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Istanbul
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Intro
It might have already begun... the pain that comes with passion.
"Hello!" He hears her call out from the other side of the phone and he listens like she doesn't warrant an answer. How could he? When he had not the least inclination she would be at the wedding too.
"Is someone there?" Again, silence ensues while he tries to place her tight whisper along with the voices of his past.
"I have been at the Istanbul airport for half hour now. Hello? Is someone there?" There is a pleading now; a slow worry that creeps into her voice. "I'm able to hear music in the background, but, why wouldn't anyone talk?"
"This is Asad here." He utters after another beat, his voice steady with enquiry. "How are you Zoya?"
"Asad?" A question wrapped with apprehension. A pause. And he feels the slither of his name on her lips.
"Asad!" She says more firmly after a moment of preparation. "I'm fine. And I heard from Aunty that you are back home. I hope you are staying until after the wedding. We should catch up."
It is like her to speak in that jolted manner: her words bumping into one another, as if she is caught in a perpetual haste. But, she sometimes whispers too and at the memory of that day in Hyderabad, when she'd fell into his arms, he smiles.
"We will," he affirms though he knows she is aware he is leaving in four days - right after Najma's wedding. "I will send someone to pick you up. Ayan!" he raises his voice to get his half-brother's attention, as he runs behind a group of women on their way to the courtyard where the mehendi preparations are in full swing.
Upon getting the details of her location, he relays them to Ayan, who nods at first and takes a step towards the door, but, turns back with a question in his eyes.
"That's all good bhai saab, but, how do I recognize her?" Ayan asks, "Ammi still hasn't given me her picture"
And he stills knowing she is in await for his answer too.
"How many Indian woman are going to be at the airport?" Asad says, "I'm sure you will know her once you sight her at the arrivals lobby."
"I'm wearing a burkha." The hushed tones in her voice makes him face away from his brother.
"This is Istanbul for godsakes. Get out of that black prison, Zoya." There is a laugh and a teasing in his tone.
"I will once I get home." She assures him, while he shakes his head and swirls back to his brother.
"Trust me, Ayan. You will know Zoya. She is hard to miss. About 5'4". She is in a burkha. And most likely there are a dozen suitcases around her - she is a pack rat." He hears her giggle and protest as he continues giving her description, "In all probability, she has a potli for a handbag."
"White with gold embroidery," she adds in agreement.
"There you go!" He sighs in comfort that nothing has changed about her after all these years. "White with gold embroidery."
Ayan, scratches his head, nods mindless and smiling coyly with anticipation to meet his prospect bride, leaves waving a hand back at his brother.
"What if Ayan fails to recognize me?" she asks.
An awkward silence prevails for a second before he speaks in response. "He will know."
He draws a deep breath and clutches the phone tighter, "You are bound to know each other. After all, the elders are already considering your match. Isn't that why your aunt let you take the flight? So that you and Ayan can get to know each other better over Najma's wedding?"
"You are not listening Asad!" It is her turn to sigh now. "I asked what if Ayan fails to recognize me?"
Just as her, he knows it is not a real question for him to answer.
He closes his eyes and sees in the dark, the pillar of light shining through the broken roof of her Hyderabad home. One minute he is running around dispersing the fumes from the cigarette he'd been piping in secret and another minute he's holding her in his arms as she'd directly run into him with an empty bucket.
Right as he remembers tracing the back curve of her kurti's opening, his fingers give out a shake and he feels a spread of warmth in his palm.
"He will." He says with a renewed conviction. "He has to, Zoya."
As expected, she doesn't speak back this time and instead, the line goes blank after a long minute.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
And, to him, the sounds echo same as the punctuated emptiness inside him.
Zoya! A prayer in a name that keeps him alive.
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