Sadqay Tumhare

12.

Aaina.

I let out a nervous breath of air, straightening down the front of my shirt and tightening the shawl around my shoulder.

December in Islamabad was colder than usual this year.

I stood by my husband's side, looking at the decorations and tiny bit of details that captured my attention.

It was a Christmas party, for the Christian workers in the government, for the minorities.

Zaydaan had been the one to throw it, which meant that I had been standing by his side for the past four hours in this huge hall.

Even though the Prime Minister House usually hosted such parties, Zaydaan had booked serena for the event. Something about security issues.

Meeting up with people of his party and seeing the way they talked with him, with so much respect and admiration, it warmed my heart.

But at the same time, it worried me. Because they admired Zaydaan but they worshipped his father.

How would they feel upon knowing that the Prime Minister was going to pass on the chairmanship to his son so early?

I had been careful with my words the whole night, and my husband had been in a great mood too.

Infact, he was in a way too good mood. The kind where he would put his hand around my waist, talk to me in front of his people with warmth in his eyes, tell them stories about me and make me join in on every conversation.

I hadn't felt this light hearted since our wedding day, as I did today.

It felt like we were a normal couple, doing normal things. Which wasn't true at all but it still made me feel satisfied in a way.

As Zaydaan announced that he was leaving, his party workers gathered around him and I stood at a side for a while.

I saw the way he connected with them, and the way they connected with him too.

As if he was some sort of Prince.

And among the whole crowd, his eyes found mine and he gave me the softest of smiles.

And I melted right there.

I could spend my whole life smiling at him with all that I had inside of me, if this was the real Zaydaan.