Must Read: The Silent Lover - Season 1 - Episode 9

Episode 7 years ago

Must Read: The Silent Lover - Season 1 - Episode 9

As his name was announced Sheeba released her breath, which she had held for so long but at the same time her sister forgot to respire.
With ten thousand poeple and twenty thousand clapping hands, he emerged from somwhere.
To many it all looked like a dream, as at first, no one was able to see from where he was rising or where he really was but suddenly, he was on stage in a flash, in seconds, swiftly and quickly.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s him.”
Deeba could just say two words.

“He doesn’t look like a poet at all, although he is someone we can become poets for.” A middle-aged woman said, totally stunned.

“He looks like some model or some movie star.” Another girl gasped.

“So, how’s my suprise?” Sheeba asked proudly. “He’s really something, isn’t he?”

Deeba had formed picture of him in her mind: a dry looking, over-mature, bookworm kind of guy. But ahead of her was no such man.

Not very tall, but above-average in height, this strongly built man in his late twenties, with his dark black hair and piercing jet eyes, was far above the image she had formed of him earlier. She had seen many good-looking men, but never one quite so handsome and charismatic.

His built was impressive, his white Pakistani shilwar suit looked perfect on him. His styled, shiny black hair fit nicely into his boyish charm……smooth, acne free face. His eyes were mesmerizing, his mouth tempting. He wore thin, fine, neatly framed glasses, which looked very suitable in his face giving him a sober, intellectual touch.

“What a sweet guy.” A mature lady in her early thirties exclaimed with interest.

“He is revolutionary.” A middle-aged man said, stunned.

In a hushed voice, one woman said “How handsome.”

In an equally hushed voice, the other agreed, adding, “And how graceful.”

Getting into the middle of the huge stage, he took the mic in his hand and took a few breaths before the first few words came out of his mouth.

Finally, after few seconds, which seemed like hours, his lips trembled and so dis many of the hearts there. “Thanks so much for your applause, and your appreciation.” His voice was manly and masculine, his accent traditional and his tone smooth.

“I want to let you know that I don’t deserve all this attention and love. I’m very much
sinner and lost-in-my-own-self kind of man.”
He said in a deep, heavy voice.

“What’s he saying?” A girl asked, confused.

“That’s how he is.” Her companion replied.

“I’m sorry if you are not much pleased with what I’d say but it’s true that I live in my own world. A world I never want to climb out of. I have my own laws, rules and principles for myself and I don’t care what others would say or think of me.” His voice was even, very impressuve and effective at the same time.

“You may call me proud, you can say I’m rude, arrogant or whatever but it’s true that, that’s how I want to live and that’s what I am. I won’t take much of your expensive tine. So here is something, which I wrote recently.
My promise, which I’m very much, obliged to fulfill. My latest poem….. The title is “My Ideal woman.”

He stopped for what seemed like an endless moment. He put a detailed stare at the massive audience all around him. There was a complete pin drop silence everywhere. Eyes were fully open; mouths completely closed, hearts beating in suspense, minds racing with anticipation.

Down to earth but is like sky

With a powerfuk sound system and echo equipment, his voice felt miraculous to everyone sitting there.

Down to eart but is like sky

He repeated the first sentence of his poem, creating a delicate yet intense effect of thrill and suspense.

That wax-soft girl is rock-like

His voice becamd a mere whisper as he completed he first stanza. With that, it felt like the place and event reached its climax. The ear-bursting and heart-shattering sounds of clapping, whistles and admiration didn’t give much chance to Deeba to exclaim the big ‘wow’ she wanted to convey to him.

Countless camera flashes and sparkling lights were on him as he read. No doubg, at the moment, he was the center of all the attention and every attraction.

Hidden within my heart for so long

She is like a host in my heart
As he read in his wonderful voice, it seemed like everyone there had turned to stone, frozeb at the place.

For many, nothing existed in this world but his impressuve, attractive voice. For them, nothing else mattered at the moment but this man who was reading his poem so s£nsat!onally.

In the journey, step by step along with me
She is like a milestone towards the destinations
In the hot, thorny journey of my life

She is like shelter beneath the sunny sky

My hope is weak as a drowning boat in the sea
The presence of her being is like sail

Whenever hardships make me frustrated
Just one glance of hers make me content

Though she’s in front of me, breathing and alive

Still it feels like she’s a mirage
Throwing one last glance at the audiences, he finished his poem and slowly, left his place.
It took some moments for thousands of audiences to realize that he had finished reading, as they were still lost in trance of his voice and mesmerizing beauty of his words.

And then, they clapped their greetings and admiration in the most powerful way.

As expected, his most recent poem had become a ‘block buster.’

As soon as he got off the stage, press photographers and journalists raced behind him, each trying his best to catch him before anyone else could.

“Mr. Aariz Ali, no doubt you’re the most favorite poet of young generation at present.
How do you feel about it?” A lady reporter asked quickly and desperately.

“A bilingual poet, we never saw anyone who can create such wonderful poetry both in Urdu and English. Where did you learn it from?”
Another press reporter pushed the other to ask his question.

Ignoring all the lights and voices, he left them behind, never paying attention to anyone.

He was almost about to open the door of his car when something happened.

“Mr. Aariz, just a minute.” Came a distant feminine call.

There was something particular in this sound that made him stop his feet.

He turned and saw two young girls walking towards him with quick steps.

When they reached him, he saw that one of them was panting heavily.

“I am Deeba. Deeba Rizvi. This is my sister, Sheeba” One of them introduced, she looked older of the two.

Aariz looked from one to the other.

This teenage girl had a round face, black eyes and straight braid that hung over her shoulder, almost to her waist.

He just raised his head a little. She saw the corners of his lips spread slightly, like not giving permission to his lips to open in a complete smile.

His large, black eyes peered at the sisters through neat and well-finished wire-rimmed glasses perched on the middle of what could be called as a perfect male nose.

They couldn’t say a word, mouth agape; Deeba stared at him with fascination.

“Ummm?” He moved his head questioningly.

“It’s been so nice meeting you and listening to you.” She said with a tiny, wistful sigh, like she was still in a trance.

“Precious ladies,” He said with a sober smile, adding kindly, “the pleasure is all mine.
Is there anything I can do for you girls?”

“So much!” Deeba said. Words left her mouth automatically. “Well….I mean, I have to ask so much!”

“I’m afraid, I don’t have much time right now.”

“Sir please, can’t you give us few minutes? We really need to talk to you.” Deeba asked with hopeful anticipation.

“Mr. Aariz, the thing is that my sister is really crazy about you, and believe me she thinks of nothing but you, day and night.

Shocked, pale, confused and annoyed at the embarrassing position Sheeba had put her in, Deeba glared at her just long enough to let her know that she’d deal with her once they are alone.

He wanted to refuse, he wished to ignore, but therr was something in the eyes of this innocent-looking girl, which made him think twice before answering her.

“Alright, you may have my contact number. I’d see if I can talk to you on the phone.” He brought a fountain pen out of his pocket and wrote his phone number on a small piece of paper. “Call me between nine and ten a.m. weekdays.

“Thank you so much sir, we’re really thankful for that.” Deeba said with sheer joy and thankfulness. “And do remember us in your prayers,” She said formally.

“I’m sorry, that I cannot do.” He said without any expression, his words suprised both sisters.

“As my prayers are never answered.” He smiled one last time and turned back to have his way.