Chapter 56: Chapter 56

She kept on crying as more and more tears propelled out of her eyes, not letting the beautician do make-up on her face. Tear after tear spilled down her eye. Her nose red and face blotched..

It was happening.

It was going to happen now.

Her biggest fear was coming true. But this time, it wasn't just about a one night stand anymore. She would have to spend many nights, countless nights as many nights he would demand.

She was his mistress at last.

The contract has been signed.

When she was done praying her namaz, she had slept and when her eyes opened, she found him sitting on the sofa near to the bed. His eyes were staring at the floor and legs wide open on which he supported both his arms. His hands held a paper and a gun.

At that point, she wanted to scream. Cry. Wail.

To marry her. Instead of making her sign that contract.

She wanted to shout that she wasn't involved with Hannan.

It was all happening because he thought she wasn't worthy of being his wife anymore due to her involvement with someone else.

But that reasoning was done by only the sparks, the tiny sparks of spirits left in her mind as the bigger portion intended to fulfil every command leaving his lips.

Upon noticing that she had awaken, he stood up, spiking her breaths. She wanted to crawl back out of fear but couldn't. As her anxious eyes watched him taking steps towards her.

Forwarding his hand, he indicated her to take it and she abruptly placed her small hand in his callous one.

She can't defy him at any cost.

The words cursorily ran in her mind as the deja-vu projected in her mind, reminding her of the times when he would ask her to take his hand and she would take her sweet time, staring at his hand and him.

She had a little liberty back then. But now that liberty has collapsed. Badly.

She was mentally restrained.

He helped her standing up and led her to the table before placing the gun and the paper on it.

"Choose," he had just said.

He had once again placed the decision of Amna's life in her hands.

She remembered him stating, once, that she herself would beg him to marry her. It was coming true now. She wanted to beg him to marry her now.

And another line of his crossed her mind, where he claimed that she will sign the contract with her own will. As she rose her shaky fingers, grasped the pen. Her watery eyes didn't dare to run across the content of the paper.

She did not have the strength to read the lines where she was selling her body. Selling her life and soul.

A tear escaped her eye as she signed the contract. The tear dropping on her sign.

Sheharzaad

As now she was officially his mistress.

And once she was done signing the contract, she found him, grasping her chin, bobbing her head up. His deep eyes penetrating in her soul, creating shivers down her spine. She felt the color in those orbs darkening as they flickered to her lips. She saw him slightly advancing his lips towards her, making her breath hitch in her throat. She didn't dare move back or recede but her lips began to shiver intensely while being subjected to his probing stare, a lustful stare, indicating his desire.

But he stopped and detached his eyes from her lips and looked at her.

"Be ready tomorrow night," he ordered, held the gun from the table and left the room, leaving her shaking form alone.

Her shivering intensifying.

Sheharzaad... was now a mistress.

"Ma'am if you will keep on crying, how will we start?" The make up artist  said and another sob escaped her throat, wetting her eyes more and more.

"Mje nhi tyaar hona," she said between her sobs, "mj sei nhi hoga yh sab.... baba...please come and save me," she said more to herself and suddenly placed hands on her lips, becoming vigilant that nobody heard her.

(I don't want to get ready. I can't do that)

She had no will.

She can't deny him.

She can't disobey his direct order.

"Please calm down madam," The artist said.

She shook her head tried cleaning up tears as new set of fresh tears came over her face.

"I don't know how will I do this," she sobbed, her whole body racking with hiccups.

"Please, madam calm down,"

Sheharzaad shook her head again as more sobs racked her petit frame. Thinking about the end of this night, and all those things that would be happening to her soon.

"Please ma'am or we have to talk with sir regarding this. The time is upon us, already,"

At this, her head shot up and she looked back at the woman with wide eyes, full of terror and shock.

"No! No! Please no! Don't tell him anything," She vigorously shook her head and stood up, turning towards the make-up artist, the shock in her eyes transforming to pleads, "don't tell him anything,"

All the colors from her face had flown away as her hand rested on her heart which began to palpitate wildly at the mention of apprising him.

"Don't worry. We won't. Shabaash ab aap baith jayein aur aansu saaf kar lain," The beautician suggested and she obediently nodded her head and immediately sat down.

(Now please sit down and clean your tears)

She cleaned her tears with both her hands as the make-up artist started doing her work as Sheharzaad stared at her face in the mirror, which was being painted with different colors and shades.

But for whom?

It was the first time, she wasn't dressing up for herself but for someone else. So her look and attire could please him. Her face could please him.

The beautician was applying heavy and dark shades to her smooth complexion and it began to suddenly remind her of her identity that who she was now.

She was making her look like a mistress...

Her eyes were fixed on the reflection that was staring back at her.

Her cheekbones had protruded, her face had gotten thinner, defining her features. She was left skin to bone almost. Momentarily her eyes landed on her wrists. They still had red marks and cuts.

She couldn't believe that it was the same Sheharzaad staring back at her.

No.

The person in the mirror was not her.

It was someone else.

But her eyes....

Her eyes were so similar to her.

Diamond grey eyes.

No they were not the same eyes...

Those diamonds... they used to shine. And there were not even remnants of any shine in those diamonds.

It wasn't her.

But that face belonged to Sheharzaad?

Those features belonged to Sheharzaad...

Is that my face?

She asked herself.

And when the make-up artist applied kohl in her eyes, Sheharzaad tilted her face to right and looked at her, whose face was caked with make-up. Hair strands falling every now and then out of her messy bun and lips, painted with a maroon matte that she bit implying her concentration towards her work.

With her peripheral view, Sheharzaad was staring at the mirror too and to her horror, the girl in the mirror too had her face tilted. A sharp pain shot up in the tip of her nose and her eyes became glossy again.

She wanted to touch her face. To feel that it was the same face. It was her face. Which was always adored.

Because of which arrogance was born in her.... resulting to that incident.

The same face where everybody's eyes would stay twice, thrice and so on just to absorb her features in their eyes.

She wanted to touch it to deny the truth, to make herself believe that her reflection wasn't her reflection. It was someone else.

That woman in the mirror wasn't Sheharzaad.

She moved her hand up but for a moment  she thought the chains won't let her hands move up but to her surprise her hand did move up and she was able to touch her cheeks.

This was her

Her suspicion was right.

That was her... now.

A new Sheharzaad.

Weak. Desperate. Vulnerable.

And traumatic.

She wondered, how long was she kept there.

A week?

Maybe.

A month?

Maybe.

An year?

Yes.... it has been an year.

She thought to herself. The world looked changed to her. Everything was different. It wasn't the same world as she had left.

It was different.

Everything was different.

The air.

The sky.

The surrounding.

Sun. Moon. Everything.

In this world, she would thank God whenever she could hear birds, whenever she could see the brightened up sky and a sky full of stars and moon. She would thank God whenever she was able to move her hands without any restriction. She was able to walk. She was able to breathe freely. Sleep freely. And the chains won't grasp her feet like a snake when she would move her feet while walking or while sleeping. There was light in this world. It wasn't dark, all the time.

It felt like a decade has passed.

Her past life was nothing but a deja vu for her now.

"Do I... look weak?" Sheharzaad asked.

The beautician smiled at her and applied mascara on her eyes, raising her already curled lashes.

"Umm... yes madam. A little,"

"Do I... look ugly?"

"No madam. You are still very pretty, MashAllah,"

"What is your name?"

"Amna," the beautician replied.

Amna...

She wondered where Amna was now.

Dead?

Alive? Then where?

She was going through her chemotherapeutic sessions.

Were they still giving her the required treatment?

Was she in a good health?

Was she recovering?

Or her health has deteriorated more?

Ahmed Bhai?

Where was he?

Did they kill him?

Kill....

Hannan....

He killed him...

No!

She killed him.

'I killed Hannan,'

The gun shot reverberated in her ears and she suddenly placed both her hands on her ears, taking Amna by surprise.

"What happened?" Amna frowned and stopped doing her work.

Sheharzaad face began to shake as her eyes widened as she tightly pressed her palm against her ears.

"Meainay...meinay ksi ka qatal nhi kia... meinay ksi ki jaan nhi li," She began to blabber before removing her hands from her ears and stared at them.

(I haven't killed anyone. I haven't taken anyone's life)

Blood spots.

She could see blood spots on her hands.

"Nhi!" She began to scream, "nhi! nhi!"

(No! No!)

Her eyes rounded with horror when she moved her head up from her hand and looked in the mirror. She stood up and focused her eyes in the mirror more, narrowing them and to her horrors, she saw Khaleda's dead body hanging with the ceiling and her brain ceased to function then. She let out an ear-piercing scream and covered her ears with her hands.

"Lei jao! Isko dafnao! Isko lei jao! Lei jao!" She shouted, closing her eyes, "meinay ksi ka qatal nhi kia. Meinay ksi ki jaan nhi li. Wo abhi b zinda hai. Wo-wo mara nhi hai!" She screamed, trying to assure herself.

(Take her! Take her away! Give her a burial! I haven't killed anyone! He isn't dead yet! He is alive! I did not kill anyone!)

"Help! Please help!" The make-up artist went outside the room, looking for someone meanwhile Sheharzaad kept on screaming.

She opened her eyes again and was still able to see Khaleda hanging with the ceiling.

"Meinay ksi ki jaan nhi li! Khaleda ko dafna dou! lei jaoo!" She kept on screaming, filling the hallway with her screams.

(I did not take anyone's life! Please bury Khaleda. Take her away)

The door to her room suddenly opened and her eyes darted towards it.

He stood infront her, making her heart beat go wild.

Shehryaar.