Chaos in the Canvas √

04 | glimpse

چلو تم راز ہو اپنا تہے افشا نہیں کرتے

Tuesday - 2:33 pm

The lunch had never been a great deal for the people of Khakwani household, most of them usually settling for different kinds of salads ranging from Mexican to Russian, or maybe fruits. Unlike most of the homes in Pakistan, where food was a great affair, Khakwanis were breaking the stereotypes.

Among them, however, a soul resided who was all for breaking her family rules. Siding with the majority of her country, Mehmal Khakwani always preferred to have a feast after a tiring day in office, her appetite never being contented with exquisite salads or colourful fruits

Today, however, in stead of having lunch in her own home, Mehmal had dragged Hemayal to a nearby restaurant along with her. With Hemayal left sitting there, looking at Mehmal with wide eyes as she placed her order, Mehmal had little care as her eyes moved between the waiter and the menu card.

"And you, ma'am?" Waiter now turned towards Hemayal who maintained her silence for a moment before coughing slightly and answering.

"Russian salad and orange juice, please." She made her order known with a smile and saw through the corner of her eyes as Mehmal rolled her eyes.

"How long will it take?" Mehmal asked just as waiter turned around.

"Twenty minutes, ma'am." He answered and was dismissed by Mehmal with a slight nod.

"How will you burn all of these calories?" Hemayal seemed incredulous, like always, as she asked.

"There's a thing called jogging tracks, gym, treadmill. Ever heard of it?" Mehmal answered and this time, Hemayal rolled her eyes heavenward.

"Depending on the quantity of food that you've ordered, it'll take you weeks." Hemayal scoffed as she said.

"It won't get on your skinny body for sure. Besides, don't worry, I'll manage." Mehmal said and Hemayal squinted her eyes.

"If I didn't know you, I'd call it body shaming." Hemayal glared and Mehmal only rolled her eyes.

"Well, thank God that you know then." The mockery in her words spoke volumes.

"What can I say? Odds are in your favour, Katniss." Hemayal shrugged her shoulders, mentioning the book Mehmal didn't like one ounce after reading it a few years ago.

"Thankfully." Mehmal only laughed.

"How's work, by the way?" Hemayal asked after a while.

"It's fine. We're designing a new studio our company has made." Mehmal answered.

"Your work must be piling up back in Islamabad." Mehmal continued and Hemayal sighed heavily.

"Yeah, so many sessions are already on the line. And I have a conference to attend in Karachi in three weeks." Hemayal dropped her head to the table as she said, already tired at just the thought of all the work she had to go back to, the brown, armpit length tresses touching her face due to the movement of her head.

Hemayal Khakwani was a psychiatrist, working in a private hospital in Islamabad for almost a year now. Although medical is one of the mainstream professions in the world, there's no account for passions and Hemayal always wanted to be one.

The idea of the field of Psychiatry, however, stemmed from her own encounters with Psychiatrists when she was young and growing up, the world slowly peeling off the layers of mask it had so delicately covered itself with, its true colours now revealing.