She looked at him one last time and her face went blank. All emotions were drained and her eyes peacefully chose to close themselves with a silent yet screaming curve of her red stained lips. Tears fell from her black eyes just as he strengthened his grasp at her long silky hair as if trying to absorb the storm of her internal fears into himself.
It was their last night together and you know the sin she had committed? She had fallen in love with the monsters that lived inside Salar’s amber coloured eyes; she had fallen in love with the words and with the touch of a man who paid for every hour, every second his fingers had crawled over her perfectly contoured curves and for every night, every minute she had sat up and listened to his monsters coming to life.
Just as he laid beside her mildly snoring in his slumber, Samar sat up, pulling the sheets over her exposed body as if trying to prevent the fear of the unknown from staring at her. Her fingers slowly traced the edges of the hair on his jawline as her eyes were busy finding her reflection in his existence. Remembering the day the first time she was sent to his room, her face beamed a little just as her sorrowful past built a lump in her throat.
How could she forget that day? That day when a man had chosen her based on anything but her face unlike so many others who had bought her body for a one night stand year after year; that day when a man had marked her as his, silently making her feel like his enough, holding her in place to never be free to go through the pain of being touched by anybody else.
He was the one that she had missed down in her joints, where love and hope fused together to hold her up from the day she had been brought to the red light district of Lahore.
“Poverty and social stigmatisation has the ability to do wonders to the life of women in the subcontinental setup”, she thought just as her life started to play like a film in front of her eyes. Growing up in a family where poverty joined hands with molestation in her case, the only escape she could think of was to run away in darkness of the night. Rambling over the derelict roads of Old Lahore, Samar had been led by a rickshaw driver to the place that became her recognition despite her resistance. How could she forget the night when she was dragged to the top of the building through stairs that smelled of bad breath, lined with the crimson of betel spits? The night when she had received bruises that when healed took all her emotions and dreams of a pure and happy life with them.
Many men had held her hands, some with utter disgust only to wash off their past, others with utter lack of affection reflecting from their animal desires. Many men and yet one came. Distraught and dejected, with a face that talked of God’s miraculous beauty given to man, and chose her on the basis of her name. “Samar”, he had mumbled, “more like my night companion”. He laughed huskily and then fell to the bed. He stared at her standing in her flashy yellow ghagra but this time Samar failed to find animal desires in that look. His fingers moved, weaved, stroked and penetrated leaving her in a breathless preclude with mingled desires. She had found a man whose eyes spoke of internal pain but whose words moved her to the point of no return.
They had met everyday over cups of coffee and talks about his broken family setup; everyday for words that gave life to her dead emotions once again. Everyday until today when his eyes couldn’t meet hers and his words couldn’t support his gestures just as he had said:
“I’m getting married, Samar.”
He went onto explain the girl and his family but these four words had silenced her world forever a few minutes back.
After all, who was she? A temporary bandage to a bruise? A woman who had no right over her own body? A prostitute whose life had been written by men in black smoking weed and pouring money into their pockets out of the lost emotions of many women?
Just as he laid beside her mildly snoring in his slumber, Samar sat up from the sheets and longingly stared at the rising sun from the corner of the curtain. Minutes and seconds passed by just like that. A woman painting the canvas of her heart with intense colours of love.
She took a step back and glanced at her bronze body in the wall sized mirror. Unknown scars and utter disgust made her eyes water. With mild waterfalls tracing her cheek bones, Samar swallowed the contents of the bottle while placing her head over his throbbing chest.
Samar looked at Salar one last time and her face went blank. All emotions were drained and her eyes peacefully chose to close themselves with a silent yet screaming curve of her red stained lips. If living with him wasn’t an option, dying so close to him with love in her eyes and respect in his breath was surely one. With curved red stained lips and tears rolling down her eyes, she had sealed her deed, for animal desires and wild scars weren’t her lifestyle anymore.
Writer’s note: Sent this one for a writing competition. Although this one did not win me anything but it still stays a lot close to my heart for being an ignored social issue and a suppressed voice.
