will never dye my hands with the blood of an innocent. I loot families, yes, but only those already living. And then I ruin myself—squander thousands on friends and courtesans, drink, smoke hashish."
"Do whatever you want, Jaida," Naz lowered her gaze, falling silent. A moment later she looked up again, her voice soft and pleading:
"Let me make this house a home. Then, whenever you find time—like last night, stumbling in drunk—you can come here. I'll hold you, lay you to sleep in my lap. Steal if you must, kill if you must, but come back here. I won't stand in your way. I'll just wait for you. Think of me as a temporary resting place, Jaida—where you stop for a breath before moving on."
"I understand what you're saying, Naz," he said, "but I cannot accept it. I don't want to understand."
"That's because you don't want to change," Naz said.
"Oh, so you want to change me? Tomorrow you'll start lecturing me that pickpocketing and theft are sins." He gave a bitter laugh, then said with sorrow, "Naz, the changed face you see before you—it's already changed."
"No," Naz said in a passionate voice, "I don't want to change you. I won't lecture you. I too am a sinner, just as you are. Sin loves sin. A man commits one sin, then commits another by lying that he did not sin. Only sin can hide sin—the way you have hidden me, I want to hide you within my own heart."
Steam was rising from the cups. The noise of Karachi began to swell with the rising sun. Naz and Jaida sat facing each other, opening their hearts. The sleepless night had left Naz's eyes heavy, giving her beauty a spellbinding allure. Her disheveled hair lent her a new charm. For the first time, Jaida felt a chain tightening around him, and he thrashed inwardly, longing to be free.
"One destination," Jaida muttered under his breath. Then, with a long sigh, he said:
"My path has always been free from the illusion of destinations. Naz, last night I ran away from you only because in your presence, in your smile, in your every word, and even in your cup of tea—I smelled the fragrance of a destination… a lost, stolen destination. I was too young when it was taken from me.
This is my state, Naz:
I tried to keep my distance, yet gave my heart away.
And in the end, I lost you, and lost myself as well."
"You're still a child, even now," Naz smiled, trying to soften his bitterness. "Come, drink your tea, it's getting cold."
Jaida looked at her for a long while, then quickly drained the cup. Instead of placing it back on the saucer, he handed it to Naz. She filled it again.
"What are you thinking?" Naz asked. "Don't get sad so quickly. A man like you should laugh and play."
Jaida drank that cup too.
"Do you have some money?" Naz asked.
"I'll get it by evening," Jaida replied, and walked into the other room.
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To be continue...