CHAPTER: 7 | THE OTHMANS (PART-1)

                                    

                                          
In a state of serenity; when the band of glowy beams of sunrays was cascading down on the marble floor, illumining the bedroom and while the morning zephyr played with the curtains, swaying the fabric to its rhythm, she sat on a stool in front of a blank canvas.
The colours; untouched, the water in the ceramic bowl; clear and the brushes on the stand; dry. 
“What do you think of it?" Mused Laiba, out loud with the tip of the brush on her chin and her head tilted to the side.
"Of what?" Sarah lowered her book and looked back and forth between her best friend and the canvas, "Blank canvas?"
"Yes. What does it mean to you?" She rephrased her question.
"There's nothing?" She raised a brow, perplexed. 
"No." She placed the brush back on the stand with a sigh, "There are two ways to look at it." She faced her, "For some, a blank canvas symbolizes uncertainty, hopelessness and a life devoid of colours." She paused and glanced back at the canvas, "And for others, it's new beginnings, hopefulness and endless possibilities. Now, answer my question. What does the blank canvas mean to you?" She asked her again.
Sarah placed the book on her lap and took a long breath, "The latter, I guess." She said.
Laiba smiled at her, "You are an optimist." She stated.
"I think so. What's this about, by the way?"
She exhaled before sharing a piece of her mind, "I discovered how people perceive certain things says a lot about their state of mind." She explained.
"Oh!" Sarah bobbed her head in understanding, "That makes sense." She agreed, "In that case, what does the blank canvas mean to you?" She posed the question back at her. 
Laiba chuckled, "I don't know." She shrugged.
"Hey! That's cheating. How am I supposed to psychoanalysis you now?" She called out.
"Girls." Haider Ahmed entered the room, interrupting their conversation.
Laiba and Sarah looked up at him who now stood in the centre of the room.
"We are expecting some guests for dinner tomorrow." He announced, clasping his hands.
"Who?" They both asked in unison.
"Othmans."
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Owing to the rather unexpected and unacceptable argument with his elders, Aariz made sure to avoid them the following day and the day after.
However, with time, he found himself calming down. The rage, almost evaporating. The memory of the conversation, nearly fading.
And when he was finally ready to let it go, something happened.
It had started drizzling by the time Aariz reached home. He killed the engine and got out of his car, making his way towards the tall and sturdy building before him. The night above him was dark with no sign of stars nor moon in the sky. The raindrops were leaving wet blotches on his black tuxedo as he climbed the stairs two at a time, his shoes hitting the wooden stairs with a thud. The veranda was scantily lit by a few eclipse-shaped lanterns that were hanging down the ceiling, flies circling under the faint yellow light. He restlessly hammered the door and rang the bell, running his fingers through his damp hair. He loosened his tie, shrugged his nearly wet suit jacket off his shoulders and folded it over his arms, waiting.