His Captive

His Captive

by MissReadingFaye

Prologue

Lightning bolts rippled across the night sky in succession, the roar of thunder thrashed on a loop along the grey plumes of thick grey clouds and with careful measured footsteps, he walked towards her room, his captive for the past six months, his hands fisted painfully into balls either side of his body, his heart heavy with thoughts and feelings foreign to his innate self-discipline, - feelings for her, feelings he had repressed for as long as he could remember, feelings that he desperately wished he could shun away. But it did not matter now. None of it mattered now as he treaded forward reluctantly, his footsteps loud in the otherwise quite villa, and eyes pierced into him from all sides as his friends, his family watched him walk, a man on a mission towards her room. His heartbeat grew louder with each step, as did the sound of the old clock ticking away miserably in the hall way, a constant reminder of his impending loss to fate and the thought of a life sentence of unquenched longing. Alas he found himself at the threshold of her room, his hands violently clutched the door knob, his knuckles paled - unwilling to let go. Turning back now was out of the question and he could not muster the strength to pry his hand away from the door knob. Defeated, he rested his forehead against the door, his brows knotted in sheer agony.

Slowly, he turned the silver knob of her room door, his knuckles cracked as he worked the stiffness out of his hands. The door creaked open and he walked in, eyes accustoming to the room shrouded in darkness, the dim light from the floor lamp guided him until his eyes landed on her. There she was, curled up and sat on the edge of the lounge chair, her head buried in her arms. She raised her head sluggishly; her eyes red and blotched from crying, yet her big brown eyes still gleamed with hope. Hope that dreadful emotion, but there was no hope. Her eyes followed him as he walked into the room, his arms like stone either side of him, hands balled into fists, his brown eyes unaffected met her gaze steadily and he came to a halt a few feet in front of her. Nothing betrayed his emotions; he wore his impassive mask tonight as he did many times before her.

“You’re free to go,” his voice was slow, each word spoken measurably. She jumped to her feet, her heart thumped with effort against her ribcage, unsure if she heard him correctly, unsure if she heard him at all. Her eyes met his, trying to understand what he just said. He swallowed the pain that formed as a lump in his throat, the only sign that told her he felt something. She backpedalled, her feet faltered on the trim of the worn taupe rug, her eyes fixed on his lips trying to decipher what he was saying.

“Your items will be sent with the driver. Ayaan will be there so you won’t be alone in a new house. Your fa-father is outside ... in his car waiting for you,” he spoke in a whisper, each syllable strained, his voice uncertain, and his eyes were on her but not quite there.

She thought she was looking at him but all she saw was flashing images of the dark night he brought her here. She thought she heard him, but all she could hear was the pitter-patter of the rain outside. She could she his lips move as he spoke, but all she perceived was her inner voice, weak, tired and quiet compared to the thunder rolling across the night sky.  Home? – her inner voice whispered to herself, dazed, confused.

Ayaan strode into the room and wrapped his arm around her waist and began steering her out of the room, his face plastered with concern as he looked at her. Her eyes gleamed of hope but the rest of her quivered with uncertainty as she was pulled past her captor. Her eyes lingered on him (captor) as she was pulled out of the room by Ayaan; voices sounded in the hallway bidding her farewell, her footsteps on the white marble floor seethed half-heartedly filling her ears with white noise and her breath hitched as she neared the front door where a smooth black Alfa Romeo awaited her. She glanced over her shoulder at her captor, he stood still as a statue at the threshold of her former room, hands clutched firmly behind his back shaking, his face turned to see her one last time. He stood there frozen; his eyes met hers with an expression she had never seen him wear before. He held her gaze firmly with an intensity that took her breath away. Ayaan aided her as she slid into the black Alfa Romeo, her hands gripped the shiny door until her knuckles paled, her head held high, she avoided everyone’s gaze as she looked straight at him, tears streamed down her face before she finally entered the car and turned her haze away, rolling the window up separating her from him forever.

The car engine revved as it began to move away and accelerate down the long driveway. The thunder rolled across the sky and the sound of the rain on the windscreen drowned out her sobbing, her eyes blotched peered out the wide side window and took a longing look of the mansion which was her home for six months. A gentle pat on her back broke her mulling and she turned around to face her father, the father she had travelled miles in search of, yet she could not comprehend the emptiness she felt inside. “Everything is going to be ok. We’re safe now. We’re going home,” Ghafur Siddiqui her father spoke consolingly as he wiped her tears away. “H-home?” is all she managed to say, her voice broken, as the word itself lost meaning.

The night seemed to be getting darker, the grey sky above confining as the black Alfa Romeo exited the mile long driveway onto the tarmac of the country road heading towards the East highway. Steeling a final glance of the mansion now shrouded by the many tall oak and birch trees, her heart fell; tears pricked the corner of her eyes and soon she felt an all-consuming yearning to be back within the confines of the large mansion, his house, imprisoned in his warm embrace – for her the six months captivity had become the home she had longed for. The trees became dense as they entered the highway and the mansion was now lost to the darkness of the night.

He stood still at the threshold of his mansion, his eyes glazed; he looked straight ahead, his gaze unwavering, his hands tightly clutched behind his back.  He set her free. But he wasn’t happy. He set her free, she was ransom in exchange for a life he valued dearly, but something didn’t feel right. She just walked out, without a word, without struggle. A gusty wind swept across the lawn, his hair became dishevelled as he contemplated the last six months. No he would not go back for her, she was nothing but his captive until the time was right.

“Asad – why did you let her go?” the concerned voice of his dear mother Dilshaad broke his reverie.

His face paled, his eyes loss any signs of humanity, his knuckles went instantly white as his hands clutched together firmly behind his back as he tried to control his shaking form. His impassive mask was back on. “What makes you think I would ever stop her?” Asad spoke stiffly, averting his gaze as he made way his towards his room. His mother dived and caught his wrist, making him turn abruptly, his shiny black designer brogues squealed on the white marble floor.

“Things have changed Asad and don’t tell me that I’m wrong,” Dilshaad whispered, her eyes scanned his face for clarity.

Asad’s eyes softened for a moment seeing his mother’s concern but soon, his eyes blazed with anger and disappointment, his mouth opened and closed to say something but he felt his lungs constrict and in need of air. He tore his wrist away from his mother’s clutch and turned his gaze away defiantly. “Nothing’s changed,” he gritted the words through his teeth. Yet he knew things had changed, there was a huge cavernous cut in his heart and he lingered on that feeling of despair trying to figure out why. He turned his back and walked across the dark hallway towards the stairs until he found himself in the confines of his room.  His silence had answered the question his heart posed – Zoya. Images of her the first time he laid eyes on her, her innocent eyes, her black velvet gold trim shawl gracefully falling from her head, her quivering body as she ran in fear that night reeled on a loop in his mind. 

End of prologue

© Fatima B Lunat 2016