First Gift

Amaan glared at the girl with the glasses.

He couldn’t help but feel disgusted looking at her bride’s attire. He was never the one to judge people or even mock them, but seeing her as his wife made him want to murder her in that instance. The entire evening he didn’t even know how he had been holding himself. If not for his mother’s disapproval stare or his brothers guarding him on their father’s insistence, he wouldn’t have stayed back till the priest started the wedding supplications.

His throat clogged, and he had to force out the words, I do, when he was asked.

Rejecting the vows was on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to leave the woman and humiliate her in front of hers and his family. Let her suffer through misery at his rejection, yet he ended up saying yes to the vows. He was still consoling his scarred soul after leaving the wedding venue when he received a call from his father. 

He felt like the universe was against him and was mocking him for his helplessness. He was still furious, thinking about how he became a puppet with indignation inside him shimmering at each passing second. Hatred he had never felt before seeped through his veins, realizing he was being compelled to do things he would never even do in his nightmare.

And all because of the woman standing before him, his now wife. 

As if she hadn’t tainted his peace already, she was about to spoil his best memories with her touch. He couldn’t stop the wedding, but he would be damned if he let her taint the memoir of the beautiful woman he still loves. Amaan strode towards her and grabbed her hand. Already expecting worse from her, he was ready to tackle her sly attempts but instead, her silence made his mouth shut. Her face contorted in pain, yet she didn’t dare to voice it. 

How can once a charismatic man with the happiest smile turn cold-hearted? No one could believe the man in the picture looking with so much adoration be the same one bruising the wrist of his new bride. His face was marred with no emotions, and his eyes were void of light. 

A whimper escaped Asmaira’s lips which she muffled with her palm when Amaan, in his emotion, didn’t notice how much his grip was hurting her wrist. One look at his bloodshed eyes, and she shoved down any sound from her throat. She had always been a timid girl with a reserved personality, yet she couldn’t stop herself from hating the man standing before her. However, that doesn’t miraculously change her demeanor or character. 

Call it irony, but Asmaira feared the man she hated from her core. If not for their history, Asmaira knew Amaan would surely hate her for the forceful marriage. And that made her even more fearful of her husband bruising her wrist just for touching a picture in the room. Was she regretting the marriage? No.

She knew the journey wouldn't be easy for her but what she didnt know was the extent her husband would go to in his hatred for her. Being the frog in the well, living her life in her home’s comfort, Asmaira was yet to face the world’s brutality. She had always been the apple of the eye in her family, and even when a situation arose, she would run up to the only person who would always protect her. 

Asmaira being the innocent soul, couldn’t fathom what was about to befall her and was unaware of the storm named Amaan that would soon wreck her life. 

People say love bound two souls in a marriage, but in their case, it was hatred. Destiny played its game, and now they have joined in matrimony that neither of them was willing to acknowledge.  

A thick tension enveloped the couple at their first meeting. Not even a minute passed with them in the same room; however, the air surrounding them felt gloomy and heavy. No one could believe how people ended up hating each other despite any knowledge of each other.

Asmaira mustered all her courage to not lose her consciousness. She was meant to meet the devil since it was his room that she was standing in and in which she was supposed to stay for her life. Sooner or later, she had to endure his glare that promised her death if provoked. 

Lowering her eyes, she tried wriggling her wrist to loosen the hold, only for Amaan to tighten it. She gasped at his brutal force, but that didnt have an ounce of effect on him. Her futile attempt shattered whatever courage she could conjure, and soon her body shivered with fear. Her mind popped with horrid images and ideas of how he would break her wrist or hurt her in the coming days. Her breathing turned heavy, assuming everything worse that Amaan could do and nobody would come to save her. 

While she was still dazed, he jerked her hand off, making her glasses slide down her nose with the sudden action. Wiping his hand over the side of his slack in disgust, he turned around. Asmaira’s eyes burned with the humiliation at the hand of her husband. The way his eyes held contempt for her, she wanted to dig a hole and bury herself. 

‘She is a snake which acts innocent, but deep down, when the moment comes, she won’t hesitate to bite the very people who care about her,’ Amaan thought, recollecting the past. 

If it was in his control, he would instead have spent his time anywhere than with Asmaira. He didn’t even want to breathe the same air she was; her presence was a painful reminder that she won, and he lost. Amaan Hashmi, a self-made millionaire, was compelled by a plain girl, and he couldn’t even do anything about it. 

More than her, he was upset with himself. He was confident Asmaira would reject the marriage proposal but what he didn’t expect was to hear her consent. His mind couldn’t fathom how she could agree to the marriage with everything that had passed between them in the past. That was the first blow to him that broke his assertiveness.

Why? 

His mind could only come up with the theory that Asmaira was not what she pretended to be. Beneath that shy, plain girl lies a vicious woman who wants money and power. She was indeed jealous of ‘her’ and wanted to take her place. 

Whenever that thought hit him, he felt the urge to strangle Asmaira to death. The reason he hasn't implemented his whims was that Asmaira had been important to ‘her’ life. That woman! That meant the world to Amaan.

The moment Amaan let go of Asmaira’s hand, she moved to the farthest corner of the room, making herself as invisible as possible. Her heart pounded so fast she felt it would just come out of her throat at any moment. She thought she was brave enough to face her destiny, but something inside her warned her that she should camouflage herself. She was timid but not stupid. She knew when to choose her battles. Rather than locking horns with her enraged husband, who looked ready to ravage anything in his way, she cowered in the corner.

On the other hand, many emotions and thoughts ran into Amaan’s mind. The rage he felt when he saw Asmaira touching ‘her’ picture was indescribable. The same Asmaira who wished for her death when ‘she’ needed her the most. Even after doing that, She dared to marry him and try to take ‘her’ place in his home and life, which he would never let her accomplish. He will make sure she will live a life worse than hell. This was something he promised himself while signing the marriage certificate, and Amaan Hashmi was always known to keep his promises.

Oblivious to his sinister plans for her, Asmaira stood in the corner, clutching her wedding dress. Instigated by his inner rage, Amaan was on the edge of losing his rein and killed his wife on the first night. To distract himself, he opened his closet to change, only to freeze one moment and, in another, get enraged with ferocity. What used to hold her clothing, expensive collection of handbags and watches—which she was passionate about— were replaced by Asmaira’s belonging. 

This was the last straw to his toleration. First, Asmaira married him, occupied ‘her’ place in his room, and now this. He lost self-control and started throwing Asmaira’s things like a madman. One after the other, all her belongings shattered on the floor, yet Asmaira didn’t interrupt.

However, when Amaan grabbed her diary, hidden underneath her clothes, all the color from her face drained. One glance at it, everything she had worked for will be ruined. The reason why she chose to marry him despite knowing he would not let her live in peace. It held every demon and weakness of hers that he could use to sabotage her every effort. Without giving a second thought, she ran and grabbed his arm to retrieve the diary. 

Unaware of what her innocent action did, Asmaira didn't notice Amaan halting in his action upon her touch. A low snarl grabbed her attention, and that’s when she realized her mistake; however, it was too late. One moment she was standing holding his hand, and the next, she was shoved into the adjacent closet door. She winces when her back hits the hard material. 

Her glasses slid off her nose and fell to the ground. But that was her least concern when she had more pressing issues like Amaan’s raised arm in the air. She gaped, expecting him to hit her. The fear at that point was so profound that she froze with her eyes wide open. However, a shudder exhale left her parted lips when his punch landed just beside her face. 

Tears she had been holding up trailed one after the other, followed by her hiccups. Amaan closed his eyes and clenched his jaw when a memory flashed on hearing Asmaira’s hiccup.

“I find it cute when Asmaira hiccups if scared.”

It was one of their initial dates that she spoke fondly of Asmaira, much to Amaan’s annoyance. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, earning a giggle from her.

Distressed by her memory, Amaan steps away from trembling Asmaira, who runs out, not knowing where she is going. There was no way she could spend even a single second with that man. She got lucky once but didn't want to test her luck by parading before the man who could hurt her in a blink. 

Lost in dread, when she stopped, she realized she had come to a terrace-like balcony attached to the room. Regarding it as her momentary safe place, she spotted a corner and slid down. She smiled bitterly with uncontrollable tears, thinking about how women talked about the first gift they received from their husbands. She was so lucky that the gift she got was almost punch. Perhaps it was her luck or her husband’s last-minute change of heart that he didn't hurt her, but that night was deeply engraved in her mind.

She closed her eyes, picturing her savior. “Please help me. I need you now more than ever”. She can’t help but cry out.

What neither of them noticed was the cause of their first silent altercation—the diary—was tossed straight below the dresser out of anybody’s sight.