â Tere har ilzaam ne mere dil ko cheer diya.
Tere shak ne mere pyar ko bebuniyad kar diya..â
~Mehek Syed.
Third Person's POV:
Mahoor sank down onto the bed, ripping the choker necklace from her neck with a harsh tug. She heaved a heavy breath and gripped the comforter tightly in her fists. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm herself down, fighting against the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.
"P..par nikkah toh ek hafte baad tha na?"
"Irada ab badal gaya."
He went away, leaving Mahoor alone to absorb the news by herself.
She had thought there would be a week, to prepare herself or at least come up with some way to avoid this marriage, but now she barely had a day as the clock struck midnight. The weight of the situation pressed down on her, leaving her feeling cornered and desperate.
Now, burying everything aside, Mahoor had to get Seyran out of the basement. She didn't know how, but she was going to try her best to talk to Altan to get her out of that hellhole, even if it meant giving everything of herself in return-which Altan was already taking anyway.
Mahoor stood up from the bed and marched toward the door. "Dekhti hoon na kaise nahin maanta yeh psycho mafia!" she muttered angrily to herself while placing her hand on the knob.
She paused. "Knock karoon kya?" Shaking her head, she continued, "Nahin, yeh gora pahaad khud bina knock kiye andar aa gaya tha. Allah ka shukar hai main bikini mein nahin thi! Main bhi aise hi ghusungi," she twisted the knob, "Kyun ke acchai aur morals gaye ab tel lene. Bohot kar ke dekh liya acha ab" she opened the door and stepped into his bedroom, "Meri baari Komolika banne ki."
As she stood at the entrance, she noticed the room was dimly lit, with only the moonlight brightening the darkness. Altan wasn't there; the room was vacant. Her eyes fell on the coffee table, which held his phone and a typewriter.
She took a step forward towards the coffee table, only for her dress to get tangled beneath her feet, causing her to fall flat on her face.
"Dress, teri maa ki chudiya!" Mahoor whimpered in pain, raising her head slightly as she rubbed her nose to ease the stinging sensation.
"Itna toh bhai koi kisi ke pyar mein bhi nahi girta jitna main girti padti rehti hu!" She muttered as she tried to lift her upper torso, only to collapse back onto her chest again with a frustrated sigh.
"Phir mere pyar mein gir jao, sambhal lunga tumhe." Altan emerged from the shadows of the closet, his voice carrying a teasing tone. His eyes held a hint of amusement as he approached to help her up, the soft moonlight highlighting the gentle expression on his face.
Mahoor's head snapped towards him, she immediately buried her face in the ground as she clutched her head in humiliation. Her cheeks burned with mortification, even though no visible blush showed on her wheatish skin.
'Aye uparwale please mujhe tu sahi mein uthale!'
Altan knelt beside her sleeping form and, caressing her dark tresses that shone in the moonlight, whispered, "Manta hu humari mangani hogayi hai par hum shadi se pehle ek saath, ek kamre mein nahi reh sakte. Shareef mard hu main."
Mahoor's head shot up, and she snapped at him, narrowing her eyes and smacking his hand away, "Aapka kutta ya billi hoon main, jo mere baal sehla rahe hain?"
She pulled herself up and stood hastily, her russet brown eyes blazing with fury, "Aur apna dimag gutter se nikalein, samjhe! Jab mujhe kidnap kiya tha tab toh shareef hone ka khyal nahi aaya aapko, hein? Tab kaha gayi thi aapki ye so called sharafat?"
Altan's gaze drifted past her to the coffee table, and he trudged towards it with a casual air. Ignoring her sharp words, he placed the cloth over the table, covering the typewriter and the papers, he said, "Mudde ki baat karo, tum bin wajah mere paas nahi aati."
Mahoor crossed her hands on her chest, without beating around the bush, she replied, "Maine kiya joh aapne mujhse karne ko kaha, ab aap apni zuban pe qayam rahe aur Seyran ko basement se nikale."
"Mujhe mere alfaz acche se yaad hai aur maine kaha tha agar tum chahti ho tumhari behen tak uski medications ponch jaye, toh ek ghante mein taiyar ho jana."
"Ha toh main taiyar bhi ho gayi thi aur ye so called engagement bhi kar li, ab meri behen ko waha se nikalein."
Altan arched an eyebrow at her attitude, his expression clearly questioning her defiance, especially when he had already stated he didn't condition her engagement on releasing Seyran from the basement.
"Nahi."
"Kya nahi aur kyu nahi?" She emphasized.
Altan picked up his freshly ironed clothes from the couch and sauntered toward the closet, with Mahoor trailing determinedly behind him.
"Mujhe mere alfaz dohrane ka koi shauk nahi."
He stood in front of the section where his shirts were neatly hung, placing the hanger on the railing with deliberate care. Beside him, Mahoor stood with an irritated frown etched across her face, arms crossed defiantly.
"Aap itne heartless toh nahi the."
He looked at her with dead eyes, his face darkening as each expression drained away, leaving an unsettling void. Mahoor's irritation shifted to anxiousness as his personality flickered from human to demon, ensuring she remained on edge and wary of him.
"Main kabhi heartful tha bhi nahi."
He turned back to what he was doing but froze when he heard her whisper, "Par mere liye toh the."
Mahoor remembered the man who was once Haider Mirza, a friend of her cousin. The man who didn't smile or speak much but listened to her intently. The man who accompanied her to breakfast and shared many meals with her. The man who consoled her when she cried. The man who took her shopping when Zorawar was busy. The man to whom she showed her scars. The man who saved her from the goons in the bazaar. The man who laid his heart bare to her on the day of valima.
It all seemed so fake now. She wished he hadn't returned for her, as the ideal image of him she had cherished was now tainted. The true colors he had shown had spoiled that image, leaving her with nothing but a dark reflection of immense hatred.
"Abhi hu sirf tumhare liye magar tumhari yeh zid ke aage mai nahi jhuk raha."
Mahoor's lips pursed as she watched him hang his dark shirts, her face scowling with frustration. Despite her irritation, she was adamant.
"Ek kaam karte hain, doctor ke paas chalte hain."
Altan immediately set the shirt down and turned towards her. His face remained impassive, but concern glinted in his eyes. "Kyu? Tabiyat theek nahi hai tumhari?" he asked, reaching out to place his hand on her forehead. But Mahoor banged her head into his palm, causing him to pull back.
She gave him a tight lip smile, her face glowing with sarcasm, "Haa bas aapke seene ka ecg ya x-ray nikalwate hai tab pata chalega ki aap seene mein dil hai," the smile flew away from her face as she yelled, "YA KABAAD KHANA!"
Altan continued with his task, picking up a shirt and scanning it for any creases. "Mere seene mein dil hai ya nahi, wo tum khud bhi pata kar sakti ho," he said.
Mahoor raised her eyes at him, "Aur woh kaise?"
Altan tossed the shirt onto the floor. A smug look spread across his face as he crossed his arms and leaned against the shirt rack, his right hand placed on his heart. "Mere seene pe apna yeh narm sa haath rakh ke. Phir dekho, kaise dhadak uthta hai yeh apne sahiba ek lams pe."
(Lams: touch)
"Sahiba kya Malka ho tum meri."
(Malka: queen)
Mahoor batted her lashes in disbelief. She had just insulted the man, and yet he effortlessly turned it into romance. Although this was nothing new to her, the sheer number of insults she had thrown at him seemed to have no effect. It was as if they never even fazed him.
Her brows furrowed in irritation as she glared at him, "Aapne mujhe matka kaha? Main aapko matka lagti hu?"
Altan scratched his beard, clearly not liking how she turned the romantic air into aggression. However, he didn't forget that his malka wasn't very fluent in Urdu.
"Maine malka kaha tha, matka nahi. Malka ka meaning hota hai queen," he said, lips twitching,"Jo tum meri ho."
Mahoor scowled, "Ghalat fehmi se bahar nikle, na main aapka matka hu, na main aapki maalka hu or whatever it is."
Altan shoved his hands in his pockets and lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug, "Par tum meri Mallika toh ho."
She placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head, "Kaunse brand ki gaali khana pasand karenge aap?"
His eyes twinkled in mirth, his voice low with teasing gentleness, "Kuch bhi bolo, tumhare muh se sab pyara lagta hai."
Mahoor's eyebrows shot up, "Accha? Toh Seyran ko bahar nikale!"
Altan stood up straight, the mischief evaporating from his demeanor as he turned back to hang his shirts, "Main bhool gaya tha tum har waqt pyari baatein nahi karti."
"Main aap se aakhri dafa puch rahi hu, aap Seyran ko bahar nikaal rahe hai ya nahi?"
"Nahi."
Frustration coursed through her veins as she imagined banging his head against the wooden wall where his dark shirts hung. Her jaw tightened as she watched him continue his task without a hint of hesitation or worry while she was driven insane by the turmoil of knowing her sister was still trapped in the basement.
Altan glanced over his shoulder to see her standing there, visibly irritated and lost in thought. He didn't want to acquiesce to her request, but Mahoor was making it increasingly difficult. It was a considerable challenge for him to deny her anything she asked for, especially since they didn't share the type of relationship where she would request material things or anything trivial. The only thing she demanded was her sister's presence, which vexed him. The mere presence of Seyran beside Mahoor unsettled him. It irked him that Mahoor could converse freely with Seyran instead of him, rely on her, or even smile warmly at her. The fact that Seyran was the center of Mahoor's universe made him envious, even of a woman.
Finishing his work, he swiveled around, "Thik hai."
"Kya thik hai?"
He walked out of the closet, with Mahoor trailing behind him, which made his lips curl slightly. She had been following him without complaint since the moment she entered the room, a fact that amused him.
Without any complaint, a fact which was away from Mahoor's being.
He removed the cufflinks of his shirt, "Main Seyran ko basement se bahar nikalwa dunga aur wo tumhare paas rahegi."
Mahoor blinked, unsure whether she should feel happy or wary. A flicker of joy rose within her at the thought of Altan changing his decision, though it wasn't uncommon for him to do so. Still, it raised her suspicions; he never granted anything without getting something in return.
"Aur iski keemat kya hai? Aapne badle mein kya lena hai mujhse?"
He smirked as he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows revealing his veiny hands, "Apne hone wale shohar ko kitne acche se pehchaan ne lagi ho na tum?"
"Baatein ghumaye nahi, matlab bataye apna."
"Simple hai. Main tumhe tumhari behen dunga aur tum kal bina koi drama dikhaye, mehndi laga lena. Jo aaj tumne nautanki ki mangni ke liye taiyyar hone, wo kal mujhe nazara nahi chahiye."
Mahoor tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and exhaled slowly, trying to keep her anger at bay. She didn't want this marriage, yet this man seemed determined to turn this zabardasti ka nikkah into a big, extravagant wedding.
She rubbed her palms, "Aur mere paas koi option toh hai nahi.."
"Haina. Mere saath date pe chalo."
"Hein?"
He sauntered toward her, stopping a few meters away. He leaned down to her height and said in a deep, husky voice, rich with a hint of playful challenge, "Kal, tum mere naam ki mehndi laga lo ya phir mujhe apna kal ka din pura de do."
Mahoor quickly stepped back, eyeing him with disdain. Even sitting with henna artists and getting his name inscribed on her palm, albeit with a grimace, seemed more bearable than spending a day with him, enduring his incessant lovesick words.
She sighed clearly but wanted to agree with any of his conditions but it wasn't in her hands. "I'd go for the first option."
Altan felt a wave of contentment wash over him as he savored his victory, knowing he had played his cards perfectly. Anticipating her resistance to tomorrow's function, he cleverly offered her a choice. Aware that Mahoor wasn't particularly fond of his company, he was confident she would have no option but to choose the first alternative.
"Okay." He turned to his nightstand, picked up the landline, and dialed a number, his sea-green eyes locked on her. Her earthy brown eyes brimmed with anticipation, joy, and hope. Her hands fidgeted nervously, waiting for him to speak into the phone.
He scowled internally, 'Mere liye kabhi nahi aise intizar karegi, woh Siren ke vaaste itni bechain ho rahi.'
Without breaking his gaze, Altan spoke with authority, "Wo ladki ko waha se nikaal aur yaha le aa." He hung up and placed the receiver back on the landline.
Mahoor waited for the door to open, her anticipation palpable. Altan leaned against the wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his gaze fixed on her. He found it hard to look away, captivated by how she looked all dolled up for the engagement, even though he believed in the nazar which made him avert his gaze.
Mahoor continued to fidget with her fingers and tap her foot incessantly. Despite the engagement being over, her beauty had him captivated, holding him in a silent grip. To him, she always seemed ethereal, whether she was dressed in a glamorous outfit or just in a simple tee and pajamas. He marveled at the thought that this was just the beginning; soon she would be officially his. He would have the privilege of seeing her every morning, witnessing every phase of her beauty throughout their life together.
Noting how the heavy dress pooled around her feet, weighing down her frame, Altan walked over to his dressing table. He picked up a chair and placed it near her. "Baith jao," he said, indicating for her to sit.
Mahoor shook her head,"Nahi. Seyran aati hi hogi."
As if she had glimpsed the future, a knock on the door reverberated throughout the room. Mahoor rushed to answer it, but her leg twisted awkwardly, causing her to fall once more.
Altan quickly moved to help her, but Mahoor managed to get up on her own and sprint towards the door. Shaking his head in, he took the connected door to Mahoor's room.
Mahoor attempted to unlock the door but realized it required a password. Turning around, she found Altan gone. Twisting the door's knob, she called out, hoping he could hear, "Yeh darwaza nahi khul raha, password enter kare na!"
Irritation flared within her as she stood there, growing increasingly agitated. The fact that he was making her wait for no discernible reason only compounded her frustration. She paced back and forth, her impatience growing with each passing second.
Her steps halted when she saw Altan coming from her room to his, holding her dupatta in his hands.
With long, powerful strides, Altan closed the distance between them. Mahoor placed her hands on her hips and squinted her eyes at him, her rage evident.
Altan raised his hand, holding the dupatta, "Arya bhi hai bahar, isiliye tumhara dupatta lene gaya tha."
Altan tried to drape the odhni over her shoulders, but Mahoor stepped back, "Oh, bhai, zyada free hone ki koi zarurat nahi hai. Idhar dein, main khud odh lungi."
Altan's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with frustration as he dropped his hand to his side. "Main bhai nahi hu tumhara," he said, his voice low and simmering with anger. "Toh mere liye woh alfaz bhool ke bhi tum istemal nahi karna."
The change in his demeanor ignited a flame of fear Mahoor but she covered it up as she pulled the dupatta from his hand and Altan let it slip away.
"Bhaiya hi the aap. Magar aap ke irade toh mere saiyyan banne ke the, toh kaise bhool jao humara pichle janam wala rishta?" She sprawled the dupatta on her chest, "Time lagta hai na," She tilted her head and smiled sarcastically, "Sab aapki tarah ghalat nazaro se nahi dekhte apni dost ki behen ko."
Altan took a step forward, his jaw clenching with restrained anger. "Dekho, tumhe mujhe sau gaali deni hai, do. Main sun lunga," he said, his voice steady but intense. He moved closer, making Mahoor instinctively step back. "Tumhe mujhe thappad lagana hai, maarna hai, main bardasht kar lunga." With another step, he cornered her against the door, his hand placed above her head as he leaned in, his minty breath mingling with her own. "Par bhool ke bhi ye mat kehna ki maine tumhe ghalat nazron se dekha hai. Khuda gawah hai iss baat ka, maine tumhe kabhi aankh bhar ke nahi dekha, aur jab bhi dekha toh sirf dua ki tumhe nazar nahi lage."
Altan's voice, though gentle, carried an unyielding firmness as he said, "Mere wajood mein agar kuch paak hai, toh woh sirf mere ehsaasat hai tumhare liye."
His expressions were a paradox; his eyes were dark and intense, yet softened by a tenderness that contradicted the sternness of his tone. The veins on his neck and temple throbbed, emphasizing his intense emotion while the gentleness in his gaze revealed a deep, unspoken vulnerability.
Mahoor's reaction was a mixture of shock and frustration. Her eyes widened slightly as she processed the weight of Altan's confession, her breath catching in her throat. Her irritation simmered beneath the surface as she struggled to reconcile his intense words with her feelings. The proximity made her uneasy, and despite the depth of his sentiment, her exasperation with the situation made her hands push him away. Her voice trembled, not only from their close contact but also from the emotional turmoil stirred by his declaration.
"Dur hatein!"
Altan instantly backed away, aware that this could lead to a heated argument he wasn't prepared to have with her. Despite his best efforts to keep his emotions in check, her words felt like a punch to his heart, as she questioned the purity of his feelings, leaving him momentarily shaken by her accusation.
Another knock resounded, and before Mahoor could say anything, Altan punched in the password and opened the door wide, allowing Arya and Seyran to enter.
Arya's eyebrows shot up with a mix of mischief and surprise, seeing Mahoor alone in the room with Altan.
Seyran enveloped Mahoor in a tight embrace, while Arya stood beside Altan, who was glaring at the duo with simmering anger, his hands crossed over his chest, clearly still irritated by Mahoor's accusations and their closeness.
"Itni der kyu lagi darwaza kholne mein?"
Altan didn't answer, and Arya nudged his shoulder with a mischievous grin, "Kuch kar rahe the kya important jis ki practice shadi se pehle zaruri hai?"
Altan slowly turned his head toward him with a deadly look, his eyes dark and threatening, "Paunk na varna ithhay e dafan kar chhorsaan."
(Bhaunk mat, varna idhar hi zinda dafna dunga)
Arya's eyes twinkled with amusement as he observed Mahoor gently cupping Seyran's cheek. "Arey, teri mashooka idhar hai, toh tune kuch ukhadna nahi hai mera!" he teased, clearly enjoying the scene.
Altan's jaw ticked as he listened to Mahoor pouring out her heart to Seyran, expressing how deeply she had missed her and longed for her presence. His hand clenched into a tight fist, his voice dangerously low, edged with a trace of anger and envy. "Mere liye kabhi nahi kahegi kitna intizaar kiya, kitna miss kiya, sab yeh Siren se kehna hai."
Arya stifled the laugh bubbling up inside him. "Jalne ki boo aa rahi hai."
Altan cast a sharp, fierce look at him. "Haan, main jal raha hoon! Khush?"
"Ek aurat se Altan? Jaa tu bhi gale lag Mahoor ke, dekhna jhappi paa legi woh."
He shook his head with exasperation. "Main kareeb bhi jao toh kehti hai 'durr hato.' Haan, theek hai, woh nazar ke saamne hai, yahi kaafi hai. Aur agar gale lagane ki koshish bhi ki, toh ek thappad lagayegi mere magar apni behen badi khaas hai ise," he said, turning his gaze to the duo. "Chipke hue rehte hain dono ek dusre se."
Arya patted his back, "Fevicol ka jod hai dono ka."
Altan muttered under his breath harshly, "Phitte muh fevicol de jod da."
He watched silently as Mahoor held Seyran's hand and led her out of the room through the connected door, leaving the big guys alone.
"Arya, ek hi baar kahunga dafa hoja mera kamre se."
"Moody hora bhai tu," Arya remarked, his tone carrying a hint of jest.
Altan's eyes snapped to him, glaring with an intensity that silenced any further comments.
Arya raised his hands in surrender, offering a wry smile as he exited the room, muttering, "Ay, Kishan Kanhaiya, iss aadmi ka dil mulayam kar de," on his way out, leaving Altan alone with his turbulent thoughts.
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Mahoor was seated in the living room of the haveli, where the hustle and bustle of preparations for the nikkah were in full swing. There was no formal setup yet, only the mehendi artists, along with Seyran, Ghamzeh, Abidah, Jannat, and some maids present. In the background, men moved back and forth, busy decorating the entire kothi.
Mahoor wore a dark green chikankari kurti with half sleeves, paired with light blue baggy jeans. She glared at every woman present in the room, except Seyran, who sat beside her.
Seyran revealed to Mahoor that she hadn't been locked in the basement but had been kept in a guard's quarters with full facilities, and her medications had been with her the whole time. Mahoor scowled in response, realizing she had been tricked by Altan into the engagement.
"Ye tamasha kab shuru aur kab khatam hoga?" She whispered harshly to Seyran.
"Kya pata, na jaane ye Bebe kya baat kar rahi hai in mehendi artists se,"Seyran murmured while eyeing Abidah speaking to the mehendi artist.
Mahoor's nose flared as she gritted her teeth, "Bebe na bula, buddhi bula usey."
Seyran looked at Ghamzeh in awe, unable to avert her gaze. Her tall frame, the pale texture of her skin, and the green sparkle of her eyes made it almost impossible for Seyran to look away. She poked a finger at Mahoor's side, "Yaar, Mahoor! Teri saas toh kitni lambi aur beyhadh haseen hai."
Hearing the word "saas" only fueled Mahoor's anger. She pinched Seyran's waist, causing her to shriek and jump in place, attracting attention from others.
Seyran smiled apologetically at the onlookers, then turned to Mahoor and narrowed her eyes.
"Woh saas nahi hai meri!"
Seyran raised one eyebrow, "Woh Altan ki maa nahi hai?"
Mahoor rubbed her temple, trying to soothe the pounding headache brought on by the situation. Her frustration was evident in the way she spoke, each word laced with a mix of disbelief and irritation. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and a tightness in her voice betrayed her effort to keep her annoyance under control. She was visibly tense, her posture rigid as she grappled with the absurdity of being linked to Altan's family in such a personal way. It was as if the mere mention of the word "saas" had struck a nerve, amplifying her resentment toward the whole forced marriage situation.
Mahoor pulled her legs near her chest,"Woh gore pahad ki maa hi hai magar tum unhe meri saas kyu keh rahi ho?" she buried her face in her knees, "Mujhe aur gussa aa raha hai yeh sun sun ke!"
Seyran opened her mouth to reply, but her attention was caught by Abidah, who was glaring at Mahoor. Oblivious to the heated gaze directed her way, Mahoor continued to scratch her arms, her mind elsewhere.
"Ye sab chodo, bebe tumhe kyu ghur rahi woh bhi itne gusse se ki lag raha hai tumhe kaccha kha jayegi."
Mahoor lifted her head from her knees and caught Abidah's glare. She rolled her eyes and muttered, "Buddhi sathiya gayi hai, aur kuch nahi. Troma resaart ki chakkar lagi hai inki mujhe apni ghar ki bahu bante dekh." She chuckled along with Seyran, recalling the time when Abidah mistakenly thought that Mahoor's father owned a chain of troma resaarts. The memory lightened the mood for a moment, as the two shared a brief laugh amidst the tension.
The mehendi artists approached and sat beside Mahoor, and Ghamzeh gestured for her to extend her hands so they could apply the mehendi. Mahoor reluctantly stretched out her arms, her expression one of resignation mixed with defiance, as if the simple act of having mehendi applied was another reminder of the life she was being forced into.
The humor in the room dissipated as Seyran gently rubbed Mahoor's back, sensing her friend's struggle to hold back tears. Mahoor felt trapped; even if she tried to escape this situation, she knew Altan would retaliate by taking Seyran back. This time, he might not just confine her to the guards' quarters but might lock her in the basement, denying her the medications she desperately needed. The thought was more terrifying than the ritual of getting mehendi applied, a symbolic step toward the life she didn't want.
Her brows furrowed in suspicion as his side profile looked strikingly familiar. The brown leather jacket he wore was one she had seen countless times before, and his messy quiff hairstyle was unmistakably his signature look.
Mahoor's heart skipped a beat in anticipation as she rose from the ground and moved swiftly towards the direction where the man had gone. Ignoring Seyran's concerned calls, she followed the path, her heart thudding in her chest with each step, convinced that it was him.
Mahoor's hands grew clammy as she stopped behind the man, who was now passing the basket to another worker. Her pulse raced as she waited for him to turn around. When he finally did, her eyes locked onto his face. Her breath caught in her throat, the air seeming to leave her lungs entirely.
Shock and disbelief washed over her, and her hand flew to her mouth in a reflexive gesture of astonishment. She could hardly believe her eyes, her voice barely a whisper as she uttered the name she had longed to see but never expected to find here, "Ayan."
â¢â¡â¢â¡â¢â¡â¢â¡â¢â¡â¢
I see a chemistry between Mahoor and Ayan ;)
Also had a moment on the 3rd of August. We celebrated my best friend's birthday at a pub where the dining area was upstairs and the DJ was downstairs. After the party, as we were heading home, I spotted someone waving at me. To my surprise, it was an old classmate from my first school. With the massive grin on my face, I rushed down the stairs and ran straight into her arms. Looking back, it felt like a scene from a movie. I've never been hugged like that before, and I still feel that embrace. I was again that toddler who spent ten years of her life with this beautiful woman.
It was truly the best hug and moment of my life. I love you, Samruddhi! MWAHHHHHH!