Traitor

The daughter of a secretive, influential Kashmiri militant called Billboee, Ishrat is no less. Branded clothes, luxurious house, iPhones, cars, essentials and extras. She had all one could dream of. Ishrat was known to have an attitude of enmity, hostility and ill will towards foreigners. Of course, the Kashmiri Freedom struggle had hurt her a lot. Kashmir was not yet an independent country. But yes, as the daughter of a militant, she had quite the sentiment. In Urdu, her behaviour can be called bughazi (بغازی).

Ishrat had a soft spot for almost all Kashmiris, albeit a special one for her younger brother, Tufayl. Ishrat's dad was always busy in militancy, and mom had died when she was six. But her father being a loyal man, never remarried, leaving her and her brother alone at home most of the times. This way, Tufayl and Ishrat grew close and shared an overall loving bond as siblings.

However, you cannot keep a track of time all the time. Tufayl grew up, and left for London at 18. Billboee, being a financially decent man, made two houses in one plot. One house for Ishrat, and one house for Tufayl.

As Tufayl left for London, Billboee decided to put Tufayl's house on rent (of course, with Tufayl's permission). Having a new neighbour? Ishrat was excited! But at the same time, she felt a growing longing for her brother, as she missed their time together.

The tenant was Emir Najjar, a Jordanian man who wanted to live in Kashmir with his dad, Qassem Najjar. Qassem faced trouble in Jordan, that is why he took his son to Kashmir, known for its beauty.

Ishrat's heart sank completely. She had expected a Kashmiri neighbour. But a Jordanian? A...a..a.. foreigner? Her ill will towards Emir and Qassem started to grow in her heart. She did not want a Jordanian living in Kashmir at all. At least, not in her brother's land. Emir himself, at the starting, had no interest in Kashmir, but he knew his father did. So he had no choice but to obey. Emir was a twenty four year old boy, just four years older than Ishrat. Emir had found a job. He was poor. And worked as a mechanic in Soura, Srinagar.

Emir and his father's car arrived. Lane 4, Zalmai Colony, Srinagar. [P.S.: Fictional names have been used for colonies.] Emir smiled to himself, and muttered in Arabic, "Yaallah... ism waw il jameel." (Wow, such a beautiful name.) Qassem said, "Son, we need to get keys."

"What keys?"

"Our home's."

"Yeah, right." (Chuckles sheepishly)

"You see that house on our plot, the house right next to us?"

"Yeah?"

"That is our landlord's daughter. You could say, our landlady. So, get the keys from her."

"I?"

"Yes, I am tired. I will rest on the steps for a while until then."

"Okay."

Emir rushed towards the door and slowly knocked. When he received no response, he shyly rang the doorbell.

Emir had a well-defined and youthful appearance, characterized by a strong, square jawline accented by a neatly groomed short beard and mustache. His dark, thick hair were styled in a modern textured crop with a clean fade on the sides, framing a smooth complexion with warm undertones. His most expressive features were his deep-set dark eyes, which sat beneath naturally full, straight brows, and a proportional, straight nose that added to his facial symmetry. He projected a contemplative and relaxed vibe, enhanced by his choice of a sage green waffle-knit polo with an open collar, leaning into a classic, "old money" casual aesthetic.

He was a shy boy, indeed. He always had a gentle, polite demeanor that won hearts. Even as a kid, he was known as the 'Golden Boy' who obeyed people and traditions. He was studious. Poor, so he was humble. Raised in difficulties, he never raised a voice at anyone. He knew that now he was in Kashmir, he had to adjust. Not the other way around. His gaze was slightly averted and he was anxious, biting his lip and licking it once, in anxiety, waiting for the door to open.

Ishrat possessed a youthful and serene appearance, characterized by large, expressive almond-shaped eyes in a deep brown hue. Her natural, well-defined eyebrows were softly arched, framing a smooth, oval-shaped face with a warm complexion and a subtle, healthy glow on her cheeks. She had a delicate, straight nose and full, balanced lips held in a calm, neutral expression. Her dark hair were neatly parted down the middle and pulled back. She was wearing a dupatta on her head. Some of her strands were visible. She wore a deep maroon Kashmiri Tillè pheran which provided a rich contrast against her skin. Bathed in soft, diffused lighting, her overall look was simple and natural, giving her a quiet and composed presence. She opened the door.

"Yes?"

"I..Uhm..As-Salaam Alaikum Wa Rahmat Allahi Wa Barakatuh..I am..your t-tenant and...Uh...the...The keys?"

"Wa Alaikum As-Salaam Wa Rahmat Allahi Wa Barakatuh. Okay. Wait."

She went inside, carrying an annoyed expression that she tried to hide with a polite smile.

"Here you go. If you need anything, don't hesitate."

"Jazak Allah Khayr." He let out a polite smile. "Uhm..then I'll.. Take my leave...uhm..you should probably sometime..catch up for...qahwa."

His polite demeanor was unnoticed by her, and hating foreigners, her usual habit, she fought the urge to roll her eyes. She said with a forced smile, "Of course. But you know, Kashmir has qahwa too. Better, in fact. And the qahwa you are talking about is bitter tea or coffee, or whatever you guys say. We have nice, koung kehwa made of saffron. Maybe, you catch up sometime."

Emir noticed her uneasiness and winced internally. "Ah, I messed up the first second." He thought to himself. He replied with a polite smile, "Of course! After all, Kashmir is known as the Heaven on Earth."

She nodded.

With a polite smile, he left. She sighed. "What a weirdo." She thought to herself. "Not even a Kashmiri woman. I can't even gossip."

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