₦airaland Forum

Seems like no1 is enjoying the story anymore. You guys are not encouraging at all. It really takes a lot of time to type and post updates for you regularly and really discouraging when no1 seem to have interest in your writing. I think I should stop the story.

I don't know but is my story boring? Or is it because am a newbie here? Nevertheless, am waiting for your opinions on what to do about the story.

"Her name was....."

He repeated slowly, his eyes closed, his face showing an unpredictable expression.

"I suppose....." He murmured, his voice low. "There will be no use of telling her name now as I can't give her a sole, single name. I'd tell you the whole story anyway."

She didn't interrupt at this stage; just sat othere stunned and curious about what to come.

"But it's a long story." He told her. "I'm afraid you won't be able to hear all in just one sitting."

"Don't worry." Deeba tried to smile. "I'd come tomorrow too, if you don't mind."

Her statement made him chane his gesture, he looked suprised, somewhat disturbed too.

"Don't you have any other thing to do?"

"First things first," She didn't break her smile. "I'm on vacation these days."

Aariz was a constant suprise for her; just when she expected him to be furious, he was quiet. Or was this just the calm before the storm.

He uncurled himself, stood and reached near his room window. Extending his hand, he openeed the glass shield. Sea-scented salty breeze began to flow inside the room quickly, and so did those memories, which were not less salty anyway.

"Yes. It.....it still feels like yesterday. It still seem like today." He whispered, like he was talking to himself.

***************

I'm so bad at tying knots." He said helplessly.

"Especially of these satin ties." He added.

"Hurry up buddy, we're about to leave." Shaheryaar's voice was urgent, as he glanced at the wall clock.

"But this damn thing will not let me leave early." He replied, frustrated, his hands doing their best to set the knot around his shirt collar.

"And only now you realized this, huh?" Shaheryaar said, turning his friend toward himself so that he could help him.

"Wait, let me help you with that." Shaheryaar reached out, and with great skill in a minute he had fixed his friend's tie up. He then stepped a feet behind a have a look at him.

"My goodness, very handsome, you look wonderful!" Shaheryaar's eyes were sparkling with a real glimpse of praise for his closest friend's smartness.

He had smooth, whitish complexion and the cloths he wore made him more attractive than ever. He was wearing dark black pants and an expensive crisp, royal blue shirt with a finely tailored black jacket and pure red tie. In his mid-twenties, he was a prime specimen of manhood, decent in the typical way of a man of the East. He was not very tall, but his height was definitely above average.

"I only hope that they're carrying some ambulances with Baaraat!" Shaheryaar smiled and winked.

"Ambulance?" His hands suddenly left his jet black, shiny hairs, as he kept the hairbrush on the mirrored table. "What for?"

"You're going to hurt so many girls out there. So much beauty really hurts sometimes." Shaheryaar smiled and winked.

"So do you think twenty six is too early to get married?" He asked casually, ignoring Shaheryaar's remark.

"Umm, I don't think so." He told him. "I actually believe Daniyal has taken the right step. I mean he is established, shaped and ready. Why wait then?"

"So funny," Shaheryaar laughed. "Actually you're not getting me, friend."

"Not getting what?"

"I meant if he's taken the right step by following his parents' suggestion blindly. I mean it would be purely an arranged kind of marriage. They didn't even meet before." He threw a critical glance at himself in the mirror.

"So what? That happens everyday in our society." Shaheryaar commented.

"But happening everyday doesn't justify it." He grinned sarcastically, and turned toward the mirror once again to spray the rich 'eterny' on his expensive, well-cut suit.

"I think that's the best way of preserving your roots and family values and to keep everyone happy." Shaheryaar placed his hands behind his nap and looked at him.

"Other's happiness....?" One of his eyebrows rose up. "Even if you have to kill your own happiness for that?"

"That's my motto." Shaheryaar smiled. "Live for others. One should not be so selfish that, in the end, he might find himself all alone and lonely."

"I don't agree." He picked up the keys from his table amd motioned him to stand up.

"Do others live for us?" He asked harshly. "I can't even imagine myself.spending life with someone who won't match my mind and heart."

"That certainly needs understanding." Shaheryaar said, as he followed him toward the main gate of his big house.

"Yeah, and understanding comes with meetings and gatherings. You have to pass time with each other to develop some understanding."

He had never met a woman he couldn't live without, and he wasn't going to settle for less. One day he would probably marry, but she had to be tight; he was looking for a special woman, a very special woman, and he hadn't found her yet.

As they climed into their car, Aariz put it into fast speed. They didn't have much time.

Once on the main road, he took a long breath and put a quick glance on the passenger seat which Shaheryaar sat, smiling continuously.

"Anything funny?" He raised his brows.

"Not really." Shaheryaar sighed, I was just remembering some marriage jokes. Those funny things always come to myind automatically whenever I attend some wedding."

"Mind telling me some of those?" He asked with pure interest.

"Sure, why not." Shaheryaar chuckled.

"They say, marriage is a three-ring circle: Engagement ring, wedding ring and 'suffering'."

He smiled wonderfully as Shaheryaar finished his sentence.

"Very well." He appreciated.

"And like." Shaheryaar continued. "When a man opens the door of his car of his wife, you can sure of one thing. Either the car is new or the wife is new...."

This time he couldn't stop the natural laughter.

"Do you know what does it take to be happy with your wife?"

"You tell me." He gazed at him, grinning.

"Well," Shaheryaar smiled back. "To be happy with a husband, you must understand him a lot and love him a little, but to be happy with a wife, you must love her a lot and try not to understand her at all."

"Haha." He was truly enjoying what Shaheryaar was saying.

I'd never understand one thing." Shaheryaar said, now a little more serious.

"And what's that?" He inquired, turning the steering wheel to right.

"Why the married men live longer than single men?"

In answer he laughed softly and said. "But didn't you realize that married men are a lot more willing to die?"

"Well.said." Shaheryaar smiled and then asked.

"By the way, what do you think, what are the qualities of a good husband?"

"Umm," He thought for a second then replied, "I think he should be an archeologist."

"An archeologist?"

"Yeah, an archeologist is the best husband a woman can have; the older she gets, the more interested.he is in her."

This time, Shaheryaar's laughter was louder than ever.

For the next few moments, they both remained silent, perhaps gathering their nerves again.

"Does marriage change one's life?" His question was sudden and spontaneous.

Shaheryaar turned his face toward him, wondering what had made him ask this question, totally out of the topic.

"Well yes. It does." Shaheryaar told him.

"How much?" He asked again.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Om circumstances, natures, characters and...... on your fate." Shaheryaar said soberly.

Suprisingly, he didn't ask another question then. There was a silence of few moments then.

"Sometimes I really wonder," He said, breaking the silence. "That who would be my life partner? How would ahe look like and how would she behave and all that....."

"That's natural." Shaheryaar said philosophically. "Every one of us does that. Ofcourse it's the question of your whole life."

"But it's not just that." He argued. "I think even more."

"Like what?"

"Like I am twenty six now, amd how long will it take for me to get married finally."

"I think I'd have to talk to your mother about that now." Shaheryaar suggested naughtily.

"Come on, Shaheryaar. You know very well that I don't believe in arranged marriages. It's a watse of your life, a big gamble."

"So you're waiting for the moment when you fall in love with someone, righr?" Shaheryaar asked.

"From the present scenario, it looks like that it will never happen." He sighed. "Never meet the princess of my dreams, didn't even see her anywhere."

"Okay, what about a bet then?" Shaheryaar challenged, smiling.

"Bet for what?"

"You're going to fall in love tonight."

"Aha. Funny, isn't it?" He laughed.

"Trust me, you will."

"Right, and with whom?" He smiled sarcastically.

"With the girl who won't smile at you."

"Just what the heck does that mean?" He cut in sharply, having no idea of what his friend was talking about.

"I've seen many girls giving you a typical 'take-me' smile. But this girl will be different. She will be proud, not rude though." Shaheryaar told him dreamily.

"Know what?" You can write some goos romance poems." He criticized his imagination. "It doesn't happen even in movies now."

"Yes but it does happen in real life sometimees." Shaheryaar was very much determined.

From his serious expression, even he couldn't guess whether his friend was really serious or was just having fun.

*******************

Dr. Shahper's house was in Gulshan, a few miles away from his own in Clifton. He was Shaheryaar's favorite uncle, youngest brother of his father. It was suprising even for himself that, at times, he felt more close to sixty-year-old Shahper uncle than he did with his son, his cousin, Daniyal who was twenty-six.

He slowed the car as they approached their destination. Swinging off the main road, the black Honda accord rolles past the long row of pine trees to stop in front of the huge building, which was completely drowned in sparkling lights and bulbs at the moment.

With the gear shifted to park, he switched off the ignition key and opened the door for Shaheryaar. The house itself was large, a duplex, was tastefully decorated with all the necessary wedding items.

Big colorful bulbs hung from the walls, setting off gallaries and room with shades and glows of bright color.

Moments later he and Shaheryaar entered the spacious two-storied house. It was a beautiful place with polished oak floors and beamed ceilings. They notices that the interior of the house was equally sparkling. Everything was arranged in a neat and well-styled manner supported by heavy beautiful, colored bulbs and glamarous electric fancy lights. The furniture was modern and elegant and was organized on the grass lawn in an elegant way to accomodate all the guests. The whole place was crowded with people.

There were girls already present on the reception, lining up together to welcome the guests with beautiful flower vases and bouquet in their hands.

As they neared the reception are, the tantalizing aroma of different fragrances of male and female perfumes greeted them, mixed with delicious smells emmitting from several wedding dishes.

While passing thorugh the main reception gate, they stopped for a while for introduction and exchange of greetings. As he paused in front of young girls and bent his head to take the large rose chaplet in his neck, he heard a musical feminine laughter nearby. He lifted his gaze to inspect her as his glance touched the person who was offerung him the chaplet.

His eyes blazed into hers as her forearms circled his neck to set the chaplet properly.

Shaheryaar gave her a warm smile and paused in front of her to introduce.

"Meet my best friend," Smiling, Shaheryaar introduced him to her. "Aariz Ali from Karachi."

"And Aariz......this is Komal from London." Shaheryaar introduced. "She is Daniyal's cousin."

Wesslier: Hope nepa doesn't cut power in Pakistan? Wel don ma

There is no Nepa in Pakistan. Lol

Winnie1950: What is her name? Tell me now the suspense is too much

lol ......you have to look out for the next update.

The next day, when she entered his luxurious house at the arranged time, she could hardly believe that it was actually happening. Aariz Ali, who had his popularity as someone who doesn't care about others, never gives any interview, never appears on media, had agreed to talk to her about his personal life.

"Miss Deeba?" He had come forward to greet her as she looked at him.

His personal life, she thougjt, as she made her way towards his dinning room. A mysterious book, which no one had dared to open until now.

With the faintest of smiles, he leaded her up the wide carpeted stairs.

Once she took her place on the big, blue sofa, he lowered his frame into the armchair that matched the blue-flowered sofa.

Once sat comfortably, she took a detailed look of him.

He looked tired. Wearing plain, black shilwar suit, he looked uniquely stylish. Through moderb black-rimmed glasses, his eyes look sleepy, like he'd not slept for days. He had some book in his hands and from it's thickness, Deeba could juge that it was very lengthy.

"Do you know Deeba?" He said calmly, setting down the book he was reading.

Her own name on his tongue for the very first time brought all of her senses to full alert.

"It seems like there's some invisible power that pushes me, orders me to tell.you things which I've always kept limited to myself." He said softly, his eyes not on her face as usual.

"Anyway," He tipped his heas back to the headrest of his easy chair. "I'm prepared now. You may proceed."

She decided to ask right away, instead of wasting her time in preliminaries. As she was not sure of he'd keep on telling all these things she wanted to inquire about or he would change his mind at any instant.

"What was the biggest mistake of your life?"

"Mistake?" He laughed huskily. "I personally believe that I'm one of the biggest sinners of the world." He gave her a wounded smile.

"Infact, my whole life has been a mistake."

Without going into depth of his comment, she asked her next question.

"Do you live here alone? No family?"

"Next question please." His lips tightened together.

Her mouth tightened but she did not argue.

"Do you believe in relations and family values?" She asked.

"Relations like what?" He asked back.

"Umm, like mother, father, siblings, wife."

He smiled absently. "No, I have no one. I live here, all alone. I have no family, no relatives now.". He murmured expressionlessly.

As usual, this time too, she didn't miss the chance to see the wetness in his eyes, which was a hallmark of his smiles. Deeba noted he was not looking like the Aariz she had met the other day. This Aariz looked too tired, tensed and broken.

"Don't you have any friends?" She tried to change the tensed atmosphere.

"Yes, I have, few ones." He said uniformly. "Friends, like books, should be few and well-chosen."

"People say there's a hand of some woman behind every successful man. Whose hand was involved in your case?" She inquired, staring at him deeply.

"Who said I'm a successful man?" He replied, peering at her over his spectacles.

"People think so."

"I don't care about people." He replied instantly. "But yes, I do believe in relations like mother's...." His voice became husky and thick, his throat heavy.

"What is mother?" Can you define this word?"

On her question, he gave her a long look, very long, for the first time. From his expression,.she thought she had asked something really terrible. At some instant, she thought he was about to cry. His gaze shifted to some distant point, and then he closed his eyes painfully.

His voice hollow, he said, " Mother is a person, who on seeing, that there are only four pieces of bread for four people out of five, announces that she never did care for bread!" He smiled sadly.

At first,.she couldn't understand what he'd said but as soon she did, she was lost in the beauty of his words.

"Hey you there?" He swayed his hands in front of her eyes......and she came back from the trance, which his talking had produced.

He said no more, which did not suprise her, for he never spoke of his family or background.

"Don't you ever lose your temper?" She asked petulantly.

"Not sincr I was....." He caught his tongue before he could say further. "Sonce the time I have become mature..."

She clearly noticed that he'd stopped himself from saying something reallu important. But she didn't insist.

"Do you cry?" She asked, observing him very closely.

"What do you do when the only person who can make you stop crying is the person who made you cry?' As usual, he asked bavk, instead of giving her proper answer. "Of course you won't prefer crying in such circumtances. Will you?"

"What does it take to make you happy?"

"Are you writing my biography, Deeba?" He asked evenly. He looked somewhat impressed by the way she was asking questions today, very fluently and confidently. She didn't look like the girl who had met him before.

She smiled in answer. "No," She said decently. "The purpose of asking all these questions is different."

"Why do you give a damn anyway?" He asked as his lips twisted into a parody of smile.

She swallowed, shaking her head. "You'd know the purpose later."

"So," She carried on, " You became so popular in such a short time. How does it feel to be famous?"

"I never wanted popularity. I got it without my will." He said firmly, sliding his glasses slightly up on his nose with a delicate touch of his index finger.

"You look like you're in pain Sir. Like someone has really hurt you, wounded you, more than you can bear." She said with sympathetic honesty.

No one has hurt me." He told her. " I hurt myself."

"How?"

He turned his gaze to the ceiling.

"Hatred is like acid. It destroys the vassel that holds it."

"I'm sure that's very deep, but I'm afraid you've lost me." She leaned toward him. "That's one of the things that drive me crazy about you. You can never simply say yes or no. Why do you always answer a question with a cryptic remark or, worse, another question?"

"Do I do that?" Turning to face her, he shot her a crooked smile, but his eyes gleamed like cool metal.

Her eyes couldn't rise up.

"I sometimes wonder how calm you sound!" Deeba said, amazed.

"It's one thing I learned from her......" He wanted to stop himself, but it was too late. He regretted this very moment. It occured to him that, today; someone wanted him to break all of his rules and principles.

He then slid a knowing glance at Deeba.

"Probably you're now thinking what happened to me, right?" He said quietly. "Perhaps, you're thinking that I was a failure in love or something like that." He laughed emptily.

She praised his fine, telepathic mind.

He released a long weary breath, "I guess there isn't anything else I can say, is there?"

"Tell me about her."

She said anxiously.

He met her gaze squarely, though the lamplight glinting on his lenses made it impossible to see his eyes. But then, she thought she could almost see a tear trickling down his cheek.

He leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, looking more tired and hurt than ever, his eyes were half lidded, hiding the waters underneath, shading them.

Pulling her lips between her teeth, she scanned the persian carpet at her feet, nodding jerkily. "I.....I'm sorry," She whispered after a taut minute.

Although she had guessed it, but suddenly it made her more uncomfortable than ever.

And then, she was hit by a horrible truth. She wanted very badly to have this man to tell his story to her. There was something about him that touched her deep inside, something unnamable, risky, considering the fact that he'd recently admitted there was some woman who had......

He looked up at her, his expression serious but not angry. "What else do you want to know now?"

"Each and every thing sir." She whispered, her voicr full of curiosity. "Right from the beginning."

"Who was she?" She asked automatically. But seeing his reaction, she hated herself for asking such a stupid question. It was all very much obvious.

He groaned. His eyes grew cold and he cast her a heavy-lidded glance.

"I...I can't." He said huskily, his throat tear clotted.

"Just try to relax." She said. "I think you need to talk about that sir."

"Something's been eating at you for a long time." She added softly.

He darted a mutinous look her way, and in it, Deeba witnessed the shadow of his sadness and its vile complexity, raw and very close on the surface. Somehow she knew that, today, he was going to tell her things he'd kept bottled for years. Nothing to help him on his difficult journey.

His eyes blazed into hers.

"That's true," He agreed straightly, unexpectedly.

Her breathing became rapid, short and fast, and her heart began to beat so loudly that she immediately began to fear that perhaps Aariz would hear it.

"Talk to me, Sir!" She heard herself again and again.

He leaned forward, propping his chin on his other hand. His eyes were closed, his lips drawn in a fierce line. After nerve-racking moment, he faced her.

Deeba forced herself not to ask question this time. He had to tell the story in his own way.

Aariz dropped his gaze and seemed to go inward.

Let him say it! Her mind warmed. Let him get it out. The pain of doing that will cauterize the wound.

He paused for a moment before he said,

"Her name was........"

harlos: Following patiently, with interest.

Are you still typing with ur mobile?

Yeah . Thnx for following patiently

Bestluv584: sori dat ws a mistake.... Ur story is so captivating lyk hers

I understand

"So, how was your meeting today?" Sheeba asked, putting a cream biscuit into her mouth.

"Well, as I've told you, the plan didn't work like the way we expected; still I got more than what I wanted." Deeba told her happily.

"Yeah." Sheeba said thoughtfully. "I didn't think he could guess about your dummy journalist role so easily."

"How was his behavior?" Sheeba asked, curious as ever.

"His manners were flawless the entire evening, courteous, respectful, and ever the gentleman." Said Deeba.


"Even apparently too." She told Sheeba. "He looks so wonderful in glasses. Nothing like an Indian or English movie star, he is a unique star in his own self. He has his own district personality."

"I see," Sheeba gave her knowing glance. "It seems to me that you like him more than I thought." Sheeba stated with a meaningful expression on her peace.

"Yes I like him." Deeba said soberly. "More than that, I adore him, I respect him, but not like the way you think."

"Meaning?" Sheeba raised her brows quizzically.

"What's wrong with you Sheeba?" She asked her sister, giving her an amgry look. "Okay, I admit, he's very close to my ideal and he is my favorite poet. But don't think I have lost my mind for him. And even if I had, he is too far from my reach."

"Your ideal?" Sheeba turned to face her now. "You never told me about thay. How's your ideal?"

"Very much like him." Deeba said dreamily. "Calm, yet dominating."

"Dominating?"

"Come one dear, don't you know I don't like "dubboo" type or "buddhoo" kind of men?" Deeba stared at her sister, confused. "I've always like dominating men. A man who could guard his woman like a shield, instead of following her, walking behind her."

"Oh yes, that I know." Sheeba smiled in answer. "Your wierd philosophy that Pakistani girls are mainly of two kinds."

"Aha, and what are those?"

"First kind of girls want an all-time friendly husband, who always walks side-by-side with them, free and intimate as ever."

"Hmm, and second?" Deeba smiled. She was suprised by the fact that her sister had not forgetten their once-held discussion about which kind of husbands they would prefer themselves.

"Second variety of girls wants a dominating husband. A man who could guide then through different twists and turns of life, holding their finger in his hand, right?" Sheeba wanted her confirmation.

"Yes, but it's not just that." Deeba added. "A husband who can be a strict teacher, guiding you about what to do and what not, a wonderful, gentle lover and a caring friend, all at the same time."

"Well sister." Sheeba sighed. "I can only pray for you that you find such kind of guy some time. Though the chances are very rare."

Deeba didn't reply this time.

"So, he was good with you, right?" Sensing her elder sister's reaction, Sheeba changed the topic.

"Yes, very much. He didn't talk anything rude or bad. His expressions, his gestures were very decent." Deeba could never get tired of this topic.

"I still feel that he doesn't belong to this world. I mean he looks so isolated." Sheeba stated.

"That's what he says too." Deeba breathed coldly. "That he doesn't belong to this world. He has his own world".

"But I had an impression that he is rude and proud, specially his behavior with women........" Sheeba remarked.

"Not at al." Deeba cut in. "Go, and read all of his poems. He cares about women, respects them.

"Well." Sheeba got up from her place. "I am not sure that he will tell you anything about his personal life. People like him feel weird pleasure in keeping themselves hidden and mysterious. They actually know that this is the secret of their popularity."

"Wait and see." Deeba smiled as she put her forearm on her eyes and closed them. "Let's see what happens."

********************

He was sitting back in his chair, his hands cupped behind his head, when the telephone rang.

He rose to answer it.

"Yes?"

"Assalaam O alaikum sir." From the other side, came a familiar feminine voice.

"Walaikum salaam."

"Sir, it's me Deeba. Deeba Rizvi." From her voice, she sounded very excited and refeshing.

"Oh" A long breath escaped out of his lungs. Surely he had not forgotten this very interesting girl.

"Sir,.you promised to tell me more about yourself." She asked hopefully.

"Listen." He replied spotlessly. "First, I didn't promise that I'd tell you more about myself, and second it's not next week if I'm not forgetting, I told you to call me next week but you've called earlier."

"Oh, sorry. I couldn't wait." Said Deeba, now she sounded disappointed.

"Anyway. What do you want to ask?"

"Sir, I want to know more about you. I mean I'd be really glad if you could tell me more about your personal life."

"Whoever you are." He said a little harder than ever, and for the first time Deeba thought he was about to lose his temper finally.

But suprisingly, his voice and tone became normal again within a second, as calm and soft as ever.

"I just don't understand why you have this much interest in my personal life."

She kept herself silent this time.

"Do you have any convincing reason why I should let you open the private book of my life?" He asked firmly.

"Yes sir." She said courageously this time. 'I can convince you."

There was a long silence on his side. Perhaps, he was thinking.

"Alright." He finally answered. "You have five minutes to convince me why I should tell you about my personal matters."

"It would be something better for the newer generation like me, to follow upon." She gave her first reason.

"We can learn a lot from your mistakes if you did any. People want to know, as your fan, someone has right to know about you as much as he or she could."

"I just don't understand why and how you see it as something beneficial for you." He argued.

"Then let's talk about it and we shall see." She was determined to try until her last effort.

Again, he took several moments to give his answer, but when he spoke, it rang wedding bells in her ears.

"Alright Miss. Deeba, I'll see you at my home tomorrow, 5 p.m sharp."

And he hung up the reciever.

Wesslier: Min while am finally here... am now up to speed... U are pretty gud lyk i anticipated

Thnx Wesslier

Bestluv584: Dat ws more dan gud@repogirl,

Repogirl isn't here

Kudos. But please make the updates more lenghty, that'll make the story more interesting.

[quote author=Mynd_44]I follow every story [/quote]Okay, not an easy task though. More grease to your elbows.

[quote author=Mynd_44]You are welcome.[/quote]Thank you Mynd, for welcoming me and for coming to my aid. Hope you'll follow my story

yemi2plus: Each time I check for an update, all I see are hidden posts. What's wrong?

Don't know what's wrong but I complained to the mod, the post has beeen unhidden now. It was an update.

"What is poetry?"

"Poetry?" He closed his eyes for a brief interval, opening them again after few seconds. "It's the job of jobless people. One who has nothing to do can try poetry."

As he spoke, she saw that there was a brief, faint smile on his lips. His faint smile held a trace of sadness.

He crossed fingers of both hands together to straigthen them. He had long, artistic fingers she noted, as he pulled out a golden case and took a cigarette out. He placed it between his lips.

She couldn't resist stealing another glance at him; he was certainly attractive.

"Miss Deeba!"

He called her, straigthening his fine glasses as he peered at his gold watch.

"Yeah, oh." She rapidly moved her eyes from his handa and straightened herself up.

"I am waiting for your next question."

"Sure, I was infact, thinking about it." She made her mind.

"So, how do you see your life as a poet?"

His tortured gaze slid back to her, only for a second, then he moved his eyes away.

"My life?" He repeated her question. "It has become like a wet paper now!"

"Wet paper?"

He brought the lighter and with a fine 'click' he showed the long flame to the fore-end of his cigarette.

"Yes, wet paper." He said, pulling deeply on the cigarette. "No one can burn it, no one can write on it."

"But I deserved this." He added in a low murmur.

Deeba watched for a second. He seemed so calm and so uncaring but his response clearly showed her that he didn't want to explain what he had just said.

"Any recent change in your life or has it been uniform all over?"

"What do you mean?" He asked soberly.

"I....I mean things do change. Life can not be like a wet paper through all of its courses." She explained.

Aariz ran a hand through his dark hair and worked up a grin. "Things don't change." He said philisophically.

"Time moves on."

Changing her sitting position, she asked her next question.

"Your poetry mostly revolves around love, romance and pain. Why?"

He rose from his chair. Going near the big glass window, he opened it to let the the sea air come inside. The salt breeze rippled gently through his dark black hair and the sound of incoming tide, far below, was a soothing song.

Deeba held her breath.

"Love is the most persistant and undeniable reality of life." He said, taking a deep drag on his cigarette, then exhaling the whole smoke through his nose. There was a wealth of patience in his voice.

Flicking Deeba a meaningful glance, he shook his head.

Against her will, Deeba scanned his profile, and then hurriedly glanced away again. His mouth was tight and grim, yet it was still the most handsome mouth she could recall seeing on any man.

"Why was he not staring at her at all? Thinking, Deeba couldn't help herself asking this question.

"Why do you talk like this?" She asked absently. "I mean, always keeping your eyes away, not looking at me."

"I often wonder," He paused, clearly ignoring her question "That, what has happened to our so called 'Muslim society'?"

"I could only see you only if you were in proper covering and Hijaab. I don't like to put a second glance on those women who don't cover themselves properly."

Deeba felt like her cheeks were throbbing with embarrassment.

"Muslims girls now try to attract and impress others through their bodies." He returned to sit on his easy chair, still keeping his eyes away. "Don't they feel any shame or disgust while showing their curves?"

On his remarks, she felt so ashamed that she wished she could die right there with shyness. She felt like someone had suddenly made herself bare in front of thousands of eyes.

A servant came quietly with a trolley full of snacks, biscuits, cold drinks and coffee.

"Please" He offered her to take something.

With shaking fingers, she raised the steaming mug of coffee.

"You were talking of something about love?" He asked, perhaps he'd sensed her condition.

"Can you define what love is?" She questioned.

"Love......" A cold sigh escaped from his lungs and intermingled with an equally cold air of December evening.

"Love is ....... Perhaps, the most meaningful word of all languages of the world. Just see in Urdu language, how manyh words people use for this feeling; Mohabbat, Pyaar, Chaahat, Ulfat, Dil ki Lagi, Lagaao, Ishq!" He brought the coffee mug to his lips, while keeping the cigarette in this other hand.

"But I wanted to ask its definition, and how does it happen?" Propping her chin on her hands, she stared at him with deep interest.

He turned to face her, his features hardening.

"Well, love is a house made up of glass, where stones strike everyday in the form of rain, got it?"

He laughed softly.

But even in this little laughter, she didn't miss the chance to see wetness in his eyes.

"Some people say it happens automatically" He added, gazing at the ceiling above. "And some say it is done voluntarily and some say........" His voicd became husky.

"Yes?" She looked into the eyes of the most weird and mysterious man she had ever met.

"Some people say it's an inborn matter, a grip and bond between souls, who have met even before they come to earth. Once they're in the world, they just have to search and find each other. As soon as eyes meet, it seems that both were familiar to each other for thousands of centuries." He said gracefully.

"Well.....now I want to ask a very typical and popular question.....can I?" She smiled.

"Go on" He closed his eyes.

"What's the difference between love and lust?"

"Hmmm. Lust is like trying on clothes and love is finding an outfit to keep." His shiny black eyes twinkled brightly from behind the gleam of his spectacles.

"Wow..... And when does love end?"

"Yes...good question..... To love and be loved is like ocean tide.... They keep going out and coming in but yes sometimes it does end in front of the world.....it does end in the world with the last breaths.....but speaking of age factor.... Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age."

"Why do people consider first love as the most romantic one?" she asked with sheer curiosity.

"Because they're very pure when they love for the first time, don't know the bad part of it." He laughed wonderfully. The action gave her a good view to see his neat, uniform white teeth.

"Why is love supposed to be a hurting experience?" She asked, now looking deeply into his watery depths.

"One aspect of love is.....is to feel pain." He told her seriously. "You always feel pain in love. Whether it is failure or success in love, you feel pain in your heart.....right from the beginning.......sometimes this pain is pleasurable but many times.....it hurts." He paused briefly, only to take a fine sip of his coffee and then continued his discussion.

"People have expectations, dreams, wishes, fantasies and when one does not get fulfillment of all these things, obviously it hurts. As they say 'love is like a knife, it can stab the heart or it can carve wonderful images into the soul that will last a lifetime."

Observing his interest and knowledge in the topic, she extended the discussion on the same topic.

"Is love something constructive too? I mean, can we get something positive out of it?"

"Love can make you bear any kind of pain and any kind of sacrifice. It can also make you feel stupid and act stupidly. Sometimes when you love and end up giving so much of yourself, subconsciously you only discover how much you've given when the person you love hurts you or has to say goodbye." He kept the mug of his coffee back to the table but did not stop talking.

"Then you realize, an important part of yourself is already with that part person. It goes away when he leaves and you are left with a sickening, empty feeling inside. Tears are bound to shed from your eyes, no matter how you force yourself to keep them in. Well, that's what you get for caring so much about someone. But how can you regret it? To give yourself freely and lovingly is the most beautiful thing you can do."

She nodded, speechless at his vast knowledge and unique philosophy about the subject.

"What's the difference between knowledge and wisdom?" She managed to ask.

"To acquire knowledge, one has to study but to acquire wisdom, one must observe." His answer was short and spontaneous and yet it satisfied her.

"But still, you didn't tell me your definition of love." She stared at his face, confused.

"All the problem is about definition of love." He said thickly. "It's a mystery.......no one can define it satisfactorily. Everyone defines, percieves and experiences it from different perspective."

"But atleast you can say just few words?" She begged.

"Alright." He released a long, shattering breath. "Then lsiten........

"Love is the reflection of his joy in her eyes. Love is an eruption of feelings buried within a heart longing to break free. True love is like life, a gift of God to Man, which he finds only once.....so when you find true love, hold on to it and never let go for a good love is hard to find and it comes only once."

"But where do we find it?" She asked.

"You can't find it. Love finds you, or you can say that love is like wild flowers. It's often found in the most unlikely places." He grinned adequately. " Actually, you do not fall in love, you grow to love, and then love grows in your beloved."

"But what's the basis and foundation of love?" She was taking full interest in the topic.

"Respect." His answer was quick and short this time.

Behund his thin-rimmed spectacles, his eyes glittered cold as the winter sky.

"Could I ask a different question?" Deeba asked.

"Sure."

"I'll understand if I'm going over the line here," She went on, "but there's something that I used to wonder about."

"I've never been offended by any question." Aariz said, "but I always reserve the right not to answer them."

"That's fair," Deeba said and paused, thinking about how best to phrase her question.

"Seems like you had some really bad personal experience of it." Deeba couldn't help herself saying. She wanted to explore this man, search this man, who has been lost in his own world.

"Have you ever been in love?" Before she couls stop herself, words left her mouth. She held her breath.

She watched with interest and fear as his eyes narrowed at some distant point.

Some thoughts are better left unsaid, some feelings are better left kept to you, but love has its way of expressing itseld despite the silence.

Deeba didn't know how to fill the silence that followed her question.

After what seemed like an hour of strained silence, he shook his head, conceding flatly.

"I told you there would be no personal questions."

She nodded in understanding. Yes, he had made it quite clear that there will be no personal questions.

He glanced at his wristwatch and said,

"You may go now."

"But sir.....still I need to ask you much." She said in a rush, getting on her feet.

On her remark, he put a detailed look on her for the first time. Her eyes were pleading for something more than what he'd told her.

He couldn't refuse her then. "Alright, we'll think about it next time. Call me again next week and I'd see if I could tell you something more about myself."

"Thank you so much sir." She was glad that she almost yelled with happiness.

"I told you, you'd be disappointed." He accompanied her to the main door.

She didn't reply right then, instead took few steps forward, finally moving out of his house.

And then she turned back.

He was just about to close the main door.

"Yes sir, I am disappointed. Today I really felt disappointed. But not because of you, I'm disappointed because of myself.

He smiled wonderfully this time and said.

"Next time you don't have to play this interview drama to meet me. If I have the time, I'd definitely give you some of it."

Stunned and paralyzed, she stood there, watching him go inside the house.

Sorry guys. Something kept me from updating but will update you as soon as possible.

"What is poetry?"

"Poetry?" He closed his eyes for a brief interval, opening them again after few seconds. "It's the job of jobless people. One who has nothing to do can try poetry."

As he spoke, she saw that there was a brief, faint smile on his lips. His faint smile held a trace of sadness.

He crossed fingers of both hands together to straigthen them. He had long, artistic fingers she noted, as he pulled out a golden case and took a cigarette out. He placed it between his lips.

She couldn't resist stealing another glance at him; he was certainly attractive.

"Miss Deeba!"

He called her, straigthening his fine glasses as he peered at his gold watch.

"Yeah, oh." She rapidly moved her eyes from his handa and straightened herself up.

"I am waiting for your next question."

"Sure, I was infact, thinking about it." She made her mind.

"So, how do you see your life as a poet?"

His tortured gaze slid back to her, only for a second, then he moved his eyes away.

"My life?" He repeated her question. "It has become like a wet paper now!"

"Wet paper?"

He brought the lighter and with a fine 'click' he showed the long flame to the fore-end of his cigarette.

"Yes, wet paper." He said, pulling deeply on the cigarette. "No one can burn it, no one can write on it."

"But I deserved this." He added in a low murmur.

Deeba watched for a second. He seemed so calm and so uncaring but his response clearly showed her that he didn't want to explain what he had just said.

"Any recent change in your life or has it been uniform all over?"

"What do you mean?" He asked soberly.

"I....I mean things do change. Life can not be like a wet paper through all of its courses." She explained.

Aariz ran a hand through his dark hair and worked up a grin. "Things don't change." He said philisophically.

"Time moves on."

Changing her sitting position, she asked her next question.

"Your poetry mostly revolves around love, romance and pain. Why?"

He rose from his chair. Going near the big glass window, he opened it to let the the sea air come inside. The salt breeze rippled gently through his dark black hair and the sound of incoming tide, far below, was a soothing song.

Deeba held her breath.

"Love is the most persistant and undeniable reality of life." He said, taking a deep drag on his cigarette, then exhaling the whole smoke through his nose. There was a wealth of patience in his voice.

Flicking Deeba a meaningful glance, he shook his head.

Against her will, Deeba scanned his profile, and then hurriedly glanced away again. His mouth was tight and grim, yet it was still the most handsome mouth she could recall seeing on any man.

"Why was he not staring at her at all? Thinking, Deeba couldn't help herself asking this question.

"Why do you talk like this?" She asked absently. "I mean, always keeping your eyes away, not looking at me."

"I often wonder," He paused, clearly ignoring her question "That, what has happened to our so called 'Muslim society'?"

"I could only see you only if you were in proper covering and Hijaab. I don't like to put a second glance on those women who don't cover themselves properly."

Deeba felt like her cheeks were throbbing with embarrassment.

"Muslims girls now try to attract and impress others through their bodies." He returned to sit on his easy chair, still keeping his eyes away. "Don't they feel any shame or disgust while showing their curves?"

On his remarks, she felt so ashamed that she wished she could die right there with shyness. She felt like someone had suddenly made herself bare in front of thousands of eyes.

A servant came quietly with a trolley full of snacks, biscuits, cold drinks and coffee.

"Please" He offered her to take something.

With shaking fingers, she raised the steaming mug of coffee.

"You were talking of something about love?" He asked, perhaps he'd sensed her condition.

"Can you define what love is?" She questioned.

"Love......" A cold sigh escaped from his lungs and intermingled with an equally cold air of December evening.

"Love is ....... Perhaps, the most meaningful word of all languages of the world. Just see in Urdu language, how manyh words people use for this feeling; Mohabbat, Pyaar, Chaahat, Ulfat, Dil ki Lagi, Lagaao, Ishq!" He brought the coffee mug to his lips, while keeping the cigarette in this other hand.

"But I wanted to ask its definition, and how does it happen?" Propping her chin on her hands, she stared at him with deep interest.

He turned to face her, his features hardening.

"Well, love is a house made up of glass, where stones strike everyday in the form of rain, got it?"

He laughed softly.

But even in this little laughter, she didn't miss the chance to see wetness in his eyes.

"Some people say it happens automatically" He added, gazing at the ceiling above. "And some say it is done voluntarily and some say........" His voicd became husky.

"Yes?" She looked into the eyes of the most weird and mysterious man she had ever met.

"Some people say it's an inborn matter, a grip and bond between souls, who have met even before they come to earth. Once they're in the world, they just have to search and find each other. As soon as eyes meet, it seems that both were familiar to each other for thousands of centuries." He said gracefully.

"Well.....now I want to ask a very typical and popular question.....can I?" She smiled.

"Go on" He closed his eyes.

"What's the difference between love and lust?"

"Hmmm. Lust is like trying on clothes and love is finding an outfit to keep." His shiny black eyes twinkled brightly from behind the gleam of his spectacles.

"Wow..... And when does love end?"

"Yes...good question..... To love and be loved is like ocean tide.... They keep going out and coming in but yes sometimes it does end in front of the world.....it does end in the world with the last breaths.....but speaking of age factor.... Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age."

"Why do people consider first love as the most romantic one?" she asked with sheer curiosity.

"Because they're very pure when they love for the first time, don't know the bad part of it." He laughed wonderfully. The action gave her a good view to see his neat, uniform white teeth.

"Why is love supposed to be a hurting experience?" She asked, now looking deeply into his watery depths.

"One aspect of love is.....is to feel pain." He told her seriously. "You always feel pain in love. Whether it is failure or success in love, you feel pain in your heart.....right from the beginning.......sometimes this pain is pleasurable but many times.....it hurts." He paused briefly, only to take a fine sip of his coffee and then continued his discussion.

"People have expectations, dreams, wishes, fantasies and when one does not get fulfillment of all these things, obviously it hurts. As they say 'love is like a knife, it can stab the heart or it can carve wonderful images into the soul that will last a lifetime."

Observing his interest and knowledge in the topic, she extended the discussion on the same topic.

"Is love something constructive too? I mean, can we get something positive out of it?"

"Love can make you bear any kind of pain and any kind of sacrifice. It can also make you feel stupid and act stupidly. Sometimes when you love and end up giving so much of yourself, subconsciously you only discover how much you've given when the person you love hurts you or has to say goodbye." He kept the mug of his coffee back to the table but did not stop talking.

"Then you realize, an important part of yourself is already with that part person. It goes away when he leaves and you are left with a sickening, empty feeling inside. Tears are bound to shed from your eyes, no matter how you force yourself to keep them in. Well, that's what you get for caring so much about someone. But how can you regret it? To give yourself freely and lovingly is the most beautiful thing you can do."

She nodded, speechless at his vast knowledge and unique philosophy about the subject.

"What's the difference between knowledge and wisdom?" She managed to ask.

"To acquire knowledge, one has to study but to acquire wisdom, one must observe." His answer was short and spontaneous and yet it satisfied her.

"But still, you didn't tell me your definition of love." She stared at his face, confused.

"All the problem is about definition of love." He said thickly. "It's a mystery.......no one can define it satisfactorily. Everyone defines, percieves and experiences it from different perspective."

"But atleast you can say just few words?" She begged.

"Alright." He released a long, shattering breath. "Then lsiten........

"Love is the reflection of his joy in her eyes. Love is an eruption of feelings buried within a heart longing to break free. True love is like life, a gift of God to Man, which he finds only once.....so when you find true love, hold on to it and never let go for a good love is hard to find and it comes only once."

"But where do we find it?" She asked.

"You can't find it. Love finds you, or you can say that love is like wild flowers. It's often found in the most unlikely places." He grinned adequately. " Actually, you do not fall in love, you grow to love, and then love grows in your beloved."

"But what's the basis and foundation of love?" She was taking full interest in the topic.

"Respect." His answer was quick and short this time.

Behind his thin-rimmed spectacles, his eyes glittered cold as the winter sky.

"Could I ask a different question?" Deeba asked.

"Sure."

"I'll understand if I'm going over the line here," She went on, "but there's something that I used to wonder about."

"I've never been offended by any question." Aariz said, "but I always reserve the right not to answer them."

"That's fair," Deeba said and paused, thinking about how best to phrase her question.

"Seems like you had some really bad personal experience of it." Deeba couldn't help herself saying. She wanted to explore this man, search this man, who has been lost in his own world.

"Have you ever been in love?" Before she couls stop herself, words left her mouth. She held her breath.

She watched with interest and fear as his eyes narrowed at some distant point.

Some thoughts are better left unsaid, some feelings are better left kept to you, but love has its way of expressing itseld despite the silence.

Deeba didn't know how to fill the silence that followed her question.

After what seemed like an hour of strained silence, he shook his head, conceding flatly.

"I told you there would be no personal questions."

She nodded in understanding. Yes, he had made it quite clear that there will be no personal questions.

He glanced at his wristwatch and said,

"You may go now."

"But sir.....still I need to ask you much." She said in a rush, getting on her feet.

On her remark, he put a detailed look on her for the first time. Her eyes were pleading for something more than what he'd told her.

He couldn't refuse her then. "Alright, we'll think about it next time. Call me again next week and I'd see if I could tell you something more about myself."

"Thank you so much sir." She was glad that she almost yelled with happiness.

"I told you, you'd be disappointed." He accompanied her to the main door.

She didn't reply right then, instead took few steps forward, finally moving out of his house.

And then she turned back.

He was just about to close the main door.

"Yes sir, I am disappointed. Today I really felt disappointed. But not because of you, I'm disappointed because of myself.

He smiled wonderfully this time and said.

"Next time you don't have to play this interview drama to meet me. If I have the time, I'd definitely give you some of it."

Stunned and paralyzed, she stood there, watching him go inside the house.

datblaqgurl: d examiner got examined.. Dats nice

Lol........

fateemah88: [color=#770077][/color]hi grl u ar doin a great job,nice story

Thanks dear.

Bestluv584: Gr8 wrk, kip it up

Thanks.

harlos: This man is mentally abnormal
lol.
M still enjoying u...how is ur boy?

You can say dat again. My boy is doing fine. Thanks

With trembling fingers, she dialed his number.

On third ring, someone picked the reciever on the other side.

"Yes?" It was a deep, inspiring masculine sound.

"Hello, this is Deeva Rizvi. Can I please talk to Mr. Aariz Ali?"

There was a breif pause on the other side, and then the same voice spoke again.

"I'm Aariz. What can I do for you?"

"Oh hi sir. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"We met last week in All-Pakistan poetry function. Do you remember?"

Silence.

"I'm sorry miss. I don't really remember, there were thousands of poeple there."

His expression tone bathed her in the rain of disappointment.

"Oh, well, I'm from an all-women magazine 'FeMag'. I wanted to contact you for an interview."

"Oh, I see." He sighed deeply. "Then I hope you have not forgotten what I've explained to everyone earlier. I don't really give interviews to anyone."

"Can I ask why?" Deeba asked back.

There was a brief silence on the other side, then he stated.

"I don't do poetry for media or to get famous. I do it for myself."

"Sir, this interview won't make you more famous than you already are."

"Then?" His voice felt expressionless. "What's the purpose of this interview then?"

She wanted to say 'just to know more about you' but caught her lip just in time.

"Just to ask your comments about other poets and to know your views for advancement of modern poetry in Pakistan. It will help us alot sir."

"Help for what?"

" As you sure know, the ground where the young Pakistani generation stands right now, only crazy about music, movies and stuff. Most of them have no interest for literature and poetry. However, you do represent young generation and your opinions and views might invoke some good interest in young people." Deeba tried her best to convince him.

"I avoid people from media like plague."

"Still sir, I would say don't say 'no'." She pleaded.

"Where're you from?" He asked.

"Sir please, I request, I beg you. This would be the first and last time. I came from Dubai only for this interview......

"Listen lady, whoever you're, I just don't........

"Please, don't disappoint me. I am sincere, I am honest, and it's not something for commercial purposes. And believe me, it would be something totally confidential. We do care about people's rights."

Deeba didn't know what gave her so much confidence and courage to argue with him so strongly.

"And if you'd want, I will keep most things 'off the record'. What else do you need?" She tried her last weapon.

"Then I'd like to know why a young lady journalist from a new magazine is so much interested in this 'off the record' interview?" His voice was very sensational.

"I've told you the reason sir. But I won't insist again mow. I'm sorry if I took your precious time." Deeba said disappointedly.

He took a long, tired breath then agreed.

"Alright. We'll meet today, six p.m. sharp. My address is......" He told her his address.

"Thank you so much sir. You don't know how happy I am."

"But lady, you'd be disappointed."

"Worry not sir." Deeba smiled and added.

"I'll be privileged."

Deeba put down the reciever and breathed a sigh of relief. Aariz Ali had agreed to see her at six today, and if she was lucky, it was now time for her dream to come true.

At first she had rejected Sheeba's idea about meeting him. But after long careful.thinking, she concluded that this was the only possible option available. After all, what else could she do?

She knew she was lying for the first time and it was not a very ethical thing to do, but she thought this was her first and last chance to meet him.

She looked at her watch. It was too early to leave. With a cursory glancr at a mirror, she left her room for lunch.

An hour later she was back in her room, looking through her cloths and trying to decide what to wear for her meeting with Aariz.

What sort of man was Aariz Ali?

Ofcourse he's supposed to like modern kind of girls, who are brave, out-going and capable of moving in the society. Her hand stopped at a mauve silk shilwar suit and taking it out, she held it against herself and looked in the mirror. Smiling at her own choice, she left to take a quick shower.

Once she was ready and prepared to leave, thoughts of him emerged again like an unwanted rain.

How would he behave and reacg? Would he allow her to ask some personal questions?

Stop thinking of it, she once again admired her reflection in the mirror. Armed with every weapon of female beauty, it was just an appropriate time for her 'attack'.

Giving final touches to her lipstick, she took her purse and moved forward.

But she was not prepared for the sight she came across when she finally reached near his house. Ofcourse from the address he'd given her, she knew unlike other pakistani poets, he belonged to financially well off class but she'd not thought that he'd be a super rich man.

His house was a sprawling mansion perched on a cliff overlooking the Arabian sea, and it was too damned big for one single, solitary man, as she'd heard of him.

Upon introducing herself, the guard let her go inside and a servant guided her toward the dinning room.

Nervous as a school girl being summoned to the head, Deeba walked into a beautiful and luxurious dinning room.

Two minutes later, she was waiting for him. A smile on her beautifully curved mouth couldn't hide the nervousness in her.

With dark make-up and lipstick, she had tried her best to appear elder and mature, but her features seemed to reveal the secret.

She was nervous, really nervous. To relax herself, she threw a glance around to see her surroundings.

The dinning room was formal, lit by two shimmering crystal chandeliers, and there were french doors opening into a garden filled with pink, white scarlet and lavender rhododendrons and English roses. The walls of the massive library were lines with handcrafted shelves and the fireplaces on the first floor were all large and traditional. Thick wall-to-wall persian carpets covered all floors.

Yes, the place was too big and fancy.

The sound of door opening brought her back to her senses, and she looked up as he emerged.

She rose like an automatic robot to greet him.

"Oh, hi.....hi sir." Her nervousness increased.

"Please." He waved her to a sofa and sat down at his easy chair.

He first raised his eyes and then turned his face to see a tall, willowy girl with long, black hair and a Miss World body. He had not actually thrown a "detailed" look at her, but the way she was exposing herself told the whole story at first sight.

"So?" He asked.

She tried to say something but her voice completely failed. Clearing her throat, she tried again.

"I....I called you this afternoon for an interview." Gaining her courage, she looked at him finally.

He looked more attractive and impressive than before. Wearing simple, plain white shirt, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark grey pants, he didn't look formal but yet so different. He was wearing those glasses which gave him that brainy intellectual look. He reminded her of those mature librarians that look absolutely beautiful when they have their glasses on.

She never really liked men with glasses but this man. Well, he truly was an exception in every department. Glasses suited him and matched his personlity, giving him a genuine intellectual look and sophisticated, noble touch.

With a mind-shattering fragrance emitting from his body, he was capable of attracting females thriugh their nostrils.

She instantly liked him with all her might.

No doubt, he was a man to inspire poetry.

"So, you have started this magazine or what!" He said, contrary amusement glimmering his eyes.

She noted, he had eyes with hypotinizing powers.

"Not me" She replied as her breaths turned to normal. "I just work there as a journalist. I am not the owner."

"I see." He folded his arms across his chest. While sitting, he did not look very tall, but he sure had an above-average height. His jaw was square and his face looked clean and neat with nicely cut black hair.

"May I ask your magazine's name?"

"Oh sure, why not. Actually, I came from the monthly female magazine 'FeMag'!"

"Interesting!" He sighed. His facial features relaxed some more. "Never heard of it though."

"Actually, we publish it from Dubai, and it's been only a couple of months since we started it."

"Aha. Sounds good!" Mild amusement flickered in his eyes.

"So what do you want to ask?"

Oh yes. That is why she was here. What did she want to ask? Had she thought about it? She was supposed to take his 'detailed' interview here and yet her mind seemed totally blank at the moment.

She thought and thought but unfortunately, no appropriate question came to her mind.

"Well?" He asked abruptly, his deep-set dark eyes narrowing as he regarded her.

"Okay, for the starters, let me ask you something while you think about your 'interview' questions." He said.

"S....sure." She stammered.

"Who's your favorite English or American movie star?"

She thought she didn't hear him correctly.

It was her, who had to take his intervies, but the first question came from his side.

"Well.....Mel Gibson, Brad Pitt and Kevin Costner. Why?"

"Good." He said without much expression and asked his next question. "And your favorite Indian actors?"

"Oh yes, Shahrukh is cool, and Salman Khan too. He is quite a hunk I think."

"Sorry I have this bad memory." He continued. "Would you mind telling me the name of Shahrukh's last movie?"

"Yes why not, it was Great." She answered evenly.

"And the last war in which our Holy Prophet fought himself?" He inquired again.

"What?"

She couldn't believe if she'd heard him correctly.

"Tough one? Ok. Leave it. Tell me any four essential principles of islam."

And then it occured to her that, perhaps all the rumors she heard about him being mentally abnormal were true.

She opened her purse, and with trembling fingers, she brought a tissue out and wiped off the sweat from her forehead.

"Which are the longest and shortest soorah of Quran?" Perhaps, he was determined to make her feel ashamed of herself.

On his last question she felt like she was going to be buried alive at any second.

He gave her few minutes to gather her mind and waited for her response.

But when no answer came from her, he shrugged his shoulders.

"Disappointed, I am."

He said, and gave a long sigh before going on.

"Now it's your turn to ask questions."

"Sir......I.....I was not prepared for all this." Words took great effort to come out of her mouth finally.

"Are these question some kind of examination questions so you'd need preparatiin for them?" He said, looking at her with some hint of grief in his eyes.

"Do you pray?" Perhaps he was determined to go to the final extent today.

'No....no. I mean not regularly." She .replied thickly.

"But you do eat regularly, right? You do sleep regularly; you do watch TV regualarly." He smiled slowly but sarcastically.

"Anyway. It's your personal matter, I'm not supposed to ask such questions." He breath then said. "So have you made your mind to ask some questions now?"

Deeba nearly sighed aloud with relief.

She looked at him with pure shame in her eyes and brought out a small tape-recorder out of her purse and kept it on the nearby table.

After pressing its 'record' button, she turned to face him once again.

"Before you begin....." He raised his hand, although he kept his voice low.

"I want to make it clear that I won't answer any questions related to my personal, private life."

"I'd start from poetry. If you don't mind?" She asked as if she wanted his permission to proceed.

He was silent. Taking his silence as his permission, she asked her first question.

harlos: Love is blind

I'm enjoying you

gud to hear dat.

datblaqgurl: ride on girl, u da bomb!!!

........and i'll soon blast

"Did you see his smile?" Deeba asked, as they prepared for the sleep that night.

"Many times he didn't smile at all. But when he did, it was....so wonderful, so mysterious."

"He's frigid like ice."Sheeba said, teasing, as she turned the light off and climbed into her bed.

"Well, he's frozen fire." Deeba smiled confidently, pulling her blanketbup to her chin.

"He's very stubborn." Sheeba said, yawning.

"Umm, I believe he is very determined." Deeba said, smiling.

"I really love the way he smokes, keeping a long and regular interval between smokes. I just adore the way he keeps the cigarette between his long, slender fingers."

"How do you know that he smokes?" Sheeba inquired.

"I saw him somking in the end."

"So? What's so different about him?" Sheeba turned towards her sister to face her. Their beds were placed side by side so that they could easily talk to each other.

"I suppose there's nothing typucal in him.....I...I just loves the way he talks," Deeba told her. "So slowly, in a deep, low voice. His voice feels abosolutely wonderful, smooth as silk. He's so calm, so patient, and nothing flirtatious about him. He's not like sexually frustrated guys of today." Deeba left her sentence unfinished only to release a long breath and added.

"Sober, decent, and mature guys like him have always been my ideal. Such men who never lose their temper and are miles away from vulgar and cheap jokes, nothing 'teenage' about them."

"Is he really your ideal?" Sheeba asked sleepily.

"Yes, no doubt I like mature guys like Aariz who have nothing 'teenage' about them, you know. So sober, so calm, so man. I wonder if he ever gets angry or impatient. I'm sure he never loses his temper. I love the way he talks, admire the style he walks and adore the way he breathes, even the way he sleeps."

"Deeba?" Sheeba glared at her sister, doubting her present mental condition. "I'm sure you've gone completely crazy."

"Why?" Deeba smiled dreamily. "What makes you think so?"

"Have you ever seen him sleeping?" Have you ever felt him breathing?" Sherba asked angrily.

"Yes, in dreams." She closed her eyes, like she was talking in sleep.

At first Sheeba didn't know what to say.

"Do you really like him that much?" Sheeba asked, completely suprised.

"Even more than that."

Sheeba threw one last look at her sister's face then closed her eyes. "I had no idea you like him so much."

"What's wrong with that Sheeba?"

Sheeba took a long sigh then said, "I'm sorry to inform you sister but you're just having your first crush. That's all."

In her remark, Deeba burst out laughing.

"Well sister, no comments." Deeba said, smiling.

"Yeah, you don't have to comment about what I already know." Sheeba turned her head away.

"And now please let me get some sleep. Will you? It's been a really tired day for me. For God's sake don't spoil my sleep like the way you have your own. Ok?"

Deeba didn't answer. She just continued to think about what was really bothering her since time she'd returned from the poetry fuction. It was something she wanted to neglect, wished to ignore but couldn't.

For minutes she tried to put her feet into the beautiful valley of sleep but it would not come so easily.

Frustrated and worried for some unknown reason, she shook the shoulder of her sleeping sister.

"Sheeba?"

"Sheeba"

"Uh....uh..."Sheeba looked at her with half-closed eyes. "Yeah? What's the problem?"

"I am going to meet him. I just have to meet him."

"What the....." Anger gripped Sheeba with it's full strength.

"Are you crazy or what Deeba?" Sheeba put in, giving her a hard look. "It's quater past two a.m. and you wake me up only to talk about 'him' again?

Deeba said nothing but just chewed her lower lip. Sheeba saw there were tears in her eyes. Her expression softened as she saw her beloved sister's helpless face. It was true that she really loved her elder sister and she could do anything to make her happy but at the same time Deeba's emotional and somewhat 'childish' attitude was something she did not like much.

"Look Deeba," She began. "I know you really want to meet him and want to know more about him. But it's not that simple and easy. He's not an ordinary person. Plus, we really don't know him as a person.

"But he gave us his phone number." Deeba said eagerly.

"Okay, with which reference you'd want to meet him?"

"I'd say; I'm your greatest fan." Deeba suggested.

Sheeba laughed. "That would be the cheapest excuse to meet him. I'm sure he must be getting such calls day and night, and surely, he's not going to meet every fan of his."

"Then?"

"Let me think," Sheeba said thoughtfully, sleep miles away from her eyes now. "The question is that how will you meet him? I mean he's so busy. You don't find him here and there every day."

"That's why I disturbed your sleep and I'm sorry for that but I think you're the only one who can give me some solution for this problem." Deeba said with pure hope in her eyes.

Sheeba just stared at her face then lowered her head, combing her fingers through her shoulder-lenght hair.

"Well, I've got an idea." She said meaningfully.

"Really? What's that?" Deeba yelled in excitement.

"Please, keep your voice down. Don't disturb mom and dad's sleep now."

"Tell me about your idea." Deeba's voice became a mere whisper now.

"Just wait and see." Sheeba told her mysteriously, her eyes twinkling with naughty luster. I'd tell you in the morning. Now don't worry and let's see if all the things go in our favour."

"Are you sure it will work?"

"Not sure, but it's a pretty good one. I hope it should, and pray that it will." Smiling one last time, Sheeba went back to her bed.

Deeba breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes.

"You know Sheeba, you're mother of all "ideals" Deeba giggled weakly, but unexpectly she heard Sheeba's voice from the other side of the dark room.

"And after all, you're mother of all 'ideals'."

Bestluv584: Nice wrk dear, kip it flowing

Thanks

"Did you see his smile?" Deeba asked, as they prepared for the sleep that night.

"Many times he didn't smile at all. But when he did, it was....so wonderful, so mysterious."

"He's frigid like ice."Sheeba said, teasing, as she turned the light off and climbed into her bed.

"Well, he's frozen fire." Deeba smiled confidently, pulling her blanketbup to her chin.

"He's very stubborn." Sheeba said, yawning.

"Umm, I believe he is very determined." Deeba said, smiling.

"I really love the way he smokes, keeping a long and regular interval between smokes. I just adore the way he keeps the cigarette between his long, slender fingers."

"How do you know that he smokes?" Sheeba inquired.

"I saw him somking in the end."

"So? What's so different about him?" Sheeba turned towards her sister to face her. Their beds were placed side by side so that they could easily talk to each other.

"I suppose there's nothing typucal in him.....I...I just loves the way he talks," Deeba told her. "So slowly, in a deep, low voice. His voice feels abosolutely wonderful, smooth as silk. He's so calm, so patient, and nothing flirtatious about him. He's not like sexually frustrated guys of today." Deeba left her sentence unfinished only to release a long breath and added.

"Sober, decent, and mature guys like him have always been my ideal. Such men who never lose their temper and are miles away from vulgar and cheap jokes, nothing 'teenage' about them."

"Is he really your ideal?" Sheeba asked sleepily.

"Yes, no doubt I like mature guys like Aariz who have nothing 'teenage' about them, you know. So sober, so calm, so man. I wonder if he ever gets angry or impatient. I'm sure he never loses his temper. I love the way he talks, admire the style he walks and adore the way he breathes, even the way he sleeps."

"Deeba?" Sheeba glared at her sister, doubting her present mental condition. "I'm sure you've gone completely crazy."

"Why?" Deeba smiled dreamily. "What makes you think so?"

"Have you ever seen him sleeping?" Have you ever felt him breathing?" Sherba asked angrily.

"Yes, in dreams." She closed her eyes, like she was talking in sleep.

At first Sheeba didn't know what to say.

"Do you really like him that much?" Sheeba asked, completely suprised.

"Even more than that."

Sheeba threw one last look at her sister's face then closed her eyes. "I had no idea you like him so much."

"What's wrong with that Sheeba?"

Sheeba took a long sigh then said, "I'm sorry to inform you sister but you're just having your first crush. That's all."

In her remark, Deeba burst out laughing.

"Well sister, no comments." Deeba said, smiling.

"Yeah, you don't have to comment about what I already know." Sheeba turned her head away.

"And now please let me get some sleep. Will you? It's been a really tired day for me. For God's sake don't spoil my sleep like the way you have your own. Ok?"

Deeba didn't answer. She just continued to think about what was really bothering her since time she'd returned from the poetry fuction. It was something she wanted to neglect, wished to ignore but couldn't.

For minutes she tried to put her feet into the beautiful valley of sleep but it would not come so easily.

Frustrated and worried for some unknown reason, she shook the shoulder of her sleeping sister.

"Sheeba?"

"Sheeba"

"Uh....uh..."Sheeba looked at her with half-closed eyes. "Yeah? What's the problem?"

"I am going to meet him. I just have to meet him."

"What the....." Anger gripped Sheeba with it's full strength.

"Are you crazy or what Deeba?" Sheeba put in, giving her a hard look. "It's quater past two a.m. and you wake me up only to talk about 'him' again?

Deeba said nothing but just chewed her lower lip. Sheeba saw there were tears in her eyes. Her expression softened as she saw her beloved sister's helpless face. It was true that she really loved her elder sister and she could do anything to make her happy but at the same time Deeba's emotional and somewhat 'childish' attitude was something she did not like much.

"Look Deeba," She began. "I know you really want to meet him and want to know more about him. But it's not that simple and easy. He's not an ordinary person. Plus, we really don't know him as a person.

"But he gave us his phone number." Deeba said eagerly.

"Okay, with which reference you'd want to meet him?"

"I'd say; I'm your greatest fan." Deeba suggested.

Sheeba laughed. "That would be the cheapest excuse to meet him. I'm sure he must be getting such calls day and night, and surely, he's not going to meet every fan of his."

"Then?"

"Let me think," Sheeba said thoughtfully, sleep miles away from her eyes now. "The question is that how will you meet him? I mean he's so busy. You don't find him here and there every day."

"That's why I disturbed your sleep and I'm sorry for that but I think you're the only one who can give me some solution for this problem." Deeba said with pure hope in her eyes.

Sheeba just stared at her face then lowered her head, combing her fingers through her shoulder-lenght hair.

"Well, I've got an idea." She said meaningfully.

"Really? What's that?" Deeba yelled in excitement.

"Please, keep your voice down. Don't disturb mom and dad's sleep now."

"Tell me about your idea." Deeba's voice became a mere whisper now.

"Just wait and see." Sheeba told her mysteriously, her eyes twinkling with naughty luster. I'd tell you in the morning. Now don't worry and let's see if all the things go in our favour."

"Are you sure it will work?"

"Not sure, but it's a pretty good one. I hope it should, and pray that it will." Smiling one last time, Sheeba went back to her bed.

Deeba breathed a sigh of relief and closed her eyes.

"You know Sheeba, you're mother of all "ideals" Deeba giggled weakly, but unexpectly she heard Sheeba's voice from the other side of the dark room.

"And after all, you're mother of all 'ideals'."

harlos: Hmmm... *smile*


well done

Thank you

Nice.....kip it up

As his name was announced Sheeba released her breath, which she had held for so long but at the same time her sister forgot to respire. With ten thousand poeple and twenty thousand clapping hands, he emerged from somwhere. To many it all looked like a dream, as at first, no one was able to see from where he was rising or where he really was but suddenly, he was on stage in a flash, in seconds, swiftly and quickly.

"Oh my God, I can't believe it's him." Deeba could just say two words.

"He doesn't look like a poet at all, although he is someone we can become poets for." A middle-aged woman said, totally stunned.

"He looks like some model or some movie star." Another girl gasped.

"So, how's my suprise?" Sheeba asked proudly. "He's really something, isn't he?"

Deeba had formed picture of him in her mind: a dry looking, over-mature, bookworm kind of guy. But ahead of her was no such man.

Not very tall, but above-average in height, this strongly built man in his late twenties, with his dark black hair and piercing jet eyes, was far above the image she had formed of him earlier. She had seen many good-looking men, but never one quite so handsome and charismatic.

His built was impressive, his white Pakistani shilwar suit looked perfect on him. His styled, shiny black hair fit nicely into his boyish charm......smooth, acne free face. His eyes were mesmerizing, his mouth tempting. He wore thin, fine, neatly framed glasses, which looked very suitable in his face giving him a sober, intellectual touch.

"What a sweet guy." A mature lady in her early thirties exclaimed with interest.

"He is revolutionary." A middle-aged man said, stunned.

In a hushed voice, one woman said "How handsome."

In an equally hushed voice, the other agreed, adding, "And how graceful."

Getting into the middle of the huge stage, he took the mic in his hand and took a few breaths before the first few words came out of his mouth.

Finally, after few seconds, which seemed like hours, his lips trembled and so dis many of the hearts there. "Thanks so much for your applause, and your appreciation." His voice was manly and masculine, his accent traditional and his tone smooth.

"I want to let you know that I don't deserve all this attention and love. I'm very much sinner and lost-in-my-own-self kind of man." He said in a deep, heavy voice.

"What's he saying?" A girl asked, confused.

"That's how he is." Her companion replied.

"I'm sorry if you are not much pleased with what I'd say but it's true that I live in my own world. A world I never want to climb out of. I have my own laws, rules and principles for myself and I don't care what others would say or think of me." His voice was even, very impressuve and effective at the same time.

"You may call me proud, you can say I'm rude, arrogant or whatever but it's true that, that's how I want to live and that's what I am. I won't take much of your expensive tine. So here is something, which I wrote recently. My promise, which I'm very much, obliged to fulfill. My latest poem..... The title is "My Ideal woman."

He stopped for what seemed like an endless moment. He put a detailed stare at the massive audience all around him. There was a complete pin drop silence everywhere. Eyes were fully open; mouths completely closed, hearts beating in suspense, minds racing with anticipation.

Down to earth but is like sky

With a powerfuk sound system and echo equipment, his voice felt miraculous to everyone sitting there.

Down to eart but is like sky

He repeated the first sentence of his poem, creating a delicate yet intense effect of thrill and suspense.

That wax-soft girl is rock-like

His voice becamd a mere whisper as he completed he first stanza. With that, it felt like the place and event reached its climax. The ear-bursting and heart-shattering sounds of clapping, whistles and admiration didn't give much chance to Deeba to exclaim the big 'wow' she wanted to convey to him.

Countless camera flashes and sparkling lights were on him as he read. No doubg, at the moment, he was the center of all the attention and every attraction.

Hidden within my heart for so long
She is like a host in my heart

As he read in his wonderful voice, it seemed like everyone there had turned to stone, frozeb at the place.

For many, nothing existed in this world but his impressuve, attractive voice. For them, nothing else mattered at the moment but this man who was reading his poem so sensationally.

In the journey, step by step along with me
She is like a milestone towards the destinations

In the hot, thorny journey of my life
She is like shelter beneath the sunny sky

My hope is weak as a drowning boat in the sea
The presence of her being is like sail

Whenever hardships make me frustrated
Just one glance of hers make me content

Though she's in front of me, breathing and alive
Still it feels like she's a mirage

Throwing one last glance at the audiences, he finished his poem and slowly, left his place.

It took some moments for thousands of audiences to realize that he had finished reading, as they were still lost in trance of his voice and mesmerizing beauty of his words.

And then, they clapped their greetings and admiration in the most powerful way.

As expected, his most recent poem had become a 'block buster.'

As soon as he got off the stage, press photographers and journalists raced behind him, each trying his best to catch him before anyone else could.

"Mr. Aariz Ali, no doubt you're the most favorite poet of young generation at present. How do you feel about it?" A lady reporter asked quickly and desperately.

"A bilingual poet, we never saw anyone who can create such wonderful poetry both in Urdu and English. Where did you learn it from?" Another press reporter pushed the other to ask his question.

Ignoring all the lights and voices, he left them behind, never paying attention to anyone.

He was almost about to open the door of his car when something happened.

"Mr. Aariz, just a minute." Came a distant feminine call.

There was something particular in this sound that made him stop his feet.

He turned and saw two young girls walking towards him with quick steps.

When they reached him, he saw that one of them was panting heavily.

"I am Deeba. Deeba Rizvi. This is my sister, Sheeba" One of them introduced, she looked older of the two.

Aariz looked from one to the other.

This teenage girl had a round face, black eyes and straight braid that hung over her shoulder, almost to her waist.

He just raised his head a little. She saw the corners of his lips spread slightly, like not giving permission to his lips to open in a complete smile.

His large, black eyes peered at the sisters through neat and well-finished wire-rimmed glasses perched on the middle of what could be called as a perfect male nose.

They couldn't say a word, mouth agape; Deeba stared at him with fascination.

"Ummm?" He moved his head questioningly.

"It's been so nice meeting you and listening to you." She said with a tiny, wistful sigh, like she was still in a trance.

"Precious ladies," He said with a sober smile, adding kindly, "the pleasure is all mine. Is there anything I can do for you girls?"

"So much!" Deeba said. Words left her mouth automatically. "Well....I mean, I have to ask so much!"

"I'm afraid, I don't have much time right now."

"Sir please, can't you give us few minutes? We really need to talk to you." Deeba asked with hopeful anticipation.

"Mr. Aariz, the thing is that my sister is really crazy about you, and believe me she thinks of nothing but you, day and night.

Shocked, pale, confused and annoyed at the embarrassing position Sheeba had put her in, Deeba glared at her just long enough to let her know that she'd deal with her once they are alone.

He wanted to refuse, he wished to ignore, but therr was something in the eyes of this innocent-looking girl, which made him think twice before answering her.

"Alright, you may have my contact number. I'd see if I can talk to you on the phone." He brought a fountain pen out of his pocket and wrote his phone number on a small piece of paper. "Call me between nine and ten a.m. weekdays.

"Thank you so much sir, we're really thankful for that." Deeba said with sheer joy and thankfulness. "And do remember us in your prayers," She said formally.

"I'm sorry, that I cannot do." He said without any expression, his words suprised both sisters.

"As my prayers are never answered." He smiled one last time and turned back to have his way.

"So, excited?" Sheeba shifted her car into reverse gear.

"Obviously, and not just me, I guess there will be thousands of other poeple out there who must be as excited as I'm." Deeba saw her own image in the small mirror present in her makup kit, giving a final shade of maroon lipstick to her already pink lips.

"I know that girls must be calling him day and night." Sheeba said with disinterest. "But know what.....I think he's nothing. He just poses and that's all."

But Deeba didn't pay much attention to her last comment; perhaps she was too busy in giving final touches to her makeup.

"There're rumors about him. Some say he's a play boy. Some say he has a dark part. Many think he's a womanizer." Sheeba commented with much interest.

"I don't agree."

Sheeba grinned, and looked at her sister sitting on the passenger seat beside her but said nothing.

"As far as I have observed him, he looks like a dry lost-in-himself man." Turning the steering wheel to the left, Sheeba made a big bubble of the chewing gum she was continously chewing for the last half an hour.

"For God sake Sheeba. Would you stop babbling?" Deeba joined her hands in front of her sister in an ancient gesture of asking for forgiveness.

"Nobody has actually explored him. No body knows him." Deeba added thickly. " What he really is, only I can tell". She closed her eyes.

"I think you're just euphoric about him and that's all." Sheeba made a bad mouth. "I have heard a lot about him, especially from the female gender." She winked naughtily.

"Oh really? Like what?" Deeba gave her a challenging look.

"He's psycho" She smiled.

He's weird." She giggled.

"He's ice. Solid and cold." She laughed.

"Aha. What else have you heard about him?" Deeba turned her face away to look at the row of palm trees that grew along the narrow service road.

"A lot." Sheeba increased the speed of her car. "You'll find out soon."

Deeba took a short breath and took her hairbrush out of her purse.

"When did you last attend a poetry gathering?" Sheeba inquired.

"Umm, I guess it's been more than two years." Deeba combed finely through her black hair.

"I see." Sheeba put the car on the ling, smooth road. "By the way, don't you think these poetry gatherings are getting fairly common nowadays in Pakistan?"

"Yes, and some of these poetry functions are fairly big and thousands of poeple gather to attend such meetings from all around Pakistan to enjoy and have appropriate fun. But that's something positive and healthy." Deeba told her thoughtfully. "Atleast I'd personally prefer going to such poetry contests instead of attending some musical concert" She added.

"I love concerts. I love music. It's my soul, my life." Sheeba said aloud, smiling.

"Come on Sheeba! What else is there expect some cheap hooting, vulgar comments, out of control dance and stuff?" Deeba questioned.

It's our age and time to enjoy Deeba. Don't you see how much frustrated, materialistic and mechanical our lives have become? And yet you don't want to give us some right to enjoy and have fun?" Sheeba asked emotionally, glancing over to the passenger side where Deeba sat.

"I feel sorry for those who think that 'this' is the way to have fun and enjoy." Deeba shook her head in disbelief.

"Everyone has his own views and preferences." Sheeba said in a way like she didn't want to continue her talk on the topic.

Getting her message, Deeba didn't say anything then. They finished the rest of their journey in complete silence.

As they reached the main event area, Sheeba slowed the car to search for a parking space. There were literally hundred of cara. Easing the car into a suitable place, she brought the vehicle to stop.

The place had already been filled with a lot of public; majority of them was, ofcourse, female. Families, married ladies, young teenage girls, everyone was there.

The place presented an excellent view of some huge, big festival. Colorful cloths, royal curtains, thick printed red carpets on the floor, all presented an ideal, fantastic look for such a traditional gathering.

Even the cutlery and the sittings were purely eastern. Big traditional Indian pillows were neatly placed on the floor for the poeple to tap their backs. Fine crystal chandeliers, shiny lamps and colorful bulbs were throwing light on every part of the place.

By the time both sisters entered the main event, the function was about to start. The surroundings around the big, high stage were fully loaded with thousands of poeple, including students of various universities and colleges, press photographers, and important government officials were also there, waiting anxiously for this awaited and interesting poetry function to begin. Every seat was occupied, and even the galleries and concrete boders were jammed with chattering youths, their spirits lifted by the thought of upcoming, thrilling event.

And then, the function began. Poets and poetesses began to come on stage one by one. Some were getting more than they expected and some were facing intense hooting from the massive audience. In between the loud noise of whistles, clapping, hooting and applause, everyone was enjoying the gathering to its fullest. And then, after a couple of hours, the final moment came, one for which everyone had waited so long.

The anchor came on the stage for one last time, holding the wireless mic in his right hand.

"And now" His voice echoed loudly through the surroundings. "The moment for which all of us have been waiting so anxiously. I'd now like to invite a young poet, who has been unique in all aspects. Whether it's poetry, or personality or nature or manners, he has been different. Within a short period of just two years, he has given us some real poetry masterpieces to enjoy. Poeple say he rules on the heart of Pakistani youth but I'd say that he's not limited. Too bad he doesn't come in front too much but the wonderful thing is that each of us know him. We've read him, we've heard him but not many of us have seen him. Well, here's the chance for those who wanted to see and meet him." At this sentence, he paused to take a short breath and to look at the curious, thrilled poeple all around him.

"And last but not the least, your favorite poet has promised to read his latest poem to you." Anchor announced excitedly, his own voice shaking with anticipation and emotion.

"Ladies and gentlemen please welcome, the one and only, AARIZ ALI."

Sorry guys I couldn't update yesterday. So, I'm gonna make two updates today. Thnx for reading