She was a museum, full of mysterious, coloured abstracts, haunted secrets, far from empirical existence, but as they always tell you, life is ironic. He had his eyes closed. Maybe because her existence was oblivion, it belonged to no one. She belonged to no one. She was far from grasping now. She was a free soul.

He pulled back with eyes still closed, cherishing her aroma. Sanari opened her eyes to flash her gaze over his face that held nothing but peace. He seemed to be at peace. Mesmerised by his stance, she reached out to touch his face. The moment her fingertips came in contact with his cheek a smile crept up his lips. "Your touch is really soft." Sanari pulled her hand back with a jolt. Haani opened his eyes to look at her, "I didn't mean to offend you..." She shook her head at him in dismay.

Haani reached for her hand and held it in his for a moment. "Thank you!" They bother spoke in union and chuckled at each other. "What for?" He asked her, "for everything." She wished she could count all the good things he had done for her. "Don't-" he disapproved because he didn't want her to feel he was doing her favours.

Haani glanced at the time by his watch and instantly got to his feet. He held out a hand to Sanari but she looked at him in pure confusion, "This place is giving me weird feelings, if you want us both safe from something we might regret later, better get going. It's dark and it's not safe." He emphasised on the word 'safe'. He knew too well that it was he she wasn't safe with not the place or the dark. If he stayed any longer with her so close and vulnerable, he would not be able to stop himself from having her then and there in the middle of the woods. Knowing too well she would all but willingly give herself to him because she was as drunk on emotions as he was at the time.

Sanari obliged and slid her hand in his. He led the way back. Sanari found it intriguing how he remembered the way back despite hiking down here just once. It took her entire childhood to hike down here with Abdul to remember the track now.

On the way to home non of them spoke. Both seemed slumbering in their own void delusions. Haani wasn't sure where this entire proposition would lead him to. Somewhere within a chord of his heart, guilt twisted in him. He knew he had manipulated his own wife to give in her dignity, her morals. He was up for taking more but he wasn't sure anymore if it was right or wrong? He shook his head from such thoughts and settled with the fact that it was Sanari who let him in right from the beginning. And it was still her who let him see her in the most unseen form, touch her in the most sacred touches. She was his wife and he had a right over her. There was no space to argue right from wrong.

Days past and they both settled into a routine. Haani was falling in for a need of her presence around him. He craved for her presence but dismissed the alien thoughts justifying himself by thinking that within a few months he'd finish all his canvas for the upcoming exhibition and then he'd let her go. He'd get back with his old routine without her intruding his house or his life more precisely. Little he knew fate had something else in store for them both.

He entered his studio after days and turned towards a blank canvas. He stared at it for moments to pass. He wasn't sure what he was doing could even be justified. Dismissing the elusive thoughts, he prepared to sketch his inspiration. Haani was no more an artist on drought.

He picked up his lead pencil and started tracing from his memory. He had memorised how her eyes glistened in the specks of sunrays, how her smile reached her eyes every time she did something she liked, how her hair flowed in streams of ash blond around her. He had memorised every single detail that she let him see willingly and now that seemed more than enough for him.

He had completed his base sketch of her. Haani picked up his colour palate and started to mix certain shades of oil paints. He mingled the colours to get her ivory skin tone and fill in the sketch of her with shades of life. Next, he traced her lips with his thumb. It felt so real to him. He painted her plump lips, her rosy cheeks with a sprinkle of very few freckles that were hardly visible unless she stood in bright illumination.

He painted long strokes of her ash-blond hair, adding the glistening effect to it. Smiling from pure satisfaction, he had achieved what he wanted. Finally, he mixed shades of blue and green to inject a soul into her eyes. The eyes that intrigued him the first time he glanced into them. Eyes that held many secrets, many stories that she had lived so far. He painted her eyes a sea-green colour, giving them a living illustration by finishing touches with a white gel pen. The iris gave a glassy look and seemed very much alive. The smile he in carved into his canvas looked very much cherished.

He wished he could do the same to her practically. Imprint a smile onto her lips that would never leave. But the devil that he was, her ending was going to be hurtful. Not as hurtful as her past but enough to make her believe that all men are in slaved to their desires. In carving her into his canvas was his desire. He promised himself silently to at least try explaining his actual intentions to her in the end and take full responsibility for her security and needs even after letting her go.

His heartfelt heavy with the damage he was going to do her but life is never just, that's something he had already learnt and maybe she had too. He stared back at his canvas, the oil painting of Sanari looked very vibrant with colours and life. He knew it would make a good addition to his art for the coming exhibition. People will find her as mysteriously deep and beautiful as he had.

He rubbed clean his hands with a cloth and smiled at the small glass with black water from all the infused colours. After a year of frustration finally, a day arrived when his painting didn't drip from the pitch-black water. He laid down the cloth, set the painting in the corner where he kept his completed paintings to dry. Today he didn't need a maid to clean up a mess he made. Today there was no mess made, nothing went wasteful. He smiled at his little success but this wasn't the end. Sanari had to give in a lot more to him and he was all but patient with her free will.

It was past midnight that he entered his bedroom, now their room. He saw the light still flickered on. With a frown, he turned to search for her. She sat in a resting chair at the corner of his room reading a book. He observed her for a moment and then investigated, "why are you still up, I thought you'd be asleep by now?" She glanced up at him confounded, "I didn't hear you come in?" She answered his question with a question. Haani walked towards the bed and seated himself. "You were too indulged in that book to notice," he replied her lightly.

"Oh, this?" She held the book up in the air to let him see it, "It's Qur'an. I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to disturb you while you were in your studio so I thought I'd recite instead. It makes the heart at ease." She gave him a soft smile. He knew what the Qur'an was but had never read one or heard anyone read it. "I'll go clean the mess in your studio, all the maids would be asleep by now. Waking them up would be cruel." He couldn't help but laugh lightly at her kindness.

"No need to. There's no mess today." She put away the book she called the Qur'an and looked at him unsure. "No mess?" She asked. "No mess." He assured her. "That means finally you painted something?" Sanari didn't know about his inspiration or the reason behind his proposition but she knew about his drought and his upcoming exhibition.

"Consider it a yes!" He informed her with a genuine smile laced in his husky deep voice. She walked towards him and glanced at him. His grey eyes looked very much alive at the moment. "Well, then I'm really happy for you." Haani didn't know why but her appreciation vaguely made him content.

"Then can I see it?" She innocently asked. He stayed quiet and she searched his face for traces of offending him by such a simple wish. "On one condition." He finally concluded. Sanari laughed at that, how could she miss the fact that Haani was after all Haani. He did everything on conditions and profits. He never did anything reasonless. "And what that maybe?"

He seemed thoughtful for a moment and then spoke, "You let me paint you." She opened her mouth to protest but found nothing to tell him. She didn't want to turn into those shameless models who stood hours in same poses for artists to memorise and exploit each detail of her physical bodies.

Haani sensed her growing panic. He chuckled and took her small hands in his, "Relax Sanari. I didn't mean it in that way, I won't do that to you or to anyone. I meant it in just paint you as it is. Art always doesn't mean exploiting a person's body in explicit ways. From personal likings, I'm against such art. I find it morally offending. No one has the right to paint so crudely. There can be a lot to a person than their explicit form. Like their vibrant eyes, their genuine smile, their wholehearted laugh, so many such innocent expressions of art." He explained it to her.

"Do I have to sit like a statue for hours?" She tried to change the subject. "Maybe yes, and you might go stiff and sour later from all the sitting." He teased. She slightly pushed him and earned herself his rich laugh.

Twisting sleeplessly in bed, Haani faced Sanari. He traced her cheekbones with his tumb. He traced her lips with his index finger and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Can't sleep?" Sanari asked with closed eyes. Haani felt guilty for waking her up. "Want help?" She asked again. Haani looked at her confused, how could she help him fall asleep, he thought?

Sanari snuggled in closer to him and took his hand in hers. She looked at him and found him already staring at her. "Close your eyes", she ordered and he instantly obliged. She started reciting Surah Yaseen to him. At first, he frowned at the unknown words from a language he didn't understand but her voice soothed the twisted chords of his heart. The recitation reached his heart and affected him in ways he wasn't conscious of. With the tips of her fingers, she gently soothed the propping vein of his forehead. By the end of her recitation, he was fast asleep like a child being coaxed by sweet lullabies. After all, every man posses a child within himself.

~~~~~

She stared at his ripped arms flexing with strong authority. A frown engraved onto his stern features. His jawline was strong and firm from the seriousness of his concentration. Sanari observed his every reflex, he was smooth like water but at the same time hard to grab. He worked with reeking passion.

Sanari painfully twisted a bit in her seat, "Don't-" he warned her in a deadly growl. Her body was starting to feel sour from hours of being seated in the same pose. Haani moved his hands swiftly over the canvas he was facing. Eagerly he painted each detail of her. From how the sunlight from the window behind the back-illuminated the strands of her hair making them look chains of pure gold, how her eyes shined like the deep colour of a sea, how her ivory skin glowed in the light shaded sundress, her collar bones peered sternly through the open neck of her sundress. He had insisted she take off the jacket and headscarf. Sanari didn't seem to mind. He was her husband and he'd seen her without them plenty of times already.

He continued to paint her with immense enthusiasm. Haani used little of his brushes and more of his fingertips to paint. By now his hands were covered in different shades of his inspiration. He noticed her reeking with tiredness. Fastening his reflexes he took twenty more minutes to complete his finishing details of the portrait. Finally, he was staring at a satisfying piece of art that spoke volumes of his inner desires. The portrait looked very much lively. He cleaned his hands off the paints and walked towards her. She seemed to be in a deep slumber with eyes open.

Sanari was scared to move a single muscle. She feared that if she flexed a bit, it might earn her Haani's displeasure and earning the displeasure of the artist who is flexed on carving you into his blank canvas, isn't a very great idea after all. Haani moved towards her and took a seat beside her on the sofa. Carefully he brought his hands to her delicate shoulders and started massaging her tensed muscles. "Relax...", he offered her. She shifted her self with a sigh of relief and placed her head heavily over his chest.

He held her firm against himself. It reminded him of the first time holding her in a place like this when he found her unexpectedly in his kitchen. A smile crept up his face. Her warm body fitted with his like pieces of the jigsaw. The thought soothed his tensed up mind. He lightly placed his hands on her shoulders and travelled down her bare arms, feeling a chill run up her spine. She was always sensitive under his touch, as if she had never been touched before. Maybe she was indeed never touched before with love and gentleness. He knew very well how little it would take him to make her want him desperately but he shook his head to get rid of such evil thoughts. Knowing well that if he indulged a little more in such plotting, he wouldn't be able to resist her anymore.

"Remind me to never agree to any posing offers again. This is a killing job to do." She complained from tiredness.

Haani's grip tightened around her like a possessive husband. He had a quarter of his life around models and celebrities. Never he wished to see Sanari in such exploited vulnerability, open to the world and their obscure intimidating glances that shred away each substitute that covered a woman, though he knew Sanari meant something else.

"You won't pose for anyone but me." He stated in an authorised voice. "Okay but if you refrain from making me sit in a place like this for hours. These were the longest hours of my life. I can't even move now without hurting." She innocently told him back. Haani bent to kiss her on the head and slowly stood straight. Sanari seemed dishevelled a bit. "Want to see what I painted?" She eagerly nodded. He let out a hand to her and she took it. As she started to stand straight, her balance troubled and he had to keep her from falling. Sanari gave out a humorous chuckle at her clumsiness.

He took her to the painting and she stood before what seemed like her carbon copy. Her eyes travelling across the painting and she admired his skills. "It's tremendous, you're gifted with natural talent." She couldn't find heavier words than that to describe how she felt about the painting. With slight smiling, Haani put aside the painting to dry off and replaced another blank sheet over the stand. Sanari watched him with perking interest.

"Let's see what skills you've got Mrs Haani Fateen." He held out a painting brush and a palate with many different colours on it. "Seriously?" She asked him in a startled voice. "Very much, use whatever you may and show me what you've got." He tried to mock her. Sanari crossed her arms over her chest and eyed the blank sheet, the palate he held and then him. She pledged in thought for a while. "If that's the case, then let's start this. I can use anything I want right?" She asked and he nodded.

As a kid, Sanari and Anum would play with colours and paints a lot. She recalled a technique she had invented during her childhood. It was her personal creativity and she wouldn't cease to flaunt it before Anum. She smiled at the sweet memory. She took the colour palate from his hand along with the brush and put it aside. "Now you're my art model and you have to stay quiet while I do my work like I was when you did yours." Amusement flashed in his eyes.

She took Haani's hand in hers and turned it palm up. His stretched-out hand gave her more surface area than her own. She started painting on the palm of his hand using different colours. Haani watched her with pure interest.

After a few moments she was done with painting his palm, she took his hand and pressed his painted palm across the plain white sheet. When she removed his hand, a pattern of flowers and leaves was imprinted over the blank sheet. She held his hand again, rubbed it clean and started painting on it again. She repeated the entire process. The second pattern very much linked with the first one and looked like a continuous painting. She silently continued her technique and he didn't protest. After an hour or so she was finally done with her piece of art. She seemed satisfied with herself and looked up to him, "There, I did my art." She proudly announced.

Haani stared at a hand patterned painting that had flowers of too many different colours and kinds with leaves and trees. He was staring back at the scenery that was painted with such creativeness. He was clearly amazed. "You don't ever fail to surprise me Sanari." He shook his head at her. In the back of his head, he made a mental note to use this technique for one of his portraits.

"So did I qualified as a wife to the famous and brilliantly skilled artist Haani Fateen?" She teasingly asked him. Haani chuckled at her and nodded.

~~~~~

She sat near the wide glass window in their room and stared ahead into oblivion. She missed her father that day. All the memories of her past flooded her mind. Haani seemed too unreal to her. The man she had met before seemed vaguely opposite to the man she now called her husband. Haani Fateen was arrogant, stern, prude, insensible and all the bad words that could define a man like him. But it seemed like a twist had taken place in his personality. He was gentle, charming, kind and caring. All the things she believed a man couldn't be except for her father. She knew to be thankful for what she's got and not doubt fate or get greedy for more. It never ended well.

Haani walked into the room after ending up a viral meeting that took hours of discussion. He noticed her dazed attention. She seemed far from where she was, lost somewhere not good for her. Months had passed with her and yet he hadn't made a move on her without her consent.

He seemed to start wanting more from their marriage, from this proposal, from her. He wanted her. He wanted her in terms that couldn't be worded or explained. The night in the woods had poured a forbidden desire in his heart. He was starting to get used to her presence, her laughs, her teasing, her immense care, her everything. He didn't want to let her go but he knew he wasn't the man for her. He wasn't a man to settle for anyone at all. He didn't want himself dominated by his wanting and feelings.

With a deep sigh, he went and sat beside her. Instantly she leaned into him and closed her eyes in pain and tear rolled down the corner of her eye. He rubbed it off her cheek with his thumb not needing words to know she wasn't feeling the best of herself. "I miss Abu." She answered his unspoken question. "I miss him too." He genuinely stated. Sanari twisted to look for honesty tracing his eyes and found him very loyal to his words. He gave her a sad smile. Sanari kept staring at him, submerged in deep thought.