The Tales Of Sultanat ✔

11

Do eyes speak?

Are they potent of narration?

Are they really the mirror to soul?

The answer is always known. They do speak, they narrate, and they are the sole mirror to the soul. The soul, something so riddling that would leave one in trance. And that trance would be cast by those pairs of beautiful creations of the Lord. Eyes, it's always by the eyes.

Her eyes were of the the same color, drowning brow yet there was something that was never before. Or maybe the spectator had for the first time seen those pairs differently.

Discomfort, pain, anger, hurt and what not? It was all in her eyes, but then he had never seen them. It wouldn't have been possible if the lifeless mirror hadn't allowed him to peer in those alive ones. Sitting beside his mother, at the back seat she was staring ahead. Not knowing that the another brown eyes were calculatingly observing her own brown ones.

Brown against brown. Something so familiar yet different.

He knew why were those eyes telling such things, he knew what went wrong, yet he had no courage to even acknowledge it. Neither him nor her, they were still in negligence. But for how long?

They were married and even though it was something they would never want to tell to the world, it had to come out. Yet they were negligent. How foolish of them?

One wasn't out of her acrimony that was results of anguishing past while the other was too oblivious to see anything, to do anything.

A sea of paparazzi welcomed them as soon as they reached the venue. It was expected, after all not every day such big parties are hosted and this one was too big for spicy news. Nodding his head to the driver he stepped out of the car only to get blinded by in numerous camera flashes.

Ignoring the bombs of questions that were directed on him he opened the back door. A small look appeared on his face seeing the smile of his mother. Forwarding his hands towards her, he bent on her level. And then somewhere in the heart of someone, something tucked. Seeing the respect, care and love for his mother.

Aiding Safina out he forwarded his hand towards her, it had taken her off guard. Glancing at his hand and then at him who was already watching her movement she gulped down her dry throat.

“Will you just come out?” His irritated voice snapped her out of her trance and a frown formed on her face.

“You are not the one wearing an acre dress.” She spoke with clenched teeth making him give her a bored look. Grabbing her hand fiercely she stepped out.

The hold was pretty tight and it was making his hands go pale. She had no idea she was holding his hand so tightly until midway through the entrance. One of the reporters had pointed out that their hands were clasped. She had immediately looked down and seeing the almost purplish red color panicked.

“Why didn't you say my grip was tight?” She asked in a whisper.

“It doesn't matter.”

“Of course, after all it wasn't the bruised hand right?” She remarked, making him raise his eyebrows.

“It was.” And with that he disappeared in the crowd. Safina had too joined her circle leaving her alone and in thoughts that were making her feel guilty. It might be hurting, the wound she had given was still fresh and that man hadn't even bandaged it...stupid person.

But why am I feeling guilty?

She mentally asked only to get no right answer in return. She didn't get much time to ponder as she got mixed with the crowd. Meeting and greeting and all. It wasn't anything new for her or him to be in such huge parties but the only difference here was that this time they weren't two different individuals. They were here as husband and wife and now and then someone would ask where their spouse was.