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Note: Not a dukh-bhari-kahani, pizza ki kasam!
ZaYa Two-Shot:
"The Answer"
But what hurt the most, was his silence. Whatever the case was, why couldn't he just talk to her? And more importantly why couldn't he allow himself to cry in front of her?
Part 2:
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A/N: Tried to keep the story 3rd person, yet give insight into the heads of the two characters. Tried to imagine what they were feeling, regardless of right or wrong, just simply what Zain and Aliya might have been feeling at that time. I just hope you liked it, it's like 2:30 am here but my wandering thoughts on ZaYa have kept me up. I had to get this written down before I caught any sleep. The second part should be up shortly, and then I shall sleep.
-Shweta
"The Answer"
"Mujhe dard ho raha hain," she whimpered.
Her request was futile, or so he thought. He couldn't hear. He couldn't see, he could speak, he couldn't even goddamn breathe. His mind was muddled with emotions ranging from reluctant jealousy, to the different levels of anger, and worst of all, heartbreak.
It was the tear that was threatening to fall from her eye that broke through the overwhelming ocean of subdued screams that were pounding against the walls of his head.
His eyes finally spoke to his hands, and he was about to let go. Only to realize that he'd let go the moment she'd asked. He couldn't hurt her even if he wanted to.
The stubborn heart inside him led him to disbelief, maybe that was why he still stood there. His each step forward was met with a step backwards.
And it hurt. She didn't love him, fine. But she could have at least spared him the display of her disdain. With her each step backwards, a piece of his heart also met the ground. Each step was a bitter truth that taunted him of her inability to love him.
Thankfully they'd reached a dead end. He wasn't sure how many more steps away he would have been able to take before he would've ended up on the floor, alone, picking up the pieces.
But his wishful heart didn't stop there. He leaned in, she could see his red eyes glossed with tears that were fighting their hardest not to fall.
What happened to him? Why was he acting so strange? Why did he go around dancing with those other girls who seemed to have no problem dancing so provocatively with a married man? Why did he drink? It hurt, it hurt all too much.
But what hurt the most, was his silence. Whatever the case was, why couldn't he just talk to her? And more importantly why couldn't he allow himself to cry in front of her?
It was clear he didn't love her, for if he did, the least he would've done was was cry to her. He could have just laid his head down in her lap, telling her he just needed to cry, that he just needed to let something out. And god knows she would have let him, without a single question, she would have just soaked in the tears of his pain, tears of his relief.
He could have told her what was bothering him. "Mamu ki Bhanji, you gave Dad the watch I very well know you bought for me, mujhe bohot bura laga" or "Mamu ki Bhanji, woh chudiyan maine tumhare liye kharidi thi! Tum aise kaise Barkat ko pehene de sakti ho! Mujhe acha nahi laga." It didn't even have to be something she had done, it could have been anything and she would have listened to him, helped him relieve whatever small or big burden was weighing him down.
But he couldn't find the words to speak to her. Perhaps to him, there was no comfort in the air.
It was clear to her that he didn't love her. If he loved her, then there wouldn't be this tense silence between them. There would be secret conversations going on amongst their curious eyes, there would be tears, laughter, conversation, there would... there would be the sound of warmth resonating in the silence.
Because...because that's all love really is! Love is allowing yourself to be vulnerable, allowing yourself to be read as an open book without qualms, love is bearing the deepest trenches of yourself to that one special person.
And clearly that one special person was not her.
Scroll down.
A/N: Tried to keep the story 3rd person, yet give insight into the heads of the two characters. Tried to imagine what they were feeling, regardless of right or wrong, just simply what Zain and Aliya might have been feeling at that time. I just hope you liked it, it's like 2:30 am here but my wandering thoughts on ZaYa have kept me up. I had to get this written down before I caught any sleep. The second part should be up shortly, and then I shall sleep.
-Shweta
Mr And Mrs Parshuram
Sports
The 50
