DM II

She sat sobbing, her head throbbing. The wind whistled, the trees rustled. The smell of pizza and alcohol pervaded the air, mingling with the sounds of music from different rooms spread out across the three towers. It was a Saturday night. They were young, and what better place to be young than New York City. Outside, Union Square was still bustling, just with a different crowd and different feel than during the sunlit day. Gone were the thoughtfully put up stalls that indicated the greenmarket was in session. Gone were the small plastic chairs and the chess boards that sat around and atop the stone pillars, along with the men who challenged passerby. Up were the skateboards. The wind too was calmer, instead of the bustle of the day there was a calm that pervaded: that blanketed the sky.

She sat sobbing in the courtyard. The plants around her heaved with every movement of her chest. It was the bitches, she still didn’t blame him.

They had been so good at the start. He had caressed her, electricity flying through her skin, fire racing through her bosom, whenever his fingers laid claim on her. When they ran through her hair, her neck tingled, her head felt warm and dizzy. When he spoke, it was as if she would melt. The words he spoke to her resonated in her heart, even to this day. The way he looked at her, she could feel him peering into her soul, and she could see a future with him. She had even named their kids.

They had been so good at the start. She blamed the bitches. Back then, there was no one but the other girl, the one from Jersey, the one from Lahore. But he had never been interested in her, or so he told her. She believed him. The other girl said she treated him like a brother, but she sometimes had her doubts. Who could resist this tall, good looking hunk from Islamabad with a deep voice, slow, calming. She had doubted her. When she was pursuing him. Even after they had started dating.

At the start, he had not wanted anyone to know they were dating. He was religious, he hadn’t wanted his reputation ruined. She was fine with that. She loved him. More and more with every passing day. She loved him so much, her heart hurt now and then, and she sobbed even louder. He was her prince charming. His friends called him Danny, her heart called him her own, she knew she was his, his possession, and she wanted to be. She would be his object, she would be his wife. He promised her marriage.

They had been so good at the start. She blamed the bitches. There had been many. After they had started dating, she had started noticing them more. They would steal looks at him. Her Daniyal. They could not have him. He was all hers. She was his. In whatever way he wanted her. And he did.