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Differences Never Let Me Speak

Differences Never Let Me Speak

4 mins 22.2K 4 mins 22.2K

I just brush stroked the colors to paint the lullaby. I wield my eyes towards the window of her room on the first floor of HUSAINI MANZIL where she stood daily. That day I waited for a long time to feel her presence and there she was MY NOOR in light green Kurti on the top and dark green pyjama showcasing her body with two ponytails lolling around her shoulder. Her white cheeks shining more brightly in the squeaky beams of sun; her supple eyes running over the tic-tac of the wall clock and her mincing hands packing the books inside her bag; her dark uncolored lips kissing the glass of milk; her oval shaped face is a privilege to see which has now become the permanent thought of my life. Suddenly my phone vibrated, and that important phone call from India snatched my privilege for a few minutes. She hails her friend to wait for five minutes more who were already waiting for her from last 10 minutes. 

Today again, she was not getting her hair ribbons, she shouted loudly, “Ammi where are my ribbons. I just kept them on the dressing table yesterday, and now they are missing again, I won’t go college without them.” Her ammi came into the room, opened the drawer and showed her ribbons kept by Sakina last night when she was playing with them. She laughed naughtily to her mother and cuddled her tightly. In time, Sakina's younger sister of Noor, with Simran enters the room; Simran, Noor’s best friend and meant second-sister to her. Their friendship was not just a relation, but a trust that had jumped the boundaries of religion and had thrashed the alcohol of misconception in that neighbor country of mine.

Simran glared Noor with wrath in her eyes as they were going to be late for the class again. Noor’s one smile was ample to transform temperament of Simran to calm down and just wait more. She got ready and hastily ran downstairs. My puckish eyes were shadowing her every move, and my reddish heart was urging her to fall apart for some time so that I could curl all into her. My ticker tape was falling off on the asphalted street, which kissed her shoes daily. The moment the stellar door broached, it greeted the saline corner of my eyes. I scrubbed the little pain with my sweaty arm and looked into those adorable eyes. I swear her eyes were chanting with me. Her smile was blushing at me. The gambit of that inexpressible alive human painting was wending a path for me to follow, I swear.

Then cub she teed-off, I don’t remember exactly. The only happy moment was that my eyes saw her laughing when it was the last time, but then my unhampered tears gave her farewell. I couldn’t resist to left mark on the sheets of my report on INDIA-PAKISTAN CULTURAL INTEGRITY that I had to submit to the cultural council of India and Pakistan. That two months journey was going to be the past, which was unacceptable to me. I had captured more than 5000 photos of different places in Islamabad, Karachi, Peshawar, but I clicked the best photographs of my life portraying my destiny in Lahore. I don’t know what obstructed me to express my love. 

Whether the differences, the reasons of my incapability. Differences in countries, differences in religions, but were there differences in heart, or were there any differences in Love? I had always asked Shubham about this, who accompanied me in my journey to Pakistan and who was the only person who knew and understood my situations. Time had passed, but I never got my answers. I would wait; I believe she would answer all my questions that I asked her in the paper wrapped in the same ball, which she had thrown at me and our eyes met for the first time. The ball probably broke the lenses of my camera but connected me with her for my whole life. I returned the last belonging of hers from the same window that daily made me awake at six. Now, there is no window anymore, but still, my eyes are waiting to wake up one day by her loud and pleasant voice; my eyes are waiting to read the reply of those questions I left for her.

Last month, Shubham got married to Simran in Lahore, and when I heard the news my paralyzed legs reacted with excitement to see Noor again. I believe she wanted to say that my paralyzed photographer. I wanted to dissolve all the differences, I wanted to jump the boundaries; I wanted to hold you tightly very close to me. I wanted to tell you that I LOVE YOU TOO. Simran told me when she returned to India that Noor loved me a lot, but the differences never allowed her to speak.

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