Chapter Text
The sound of the river rushed in Rabiya's ear. It was like this day and night. The river, its noise swallowing everything. She was glad for it sometimes. It drowned the thoughts in her head. The image of crimson red, and cold that seeped inside. It drowned out the feel of innocent hands on skin. She had to remember how to feel like a real person most days. It has become easier lately. The guilt less like a boulder stuck inside her ribcage and more like smoke in lungs. Uncomfortable but not enough to kill you.
She knew the reason. In her mind, a pair of sad eyes flashed, and then guilt crashed in. Because these are not the eyes she looked at from inside the water tank, desperate and scared. These were different eyes, looking at her with the same bone-deep longing and loneliness she felt. What did she long for? Warm hands maybe. Ones that wore a ring that weighed on shoulders heavier than most burdens.
Rabiya shifted on the sheets. Sleep felt miles away. She had started hating the face of these walls. They seemed strange to her, foreign. Her room always felt like it was missing something. Some presence. A scent she's gotten used to. The emptiness felt like knives at her throat. The river rushed outside her window and Rabiya felt the loneliness of centuries in her heart.
She sniffed, tears biting at her eyes. She missed him, she realised. Sarbuland. The longing for his presence pressed harder than the guilt of living a life of comfort. This war in her was an old one.
She sat up in bed, her throat feeling rubbed raw. She pressed her hand against her chest and tried to ease the pressure inside her. Sitting in the room with all these thoughts was starting to suffocate her.
She swung her feet on the cold floor, and after fetching her scarf, stepped outside.
The haveli was quiet, so she stepped around carefully, her feet making no noise. She wanted a glass of water, and maybe a stroll in the courtyard near the river to settle her nerves.
Just as she was crossing the front door to reach the kitchen, she saw a shape standing near the railing outside. Rabiya couldn't make out the face at first in the dark, but then the figure started pacing and she recognized the man. It was Gulzaman. Her heart jumped in her throat. If Sarbuland's guard was here then he must be home.
She breathed in the cool air, tinged with the green of the grass and the blue of the river, and found herself automatically walking towards a room she avoided most days. There was a slight breeze in the air, ruffling her curls and Rabiya came to a stop outside Sarbuland's room.
The doors were slightly ajar, she was standing five steps away, and her spine tingled with how close everything was, yet so far away. There was cotton in her throat, a heavy feeling choking her. She knew it was guilt. She was familiar with the shape of it, after nursing it for months. The presence of it bound her feet right outside the door.
She wanted to see him. It has been days without his presence. She still remembered vividly the morning he stepped inside her room, telling her he had this and that to take care of. Land and disputes and men with egos that ate them whole. And he was at the center of it. The ring he wore dragged him to places he was not familiar with. But he had to leave. And he did not know when he’ll be back. And Rabiya just stared at him. At the sad downturn of his lips, weighing down his words. At his eyes, the brown of sorrow that had made a home in him. And she nodded her head without really feeling it. Because what else could she do? She couldn’t tell him that the idea of him being gone for days scared her. That the haveli was a cavernous beast waiting to chew at her limbs. That these walls did not feel like home if he was not there to push away the shadows. How could she say all that? They were married, closer than most people but there were oceans between them and Rabiya was scared of drowning.
And how was she to tell him that she had stood so steady on her feet all her life. That she had trusted the ground under her to support her. But now she felt uprooted at all times, tied to the tether that he offered. That she did not recognize herself most days. That the quiver in her hand was put there by other people, the wobble on her tongue as foreign as the walls around her. That she depended on him to hold her steady. It was shameful and mortifying, but it was her truth. And she was learning to live with it.
So she just nodded her head, and he nodded his, like they were two strangers agreeing on something trivial. And his mouth opened like there was something waiting to be said just behind his teeth. But nothing was said, and he left. And rabiya forgot about sleep, about warmth and kindness for days to come.
Now, standing outside his door she felt like a statue made by uncertain hands. She did not know the time but it was late. The cicadas screamed away in the trees and Rabiya wanted to scream with them. There was an itch inside her skin. She wanted to claw at her brain to quiet it down.
Just a peak, she thought. One look, just to see that he’s there. Then she’ll leave and they will meet in the safety of the sun, tired smiles and sunken eyes and all.
Rabiya carefully stepped towards the door, and pushed them in. The night suddenly crashed with the sound those old creaky things made. Rabiya flinched, and inside she noticed Sarbuland reacting much the same to the noise.
Rabiya stood frozen on the doorstep, her eyes wide, and Sarbuland stared back at her with equally wide eyes. It only lasted a second before he relaxed, running his hands against his face and then over his hair, pushing the strands back.
“I'm sorry,” Rabiya said. “I did not mean to wake you.”
“No, it's okay,” Sarbuland said, his voice the same soft cadence that pulled Rabiya in like quicksand.
“Why are you standing there? come inside, please,” Sarbuland said and Rabiya stepped inside.
She looked at him, his face streaked with moonlight, glowing like marble, and she realized how much she had missed him. It left her reeling, this feeling. Her hand twitched and she subconsciously grabbed the edge of her scarf, twirling it between her fingers.
“I saw Gulzaman outside,” Rabiya said, her voice low, “so I thought you would be home too. I was just coming to check and…” rabiya trailed off, suddenly uncertain.
Sarbuland stared at her, his eyes sharp and his head slightly quirked. Then he smiled tiredly, “you were asleep when I came back, so I did not come inside to say hello. I did not want to wake you unnecessarily.”
Rabiya looked down, nodding her head to acknowledge his words. She saw Sarbuland get up from the bed, picking his way over to her. He stopped in front of the foot of the bed and then sat down against the frame.
“You can come closer,” he said, referring to the way Rabiya was still standing close to the door.
Rabiya walked over slowly, and then after a moment’s hesitation, sat beside him on the bedframe.
They sat in the hushed silence for a few seconds. Rabiya could feel Sarbuland's gaze on her cheek while hers was on his hand, staring at the way his fingers flexed and relaxed.
“How are you?” Sarbuland asked softly.
Rabiya swallowed, she suddenly felt like crying. “Okay,” she whispered.
“You haven’t been sleeping,” he observed. Rabiya's breath hitched softly.
“Yes,” she said. “I tried, but…”
Sarbuland hummed at that. She wished he would reach over and touch some part of her. Her knee, her hand. Her throat burned with shame at her thoughts.
“I'm sorry it took me so long to return,” Sarbuland started, “I wanted to come back earlier, but I got tied down.”
“It's okay,” Rabiya offered softly, “you have responsibilities, I understand.”
Sarbuland tilted his head slightly, trying to catch her eyes, “you’re also my responsibility, Rabiya.”
A bitter taste coated Rabiya’s tongue. Was she just that? A responsibility? Some burden Sarbuland has to carry on his shoulders up and down the mountains, faceless and nameless among the hundreds of other responsibilities that pulled him this way and that.
Rabiya looked away sharply, staring out the window as her throat burned. Coming here was foolish, she knew that. She knew whatever she felt was shameful, and unwanted. That she stood as a lone figure in Sarbuland's periphery, screaming soundlessly. What did he see when he looked at her? A woman broken down to the marrow? The ugly of her life reflecting on her skin.
“You’re doing a good job of taking care of this responsibility, Sarbuland. You do not have to worry about me,” she said politely, though a few vowels here and there wobbled as they left her lips.
She was not mad at him. Just defeated, and tired. His presence soothed and burned at the same time.
“I'm sorry for disturbing you so late at night,” Rabiya added, her voice stronger this time, tighter at the ends, “you should sleep, you must be tired.” She got up as she finished her words, fully aiming to walk up and away towards the walls of her room that will look at her like someone guilty of a crime she does not remember committing.
But just as she was stepping away, she felt fingers grip her wrist. The pressure was not painful, just there. It made Rabiya stop, her muscles locking up. She looked back, her eyes crashing into Sarbuland’s.
His gaze was earnest, open and questioning and sometimes, it was so hard to look at him. The contours of his face, the way his beauty did not seem to cut anymore, but rather comfort. His face was starting to become so familiar to her.
“You're mad at me,” Sarbuland said. It was not a question. He knew. Like Rabiya was foolish to think she could tuck her feelings away from him. Like he lived in the gaps between her words, listening to the context and the meaningful silences.
“No, I'm just—“ she stopped, taking a breath.
“Sit,” Sarbuland said, “please.” His commands never felt like a force, just a plea. His shoulders caved slightly towards her, just as Rabiya's legs twitched in his direction. They were stuck in each other’s orbit and Rabiya was starting to feel motionsick.
He pulled her slightly, and Rabiya went willingly. Did she ever have a choice?
Sarbuland cleared his throat but did not let go of her hand, his fingers tangling gently with hers. Rabiya looked at them, at the way they fit. Did Sarbuland always own a piece in her life? Or was she just a woman damned by the heavens.
“I know we have… much to talk about,” he began softly, "I know what we have is not normal, and you did not want this,” he continued and Rabiya felt her throat close up. “But please, tell me if you’re ever angry with me.”
Rabiya looked at him, and he was already looking at her. His face, tilted towards her, his hair grazing his cheekbones and Rabiya felt like she was swallowing planets. Something weakened in her when he looked at her like that. Like she was the sun, and he would touch her with his bare hands if it ever came to that, despite the heat and the hurt. No one had ever looked at Rabiya like that. Like she was worth saving, worth all the trouble.
He squeezed her hand. “I will fix it, whatever bothered you,” he said, and his voice wavered slightly, his knee bumping against hers. “I will fix everything. Just please, never walk away from me angry.” He stopped, swallowed. Something in his face cracked a bit, “I… I don't think I can handle it a second time.” he finished, and his hand shook against hers, his voice breaking off towards the end, and Rabiya saw the single tear that trailed down his cheek, the way the tip of his nose flushed. And she felt something in her crash and burn, seeing his pain, written so clearly on his face.
He wiped away the tear but another followed and then another, and Rabiya felt herself go speechless, felt the way words crawled and died in her throat. She had a million things she wanted to say, and every single one felt insignificant.
He sniffed, and Rabiya stood up, her hand falling away from his. A soft sigh left his lips as the tears kept coming, and Rabiya felt the way he was struggling to be quiet, the way his shoulders shook. She stepped in front of him and brought her hands up, gently placing them against his cheeks.
His skin was cool, and the tears slid over her fingers and Rabiya felt her chest collapse a bit. Sarbuland sobbed against her hands. The sound of it affected her in ways she could never hope to articulate.
“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice choked and broken, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I’m—“ he broke off, a small sob getting stuck in his throat.
Rabiya felt her own eyes go warm. She wiped his tears away with shaking hands, his grief slithering over her skin, infecting the soft organs inside her. She hated everything about this, hated what had been made of them. Hated the quiver of his shoulders and the heat in her lungs. They were stripped bare and left for scavengers to take apart. It was so ugly, the truth of what they were, standing like mirrors against each other.
“Don't say sorry,” she whispered, her own words sticking to her tongue. She ran her hands through his hair, pushing them away from his face so she could look at him better. “You don’t have to say sorry.”
Sarbuland heaved softly, then his arms came around her waist and he was hugging her, his face pressing against her stomach.
Rabiya steeled her nerves, pushed the guilt somewhere deep down in the crevices of her brain to deal with another day, and bent down to kiss the top of his head. Right now, what mattered was his grief, and what broken sympathy and comfort she could offer.
“I'm here.” she whispered.
And in the drape of this night, she wondered if it ever mattered. If it ever mattered who held back from who, who second guessed what. It all fell flat in the face of Sarbuland's tears. His loneliness and her guilt. Her bones were bowed, her head resting against his as he trembled against her, his arms squeezing her tightly. And she swallowed the very many tears that were building in her throat. And she wrapped her arms around his head. And it all crashed and burned and then was laid to rest.
They were here. And maybe they had so long to go before they could see each other and not feel a stab of pain somewhere in their soul. Before they could see each other leave for the day and not feel fear making a home in their chest cavity. Before they could smile and feel it in their bones. Maybe they would never heal, and their hands would always shake at night. But right now, this was enough.
She was here, and he was here. And they would mend whatever was broken and bitter between them. Maybe it started with this. With his head lowered against her and her face lowered towards his. It was all for this, the crimson of pain could not touch them here.