Chandni Mein

Sitting on the cool stone step of her childhood home, Hala sharply inhaled the sweet scent of date palm flowers within the air. Humidity wrapped around her, sticking to her skin as she flicked off her pink khussas.

            She scraped off the dried mehndi that clung to her fingertips, the red-brown stains peeking from beneath the hard layer. Hala flicked her pink dupatta over her shoulder before making her way to the rooftop edge.

            The night sky was clear enough for her to admire the tiny stars that glimmered above and the distant laughter from her family and friends vibrated through the stone beneath her feet. The air was thick with the scent of her mehndi and fresh roses.

            Her thoughts were muddled by the sound of footsteps.

            “And here I thought you couldn’t bear to be away from me for even a moment.”

            “Some of us like a little peace,” Hala rolled her eyes but smiled.

            Layth settled beside her, his usual energy dimmed by the hush of the night. He lifted a fresh gajra in his hands, the sweet, fresh smell wafted towards her as he gently shook it – the loose petals twirled down onto her feet.

            “You left this on the step.”

            Hala reached out to take it from him, but he pulled his hand back.

            “Layth—”

            He reached his other hand out and waited patiently for hers.

Hala could feel her chest tighten with a feeling she was becoming accustomed to these past few months. She swallowed hard and tentatively placed her palm into his. His hand was surprisingly soft but roughened with a few calluses.

Her skin buzzed with delight as his fingers gently slid down to her wrist, she watched he as slipped the gajra on. Hala held her breath, his touch lingering. When she finally looked up, his brown eyes were already on hers.

Layth looked down and readjusted the petals before letting go of her.

“Remember when we used to run through the fields behind my house?” his dark curls swayed with the breeze as he laughed softly. Hala watched his eyes glimmer with wistfulness. She glanced back down at the colourful rickshaws driving through the streets below.

“Why are you up here?”

Hala turned to him. His gaze was fixed on the children playing cricket below, and she took a moment to really look at him; the grey sleeves of his kameez rolled up to his elbows, his shalwar wrinkled from the hours he had spent helping her family set up the wedding decorations.

“I just needed a moment where I didn’t belong to anyone,” Hala rested her elbows on the edge of the rooftop.

“If you find a place like that, let me know,” his eyes shone with understanding, something she hadn’t expected from him.

He turned to look at her, truly take her in; the rise and fall of her chest, the dark kohl lined beneath her russet eyes. He reach down to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. Hala felt her cheeks burn, the gold jhumkas he had gifted her for her birthday catching the light.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

The word fluttered through the night, and she leaned into his touch, watching as his eyes darkened with promises. 

A sudden burst of the dholak beats from below rippled through the air, the deep, rhythmic thrum shaking Hala from her trance Layth had unknowingly pulled her into. She blinked, feeling the cool air kiss the warmth off her cheeks, and stepped back.

“I should go,” she murmured, smoothing down the pleats of her tea-pink shalwar.

Layth’s forearm remained on the railing, he tilted his head slightly.

“Do you want to?”

Hala hesitated.

She could hear the reception in full swing beneath them – her aunts laughing, the sharp clang of bangles colliding as someone clapped along to the music, the voices of her younger cousins squealing as they ran through the courtyard. But up here, it was just the two of them, the night stretched open and endless.

“No,” she admitted quietly.

Layth smiled.

“Then stay.”
            He turned his gaze back towards the street below, where the children were now sat on the ground idly chatting – their laughter light and careless. Hala followed his gaze, watching as a rickshaw rattled past, its colourful paint faded but still vibrant under the glow of the street lamps.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The scent of fresh palou and achar curled in the air around them. Layth rested his elbows on the ledge, his fingers idly tapping against the stone.

“You know,” he said lazily, “for someone who claims she’s too mature for all this wedding fuss, you looked awfully happy dancing earlier.”

Hala scoffed, plucking absentmindedly at the threads of her dupatta.

“That wasn’t happiness. That was survival.”

Layth smirked. “Right. You were forced to spin in the middle of the dance floor while your cousins cheered you on?”

She shot him a glare. “You try saying no to a horde of aunties armed with paans and guilt trips.”

He chuckled, his deep brown eyes gleaming with mischief. “And yet you did an awful lot of twirling for someone trying to ‘survive’.”

Hala huffed, crossing her arms. “I was blending in.”

Layth turned to her, eyes twinkling. “Oh? Is that what you call spinning so fast your dupatta smacked me in the face?”

Hala burst out laughing, and Layth grinned at the sound. It was easy, this back-and-forth between them – familiar.

“Don’t worry, I forgive you,” He leaned in slightly, nudging her shoulder with his.

“How generous of you.”

He dramatically sighed. “It’s not easy being this kind-hearted.”

Hala raised her brow, but the smile didn’t leave her lips.

A beat passed, the air settling warm and thick around them. Layth shifted, resting his weight on one elbow.

“You always run off like this?”

Hala exhaled, tilting her face up to the stars.

“Only when I want to breathe.”

He hummed.

“And do I count as fresh air?”

She turned to find him already looking at her, his expression teasing – but his voice, lower, quieter.

Her chest tightened.

His fingers twitched against the cool stone.

“You know, it’s funny,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“What is?”

He tilted his head, studying her. “You spent all night running from everyone, and yet-” he flicked his gaze down at their hands, barely an inch apart, then back at her, “you let me find you.”

Hala swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

His fingers brushed hers – light, deliberate.

“Maybe,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t mind my company as much as you pretend to.”

Hala’s breath caught as she let Layth take her hand, fingers soft against hers.

The teasing glint in his eyes dimmed into something else entirely. Something that made her chest feel like exploding.

“You’re staring,” she whispered.

“So are you,” Layth’s lips curled.

Before she could come up with a smart reply, he leaned in – close enough that she could count the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, smell the hint of ittar on his collar.

And then, he kissed her.

It was careful at first, just a brush of warmth – like he was giving her time to stop him.

She didn’t.

Instead, she pressed closer, tilting her head, her fingers finding the edge of his folded sleeves. His hand curled at her waist, just slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold her there.

So, she guided him, just a little.

The sound of the dholki still floated from below, but it felt distant, blurred. Up here, there was only the crisp bite of his ittar and her jasmine gajra that whirled around them, and the dizzying realisation that whatever had been lingering between them for so long – whatever had been waiting, just out of reach – had finally found its way home.

When they pulled apart, Layth let his forehead rest slightly against her, his breath uneven.

“See?” he whispered, voice rough. “Told you, you didn’t mind my company.”

Hala let out a quiet laugh, pressing her palm against his chest.

“You talk too much.”

“You kissed me anyway.”

Hala scoffed. “You kissed me.”

He shrugged, fingers still grazing her waist.

“Semantics.”

“I should push you off this rooftop.”

He grinned. “Just means you’ll have to catch me.”