Haveli: Chapter One and Two

By Fatima Hussein

I am rich. Really rich, got ten mansions, each filled with cars chocolates flowers. I am literally omniscient. Do not be scared, I am not that shallow, well, maybe a little. I have my beautiful wife to testify against that, would not you? 

I pulled her closer, she knew she belonged to me, she loved me, she would never fall for anyone else, she would not dare, would you darling? 

She is a dancer, a high-end one, that is how she started, I never stopped her, it is what she loves, besides me, she is quite a graceful dancer, my wife, she moves like she is floating through time drowned in water, sometimes I think she actually is 

and she might just be. 

She is quite grateful, I taught her, a North Indian native, English, I taught her to say yes in three languages in three days. Helped her through dark times, I paid for everything, I spoiled her, I protected her from men all of them, but I never let her sense that, not even with her amazing sixth sense, but she could smell it, I being the amazing husband I am, I distracted her with goodnight kisses, not much, but enough to turn her attention to globe amaranths, there there now do not go falling in love with me, I am taken, even if I was not I would not be interested, I would not be into anyone else anyway, I am a Leo. 

Enter Mike, I hate that man, I am gritting my teeth, right now, you should see me, anyhow, I did not know then what he would 

turn out to be. 

I think he noticed her beauty, that is only mine to see, but I allowed him, he was paying quite a fortune for his work to be marketed. Now where were we? Ah, her beauty, how could I forget? That clean porcelain skin, her freshly scented wrists, her lexicon, that she learned from me, but beautified with her accent, her love for justice, how she argued with me for hours, quoting laws, her voice, smooth as silk and to be less cliché, because I am not lazy, is made up of colorful vocal strings, you can play like you would a harp, so beautiful, my wife. 

Aurora, hi. He kissed the back of her hand, French style, that rat. Actually scratch what I said he did not just notice her beauty, he worshiped it, he made art with it, bad art, 

but still art, my wife smiled politely, but I knew she was rolling her eyes internally at his eagerness, little did I know she was actually charmed by this, this idiot? 

The idiot got to see my wife perform, in her golden embroidered twenty lakh rupees anarkali. He was delighted, the idiot, which is an understatement, he probably cried himself to sleep, anyhow I slept in peace knowing he would only do it away from her. She would be turned off if she knew anyway, little did I know and there we go again, she thought his sensitivity was confidence. I love my wife, but she can be a little stupid sometimes. 

They say ignorance is a bliss, man I wish, the mystery was killing me, what I did not know was hurting me, because what I did not know I imagined and I was spot on. My 

wife loved that man. He was similar to me, after all, cocky, creative, humble, complicated and in love with her. 

He wanted to talk to her and he did for hours, she told him everything apparently, he was not a stranger anymore, to her. I was erupting for her and she? She was melting for him. Melting. 

When I found out I almost killed him with my rifle. She convinced me not to. She propositioned he leave Delhi while she makes me more money with her dancing, work extra hours, recruit other dancers. Who am I to say no to my wife? Who I was more angry at, I almost killed her with him. 

How dare you? How dare you come back? Oh, she was angry, when the apple of her eye came back for her secretly, but and 

wait for it, she pulls him closer by the shirt, how dare you not come back sooner? I hate you. Tears ran down her eyes. 

They ran. They actually ran, even after the danger they both were in. Well, it was years later, when the sky was more blue and I was starting to fall more for my beautiful wife, but I did not forget. 

I caught them, on camera, those idiots forgot, I own the ground they walk on, but they actually did not care, which is why the time was perfect for a little Russian roulette. He was making her laugh, my wife? She never laughed with me? 

Do not you dare look at him. You want to play you do it with me. My beautiful wife, grew teeth, I bet they would sound painful scratching glass, you were never 

omniscient. You are just a tool, she gritted with her gun pointed at me, hands shaking. Leave and never come back. We do not have time for your funny games. 

I am quite impressed I must say. 

You are beautiful, I just knew what he breathed as I left, that duffer, I was almost disappointed. 

And they lived happily ever after... 

Yeah. As. If. You forgot some villains are meant to have the last laugh, they are meant to richly laugh while they blow their wives and her male mistress's heads off. 

I gave them time, sweet time in their home sweet home, but when the time came, I, I went not with weapons but with 

everything, everything she loved. 

I drove my Bugatti at the parking of their embarrassingly small and cozy apartment. The bonnet, actually I meant trunk, but bonnet sounds better, anyhow, it was filled, with a few of her favorite things, her books, love letters she wrote for me before her 

vows, not knowing they are going to come in handy, her favorite chocolates, in my hand a bouquet that said screw the past. 

Too much, no? Well, I do not care what you think. 

She touched my face, she actually touched my face, as I was on my knees, I knew she had a soft spot for me, she actually did, never mind what she says next, I do not love you, she was not being cruel, evident in the tear on her cheek, just honest. 

So, he is your husband now? I asked shooting daggers, no no, it was right the tip of the dagger pierced deeply in the 

black of his eyes. In spirit yes, she smiled, holding his hand, that idiot, you could have just said he actually was, just lie, I thought, but as big of a liar as she was, she was proud of this idiot. 

Begrudgingly, I took a hint. Wrote poetry about it. A changed man. A distant but desired man. The ladies loved me. She did 

not care. There was a time she would have been jealous, even in pretense. She would have done it for me. 

She was happy. Actually happy. Finally. It just was not with me. 

I give up, she gave up, she told Mike, forgot 

that was his actual name, came back to me, my wife came back to me, with another of her deals, you might have me, but it is his name on my lips, she was cold, pulling away the second I tried to hug her. 

It was like this every day, Mike this, Mike that, she laughed remembering him, that man, other days, she cried remembering him, she kept her promise still, his name, I did not doubt it, she might be a liar, but one with the word of a man. 

It was my turn to get exhausted, get lost, I told her packing her stuff, do not contact me, do not look for me, do not even think about me just, just be happy okay? She moved closer, to hug me, I resisted at first, pride eating at me, then melted, whose pride, I thought, she literally started jumping? I laughed despite myself, then 

pushed her, not violently, for the first time, she might have thought it, among other things she thought it about. I pushed her towards him. 

She left. 

But then ran back. 

To me. 

To give me a kiss on the cheek? That is it. 

Leave before I never let go of you, we do not have to stay married either. Yeah and Aurora? Say hi to him from me. 

Haveli: Chapter Two, Throw Me Away 

He died, my soul died. 

He fell off a balcony, I did not scream, did not cry, I could not, I, I gripped the edge, I promised him I would not grieve, I would celebrate him, us, cliché, but that is us, 

gross. 

Then there was him, sighs, I did not have time for drama, I am sure he is a changed man, but still. 

Come, he texted me one morning. 

Never mind. 

I went to his hotel in Dubai it was more like one of his mansions. I went in, smelling the opium. He was sitting there in his suit and bowtie, looking good, yes he is still good-looking to me. 

Why? 

I needed to see you, check on you, he touched my face with grace he never quite showed me before. 

I melted, I am okay, I sighed, he did not believe it. 

Prove it, and I kissed him on the cheek. 

I broke down. 

Why did you do this to me Mike? Why? How am I going to survive this grave? 

Shh that is why I called you. 

Somehow he was the only with the power to get the truth out, he was my husband after all, not in spirit though, never in spirit. 

He had enough of my grief and in a jealous fit, he built me a time machine? 

A time machine? 

Take it, he threw the vintage heart- medalled keys at me. 

I grabbed them swiftly, his aim was still perfect so was I at receiving. 

But I did not want it, not the key, not the machine, not even him but did I need them? Yes, but was I going to be weak and heartless? No. 

I do not want this, I scoffed. 

What do you mean? He looked baffled. 

I am sorry, I cried, and thank you thank you so much, I hugged him, but I already died a hundred times I do not think I can handle dying for real in front of him like he did me. 

I pulled away, pulled a bat and destroyed it 

away. 

How could you do that? Do not you think he would have taken the time machine a thousand times if anything as much as hurt you? 

I know, a tear fell down. 

Finally.

By Fatima Hussein