He was studying her, sensing her pain. For the first time, she met his gaze. Asiya found him peering deep into her soul, intimately sharing her experience. In that moment, she knew he was one with her. Her breath quickened, a feeling of intense connection making her feel strangely exposed. What was he trying to do? It was so inappropriate!
Shair didn't blink as Asiya looked away, watching her avoid his gaze, her rosy cheeks deepening to crimson. He saw her trembling hands fidget and fought the urge to take them in his and comfort her, but that would be against all norms, and it would only frighten her.
Shair was no stranger to female attention, nor to the fleeting attractions that sparked and faded. But this was different. He realised that he wasn't simply falling in love with this bewitching addition to his life, he was already connected to her on a level that mere chemistry couldn't explain, nor could the spiritual realm justify. This was… absolute. This was… resolute. This realisation struck him with the force of destiny: from this moment on, his existence, his happiness, and his sorrows would be inextricably linked to hers.
Shair's heart danced to a new rhythm. Asiya was more important to him than he had realised, and with that realisation came a shift in his concerns. He no longer felt the need to delve into her past. It didn't matter where she came from or who she was. Only the present and the future held any significance. "Asiya, are you happy here?" he asked, the question seemingly out of the blue.
"Yes, of course," she replied, meeting his gaze. All traces of sorrow were gone, replaced by an eagerness to change the subject. "I love the children I work with. I have time to study, and then there is Irfan Chacha and his wife. They are the most loving and gracious people I know."
"Asiya," Shair murmured.
"Yes?" she responded quickly.
"Don't you want to know anything about me?" he asked.
"What's it like… being a nawab?" she asked, the question tumbling out before she could stop it. Asiya's smile was strained. What was it like to be born into such security... a world away from the uncertainty that had defined her entire life. The thought sent a shiver down her spine.
Shair exploded into hearty, joyous, and contagious laughter. "You should ask my mother that!"
Asiya laughed too, though unsure whether he was laughing with her or at her. "What does that mean?"
"Sorry about that; let me explain," Shair said, trying to compose himself. "After my father passed away, the village elders formally vested me with the title of Nawab. So, um… technically, I've held the reins for years, but my mother is more interested in keeping them. And honestly, I find it easier that way."
"Oh," Asiya replied, still unsure of his meaning but knowing it would be inappropriate to ask for clarification.
That night, Shair found himself unable to sleep. The transition from the guest house to the orphanage was complete. The inauguration was in two days. After that, he would have no excuse to see her. He was accustomed to getting his way, but he knew he had to tread carefully with Asiya. As he saw it, his status and charm, which easily swayed other women, seemed to have no effect on her. Yet, she was extremely mesmerising herself, far too refined for someone raised in a makeshift orphanage with limited resources. He kept thinking of the sorrows she had endured, and the happiness he could offer if she were his wife.
That was it! This was the answer he hadn't known he was looking for: a true companion, a partner for life. He had found his life partner. He would ask Asiya to marry him after the inauguration ceremony. And, he would inform his mother as soon as Asiya would say yes!
***
1960
It was six in the morning, and the nawab emerged from his room, clad in his polo gear, complete with brown leather boots purchased from a high-end Bond Street store. He hurried through the empty verandas toward his sporty red Mercedes-Benz 300 SL parked in the driveway. Lahore, the 'City of Gardens', was awakening to the chirping of birds and the magnificent architecture of the British Raj gleaming in the early morning sun. As he sped down Mall Road, students wearing the distinctive turban of Aitchison College triggered memories of his own childhood commutes to and from school. The expansive roads used to be empty, much like the backseat of the car where he sat alone, year after year.
Yusaf sat perched on a large sofa in the Polo Club lobby, waiting for him. "Ah, Shair, late as usual." He gave him a side hug, and they walked together toward the Aibak ground for an exhibition match in honour of the Shah of Iran and his wife, Queen Farah Diba.
Shair's father had introduced him to the 'Game of Kings', and he, in turn, had persuaded Yusaf to join him. Polo became the foundation of their friendship, both on and off the field. They were each other's best friend and favourite rival, each game fueling their competitive spirit and zest for life. Both were excited to showcase their skills before such a distinguished audience.
"Ready to lose, my man?" Yusuf asked, hoping for a repeat of their last match.
"Not today, my friend. Today is my day!" announced Shair, buoyed by the joyous spell of newfound love. A smile, a private secret, danced on his lips. As he took his position on the field, he glanced at the crowd and spotted his mother in the second row, amidst several other sari-clad socialites. Their large sunglasses and bright purses were conspicuous even from the field.
Colourful canopies fluttered in the cool breeze of the sunny February morning, sheltering the bustling crowd. The raw energy of the magnificent horses was adrenaline-inducing, and the powerful partnership between them and their riders made for a stimulating spectacle. Dust rose in swirling clouds as the horses thundered across the field, their hooves pounding the earth. Shair, his focus laser-sharp, expertly manoeuvred his mount, weaving through the other players with a grace that belied the intensity of the game. Every powerful swing of his mallet, every burst of speed, felt charged with a new, exhilarating purpose. He scored the winning goal with a deft flick of his mallet, securing victory for his team. It was a display of skill and passion that left the crowd cheering, and his opponents impressed.
Yusuf, nearly as tall as Shair, punched his shoulder as they walked toward the guests' pavilion. "What's gotten into you?" he said, smiling. "You're like the wind today," he paused, studying Shair's buoyant gait, a spring in his step that hadn't been there before, then added, "and you've got me baffled!"
Shair's hearty laugh gave Yusuf the clue he needed. The two captains met with the President of Pakistan, Field Marshal Muhammad Ayub Khan, and the Commander-in-Chief of the Pakistan Army, General M. Musa, who had accompanied the Shah.
As he presented Shair with the trophy, His Imperial Majesty Shah of Iran congratulated him. "Thank you, Your Highness," Shair replied. "I hope to see you again this evening."