The flight was smooth, and the service was impeccable. After lunch, Shair reclined his seat to rest. Unable to sleep, Asiya asked the flight attendant for a pen and paper, and, lost in her thoughts, let her emotions flow onto the page.
I was thinking today of how
I would love to make a painting for you
I would start with the colour blue
Depicting not the serene calm of the seas
Or the brilliance of a sunny summer day,
but the harshness of a lonely, moonless winter night.
Swirl in the hues of autumn,
Like dancing ribbons of joy
for the brilliant, playful, and
carefree way, you entered my life.
Dot with irregular lines of yellow
To mark the hesitant steps
that I took out of my cell.
Stamp butterfly-like spreads
of flashing Spring colours
to signify the fluttering and sometimes
a fleeting friendship that evolved in no time…
Spread drops of pearls for
each kiss that calmed my waters
Finally, paint in a bright shining star
of gold emerging, spreading
its warmth and shunning away the night.
And from this warmth lash out
the fiery tendrils of passion
swirling, rising, falling,
tempting, yet threatening to engulf…
She smiled at her creation. It had been ages since she'd put pen to paper. She gently touched the page, promising herself that she would write more often.
By the time the flight landed, she was tired, and the surprise had slipped her mind. But Shair hadn't forgotten. He handed their luggage to Ditto, his trusted servant, who was practically bouncing with joy upon his master's return.
Settling into the back seat of their car, Shair took Asiya's hand in his and gently stroked it, waiting for her to meet his gaze. "You would have been a beautiful bride," he whispered, his lips turning down slightly with a hint of melancholy. "Asiya, I couldn't give you the wedding you deserved, but please accept this as my… belated wedding gift." He pulled something from his pocket and placed it in her hand, covering it with his own. His immense love shone through the tenderness and regret in his eyes.
Startled by his sudden declaration, she opened her hand to find a set of keys. She looked up at him, her eyes questioning.
"Keys to your new house…" he said softly, "Our home."
Asiya was speechless, overwhelmed. She tried to absorb the reality of the moment—that someone who, for most of her life, had no one to truly stand by her, no one to even vouch for her identity, was now given a chance at a dream life.
Her euphoric expression was enough gratitude for him. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "I love you," he said simply.
***
Asiya woke to the familiar sound of curtains being drawn. The lingering memory of Shair's kiss—soft and tender against her forehead—reminded her that he had already left. The past month and a half had been so idyllic that every night before sleep claimed her, she prayed it wouldn't all vanish by morning.
"Salam, Begum Sahiba," a timid young maid said, as she placed a breakfast tray between two elegant Victorian chairs. "Fried eggs, paratha, and tea for you, just like you asked for last night."
Asiya got out of bed, rubbing her eyes, trying to piece together the events of the previous evening. The grandeur of the room, the crisp sheets, the scent of fresh tea – it was all so new, so different from the tiny room she'd called home just weeks ago. "Oh, that smells heavenly. Thank you, Halima."
"I unpacked your travel bags as soon as Nawab Sahib left," Halima said, her movements precise as she smoothed out the bed sheets.
"Where did you put my clothes and things? How will I ever find anything?" Asiya asked, a touch of genuine panic in her voice. The idea of anyone touching her meagre possessions felt profoundly unsettling.
Halima's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise in their depths. "Haww hai, Begum Sahiba! In the cupboards in the dressing room, of course. But why on earth would you manage your things yourself when I'm here to do it?"
"I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job," Asiya said, a little embarrassed by her unfamiliarity with the workings of such a grand house.
Halima, while tidying the room, stole frequent glances at her new employer. Noticing Asiya finishing her tea, she bustled out and returned swiftly with a selection of clothes. "Begum sahiba, Barkat Ali will be here soon. You may want to get ready now."
"Who's that?" Asiya asked, examining a suit she didn't recognise—a rich silk, unlike anything she'd ever owned.
"Barkat Ali," Halima replied, puffing out her chest slightly with pride. "He's the biggest cloth merchant in West Pakistan. People come from all over the country to Lahore just to buy clothes from him."
"But… why is he coming here?" A bewildered Asiya was at a complete loss.
Halima giggled, her hand covering her mouth. "Haww hai, Begum Sahiba! He's bringing clothes for you to buy. This morning, before sahib-ji left, he asked Ditto to call him. Since there wasn't time to have clothes made for your wedding, you'll need a new wardrobe."
"Clothes shopping… at home?!" Asiya wondered aloud, a spark of unexpected eagerness igniting within her. She suddenly wanted to be ready to embrace this peculiar new experience.
When Halima announced his arrival, Asiya quickly draped her dupatta around her shoulders and hurried downstairs. A short, stout man was busily displaying fabrics on the furniture, transforming the sitting room into a vibrant explosion of colours and textures.
He straightened up and greeted her with a warm smile. "Salam, Begum Sahiba. My name is Barkat Ali. Congratulations on your wedding."
She returned the smile and sat down. "Walaikum assalam. Thank you."
"What sort of materials do you prefer?" he asked.
"Bright ones," she blurted out, a little flustered by the ignorance. Then, gathering her composure, she added, "My mother used to choose them for me, so I don't know much about the specifics, but I do love bright colours."
Barkat's smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Don't worry, my child. This fine cloth here is called French chiffon…" He began to educate her about the various materials, explaining their suitability for different types of clothing and occasions. He patiently helped her select the brightest colours he had in the finest Banarasis, Kimkhwabs, silks, French chiffons, and even some cotton.
"These colours will look perfect on you," he assured her.
"But… they must be so expensive!" Asiya exclaimed, realising she had already chosen over a dozen outfits. Some of the colours were simply breathtaking, and others had motifs too exquisite to resist.
"Munshi sahib always handles the bill," Barkat replied softly, his tone dismissive of such mundane concerns. "The women in Nawab sahib's family never discuss budgets."
"Oh," she murmured, a blush creeping up her neck. 'I must remember to ask Shair about these customs before I make another faux pas,' she thought. Finally, she settled on a red French chiffon suit, a turquoise Kimkhwab saree, and a few other pieces that Barkat had recommended. As she observed him pack the exquisite garments back into his cases, she realised it was late in the afternoon.
"It's almost lunchtime," she said. "You mustn't leave without having something to eat." She glanced meaningfully at Halima, who immediately slipped away to the kitchen.
"Oh, no, thank you so much," Barkat replied, beginning to gather his bags. "But I must beg your leave. I need to get back to the shop."
"It won't take long, I assure you," she insisted, her voice soft but firm. "You really must stay. Please." She excused herself as Halima entered with a lunch trolley.
"Please, help yourself," Halima said, offering him the chicken karahi, mixed vegetable curry, and an assortment of chutneys and pickles. "I'll bring you fresh rotis."
Because their flight had arrived so late the previous night, Asiya had seen only a glimpse of the house. Now, Halima led her to a long, marble dining room where her lunch awaited. Through the red velvet curtains, she could see a sprawling garden. She decided to explore it after her meal.