In My Memories (Raazi)

oh nakhrewaali

@oh_nakhrewaali

Prompt #1: 

Paragraph prompt:

The wind was peaceful and sweet. Or maybe it was her voice that was sweeter. He felt himself go weak in the knees as the mellifluous tones of the song she was singing wafted over him with the softness of the breeze, the strains of the guitar she was playing strumming his heartstrings, resonating deep within his soul.

Flakes of snow fell on her hair, adorning them like diamonds. He couldn't move an inch from where he stood, mesmerized, even when the street was crowded with shoppers.

Oh my gosh! How had he not realized it was her? She looked so different now! Her hair had grown longer. She looked slender, more ladylike as opposed to the girl he had known all those years ago. As if on cue, she opened her eyes and locked with his, and his heart skipped a beat.

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A big thank you to havana, LazyBing, _NINA_ and evilxbalaa for helping me out and tournesol for beta reading.

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In My Memories

Sehmat looked at her baby boy as he tried to stand up on his feet, holding the bed’s leg. She smiled softly at him as he gave a smile, showing her his three teeth. But then, he fell and started laughing, making Sehmat shake her head and pick her one-year-old baby in her arms. She brushed his hair aside and looked into his brown eyes. Her heart skipped a bit. There was a part of her that was scared of Samar. She didn’t want to be scared, but his resemblance to Iqbal brought back all the memories. She wasn’t even sure if there was any resemblance or it was all in her head. She sighed and went out of her room to Teji, who took Samar in her arms.

“Your Khaala is here. You should meet her,” Teji told her and walked away in the sea of her relatives who had joined them to celebrate Samar’s first birthday.

She greeted her relatives and watched her mother and aunt distribute sweets. She looked at Samar, who was playing with his cousins.

“Samar is a beautiful name. He will grow up to become a Battlefield Commander or join the army, like his father,” her aunt said. Sehmat flinched.

“No. The meaning of his name is 'reward'. He is the fruit of my life, my sacrifices,” Sehmat said firmly and her aunt was taken aback, but she nodded. Teji came and handed Samar to her, and Sehmat looked out the window as he played with her hair. It was snowing, and beautiful.

She couldn’t help but think of one of the days she and Iqbal had come down to Kashmir to visit her Ammi. It was snowing, and Iqbal was excited, like a child. Being from an area where it never snowed, he seemed to have found the chocolate castle he had dreamed of in his childhood. Sehmat still remembered how her heart had squeezed at the sight of him playing with the snow, and a giggle had escaped her lips. He had turned as if he had heard her. The look they had shared before Sehmat walked back to her room was all she had of Iqbal now.

Her trance broke as Samar started whining. Teji took him from her to distract the child, and Sehmat’s thoughts drifted back to her late husband. She knew he would want to see this, but he couldn’t. And even if he did see them from beyond the grave, he probably hated them.

Sehmat vaguely registered Teji, telling her that she was going to see one of the relatives out, but Sehmat offered to do so. She wanted to step out of the room to get away from her relatives. Being around them was wearing her down. She held Samar’s hand, placed a kiss on it, and left. After saying goodbye to the relative, she didn’t go back inside. Instead, she walked to the empty lawn behind her house. 

As she walked towards the bench on the lawn, her footsteps halted. Her mouth was agape in surprise, her breath stuck in her lungs. He was there just like that wintery day, but how was it possible?

The wind was peaceful and sweet. Sehmat felt herself go weak in the knees as she watched the flakes of snowfall on his hair, adorning it like diamonds. She couldn’t move an inch from where she stood, mesmerized.

As if on cue, he turned and locked his eyes with her, and her heart skipped a beat.

Her knees almost gave away, but she pulled herself with all her strength and walked to Iqbal. She stretched out her hand and then stopped, not sure whether she wanted to touch him.

“I am not real. I am only a figment of your imagination. You are imagining me because you are missing me by your side.”

She gasped in shock and fell to the ground, tears staining her cheeks. She choked on her breath.

“Please, no, go away!”

“I can’t,” Iqbal said and knelt beside her.

He held her shoulders and said, “I can’t go. Because I am in your head, your memories, your dreams. Unless what we had was real, I can’t go,” 

Not real? It was all real. The way her heart skipped a beat when she glanced at him on their wedding day through her window, the way her lips trembled when he kissed them, the way her heart bled when she aimed the gun at him. It was all real.

“It was all real. The real Iqbal will never know that because you killed him,” he said quietly, gazing at her tears.

“I did not want to. I loved Iqbal.”

“It doesn’t matter. But Samar does. So pull yourself together. He should be your sole focus now. That’s the only way you can even think of repentance for what you have done. You need to move on from Iqbal.”

Despite how harsh his words were, his voice was soft, and Sehmat realized that she didn’t remember him yelling at her or hurting her in any way ever. For her,he had always been this kind, gentle, and slightly goofy person. She looked up, but Iqbal wasn’t there.

There was a loud crash inside the house. Sehmat ran to the house. She looked at her mother in shock, who was crying. Her son, who was unharmed, looked at everyone in confusion.

“He said ‘Ammi’,” her Khaala said, a broken vase next to her. Sehmat looked at her son and picked her in his arms.

“Samar, baby, can you say ‘Ammi’ again?” she asked.

“Ammi,” Samar said after a few seconds, and Sehmat’s eyes darted to her mother, who was now sobbing.

“Yes, baby, that’s right. I am your Ammi.”

She kissed the side of his ear and hugged him.

Later that day, Sehmat curled up her legs to her chest and wept sitting on her bed. She realized that the Iqbal in her dream was right. Samar deserved every bit of his mother’s love. He  was like his father due to no fault for his, so she should be his mother now. She had messed up with her chance of being a loving wife to become a perfect citizen, a perfect spy, and a perfect soldier. It was now time to be a mother. She wiped her tears and walked to Samar’s cradle. As she watched Samar sleep, she felt a presence behind her, and she turned around. There he was, again, with a soft smile on his face. She smiled back, tearfully, not caring if this was the Iqbal in her dream or her imagination. He was there with them, and that was all that mattered to her.