White Roses Episode 11

 

White Roses as symbol of love 

Battering for darkness

 

Our state is such that words cannot reveal,  

The tongue is silent, unfit for the deal.  

In the afternoon, there was a rush at the Jahan Ara Studio. Wearing a white T-shirt and black trousers, paired with high YSL heels, she entered the studio. Her hair was loose, curled at the ends, and styled forward. Walking hastily, she began to look at the fabrics and clothes hanging on the racks.

"Send Samaira's bridal dress packed to her house today, okay?" she said to Komal, who was wearing a hijab and worked there.

"Zimil... Zimil," Amar entered and called her at that moment. She turned around.

"Yes? What's the matter?" Zimil placed three fingers under her chin.

"I need to see the dress. Of his bride." Amar spoke softly in a calm voice.

"Sure. Show it to her," Zimil said to Komal, who then began showing the dress to Amar. The heavy red dress swayed before her eyes. Amar touched it and smiled, looking at Zimil.

"She doesn’t wear such clothes," Amar said with a downcast expression.

"I know. But Behram selected it." The servant handed Zimil a coffee mug.

"Behram has good taste."

"That's why he chose Samaira," Zimil said with a smile, taking a bitter sip of the coffee. "I’ve heard that Behram even changed his room just for Samaira. The whole room is dark, with royal blue furniture." Zimil sat on the head couch placed there. Komal left, carrying the dress.

"Will he make Samaira happy?"

"Maybe not," Zimil crossed her legs and tapped one foot. Amar folded her arms and stood nearby.

"I saw Samaira's pictures today. Those sisters look beautiful even without makeup. Samaira is beautiful too. She could drive Behram crazy. Behram could fall in love with her," Amar said in a tired tone.

"But she’s not the type who can control Behram. She’s innocent; she doesn’t understand all this politics. And as for capturing Bahram in love... well, there’s never been a pair of love handcuffs strong enough to bind Behram's wrists," she laughed. "You love him too, don’t you? Forget him. He’s not yours." Zimil stood up as she spoke. She took a few steps, and the click of her YSL heels echoed once more.

"I'm afraid of him. It’s not love. I just... like him," Amar spoke innocently. "He has a good personality. Anyone could be drawn to him."

"You should be afraid," Zimil laughed. She paused mid-walk, lost in thought. Amar came and stood in front of her.

"You’re very lucky, Amar. You escaped Bahram’s clutches. He’s marrying Samaira. There’s a secret behind it," Zimil said.

"A secret? What kind of secret?" Amar asked in surprise, whispering.

"A secret should remain a secret. Jahan Ara Aunty will use Samaira as leverage to get Burhan out of jail," she whispered softly.

"What? How?" 

"Behram will blackmail Kashmala through Samaira. Kashmala will agree and drop the case."

"But what’s Samaira’s fault? Her life will be ruined. Will he divorce her?" Amar asked, feeling sorrowful.

"Oh no. He will keep her until Burhan’s life is secured." Zimil held her hands. "Don’t tell anyone, okay?"

"But what if she finds out that Junaid was killed by Uncle Niaz?" Just then, the glass door slid open, and Jahan Ara entered. She had heard Amar’s last words. Amar instinctively grabbed Zimil’s arm. Zimil stood there with a smile on her face.

"So what happened to Junaid will happen to Samaira as well," Jahan Ara said, patting Amar’s cheek. Zimil stepped in front of Amar, positioning herself between her and Jahan Ara.

"Stay away from my sister," Zimil smiled.

"Tell your sister never to mention Niaz Sikandar’s name again, or she’ll meet the same fate as Junaid and Madiha," Jahan Ara smiled back with the same tone.

"Okay. Thank you, Aunty," Zimil hugged Jahaan Ara and, holding Amar’s hand, walked out of the studio. Jahan Ara gave a bitter smile, watching them leave until they exited through the door. She turned and sat down on the head couch where Zimil had been seated. Her reflection shone clearly on the polished marble floor—a reflection worthy of a queen. She sat there with her head held high.

With you, I could pass through stars with ease,  

How simple and light the journey of love seems to be

It was Friday, and the day had begun. The blue morning light was wrapped in cold. After the morning prayer, there was a sense of activity everywhere. Soft voices could be heard around the house. Samaira was sitting on the edge of the bed, crying. Mahnoor, Kashmala, and Naheed were showering her with affection. Aneesa was standing by the bathroom door, her eyes fixed on Samaira.

"I feel strange," Samaira was telling Kashmala about her state.

"It happens. It’s common. You should recite some prayers," Kashmala said, holding her close. She was getting emotional. Aneesa made ablution and came outside. She laid down the prayer mat and prayed for Samaira.

"Oh Allah! I want Samaira to be happy. May she never face sorrow. May Behram prove to be good for her so that she never feels the absence of any relationship. Oh Allah! Are you listening? May my sisters always be happy, otherwise, it will also hurt me." She was crying secretly.

The wedding was at nine o'clock. It was only five. After the prayer, Samaira recited the Qur'an and made a supplication.

She shared the verse with Behram and went to get ready. Adorned in her red bridal dress, she looked like a fairy. Kashmala and Mahnoor were helping her get dressed. Naheed could see Samaira’s reflection in the mirror. The red dress had a netted back, so they left Samaira’s hair open, with a French braid in the front. Batool was assisting them. Time was slipping by.

"Fix the dupatta," Samaira said, holding the dupatta over her head. After putting on the jewelry, Kashmala applied deep red lipstick. She was almost ready. Aneesa, having gotten dressed, was sitting in the lounge. All the men of the house were also there. Ayan was sitting with Shahroz, laughing at something.

"Go and check if she’s ready, so we can leave?" Zakariya said to Aneesa. She got up and went to the room to deliver the message.

“Father is calling, let’s go,” Aneesa said hurriedly. “And don’t forget to bring the Qur’an and other stuff,” she added loudly as she walked out.

“They’re coming, father,” she said with slight irritation, and they all headed outside. A little while later, three cars left for the mosque.

☆☆☆☆☆

Behram was standing in the room, fully dressed. He was reciting the prayer Samaira had shared with him. Ever since their wedding was fixed, they had spoken less frequently. Jahan Ara and Sultana entered the room, opening the door. He smiled. He was wearing a white kurta shalwar with a beautifully colored silver waistcoat. His hair was slicked back with gel, perfectly set, and an enchanting fragrance surrounded him.

"My son looks like a prince, a real prince," Jahan Ara said as she moved forward and kissed Behram’s forehead. Sarah, dressed in a red saree with her hair swept to one side, came to stand next to Behram.

"Thank you," he smiled. Behram took Sarah’s hand. Jahan Ara linked her arm with Behram’s and walked out with them. The fragrance lingered in the air, making the atmosphere even more pleasant.

☆☆☆☆☆

The courtyard of the mosque was lightly decorated with flowers. Only a few people and close friends were present at the wedding. Behram and Samaira were seated on white sofas, with a garland of flowers between them. The maulvi was reciting the nikah ceremony. Aneesa stood at a distance, watching. To her left were Khizar and Batool. Aneesa kept wiping her tears. She had been told not to come closer because of the men.

“Look, Father is hugging her.” Aneesa saw Zakariya embracing Samaira. “Oh, how sweet. Samaira is probably crying,” she told Batool and Khizar. Then she saw a young boy approaching Samaira.

“There’s a boy, I think he’s getting her to sign the marriage contract,” she said anxiously. She tried to tiptoe to see, but she couldn’t. “She’s Behram’s now. He’ll take her away.” Something broke inside her. "Will he keep Samaira happy?"

“You should meet her,” Khizar said, his arms crossed over his chest.

“No. She doesn’t like me. I don’t want my presence to affect them in any way,” she said sorrowfully. Samaira was crying as she greeted everyone.

"You're not going to meet her?" Batool asked, but Aneesa remained silent. Samaira was leaving. Behram held her hand. Today, a princess was going to her palace with her prince. The prince bent down and kissed her forehead. Aneesa's heart pounded when the prince embraced the princess. She started crying and walked inside the mosque.

Shahroz was following behind them, holding the Qur’an. Samaira greeted everyone and then sat in the front seat of the car with Behram. She held the Qur’an in her hands. Zakariya draped a white shawl over Samaira’s head like a veil. Behram took his place in the driver's seat.

"I’ll take care of Samaira. Don’t worry, I’ll give her lots of love," Behram said, looking at Mahnoor before the car started moving. The car headed towards Islamabad, with several cars following behind—some for security and others carrying family members.

May our hearts become the golden cup of dawn's soft light,  

And our eyes burn like candles when descends the night.

The sun was setting. Rays were shimmering through the clouds like gold. There were light and dark clouds in the sky. Evening was approaching. Around the road where cars were passing, there were dense forest-like trees. The greenery was visible from a height. The car stopped near a large mansion. The big gate was opened. One by one, several cars entered the bungalow. Behram got out of the car and walked around to the other side. He opened the door and extended his hand. Then Samaira placed her hand in his, and stepped out. Sarah also came over to them. Servants in uniforms, holding trays of flowers, stood in two rows. Aleena and Taimoor were busy overseeing all the arrangements inside the house. When Behram entered with Samaira, the servants started showering flower petals. Sarah was walking along with a smile. Jahan Ara was walking behind with Khawar. Ibrahim and Niaz were also with them. Zimil, standing with Amar, was taking out the luggage from the car and handing it to the servants. Sultana Begum, holding Fateh's arm, stopped to give some instructions to the servants.

Samaira stepped into the mansion. She lifted her gaze and looked around. The mansion was quite large. She felt afraid. She could easily get lost in such a big place. Nevertheless, she continued walking, managing her heavy red dress, and started climbing the stairs. Sarah and Behram were on either side of her.

"Behram! Listen to me," Jahan Ara smiled and called Behram into her room. Behram smiled and went into Jahan Ara's room. Meanwhile, Sarah brought Samaira to the bedroom. The room was completely dark. When Sarah turned on the light, only a dim glow filled the room. The bed was decorated, and candles were burning. Samaira glanced around the room. The furniture was royal blue, while everything else was in golden color.

"It's Behram's favorite color," Sarah smiled and, holding her hand, led her to the bed.

"This room is big enough to fit our entire house," Samaira said, astonished. Sarah laughed.

"Do you like it?" Sarah asked, but Samaira was still mesmerized by the room's charm. "It's Behram's choice. He likes rooms just like this."

"Dark rooms? But I'm afraid of the dark," she said, still observing every item in the room.

"That's just how Behram is," Sarah said, sitting her down in the middle and fixing her dress.

"Does he get angry? And what is he like? How's his nature?" Samaira held her hands.

"He's generally nice, but... he's got a quick temper. He doesn't get angry often, but when he does, it's uncontrollable." Samaira raised her eyebrows. "But don't worry, he won't get angry with you," Sarah reassured her. Samaira smiled slightly.

☆☆☆☆☆

Jahan Ara and Niaz Sikandar were sitting in their room. Niaz was lying down, while Jahan Ara sat leaning against the headboard of the bed. Behram was sitting on the sofa in front of them. The room was silent, like the calm after a storm. Jahan Ara was staring at Behram.

"So, what have you decided? What will you do now?" Jahan Ara broke the silence.

"Mom, how can I control her? She's my wife, not an employee that I can threaten with a salary cut or fire from a job," Behram said in frustration.

"So, you're changing your mind? Niaz, are you listening to your son?" Jahan Ara said with feigned anger.

"Hmm, what should I do? Let me sleep," Niaz turned over. Jahan Ara frowned in frustration.

"Control her. Otherwise, tomorrow she might go around saying that Niaz is a murderer. I've already lost my son; I can't lose my husband now. Nor will I share him," Jahan Ara's words made Niaz's forehead crease, but he remained silent.

"Mom, Burhan will come back," Behram got up, sat next to Jahan Ara, and held her hands in both of his.

"No. I won't be at peace until you hurt Samaira. Hit her, beat her, explode with anger, scare her—do whatever you need to. And by 'whatever,' I mean anything, so that she feels how my son is suffering in jail." Behram sat in shock, speechless. "Say something, Behram. You will do it, won't you? For your mother's sake?" 

"Hmm, drama queen," Niaz smirked bitterly.

"Mom, please stop. Have some patience for a few days. Do you think it would look good if I start threatening and scaring my wife on the very first night?" 

"Why don't you just admit that you love her?" Jahan Ara pulled her hands away. "You can't bear to see her in pain. You've changed your mind," she turned away.

"Okay, Mom, okay," Behram said, raising his hands in surrender.

"Really?" Jahan Ara looked at Behram with tearful eyes. Behram nodded with a pained expression. The queen's heart found peace, and she went to sleep content. Behram got up and walked out.

☆☆☆☆☆

The night was growing darker. He sat on the couch outside and closed his eyes. The clouds in the sky were getting heavier, until the sound of thunder could be heard. He lay down on the couch. Then, raindrops started to patter against the window. He got up and began climbing the stairs. Sarah was walking towards him from the front.

"Where have you been, Behram? You're unbelievable. It's almost ten," she said, annoyed.

"Nowhere, just with Mom," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"What did she say?" Sarah asked, looking at him curiously.

"Nothing special," he replied softly.

"Alright, go on. Samaira is waiting for you. She was about to fall asleep, but I told her not to, in case you get upset," she laughed.

"No, why would I be upset?" He stood there with a serious expression.

"If Mom were alive, she would've slapped you for going to your wife with such a sad face," she smiled sadly. "Be gentle with her. She's innocent, okay?" Sarah lovingly walked away. Behram, taking small steps, entered the room. The lighting was dim. Samaira was lying against the headboard of the bed. Behram took off his waistcoat and set it aside. Samaira sat up. Behram walked over to the bed, rested his head in Samaira's lap, and closed his eyes. Silence spread all around. The echoing voices in his head began to fade.

"You took a long time, Behram. Where were you?" Samaira asked softly. Behram placed his hands over her face and rubbed it. Gently, Samaira hold his hands from her face.

"Everything was beautiful, Samaira. Then suddenly, I don’t know why, but my heart changed. I was reminded of my purpose," Behram’s gaze lingered around Samaira’s face. The room was quiet except for Behram’s soft voice, and whenever Samaira moved, the sound of her bangles chimed. She sat there with a serious expression, her heart racing. She could feel the pounding of her heart as if it were a piece of flesh shaking violently inside her chest. Behram touched her cheeks.

"What purpose?" Samaira asked, holding his hand as it moved across her face.

"That you are mine. And now, it’s allowed." Behram suddenly sat up and kissed both her hands one by one. Samaira’s hands grew cold, and they trembled slightly. "Now you won’t pull your hands away, will you? You’re my wife now." He brought his face close to hers and looked deeply into her eyes.

"Brown," Behram whispered. A faint smile appeared on Samaira’s lips. "Do you know you are incredibly beautiful?" He held her chin gently with three fingers as he spoke. Then, he began to unfasten her nose ring, which dangled loosely with her hair.

"Your hair... the fragrance from them... everything is beautiful," he spoke in a deeply mesmerizing voice. His intense gaze and deep voice, growing more captivating with each passing moment, were drawing both of them into an entrancing spell. 

Behram sat down close to her.

"Will you drink juice?" Samaira looked at him in confusion. "I'll get it," he said. She didn't say anything, so Behram quickly went out to get the juice. She sat there, rubbing her hands together, feeling anxious. The sound of the rain outside became audible. Sometimes she looked at the window, and other times around her. As she started to stand up, the door opened, and Behram came in. She stopped and looked at him.

"Where were you going?" Behram asked with a smile.

"Nowhere."

"Here, drink this juice." Behram smiled and handed her the glass of juice, then sat beside her. Samaira looked at the juice and then at Behram. He brought the glass close to her lips. She began to drink, her eyes fixed on Behram.

"Drink half of it," Samaira said, smiling as she offered the glass to Behram.

"No, I already had some. You finish it all." He firmly placed the glass back in her hand and smiled with determination. Samaira drank all the juice and placed the glass on the side table. Then they both smiled at each other.

"Brown." Behram kissed her forehead.

"Behram... is it raining outside?" She tried to widened her eyes.

"Yes. It's Islamabad's rain. Brown." He said, moving closer.

Samaira saw Behram wrapped in fog. Then shadows appeared, swaying behind him. Black and white figures stood behind Behram with their hands folded. Her head started spinning. She placed both hands on Behram's chest, trying to push him away, but it felt as if her hands had lost all strength. Tears began to flow from her eyes. The fog grew darker, and then she found herself enveloped in deep darkness.

☆☆☆☆☆

It was the last part of the dark night. Aneesa was lying with her head in Kashmala's lap. She was still wearing the same clothes from the wedding ceremony. Her hair was tied in a ponytail. Kashmala was sitting with her back against the bed's headboard, legs stretched out. She was gently patting Aneesa's head. Aneesa was softly telling her something, and Kashmala was listening quietly.

"You know, I saw dad's mobile. It had so many women's numbers. Why is he like this? If something bad happens to his own daughter tomorrow, will he feel bad?"

"Hmm," was all Kashmala said in response.

"Now, it's just me left. Mahnoor got Kabeer, you got Ayan, and now Samaira got Behram. Behram must love her, right?" She looked at Kashmala. Kashmala nodded. "So, I am the only one left. I feel like I will have to face the consequences, Kashmala."

"Don't think like that." Kashmala held her shoulder.

"Why doesn't dad understand? I have my mental health, which is very precious to me. What if Samaira...?" She stopped mid-sentence. "Kashmala."

"Yes?"

"What do you think Samaira is doing? The thought suddenly crossed her mind. What if Behram is hurting her?"

"Oh, come on! What are you saying?" Kashmala lightly tapped her. "Don’t think like that. She must be happy. Behram loves her. He'll keep Samaira happy."

"But you said we would go to their house. When will we go?"

"Very soon. But for now, you should sleep." Kashmala smiled wearily.

"I can't sleep. I keep thinking about Samaira. Do you think she managed to sleep in her new home? Did she have dinner?"

"Please, go to sleep." Kashmala helped her sit up and then lay down herself. Aneesa rested her head on Kashmala's shoulder and snuggled up beside her.

"Behram must have given her a gift." Aneesa mused with amusement.

"I don’t know." Kashmala turned off the light.

"I wish I were with Samaira. I’ve heard their house is huge. So big!" Aneesa stretched her arms out in the darkness.

"Yeah," Kashmala murmured, her eyes closed.

"I want to see it too. Malikah mentioned it once. She knows them," Aneesa said.

"Hmm," Kashmala murmured, half-asleep.

"But she doesn't like Uncle Niaz. Oh yes, I just remembered. She found me the IT guy. I forgot. I'll check on him in the morning." She seemed to make up her mind. "Malikah is a great friend. Masooma too, and Gul-e-Lala... Gul-e-Lala is the best." 

"Kashmala..." Aneesa called her name. "Did you fall asleep?" There was no response. Perhaps Kashmala had already drifted off. Aneesa lifted her head from Kashmala's shoulder and placed it on the pillow. Kashmala quickly turned to her side and fell deeper into sleep. Aneesa fell silent and slowly began to fall asleep as well. Outside, clouds were gathering, and thunder could be heard in the distance.

Awake, we spend nights of separation,  

Let the vigils remain in foreign station.

The morning was drenched in rain. The cold wind reigned. The window was open, and the fresh, cool air flowed into the dimly lit room. The AC added to the chill in the atmosphere, while the cold air outside created an unusual ambiance. Saimara was sleeping under a blanket. Behram had just stepped out of the shower and began to get ready in front of the dressing mirror. He dried his hair. Through the mirror, he could clearly see Saimara, her long hair spread to one side. Behram applied gel to his hair and fastened his cufflinks. Then, picking up a bottle of perfume, his eyes lingered on Samaira. He smiled to himself, pressing his lips to one side, and sprayed perfume on both sides of his neck. The fragrance quickly spread throughout the room. The scent reached Saimara’s nostrils, causing her to stir and slowly open her eyes. The view before her appeared blurry.

Behram walked over to her and leaned against the headboard. Saimara looked at him.

"Good morning, Brown… Your first morning after your first night with me." Behram gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. She felt a sense of sleeplessness overtaking her. Samaira rubbed her forehead with her fingers and tried to sit up.

"My head is hurting," she said in a very soft voice. "It feels like it’s going to explode." She began to cry, curling up on the bed.

"What happened, Brown?" Behram asked, concerned.

"I don’t know. You… please… get someone. Please, my head is hurting so much," she said fearfully.

"It’s hurting? Where? Where is it hurting?" Behram sat close to her.

"I don’t know. I really don’t know," she said restlessly. "My heart feels heavy." Samaira looked at the open window, then instinctively grabbed Behram by his coat, pulling him close and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I feel strange," she said, crying.

"Tell me, what’s wrong? Where does it hurt?" Behram gently stroked her hair, almost childlike. "Is it your stomach?" Samaira shook her head. "Your head?" he kept asking, and she kept crying.

"Alright, relax..." Behram handed her a glass of water. Saimara drank the water.

"Is it homesickness?"

"No." She started sobbing again. "I don’t know, it feels like my whole body is aching." She couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her. Even she didn’t know. Behram was genuinely worried now.

"Okay, okay, relax... We’ll go to the doctor," Behram reassured her.

"No." She lay back down. "I don’t have the strength. I just need to rest. But don’t go anywhere." She held Behram’s hand and lay down, then closed her eyes.

"Is love fatal?" Behram thought as he looked at Samaira, dressed in her bridal. He could feel her firm grip on his hand, as if she were holding onto him the way a child clutches something precious, afraid it might be taken away or slip out of reach. Samaira lay there, holding his hand close to her chest. Behram sat beside her, then leaned in and kissed her forehead. She shivered down to her core. Her cheeks turned pink.

"Brown," Behram murmured close to her earlobe. His voice carried a certain magic that seemed to cast a spell on Samaira. Darkness began to cloud her senses. Her eyes were swollen, heavy with exhaustion. She was slowly drifting into sleep.

The cold was intensifying. Even in the summer months, the weather had turned unexpectedly chilly. Behram quietly stood up and walked over to the window, closing it. He then picked up his phone, smiled slightly, and dialed a number. The call was answered on the first ring.

"How are you?" he asked, his tone indifferent as he adjusted his tie.

"Where is Samaira? Why hasn’t she picked up my call?" came Kashmala’s concerned voice from the other end.

"Don't worry, Kashmala. She’s fine. I knew you’d call and disturb us, so I had her phone turned off."

"What?" Kashmala was taken aback.

"Congratulations, this relationship has now officially begun," Behram said as he turned and glanced at Samaira, who was sound asleep, lost in her world.

"Where is Samaira? Let me talk to her," Kashmala tried to stay calm.

"Don’t worry. I won’t harm your sister," he chuckled.

"You can’t even if you wanted to," Kashmala responded through gritted teeth.

"Yes, I can. After all, I am her husband. And you know what... do you want to know where she is right now? What condition she’s in? Should I send you a picture?" Behram spoke in an amused tone. A sharp pain shot through Kashmala’s head.

"Behram..." she tried to remain calm.

"Before you say anything, know this—your sister and I have moved far ahead in this relationship," Behram cut her off. "She’s still resting. Don’t disturb her." Then, he hung up the call and returned to sit beside Samaira, who was lying down.

"Each man kills the thing he loves," Behram murmured, lightly touching her neck before leaning down to kiss her. 

The letter I wrote gleams like gems so rare,  

Yet these hands have never touched jewels with care

The morning at Qasr-e-Sikandar was damp. Light raindrops were falling outside. Malikah was seen heading toward the study room. All the family members were in Islamabad, leaving the mansion under the care of Malikah and Hajra. Malikah opened the glass door of the study room and slipped inside like a thief. She closed the door, adjusted the curtains, and stood by the shelf. She grabbed a stool, placed it near the shelf, and climbed up. Thunder rumbled outside. The envelope she had hastily thrown onto the shelf months ago was missing today. She had today and tomorrow to search the house openly. She quickly got down and frantically opened every shelf, flipping through every book.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Malikah asked with a frown.

"It's me, Iftikhar," Iftikhar said loudly.

"I'm cleaning... you go," she responded hurriedly while flipping through the pages of the books.

"Sir has instructed that no one is allowed in the study without his permission. Please come out."

"I told you, I'm just cleaning. I’m not eating anything," she growled angrily.

"Please come out."

"Just go. I’ll come." Just then, some photos slipped out of a book and fell to the floor. Malikah instinctively picked them up, and her knees buckled.

"Aneesa..." Her lips moved as she stared at the photos. In them were Junaid and Madiha, drenched in blood. Her heartbeat raced. Iftikhar’s voice from outside faded into the background. Malikah stuffed the photos into her waist and fixed the room’s condition before stepping out. Iftikhar stood outside, and behind him was Niaz Sikandar. Malikah's blood froze. Her feet stopped in their tracks as she saw Niaz Sikandar.

"Iftikhar says you were cleaning. Come, let’s see what you’ve cleaned," Niaz said, grabbing Malikah’s wrist and pulling her back into the study. Iftikhar had already left. Malikah’s hands and feet turned cold, and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.

"What were you doing?" Niaz locked the door and stepped closer to her.

"You should be with Behram. What are you doing here?" Malika’s voice trembled.

"I told you, once Behram is married, I will straighten you out." Niaz gripped her jaw tightly.

"Please, let me go," she barely managed to say.

"Tell me the truth, what were you doing?" he growled, still holding her jaw firmly.

"I needed some notes... for study," she tried to push his hand away with both of hers, but it was in vain.

"Are you telling the truth?" Niaz stared into her eyes. Malikah nodded. With a sharp movement, Niaz released her jaw from his grip, dusted off his coat, and then adopted a new demeanor. Malikah stood by the table, using it for support.

"Be ready tonight. We'll go for dinner," Niaz smiled. She stood there helpless. "By the way, I brought you a gift." He held Malika’s hand and led her outside. "Guess what it is?"

"What?" Malikah asked, her voice filled with fear. They both entered the room and sat on the sofa.

"Close your eyes," Niaz said lovingly. Malikah obeyed. Niaz picked up a box from the dressing table and sat beside her. Malikah’s closed eyes fluttered nervously. He gently turned her around and placed something around her neck. Malikah instinctively touched it with her fingers—a turquoise diamond necklace wrapped around her neck like a collar. She stood in front of the mirror to see.

"How is it?" Niaz stood right behind her, holding her by the shoulders.

"Is it expensive?" Malikah smiled cautiously. Niaz laughed and went to sit on the bed.

"I've never touched a diamond before," she said innocently, still looking at herself in the mirror.

"You are the diamond, Malikah," Niaz gestured for her to come closer. Malikah took small steps and stood beside Niaz. She could clearly feel the photographs tucked in the waistband. Niaz made her sit next to him and began to lean in closer.

"I have work to do," Malikah said softly.

"No one's home today. Let it go for now," Niaz smiled indifferently.

"Mom is here. She will come... so..." Malikah tried to speak cautiously, but Niaz grabbed her hair in his fist, pulling her head backward, her face tilted up. Malikah whimpered.

"Ahh, please!" She tried to free herself with both hands.

"What 'please'... huh? I'm your husband. This marriage happened with your consent. I didn’t force you," Niaz said, enunciating each word.

Malikah began to cry, her breath becoming labored.

"Please let me go. It hurts," she kept crying, tears rolling down her neck.

"What was your worth? You were just a servant in this house. And now? Now you are the wife of Niaz Sikandar," Niaz let go of her hair. She sat with her head bowed, crying, absentmindedly running her fingers over the bedsheet. "Look, Malikah!" Niaz softened. "You are dear to me. I love you," he said, holding her by the shoulders. She withdrew into herself. "But your attitude... it never changes. Every time I try to get close to you, this is how you act. This is the thing about young girls I don’t understand."

"I feel ashamed around you," she said, brushing her hair away from her face. "There's almost a forty-year age gap between us."

"Stop exaggerating, Malikah. It’s not that much... I'm barely forty," Niaz said, considering himself still young.

"I'm scared of you," she continued crying.

"Why, my dear? I’m your husband," Niaz embraced her. Malikah felt uneasy. Her heart sank.

"If your sons and wife find out, they'll kill me," Malikah said between sobs, growing increasingly uneasy with Niaz's touch.

"Nothing will happen. As long as I'm here, they can't harm you," Niaz pulled Malikah closer with force.

"I have work to do, I need to finish my university assignment," she said cautiously. She felt the photographs tucked in her waistband slipping. She moved away from Niaz and stood up. Niaz leaned back on his elbow. There was a knock on the door. Niaz, smiling, kept his eyes fixed on Malikah. Startled, Malikah walked to the door and opened it. Standing there was Fateh. He entered the room.

"What were you doing here?" he asked, then saw Niaz lying down. Niaz quickly got up. Malikah nervously started rubbing her hands together.

"I was cleaning the room," Malikah immediately replied.

"Cleaning like this? In a closed room?" Fateh said sarcastically, looking at Niaz Sikandar. The three exchanged glances. "Never mind... come on, I've come to pick you up," Fateh said.

"Where to?" Niaz asked instinctively.

"Uncle, mom called Malikah. She needs her to do some chores," Fateh smiled and walked out with Malikah. Niaz watched them leave, unable to stop her.

Like a fragrance, he spread all around me,  

I could feel his presence, but touch him, I could not be.

Weeks had passed. It was summer. Aneesa was sitting under the shade of a tree. Students were passing by. Gul-e-Lala appeared and sat cross-legged beside her. She was making notes for Malikah. Malikah also arrived at the same time, with Masooma alongside her.

"How's your sister?" Masooma asked as she sat down with Aneesa.

"She's fine," Aneesa smiled. "I'll be visiting her this week." She seemed happy.

Gul-e-Lala opened his bag and placed a tiffin in front of him. Aneesa smiled slightly, put the pen and notebook aside, and leaned forward. Inside the tiffin was her favorite pastry. She reached out to grab it, but Gul-e-Lala quickly snatched the tiffin away.

"I haven't forgotten, Aneesa," Gul-e-Lala raised an eyebrow. She smiled.

"Okay, sorry," she said, admitting defeat.

"I'm not asking for an apology," he said, pretending to be upset.

"So?"

"Nothing. I just enjoy teasing you," Gul-e-Lala laughed.

"Go, Pathan," she said playfully and snatched the tiffin from Gul-e-Lala's hand.

"Aneesa, you're so greedy!" Masooma laughed. The piece of pastry paused in her hand. She was joking. Masooma hugged her tightly.

"Should I erase your name from the tree?" Aneesa pointed towards the tree trunk where the first letters of their names were carved.

"Alright, come with me to get notes from Sir Yasir," Malikah said, sounding bored.

"You go with Gul-e-Lala," Aneesa motioned with her pen. "I’m making notes."

"Okay," Malikah said, getting up with Gul-e-ala, and they left.

"Now tell me that thing," Masooma leaned closer.

"Shh, be quiet," Aneesa blushed. "Let them go a little farther first. They might come back halfway." She watched them disappear into the crowd and then quickly turned her attention to Masooma.

"I didn’t see all of him, just his eyes. He was crying. Very fair-skinned... I don’t know why... but he was crying."

"Would you recognize him if you met him again?" Masooma asked, resting her chin on her fist.

"No. I didn’t see him properly. The doctor was sitting in front, what would he think... that I check out boys?" She laughed.

"Did you like him?"

"Maybe... or maybe not? I’m confused," she said, feeling unsure.

"You don’t even know him. You don’t know where he lives, who he is, where he’s from, where he went, etc., etc."

"Hmm, that’s true." She smiled sadly. There were voices of students around them. She was looking at Masooma.

"So, what will you do?"

"I don’t know. I wish I could’ve seen him a little more!" She sighed. "Don’t mention this to Gul-e-Lala." Aneesa suddenly sat up straight.

"Yeah, do you think I’m crazy? I won’t tell him," Masooma held her hand and looked into her eyes.

"Do you want to say something?" Aneesa sensed that Masooma had something on her mind.

"How do you know every time?" Masooma laughed heartily.

"I’m Aneesa. Whether it’s love or hate, I give it my all. You’re my friend," she reminded her. Masooma was speechless. "Now tell me, what is it?"

"I’m getting married," Masooma said, biting her lip.

"What? Really?" Aneesa shouted with excitement, so loud that nearby students turned to look. Masooma quickly placed her hand over Aneesa’s mouth to silence her. Aneesa glanced around, apologetically.

"That’s why I didn’t want to tell you," Masooma scolded. "I’m not happy about this marriage." She pouted.

"Why? Who’s the guy? Is he your cousin?"

"Yeah. He teaches here. He teaches law to the students," Masooma said sadly.

"Who?"

"Sir Hunaid," she muttered, pulling out a clump of grass from the lawn.

"Well, he’s decent. You should be happy that you’re getting a good-looking guy for free!" Aneesa joked with a laugh.

"Not funny. Why don’t you marry him?" Masooma got up and started walking away.

"Okay, okay, listen to me!" Aneesa quickly shoved her things into her bag and ran after her.

"What happened?" Gul-e-Lala stopped Masooma and asked.

"Ask Aneesa," she replied, still upset.

"Nothing. She’s just fighting over the pastry," Aneesa said, frowning. "Come on, let’s solve this—let’s share the pastry." Aneesa took Masooma’s hand. In that moment, she felt someone’s presence. She looked around and, holding Masooma’s hand, led her inside the university building. She kept glancing back, checking the crowd. As she turned to the right, a man passed by on her left, just inches away. She turned to see a man in a white shirt entering the principal’s office. The scent as he passed was familiar. Suddenly, the hospital room flashed before her eyes. Those tearful eyes, whose image had been blurry, began to sharpen in her mind again.

Masooma was saying something, but Aneesa didn’t know where she was anymore. She couldn’t hear her. Everything and everyone around her seemed to be moving quickly, but Aneesa stood still, lost in the moment.

In love’s fierce grip, surely he too has felt pain,  

Whoever has named love bears its harsh disdain.  

It was the time of a glowing red sunset. Darkness was spreading over the lawn. The trunk of the car parked in the porch was open. Khizar kept coming and going, putting things in the car. Aneesa was moving in and out with him, talking as she did. Khizar was preparing to leave for Kakol. She was sad.

In the lounge, Kashmala was handing some things to Batool and smiling while talking to her. Batool, too, was sad.

"When you leave, I’ll be all alone," Aneesa kept taking her hairband off and putting it back on her head. She was on the verge of tears but wasn’t crying.

"You won’t be alone. We’ll talk over the phone," Khizar said, as he loaded the car. Aneesa stopped near the car. Khizar went inside, and when he returned, Batool was with him. His bag was hanging on his shoulder. They were leaving. Khizar opened the car door, and Batool sat inside. He walked around to the other side. As he opened the door, Aneesa placed her hand on the handle and shook her head in refusal. Her eyes welled up with tears. Khizar instinctively looked at her. She began to cry, silently, without making a sound.

"One doesn’t cry for those who leave. One prays for them," Khizar said, placing his hand on her head.

"What if the ones leaving have caused pain?" she asked, hurt.

"Then you still pray, so that the pain may stop and go away." She had no response.

"Please stay, Khizar Bhai," she pleaded.

By then, Khizar had already sat inside the car.

"You’re making it hard to leave, girl," he smiled in a peculiar way. Aneesa placed her hand on the window and looked at Khizar and Batool.

"You won’t stay?" It was the last time she asked.

Khizar started the car and drove it out of the porch. The gate was open, and the car rolled outside. Aneesa watched it leave. It felt as though it was Junaid and Madiha. Something was slipping away from her, something incredibly precious. If only we had the power to keep our loved ones with us forever or to turn back time and live those moments fully with them. But these are just wishes, and wishes rarely come true.

Khizar glanced in the side mirror and saw Aneesa standing there. Junaid’s sister. He felt sorry for her. His heart ached too. Aneesa stood there, her arms hanging by her sides, watching them go.

"She’s still standing there," Khizar said in a sorrowful voice.

"Does it upset you?" Batool placed her hand on Khizar’s, which rested on the gear shift.

"Yes. She’s Junaid’s sister... such a soft-hearted girl. Every time she needs her relationships, they move further away from her," Khizar said, wiping the corner of his eye with his thumb. The scene behind them had faded away. They were moving forward, and she was left far behind.

"Khizar..." Batool tried to console him. "Moving on is hard. She has to learn it herself."

"I it easy to move on?" he said, pained. His heart was breaking too.

"It was easy for me to move on. I had Khizar," Batool said. "Now, help yourself and Aneesa understand that neither of you have a Khizar."

Khizar fell silent, and Batool looked ahead. The road in front of them was smooth and clear.

Aneesa closed the gate and came inside.

"Listen! Omar and Anam are invited for dinner tonight. They should be here any moment," Mahnoor informed her. "He’s leaving for Europe the day after tomorrow, so I thought I’d host a dinner."

"Okay," Aneesa replied briefly.

"Are you alright?" Mahnoor sensed something was off in her behavior.

"Yeah. It’s just... Khizar and Batool shouldn’t have left." She spoke in a low, emotional voice.

"He has to start his own home too, you know," Mahnoor said in a gentle, understanding tone.

"Yeah." She was still sad, and then a silence fell between them.

"Mahnoor Api, give me your shiny eye color," Aneesa suddenly requested. She only called her "Api" when she needed something.

"Take it," Mahnoor waved her hand dismissively.

"Thank you! I’ll use it now," she said, feeling momentarily happy, but deep down, the sadness lingered. The night was moving forward.

By eight o'clock, Omar and Anam were seated at the dinner table with them. Aneesa kept glancing at her phone under the table as messages popped up. Gul-e-Lala sat next to her, while Kashmala was on her other side.

Her WhatsApp chat was open. Malikah had sent a number, and a conversation was underway.

"Can we meet? I need to see you. What do you want?" Several questions were coming from the other side.

"I need someone’s laptop and social media ID hacked." She got straight to the point and started eating from her plate while glancing at Omar and Anam. She wasn’t talking.

"You’re fast. To gain something, you have to give something... send your picture on WhatsApp." The message from the other side sent a chill down her spine.

"Do the job first, then we can meet." She quickly responded.

"Put the phone down," Kashmala snatched the phone from her hand. Aneesa lowered her head and resumed eating.

"Omar is leaving the day after tomorrow," Mahnoor smiled at Aneesa, who remained silent.

"I brought a gift for you, but you’re not even talking," Omar said casually, while Anam, sitting beside him, burned with jealousy. Aneesa still remained silent. "Will you take it?"

"No, I wouldn’t feel comfortable," she said cautiously in a soft voice.

"Why? You used to accept them before. Why not now?" Omar asked enthusiastically. Aneesa looked at Anam and then at Omar, before getting up and leaving. Mahnoor, trying to smooth things over, served food to Imar with a smile. Omar, feeling disheartened, quietly ate his meal.

Patrolling guards now roam since dusk  

Only a dying lamp remains, its glow is husk  

It was a cool moonlit night. Aneesa was sitting by the window, with Ayesha sitting nearby. In Ayesha's hand was a wooden box filled with old garlands. The scent of wilted flowers fragranced the box. 

"You say you've forgotten him, but if you have, then what is all this?" Ayesha kept sniffing the fragrance of the gajrays. There were also a few small trinkets in the box. 

"Memories are hard to forget. One would have to lose their mind to forget them," she said in a lost manner. 

"Ahem ahem," Ayesha cleared her throat. "You're getting more beautiful by the day." 

Aneesa looked at her and lowered her gaze. 

"Are you blushing because of me?" Ayesha laughed. 

"No, I just get shy about such things," Aneesa smiled. 

"And on the things you should be shy about, you're not," Mahnoor entered and scolded her. "I told you to get ready, didn't I? Aren't you supposed to go to Samaira's house?" 

"Oh! I completely forgot!" She jumped up and shouted, grabbing her abaya to put it on. 

"Shahroz will be here in half an hour. Hurry up!" Mahnoor left after scolding her a bit more. Aneesa quickly started putting on her abaya.

"What will you do?" she asked Ayesha playfully.

"I'll go for a walk with Gul-e-Lala," Ayesha said, placing the box back in the cupboard and getting ready. Aneesa stood frozen for a moment. "We'll come back later. Give my regards to Samaira."

"Yes." She stepped outside. Gul-e-Lala was sitting in the lounge.

"Come on, let's go for a walk." She took Gul-e-Lala's arm and helped him up. He had been watching a show on TV.

"Where's Ayesha? I was supposed to go with her," Gul-e-Lala looked around. By then, Ayesha had also arrived.

"Are you coming too?" Ayesha asked Aneesa.

"Yes, there's still time before my brother arrives. Let's go, let's go." The three of them stepped outside and into the street. Ayesha was walking in the middle. Aneesa kept glancing at Gul-e-Lala and then quickly looking ahead.

"Come along with us, Gul-e-Lala," she broke the silence.

"No, what will I do?" he laughed.

"The same as what I'll do," Aneesa replied flatly. In response, Gul-e-Lala lowered his head and smiled. Under the moonlight, their faces glowed bright and clear.

"No. My friend is leaving for New York the day aftertomorrow, so I'll be going with him," he explained.

"Really?" She was surprised. She knew something was making her restless. Over the past few days, she had begun to feel more attached to Gul-e-Lala. The three of them walked with small, measured steps.

"I want us to spend time together," she said cautiously. "I mean, the three of us." She quickly corrected herself.

"Yeah, but you’re coming back in a day or two anyway," Ayesha smiled, trying to reassure her. Aneesa fell silent.

As they reached the corner of the street, they took a U-turn and headed back home. While turning, Aneesa ended up in the middle. Walking between Ayesha and Gul-e-Lala, her arms hung by her sides. Whenever her shoulder brushed against Gul-e-Lala's arm, she felt a sudden jolt inside. There was something creeping into her, something deep. A divide was forming. A heartache was beginning, the kind whose cure lies in another person. 

Ayesha and Gul-e-Lala, unaware of her emotions, walked beside her. The moon followed them, and they walked with the moon—though none of them realized it.

When they returned, they saw that Shahroz had already arrived. Kashmala, holding Rania in her arms, was ready and waiting for Aneesa. Once Aneesa arrived, Shahroz, along with Kashmala and Rania, took her with them as they set off for Islamabad.

Kabeer was lying in his room, asleep. Mahnoor came in and sat on the other side of the bed next to him.

"Have they left?" Kabeer asked, sensing her presence.

"Yes. I’ve locked the door. You can go back to sleep," Mahnoor said, picking up some lotion and rubbing it on her hands.

"Hmm. Thanks." Kabeer shifted positions and held her hand.

"For what?" She smiled.

"Hmm... for everything," he smiled back.

"You're welcome," she shrugged.

"By the way, your sister is quite mischievous," he laughed. "She asked me for a gun yesterday." Kabeer said with a smile, but Mahnoor's face turned pale. She froze.

"A gun?" The word echoed inside her.

"Yeah, but I refused to give it to her," he said casually.

"W-why was she asking for it?" Her voice trembled.

"I don't know. She said she wanted to learn," Kabeer explained offhandedly, pulling Mahnoor to lie down beside him. "You should rest. Don't overthink it."

"Yes," she said, her mind drifting, as she pulled the comforter over herself. Her brain began to numb, and all she could think about was Aneesa.

"What is this girl planning now? Foolish. Insane," she became agitated. Kabir turned off the light and lay down straight.

I enjoyed the conversation, the taste of your gaze,  

After ages, having a companion brought warmth to my days.  

At the break of dawn, Shahroz parked the car in front of the mansion. Aneesa stepped out, looking up at the grand palace-like house in awe.

“Wowwww,” she was amazed. A man stepped forward to open the gate. As they got out of the car, a line of servants stood ready to greet them.

“What is this? Country folk,” she muttered and laughed. She had never seen anything like it before. She had dreamt of grand mansions, but the one she stood in front of was not hers. Jahan Ara led them all into the lounge.

“I need to go to Samaira,” Aneesa quickly said. Kashmala wanted to stop her but decided against it.

"Luna, Luna!" Jahan Ara called for the housemaid. A woman in a uniform, hands folded, appeared before them, smiling robotically and glancing at Aneesa, whose face was veiled.

"Show this baby to Samaira's room," Jahan Ara instructed and then sat down with Kashmala. Sarah was also sitting there.

"Did you have any trouble on the way here?" Jahan Ara asked with a smile.

“No, not at all,” Kashmala smiled back.

Luna began leading Aneesa towards Samaira’s room.

“This house is so big, I’ll get lost,” Aneesa said as she turned her head, trying to take in the entire place. How much of the world can two eyes really capture? “Hey,” Aneesa addressed Luna.

“Yes, baby,” she smiled, but her pace didn’t slow down at all.

"Come with me when I leave. I don’t want to get lost," Aneesa said.

Luna stopped abruptly. Aneesa looked at her in surprise.

"What happened? Did I say something wrong?" she wondered.

“This is the new madam’s room,” Luna said with a smile, pointing to the door. Aneesa smiled cautiously and knocked on the door. Luna left. Despite knocking repeatedly, no one opened the door. As she was about to turn back, she saw someone approaching. She quickly started walking away, but the person went into Samaira’s room. 

"If someone can enter without knocking, then why can't I?" she thought and boldly opened the door and stepped inside.

"Heyyy! What are you doing?" A man was standing in front of her. He shouted, "I’m putting clothes on the cat! Girl, how did you come in without knocking?" He was angry, but she quickly darted out.

"Ughhh. Clothes for a cat? Seriously?" she muttered to herself, walking away frustrated.

Inside Samaira’s room, Samaira was lying on the bed with Behram, eating ice cream. They were both stretched out on one side of the bed, their legs hanging off the edge. The room was dimly lit.

“Enjoying yourself, right?” Samaira asked while licking the ice cream.

"Yes." The officer, who usually did things his own way and argued over every little thing, now lay there like a child, completely captivated by a woman. She was driving him crazy, and he was willing to let her.

"You’ve probably never enjoyed yourself like this before," Samaira teased.

It was true. He had never laid back and eaten ice cream like this in his life. Many things were happening for the first time in both of their lives. For the first time, Behram found someone so beautiful. And it was also the first time he had seen a woman lying so close beside him.

"Take off your shoes," Samaira said, brushing her foot against Behram’s.

"No, they're boots. It’ll be difficult," he said, focusing on his ice cream, which was melting, causing him to quickly lick it up.

"Hurry up," Samaira said, taking the last bite of her ice cream and finishing it.

"Let’s finish mine together," Behram leaned over Samaira, holding the ice cream between them. They both started eating it together.

"What are we going to do after this?" Samaira asked, placing both her hands on his chest and gently pushing him away as she sat up. Behram noticed that she was blushing. Without answering, he lay there, playing with her hair, enjoying the moment.

"You think about it," he said softly.

"Yeah, there's one game we haven't played yet." Samaira stood up, trying to avoid Behram's touch. He stood up behind her, moving closer.

"Which one? The one I’m thinking of?" he asked suggestively.

"No, I’ll tell you. I’ll have you guess a word," she said, treating him like a child and doing everything on her own terms. Behram, with his hands in his pockets, listened to her.

"Go ahead," he said, sitting down beside her.

"I’ll write a word on your back, and you’ll guess it, okay?"

"Okay," he laughed and turned his back to her. "What kind of childish game is this?" he muttered, half amused, half exasperated as Samaira pulled the curtains aside.

"Ahhhh! Aneesa!" Samaira suddenly shouted, looking out the window.

"What?" Behram instinctively turned around. "She’s here to spoil everything," he thought angrily. Samaira rushed outside, leaving Behram sitting there.

She reached the garden where Aneesa was standing. Behram watched everything from the window.

"Your house is huge!" Aneesa exclaimed happily.

"Isn't it? Come, I'll show you my room," Samaira said, guiding Aneesa inside the mansion, talking excitedly as they walked.

Meanwhile, Behram called for Luna to come to his room.

"I hired you for what?" he shouted angrily.

"Sir, I didn’t know that girl would go into the garden," Luna said, feeling embarrassed.

"I told you that when I'm with my wife like this, I don't want to see anyone else around!" he growled. Just then, the door opened, and Samaira entered with Aneesa. Behram quickly put on a smile.

"This is my room," Samaira said, gesturing around.

"So dark! What is this?" Aneesa spun around, astonished.

"This is Luna," Samaira said, pointing to the maid Behram had arranged for her. Samaira sat on the bed and stretched her neck. Behram excused himself and walked out.

"How's Behram?" Aneesa asked while inspecting everything in the room.

"Verrrrrry good," Samaira stretched the word "very" and spread her arms wide. Luna left the room as well.

"Don’t you get scared in this dark room?" Aneesa asked, a little frightened.

"No, Behram's with me," Samaira shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh." Aneesa continued exploring the room, looking at every corner. Samaira smiled, watching her, and the two of them got lost in their conversation, chatting about everything.

Why did we give our hearts to one so cold,  

Whose cruelty is perfect, as if bold?  

The cold moonlight was streaming into the room. The curtains had been drawn aside, revealing the black sky dotted with twinkling stars beyond the glass window. Samaira sat on the stool in front of the dressing table, taking off her jewelry. She was wearing a long green dress. The room was softly lit. They had just returned from the walima, and all the guests had left; only the family members remained in their respective rooms. Aneesa, Kashmala, and Shahroz had also departed. Behram had changed and stepped out. Samaira was busy removing her nose ring.

"Hurry up," Behram said, applying moisturizer from the table.

"This nose ring won't come off," she replied, struggling with the first one. "I'm so tired," Samaira sighed.

"Should I help?" Behram leaned in.

"No," she said, focused, her eyes glued to her reflection in the mirror. "Listen... I want my gift tonight," she said with a smile, as Behram stood by the stool.

There was a knock at the door. Behram opened it to find Jahan Ara standing there. She quickly entered, pulled Samaira up by the arm, and slapped her hard across the face. Samaira tilted slightly to the right, blood starting to trickle from the left side of her nose. She looked at Behram in disbelief, then back at Jahan Ara, who also looked momentarily shocked.

“Mom... what was that?” Behram asked, gripping Samaira by the shoulders.

“Ask your wife,” she snarled. “She’s barren, this barren one.” Jahan Ara’s last words fell like a thunderbolt. Samaira’s eyes widened. She wanted to say something, but her lips remained sealed. She felt her breath quickening. She could feel the blood flowing from her nose on her fingers.

“What?” Behram looked at Samaira with sorrow.

“Behr... Behram this is a lie,” Samaira said, gripping both of Behram’s hands tightly in her defense. She was crying.

“A lie? Would I lie?” Jahan Ara turned Samaira towards her and squeezed her jaw. She struggled to free herself. “You're the one who lied.”

“I didn't lie. It’s not true.” She stepped back, trembling.

“What will happen when this rumor spreads everywhere that Behram’s wife is barren? What will we do? Who will we show our faces to?” Jahan Ara said with authority.

Samaira's heart sank. She felt suffocated.

“Behram...” she cried, leaning into him. Behram stepped back.

“Did you lie?” With this one question from Behram, her world appeared hazy. The dreams she had of a palace began to shatter.

“Now you know and it’s your work,” Jahan Ara said as she left.

Behram sat at the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Samaira sat at his feet, weeping. Her lips and hands trembled continuously.

“It’s not like that... Behram. It could be a misunderstanding. Behram...” She lifted his head. “Are you listening?!” she asked, crying uncontrollably. “Behram … don’t do this. Say something.”

Behram pushed her away, turned off the light, and lay down on the bed. Darkness enveloped the room. She was left alone.

For a long time, she sat on the floor, crying. Then, adjusting her frock, she stood up and stumbled her way to the dressing room. She turned on the light there and looked at herself in the mirror. There was a bruise forming on her nose. She opened her belongings and took out her clothes. Her gaze fell on a box in the suitcase. She opened it. Inside was a shattered glass palace. She began to cry loudly and threw the palace away, shattering it further. Without changing, she lay back down. Behram, oblivious to her, tossed and turned from right to left and left to right. Sleep had long gone far away. They were both left restless. The thread of trust had been cut. Jahan Ara had made her first strike and left.

I’ll force my heart, forget you I must,  

I’ll ruin myself, and your fate will be just.  

Islamabad International Airport was bustling with people coming and going. People were meeting as if it were the last time, like they would part forever after this. Amidst all this, at Gate Four, Gul-e-Lala stood with Fateh, bidding farewell. There were three other boys with Fateh. Gul-e-Lala turned around, and coming towards him from the front was Omer.

“Oh, Gul-e-Lala, is that you?” Omar called out.

“Yes. Are you leaving too?” Gul-e-Lala asked with a smile, embracing him. “Are you leaving after meeting Aneesa?”

“No, I didn’t meet her. She’s really upset with me,” Omar replied as he walked ahead. They both stopped near Fateh. There was still time for the flight. “Have you spoken to her? She’s becoming very attached to you,” he said, his voice heavy with sorrow and regret.

“No, it’s not like that. These things are temporary,” Gul-e-Lala patted Omar’s shoulder.

“Who is this?” Fateh asked Gul-e-Lala, looking at Omer.

“This… is Omar, my friend’s cousin,” Gul-e-Lala gave a brief reply.

“Oh,” Fateh pursed his lips.

“And Omar, this is my friend, Muhammad Fateh,” he smiled with dignity and shook hands with Omar. “One of his good qualities is that he quickly makes new friends.”

“Really?” Omar looked at him. The boy with the brown, glassy eyes was smiling. Those eyes reminded Omar of many things, and he smiled sadly.

Flights were starting to be announced. Gul-e-Lala bid both of them farewell and walked away. In a short while, both Omar and Fateh were seated on the plane. By coincidence, their seats were next to each other. Fateh was sitting by the window when Omar sat beside him. Their destination was the same.

“Omar …” Fateh smiled.

“So, you remember me?” Omar was surprised.

“Yes, it’s not difficult. I have a good memory for faces,” Fateh replied.

“Oh, great,” Omar said in an appreciative tone. “So, we’re friends?” he extended his hand.

“When I first shook your hand, I already considered you a friend,” Fateh said, shaking his hand and smiling proudly.

“Hmm.” Omar fell silent, at a loss for words.

The plane was taking off. Both of them sat in silence. Fateh placed his jacket over his head and started to fall asleep. Omar stayed awake, using his laptop. He glanced around; everyone seemed absorbed in their own world. He opened a series of files, and soon, the desired images appeared on the screen. A smiling face with brown, glassy eyes came into view. Omar zoomed in on the features, one by one. Those eyes, which looked like honey in sunlight, were smiling. The fair, rosy cheeks were prominently visible, and beside them was written "sun-kissed." Omar smiled and moved to the next picture. Her tousled hair was blowing in the wind, with colors smeared on her cheeks. Omar touched the screen. Just then, Fateh slumped over onto Omar’s shoulder. Startled, Omar quickly turned off the laptop and nudged his shoulder. It felt like Fateh might have seen something.

“Oh, sorry,” Fateh said softly. “Did I disturb you?” He peeked out from under his jacket.

“No, not at all.”

"What were you doing? Was that your wife?" Fateh asked softly.

"No."

"Then?"

"It was just the past."

"Can the past be this beautiful?" he smiled sadly.

"Yes, look, mine was."

"You've called me a friend, so now you’ll have to share," Fateh insisted.

"Let it go. What’s the point now? Sharing grief doesn’t make it go away."

"Oh, a philosopher, are you?" Fateh chuckled.

"No, I’m a dermatologist."

"That's why you're so good-looking?"

Omer laughed. Fateh took his hand.

"Is there really nothing?" he asked again.

"There is." Omer leaned his head back against the seat.

"So, you never met her?"

"No. I got married to someone else."

"And her?"

"She hasn't gotten married yet."

"Why? Why didn’t you marry her?"

"Well... there were some family issues. My mom felt that a girl who doesn’t even know the ‘R’ of a relationship wouldn’t be able to stay with me," he laughed bitterly.

"Then you could’ve taught her the 'R' of a relationship."

"If she had been mine."

"Yeah." There was a moment of silence. "Did she love you?" Fateh asked.

"She used to cry for me. She prayed for me," Omer replied.

"Then why didn’t you meet her?" Fateh was surprised.

"It’s normal. I was committed," Omer said.

"Already?" Fateh was even more surprised.

"Yeah," Omer sighed.

"So, you played with her feelings?"

"No," Omer shook his head. "I just didn’t realize when the time to part came."

"Does she still love you?" Fateh asked.

"Maybe, yes," Omer seemed to reassure himself.

"If you go back, will she come back to you?"

"Yes," Omer replied with confidence.

"And what about your wife?"

"I don’t care about her," he said coldly.

"What’s her name?" Fateh squinted.

"Aneesa." At that name, Sultan Muhammad Fateh was taken aback. Omer’s smiling lips and the affection in his voice made it clear that he was still deeply in love.

"Do you know Samaira?" Fateh asked thoughtfully.

"Samaira is my cousin," Omer looked at him. "How do you know her?"

"Well..." Fateh scratched his head. "She’s a doctor, so... I know her," he quickly said.

"Okay," Omer nodded.

Fateh leaned his head back against the seat and pulled his jacket over himself. Darkness filled the space.

The girl he thought was pure had been having an affair. "Was she truly religious? Did she really come for light of guidance? Or was it just because she was Junaid’s sister? Who knows, maybe Junaid was unaware of her illicit relations. Who knows how many she had slept with. Ugh. And I desired such a girl. It’s not necessary that only the pious are with the pious. Why couldn’t I see it?" He got lost in thought. He felt disgusted with his own desire. He felt disgusted with Aneesa. It felt like he was the only virtuous person left in this entire universe.

The end of love’s ache came with merciless hours,  

And dawns without grace after kind night’s showers.  

The evening had settled over the mansion. The room was still dimly lit. Behram was sitting beside Samaira, who was lying unconscious. The doctor had already checked on her and left. She stirred slightly and opened her eyes. Her eyelids were swollen, and her complexion had turned pale. She saw Behram, who moved closer to sit by her.

“Brown... how are you feeling now?” he asked softly, caressing her cheek with affection. Samaira’s throat tightened, and she began breathing heavily and sobbing.

“Brown… why are you crying? Hey, honey,” he leaned in and gently kissed her cheek.

“You were angry with me,” Samaira reminded him.

“Who said that? How could I be angry with my honey?” he said lovingly.

“Your mom slapped me last night, Behram,” she said in a hurt tone.

“When, honey?” Behram’s response shocked Samaira. She tried to sit up, and Behram helped her. She sat with her head resting against the headboard.

“Your mom slapped me last night, Behram. Look… my nose bled,” she touched her nose. She remembered everything clearly. The wound on her nose was still fresh. Behram looked at her nose, where the mark from her nose ring was visible.

“Forget it, honey. It was a misunderstanding,” Behram said calmly.

“Forget it? How, Behram? It was an accusation. You kept me away from you. I was burning in silence all night. Do you even realize?” She had started crying. “If Sarah had been in my place…”

Her words were cut off as Behram grabbed her shoulders and pinned her back against the headboard.

"Don't mention my sister's name… don't bring up Sarah's name," he said, his anger flaring up.

“Ahhh,” Samaira tried to free herself. Tears were streaming down her face. Behram seemed determined to crush her against the wall. She became even more frightened. He abruptly let her go.

"Give me my phone," she cried, "I don't want to stay here." She spoke between sobs.

"Okay, okay," Behram calmed himself and softened his tone. Samaira was rubbing her shoulders with both hands. "That won't happen again. I promise... I love you," he moved closer and kissed her. She shrank further and continued to cry.

"Just one call," she managed to say.

"We’ll call tomorrow. Right now, we’ll have dinner and spend a lot of time together, okay?" he spoke sweetly, as if trying to soothe a child. "Will you come outside? Then we'll do whatever you want, okay?" He was coaxing her gently now. Samaira nodded in agreement. "Now smile… honey," Behram said, and she gave a faint smile. She brushed her hair back from her face and got down from the bed. Behram took her hand and stood in front of her. Samaira looked at him with displeasure. Without saying anything, he kissed her lips briefly and stepped back.

"I’ll tell Luna to bring you something to eat," he said as he walked out. Samaira went to the bathroom to freshen up.

In the lounge outside, Jahan Ara was sipping tea.

"Has your precious wife woken up?" Jahan Ara asked bitterly.

"Yes, Mom," Behram replied softly, then called out, "Luna! Luna!" When Luna arrived, he asked her to prepare food for Samaira and then left.

Luna brought the tray of food to Behram’s room. Samaira, wearing a baby pink ankle-length dress, was standing by the window when Luna called out to her.

“Ma’am, please have your meal,” Luna smiled.

"Where is Behram?" Her voice still trembled, and she was still crying.

"Sir has left," Luna replied as she set the food. "Come, have your meal. Sir has ordered me to serve you."

Samaira stood by the window, staring out blankly. Luna gently took her hand and led her to the sofa, placing the plate of biryani in front of her. She poured water into a glass and handed it to Samaira before getting up to leave.

"Wait..." Luna turned around on her heels. "Can I get a phone?" Samaira asked.

"Sorry?" Luna pretended not to understand.

"A phone. I need to make a call."

"No, ma'am. Sorry, I don't use a phone," Luna confidently lied. Samaira looked at her with disappointment and turned away. Luna felt hurt but bit her lip and left the room. Samaira took a couple of bites, but her hunger and thirst were long gone. She drank some water and then got up, taking a Quran from the bedside table to read.

"At least I can do this. I’ve built one sincere relationship; I don’t want to lose it. I don’t want to lose Behram," she thought, her heart aching. "I can’t bear his behavior anymore. What is happening to me?" Tears began to fall again. "Please, Allah, let this be temporary. Please, Allah, change him. Let him be like he was before. I’m starting to feel afraid. Take everything away, just... just give me Behram. Only Behram."

A lamp was lit once, bright and warm,  

Its joy still glows, untouched by storm.

Dewdrops on the green grass were still fresh. Crossing the corridor to the outside lawn, there were four chairs set up.

"You know, Samaira's house was huge, even bigger than this one," Aneesa was telling Gul-e-Lala and Ayesha, who were sitting with her. "Twice as big? No, three times?" she guessed. "No, maybe even bigger than that."

"Really?" Ayesha showed interest.

"Yes. And there was a long line of guards in front and behind. Servants were always moving around her. It was a grand palace, a real palace," she said, lost in thought.

"And what else was there?"

"There was so much more. I can't even put it into words," she said in one breath, her eyes wide.

"Did you meet Samaira? Was she happy?"

"Yes. Who wouldn't be happy in mansions?" She shook her head. Ayesha nodded. "And guess what did Behram give her as a wedding gift?"

"What did he give?" Ayesha leaned forward.

"A car. I don't know the name, but it was an expensive car," she said, moving her head in circles. Just then, Mahnoor peeked through the window.

"Come here to me," Mahnoor called. She got up slowly and went inside, leaving only Gul-e-Lala and Ayesha behind.

"Samaira is so lucky. She must be really happy," Ayesha said, smiling.

"Hmm," Gul-e-Lala smiled faintly.

"How’s your exam preparation going?" Ayesha then changed the subject.

"It’s going well. And yours?"

"My preparation is going great too."

"When does Aneesa even study? I’ve never seen her studying, yet she always gets good grades," Gul-e-Lala asked, narrowing her brows as if suspicious.

"Yes, I’ve never seen her either. She barely studies. At night, she goes to bed early, and then in the morning, she’s right there in front of you," Ayesha laughed.

"Yeah. Maybe she studies in secret," Gul-e-Lala joked, and Ayesha laughed. They both stayed there for a while before heading back inside.

In the room, Mahnoor was sitting and scolding Aneesa. Aneesa, with her head down, occasionally counted the faded flowers on the carpet or looked at Mahnoor and Kabeer's wedding picture on the wall with empty eyes.

"I’ve told you so many times, don’t make such requests to Kabeer," Mahnoor was saying angrily. "Why do you make demands of him? Am I dead or something?" Mahnoor spoke in a suppressed voice.

"Okay, I won’t say anything next time," Aneesa replied, trying to end the conversation, but it only made Mahnoor angrier.

"And where did you go the day before yesterday?"

"To meet Uzair." She slumped her shoulders.

"What?" Mahnoor grabbed her arm and shook her. "Are you out of your mind? Why did you go there?"

Aneesa sat there like a statue.

"I asked you something," Mahnoor shouted. "Answer me."

"I went to find out about Junaid's killers, but the principal wasn’t there that day," she said in a flat tone. Mahnoor’s grip on her arm loosened. "I’ll have to do something myself. Junaid and Madiha’s blood cannot be taken lightly. The killer must pay the price," she said with determination, her voice unwavering. Mahnoor fell silent and moved away to sit at a distance.

"You’re still young. Don’t get involved in all this. What’s done is done. Forgive everyone. This is beyond us. Two people from our family were killed; we can’t afford more bodies. Think about Mom and Dad…" 

"And Junaid? And Madiha? Who will think about them?" Her voice began to tremble. "The enemy is sitting comfortably, knowing well what trauma we’re going through. They think we might back down, but no. Even if you all leave me, I’ll fight. I’ll fight for Junaid. I’ll fight for Madiha."

Mahnoor looked at her and shook her head in denial.

"Nothing will come of this. Only destruction. Just destruction."

"I know." She smiled, her eyes gleaming, looking satisfied.

A dawn awaits that has yet to arise,  

A night endures that hasn’t met sunrise.  

The coolness of the AC spread throughout the apartment. There was no wall between the kitchen and the sitting area. Two tall chairs were placed by the counter table. The aroma of breakfast filled the air, and tea was boiling in the kettle. Omer opened the door, came outside, and sat on a chair, watching the person in front of him making breakfast. He was folding his cuffs while preparing breakfast, his hair set with gel, looking fully ready to go somewhere.

"How long have you been doing all this?" Omer rested his chin on his hand and asked him.

"About six years?" he guessed, his attention on the breakfast.

"Are you making some for me too?"

"Yes, I’ll cook for three days; after that, we’ll split the work. I’ll do breakfast, and you can handle dinner," he said with a shrug.

"Ohhh," Omer pursed his lips. "By the way, thanks for offering me a place to stay. At least I’ll save some money now," he laughed.

"Don’t say thanks. We’re friends. You’re only a guest for three days." He smiled, pouring juice into a glass and handing it to Omer.

"Okay," Omer picked up the juice and took small sips.

"I’ll be heading to the university shortly, so you’ll need to take care of the apartment. If you go out, lock the door and leave the key by the hanging marigold flowers outside, okay?" he began serving breakfast.

"Okay. By the way, when will you be back?"

"Not sure. No fixed time."

Omer didn’t say anything and began eating breakfast with a light smile.

"Very nice," Omer said in an appreciative tone while eating the fried egg, and he smiled tightly. "Your mom must be really lucky."

"Yeah," he replied, a bit laughed.

"And for the future wife too," Omer said, taking another bite.

"Yes, absolutely," he replied with a smile.

After finishing breakfast, he left. Omer began looking around the apartment, wandering and inspecting each part. For a long while, he paced around the place, eventually getting bored and lying down on the sofa outside.

A short distance away, a white car was parked. The person inside had a laptop open on his lap, a smile spread across his lips, his fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard.

"Hey. Hope you’re doing well. I’m sending you a video. Watch it—watch it a hundred times. I want you to suffer the consequences of your actions, my sweetheart." After typing the message, he attached a file and hit the send button.

Then the screen shifted, showing the apartment view again. Omer was lying on the sofa. The person closed his eyes, feeling a weightless calm settle over him. But it wasn’t peace—it was something else, something seeping deep within him.

I spend my life in solitude’s quiet nook,  

Since they turned away, alone I have took.

The smell of medicines and spirits permeated the hospital. It was filled with people burdened by their own struggles—some were coming, while others were going.

Dressed in a black abaya, Aneesa entered Dr. Haroon's office. She was alone. Dr. Haroon was engrossed in a book when she knocked and came in.

"As-salamu alaykum," she said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

"Wa alaykum as-salam." Dr. Haroon smiled, taking off his glasses and placing them on the table. "How’s my daughter doing?" he asked with a hint of kindness.

"Thank God," she replied with a slight smile. He knew by now that the face behind the veil was not Samaira's, but Aneesa’s. He had realized this from the very first day.

"How’s Samaira? Has she gotten married?" he smiled.

"Yes, she’s fine. She’s happy."

"Good, that’s good." He nodded. "And is she still attending sessions?"

"I’m not sure. It seems she’s stopped. But she reads the Quran, she prays… and then…" She fell silent.

"That’s okay. It’s enough to stay close to God. It’s a blessing, isn’t it, dear?" he said with enthusiasm, his voice resonant.

"Yes," was all she could say. "Dr. Haroon, I wanted to ask something. I’ve seen in my life that even blood relations abandon us, often even parents. No one truly understands our problems… or rather, they don’t want to understand," she said in a sad voice. "Why does this happen? Why does God keep us connected to such people? We know people are insincere, and God knows this too, so why?"

"Hmm. I understand what you’re saying. You’re trying to say that your parents often don’t understand you, or your siblings sometimes don’t support you in certain matters. So look, dear, you need to consider your actions yourself. If you’re wrong, then your parents and siblings are right in their response. Okay. But if you’re right in a matter and no one agrees with you, that’s not a big deal. First, try talking to them. Explain your point to them." 

Aneesa shook her head in disagreement, and Dr. Haroon continued, "I know that sometimes people take explanations as rudeness. But see how you approach the conversation. Why should you hesitate to speak the truth? If they still don’t agree, then let it go; they won’t change their minds," he chuckled softly, and Aneesa seemed to understand. "You have to fulfill your duty, avoid wrongdoing yourself, and prevent others from doing so as well. And as you said, only God is with us, and He is with us at every moment. He’s the Compassionate, the Merciful. Only He possesses true mercy, so don’t expect mercy from people today. Place your trust solely in God."

"But why does it sometimes feel like God is helping the other side? Sometimes we feel weak and alone," she said, disheartened.

"That, too, is a blessing from God. God may bless your opposing side, which will make them so indulgent in those blessings that it gives you a chance to strengthen your own position. Then you’ll see for yourself who God truly supports. Who does He support?"

"Who does He support?" she still hadn’t fully understood.

"Think of it this way—excess of anything can be harmful. If you eat too much, your digestion will be upset; if you take too much medicine, it’ll harm your health. This concept is present in religion as well."

God says:

[2:155] Al-Baqarah-الْبَقَرَة 

وَ لَنَبۡلُوَنَّکُمۡ بِشَیۡءٍ مِّنَ الۡخَوۡفِ وَ الۡجُوۡعِ وَ نَقۡصٍ مِّنَ الۡاَمۡوَالِ وَ الۡاَنۡفُسِ وَ الثَّمَرٰتِ ؕ وَ بَشِّرِ الصّٰبِرِیۡنَ ﴿۱۵۵﴾ۙ

And We will most certainly test you somewhat by means of fear and hunger and certain loss of wealth and lives and fruits. And, (O Beloved,) give glad tidings to those who observe patience.

"Sometimes God's blessings come in the form of tests. They can distract a person from the concerns of the hereafter. He tests us, just as you mentioned that sometimes you don’t see signs of God's mercy. This too is a trial, to see how patient you can be. Those who express gratitude to God even in trials are granted even more. Patience must be accompanied by gratitude; one should not complain about God with their tongue. It’s important to note that patience and gratitude go hand in hand," Dr. Haroon emphasized.

"In the same way, God tests by giving. For instance, if God blesses someone with wealth, their test will be to see what they do with it. Do they help others, show off, or build a paradise like Shaddad and act as if they are God? These are all trials. Instead of getting upset by trials, engage in remembrance (dhikr), for it opens pathways to God. The heart softens through remembrance. Grief consumes the heart; let dhikr be its remedy."

"But how can we stop what is wrong?" she asked.

"I will refer to a Hadith. Everything has been explained by Allah and His Messenger (peace be upon him). " He smiled and leaned back in his chair. Aneesa fell silent.

"What do you want now?" Dr. Haroon asked after a few seconds of silence.

"I want someone who understands me, stands by me in every difficult moment, believes in me, respects me sincerely, stands up for me. And…" She smiled with teary eyes and shrugged. "Maybe that’s all?"

Dr. Haroon, who had been listening to her while nodding, smiled.

"When there are hardships, and really tough hardships, understand that good times are near. If there's sincerity in what you desire, it will come to you somehow. Allah will surely bring it to you. But remember—patience and gratitude. What’s the benefit of patience if there’s no gratitude in it, hmm?" He was smiling calmly. "Now, act upon what I’ve told you. Then come back after a few days; this door will always remain open."

"Yes. Thank you, Doctor." She got up and walked outside. Her phone vibrated as she hurried down the corridor. She took it out and looked.

"Hello," she answered, sounding annoyed.

"Where are you?" On the other side, Mahnoor snapped.

"I was at the hospital," she replied, walking.

"Hurry up, come home. You’re late."

Mahnoor was scolding her as she, frustrated, stepped outside. The voices faded away.

Nights rolled away in layers of marshy depth,  

Days sank into bogs, as I kept on seeking.  

The palace's walls and doors presented a desolate scene. It was six in the evening. From the outside, the palace was bathed in yellow lights. A gardener was busy tending to and trimming the flowers. Inside, silence prevailed everywhere. In an upstairs room, Malikah was asleep at her study table, her head resting on it. Books lay open in front of her, and a laptop was also on. A gentle breeze was flowing in through the window, and the delicate, white lace curtains were swaying. The door opened, and Hajra came in. She had just finished her household chores. The clock now struck ten.

"Asleep?" Hajra put a hand on Malikah’s head. Malikah woke with a start.

"Hmm, maybe I dozed off." She began gathering her books.

"Go to sleep." Hajra lay down on the bed.

"No, Mom, I’ll study a bit more. You go to sleep." Malika replied in a tired voice.

"Yes, your exams are coming up, but don’t study too much. You don’t want to make yourself ill."

"No, Mom. Why do you worry? You go, rest." Malikah said in a concerned tone. "I’ll sleep when I feel sleepy." Malikah got up, adjusted the blanket on Hajra, turned off the main light, and switched on the study lamp. She sat down, bending over her book. Drops began falling onto the book. In the complete silence, she could hear those tiny drops, but no one else could.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she pressed her hand against her lips to stifle a sob. A sigh escaped her heart and reached the distant sky.

"Oh Allah, please make it stop. I have given up." She lifted her tear-stained face upwards.

"Remember to close the window," Hajra, who was still awake, called out to Malikah.

“Ye ye yes, Mom.” She wiped her tears and took a deep breath. The book lay open, and inside it were photographs. They were pictures of Madiha and Junaid—covered in blood, lifeless.

"Who knows what these people will do to me and my mother?" A wave of worry washed over her, and once again, warm tears began to flow.

"Who took my father’s pictures? And the USB? Where could it be?" she wondered.

“How is Aneesa’s attitude towards you now?” Hajra asked again. Malikah turned to look. Hajra could see Malikah’s face shrouded in mist from afar. Due to her weak eyesight, she couldn’t see it very clearly.

"She’s fine, Mom. She asks about you sometimes. She’s very nice, very—nicer than anyone," she replied sadly.

“Still, be cautious. Don’t get into conflicts with people. Even if someone tries to take advantage, stay silent,” Hajra said, her motherly concern showing.

“Yes, Mom, okay. Please, you rest now. You work all day.” Malikah said, trying to stifle her own sadness.

"Yes, well, this is the only time I get to talk to you. Otherwise, you and I are always busy. There’s just no time," Hajra said sadly.

"It’s okay, Mom. We’re together—that’s a lot for me.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, but she managed to hold herself together.

"Hmm," Hajra began to drift off to sleep. Malikah bent back over the book, observing the photographs.

"Should I tell Aneesa? No. She would fight the whole world." Malikah’s heart sank. She couldn’t imagine Aneesa’s reaction upon seeing those pictures. She closed her eyes in anguish, feeling the wound in her heart deepen. She kept crying silently, her sorrow and regrets chaining her. If only she had picked up her deceased father's pictures. If only the USB hadn’t slipped from her sleeve. If only she hadn’t been forced into marrying Niaz Sikandar that night. Could time ever go back? If life had given her a second chance, she would never have stepped into Niaz Sikandar’s life. She would have crossed every limit to avenge her father’s death, giving each person involved a fate worse than death.

I know all prayers of love so fine;

I could make you lose your mind, if you were mine.

It had been three weeks since the wedding. Everything was getting back to normal. Behram had started going to the office again. Samaira would go to the hospital and return around ten at night. Behram had just returned from the office. He went straight to his room upstairs. Samaira hadn’t come back yet. It was eight o'clock. His room door opened. Jahan Ara entered.  

"How are you? Forgot your mother as soon as your wife arrived?" Jahan Ara pretended to be upset.  

"No, mom," Behram moved forward, hugged her, and kissed her forehead. She smiled.  

"I need to talk to you, Behram." Jahan Ara sat down on the bed. Behram took off his coat.  

"Yes, mom. I’m listening."  

"When will Burhan come back?" she asked, crying.  

Behram threw his coat onto the sofa and walked slowly to sit beside his mother.  

"Mom… it's government work; delays are bound to happen." Behram took her hand, trying to comfort her.  

"No. You should get Burhan released through Samaira. My son is innocent," she started crying.  

"Okay, okay… mom. Please don’t cry. I'll go to Lahore in the morning."  

"Promise?"  

"Yes, promise." He smiled. Jahan Ara wiped away her crocodile tears with joy and kissed Behram's forehead.  

"And when your wife comes, tell her to come back from the hospital earlier," she criticized.  

"That's just how her job is," Behram tried to defend Samaira.  

"Your job is tougher than hers, yet you come back early."  

He laughed involuntarily.  

"Okay, mom. I'll tell her."

"Do one thing, Behram..." Jahan Ara spoke excitedly, "Make Samaira leave her job. Tell her to take over my studio." Behram let go of her hand. He didn’t seem very pleased. "Look how late it is, and she still hasn’t come home. People talk, son," Jahan Ara said sympathetically.  

"No, mom, it's fine. There are drivers and guards with her. She’s safe."  

"It’s better to work at home than outside. Jahan Ara looked at him seriously. "And then, I’ll also have someone trustworthy—my daughter-in-law—working for me. How does that sound?"  

"Right," he said reluctantly and went to change. Jahan Ara stepped out, and Samaira was coming upstairs.  

"Took you long enough," Jahan Ara stopped and asked her.  

"Yes, Aunty, it’s just the nature of the job," Samaira smiled tiredly.  

"Hmmm," Jahan Ara frowned and walked past her. Samaira found it odd but chose to ignore it and entered the room.  

"You’re back?" Behram smiled as he saw her.  

"Yeah," Samaira took the bag off her shoulder, placed it on the table, and collapsed onto the sofa.  

"Tired?" Behram sat next to her, changing his shoes.  

"Hmmm," she rubbed her face and sat up.  

"I was planning our honeymoon," Behram said.  

"Honeymoon?" she replied with a hint of sadness.

"Yes, why? Shouldn't we go?" Behram peered into Samaira's eyes. She was sitting cross-legged, feeling conflicted.  

"I don’t know," she said, confused, then looked at Behram, who was watching her closely. "What’s the point... I can’t give you a child. You’ll just be wasting your time," she said in a soft voice, but the weight of her words cut deep into both of them.  

"Hey... honey, don’t say that." Behram wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest. Samaira leaned into him.  

"But that’s the truth, Behram."  

"Alright, forget it. I don’t want to discuss this topic," Behram said, noticing her face had fallen. "Will you do one thing for me?"  

"What?" 

"Join mom’s business." He hadn’t realized he would bring this up so soon.  

"Behram... are you serious or joking?" Samaira placed her hands on his chest, putting some distance between them.  

"Why would I joke?" He spoke with sudden seriousness.  

"Then when will I go to the hospital? When I come back from the hospital, I’m exhausted. I don’t think I can handle her business."  

"Well... Samaira, you can also quit this job."  

"No. I didn’t choose this profession to quit. I love what I do," she paused for a moment. "Did Aunty tell you to say this?"

"Not at all. I just want you to work inside the house, safe and secure." He smiled.  

"Hmm, okay," she responded softly, getting up to freshen up. Her thoughts kept wandering to one question: What if I had to give up my job?  

When she came out after freshening up, Behram was lying on the bed, working with his laptop on his chest. She started preparing for bed. Once under the comforter, she lay down.  

"You’re not going to spend time with me?" Behram asked, making her turn towards him.  

"I’m sleepy. Tomorrow?"  

"No," he said, his eyes still focused on the laptop. Samaira moved closer to him, and he placed one arm under her head.  

"Go to sleep," she said softly.  

"I’m not sleepy yet."  

"If you turn off the laptop, you’ll feel sleepy," Samaira warned.  

"Okay." Behram snapped the laptop shut and placed it on the side table. "Done, but I’m still not sleepy."  

Samaira wrapped her arms around him.  

"You’ll fall asleep. Just close your eyes. You need to sleep early, we have to wake up early for prayer, then read the Quran... and get ready for the day," she started listing the routine. Behram didn’t read the Quran, but Samaira tried to be consistent. He only prayed regularly.  

"Ah, yes, and I have to pack too. I need to go to Lahore in the morning," Behram added, making Samaira surprised. She propped herself up on her elbow.  

"Ouch, honey," Behram winced as her elbow jabbed into his chest. 

"Sorry, sorry," she apologized quickly and lowered her elbow. "Why Lahore?"  

"Just some work." He had one arm wrapped around her, the other under his head.  

"What work?" she asked, turning on the lamp to see his face better.  

"Are you suspicious?" he chuckled.  

"No, I was just thinking that I'll be alone tomorrow?" She sounded worried. In the dim light, Behram saw her face fall.  

"What’s wrong?" Behram touched her cheek.  

"Nothing," she replied, resting her head back on his chest. Behram gently ran his fingers through her hair.  

"Go to sleep," he heard Samaira say after a while.  

"You were the one who was sleepy. Why haven’t you slept yet?"  

"I’m not sleepy anymore. You know why," she said sadly. Behram sat up, and she sat up too.  

"Will you feel sad when I leave?"  

"Yes," she said, pouting. "Don’t go."  

"I’m going for you," he said lovingly, cupping her face in his hands.  

"You just said it was office work," Samaira pushed his hands away.  

"Who am I working for? Who am I earning for? The office is, of course, for you, honey." He let his affection show in his words and pulled her close to his chest. Samaira looked up at him, gazing into his eyes, then studying every detail of his face. Pulling herself free, she cupped his face and kissed his forehead.  

"Thank you, Behram," she whispered.  

"You’re trying to tempt me," he laughed softly.  

"No, I’m not," Samaira frowned, knitting her brows together.  

"Oh, yes, you are," Behram said playfully and kissed her neck.  

"Behram..." she gasped at his touch, pulling away, "You're so shameless!"  

"And you’re so shy," he teased, laughing.  

Blushing, Samaira lay back down, Behram also lay down beside her. She was laughing. Behram was holding her with both hands. He kissed her face repeatedly. Her laughter echoed in the room. Behram felt a sense of calm as he held her.

We, like moths, have been late in our flight,  

Whether we turn to ash or disappear from sight.

It was twelve o'clock in the afternoon. The sun was at its peak. In such heat, four people were sitting in a restaurant, waiting for someone to arrive. 

"First he said, 'Send the picture.' Then, he said, 'Send the city picture.'" Aneesa was laughing as she told Gul-e-Lala, Malikah, and Masooma.

"Let’s meet this joker." Masooma laughed. 

"Waheed is such a stubborn guy, always talks nonsense, just nonsense." Aneesa shivered. 

"Here he comes." Malikah pointed and waved. A boy walked over and sat down with them. Aneesa nudged Gul-e-Lala with her elbow. 

"Gul-e-Lala," she said. Gul-e-Lala shook his hand.

"Yes, nice to meet you." Waheed smiled awkwardly. 

"Which one of you is Aneesa?" Waheed asked, looking at the three girls whose faces were hidden behind veils. 

"I am," Aneesa said, placing her hands on the table and leaning forward a little. 

"You said you would come alone. Why did you need to bring this whole parade with you?" he said angrily. 

"Mind your manners, brother. These are my friends," Aneesa interrupted. "If you do my work, I’d appreciate it."

"Yes, tell me," he said seriously. 

"There’s a Facebook ID named 'Justice for Junaid.' Find out who's behind it. And there’s an email ID I need hacked. Can you do it?" Her brown eyes met the boy's dark ones.

"Yeah, I can do it. But what will I get in return?" he scratched his ear. Aneesa's forehead wrinkled.

"Alright... I'll give you a bank account. Hack it, and you'll get one crore," Aneesa spoke smoothly. "But there will be shares, six shares."

"Six? Why six? There are only five of us."

"I'll hold one back," Aneesa said, raising her hand as if for a slap. "One share for each of you four, and two for me." She smiled.

"Why two?" Masooma turned her face towards her.

"Because it's my plan, so I deserve more," she said flatly. "Here are the account details." Aneesa placed some papers in front of them.

"Hmm," Waheed briefly glanced at the papers and then placed them in the bag he had brought along.

"So, am I officially part of your gang?" he smiled.

"Excuse me? Not yet... I'll see how well you do the work, and then we'll decide if you're worth keeping," Aneesa said indifferently. "And don't talk nonsense with me on the phone again. Especially not at night," she warned him. Waheed stared at her, mouth open. 

"Now go," Aneesa said angrily.

"Aren't we going to order food?" Waheed stayed seated.

"Should we offer you some food?" Masooma leaned forward.

"Yes, it would be better if you do," he said, rubbing his hands together. Gul-e-Lala stood with his hands folded, smiling at him.

"Okay. Waiter..." Masooma called the waiter, who promptly came over with the menu. Masooma began ordering chicken karahi with soft drinks.

"You'll pay the bill," Aneesa said sternly, staring at Waheed.

"Me?"

"Yes. Consider it a tip from you to all of us," she said shamelessly.

"A forced tip," he muttered, pulling out money and placing it on the table. Soon, the five of them were enjoying the chicken karahi. Aneesa kept shooting sharp glances at Waheed and then looking away. Waheed's eyes were fixed on her, and as he ate, he muttered to himself. Coming here had turned out to be an expensive ordeal for him.

Why does the darkness of night over fate cast a veil?  

My dreams are desolate, with stars as their tale.

 

All the family members were seated at the breakfast table. Niaz Sikandar was seated at the head chair. To his right sat Jahan Ara, and on his left, Taimoor was seated. Next to Taimoor was Behram, and beside Behram, Samaira sat, eating toast. Aleena was seated next to Jahan Ara, helping the children with breakfast as they prepared for school.

"So, you’re going to Lahore today?" Niaz asked Behram, looking at him.

"Yes. I have some work there," he replied calmly.

"What kind of work?"

"I need to go in connection with the project you started, to begin the installation work of the machinery in the hospital. And Khawar is already handling the budget." Behram began drinking his juice.

Everyone fell silent.

"Alright... Khawar was saying that his father would like to invite all of us for dinner sometime. Behram, find some time; we’ll all go one day," Jahan Ara said cautiously.

"Of course." He smiled. Samaira, pretending not to hear, continued with her breakfast.

"And I’ve got a gift for both of you." Taimoor took out a white envelope from his jacket and placed it on the table. "Honeymoon tickets." Samaira was momentarily taken aback but quickly composed herself.

"Thanks, brother." Behram opened it and looked inside.

"What’s the point of a honeymoon?" Jahan Ara glanced bitterly at Samaira. Samaira's throat tightened. She continued breaking her toast, head down. "Our luck... I say don’t go anywhere, it’ll just be a waste of money and time, and then there’ll be all sorts of talk from people."

Samaira pushed her chair back, got up, and went upstairs to her room.

"What happened to her?" Aleena looked at Behram in confusion.

"The truth is always bitter. She ran away from it." Jahan Ara looked at Behram. He gave a faint, sad smile.

Samaira stood in the room, taking off her earrings and placing them on the table. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but she repeatedly held them back. Just then, Behram entered, opening the door. She stood there in a blue shalwar kameez with a golden dupatta draped around her neck.

"Why did you get up and leave?" Behram was standing behind her. She continued with what she was doing. "Everyone was having breakfast together, weren’t they? They all get up at the same time, so why did you do that?" he asked, raising his voice slightly.

Her hand paused as she pulled a file out of the drawer. She went and sat on the edge of the bed, wiping the corner of her eye with her finger.

"Sorry," she uttered a single word.

"I didn’t ask for a ‘sorry.’ I asked you something." He spoke in the same tone.

"I don’t know." She hastily continued her work. Behram stood by the dresser. She passed by him to pick up her coat.

"Did Mom's words upset you?" Behram changed the question this time.

She turned and looked at him with wounded eyes. "Yes," her voice trembled. "Why was she talking about me like that in front of everyone? Did you like it?" She gave a bitter smile. "Oh… right. That’s why you sat there silently."

"What are you trying to say?" Behram moved closer to her.

"Nothing." She went into the dressing room.

"Is there something wrong? Tell me, please." Behram followed her.

"No. Let it go; you'll get upset," Samaira shook her head. She was still crying, her face turned away. She took out her shoes from the closet, put them on, and came out. "You should go. Lahore. You'll be late."

"Try talking to me. I don’t want to leave for Lahore with you like this," he spoke gently. Samaira paused, looked at him, and stood right in front of him.

"Really? Hearing about your own family from me wouldn’t upset you?" Behram raised his eyebrows, as if he didn’t understand. "If Aunt had said those words to Sarah instead of me, what would you have—" Her words were cut off as Behram grabbed her by the neck and pushed her against the wall, his fingers pressing into both sides of her neck. Samaira gripped his arms, trying to push him away.

"Behram, let go of me," she said, breathing heavily, tears streaming down her face. Behram held her arm with his other hand, pinning her against the wall. She struggled to break free, but he cruelly dug his thumb into one side of her neck and his fingers into the other.

"Don’t you dare even mention my sister," he said, staring into her eyes. "I’ll squeeze this neck so hard you’ll never make a sound again." She froze, her neck burning, as his fingers felt like they’d pierce right into her skin. With a sudden jerk, he let her go and picked up the receiver to make a call.

"Tell Mahmood to get the car ready and take my bag," he said, putting down the receiver. He picked up his bag, placed it outside the room, and then returned to gather his file and laptop. Samaira remained standing against the wall, frozen in fear, watching Behram as he went about his tasks with empty, hollow eyes. Her mind was completely numb.

"Where’s your phone?" Behram turned back towards her. She shrank further into herself. "Where’s the phone?" he demanded angrily. Samaira trembled and gestured toward her bag with her eyes. Without a moment’s hesitation, Behram retrieved her phone from the bag, slipped it into his pocket, and left the room. The door shut with a loud bang. Samaira slid down, using the dresser for support. She gently touched her neck; she could still feel his grip as if his hands were still wrapped around her throat. Resting her hands on her knees, she glanced at the clock; there were only ten minutes left until eight. She abandoned her plan to go to the hospital and, sitting there on the floor, broke into tears.

The sun is yet to set, let evening softly fade,  

I’ll turn back on my own, let my steps be delayed.  

The students in the class were laughing, some sitting and some standing. Discipline was nowhere to be seen. "Lady Aneesa, Lady Aneesa!" voices echoed. Gul-e-Lala and Aneesa were trying to stifle their laughter. Masooma and Malikah appeared to be laughing too, though their hearts were heavy.

"Lady Aneesa," Gul-e-Lala burst out laughing. "This will be your new name, the one Mr. Mukhtar gave you." Everyone laughed even harder.

Aneesa covered her mouth, trying to hide her laughter, when the principal passed by the classrooms. She was dressed in a sari with a necklace around her neck. Hearing the noise, she stopped and stood at the doorway. One by one, students who noticed her went silent, though some continued hooting and making noises.

"Stand up," she called out in a firm voice. "Where is the CR and GR?" She entered and stood at the front dais. Gul-e-Lala and Masooma stepped forward.

"What was so funny? Care to share with me so I can laugh too?" she said bitterly.

"Sorry, ma'am," Gul-e-Lala replied, looking down.

"Is this how you handle a class? Where is the discipline?" The room was now pin-drop silent. "Is this a free period?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, all of you will remain standing for the entire day." She issued the punishment and walked away. Gul-e-Lala and Masooma returned to their places, remaining on their feet.

"Who gives this kind of childish punishment at this level?" Aneesa remarked in frustration, looking around at everyone.

"Dear, come here," the principal, who was still standing outside, called out. She had heard Aneesa’s comment and summoned her. "Is this a childish punishment?" Aneesa scratched her head in embarrassment.

"Ma'am, we were just playing around," she said in frustration.

"You will now go to the admin office, collect your suspension letter, and go home. You are suspended for one week." Aneesa stared at her in disbelief as the principal walked away. She returned to the class, still stunned.

"Who told you to say such things?" Gul-e-Lala said, worried. "Now face the consequences. We're all standing too. You could’ve just stood with us."

"It’s okay." She sat down, while all the other students remained standing.

"Now come with me, let’s go to the admin office," she said, making a face. She took Gul-e-Lala along to the admin office.

"First, let’s try convincing ma'am not to suspend me," she said, stopping in her tracks.

"Do you think she’ll agree?" Gul-e-Lala asked skeptically.

"Who knows, let's try. Come on." She pulled Gul-e-Lala with her to the principal’s office. She knocked on the door and entered. The principal’s chair was empty, but an older man was seated in one of the chairs, using his phone. The principal was doing her rounds in the university today.

"Yes, how can I help you?" The man looked up at Aneesa and Gul-e-Lala.

"Where is ma'am?"

"Oh, she went outside?" he said kindly, looking at Aneesa closely. "You look familiar." He pointed at her, trying to recall. "Oh yes, now I remember—you’re the one who threw water on me." A lump formed in Aneesa's throat as she glanced at Gul-e-Lala. "Don’t worry about how I know; I saw the footage." He smiled. Just then, the door opened, and the principal walked in.

"What are you doing here?" she asked Aneesa as she took her seat, now seeming refreshed.

"Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean it like that," she replied gently.

"My dear, it’s up to you students to maintain the class discipline. If you’re sitting there playing around and making noise, what impact does that have? You’re all mature now. What more can I say?" She placed her hand on her chin thoughtfully.

"Please, ma’am, it won’t happen again," Aneesa said pleadingly.

"Yes, ma’am, and apologies on behalf of the entire class as well," Gul-e-Lala added.

"Alright, dear." She smiled, nodded, and then picked up the receiver from the cradle.

"There’s no need to issue the suspension letter for this student. Cancel it." She smiled again.

"Thank you, ma’am," Aneesa said, placing her hand over her heart in gratitude.

"Alright, you may go." Both of them turned to leave. "Aneesa, please stay," the principal said. Aneesa stopped. "Sit down," she gestured towards the sofa. Now, only three people were left in the room.

"What does your father do?" the principal asked with a smile. Aneesa rubbed her palms together. "Don’t worry, dear, just asking casually."

"Dad is a landlord, and he also works in a government office," she replied innocently.

"Alright. Do you know Kashmala?" At her question, Aneesa looked at both of them in surprise. "This is my husband," the principal reassured her. "So don’t worry."

"I’m not worried." Aneesa narrowed her eyes, glancing between the two of them.

"I know," Ibrahim Sikandar spoke this time. "I’m a friend of your father’s."

"Okay." Aneesa replied indifferently. "So, what do you want to know from me?"

"Nothing. We just wanted to offer you a scholarship." Sultana Begum took some papers from the drawer and placed them on the table. "You deserve it."

"Me?" Aneesa asked in disbelief. "Since when do I deserve it?"

"What do you mean?"

"The meaning is clear," she said confidently. "You denied me and Gul-e-Lala and gave Malikah a scholarship. And now… now you’re offering it to me? Why not earlier?"

The husband and wife exchanged glances as Aneesa stood up.

"Because she’s an orphan," Sultana stood up too, leaning her hands on the table.

"Gul-e-Lala is an orphan too," Anisa replied with the same firmness. "And by the way, I apologize for that time I threw water on you," she said to Ibrahim Sikandar, before leaving the room.

"She’s a smart girl," Ibrahim remarked, looking at Sultana.

"Hmm, I can see that. Another Kashmala." She was staring at the closed door where Aneesa had just exited. A closed door. One door.

"Don’t end this too soon. Let her struggle a bit," she said softly. "Let’s see how far she flies. The net woven by Kashmala… Behram will break that, no doubt. Now, the question is, what will she do?" She smiled victoriously.

A flame once here, a tent once there, who knows how many caravans fared?  

How many passed, how many shared, this place of rest, beyond compare?  

Evening was falling on the deserted road, and the darkness grew deeper. Dry leaves drifted aimlessly by the roadside. In the distance, a car appeared, eventually stopping in front of the same old, crumbling building. It was a white car with dark-tinted windows. A few seconds later, he stepped out, fastening the buttons on his coat, and slipped something inside the coat pocket. He began climbing the stairs, step by step. Ahead, a fire was burning on a ledge. A dark figure appeared, whispered something, and then left. Now Bilqis emerged. She held prayer beads in her hand, her graying hair disheveled, and wore a long robe that reached her ankles. Smiling, she led Behram into a room where something was drawn on the floor—a large circle with a triangle in its center, and a fire burning inside the triangle. Each segment contained inscriptions, and the flames around them leapt high into the air.

"I know what happened to you," she spoke before Behram could say anything. "It’s all lies. It’s a trap set by your own people."

"What?" Behram looked at Bilqis in confusion. "I want to stop all of this now."

"Are you sure?" Bilqis asked in surprise.

"Yes," he replied firmly.

"But why? Don’t you think just having her is not enough? Your purpose was something else entirely."

"I was scared, Bilqis. You know what Samaira was like on our wedding night—you couldn’t even imagine. I thought I would lose her," he said in a wounded voice.

"What happened? Tell me," Bilqis leaned forward.

"She was happy, a bit confused, and... maybe excited too? She looked incredibly beautiful. She was also a bit shy around me," he remembered with a smile. "I looked into her eyes, where I saw only modesty. She felt like someone close to me—a part of me, something that was beginning to complete me." Bilqis listened, observing him closely. "I wanted to hypnotize her, so I added something to her juice to make her drowsy." Sparks from the fire rose higher, the flames pulling him back into the past, where he saw Samaira clinging to him. She was trying to push Behram away, while he held her tightly, pressing her close to himself.

"Behram …" Samaira’s strength was fading. Her hands began to feel lifeless, and she slumped against him, resting her head on his shoulder before passing out. Behram gave her shoulder a gentle shake.

"Hey, honey," he nudged her shoulder again, but there was no response. Behram held her by the shoulders and gently pulled her away from himself. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were moving faintly.

"Honey, what happened?" He carefully laid her on the bed, placing a cushion under her head. The sound of Samaira’s bangles and jewelry softly jingled in the room, mingling with the sound of raindrops falling on the window from outside.

"What happened, honey? Open your eyes," Behram began rubbing her hands. Her body was growing cold, and a thin line of blood trickled from her nose. Samaira opened her eyes, glowing red like a warning light. Behram's heart skipped a beat. He realized instantly what was happening. Samaira would open and close her eyes, struggling to keep them open. Behram, caught between confusion and fear, sat close by, using a tissue to wipe the blood streaming from her nose, flowing like a small river. Samaira grabbed Behram’s hand and started clawing at it, her breathing intensifying. Her grip weakened gradually, but her eyes remained fiery red.

Behram stood up, stepping back with trembling steps. It felt as though this would be Samaira’s first and last night with him. A tear slipped down his cheek as a wave of helplessness washed over him. Then his gaze fell upon the red ruby pendant hanging from her neck. He quickly stepped forward and began removing the ruby and her other jewelry. The pins were tangled in her hair, so he gently removed them as well. He placed the ruby in the safe inside the closet. Samaira was groaning, feeling the room spin around her. Her head throbbed with severe pain, and she began to cry.

"Behram…" she whispered weakly. When Behram returned, there was no sign of blood. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her forehead, her body felt cold, and she seemed exhausted. "Behram… don’t leave me," she pleaded in a soft, tearful voice.

"I'm right here. I'm here. Just go to sleep," Behram gently patted her cheek.

"Behram… Behram…" she kept murmuring.

"What was all of this, Bilqis?" he sat in a daze. "Should I understand this as a reverse effect? If I’d known the reverse effects would be so dangerous, I would never have done this to her. She must have suffered, right, Bilqis?"

"Yes. Temporarily."

"Temporary or not, she still felt the pain," he said regretfully. "She loves me; I can’t do this to her. I wanted her to fall in love with me, but she didn’t need to fall—she already liked me. She’s innocent. This spell is out to take my life. I’m afraid… afraid I might end up falling in love with her myself."

"You already have, Behram. That’s why you’re so concerned about her," Bilqis said in a flat tone. He fell silent and took a deep breath.

"You know, Bilqis… whenever she’s with me, it feels like life is finally beginning. Was I even truly living before? Her scent… her words… her touch… you wouldn’t understand," he sighed. "Sometimes she feels like spring, bringing everything to bloom. But I hurt her, Bilqis." Remembering this made him sad. "Not just once, but twice."

"Why?" Bilqis asked, lowering her gaze.

"Mom told me she can never be a mother… does that mean I’ll never see my own children?"

"Who told you that?"

"It’s true, Bilqis," he replied, closing his eyes in pain.

"It’s a lie," she said, standing up. "You can get tests done to confirm."

"Samaira won’t agree to take tests, and why would Mom lie about something so big?" Behram looked shocked.

"You once said you had her blood tested, right? Do it again," Bilqis shrugged.

Behram looked at her, then at the flames burning behind her. He handed her a stack of bills, then descended the stairs. His mind was tangled with questions, yet none held a clear answer.

Speak, O my land of slumber, so deep  

Where are those souls I search for, I weep?  

It was Sunday. It was barely nine o'clock. The car was sliding cautiously on the road. Hands firmly on the steering wheel, she kept her gaze focused on the road ahead.

"Think about it; what if you don't find anything?" Sitting beside her, Gul-e-Lala glanced at her.

"I will find it. I'm sure," she replied in a flat tone. "You stay inside. I'll go meet Uzair too," she said in a soft voice.

"Okay." Gul-e-Lala fell silent after saying this.

"What was that boy's name, the IT one?" Aneesa tried to recall.

"Waheed," Gul-e-Lala reminded her.

"Yes. Meet him as well. By now, he must have completed the work, right?" she said, her face clearly showing worry.

"Hmm, alright. I'll meet him myself on the way back." Gul-e-Lala looked at her from where he could see her profile. "Don't worry," he said with a smile. In contrast, she remained seated with a serious expression. Gul-e-Lala handed her the water bottle, which she took, drank a few sips, and handed back. About fifteen minutes later, they parked outside the college. After speaking briefly with the guard, the car entered the college grounds. They both got out. She was wearing an abaya as usual. Gul-e-Lala entered with her.

"Who do you want to meet?" another guard asked them.

"Uzair," Aneesa told him, keeping it brief.

"Tell them your father's name there, and provide the other details too; you'll be allowed to meet," the guard pointed towards the admin office. They both started walking in that direction. The noise of children could be heard from outside. Since it was Sunday, many parents had come to visit their children.

"You go ahead; I'm going to the principal's office in the admin office," she said to Gul-e-Lala in a low voice.

"What if someone sees you? You’re not allowed to go like this. Don’t go right now," Gul-e-Lala tried to stop her, but she ignored him and walked forward, leaving him behind.

Aneesa observed the people walking around her. Then, a peon appeared.

"Sir, where are you going?" Aneesa stepped into his path and asked politely.

"To serve tea to the principal," he replied, continuing to walk. Aneesa followed him. When he went inside, she stood outside, pretending to look at a painting on the wall, waiting for the peon to leave. He came out about five minutes later. Now was her chance. Glancing around cautiously, she moved toward the door, opened it, and began knocking.

"Yes, come in," a voice called from inside. She pushed the door open and entered, glancing at the person sitting in front of her.

"Yes, dear?" he smiled and gestured for her to take a seat.

"Don’t you recognize me?" She remained standing. 

"Are you here for an admission? Or to meet someone?" he asked with his usual smile. He looked dignified and impressive—a true gentleman. Steam was rising from the cup of tea placed before him.

"I came to meet you," she mustered the courage to say.

"Yes, go ahead. Sit down. What’s the matter?" He gestured towards the chair, and she sat down.

"You know Shahroz, you knew Junaid, but you don’t know me?" she said with a hint of sadness.

Colonel Javed Aleem squinted and placed the cup of tea in front of her.

"My child, speak openly," he leaned back in his chair.

"You know why I'm here, sir," her voice trembled slightly.

"Yes, dear," he spoke while rubbing his thumbs and fingers together. "I will help you in any way I can. Please, tell me whatever you need to."

"Can I trust you?" she asked firmly.

"It’s that very trust that led your brother Shahroz to leave his son in my care," he reassured her, closing his eyes briefly.

Aneesa looked at him for a few seconds.

"Do you remember the night of December 31, on Islamabad Highway?" Aneesa gazed into his eyes. He flinched for a moment but remained leaning back in his chair.

Outside, Gul-e-Lala was sitting on a bench under a tree, chatting with Uzair. Uzair was holding a packet of chips, which Gul-e-Lala had bought for him. Gul-e-Lala had two bottles of water in his hand. Around them, parents and students were milling about, creating a lively atmosphere.

"Is the teaching good here?" Gul-e-Lala asked kindly. Uzair, a bit shy, nodded while nibbling on chips.

"Are they tasty?" Gul-e-Lala pointed to the chips. Uzair smiled and extended the packet towards him. Gul-e-Lala shook his head.

"Where is Aunt Aneesa?"

"She’s meeting with your principal, discussing your progress," Gul-e-Lala smiled.

"But Omer Mamoo was always with her, wherever she went," Uzair said, looking at Gul-e-Lala.

"Hmm?" Gul-e-Lala checked the time; it was a quarter past eleven.

"Yeah. Omer Mamoo really liked Aunt Aneesa, but Nani got him married to Aunt Anam instead. He cried a lot on his wedding day, and Aunt Aneesa cried too. My dad and Junaid Chachoo comforted her," Uzair shared everything innocently.

"Okay," Gul-e-Lala pursed his lips with a slight smile. "You focus on eating your chips." He thought all these topics were unnecessary, especially for a child. Kids should be kept away from such things. They sat there silently, and as time passed, Gul-e-Lala’s concern grew. He wondered if she even made it to the office, if she’d met with the principal, and what they might be discussing. The packet of chips was now empty.

"Uncle, shall we go to Aunt Aneesa?" Uzair stood up.

"No, let’s keep talking. Who’s your favorite teacher?" Gul-e-Lala gently pulled him to sit close.

"My favorite is the principal," Uzair replied cheerfully. "He even gave me a prize," Uzair shared, while Gul-e-Lala, lost in his thoughts, smiled absent-mindedly, listening to him.

A little later, Gul-e-Lala saw Aneesa approaching. She was holding a black file, and walking alongside her was an older man—the principal of the college—heading in their direction.

"Here are our brilliant students," Colonel Javed Aleem placed his hand on Uzair's head and smiled. Uzair went and stood beside Aneesa. She knelt down and lovingly embraced him. Gul-e-Lala noticed her face, partially hidden under her hijab, which looked flushed, as if she had been crying. But at that moment, she was smiling.

"How are you? How’s your studying going? Made new friends?" she asked Uzair.

"Yes, lots of good ones," he replied excitedly, sharing everything with her. After their meeting, Aneesa and Gul-e-Lala prepared to leave. Aneesa placed the file on the back seat and started the car.

"Have you been crying?" Gul-e-Lala asked with concern.

"No," she replied without looking at him. He fell silent. The car exited the college grounds. Colonel Javed Aleem took Uzair inside. The scene faded in the distance as people continued going about their activities. Some children were playing in the ground, while others sat under the trees, eating and enjoying themselves.

Each night’s heavy burden leaves the heart oppressed, 

And every morning’s light strikes the chest like a lance, possessed.  

The palace lights were on. Sultana Begum and Ibrahim Sikandar had just returned from dinner outside. Zimil and Amar were having dinner, and Malikah was serving them. She was walking over with a water jug from the kitchen when she saw Behram coming down the stairs. Her steps paused slightly, but she placed the jug on the table and went back into the kitchen.

"Hey, cousin," Zimil said warmly.

"Hey." He smiled, spreading a napkin in front of himself. "Pass the kebabs," he addressed Amar.

"Malikah… Malikah…" Amar called out, standing up.

"What happened? Behram just asked you to pass the kebabs. There's no need to call Malikah for that," Zimil complained, giving her a disapproving look.

"When the tasks are meant for servants, only servants will do them," Amar said angrily. Just then, Malikah appeared.

"Serve Sir his food, and stay here until everyone is done eating," she instructed Malikah before leaving. Embarrassed, Malikah stood beside Behram.

"What do you need?" she asked respectfully, her hands folded.

"Nothing. You can go. I'll take whatever I need myself," he said, pouring juice into his glass.

"Sorry, Behram. I don't know why she acted that way. I apologize on her behalf," Zimil began.

He continued eating, ignoring her. Zimil also started eating, and there wasn’t much conversation. Malikah remained standing nearby, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Occasionally, she would step forward to serve Zimil something, then quietly take the dishes to the kitchen one by one. Her eyes kept glancing at the clock, which showed 9:00 PM. This was the time Niaz Sikandar usually called. While Hajra washed dishes and stayed serving Sultana Begum and her daughters until around 10:30 PM, her own daughter was left to be used by the household. 

Behram wiped his hands with a tissue and went to his room. Malikah hurriedly gathered the dishes and put them in the kitchen, while Zimil remained seated, watching her work.

"Take it easy; what’s the rush?" Zimil smiled, causing Malikah to slow down a bit. After placing the dishes in the sink, she turned to go to her room.

"Malikah, if you’re free, could you do something for me?" Zimil called out.

"No, I need to study; I have exams," she replied in a reserved manner.

"Alright, I’ll do it myself," Zimil said, heading to her own room.

Malikah ran up the stairs to her room, locked the door in haste, and took out her cell phone. It was 9:15 PM, and there were already fifteen missed calls from Niaz Sikandar. Her hands trembled.

"Oh God, he's going to kill me," she muttered under her breath. Wiping the sweat from her upper lip, she sat down in the chair, dialed Niaz’s number, and placed the call. The phone rang, and her heart pounded. Her hands were icy cold and drenched in sweat. She bit her lip, constantly watching the clock’s ticking hands, uncertain of what the next moment held. The call was picked up.

"Hey, sweetheart," Niaz Sikandar’s deep voice resonated in her ears.

"I'm sorry, I…" Malikah quickly apologized.

"Oh, sweetheart, no need to apologize. I understand. Don’t be so formal," he replied. He was sitting in his car, and the driver had stepped out to wait until the call, which would likely go on for an hour, was over.

"So, tell me… what were you doing?" Niaz leaned back in his seat, relaxing.

"I was serving dinner," she said, clenching her fist.

"Hmm… Is there anyone else in your room?" Niaz asked, amused.

"No, I’m alone," she replied, nervous.

"Good, then let’s switch to a video call."

"No," she immediately blurted out.

"Why? You’re free to get late, but I can’t make a video call?"

"Please. I told you I was busy—not for myself, but for your family," she said, her voice breaking.

"You know that whatever I say, you’ll do. Come on the video call," Niaz growled before cutting the call. Malikah felt a surge of anger, but there was nothing she could do. Her phone rang again; he was calling on video.

Malikah answered but kept her camera off.

"Turn on the camera, or else…" Niaz threatened.

She placed her phone on the study table and sat down in front of it.

"It's been a while since I last saw you—the same beauty, the same innocence… those expressions. They’re driving me crazy. I wish I could touch you," he started admiring her. She sat there, embarrassed, with her gaze lowered. "We should meet at a hotel sometime. I'll send you the address."

"No, please," Malikah pleaded, her face twisting with distress.

"Yes, please. It’ll be fun," Niaz laughed. She lifted her eyes to look at him but quickly turned them away.

"Get ready, the day after tomorrow. I’ll come, and then you and I… together…"

"Please, stop it," she began to cry.

"I’ll take all that stubbornness out of you when I come," he said angrily. "Don’t know when you’ll get some sense and start taking this relationship seriously." He sounded irritated.

"I have a headache," she said, crying.

"One day it's your head, and the next it’s your stomach. I’ll cure all your pains once you meet me... do what I say," he threatened. Malikah felt her heart in her throat. Outside, the night deepened with each passing moment. The atmosphere grew suffocating, and the darkness of the night became even more menacing. Strange shadows flickered in the room, as if curtains were moving ominously.

Every page of my life, each passing part,  

Be a chapter of your love and heart.  

The chill in the room was increasing. Traces of the fresh morning still lingered. April had begun, yet the heat was not intense. With his mobile wedged between his ear and shoulder, he was typing quickly on the laptop.

“Yes, let me speak to Samaira.” He was addressing Luna. Luna was climbing the stairs toward Behram's room.

“Okay, sir.”

“And the guards were with her when she went to the hospital, right?” he asked, concerned about every detail.

“No, sir. Ma'am hasn’t gone to the hospital since yesterday. She’s at home,” Luna said, pausing.

“What? Why?” He was surprised and held the phone in his hand.

“I don’t know, sir… she doesn’t talk much.”

“You didn’t ask her?” he grew worried. Maybe it’s because of me? he thought.

“No, sir. She just asks for the phone whenever I go to her.” Luna replied sadly.

“Alright. Let me talk to her now.” He spoke urgently.

Luna knocked on the door and entered. Samaira was sitting on the bed, facing the window. She didn’t move at the sound and remained still.

“Ma'am, it's Sir's call; he wants to speak to you.” Luna extended the phone toward Samaira.

“I don’t want to,” she replied in a choked voice. She was crying, and Behram overheard it. Anger surged within him as he got up and began pacing the room.

“Sir, Ma'am doesn’t want to talk to you; she's crying,” Luna conveyed the message.

“Luna, just give her the phone.” He grew restless.

“Ma'am, Sir is worried about you. Please, Ma'am, just talk to him, or I’ll be in trouble,” Luna pleaded.

“You didn't even have a phone before, so where did this one come from now?” Samaira looked at her with disdain. Luna, ashamed, lowered her gaze, and Samaira took the phone from her hand, bringing it to her ear.

“Luna… is he angry?” Behram's voice sounded concerned.

“It's Samaira speaking,” she responded in a flat tone, signaling Luna to leave.

“Thank God you finally spoke. How are you?” he sighed in relief and sat down on the sofa. “How are you? Luna told me you didn’t go to the hospital. Why? Are you unwell?”

Samaira listened with a serious expression, her eyes filled only with regret. She had cried so much that her tears seemed to have dried up.

“Hey… honey, are you listening?” Not getting a response, he spoke again.

“Hmm,” Samaira replied in a tired voice.

“Alright, listen, I have some good news for you, honey. You’ll be happy when you hear it.” He began to smile. “Honey? Are you listening?”

“Yes,” she replied in a trembling voice.

"Take good care of yourself. Then I return, we’ll go out for dinner, and we still have to visit Sarah's place. Arham will be there too; everyone will be happy to see you." He was comforting her like a child, unaware of the pain it caused her now to hear Sarah's name. She sat with her eyes closed in silent agony. He suddenly thought of something and asked, "Where do you want to go?"

"Wherever you say," she replied, barely managing the words.

"Alright, then. We’ll decide together. You rest now, and then we’ll enjoy ourselves, okay?"

"Hmm." She sat there, lost in thought, listening to him as he kept talking. She recalled how she used to be the one to talk more. Now, after she had been hurt, he was trying to cover the pain with words. Behram had never been like this. So why was he changing now?

"When will you come back?" she asked, looking out the window.

"I'll come back when work is done," he replied, as sadness crept in again.

"Hmm. There’s nothing else left to say," she said in a tired voice.

"Did you have breakfast?" Behram suddenly remembered to ask.

"No."

"Why? Are you upset with breakfast too?" he chuckled lightly.

"No."

"Then? I have a good way to cheer you up." He stood up and looked at himself in the dressing mirror. She remained silent. "Aren't you going to ask what it is?" She stayed quiet. "I love you."

"I won’t eat breakfast. I’m upset with you. You hit me, Behram. How can I forget that? I’m starting to be afraid of you. I’m also afraid of your mom. I feel uncomfortable here, among all of you. It feels like someone could just come and hurt me any moment. I feel so alone, Behram." She said it all in one breath, sobbing, her words choked by tears. Behram was stunned. "I didn’t even do anything wrong, Behram. I only said one thing, just to make you realize… and you… you hit me. You even cut me off from my family." Her breathing grew rapid. On the other end, Behram closed his eyes in agony. He knew she was crying, and there was no one there to wipe her tears. "My neck still hurts, Behram," she added, her voice barely a whisper.

Behram pictured her—the smiling face that had once followed him everywhere, now crying. 

"You don't even care about me." She abruptly hung up and began sobbing. Behram, feeling the weight of his guilt, slowly took the laptop and walked out.

Samaira was crying softly when someone placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch and looked up. Aleena was standing there with a tray of breakfast in her hand. Samaira stood up, took the tray from her hand, and placed it aside. She hugged Aleena, crying. She sat down beside her, leaning against her. Aleena was gently stroking her back.

"What happened? Please, just be quiet," she said softly.

"I want to go home. I don't want to stay here," Samaira said, crying uncontrollably. Luna entered the room, picked up her phone, and left. After leaving, she closed the door behind her.

"But what happened? Tell me," Aleena gently pulled Samaira away from her. She could see Samaira’s face, which was flushed from crying for the past day.

"Behram hit me yesterday. He scratched my neck with his nails," Samaira said, touching the spot on her neck where the pain still lingered. "His mom slapped me on the wedding night too. I'm starting to feel scared here. Please... I want to go home. I need to call. I need to call Kashmala. I need to tell her I'm not okay," she said spontaneously.

"Okay, fine. Listen to me," Aleena took both of Samaira’s hands. "Relax, my dear," she said, trying to calm her down. "We don’t talk about things like that. This is the elite class. You are no longer an ordinary woman. You are part of the elite class, and you need to understand how a woman in the elite class lives." She looked at Samaira sadly. Samaira rested her head on Aleena's shoulder. "Women of the elite class endure hardships, but they can’t tell anyone about them. Compared to ordinary women, our lives are much tougher. The fear of disgrace, the anxiety of divorce, concern for children... it forces us to live like this. We have to keep family matters within the home to maintain the family’s reputation." Samaira quietly listened to her. "People think our lives have no sorrow at all." She gave a bitter laugh. "I wish... someone could understand. You can win Behram’s trust. Take advantage of his weakness." Aleena said, holding Samaira’s shoulders.

"Behram only sees Auntie, no one else," Samaira said sadly. "Disobedience to them is a sin for Behram."

"If you want, you can make him like you," Aleena continued. "Catch his weakness. You’re young and beautiful, make him fall for you. Convince him with your charm. Don't let him drift away from you."

"I don't know how to do any of that," Samaira said, wiping her tears innocently.

"Okay, stop crying. Have breakfast... then I’ll tell you more," Aleena said, placing the tray in front of her.

"I don't want to eat. I want to go home," Samaira said, starting to cry again.

"They won’t let you go home, especially with Behram not around. They’ll never let you leave," Aleena said with a sad look. "Just have breakfast."

"Will they let me make a call?" Samaira wiped her tears and looked at Aleena hopefully.

"Okay. You can," Aleena said, handing her the phone.

"But I don’t remember the number," Samaira said anxiously.

"No problem. When Behram comes back, tell him that he dropped you off at your house. Okay? Now, have your breakfast. Otherwise, you’ll fall sick, and doctors don’t look good when they’re ill," Aleena laughed. Samaira silently stared at her and began eating.

A sunshine lies beneath closed eyes,  

That gaze has yet to wake and rise.  

It was Friday night. Aneesa was sitting in the lounge watching TV. She kept yawning, covering her mouth each time. Nearby, Gul-e-Lala was bent over, writing something at the round table. Aneesa's mobile on the table vibrated. Gul-e-Lala turned to look at her, as if asking if he should pick it up. When Aneesa reached for it, he handed her the phone and went back to his work.

"Hmm. Speak," she said faintly.

"You weren’t sleeping, were you?" On the other end, Masooma, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, was washing dishes.

"No, but I was about to go to sleep. I’m very sleepy," she replied in a tired tone.

"Listen! Guess who came!" Masooma was excited.

"Who? That one… yours?" Aneesa suddenly sat up.

"Yes!" Masooma jumped with joy on the other side. "And guess what happened?"

"What? Did they finalize the engagement?"

"No! The proposal is off!" she shouted in happiness.

"What?" Aneesa leaned back on the sofa in disinterest. She wasn’t interested anymore.

"I'm so happy, so happy, so happy!" Masooma said, washing her hands at the sink. The house was lively, but there was dim lighting toward the lane, and most of the lights had been turned off. She finished tidying up the kitchen and turned around, holding the phone in one hand. Her mother was standing in front of her. "Mom, it's Aneesa’s call," she reassured her mother before going into her room.

"Hey… you should get married. It would be so much fun," Aneesa pouted.

"Why don’t you look for a good guy around you?" Masooma said, flopping onto the bed.

"There’s no one around that I like," she said in frustration. "What was wrong with that one?" she asked, annoyed.

"Good riddance! And you’re my best friend, so please do me a favor," Masooma said with amusement.

"What?" Aneesa asked, curious again.

"First, don’t say no, second, don’t take it the wrong way, third, don’t get mad, and fourth, and most importantly, if you don’t want to do it, don’t tell anyone I told you this." She emphasized every word.

"Alright, fine," Aneesa replied quickly.

"First, promise," Masooma smiled.

"Masooma… just say it, please! Stop dragging it," Aneesa said, annoyed. Gul-e-Lala was smiling at her conversation.

"Alright, alright. I’m just thinking about whether I should trust you or not," she teased.

"Get lost. If you were here, I’d give you four slaps! Now hurry up; otherwise, I’m going to sleep," Aneesa laughed.

"Okay, okay. I like someone," Masooma said, biting her lip and smiling. "Don’t misunderstand, please," she prefaced.

"I knew it!" Aneesa grinned. "Come on, I’m your biggest support system. So tell me, who’s the guy? Where does he live?" she asked excitedly.

"The guy… is in your house," Masooma said hesitantly.

"Who?" Aneesa wondered. "Who in my house?"

"He’s someone you know, and he’s a really good guy," Masooma said cautiously.

"I don’t have any cousins left who are unmarried. Then who could it be? Kabeer?" Aneesa wondered aloud. "No, no, he’s a father now." She shuddered, dismissing the thought and returning to the present. "Who is it? Tell me quickly!" She stood up, slipping on her sandals.

"Gul-e-Lala," Masooma said, covering her eyes with her hand and smiling shyly. Aneesa slowed down, turning to look at Gul-e-Lala, who was still bent over, writing on blank pages. Occasionally, he would smile at her conversation, but at that moment, he was fully engrossed in his work. "Set me up with him, please," Masooma's voice echoed in her ear. "He’s a good guy; he’ll keep me happy. Right? Say something!" she urged.

"Yes… yes, he is. Let’s talk about it tomorrow. It’s late," Aneesa said, glancing at Gul-e-Lala one last time before going to her room. She disconnected the call. The room was engulfed in darkness, and Ayesha was already asleep. Aneesa lay down on her bed, but her thoughts wouldn’t let her sleep. It was a strange feeling—a blessing, or perhaps a curse.

She couldn’t understand why it felt so odd. Was it possible that… no, no, that couldn’t be it. But she did like having Gul Lala around, so maybe… Yes, there’s no harm in that. He’s just… nice. Just a friend. But if Masooma and Gul-e-Lala… no, she didn’t want to think about that either. Her eyes were closed, but inside, a storm of thoughts raged.

The hour of his sight, blooming like a flower,  

The thrill of hope, like a heart, beating with power. 

 

The walls and surroundings lay desolate. Darkness of the night had spread everywhere. There was no sign of any living soul. Midnight had passed. The palace gate opened. A car drove in, entering without making a sound. Dragging his bag along, coat slung over his shoulder, he ascended the stairs. He unlocked the door with a key card. The room was engulfed in darkness. He switched on the ceiling light, spreading a soft blue glow all around. The fan was whirring. Samaira lay asleep, clutching a pillow close to her chest. Behram placed his bag to one side and tossed his coat onto the sofa. He unbuckled his belt and threw it aside, removed his watch, placing it on the side table, and lay down on the bed, half-reclined. 

He looked at Samaira lying next to him and smiled slightly. Very gently, he took the pillow from her embrace and set it aside. She was deep in sleep. Softly, he moved her hair away from her neck. There was no visible mark, but pain doesn’t show itself, does it? He lay back down, looking at Samaira from head to toe, noticing her nightdress buttons misaligned, her collar a bit untidy—perhaps she’d fallen asleep in a hurry. Placing one arm under her neck, he closed his eyes. The night passed just like that.

The morning was fragrant. Sun rays peeked through the window. He lay silently, watching Samaira as she still slept. He touched her cheek with his fingertips. She stirred slightly. Behram immediately pulled his hand back and closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. When Samaira opened her eyes, she saw him in front of her. A throbbing pain started in her head. She took a deep breath, placed her hand on Behram’s cheek, gently caressing him, and continued looking at him. Behram slowly opened his eyes, as if just waking up.

“What are you looking at?” he asked softly.

“Nothing,” she mumbled.

“Honey.” He moved closer and held her face, gently running the back of his hand along her neck. “Does it still hurt?” he asked cautiously. Samaira nodded. “It won’t happen again, I promise.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead.

“One kiss can’t fix every pain,” she said flatly.

“One kiss may not, but what about infinite kisses?” he laughed and leaned in, kissing her forehead again and again.

“I want this Behram every time.” She fixed his collar as she spoke. She hadn’t smiled like that in a long time.

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital? Luna told me you wouldn’t leave your room.” Behram looked into her eyes, those brown eyes. “Why?”

“I didn’t feel like it,” she said, staring at the ceiling, repeatedly adjusting her collar. Behram sat up, leaning against the headboard.

“This isn’t right; your buttons are mismatched,” he observed.

“Yeah.” She quickly got up and sat, facing the other way.

“Feeling uncomfortable with me?” he asked, looking at her back.

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. He quietly watched her. She got up and began straightening the bed; all her buttons were now properly fastened. With a serious expression, she finished making the bed and then stood by the dresser, tying her hair in a clip.

“Are you going to shower, or should I go first?” she asked Behram.

“You go ahead,” he replied, sounding tired. Without wasting a moment, Samaira went into the bathroom. Perhaps she was still holding some resentment. Her pride had been wounded. Behram, leaning his head back against the headboard, sat with his eyes closed. His phone on the side table vibrated.

“Hello, Furqan,” he spoke in a weary tone.

“Sir, the bail will be done today,” Furqan replied from the other end, and the fatigue vanished from Behram’s face, his expression lighting up with joy.

“Good, Furqan. Tell him to stay at Uncle Ibrahim’s place for now. I’ll send a car, and then we’ll bring him here,” he said quickly, getting up and hurrying outside after opening the door.

No need to admit defeat, not now, not yet,  

I’ll confess all in time—let the rumors be set.  

It was a slow Sunday. The sunlight was piercing, and the time was ten o'clock. Aneesa was driving out of the porch, going somewhere with her headscarf wrapped around her face. She noticed Gul-e-Lala in the side mirror, so she stopped the car and leaned her head out of the window.

"Gul-e-Lala. Come on. Why don't you join me?" she called out from there. Gul-e-Lala, who was standing a little distance away, smiled and approached, opening the car door and sitting beside her.

"What did Waheed say? Has he done the job?" she asked, steering the car onto the road, looking at Gul-e-Lala.

"No, I stopped him. Hacking a bank account isn't right," he replied in a flat tone. Aneesa immediately pressed on the brakes.

"Why? Why did you do that? Do you even know how many zeros there are in a crore?" she yelled angrily. She was furious at Gul-e-Lala.

"Yes, I don’t know. And I don’t want to know. Money doesn’t matter to me. What you’re doing is illegal. I just want to keep you away from it," he said in explanation.

"Fine," Aneesa said, throwing her hands up and resuming driving. "I'm so angry with you," she said sadly.

"It's okay. I won’t mind at all." He softened, likely smiling, his eyes fixed on her face, where one of her eyebrows was raised. 

"You've ruined the whole plan. The money was important."

"The money wasn't important. The FB account is important. And the person behind it, who is secretly fighting for Junaid." His words made Aneesa relax, and her eyes filled with a hint of tears. "Sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned Junaid," he said, sensing her displeasure. She said nothing. "I don't want you to be part of the illegal system. We can do everything together. We always have two choices—legal and illegal. Let's choose the legal one, please. We will reach our destination either way," he pleaded.

"Thank you for standing with me," she said, wiping the corner of her eye. "But the legal way you're talking about—it’s long gone. The court of justice has been shut for ages, and the court of vengeance has opened up. Kashmala also sought justice legally, didn’t she? But what happened? Did she find the killer? We’ve been thrown into this pitch-dark place. How will this corrupt law deliver justice, Gul-e-Lala?" He was taken aback, and silence filled the air.

"Where are you headed?" Gul-e-Lala asked, realizing she was driving aimlessly.

"It’s just a long drive," she said, turning the steering wheel to make a U-turn.

"With me?" he laughed. She smiled at him in a strange way. Gul-e-Lala looked at her with a hint of admiration. "You’ve got plenty of time!"

"Not for everyone," she corrected.

"What do you mean?" He looked at her with confusion. She shook her head, focusing on driving. "Why do you tease me like this? I thought there would be something important to do," he said with a light laugh. She kept smiling.

When they reached home, she went to her room and sat on the bed in a tired manner. She unwrapped the headscarf from her face, grabbed her phone, then pulled her laptop closer, connecting it to the charger and settling down with it. There was no one in the room at that moment. Leaning forward, she opened a drawer, took out a packet of chips, and placed it in front of her.

"Gmail emails," she murmured, cheerfully, as she opened her laptop files. Three icons appeared, and she began to open them one by one.

The first was from the university—a scholarship offer, which she quickly skipped with a shiver. The second was from Javed Aleem, sent just yesterday; she immediately marked it as important. Her hand paused slightly as she opened the third email. She took a bite of chips, then opened the email.

"Hey. Hope you’re doing well. I’m sending you a video. Watch it—watch it a hundred times. I want you to suffer the consequences of your actions, my sweetheart." 

She read it in a single glance.

"Sweetheart? What the..." Disgust crossed her face. She opened the attached file in the email. A video started playing. It was an empty room, and a timestamp was visible in the top right corner. The room seemed familiar, but she couldn't recall where she had seen it. Still watching the video, she continued eating chips. Her eyes were glued to the screen. Then the door opened, and someone walked in. She froze, her hand paused mid-bite. Picking up the laptop with both hands, she placed it on her lap. It was footage from the night at the club. She quickly fast-forwarded to the part where she had entered with Malikah. A lump formed in her throat; her hands were cold, her breathing quickened. With each passing moment, her heartbeat raced. She fast-forwarded more, reaching the part where she held a broken glass, which, in the next moment, she slashed across Shahzeb's throat. Blood splattered. She shut her eyes in agony and closed the video.

"Behram betrayed me. He said he had damaged the footage, but that’s not true," she thought, her eyes starting to fill. Her phone vibrated. Disconnecting it from the charger, she brought it to her ear.

"Hello," she said in a low voice.

"Saw the video, but you haven’t expressed your feelings." It was a male voice, unfamiliar. She pulled the phone away and checked the number. It was an unknown number, one she had unknowingly answered. Even the banner wasn't from Pakistan. It read "Sunshine..."

"Shut up, Behram," she yelled. "I'm going to tell Kashmala about your..."

"Ah, ah, I'm not Behram," he interrupted, savoring the moment.

"Then who are you? And what do you want from me?" she asked angrily.

"Oh wow, straight to the point. Clever girl." She remained firm. "I don’t want much—just to see you behind bars and enjoy watching you squirm." He laughed.

"Shut up. Do you want me to tell you what I want? You won't be able to handle it," she growled quietly.

"I could even release the video online... so please... respect me."

"Do you deserve respect?"

"Do you?" he responded in the same tone. "I know your true nature. I know about all your affairs."

"I'm not like that. Shut up," she said, crying, and ended the call. Don’t know why, whenever we try to move forward and leave things behind, people keep dragging our dark past in front of us. She sat there, choking on her tears, then stood up and went to the bathroom. Her heart ached with one thought—Behram had betrayed her.

I'll try; someone will come along eventually,  

But who will love me as you did so tenderly?  

The lounge door was open. Evening was setting in. Samaira sat cross-legged on the sofa with Aleena, and Aleena's two children, Emaan and Ahad, were with them. Samaira was talking to them lovingly; she had returned early from the hospital today. When Taimoor entered through the lounge door, both children ran to him. Taimoor picked up Emaan and was about to head to the room. Ahad and Aleena followed. She remained sitting alone. 

"Ma'am, do you need anything?" Luna came and asked.

"No," she shook her head, stood up, and went to the back of the mansion where the pool was. The reflection of the rippling water was visible on the glass walls. She stood, mesmerized, watching the water. With her arms folded across her chest, she paced back and forth, sometimes stopping to gaze at the water. Perhaps she was anxiously waiting for someone to arrive.

A horn honked. A car entered the mansion. As soon as Behram stepped into the lounge, Jahan Ara was descending the stairs. She smiled upon seeing Behram. He walked up to her, step by step, and stopped by her side.

"Samaira just arrived. She does as she pleases," she remarked with a bitter smile. Behram stood silently.

"Where is she?" he cleared his throat and asked.

"Who knows, maybe in her room," she turned to leave.

"Mom, I need to talk to you," he said, stopping her.

"Go ahead, son… I’m here," she said, placing her ringed hand affectionately on Behram’s cheek.

"Mom…" he hesitated for a moment.

"Don’t hesitate, my son. Speak up," Jahan Ara looked into his eyes.

"Why did you lie that Samaira can’t become a mother?" How could he question Jahan Ara so boldly? She looked at him, a bit shaken but composed herself. She swallowed, her face lost color.

"And that slap you gave her, she hasn’t forgotten it."

"And do you have any idea how much pain Burhan must be enduring in jail?" she replied with a tearful face.

"Mom, please… don’t compare him to Samaira. He’ll be released by tomorrow."

"What? Really? Are you serious?" she said frantically, her face lighting up with joy. Behram nodded in agreement. "I’m so happy." In her excitement, she hugged Behram tightly.

"Mom, why did you lie?" He stood still, expressionless. Jahan Ara’s embrace loosened, and she was taken aback. "Do you know how painful that moment was for me when you suddenly came and said such a huge thing?" he spoke with a hurt tone, the pain evident in his voice.

"Forget about it," she said, too engrossed in Burhan’s impending release. "Take her on a honeymoon," she suggested casually. Behram fell silent. He looked at his mother, whose face bore no remorse—only a new happiness for Burhan’s return. With heavy steps, he walked to his room and shut the door. He took off his coat and scanned the dimly lit room.

"Honey? Honey," he called for Samaira, but received no response. He changed and went outside, calling for Luna.

"Where’s Samaira?" he asked Luna hastily.

"Ma’am is by the poolside, I think." Without saying a word, Behram headed toward the pool. From a distance, he saw Samaira standing there with her back turned to him, gazing at the water. Quietly, he walked up to her, watching her as she looked at the pool. Suddenly, he wrapped his arms tightly around her from behind.

"Ah!" she gasped, turning in fright, only to realize it was Behram. "Is it you, Behram? You scared me—I didn’t know who it was." She relaxed into his arms.

"Honey... was someone else supposed to come?" he whispered in her ear.

"Behram..." she said with mild annoyance, as he chuckled, brushing his beard against her neck.

"Alright, sorry." He turned her to face him. "Late again today?"

Samaira narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

"I didn’t mean anything. Just that you should come home early, so we can spend more time together." He leaned in and kissed her forehead. Nearby, behind the glass wall, Jahan Ara was watching them, her face showing clear signs of displeasure. Behram sat by the pool with Samaira still close to him, and they both dangled their feet in the water.

"I don’t know how to swim," Samaira was telling him.

"But I do."

"Of course, you’re multi-talented," she replied with a smile.

"Yes, I am multi-talented." He pressed his lips together, smiling mischievously. "All for you."

"For me?" She laughed. Behram took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. He tilted his head to look at her face, leaning in closer.

"Mom? Mom, what is she doing?" He suddenly noticed Jahan Ara watching them. Samaira, startled, turned to look at Jahan Ara standing at a distance, staring at them intently. Then she looked back at Behram. Behram smiled, and so did Jahan Ara, before she turned and left.

"May I continue?" he smiled. Samaira shyly shook her head. Blue, rippling shadows of the water played across her face. "Tomorrow morning, we’ll go to Somalia, for the honeymoon," he said softly. "Then, when we return, we’ll visit Sarah too." She fell silent. Behram held her chin, lifting her face. Samaira rested her head on his shoulder, slipping her arm around his.

"Behram… stay like this forever, please," she said sadly.

"What have I done? I've always been like this," he laughed.

"Hmm…" She was left speechless. What could she say? Their feet, touching the water, began to brush against each other. Peace settled in that moment. Silence spread, broken only by the gentle sound of the water.

"Behram, when will you take me to Mom’s house? I miss everyone." She looked up at Behram, her head still on his shoulder. He was smiling.

"Hmm… After we get back from the honeymoon," he replied thoughtfully.

"Why so late?" Samaira pouted.

"I promise, as soon as we return, I’ll take you. I’ll even go with you," he said, looking into her glassy eyes. "I’m agreeing to what you want," he raised his eyebrow at Samaira. She paused, surprised. "I put your phone on the side table; you can pick it up."

"Really?" She pulled away in a flash, her eyes shining as she started to get up.

"Where are you going?" Behram quickly grabbed her arm.

"I’ll call home. It’s been so long since we spoke." She was delighted.

"No, do it later. Sit with me now," he said, pulling her close.

"No, it’ll be too late then. Everyone will be asleep. There's still time now," she insisted eagerly.

"It’s good if they’re asleep," he muttered under his breath.

"What do you mean?" she paused.

"Nothing. I just know that you’re here with me right now." Forcing her hand against his chest, he held her close. She stayed, without resistance, and they both gazed into each other’s eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Her brown glassy eyes began to smile.

"I’m admiring your eyes; they’re beautiful. They change color... brown." His voice was enchanting. She was taken aback, an unusual feeling enveloping her. "Let me look into your eyes."

"How long will you keep looking? One day, you’ll go blind." She laughed.

"Let it be, like falling in love with the sun, or with fire that blinds and turns everything to ashes." He spoke while gazing into her eyes.

"What are you saying, sir?" She was surprised. "No, not 'sir'... Behram." She laughed heartily.

"Hold on." Behram cupped her face, pulling it close. "Let me look. I enjoy it." Samaira went quiet, her gaze lowered. "Uff, your eyes... look into my eyes," he said playfully.

"No, let’s go. It’s getting late." She turned to stand up, and Behram rose too. Pulling him along, she led him into the room. She quickly rushed to the bedside able and picked up her phone. It was already late.

Behram lay down, while she sat on the sofa to call home. She dialed repeatedly, but no one answered. From time to time, she glanced over at Behram, whose eyes remained fixed on her.

"What happened?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

"No one’s answering the call." A sudden sense of desolation settled over her. "It’s late, everyone must be asleep," she said, glancing at the clock.

"It’s alright, you can talk to them another time. You should get some sleep too. See, I made sure you could speak to them, didn’t I? You’re not upset with me, are you?" he asked, his tone calm and reassuring.

"No, I’m not upset with you," she replied, carrying a sadness within. Her mind lingered on the missed call. "Aneesa had ended the call."

"It’s nothing, maybe she was just about to sleep."

"Yes, but she should have spoken to me. It’s been so long; do you think she might be upset with me?" She stood up, placing her phone back on the side table.

"No, don’t overthink it. Go to sleep." Behram rubbed his eyes. "Come on now." She lay down on the bed, covering herself with the comforter, her mind elsewhere. Behram was staring at her.

"Look at how painful it is to feel estranged from your own. It’s like your heart bleeds... and I want to see that blood seeping from your heart, Samaira Sikandar," he thought to himself. "I’ll make you suffer so that you’ll witness what true pain feels like. I will break you." As Samaira shifted, Behram was lying very close, his gaze fixed on her. They both looked at each other.

"Haven’t you fallen asleep yet?" she asked, her voice weary.

Behram reached out, holding her wrist and taking her hand from under her cheek into his own. "You go to sleep too." He closed his eyes, and darkness settled. Samaira, still awake, watched him, her eyes tracing the contours of his face, occasionally looking down at her hand in his. A faint smile played on her lips as she gazed at him, feeling a deep peace settle within. In that dark night, he felt like a radiant sun to her. Yet, as Behram had warned, staring at the sun too closely could blind a person. And still, she found herself drawn to him, sinking deeper.

Such laws, such a dawn without light,  

I refuse to accept, I refuse this blight.

The jail cell was dimly lit. The silence was almost suffocating. Morning light was about to break through, as a new day dawned, bringing both messages of hope and despair. In one corner, a young man, sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, was curled up asleep when the station officer unlocked the cell.

“Get up, your bail has been approved,” he said, coming closer. Finally, after a dark night, morning had come for him. Nearly ten months later, he was stepping out. Ten months in place of ten years. Incredible. He felt almost fortunate. In those ten months, he looked a bit different. His beard had grown slightly, making him look older than before.

“How did this happen? Wasn’t he sentenced to ten years?” the other prisoners whispered among themselves. He walked out of the corridor with a sense of pride. Outside, Furqan was waiting for him. After many months, he saw the sun again. The open sky felt oddly confined.

“This way, sir.” Furqan was guiding him. Breaking away from the crowd, they got into the car. The driver started the engine, while Furqan sat next to him in the back seat.

“How is Mom? Why didn’t my brother come?” he asked Furqan, closing his eyes in pain.

“Ma’am is coming to Lahore to meet you. Niaz sir will be with her,” Furqan replied with a smile.

“And my brother? Why didn’t he come?” He looked at Furqan.

“Sir went on his honeymoon with ma’am.”

“My brother got married?” He was taken aback. “When?”

"When you were in jail, sir," Furqan replied politely. He fell silent. "And Taimoor sir is busy, which is probably why he couldn’t come." He nodded in understanding.

“When will my brother return?”

“Sir, he just left this morning," Furqan replied flatly. "Maybe in a week or two?” he guessed, and then silence filled the car.

A while later, the car stopped in front of the mansion. Servants, dressed in uniform, were lined up as if he’d returned from a pilgrimage, not prison. At the entrance of the lounge stood Jahan Ara, her eyes filled with tears.

"Burhan," she came forward, crying, and embraced him. "I missed you, prayed day and night for you. My son suffered a punishment he didn’t deserve." She kept saying through her tears. Then, holding Burhan’s hand, she led him inside. Burhan cast a glance at Zimil, who turned away. He shook his head and stepped inside.

“Now, my son will rest,” Jahan Ara said happily. "Look at the bruises on my son," she said, examining his face, where faint marks from beatings were visible. Both of them went into the room.

“You rest now, then I’ll have food prepared for you,” she said, holding his face gently.

“Mom, I’m fine. Look at what you've done to yourself.” Both of them sat on the edge of the bed, crying and sharing their pain.

In the lounge outside, Zimil was scolding the servants, while Amar sat beside her, watching her with wide eyes.

"Get back to work, all of you! Standing around to welcome him—really?" Zimil shook her head. "Next time, I don’t want to see any of you idling. Understood?" She gave them a warning look, signaling them to disperse.

“What do you think is going on inside?” Amar asked.

“Melodrama,” she replied angrily. Amar struggled to hold back her laughter.

Back to Jahan Ara, she was wiping her tears, a faint smile on her face.

“Mom… did my brother get married?” Burhan asked in a saddened tone.

“Yes, to Kashmala’s sister. I’ll make her pay for this, one way or another,” she said, like a wounded tigress.

“Kashmala’s sister? Who?” His mind began to connect the dots.

“Samaira. A simple, foolish girl.” She continued speaking, but Burhan’s mind stopped at the mention of “Samaira.”

“Mom…” He stood up. “Samaira… the one who used to live at Uncle Ibrahim’s house… she… she’s my love.” He spoke frantically. Jahan Ara was left speechless.

“What are you saying?”

“I never told you, but… I loved her. I still do.” He began crying. “Please, Mom, stop my brother. Call him back, or I’ll die. She’s mine!” he cried, clutching his head. “Call him back!” he screamed, and Jahan Ara was struck with fear.

“My child, don’t say that. Please,” she said, embracing Burhan.

“Mom… I’ll die. Why did my brother marry her?”

“I’ll do something. Don’t cry,” she assured him. She shakily pulled out her phone to call Behram, but his phone was off. With trembling hands, she then dialed Furqan.

“Hello… call Behram and bring him back,” she ordered.

“Ma’am, is everything alright?” Furqan asked, taken aback.

"No, everything is not alright. Tell him his mother is dying," she growled.

“Sorry, ma’am, but sir left his phone at home on purpose, so he wouldn’t be disturbed,” Furqan informed her. Jahan Ara’s strength waned, and she sank onto the sofa.

“What happened, Mom?” Burhan asked, gripping her shoulders.

“They’re gone,” she looked up at her son. “But don’t worry; we’ll remove Behram from the picture,” she said, her voice resolute.

“What?” He was shocked. 

“You… you’re my son… I’ll do anything for you.”

“No, Mom, by then he’ll already have Samaira,” he cried, clutching his hair.

“No… I’ll do something. I will do something for you. Samaira will pay as well. She will bear the punishment for Kashmala’s actions,” she promised, her voice chilling. Burhan fell silent. With his disheveled appearance, he looked utterly exhausted.

He had stepped away from the light; now was the time to embrace darkness. This was the darkness Behram had unknowingly unleashed, one that would swallow them all. The cycle had begun. Those who sell justice and buy cruelty eventually find themselves enveloped in the very darkness they create.

☆☆☆☆☆

The tree leaves appeared yellow due to the intense sunlight. Underneath the tree, a pen and a blank paper lay on a clipboard. Nearby, students could be seen walking around. Aneesa sat under the tree with Malikah. Aneesa wanted to help her start a new habit—writing a diary. She was going to have her begin with the blank paper.

"You can write down what you feel. It will make you feel lighter," Aneesa said with a smile. Malikah looked as if she was covered in years of fatigue. Her complexion seemed pale; she looked sick, afflicted by an invisible illness.

"I feel good… but only in this moment. Maybe because you're here with me," she said in a weary voice, feeling bitter at heart.

"Hmm?" Aneea smiled. Malikah closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and picked up the pen.

"When friends are with you, every pain seems to fade away… Look at me; I feel lighter. Aneesa is with me. The one I wanted isn't here, but I’ve found a new friend with whom I feel good. I’m living, but only in this moment. What is this feeling? She’s making me write. My words are lifting my burdens. The pain inside me is momentarily disappearing. Her suggested technique is working. Yes, my mind is really drifting from my dark past. What I'm feeling, I can’t even describe."

Malikah was bent over, writing. Aneesa, meanwhile, was working on her laptop, immersed in her task. After writing for a while, Malikah started observing her. She noticed Aneesa sitting restlessly, shaking her leg continuously for the past hour.

“What’s wrong?” Malikah folded the paper and put it in her bag.

"Nothing," she replied hurriedly, her mind preoccupied with an email.

“When will you do my work?” Masooma suddenly sat down with them. Aneesa closed her eyes and leaned back against the thick trunk of the tree.

"I’ll do it... when I get a chance," she replied with a deep breath.

"Yeah, please do it soon, or else Hunaid will start pestering me again,” Masooma said, making a face.

"That won’t happen," Aneesa reassured her.

"Out of millions, you’re my best friend," Masooma hugged her tightly.

"Oh, alright, that’s enough," Aneesa said, gently pushing her away. "By the way, where’s Gul-e-Lala?"

"Probably in class, studying as usual," Malikah chimed in immediately. Masooma squinted at her. "Oh, sorry," Malikah grinned, and Masooma smirked playfully in response.

Aneesa got up and headed towards the classroom. Walking through the gallery, she noticed Shahmeer, Asfand, and Wasif. Without stopping or showing any hesitation, she walked right past them.

"Hold on a second..." Shahmeer called out. She slowed down but didn’t stop. They walked up to her themselves.

"What is it?" she asked, stopping.

"Give us back Tanveer's money that he gave you," Asfand said.

"What money?" she asked, standing firm.

"The one he gave you for the notes. Give it back."

"I don’t remember anything. Stop bothering me and get lost," she replied stubbornly, lying with confidence.

"Should I remind you?" Shahmeer stepped forward.

"Should I show you what I remember?" she replied defiantly. "Why hasn’t Tanveer come himself… is he sick or something?" she taunted.

"Don’t forget you’re all alone; I heard your father left you anyway," Shahmeer laughed.

“Hey…” Aneesa raised a finger, warning him. “If you mention my family again, I’ll throw you out.”

The three of them started laughing.

“Look at yourself,” they high-fived each other. She stood there alone, watching them laugh at her. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she left and went back to class. Gul-e-Lala was bent over his book, marking something. She placed her bag by the chair and sat next to him. He kept his head down, focused on his work.

“What are you doing?” she asked sadly.

“MCQs… I always lose to you, only because of these MCQs,” he chuckled, shivering a bit. Aneesa smiled faintly at him.

“Let’s go home. I want to go home. Hurry up.” She stood up. “Then tonight, we’ll go to the back part of the restaurant where you said there’s a great view.” She brightened up.

“No, please… I’m going to study tonight,” he said, taking off his glasses and putting them in his bag, his green eyes looking at her.

“Oh, come on… you can study some other time.” They both picked up their bags and headed outside.

“You can go some other time too.” He laughed, mimicking her tone. “When will this ‘some other time’ come? Today is all we have.” Aneesa smiled at his words. They continued talking as they walked out, and soon their car sped down the university road.

☆☆☆☆☆

Several cars were parked outside the large building. The roads of Islamabad were wet; a light drizzle had drenched everything. On the third floor of the building, in an office, Furqan was wearing glasses and studying some files. Khawar entered, opening the door. At first, he stood frozen, staring at Furqan. Furqan also looked at him in surprise. Then, Khawar walked toward him in long strides and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up.

"What is this rudeness? Let me go!" Furqan yelled, trying to free himself.

"You tell me, why was my account seized? Where did my money go?"

"What money?" Furqan pushed him away. In the process, his file fell to the ground.

"The same money meant for the hospital infrastructure!"

"That money is for the hospital. Why would you take it?" Furqan bent down to pick up the file. "If you have anything to discuss, talk to Behram Sir. Now leave."

"I’m not leaving without my money." Khawar sat down in the chair. "How dare you seize my account? You people!" he said angrily. Furqan looked at him with pity. "I’m not the only one using that money; there are others. Behram doesn’t stop them."

"Sir, please... leave now, or I'll be forced to call the guards," Furqan pointed toward the door.

"I... am... not... going... anywhere," Khawar replied emphatically.

"Sir, you won't gain anything by doing this. The work will only proceed when Behram Sir comes. So, please leave for now," Furqan said, calming down and pleading.

"Call him right now. Tell him to give my account back to me," Khawar insisted.

"Look, Sir... please... his phone isn't with him; it's at home. You can talk to Sir Niaz." Furqan felt irritated, but he had to control himself at that moment. Hearing this, Khawar’s aggression softened. It meant there was no use fighting right now. He stood up, put his hands on his waist, and started pacing around. Ignoring him, Furqan resumed his work.

"And you..." Khawar addressed him mid-task. Furqan looked up at him. "Speak respectfully. I’m your boss’s family member. Remember, I can do anything." With this threat, he walked out.

"Hmph. Coward," Furqan muttered, shaking his head. "Can’t even recognize his own worth, and he’s here to teach me a lesson." Spinning a pen between his fingers, he smiled, then bent over the file to clear up the accounts.

Khawar was passing through the gallery when he saw Kashmala approaching from the opposite direction. She was dressed in black, with her open hair loosely covered by a scarf. Ignoring Khawar, she stopped right in front of Furqan's office. Khawar watched her as she entered.

"Where is Behram?" Kashmala demanded as soon as she walked in. Furqan was on a call at that moment. He lowered the phone but didn’t end the call.

"Kashmala ma'am, you? Here? Would you like something? Tea or coffee? Please, have a seat," he said with a smile.

"I haven’t come here to sit or have tea or coffee! Where is Behram?" she demanded, clenching her fists. Furqan lifted the phone and turned on the speaker.

“Kashmala is here! Wow!” Behram said from the other end.

“Where is my sister? And why is her phone switched off?” Kashmala snatched the phone from Furqan.

“She’s with me. Why? What happened?” he replied, irritated.

“Give her the phone,” Kashmala’s anger flared. “I need to speak to her.”

“You’re worried about her, aren’t you? You should be. Because she’s with me, and who knows what I might do to her.”

“She’s your wife, Behram,” Kashmala reminded him, as if prompting him to remember.

“Mmm. I know. Don’t worry; I won’t harm her. In fact, she won’t say anything to you either. She’s very happy with me,” he taunted.

Kashmala listened, holding back her emotions. “Whenever she acts up, I just take her shopping. Once we go out, she forgets her pain. She’s quite naive, your sister,” he laughed.

“And your sister is just as naive,” Kashmala replied, her voice laced with disgust.

“Don’t you dare mention my sister,” he growled. “Remember… Samaira’s fate… she’s with me, and I’ll do things to her that you’ll all remember for life,” he yelled angrily.

“Got the message?” Kashmala rolled her eyes, as if bored but striking where it hurt. “Maybe now you understand one percent of my pain. Don’t you?”

He ended the call. Kashmala placed the phone on the desk.

“Tell your boss to stop hurting his wife. She’s not part of this game... so why involve her?” Kashmala said to Furqan before walking out. Furqan sat there, silent and stunned.

☆☆☆☆☆

In the palace lawn, four chairs were arranged around a round table. A cat was wandering around them, meowing repeatedly and rubbing its head against the leg of a chair. This continued for a while. When Malikah came outside and saw the cat, she walked over to the lawn, picked it up in her arms. The white, fluffy cat was delicate, and Malikah enjoyed gently stroking its soft fur.  

"Oh dear! Are you sad?" she began talking to the cat. "I’m sad too. So what if Fateh isn’t here? I am here. I’m alone too. Think of me as your friend." She spoke to the voiceless animal as if she were lovingly consoling a person. The mute cat tilted its head and darted its gaze around.  

"Cat! Cat! Talk to me," she said as she cradled the cat close to her chest and sat down on a chair. "Cat, I love you," she said lovingly, hugging it tightly.  

"I love you too," a voice came from behind, and she stood up as if struck by lightning. Burhan was standing there, smiling.  

"I wasn’t talking to you... I was talking to the cat," Malikah stammered.  

"But I heard it," Burhan said, looking around. "There’s no one else here besides me. And the cat is a voiceless, uncomprehending animal. That means you said it to me..." He moved closer. "What did you say? Say it again..." he teased as he approached, while Malikah took a step back with every step he took forward.  

"No... I didn’t say it to you... Sorry," she stumbled, flustered.

"Hey! You’re scared. Why are you scared? If you haven’t done anything wrong, then why?"  

"I need to go." She quickly tried to leave, but Burhan stepped in front of her, blocking her path.  

"I’ll tell Mom," she said, her voice breaking.  

"Hah. Not Mom... go ahead and tell my dad. I’m not afraid of anyone," he replied smugly.  

A tear escaped Malikah's eye and rolled down her cheek. She stood helplessly before him.  

"I’ll tell," she said, trying to sound threatening. Meanwhile, the cat looked around innocently.  

"If I bury you alive right now, no one will be able to save you." He stepped closer and grabbed her hair, pulling it hard.  

"Ahh... let go!" Malikah released the cat and used both hands to try to free her hair. The cat remained sitting at her feet. "Let go... it hurts!" she pleaded, but he only laughed while pulling her hair tighter. When he had had enough, he shoved her, letting go, and she fell to the ground.  

"Did anyone see that?" he crouched down beside her and asked. Malikah curled into herself, pulling the cat close. No one else was around. Just then, Niaz Sikandar appeared, walking into the lawn.  

As soon as Burhan saw him, he quickly stood up and extended his hand toward Malikah.  

"I just want to help you." His tone suddenly shifted.  

Malikah looked at him in surprise.  

"Dad, look! Malikah fell. She doesn’t even watch where she’s going," Burhan said with a smile.  

Malikah turned to look behind her and saw Niaz Sikandar standing there. She abruptly stood up on her own.  

"I was just trying to help," Burhan said, grinning.  

"Hmm. You may go," Niaz said, gesturing with his hand for his son to leave, and motioned for Malikah to sit on the chair. Hesitantly, she sat down, her fear evident. The cat roamed freely across the lawn, while Burhan stood under the shade of the veranda, watching the two of them.  

Malikah sat with her head lowered, while Niaz Sikandar spoke to her in a serious tone. The conversation seemed intense, as Malikah repeatedly brought her hand to her face to wipe away tears. Niaz Sikandar gestured frequently, trying to emphasize his points. From a distance, Burhan observed everything.  

Then, suddenly, Niaz Sikandar took Malikah's hand in his own. The sight was shocking for Burhan—this was a right that belonged to his mother. Niaz Sikandar pulled a chair closer to Malikah, sat beside her, and wrapped an arm around her. The scene was unbearable to watch.  

"I can’t do this," Malikah said, sobbing.  

"No one will find out. We’ll both return on time," Niaz coaxed her gently, trying to convince her to accompany him to a party.  

"Everyone at home will grow suspicious. No, please..." she said in a low voice, her head bowed.  

"No one will suspect anything, I promise. And even if they do, I’ll handle it. It’s just one night. We’ll be back quickly," Niaz reassured her.  

"What will I tell Mom? Where will I say I’m going?" Malikah asked, looking up into Niaz's eyes. All she saw there was lust—a desire to possess her body. Beyond that, there was nothing.  

"Just say you’re going to a friend’s house to study for an exam. Use anyone’s name," Niaz replied indifferently. "Hmm? Will you come with me? To the party?" He looked at her hopefully. "I promise I won’t hurt you again."  

Malikah nodded reluctantly. He moved slightly away, watching her. She sat there with her head lowered, ashamed, unable to meet his gaze.

༒︎༒︎༒︎༒︎༒︎