Chaos in the Canvas √

15 | truths

"No, God, no. Please, no." He begged; voice a whisper as he dropped his head slowly, lines of pain and worry intensifying.

"Abi, are you okay?" Ali leaned forward as he eyed Ibrahim's pale face, worried expressions and sweating brows.

"When?" Ibrahim suddenly asked, straightening in his place suddenly as he hurriedly picked the file from the table again.

"When did the transaction happen?" Ibrahim asked, more to himself than to the man who sat in front of him, much worried right now to pay any attention to the world that moved swiftly around him.

Right now, at this moment, nothing made sense. No piece of information thrown in his direction made even a little sense and he found it hard to keep up with all. Hemayal's relation with Humna; the transfer of money - nothing stimulated any receptors of understanding and sanity in him, and he found every nerve fibre of his bursting.

Picking the file from the table, he studied it again, this time looking for a thing other than the sum of money - this time looking for the date on which transaction was made.

"Monday, 18th September." He whispered, head raising slowly from the file and looking far ahead, at the vastness of nothing, trying hard to understand the numbers, completely ignorant of his surroundings and position.

Nothing else mattered except the understanding of the entire situation - no thought was more significant than going to the root of the problem.

And it was then when a thought struck him, one that knocked the very breath out of him for a split second, rendering his mind completely blank for a moment.

"No." He almost pleaded, hoping for his triggering thoughts and messy mind to gain control, but he had lost his sanity long ago, and with that, his authority over his brain too.

"What?" Ali asked after Ibrahim had again opened the file to look for something, to be sure, and when he did, another layer of paleness found refuge on his handsome features.

"18th September. Monday. A day after the accident." Ibrahim whispered, but this time, it was loud enough for the oblivious man in front of him.

"Your mother's accident?" Ali asked, not keeping up with Ibrahim's racing mind but definitely still somewhere in the picture.

"No, my accident." Ibrahim shook his head, too stunned to make a move.

"You had an accident?" Ali asked, brows creasing and Ibrahim nodded.

"Yes, I had. Almost a week before Ammu's accident." At the time, Ibrahim was talking more to himself than to his friend, struggling to find the last, final piece of puzzle that would put everything in order, but to his luck, he found none.

All he encountered was his present situation worsening even more with each tick of the clock.

"With Hemayal?" Ali asked and Ibrahim laughed despite the irony of the situation.

"No, not with her. With Humna." Ibrahim answered, not knowing how life was playing games with him, a game so perfectly set and executed.

"How do you even know these women?" Ali exasperated after a moment, clearly annoyed by now for being kept in the dark of the entire situation.

"Why can't I know them?" Ibrahim asked instead, successful in raising his mood a little, and his guards too.

"They just look...so unlike you. Humna is a designer and Hemayal a psychiatrist - not people you would want anything to do with." Ali shrugged his shoulders, making Ibrahim chuckle a bit.

"There is a lot to people than mere jobs, Ali." Ibrahim answered while laughing, the planes of his cheeks sliding up as he did, adding aristocracy to the refined features of his.