1st in spiritual on 14th August, 2018
1st in Pakistani on 6th August 2018
3rd in Pakistani on 9th July 2018
2nd in spiritual on 13th September
Jannat, a barely eighteen, timid girl living with her parents. They are not her biological parents though...
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کب ہاتھ میں تیرا ہات نہیں ، کب یاد میں تیرا ساتھ نہیں۔
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Ibraheem drove the car as Azlaan sat in the front seat, quiet as a mouse. Jannat sat on the backseat, her lips sealed but heart pounding so loud that she could hear it beating.
For the first ten minutes they were quiet, then Azlaan and Ibraheem started their business talk and Jannat stared out of the window, periodically setting the dupatta on her head.The air was still heavy with tension.
When they reached home, Ibraheem's eyes met Jannat's in the rearview mirror and his eyes were hard. Hard as stone but the soft moss growing on it was comforting. Her heart thudded just like it had done three times before when his eyes had met hers in the car.
Jannat didn't wait for any of them. She slipped out of the car and ran inside, without even bothering to close the car's door. Both of them stared at her back, one with longing and the other with annoyance.
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Jannat went straight to her room after greeting her mother and Khaala who were sitting in the living room. She showered and changed into a black embroidered Shalwar Kameez with a colourful chunri.
She stared at herself through the mirror and saw eyelashes trying to hide the emotions in her eyes. She was just over him. It was okay. She told herself daily that she was young and it was just a passing crush.
She left her wet hair parted from the middle, the light brown now a darker brown, the colour of wood that clashed against her porcelain skin. Her button nose now red due to a slight cold she was suffering from. Slipping her feet into her slides, she adjusted her neckline once again. She had love-hate relationship with this dress. She loved the black colour and the chunri but the neckline was little deep and the it scooped lower from the back where a colourful tassle held it together.
She went to the garden, her garden was her kingdom. She sat her on her bench and took off her slides, her feet grazing the dewy grass.
Looking up at the sky, she looked at the moon and sighed.
Someone coughed behind her and she turned, scared.
Azlaan had changed into a soft white a shalwar kameez, his neckline a round one, not collared. His brown hair dishevelled, like he had run his hands through it numerous times. Fondling a tiny button om his shirt, he sat beside her, his eyes reflecting silver.
"Can I accompany you?", his husky voice felt like the mud she had planted her roses in with love, which were still to bloom.
She nodded. "Just looking at the sky."
Azlaan, too, gazed up for a second . Then his hand went behind his back, protruding a beautiful red rose supported by a moss green stem which had all the thorns cut off.
Jannat smiled. She stood up, her hand clutching the rose, her eyes a well of a muddy water as she teased him, "Ammi says you shouldn't pluck the flowers at night. Jinn aashiq ho jataay hain."
