The Longest Autumn

He dialled her number twice to get no answer. Maybe she is sleeping or busy with some work, so he didn't call again and stepped out from the elevator near the door of the apartment. 

Inserting the key in the key hole he twisted it just to realise that it was already open. ‘this girl forgot to lock the door.’ He shook his head while twisting the door knob and stepping in… the light of the bedroom was already on. A mild fragrance was present in the encouragement. The couch of the living room was no longer looking like a laundry basket but a mobile phone was lying there. 

“Aisha, is this you inside the room?" Danish asked loudly when he heard some kind of voice from inside. He was confused. 

“Aisha," knocking on his bedroom door he waited for an answer from her but never got one. “Aisha, I'm coming inside." A tired hand grabbed the knob while twisting it. The fogged brain was storming with countless scenarios. An exhaust frame wanted to sleep. The door was pushed open with a creaking voice. His eyes found a figure standing a few steps away but the brain didn't trust it. 

"Da…d” breath hitched, voice choked. He blinked twice. The figure didn't disappear. Was it real?

“Dad…” and the son hugged his father, "Dad.”

Anzala, who was already filled with anger, and ready to burst on his son, forgot everything present in his brain. When did this guy hug his father like this last time? 

"Tigers don't cry.” feeling his broken state Anzala held him in his arms as tight as he could. His son needed this support. 

"I'm not a tiger without you. I'm nothing without you, dad.” Danish forgot to break the hug. Anzala smiled while patting his back. Last time the eleven year old Danish hugged his father in this way when he got to know that he failed to secure his place in a state level competition. He looked towards his father for support, and today when he was failing to score a good position in the exam of life he again needed his father. 

“Bewafa. Maa nhi dikh rhi?" The voice told him that his mother was also present there. Danish smiled with eyes shining with wetness, yet he didn't let his emotions overflow. 

(You, the unfaithful brat! I'm also here.)

"Why didn't you tell me before coming? I'm so happy to see you both.” He hugged his mother, who was crying now with a smile. Before the emotional drama could stretch even more a girl walked out from the bathroom with towel wrapped hair and swollen eyes. Danish's heart skipped a beat. His lady love was standing in front of him. 

"Fayra." His tongue savoured the flavour of her name. 

“Solve your misunderstandings…" Maizah whispered before breaking the hug and cupped the face of her son. 

“We have to go to meet one of your dad's friends, we will be back soon." And she gestured to Anzala who was unable to understand who was that friend of his? 

“Badi mumma?" Fayra saw her with wide eyes. But this time Anzala patted her head. “It's an important meeting beta, you take a rest. We will be back soon." And the lovely couple walked out of the room leaving this young couple alone. 

“But Mazi… We had to talk to Danish… about the girl…” Anzala held Maizah's arm when she was walking towards the main door but she sighed.

"Anzu, mera dil nhi maan rha ki Danish kuch galat kar rha hai.” she shrugged. “Mujhe to wo ladki bhi seedhi saadhi si lag rhi hai. Uske ansu dekh ke mujhe pta nhi kyu aesa lagta hai ki wo jhut nhi bol rhi thi."  

(Anzu my heart is not ready to accept that Danish is doing anything wrong. Even… I don't know why but… that girl is also looking innocent to me. I saw truthfulness in her eyes.) 

“No one knows the truth besides these two. But for now…” he sighed while running his fingers in his hair. "Let's go somewhere to have dinner.” He smiled but Maizah rolled her eyes. 

"Itna style maarne ki zarurat nhi hai, budhapa aa chuka hai, tujhe koi nhi dekhega ab." She jerked her head witnessing him still setting his hair.

(No need to show these styles. No one is going to gaze at you, now you're an old man.)

“Huh, shair kabhi buda bhi hota.” Anzala raised his collar but Maizah looked at him from head to toe. 

(Tigers are never old)

"Lekin bandar aur gadhe to ho jate hain, aur tu to dono ka mixture hai.” 

(But monkeys and donkeys can be. And you're the mixture of both.) 

“You still love me. What a questionable choice." He smirked and Maizah huffed while stepping out of the apartment. What else could she do other than this? 

On the other hand…

"Fayra…” he stepped ahead but Fayra's eyes filled with tears one more time. She had been crying from the time she saw Aisha in this apartment. "Why are you crying? Ab itna bhi bura nhi dikhta ki dekhte hi roone lag jao.” He tried to crack a joke but it didn't work. 

(I don't look horrible to make your cry)

"You're such a cry baby Fayra.” He smiled at her nose tip which was turning red. “I should be one to cry," he smiled but stated the truth. After seeing his loved ones he was feeling like a wanderer who got a cold water fountain in a hot desert.

“Why would you cry?" She looked away. Disappointed. Angry. Broken.

From childhood to now she had no friends other than Danish. Their marriage ruined their bond, and now when she finally prepared herself to meet him and tell him about Arsh's betrayal, she felt betrayed. 

He stepped ahead. He still remembered his oath to maintain a distance from Fayra but this crazy heart forgot everything with no prior notice. His hands lifted in the air, but stopped just near her face. Fayra's eyes filled with fresh tears, one of the precious droplets slipped on her cheek and Danish sighed. 

“Naa roya karo, kitni baar batau, tumhare ansu bardasht nhi hote mujhse. Tum is baat ko jhut samjho to tumhari marzi lekin tumhare ansu mujhe dard dete hain." His big hands cupped her face, just like he used to do in childhood when the little Fayra used to cry.

(Don't cry. How many times do I have to tell you that your tears give me pain? Maybe that's just a lie for you, but… I mean it.)

She looked at his face, then his clothes. Was he the same Danish who used to look exactly handsome? Who hated having a single crease on his white crisp shirt? Who loved to wear his favourite perfume crazily? But who was this man? This man had a different personality with an unshaved face, messy hair, non crisp shirt and with no perfume. 

"Fayra talk to me.” he demanded when found her gaze fixed on his face. Only he knew how badly his heart was craving to hear from her. Her gaze travelled from his face to his wrists. No wrist watch. Was he really the same Danish? 

No, he was a different man. Who was looking mature and a bit older than before. Can only six months aged a person this much? "Itne din baad mili ho, ye to bata do kesi ho?”

(We're meeting after a long time, at least tell me your whereabouts.)

“How are you?" Her shaky and parched voice came to his ears like the most beautiful music. What did he want other than this girl asking about his condition? 

“I…” he tried to utter many things but couldn't. His voice cracked in between, heart cried but lips pulled into a smile.

"Have you eaten something?" He asked instead of talking about the condition of his heart; the pain running in his veins; the loneliness making him empty; the silence eating him from inside like termites do with wood. 

He was a man. How could he break down in front of his wife? Only his pillow knew how many emotions he had been flowing with tears.

“No." She shook her head with this mumbling voice. “Maggi khaogi?" She nodded.

(Would you like to have maggi?)

“Come, I will make you the best cheese Maggi." Pulling his hands away from her face he whispered while holding her hand and slowly dragging her along to the kitchen. 

Fayra was surprised to see the stock of different types of instant noodles, ready to cook pasta, and snacks. It seems like he was surviving on that only. Untying her curly hair from the towel she threw it carelessly on the chair and looked at Danish picking two packets of noodles. He walked towards the sink and suddenly turned to see her. “When did you people come? And why didn't you call me?” he asked the question he should have asked first. 

"We… a few hours ago.” Fayra muttered without looking at him. Still feeling angry and unknowingly jealous. 

"Mumma said about the parcel…” he smiled but looked here and there. The sink was empty. No pile of dishes was present now. He opened the cupboards one by one and at the end furrowed. 

"Fayra, where is the saucepan?” he asked with confusion and Fayra furrowed. 

"What?” She pushed her curls away while shrugging her shoulders. "Which sauce pan?” 

"Who did the dishes? You or mumma?” 

“What? None of us did." She was confused. From the time they came, they were resting and taking stress. There was no time to do any other work. 

“Then how is this kitchen looking so clean?” He muttered and his eyes widened. “Wait a minute… who opened the door when you people arrived? Aisha?" After all he got his sensibility back to thinking, otherwise he was already behaving like a crazy person.

“It means she did this cleaning and all.” He smacked his forehead. Fayra was surprised to see this reaction from Danish. Does it mean she wasn't lying or making up a story? Or she has already planned everything? Fayra asked herself and Danish walked to the hall. The floor was clean unlike ever, dusting was done and things were placed systematically. 

"Oh no… I asked her to receive the parcel but she did the whole cleaning." He was feeling guilty now. He never wanted Aisha to clean the mess created by him, but he didn't know what else she had faced in this house. 

“Fayra, just a minute, I should thank her.” Danish pulled his mobile out from the pocket and dialled her number just to hear it ringing in front of his eyes. 

"Oh she forgot it here.” He muttered and looked at Fayra, his brain planned something within a few moments. 

"Have you met her?” He asked with a smile and Fayra sighed. 

"Do you like her?” Her question was enough to shock Danish, his face with subtitles was asking for an explanation, and Fayra understood it, however she waited for an answer. 

"In which context do you want to know the answer?” His voice held disappointment. Disappointed to distrust him. Again. 

“You already know…” Fayra sighed, within a few hours, a part of her got ready to let Danish go. For his happiness. For her peace. She was already looking for a reason to break this marriage, and suddenly she found one. However, one part of her was scared of losing this guy. And the confused personality didn't even know what she exactly wanted. 

"No. I don't know.” Even after understanding he shook his head, but his face was showing a red tint. An indication of anger. 

“Are you…" Fayra stopped to add ‘in love with her?’ “Are you happy with her?” 

“Are you out of your mind? How can you even ask this question, Fayra?” He yelled, throwing a deadly grape at her. “Hamari shadi ho chuki hai, kisi bhi situation mein huyi ho magar ho chuki hai, tum meri biwi ho, mujhe kisi aur ladki ke sath khush rehne ki zarurat nhi hai, tum ho meri khushi, lekin tumhe samajh kahan aata hai.” he huffed and walked towards the kitchen to make her noodles but his anger wasn't at rest yet. Punching the marble kitchen island he pinched his forehead. He always regret after getting angry at this girl but he couldn't help. 

(We're already married, whatever the situation was, but you're my wife. I don't have to search for happiness in other girls, you're one for me, but why can't you digest the reality Fayra?)

Drawing out a bottle of chilled juice he drank a huge sip and closed his eyes. 

This girl will make me mad one day. Angry with her but disappointed with himself for shouting, he walked towards the hall just to find Fayra wiping her tears with the back of the palm. Sobbing and crying silently. 

“Fayra.” He sighed while sitting beside her on the couch and pulled her in his embrace. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't shout but…" he stopped when the girl abruptly pushed him away.

“Aap hamesha mujhe rulate hain, isi liye main yaha aana nhi chahti thi." She shouted at him but unexpectedly he smiled instead of replying to her anger with anger. After all, she tried to argue like she used to do. 

(You always make me cry. That's why I didn't want to come here.)

"I'm sorry.” He slowly brought his hands together, standing before her. “I'm not that bad Fayra, and you are not that innocent." He rolled his eyes, but she looked up immediately. Forgetting completely that she was crying till a moment ago.

“What? I'm not innocent? What do you mean? Then who is innocent? Huh? Who is innocent?” The lioness roared and the lion king felt like a timid mouse in front of his queen. 

“I didn't mean it but…” he muttered while seeing Fayra's condition, she was looking red in anger, eyes widened— glaring at him, yet dropping tears.

She was in defence mode. But when did this girl defend herself? She wasn't a fighter ever. She was just a kiddo who used to hide behind anyone from the family, especially Danish, to save herself but here she was standing against her biggest support.

“Come here." Holding her hand Danish took a step towards his bedroom but she didn't move, he turned around and found her glaring at him.

“No one is innocent!" He announced in his defence, “but you're also not." He added and left her hand. She was standing like a statue. Not ready to move.

"Hmm… now I won't look innocent, right. Make sense.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears yet she was glaring at him.

“Fayraaaaaaaa… kya karu main tumhara? Tum kyu itna badal gyi ho?” Danish huffed and literally fisted his hair. 

(Fayraaaaa, what am I supposed to do with you? Why have you changed so much?)

“Yes of course, ab to main buri hi lagungi na.” she glared at him while abruptly wiping her tears. From childhood to now she considered Danish his personal property, but when he was all hers, neither she was ready to accept him nor ready to let him go to anyone else. And Danish was frustrated with this behaviour. 

(Yes, of course—now I’ll only seem bad to you, right?)

“Aisha and I have nothing to do with each other. You're my wife, idiot. Can't you understand the simple fact that I love you? Yes I do and I can't help it. I don't care if a thousand girls come in front of me, you will be the only one whom my eyes search among them.” His voice raised, addressing the disappointment present in him towards this girl. As a result, she cried. 

Ughh… she will not change. Crying is her only passion. He palmed his face and felt helpless.

“How can I make you believe Fayra? I swear.” He pulled her to sit beside himself on the couch. Fayra looked at his face, he was looking different from the last time she saw him. Tears blurred her vision and this time she hid her face in her palms while breaking down in tears. 

“Fayra." Danish sighed and shifted near her, pulling her in the circle of his arms. “Shhh, why are you crying this much? Tell me what do you want?" Rubbing her back he whispered. For a moment she wanted to push him away, “Fayra, at least talk to me." His one hand moved towards her head. Fingers tangled with her messy curls and started massaging her scalp lightly and the other arm held her tight against this broad chest. After ages she felt this fragrance, this hard chest, this soft touch and this care for herself. 

"Danish.” she cried out properly, he was feeling her sobbing in his arms, face buried in his chest. "I…” sniffling loudly she sobbed again. Danish felt her hand holding his shirt in her fist, he didn't do anything other than running his fingers across her hair, and listening to her loud cry. "I don't know what I want but…” again a sob and she wrapped her arms around his chest making his heart beat faster. "I have been missing you so much. Every single day. Why did you come here leaving me alone?” she was complaining as if it was Danish who mistrust her but what else this man wanted to hear other than this at this moment? His love was present in his arms. Sighing he rested his chin on her head. Eyes filled with tears. 

“Why didn't you tell me if you were missing me?" 

"Wh…what would I tell you?” Another sob broke the flow of her sentence and this time she lifted her head which was hidden in his chest till a moment ago. “Huh? What did I tell you? That I'm missing you?" Danish kept peeping in her honey eyes. Anger, frustration, disappointment, hope and love were blending with tears present in those eyes. 

"Why didn't you tell me?” his whisper played with her heart so as his hands that stopped on her back with interlocked fingers. “Hmm? Tell me? What stopped you to express that you were missing me?" Shifting even closer he asked. Now there was no space between them. Their lips were only a few inches apart, which was enough to make his heartbeat fast. 

"Does it mean it was all my fault?” Controlling herself to sob she glared at him. Danish looked at her lips moving up and down, then shifted his gaze to her eyes. She was still disappointed, ignoring everything other than this argument. But for Danish, this proximity was worthy to be focused on more than anything else. “You're blaming me! Don't you know I haven't stayed apart from you? Don't you know I have a habit of being around you? And you're proving as if it's all my fault.” she drew out all the frustration she had been collecting inside for the last many months.  

"Tumhe blame na hi kabhi kra hai na kabhi karunga. Jaan ho tum meri, tumhare liye jaan de sakta hu apni, tumhe kese blame kru?" 

(Neither I have blamed you nor will I. You're my happiness, how can I blame you?) 

“I'm sorry, I realised my mistake after you left. Arsh isn't a good man. You were right." Breaking the hug she muttered and narrated the whole story, how she got to know the real face of her ideal man. 

“Tum sab kuch chup chap sehti rahi? Ek baar mujhe bataya to hota.” Danish shifted near her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Fayra was flowing silent tears but soon rested her head on his chest.

(And you tolerate everything silently? You should have told me once.)

“Meri pyari Faru, shhh …” he shifted near and took her in his embrace completely. “It hurts me to see you in tears.” His lips rested on her head, she kept crying silently. Hiccups made her situation worse but now she started settling down. Danish was feeling her hands on his chest, she was resting her forever on her hands only. Fayra felt his chest rising and falling as He took a deep breath. A breath of relief. 

“Will you stop crying?” She heard that voice and felt his strong grip around herself, his hands were resting on her waist. And the very next moment Danish felt one heart beating marathon against his chest. He smiled and moved a little away to check her expressions, she was looking nervously shocked. 

“Pretty girls don't look good with tears, but you do.” He smiled looking at her nose tip which was turning red due to crying. Leaning towards her face he gently kissed her nose tip followed by forehead. Fayra flinched. She was scared. 

Where would she run away if Danish try to do something with her right now? They were in his apartment, where no one else was present. 

She tried to shift aback but Danish literally pulled her closer by her waist. “Relax.” He pulled her in his arms one more time, “I'm doing nothing, you just relax and let your brain have some peaceful moments.” He kissed the middle of her head one more time before closing his eyes, chin resting on her head. Fayra looked at herself. One part of her wanted to push him away and the other part was enjoying the moment when she could smell his natural scent, feel his hard chest against her head. His hands slowly tightened around her waist, just to make it more comfortable. 

Was she really enjoying it? She felt uncomfortable with this thought but unknowingly her arms curled around Danish's neck. Snuggling like a baby she rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. 

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