Lut Gaye || لٹ گۓ

TWENTY | Burnin' Moonlight

"sab chahta hoon main sang tere dohrana."

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DEEPENING darkness made the pinpricks of light strewn across the sky sparkle like diamonds and the moon dwelling among them shone in all her glory. Under the canopy of the celestial night, the wooden gate of the Awan residence unwound and the twin black vehicles whizzed inside―halting in front of the porch.

Zain climbed out of the car and raved to the other side to open the door for his bride and as she stepped out, a cold gust of wind collided with her frame and made her quiver.

Iman's eyes examined the vast open area surrounding her―covered with lush greenery but scarce of flowers and her mind momentarily drifted to the chromatic garden of her house.

It wasn't hers anymore, she realised with a pang of sorrow shooting through her body.

She couldn't wallow in her despair for long as the members of the Awan family got out of the vehicles and joined the couple. They quickly made their way inside to escape the January chill―barring the inspector general who stayed outside and conversed with the cops stationed at the gates.

A course of warmth engulfed Iman's cold body as she entered inside and stood in the large living room painted in lighter tones and accentuated with dynamic decor. The wooden flooring harmonized with the sturdy teak panels covering the ceiling and added a quaint and cosy charm to the atmosphere. Asymmetrical seating arrangement consisting of fluffy sectional sofas and couches took the space in the centre and the exquisite artwork on the walls instantly captured Iman's attention.

Before she could stop and admire the paintings surrounding her, Zain excused himself for a moment and dashed out of the house to meet Saif, leaving Iman in the presence of his mother and siblings. His absence caused tendrils of anxiety to spread throughout her body and she shifted on her toes until she felt a warm, feminine hand on her shoulder.

"Welcome home, Iman," Fatma Awan said with a lovely smile and it reminded Iman of the tenderness and warmth her son always regarded her with.

A tiny smile appeared on her face and she felt her unease dissipating slowly as his mother led her toward the couch and they both plopped down on it.

Iman noticed the hazel-eyed boy dropping down on the settee adjacent to them but the girl clad in the ivory dress huffed and stormed toward the staircase.

The clanking sound of heels made Fatma veer in the direction. "Zuny, where are you going?" she called out, halting her daughter's steps on the second stair. "Come sit with us for a while. Talk to Iman."

Zunyra squeezed her eyes shut and puffed out an agitated breath. What a pain in the neck!

She whirled around with her traits scrunched into vexation. "Sorry Mama, I'm too tired for that," she bit out and then her lips pulled into an acidic smile as she jeered, "Aur ye konsa kahin ja rahin hain? She's gonna stay with us so, baten toh hoti rahengi."

Fatma hurled a glare her way but the brunette rolled her eyes and yelling a good night, she twirled around and climbed up the stairs, making her mother release a frustrated breath.

"Don't mind her bhabhi," Arsal spoke―seizing Iman's attention. "She's the spoiled brat of our family."

"Yeah, please don't mind Zunyra," Fatma also gave her an apologetic look.