Who is the other? Part two

Part 1 Reference: http://kpayal.blogspot.com/2007/08/who-is-other.html

“I was expected to have a Muslim guy in my fantasies and imagination too,” she said while chatting with her old friend. A decade had passed or so it seemed since the time she willingly nailed the coffin of her heart for a lover, a Hindu lover. The romance started like a whiff of air which took her with it before she could even comprehend what happened. When it all settled, she found herself miserably alone as her parents made her believe that they will die if she even thinks about it.

“But how could you just accept it?” asked the friend. There was a slight lull...She got up to refill the coffee mugs with black coffee and to light a smoke, she twitched a bit. “There is nothing I could do. It’s not their fault. They always told me that this is how it is. They told me to hunt for a Muslim boy.” “Hunt for a Muslim boy!” the friend said sarcastically. “Yes,”she replied.

She looked out of the window of her thirteenth floor apartment in Mumbai where she stayed alone. Her beautiful black hair was covering a bit of her fair marble face. She finally tied it in a bun and gazed outside again. “So is it over?” asked the friend...she looked at her, smiled and lowered her eyes and then looked out of the window again.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” she said after few moments. “Sure, I would love to.” They went to the kitchen. She took some potatoes and began peeling them. “I often wished he was a Muslim.” “Didn’t you ever with that you were not a Muslim?” said the friend. "We have been made not to think like that ever,” she said. “But I am sure you can think like that,” said the exasperated friend.

Her hair had opened again as she busied herself in the kitchen chores. Her friend watched her intently as she prepared the curry. “Can I pour some wine for you?” she asked. The friend said, “I remember that drinking was against your religion”. “Haha.. yes...but it is not against your religion”. The friend finally broke her stupor and smiled.

“So what next?” asked the friend again assuming the tone of finality and sombreness. “Mother wants me to get married by early next year. She often asks me to see some or the other guy in Mumbai. So hopefully, I will be married to a rich Muslim guy by next year,” she smiled as she served the food on the dining table.

She cleared the last bit in the kitchen as her friend announced that she was ready to leave. “Whose photograph is that?” the friend asked as they reached the living room. “I am seeing him currently.”

“Are you in love again?” she asked.
“Looks like it”

The friend had an expression of a lover who is made to drink poison to prove his love.
“Muslim?”
“No.”