We were dismissed from class around 3 pm. Instead of heading back to my room, I stepped out of the hotel, craving the crispness of fresh air. The lobby bustled with activity; porters wheeled luggage, guiding newly arrived guests to their rooms. Among them, a couple caught my attention—a newly married pair, seemingly Baloch.
The bride wore a long, intricate Balochi dress, her hands adorned with henna, glowing with the artistry of celebration. The groom wore a pristine white shalwar kameez, paired with traditional Peshawari shoes, a small henna circle decorating his palm. The intimacy between them was palpable. Their eyes locked in a quiet, magnetic dialogue, speaking a language beyond words.
The groom murmured softly in Balochi, "Hanta Man-e Del nay berag, ay sab ta sabah ma mihabat kaneng"—“Today, I have no mood to go out; we will just be with each other till morning.”
I couldn’t help smiling as I passed them by. “Raptagantan hamesha khush o abad bagant,” I said gently. “May you both always live happy.”
Their faces lit up with surprise, realizing that someone else understood their tongue. In that moment, I felt a ripple of shared joy, a fleeting connection that warmed the chilly afternoon air.
The sky was a canvas of clouds, the sun peeking in and out of its cover. I found a spot on a low wall, where a patch of sunlight reached me, and sank into its warmth. Unknown to most, I thought, the coldness of one’s heart can only be softened by the warmth of an embrace.
I reminded myself that Sanvi and I were here for just one week. Yet, has the heart ever obeyed reason? I tried convincing myself that there was nothing more to those cozy smiles than kindness, but my heart insisted otherwise—pulling me toward something I could neither name nor control.
The mingling scents of cold air, earth, and blossoms drifted through the courtyard, stirring memories of the fragrance she had worn the previous day at the Pipeline Track. Time slipped by unnoticed, lost in thoughts of Sanvi, until the sharp ring of my phone pulled me back.
It was Talha, his usual enthusiasm bubbling through the line, speaking of plans to visit New Murree. I agreed, promising to be ready in half an hour.
With slow, deliberate steps, I made my way back, my mind still tangled in daydreams. The moment I entered the room, my eyes widened in surprise and something dangerously close to exhilaration—a storm of emotion I was not ready to confront.