Besabriyan

16|SIXTEEN

If he counted right, Aahil sighed for the fifth time in a row after seeing his friend hopeless and tied in a checkered apron and making meals for the both of them. Nothing was said and no plans were made, Zaviyar just barged into his apartment, removed his suit jacket, stole Aahil's apron and walked into the kitchen. Aahil stood there in confusion and watched him move from the glass top to the refrigerator and then to the sink, moving in a rhythm as though he was well versed in cooking, for all he knew Zaviyar was trying to clear his thoughts.

The day had been somber with her clouding his mind so much that even the broken shards of glass didn't hurt as much as he thought they would. Last night wasn't anything less than a ride to hell. He was almost unable to curb the pain and he was unable to contain the urge to question but he wasn't in the place to question her with his mind raging wars and pouring sympathy. One of many other things he hated for himself- sympathy.

He lost in the game he bothered to not even start. Rayyan didn't deserve any game that Zaviyar would have played with him– he would set fire on Rayyan's world for just eyeing his lady love wrongfully. He would have stripped him off the life he so dearly loved for trying to manipulate Maheen into whatever shit. He might as well have the life he had always wanted with Anabiya but he played too hard to win Zaviyar- a game too dangerous if a love-starved man like Zaviyar began to play, He would run to the mountains to hide his shame. Last night made him realize why poets and writers leeched of heartbreaks and betrayals.

When the palao was done, he fixed a plate for himself leaving Aahil hanging in a thread and walked over to the dining table after fishing out a spoon from the cutlery holder. Aahil's eyes followed him everywhere as he walked around removing apron and tossing it to a side and how he turned the television on. He, for a person, was never fascinated by whatever was on the television so Aahil pretty much drew a conclusion and decided to stick to it if nothing ever came out of his mouth.

"Looking at you like this right now makes me feel like I'm your mistress who needs your time to be pacified." He sighed, getting up from the couch from where he was watching him and disappeared into the kitchen to fix himself a plate and walked out a minute later after taking one of the four raita containers he had stacked in his refrigerator.

"You might as well become one." Zaviyar grumbled, taking a morsel of the rice and tasting it only to heave a sigh of delight. He could have a thousand problems revolving around them but starving himself should never be one of them- it was wasteful and harmful to his health. So instead of going to his house and having his mother drive him crazy, he could just rest in Aahil's apartment for a while before he retired to his place.

"So you got the girl?" There was a hint of tease imbued in his tone, making Zaviyar chuckle at it. It was not so long ago when Zaviyar told him about the embodiment of love he had been shaping all his life- one could love him with the darkest of his nature and the one that could accept him as he was- with flaws and scars. And Maheen was the woman- the only woman- who dared to fall in love with a man who was said to be two faced.

"I haven't but I will, soon." His answer was blunt and, aiming at nothing as he slowly took a mound of rice on the spoon and glided it into his mouth. His eyes, unwavering. To tell the truth, Zaviyar had been preparing himself for the worst from the day he saw her hide behind his sister.

"You proposed to her?"

"Not her. Noorul Ain." One word and Aahil's grin was wiped away. He gawked at the only friend he had as if he lost a screw or two on the head. He wouldn't be surprised even if he did, knowing the way he functioned. If there was a need for anything in his life, Zaviyar would turn the world and twist it inside his palm until he owned it but the man that sat there silently and munching on his food didn't seem like his friend. He looked broken and torn. He looked as if he discarded his life.