Chaos in the Canvas √

epilogue

" Be sure there is something waiting for you after much patience. To astonish you to a degree that you forget the bitterness of the pain. "

a few months later

"Red is your colour. It always has been."

Ibrahim mumbled into her ear as he invaded her private space from behind, hooking an arm around her slender waist as his chin found refuge on her shoulder.

"You're saying other colours don't suit me?" Hemayal chuckled but leaned back into him nevertheless, her insides turning mush at the gesture.

"They do, but red does something to me." Ibrahim shrugged as he let go of her with a small kiss to the temple, turning her in his arms.

"You're a huge boost for me ego, Yazdani," Hemayal laughed, slapping him slightly on the chest in pure mockery before pulling back. "And...we're getting late."

"Nobody is expecting us, chill." Ibrahim stepped forward, hurrying to take her back in his arms but Hemayal easily slipped away with a grin adorning her flushed face.

"I hardly expect the sun will wait for us before setting. Hurry up!" Hemayal shot him a glare before turning to the vanity mirror to check her outfit for the last time, final touches of make-up adding to her exquisite features.

"Aghh, fine." Ibrahim groaned before disappearing behind the washroom door, clothes in hand.

When the work opportunity had risen in Karachi for Ibrahim, Hemayal had decided to tag along - hoping that the shifting of the environment and space will do good to her mind and that it did. Just a few weeks in the city and she could already feel the past slipping somewhere far away, a distant memory now rather than a haunting reality.

And for that, she had that infuriating, beautiful husband of hers to thank.

Ibrahim's patience with Hemayal was endless. A week after being discharged, she had shifted to his apartment in Islamabad and if it were not for his presence, she would have long ago spiralled down the depression lane. But it was him who kept her sane - the one who held her when she woke up from troubling nightmares, who shoved food down her throat when she refused to eat, and who told her lame ass jokes at three in the morning until she forgot all about her pain and began to laugh.

"Come, baby."

Ibrahim's voice pulled her out of the memory lane and she hurriedly followed him out of the room. The heels clicking against the marble floor as she locked the front door and entered into the elevator made Ibrahim look down at her with a frown.

"You're wearing heels again?"

Oops.

"Yeah, well, we still are going to dinner after the beach, no?" Hemayal batted her lashes at him and Ibrahim only turned away with a shake of his head, murmuring something along the lines of she's impossible under his breath.

Half an hour later, Hemayal stood barefooted on the cold sand, Ibrahim right beside her as they gazed at the descending sun with a sparkle of awe and love dancing in their eyes. Sighing contentedly, the brown-haired woman slipped her hand into her husband's, who, at the gesture, only smiled before squeezing her hold in reply.

"You're happy?"

This particular question Ibrahim had asked regularly since the day after their wedding. Her replies in the start had been dense silence until he'd managed to get small nods from her later on. Then, one night, huddled against him, she'd replied a small yes and God, she could still remember his reaction vividly.