White Roses Episode 12 Eclipsed

White Roses as symbol of love

 

Eclipsed

 

There are other sorrows in this world, more than love's aching flame,  

Other comforts exist beyond the joy of love’s claim.

It was midday, and the sun was at its peak. The heat had taken over, and Mianwali's famous scorching winds were almost present. On the weekend, Aneesa had come home. The warmth seemed to envelop the house. In the room next to the kitchen, a pile of books lay on the table. She was sorting through them, picking some out.

"No one cares about me. What I want doesn’t matter to anyone," she kept muttering to herself. Shehroz, sitting in the veranda, was listening. The ceiling fan was spinning. A laptop lay open by his side.

"Just end this story about Tanveer already. But no, they’ve left me hanging." Carrying a few books, she passed by Shehroz. She was avoiding addressing him directly, instead loudly voicing her complaints for everyone to hear. Shehroz sat there as if he wasn’t listening at all.

“Go inside. You can work there. It’s too hot here.” Sahira picked up the laptop and the cushion and told Shehroz to move indoors. She followed him in, shutting the door behind them. When Aneesa came back out after putting the books away, she noticed the veranda was now deserted. She turned toward her mother’s room, where Naheed lay asleep on a cot. Seeing Naheed asleep, she returned to her room. Then, a thought crossed her mind, and she headed to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she poured cold water into a glass, mixed in some rose syrup, and drank it.

“Ah, that hit the spot,” she said, running her tongue over her lips. She washed the glass absentmindedly, placed it back, and turned around. The glass fell with a loud crash, shattering. The sound echoed through the house.

“Who’s there?” Naheed’s voice called out.

"Ammi..." She closed her eyes and yelled, "It's the cat. I'll shoo it away," and smiled faintly. Leaving the shattered glass behind, she ran back to her room. Lifting the mattress off the bed, she pulled out a file, placed it on the chair near the desk, and sat down. She opened it and began flipping through the pages, one by one. She couldn't make sense of what was written or what it was about. Only a few words stood out: "smuggling... corruption... human trafficking... Niaz Sikandar... bankrupt... black law... Sikandar... Niaz Sikandar... IG... blacklist... Niaz Sikandar... Bahram Sikandar... Ibrahim Sikandar... Aitzaz... Mir Sadique."

"What is all this?" She shivered. It was all incomprehensible. She needed to focus on her studies. Dropping her head into her hands, she sat there with her eyes closed, not realizing when she drifted off to sleep.

"Aneesa..." Someone placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned around.

"Junaid Bhai? Junaid?" She smiled.

"Finished your assignment?" Junaid asked with a smile.

"Almost. Just a little bit left," she said, scratching her head.

"What did you want to talk to me about? Go ahead, I'm listening," Junaid said, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her.

"Me?" She looked surprised and began to think. "Oh, yes," she remembered. "But first, promise me you won't get angry." She got up and sat beside him.

"Have I ever gotten angry with my beautiful sister?" He looked at her with affection in his eyes. Junaid was the only one who truly understood her, and today he was here, as if after years. "I’m your friend," he said. Aneesa bit her lip, watching him, caught in a dilemma—should she tell him or not?

"Well... I like someone," she finally said. Junaid looked surprised. "But if you say no, I'll leave him," she added hastily, trying to ease into the conversation.

"Who is it?" Junaid asked, looking into her innocent brown eyes.

"I'm confused. There's no one I can talk to about this," she said softly. "It’s Gul-e-Lala," she murmured, lowering her gaze as she spoke his name. Junaid gently lifted her face.

"Learn to hold your head high, girl," he said, smiling. She stared at him with teary eyes, unsure if he would really not scold her. Junaid softly pulled her closer to sit beside him. Quietly, she rested her head on his shoulder. Maybe now, she could finally open up.

"He's very kind. Innocent. And so calm," she began. "Whenever I’m with him, it feels like he’s someone of my own. But when I see him talking to other girls, it makes me restless." She kept talking while he kept listening. "I want him to be with me… always. But for that, he’d have to become my partner, wouldn’t he?" Junaid nodded as she looked despondent. Years of sadness seemed to weigh down her face. 

"He does everything for me. He’s a good friend and could be a great partner too. But… there’s one problem," she said hesitantly.

"What is it?" Junaid asked, tilting his head to look at her face resting on his shoulder.

"The one I love never comes to me. How do people find the ones they like? In TV dramas, everything is shown as so easy, isn’t it? They never show the real struggles. You just know that the heroine will marry the hero in the end," she said with a sarcastic smile.

"It’s not like that," Junaid said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "These dramas can never teach us how to live life. They show us an ideal world, where Miss Perfect meets Mr. Perfect, and they start a perfect life together. Reality is far beyond that. Even if Miss Perfect and Mr. Perfect do meet, life doesn’t stay perfect—challenges always follow. Besides, there’s no such thing as Miss Perfect or Mr. Perfect. Only one person was truly perfect, and even he faced countless difficulties. Allah created him perfect. So, if even he had challenges in life, who are you? Who am I? Just ordinary humans. And if Gul-e-Lala does become yours, will life be perfect? Will you truly be happy in his small house? When his salary falls short, will you be able to suppress your desires? Yes, I agree, he’s a good guy. I’ve seen the respect in his eyes for you, but respect can’t always be called love." He spoke gently, trying to reason with her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she lowered her face, silently crying.

"Allah says we are drawn to the people with whom our hearts connect. So why did Lala seem good to me? There must be some connection between him and me, right? If he wasn’t meant to be mine, then why did he come into my life?" She tried to console herself. "Could it be that, in exchange for my patience, I’m destined to receive the very best?"

"Not everyone who enters our lives is meant to stay or be ours. It's not necessary that we desire to make someone a part of our life just because they cross our path. We shouldn’t be stubborn about it," Junaid said gently, wiping her tears. Then, changing the subject, he asked, "Are you attending Dr. Sahib’s classes?"

"Yes, I go sometimes. He’s very kind. He explains things so well. His wife is also very nice. I met her," she replied, still wiping her tears.

"How’s Samaira? And Mahnoor? And Kashmala?" Junaid asked with a smile. Aneesa was startled. Why was he asking about them? She held Junaid's hands tightly, trying to hold on to the moment, trying to stop time. But time doesn’t stop for anyone. That moment, too, began to slip away. She flailed, as if trying to fight it, feeling utterly helpless.

"They’re all fine. Everyone’s fine. I’m not fine!" she screamed, and suddenly woke up. 

She looked around the room. There was no one. The room was empty; she was all alone. Junaid being there had been nothing but a figment of her imagination. Realizing she was truly alone, she broke down, crying.

☆☆☆☆☆

The dark night of Lahore was settling in, but the mansion stood illuminated in its grandeur. In front of the dressing table, cosmetics were scattered, and Jahan Ara was seated, getting ready for an event. She was to attend a party that night. Niaz, dressed in a sharp suit, stood ready as well, heading to a different gathering. Meanwhile, in another room, Malikah was preparing. She wore jeans, a shirt, and a jacket.  

"I'll be late tonight; I'll be with Aneesa. Don’t worry," she informed her mother hurriedly, grabbing her purse and heading out. In front of the house, Niaz Sikandar was waiting for her. Upon seeing her, he pulled out his phone and started typing.  

"What are you wearing? I told you to wear a saree," his message read.  

"It’s in my bag. I’ll wear it at the party," she replied and stepped out. Niaz Sikandar, too, slipped out discreetly. The cars, one following the other, set off towards their destinations as the night deepened.  

At a crossroads, Malikah stood, seemingly waiting for someone. A car pulled up in front of her, and she climbed into the back seat. Niaz Sikandar sat beside her. The driver, glancing at them through the rearview mirror, remained silent as the journey continued. Malikah sat with a blank expression, burdened by heavy thoughts. Eventually, the car stopped, and the driver opened the door. She stepped out hesitantly, and Niaz Sikandar took her hand, leading her into a grand mansion.  

"Go, change, and come back," he instructed her curtly before joining his friends.  

Malikah, guided by the house staff, found her way to a restroom. She changed into the saree and stood in front of the mirror for a long time, staring at her reflection and swallowing her tears. Summoning courage, she stepped out and joined Niaz.  

She was wearing a red saree with matching lipstick, her appearance striking against the older crowd at the gathering. Most of the attendees were well into their years, adding to the weight of the moment for her.

"This is my lovely wife." Niaz introduced her proudly to his friends. She was displayed as if she were an ornament.  

"Yes, she’s beautiful," someone commented from the side. Malikah stood there, shrinking into herself, her throat tightening repeatedly. She crossed her arms around her chest, feeling utterly uncomfortable as the soft music created an almost hypnotic ambiance.  

"She obeys my every word, and not just that—she’s my loyal wife. My queen," Niaz declared with pride, flaunting her to everyone. Malikah forced a faint smile. Everyone took their seats, and she was ushered to sit with the wives of Niaz’s friends. However, even there, discomfort followed her like a shadow. The lustful stares of men and the scrutinizing eyes of women weighed heavily on her.  

"She’s Niaz’s daughter’s age," one woman remarked, staring at her. "How do you live with him? Aren’t you ashamed?" she laughed mockingly. "Poor thing," she added, clicking her tongue in pity. "Was it some kind of compulsion?" she said with fake sympathy.  

Malikah sat there, adjusting her saree over her chest, her gaze fixed downward. She had no answers to their questions.  

"Niaz has quite a temper. It’s truly admirable how Jahan Ara has put up with him. Does Jahan Ara know about your marriage to Niaz Sikandar?" another woman asked pointedly.  

Malikah shook her head in denial.  

"Well, I feel sorry for you, dear," the woman said, looking at her with a mixture of pity and disdain. The other women exchanged glances of disapproval, their gazes piercing through Malikah.  

Soon after, the main event of the party began. Malikah slipped away from the group, seeking solitude on a sofa near the wall. She sat there alone until Niaz Sikandar noticed her and joined her. He sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, a drink in his other hand. He sipped from his glass as he leaned closer to her.  

"Enjoying yourself?" Niaz asked with a sly smile.  

Malikah, startled by his proximity, forced a fearful smile in response.

"When will we go home?" she asked loudly over the blaring music.  

"Very soon. But first, we’ll enjoy the party together," he replied, taking her hand and leading her up the stairs. Downstairs, everyone was lost in their own revelries. As they reached the room upstairs and shut the door, the noise muffled into a distant hum.  

Malikah stood there with a blank expression, faintly smiling as she glanced at the time.  

"It’s not too late yet," Niaz said, stepping closer to her. He placed the glass of drink on the table, cupped her face in his hands, and said, "Why are you so beautiful?"  

Malikah’s face turned pale, her nerves prickling with unease.  

"Let’s go home," she whispered softly.  

"We will. But first..." Niaz turned, picked up the drink, and faced her. "Here, have this." He raised the glass to her lips. She recognized the drink instantly.  

"No, please. Not this," she said, pushing his hand away as she stepped back. But there was a sofa behind her, and she stumbled onto it.  

"Drink it. It’s amazing. It’ll make you forget all your worries. Just take one sip," he insisted, trying to press the glass to her lips.  

"No! I have no worries. I’m very happy," she said, holding back tears. But Niaz, determined, leaned closer, forcing the drink on her. She tried to push his hand away, and the glass slipped from his grip, shattering on the floor, spilling the drink.  

Niaz stared at her, his face darkening. Malikah’s heart sank.  

Without warning, he slapped her hard across the face.  

"Ah!" she cried out in pain, clutching her cheek as tears streamed down her face.  

Niaz grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him, and delivered another slap, followed by a third. She broke into uncontrollable sobs, tears flowing freely as she sat there trembling.  

"Foolish girl. What have you done? This was for you to drink, and you spilled it on the floor," he growled angrily, his drunken state fueling his rage. He pressed his foot harshly against hers, grinding it with force. Malikah whimpered beneath him, helpless.  

"No one will come to help you here," Niaz said coldly, shaking his head dismissively. He was grinding her foot with the tip of his boot.

"Let me go," she cried, struggling. "I’m sorry! I’ll drink it. I’ll do it. I’ll do everything. Please don’t hurt me," she pleaded, her voice trembling with agony. The physical pain was unbearable, pushing her beyond her limits.  

"Ahhh, please let me go!" she wailed, tears streaming down her face like a flood. Her delicate body writhed in anguish, trembling like a wounded bird struggling to break free. Niaz, merciless, continued to torment her, like a tyrant indulging in his cruelty.  

Malikah’s entire body was submerged in pain, her strength drained entirely in her futile resistance. Her eyes darted around, desperately searching for someone who might come to her rescue. Her arms fell limply to her sides, and her heart sank.  

Her body had become prey to a beast, torn and ravaged. Her legs grew still, her body frozen in fear and despair. She felt her soul slipping away, yet death refused to release her. A heavy weight pressed against her being, and then everything became motionless, even the air itself.  

☆☆☆☆☆

Today was the first exam. In the classroom, all the students were cramming, reading out loud at the last moment. Amidst all this, Aneesa was going around asking each student about Malikah. Fifteen minutes were left for the exam to begin, but Malikah still hadn’t arrived. Aneesa, unconcerned, roamed around. She was never the type to cram right before the exam. Whatever she had learned was enough; whatever she hadn’t, it was left behind. Why confuse and stress herself by cramming?

"Malikah hasn’t come?" Aneesa asked one of the students.

"She has. I saw her myself," he replied, surprised.

"Really? Where is she? She hasn’t come to the class yet," she asked, worried.

"No idea then... You check. I hope there’s no issue," he said, returning his focus to his book.

"Yes, I must," she said, feeling uneasy, and was about to leave the class when Sir Hunaid entered.

"Dear, stay inside... don’t go out. The exam is already delayed," he said, holding the papers in his hand.

"Sir, my friend is outside. Can I bring her in?" Aneesa asked urgently, standing at the door.

"No, dear. She will come on her own. She should know," he said, gesturing for Aneesa to come back inside. Disheartened, she returned to her seat. The papers were being distributed. The chair in front of Aneesa was empty. Gul-e-Lala was sitting behind her, and Masooma was on her left. Aneesa silently started her paper but was restless. She kept thinking about Malikah and why she hadn’t arrived yet. The clock’s hands moved forward. She continued writing. All the students were leaning over their desks, working on their papers. 

When Aneesa looked up, she saw Malikah bent over, doing her paper. Sir Hunaid was supervising everyone.

"When did she arrive?" Aneesa was momentarily surprised. "I’ll ask her after the exam," she thought, shaking her head and focusing back on her paper. However, she felt relieved about Malikah’s presence. She picked up speed and continued answering the questions. 

Nearly two and a half hours later, the exam ended. The bell rang, and the papers were collected from everyone. The examination room began to empty. As soon as Aneesa stepped outside with Gul-e-Lala and Masooma, Malikah had disappeared again. She was nowhere to be seen. Aneesa searched for her but had no idea where she had gone. Perhaps she had rushed home. 

"Who will you go home with?" Aneesa nudged Masooma’s shoulder.

"Don’t be rude," Masooma laughed.

"By the way, your fiancé looked quite handsome today. Maybe he knew he’d be supervising us, so he dressed up nicely," Aneesa teased with a burst of laughter.

"Shut up, shut up! No one should share secrets with a friend like you," Masooma said, smiling and blushing. "I was talking about Gul-e-Lala," she whispered into Aneesa’s ear.

"And I was talking about Sir Hunaid," Aneesa replied, stepping away and laughing. "Call Malikah. She didn’t seem alright to me. I’ll call her too, but you should check on her as well," she added while walking away. 

Later, she reached the car. "What’s up with Malikah today? She wasn’t around at all," she said to Gul-e-Lala as she got into the car.

"Maybe she’s in a rush to prepare for the next paper, or there’s some work at home," Gul-e-Lala suggested.

"Yeah, maybe I’m overthinking it," Aneesa dismissed the thoughts and sped off in her car.

☆☆☆☆☆

Golden rays of sunlight were streaming into the dimly lit room of the mansion. Although the curtains had been drawn across the windows, a few rays had managed to seep in. But among them, there was no ray of hope. Malikah lay motionless on the bed, wrapped in a blanket up to her nose. Only her eyes were visible, from which tears silently flowed. Her phone, resting on the side table, was vibrating. It kept ringing repeatedly and would stop on its own. She turned to her side. Her entire body was in pain, but the ache in her lower abdomen stood apart from the rest. She whimpered softly as she cried. Her whole body burned with fever.  

Outside, Hajra was tending to all the chores alone. Jahan Ara and Sultana Begum were sipping their afternoon tea. With them sat Niaz Sikandar and Ibrahim Sikandar, engaged in conversation.  

“Begum Sahiba, if I could get some money, it would be a great help. My daughter is sick, and I need to take her to the doctor,” Hajra said to Zimil, who was seated a little distance away in the sitting area, reading a magazine.  

“What’s wrong with her?” Zimil asked, taking money out of her purse and handing it to her.  

“I don’t know. She was fine until yesterday. She stayed over at Aneesa’s last night, and I don’t know what happened, but she came back with a fever,” Hajra replied, worried.  

“Huh? Where did Malikah go?” Zimil asked in surprise.  

“To Aneesa’s. She has exams, so Malikah went to study with her. My daughter is so dedicated; she stays up late studying,” Hajra said proudly.  

“Who is this Aneesa?” Zimil inquired, trying to gather some information.  

“She’s Malikah’s friend. Malikah is always singing her praises,” Hajra chuckled. “She’s a very nice girl.”  

“Hmm… I’ll have to meet her someday,” Zimil remarked with a shrug and left. Hajra returned to her chores.  

In the room, Malikah lay sprawled on her stomach, her body twisted and hair brushing against the floor. Tears fell one by one, forming a small puddle on the ground. Now that she had emerged from beneath the blanket, bruises on her neck and face were starkly visible. Her neck bore marks as if some beast had bitten her, and her wrists seemed as if they'd been gripped by a demon. The phone on the side table was still ringing incessantly.  

Her body ached. Her heart was gripped with fear, her eyes filled with a mix of terror and confusion. She felt disgusted with herself, repulsed by her very being. Shame intertwined with fear weighed heavy on her. She no longer felt pure.  

A sudden knock on the door startled her, making her sit upright in a jolt. She huddled herself into a corner against the headboard of the bed.  

“No, I won’t open the door,” she whispered to herself, crying. “He’ll come in again, tear me apart, hurt me again.” Her mind spiraled into chaos. “No, no, I won’t let this happen again. I’ll protect myself.”  

She stood on the bed, cautiously stepping down. Moving carefully, she approached the table and stopped in front of it.  

“Malikah, open the door. Let’s go to the doctor,” Hajra’s voice came from outside, accompanied by persistent knocking. Malikah clasped her hands over her mouth to stifle her cries.  

“No,” she whispered, slamming her hand against the table as she searched for something. Finally, she found what she was looking for—a sharp razor blade she used for crafting cards and other projects. The blade gleamed in the faint light.  

Malikah turned to face the door, where the knocking still persisted. Her breathing grew heavier, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face.  

"Which of these is the greater sin?" she thought bitterly. "Was it my secret marriage, or what my husband did to me last night—harassing me, tearing apart my body? Or is it this—now, today? I’ll end my life. Then my mother won’t have to face shame. I can’t endure this anymore. He’ll come again, use me, force himself on me. No, I won’t let it happen again."

Malikah closed her eyes, pressing the blade to her wrist, and then sliced it. Drops of blood began falling onto the floor. The pain forced her to her knees as her vision blurred. Her eyes began to close, but with one last stroke, darkness enveloped her entirely.  

She could still faintly hear the sounds from outside—her mother calling her name. But now, there was more noise, a commotion of voices. Surely, her mother must have brought the family after finding the door locked. Why had she done that? Couldn’t she just let her die in peace?  

The door burst open just as Malikah’s hearing gave way. She wasn’t dead yet, but her jugular vein was close to being severed. Someone lifted her limp body and ran outside, while another hastily wrapped a cloth around her bleeding wrist to stem the flow. But the blood kept seeping through.

If only she could have stopped the man who now held her in his arms. She wanted to scream at him, “Don’t touch me. I am afraid of every touch now.”

☆☆☆☆☆

It was the time of the evening. The swing in the lawn was swaying back and forth. Aneesa, after finishing her prayer, was holding a book and swinging on the swing. Gul-e-Lala was sitting on the grass below, with a pile of books spread out in front of him.

"Whatever you say, I'll do it. Just tell me where you do the MCQs from?" Gul-e-Lala was asking her helplessly. She started laughing.

"Give me the swing, then I'll tell you," she said playfully.

"Promise?" Gul-e-Lala got up, walked behind her, and started pushing the swing. She walked forward, her scarf fluttering in the breeze. He closed his eyes in a daze. "You’ll tell me, right?" Gul-e-Lala was still unsure if she would back out because she hadn’t given an answer yet.

"Yes, yes. Later." She laughed and walked away. Gul-e-Lala grabbed the swing and suddenly stopped it. Aneesa opened her eyes and looked at him with annoyance.

"You're so clever. I won’t fall for your tricks now," he said as he sat back down on the grass. "You always cheat me. You always deceive me," he said sadly.

"Are you crying?" she teased him, laughing.

"Hmph. I won’t cry for you," Gul-e-Lala gestured toward her with his hand and shook his head. They both laughed.

"You told me you'd take me to the river!" Gul-e-Lala suddenly brought up an old promise Aneesa had made. "Now, I won’t take you," he said in an annoyed tone.

"Okay, okay. I’ll tell you. I’ll bring the notes." She hurriedly said and ran inside. Gul-e-Lala smiled and shook his head in disagreement.

"I don't know what’s up with this girl!" He shook his head.

Aneesa was flipping through books and notes on the table, looking for the notes for Gul-e-Lala. Once she found them, she skipped outside and handed them to him.

"Here. Now, will you take me?" she asked in a childlike tone, her face filled with innocence. Gul-e-Lala couldn’t refuse. He smiled, and she became happy.

"Did you talk to Malikah?" Gul-e-Lala looked up and asked her.

"No, but I think something big is going on with her. I called, but she didn’t pick up," she said, lost in thought. "She never used to be like this. She was always quiet lately," her voice suddenly tinged with sadness.

"Hmm. You should talk to Masooma as well. You’re closer to her than anyone," Gul-e-Lala said, concerned.

"Yes, I will. I’ve prepared for the paper, so I’ll go now," she said, making a face. "I hope she picks up the call."

"Hmm." Gul-e-Lala got back to his work. Aneesa went to her room and picked up her phone, calling Malikah again. The same thing happened— it rang, but no one picked up.

This went on, and the evening turned into night. The worry kept growing. Why wasn’t she picking up the call? She had never done this before. Aneesa, standing with Gul-e-Lala and Ayesha, kept calling Malikah. There was still hope that she would pick up.

"I say we go to her house," Aneesa said, holding the phone to her ear and pacing nervously.

"Are you crazy? That’s the IG’s house! You think we can just show up?" Ayesha immediately disagreed.

"So what should I do? Just sit here? I don’t know what’s going on with her," she said, genuinely concerned. She gave Ayesha a reproachful look and went inside.

"She’ll be fine. She’ll sort herself out. She's delicate, emotional," Gul-e-Lala reassured Ayesha. They both sat down.

Meanwhile, in the palace, there was a flurry of activity. The news of Malikah’s suicide attempt had shocked everyone. No one was willing to believe that a young girl could hang herself. If she had, what could have been the reason? What was lacking in such a grand palace? But no one knew that many who live in palaces are often deprived of mental peace.

The lounge was brightly lit. Jahan Ara was sitting with a sad expression on her face, next to Burhan.

"Did you inform your brother?" Burhan asked in a tired tone.

"Yes, of course. Behram needs to know," Jahan Ara replied coldly.

"Whatever the case, you shouldn’t have ruined their honeymoon," Amar entered the lounge and sat with them.

"It’s been more than a week, one week is plenty," Jahan Ara said hastily, and Amar fell silent.

"Is brother coming?" Burhan spoke again.

"Hmm. He’ll be here by tomorrow," she replied with a confident tone. She was pleased, looking forward to bringing back her son and daughter-in-law. She now felt a sense of satisfaction, and somewhere inside, Burhan was also happy. His wish was about to come true. His beloved, who was arriving soon.

Burhan entered Malikah’s room and began searching it. He rummaged through everything, turning things upside down. Malikah’s books on the study table were scattered in disarray. Near them, there was blood. Not finding anything there, he moved to check the side tables by the bed. When he stood up, his phone rang, but it wasn’t his—it was Malikah’s, lying on the side table.

"Bestie calling," Burhan read the name, paused for a moment, then picked up the phone and held it to his ear.

"Malikah, where are you? I’ve been calling you for so long, and you’re not answering. Who does that?" A female voice came from the other side. She was speaking in one breath, scolding Malikah.

Burhan stood still, surprised. "Who is this?"

"Who? Malikah?" came the reply. After the chirp, then there was suddenly silence.

"I’m Malikah’s cousin. Who are you?" Burhan replied and waited for an answer.

"Where is Malikah?" Aneesa ignored his question. Burhan raised an eyebrow, thinking, So much arrogance, she won’t even talk to me.

"She’s committed suicide because of you," he said venomously. On the other side, Aneesa went quiet.

"My fault? Suicide?" She placed her hand on her mouth and whispered softly.

"Yes. And we’ve already filed a report with the police. They should be coming to arrest you anytime," he said, trying to scare her.

"Stop talking nonsense. She’s my friend!" Aneesa snapped.

"You stop talking nonsense. What do you think..." Before Burhan could finish, the call was abruptly cut off. He stood there, fuming with anger, feeling humiliated. He grabbed the phone and left the room.

On the other side, Aneea, running, went to Kashmala, who was setting up Ashir’s computer.

"Kashmala!" As soon as Kashmala saw her, she burst into tears. Aneesa was standing by the door.

"What happened?" Kashmala turned and came to her, pulling her into an embrace. "What happened?" she asked, surprised.

"Malikah has committed suicide. I don’t know why," Aneesa cried out. Her face turned pale.

"What? When?" Kashmala, looking worried, led her to sit down.

"Today. She was fine when she came to the university, didn’t even talk to me. And... and..." Aneesa began to choke on her words.

"Okay, please be quiet for a moment," Kashmala wiped her tears away.

"I had a feeling something was wrong with her. But she never shared anything. What could have happened? Her father isn’t in this world anymore. She has no one. No brother either. Who took her to the hospital? She must still be alive, right? She’s my friend. I need to be with her. Let’s go to her. She’ll need me," Aneesa grabbed Kashmala’s hand and tried to stand up, but Kashmala gently pushed her back down. Ashir, who had turned to look at them, went back to focusing on his computer screen.

"We can’t do that. We don’t even know which hospital she’s in," Kashmala said, glancing at the clock, which showed it was eight in the evening. "We’ll go in the morning. Mahnoor needs me too."

"I can’t wait till morning. Time won’t move now," Aneesa was restless.

"Who told you?" Kashmala asked, now a bit frustrated.

"I don’t know. Someone from her house must have told me." Aneesa replied, wiping her eyes.

"Okay, sleep here with me tonight. You have a paper tomorrow too," Kashmala said, frowning.

Aneesa rested her head on Kashmala’s shoulder and started crying again.

"Malikah doesn’t have anyone else, only her mother. And she’s very old, always working, and... Malikah..." Aneesa told Kashmala everything she knew about Malikah, explaining everything she could remember about her.

☆☆☆☆☆

Flights from PIA started landing in Swat. It was the early morning hours, and the cold was intensifying. The chill in the air felt even sharper because of the mist. Behram, with Samaira close by, walked quickly, pushing the trolley with one hand and wrapping the other arm around her. Samaira was rubbing her hands to warm them up, clearly feeling the cold. Behram paused for a moment and wrapped his jacket around her. She smiled at him. In the car ahead, Furqan was waiting for them. They loaded the luggage into the car, and they set off for Islamabad. Samaira sat in the back seat, resting her head on Behram's shoulder as she drifted off to sleep. Behram took Furqan’s phone and called Jahan Ara.

"Yes, mom. We're on our way. Please don't worry. Take care of Hajra aunty, she's always been there for us. She needs our support now," he spoke in a sympathetic tone. He paused, listening, then continued, "We'll be there soon. Samaira is asleep. Okay. Bye, mom."

After the call, Behram asked Furqan for some more details.

By evening, Behram arrived in Islamabad with Samaira. The moment they stepped out of the car at the palace, the servants and staff couldn't help but look at Samaira with surprise. She was wearing a t-shirt and her hair was loose, which was an unusual sight for them. For them, it was strange to see her dressed so casually. Behram guided her toward their room. Behind them, the whispers of the staff began.

"Just do your work, they must have done it according to the master's wishes," Luna said, directing the others, while they muttered, "Oh, she’s such a favorite of the master," eyeing her with a mix of curiosity and judgment.

Samaira, after placing her things to the side, sat down on the couch and took a sip of water.

"Are you going to Lahore now?" Samaira asked Behram.

"Yes. You too. Get ready," Behram replied gently, warning her in a soft tone so as not to make her feel bad. The exhaustion from the journey hadn't even fully worn off, and yet another trip awaited them.

She stood up and went to change. Behram entered the dressing room, hurriedly took some papers from the wardrobe, and slipped them into his jacket before sitting down on the couch with a sense of satisfaction. When Samaira came out, she saw him lounging on the couch.

"This is my jacket," Samaira said, noticing him wearing it.

"How do you know?" Behram replied, eyes closed. His voice had a hint of fatigue.

"I just know. But it's fine, you can wear it," she smiled and walked out. Behram opened his eyes and looked around. For a moment, he felt like he was drifting off to sleep.

"If you're tired, rest. We’ll leave tomorrow," Samaira said as she entered, holding a glass of milk in one hand. She took a bottle of pills from the drawer, took one, and handed it to Behram.

"Hajra aunty must be worried... she's always there for me, in good times and bad, and now..." he swallowed the pill and finished his glass of milk.

"We'll leave tomorrow. Rest tonight, I’m tired too," Samaira said, her voice tinged with exhaustion. She felt like she didn’t have the strength for another journey.

"You should rest, but we have to go," Behram replied as he stood up, feeling a slight dizziness.

"Take it easy," Samaira quickly caught him, her voice sharp. "This is your condition?" She scolded him gently, helping him lie on the bed and removing his jacket. "We’ll leave in the morning."

"Do you worry about me?" Behram asked, his eyes half-closed as he was slipping into drowsiness. Samaira was sitting beside him.

"Yes. I do," she replied with a smile, blushing slightly, and gently running her hand over the jacket she was holding.

"I’ve really enjoyed being close to you... You’re beautiful. You’re a good person," Behram said, holding her arm.

"Okay," she smiled, lowering her head.

"Aren’t you going to compliment me?" he laughed.

"You’re good too. I enjoy being with you as well," she said. As she started to get up, Behram pulled her back and made her sit again. She leaned slightly toward him, holding the jacket tightly in her left hand. Behram kissed her. His eyes were closed, already drifting into sleep.

Samaira noticed a piece of white paper sticking out of the jacket. She took it out and began looking at it. It appeared to be a post-mortem report. Samaira glanced at Behram, who was nearly asleep.

"Madiha and Junaid Bhai's report? What is this doing with Behram? And at this time?" Samaira was taken aback for a moment, her mind racing. A lump of tears formed around her throat.

"Behram..." Samaira shook him by the shoulder. "Behram, what is this?" she asked, her voice trembling with confusion.

"What?" He mumbled, shifting in his bed.

"Look here, wake up!" Samaira insisted.

"What?" He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What happened, honey? You were just saying we should sleep."

"Behram, what is this doing with you?" Samaira asked, holding the post-mortem report up to his face.

"I don’t know what this is, and where did you find it?" he asked, grabbing the report from her.

"It was in your jacket, Behram," she spoke with a shudder in her voice.

"Hmm... Junaid Khan and Madiah," he read the names aloud, pretending as if he was seeing it for the first time. "Honey, this is your jacket."

"Ha?!" He was shocked. "But where did this come from?"

"Don’t think too much. Go to sleep." He pulled her back and laid her down beside him.

"But let me see what's in it," Samaira insisted, trying to take the report from his hands.

"No." Behram extended his arm, tossing the report back into the drawer. "Let’s sleep. We have to leave for Lahore tomorrow. Let’s not think about it now." He adjusted the comforter, quickly and softly adding, "Don’t worry, don’t think too much. Your mind will get tangled."

With the light turned off, Samaira's thoughts too got caught in the darkness, just like her confusion. Behram, with her calm presence, soon fell asleep beside her.

☆☆☆☆☆

The hospital corridor was crowded. People passed by intermittently. Amidst all this, Hajira was sitting on a bench against the wall, crying. Zimil sat beside her, offering words of comfort. Aneesa stood leaning against the wall, tears streaming down her face. Kashmala and Gul-e-Lala were seated on the bench next to them. Gul-e-Lala and Aneesa had come to Malikah's place after their exam.

"Did you call the police?" the doctor asked Ibrahim Sikandar, who was standing nearby as he walked out.

"I told you, didn’t I? My son is in the police. He should be here any moment," Ibrahim replied, a bit agitated. Hajira, with her head bowed, continued to sob in despair.

"It's a rape case... just so you know," the doctor said, locking eyes with Ibrahim before walking away. Ibrahim shook his head. But at that moment, Hajira felt the ground shift beneath her feet.

"What? What did the doctor say?" she screamed. "My daughter... my daughter..." she cried out before collapsing unconscious.

"Doctor... someone!" Zimil yelled. A crowd quickly gathered. A stretcher was brought. Zimil ran alongside it, and Aneesa followed behind.

"What happened?" Aneesa asked the doctor as they moved with the stretcher.

"Stay outside. Stay outside," the nurse instructed, stopping both Zimil and Aneesa. They stood in the corridor.

"Maybe she had a heart attack," Zimil thought, closing her eyes and resting her head against the wall. Aneesa, standing by the door of the operating theater, tried peeking inside.

"Sit down," Zimil called out. Aneesa didn’t move. Zimil got up and stood next to her, turning her to face her. She was crying.

"Everything will be fine," Zimil said, holding Aneesa's cold hand. She stood silently. "Malikah needs you," she added gently. Aneesa pulled her hand away and walked off. Kashmala was pacing in front of the room, her eyes frequently glancing at Ibrahim Sikandar.

"How did this happen? Did it happen in your university?" Kashmala finally asked.

"Don't play reporter with me. Leave from here," he snapped.

"Or was it someone from your household...?" Kashmala pressed further.

"Just because I tolerate you doesn't mean you can do whatever you like," he growled.

"Then call the police. Why haven’t you done so yet?" She was genuinely troubled.

"Behram will handle everything. You don’t need to worry about our family matters," Ibrahim said. His words silenced Kashmala, but a sense of unease began to grow within her. Gul-e-Lala quietly listened to their exchange. The clock ticked on as everyone waited outside the ICU. After a while, Ibrahim Sikandar left for home. Zimil sat on a bench outside the operating room.

"Malikah's mother had a heart attack," Aneesa whispered to Kashmala.

"Really? It's a huge shock," Kashmala replied sorrowfully and sat down. Aneesa continued pacing, praying silently. Gul-e-Lala, holding a water bottle, sat tapping his foot. Then Aneesa saw Behram and Samaira entering the corridor. She froze in place.

"Samaira?" Kashmala stood up, her face a mixture of worry and surprise.

"Where is Malikah?" Samaira asked anxiously.

"She’s in the ICU. She was raped." Kashmala shot a sharp look at Behram, but her expression softened quickly, and she gave him a faint smile. He smiled back in response.

"What?" Samaira gasped, covering her mouth. "With Malikah?" She couldn’t comprehend what to do. "I... I need to see her," she said, rushing toward the ICU, but Behram grabbed her hand and stopped her.

"It’s not the right time. Wait," he said, trying to calm her down.

"But... she needs me!"

"She needs me," Aneesa thought, standing silently against the wall.

"I’m a doctor; they’ll let me in," Samaira insisted.

"Okay, try," Behram said, letting go of her hand. She opened the door and went in, with Aneesa quickly following behind her.

Malikah lay motionless on the stretcher. Tubes were attached to her arms, and an IV drip was set up. Doctors stood around her. Samaira stepped closer, and Aneesa followed. Seeing Malikah, Aneesa immediately grabbed the stretcher for support, feeling as though she couldn’t stand any longer. Her heart sank, and she began crying.

Malikah’s neck and arms were marked with bruises. Perhaps that’s why she had worn a hijab to university that day.

"Take them outside," came a voice from one of the nurses nearby. Someone took Aneesa by the arm.

"No! No! She’s my friend! She’s my best friend!" Aneesa cried, tears streaming down her face. "Save her! Bring her back! Make her like she was before! I... we’ll fix everything together!" She pushed the nurse aside and approached Malikah. The marks extended beyond her neck. She couldn’t even bear to look.

Samaira, who had begun assisting the doctors, gently led Aneesa out.

"She’s just a child. It’s better if she doesn’t see all this," someone said as the door closed behind them. Aneesa stood outside, peering through the glass, unable to look away.

"Sit down," Kashmala said, placing a hand on Aneesa's shoulder, but she angrily shrugged it off.

"They threw me out, me? Why? I don’t mean any harm to her!" Aneesa was bewildered. "Who did this? Her body... it’s been devoured like an animal’s. Will she never return to how she was?" Her voice, barely audible, carried her tears. She slowly sat down by herself.

Behram knelt in front of her. She sat with her hands in her lap, her head bowed, tears falling steadily onto her hands.

"We’ll catch the culprit. We’ll ensure justice is served. She’s your closest friend, right?" Behram said, trying to console her. "You know her well. Will you help me?"

"Oh, please! Stop exploiting my sister!" Kashmala interrupted sharply.

"Stay out of this matter," Behram retorted firmly, still kneeling. "I need to investigate."

"And when you don’t find a lead, you’ll use my sister instead? Absolutely not." Kashmala scoffed, shaking her head disdainfully. "Come on, Behram!"

"She was with you that day, wasn’t she?" he turned back to Aneesa, asking again. She remained silent. "Did this happen at the university? Did you ever see her with anyone? Was she troubled? Did she ever mention anything to you? Anything at all?" He bombarded her with questions. Aneesa stared at him with fiery red eyes.

"Yes, I saw her with someone," she said angrily.

"Who? Who was it? Do you know him?" The questions came rushing again.

"I saw her once with Uncle Niaz’s driver," she replied fearlessly, locking eyes with Behram.

"The driver?" Behram stood up in disbelief. "It must have been some errand… but still…" He shook his head, lost in thought, and sat down a short distance away.

"I think it’s time for us to leave," Kashmala said, glancing at her watch. Reluctantly, Aneesa got up and walked away with her.

☆☆☆☆☆

The mansion, shrouded in smoke, seemed to await the arrival of mourning. Inside one of the rooms, everything was in disarray. The entire room was filled with cigarette smoke. Niaz Sikandar, holding a cigarette in one hand, lay in a semi-reclined position on the sofa, lost in a haze. He repeatedly tapped the ash into the tray on the table and took drags from his cigarette. It was unclear how many cigarettes he had already smoked in this state. Just then, Jahan Ara entered the room through the open door.

"Won’t you meet your son? Burhan is here," she said cheerfully, sitting beside him.

"Hmm... call him," Niaz replied in a faint, drowsy voice.

"Yes, be nice to him," she said as she stood up and brought Burhan into the room.

"Yes, Dad," he said, standing with his arms crossed. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, and he looked disheveled. Niaz glanced at him from head to toe and then cast a critical look at Jahan Ara.

"What is this?" he said with irritation, though it was more directed at himself than anyone else.

"I just woke up, so..." Burhan said, awkwardly, though he didn’t appear genuinely ashamed.

"Alright. You should go to America. That would be better for you," Niaz said, waving a hand dismissively. "There’s nothing for you to do here. Behram will send you money every week." Jahan Ara’s jaw dropped at his words.

"My son isn’t going anywhere! And how is it that he has nothing to do here? You were supposed to make him the CEO of the hospital, remember? You promised me!"

"Look at his condition... it’s not the right time," Niaz said instinctively.

"So Behram will take charge of the hospital as well?" Jahan Ara’s eyes filled with pain as she became emotional. "I’ve never treated Behram as a stepson. I’ve always loved him more than my own sons. And you? Perhaps you’ve never truly accepted my sons," she said, her voice heavy with complaint.

"That’s not true," Niaz replied tiredly. "Even before, Behram has always managed everything. He’ll handle it again now."

"That’s because you never let Burhan do anything," Jahan Ara said, standing up and glaring at Niaz in anger. "You’ve never had faith in him."

"Mum, please," Burhan said, wrapping an arm around her, trying to calm her down.

"Burhan isn’t going anywhere! Do you hear me?" she declared and stormed out of the room with Burhan. Niaz Sikandar watched them leave with regret.

Now, his greatest concern was that if Samaira saw Burhan, she might tell Kashmala, and Kashmala would push for legal action again. He had to find a way to keep this matter under wraps. The first person who came to his mind for this task was Behram. Picking up his phone from the side table, he called Behram. The call was answered on the first ring.

"Hello! Where are you?" Niaz asked irritably.

"I’m at the hospital," Behram replied in a tired voice. Niaz felt his frustration rise further.

"Is that wife with you?"

"Yes, she’s with Malikah," Behram said, his tone heavy with weariness.

"You both come back. Why bother over servants? They’ll be fine—mother and daughter," Niaz said dismissively.

"I remember their kindness, Dad. At least for Malikah and Hajra Aunty, I can’t be indifferent. She’s been raped," Behram said, his voice filled with grief and anguish.

"Whatever it is, bring Samaira back with you. I need to discuss Burhan with you," Niaz said decisively.

"We’ll come, Dad," Behram said, exhaling deeply.

"Make sure Burhan stays out of Samaira’s sight. Neither he nor his mother listens to me," Niaz explained the situation.

Just then, the ICU door opened, and the doctors stepped out together.

"Okay, Dad," he said, ending the call and slipping the phone into his pocket. He got up and opened the ICU door, stepping inside. Samaira was sitting on the edge of Malikah's stretcher. Malikah was awake now but silent. Her gaze alternated between the ceiling and Samaira, who was gently speaking to her.

When Malikah raised her eyes, she noticed Behram standing behind Samaira. Her breathing quickened, and her eyes widened in shock. A suffocating sensation overwhelmed her, and she curled into herself, screaming.

"Go away, go away! Tell him to leave!" she shouted in panic.

"I'm Behram," he said, stepping forward, trying to take her hand. She recoiled in terror, screaming louder, her voice breaking into sobs. Her eyes were filled with unmistakable fear.

"Behram, please, just leave," Samaira urged as she tried to calm Malikah down.

"Go away, leave, don’t eat me, don’t hurt me, don’t kill me!" she cried, her tears flowing freely. Her strength seemed to fail her as she trembled uncontrollably. Behram, deeply shaken, backed away and exited the room. Outside, he could still hear Malikah’s cries echoing in his ears.

A nurse entered the ICU, and Behram leaned his head against the wall, feeling helpless. Samaira came out a moment later, accompanied by the nurse.

"Where’s Zimil?" Samaira asked.

"How is Malikah?" Behram asked worriedly.

"She’s stable now. The nurse has given her a sedative; she’s resting," Samaira replied, visibly drained. At that moment, Zimil appeared, walking briskly down the corridor.

"How’s Malikah?" Zimil asked anxiously.

"She’s okay. We’ll need to stay here tonight," Samaira replied with concern.

"Hmm. You both can leave; I’ll stay here," Zimil said, holding Samaira’s hand reassuringly.

"Are you sure?" Behram asked for confirmation.

"Yes, don’t worry. And by the day after tomorrow, Fateh should also arrive. The protests have delayed him," Zimil explained. "By morning, Malikah’s other friend will also be here."

"Okay, I guess we should leave then. I have some urgent work at home too," Behram said hastily.

"My heart doesn’t agree. Malikah… the way she was crying…" Samaira’s voice faltered, her face pale with worry.

"We’ll come back in the morning. Let’s go for now," Behram said, holding her hand and gently pulling her close as they walked away. He spoke softly to her, and though she still seemed downcast, she managed a faint, sad smile at his words.

☆☆☆☆☆

The walls of the mansion echoed with the sound of chirping, yet there was an air of desolation lingering within. It had been four days since Malikah was discharged from the hospital. Sitting cross-legged in the lounge, Samaira held a white cat in her arms, gently stroking it. The cat seemed quite pleased with the attention.

Standing up with the cat in her arms, she moved towards the seating area. Just then, the sliding door opened, and someone was standing behind her. Turning while looking at the cat, she bumped into the person standing there. The smile that had spread across her lips instantly faded. Her heartbeat quickened, and a suffocating tension pulled her back into the past.

Running barefoot on the wet streets of Islamabad, she stumbled and struggled to keep going. A group of boys was chasing her. She kept running relentlessly, falling and rising again. Her destination was in sight; she rushed to open the gate of the mansion and dashed inside, straight into a room.

"Welcome home," one of them said as he followed her inside.

The person standing in front of her snapped his fingers, bringing her back to the present. The cat meowed. Her eyes widened in fear, her breathing heavy.

"Welcome home!" It was the same voice. She began stepping back slowly. "How do I look?" he asked in a mocking tone. "Oh, come on. We could be good friends now. I hope my brother won't mind." He moved closer, and she took another step back. "Are you scared? Should I tell your brother about you and me..." he paused mid-sentence.

Samaira bit her lip, clutching the cat tightly to her chest.

"Friends?" he extended his hand towards her.

"No. You’re lying. There’s nothing like that, and there never will be." Her voice wavered as she spoke, on the verge of tears.

"Oh dear bhabhi, didn’t you receive the letter and flowers I sent you? I proposed to you before my brother did. Didn’t you tell him?" Samaira was stunned by his words, almost paralyzed.

"You’re lying! I was never interested in you!" she shouted.

"I’ll tell my brother… and then the way he’ll treat you… I won’t be able to bear it. Why don’t you leave Behram and come to me?" he said, feigning sympathy for her situation.

The cat in her arms turned its head, looking between them and meowing.

"Behram isn’t like that. He would never do such a thing," she said between her tears.

"Try it and see for yourself," he smirked as he turned on his heels to leave, only to pause and return. "You’re even more beautiful in person," he added, giving her a head-to-toe glance.

Samaira felt a wave of disgust at his words. She stood there, curling into herself, while he finally left. She looked at the cat, smiling faintly through her tear-streaked face. The cat rubbed its head against her chest, offering some comfort.

Still sobbing quietly, she began walking upstairs to her room but stopped outside Malikah’s door. For some reason, she decided to enter.

Malikah was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, silent and hollow. She seemed to have developed a fear of men. Zimil was seated by her bedside, while Hajra was asleep.

Zimil looked at Samaira and gave her a faint smile.

"Did you give her the medicine?" Samaira asked Zimil.

"Yes, I did," Zimil replied.

"Did Malikah say anything? Did she tell you anything?" Samaira asked, her voice carrying the weight of years of silence.

"No. She just keeps crying. She speaks very little, and even when she does, she only talks about Aneesa to Auntie," Zimil explained. Malikah's gaze was fixed on the cat. The cat's eyes seemed hollow and empty to her.

"The cat is crying," Malikah said softly.

"What?!" Samaira looked at both Malikah and the cat in surprise. "The cat is crying? No, it can't be." She smiled faintly and sat down next to Malikah. Malikah fell silent again. The silence was suffocating. Samaira tried to speak to her, but Malikah ignored her, continuing to watch the cat.

☆☆☆☆☆

The daylight had spread everywhere. On the grass in the small bungalow's lawn, colorful paint cans were scattered. Paint brushes, some with color on them, were lying on the cans and some on the grass. A white sheet of paper was set on a stand, with a bird sketch cut out on it. Aneesa brought a tub of water and placed it next to the paints. She had paint on her white t-shirt and became busy with her painting.

She began making the bird's wings. She was enjoying making the small bird that was about to flutter.

"Little lovely girl! This is interesting." At the sound of the voice coming from behind her, she quickly turned. The paintbrush fell from her hand, and she swiftly got up, grabbing her scarf from the table and putting it on her head.

"You?" she asked politely. "Has Samaira come too?" she suddenly remembered and chirped with excitement.

"Yes," Behram said gently. He was standing in her way.

"What?" she said nervously.

"What?" he replied, looking at her with the same tone. "I didn’t say anything." He started to move forward. "Did you make this?" He stood silently watching her. "It's good." When she didn’t speak, he complimented it himself. "Do you remember the wax wings that melted because they flew too high?" Aneesa looked at him in confusion. "His father had told him not to fly too high." He rubbed his temple as if trying to recall. "What was its name? Ah, yes, Icarus. Right? If I’m correct... then don’t fly too high. Or your wings will melt, and you..." He laughed and fell silent. She stood quietly, still not understanding the meaning.

"Is Samaira staying here for a few days?" she asked casually.

"Do you want her to stay here?" He turned to look at her.

"Yes," she replied hastily, with a hint of pride in her tone.

"No," he laughed. "Now, I won’t let her stay at all." Saying this, he started to walk away. Aneesa glared at his back.

"Why am I wasting time like this? I should go inside and meet Samaira," she mumbled, then entered the lounge where Behram was sitting with Kabeer and Gul-e-Lala. Passing through the lounge, she went straight to her room. But no one was there, except Ayesha, who was busy preparing for her final paper. She skipped down the stairs and headed toward Mahnoor’s room. The door was open, and there, she saw Samaira sitting and hugging Mahnoor. She froze.

Dressed in open hair and elegant clothes, Samaira seemed almost unfamiliar to her. Then she stepped forward.

"Aneesa!" Samaira chirped, hugging her and kissing her forehead.

"Wow, what is all this?" Aneesa noticed the bracelet on her wrist, the sparkling diamond ring, the diamond necklace hanging around her neck, and the earrings. "This must all be very expensive, right?" she looked at Samaira in awe and longing.

"Don’t give me the evil eye," Samaira laughed. "Isn’t it beautiful? Do you like it?" Aneesa let out a sigh and nodded absentmindedly. "Behram got all of this for me, on our honeymoon. And there’s more." She was undeniably happy.

"Wow, you are so lucky!" Aneesa's longing seemed to have no end. She picked up Samaira’s bag from the dressing table, opened it, and began looking through it.

"I don’t have any of this. Look! Look at me, Mahnoor... How do I look?" Now, with the bag on her shoulder, she walked into the room to show both of them.

"Okay... servant, bring my shoes. And you..." she pointed towards one side, "When my mother-in-law arrives, give her food. Did you get my shoes ready? And what about my new designer pair?" She walked around, demonstrating her acting skills.

In the lounge downstairs, Kashmala was addressing Behram. Tea cups and biscuits were placed on the table in front of them.

"It’s been a few days since we last met Samaira. It’s good you brought her yourself," she said with a slight smile.

"Yes. I didn’t get the time, and she didn’t mention it either. She doesn’t seem to miss any other kind of relationship with me," he said as he smiled while drinking his tea. Kashmala fell silent.

"Let her stay here tonight. It’ll be nice, we’ll enjoy ourselves too," Kashmala said carefully.

"No, actually, I have work, so I’ll take her with me. I’m sure she will agree with this decision," Behram replied confidently. He knew well that the four sisters were deeply connected, like one soul. Now, how to separate that one soul from them, he had already figured out. "We've been in Lahore for quite a few days now. We’ll head back to Islamabad tomorrow."

"And how is Malikah?" Kashmala shifted the topic.

"She’s fine," he replied, a bit melancholic.

"Have you found the criminals who hurt Malikah?" asked Gul-e-Lala.

"No. Dad and uncle are still investigating. We hope to find them soon. Some people have come forward, maybe through them..." he trailed off.

"There are holes in this case," Gul-e-Lala thought to himself.

Just then, Samaira and Aneesa entered the lounge and sat down with them.

"Are you staying here?" Kashmala smiled at Samaira. Samaira looked at Behram before answering. Behram gave a slight smile and squinted his eyes.

"No. We’ll go home. I have work too..." Samaira’s response was influenced by the subtle signal from Behram, who didn’t say anything. "Maybe another time..." she said, smiling faintly.

"Alright then," Kashmala smiled sadly. In contrast, Behram wore a victorious smile.

"Shall we go?" he stood up.

"So soon?" Aneesa immediately asked. Behram raised an eyebrow at her.

"Little one, it's been almost two hours," he said cheerfully. "You’re late. Maybe you were busy." She fell silent and walked out with them, hands folded.

The two of them left.

"Was Samaira happy?" Aneesa asked Kashmala, looking at her.

"Yes. As far as I can tell, she seemed happy," Kashmala said vaguely, then went inside. Aneesa returned to the lawn, where a bird was flying, soaring higher and higher.

☆☆☆☆☆

The streets of New York were crowded with people. Almost everyone was holding banners with slogans like Free Palestine, Boycott Israel, and Genocide. Palestinian flags were seen waving everywhere. Amid this, a young man wearing a Palestinian scarf draped around his shoulders, holding a flag, was marching forward, shouting slogans. His face was painted with the colors of Palestine. There was a strike everywhere, but all the young people were moving ahead quickly.

“How long will this go on?” Omer shouted, trying to be heard over the noise.

“Until Palestine is free,” he replied confidently. “Until this bloodshed ends and the defenseless Palestinians are liberated. Keep chanting! From the river to the sea... Palestine will be free!” he shouted, and everyone joined in, echoing his words.

“This is sheer oppression. How can the United Nations, which claims to be a global guardian of peace, watch the people of Palestine die? Where is the charter of Palestinian rights? Or is this a conspiracy to erase Palestine?” This was the sentiment on everyone’s lips.

They continued chanting in support of Palestine, marching far ahead.

“My friends are left far behind; let me go check on them,” he said with a smile. “If I get lost in the crowd, don’t look for me. You won’t find me. Just go home.” He shouted this over the noise and disappeared somewhere into the crowd.

The protest went on until the day began to fade. Nightfall was approaching once again.

Omer picked up the apartment keys from the golden planter and went inside. As usual, he was at home.

"You’re back. I looked for you a bit but couldn’t find you," Omer said, placing the key into the glass showpiece on the table and tossing his jacket onto the sofa.

"Yeah, I told you," he replied with a smile, engrossed in a book. Omer paused and looked at him for a moment. Raising his eyebrows, he asked, "What?"

"I saw one of your... friends with a girl," Omer said cautiously.

"Oh, that must be Wahab with Anna. She’s his girlfriend," he laughed, shook his head, and refocused on his book.

"Don’t you have one? A girlfriend?" Omer asked, stopping in his tracks.

He laughed mockingly and looked at Omer.

"Not a girlfriend—girlfriends," he corrected shamelessly. "You should get one too... oh wait, you’re married." He smirked, stood up, and started heading toward his room. Pausing briefly, he glanced back at Omer, who was staring at him with a mix of shock and disapproval.

"I’m going to Pakistan for a few days. If you want to come along..." he offered.

"No," Omer turned, picked up his jacket. "You go ahead. I’ve got the clinic to manage."

He crossed the steps into his room. Omer, taking small steps, stood in the lobby, gazing at the grass outside. The view captivated him, yet his heart felt restless. Loneliness wrapped around him like creeping ivy, tightening knots around his heart, making them stronger, harder to undo.

☆☆☆☆☆

The air conditioner had filled the room with a chill as evening set in. Samaira sat in the middle of the bed, playing with a cat nestled in her lap. Behram sat on a distant sofa, busy with some work. Every now and then, he would get up to retrieve papers from a drawer and then sit back down. A couple of times, Samaira tried to get up to help, but he stopped her, insisting he would handle it himself.

He was calculating hospital bills and expenses related to building and infrastructure. In the midst of this, a phone call came.

“Hello…” He balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Where?” He paused to listen. “Alright, just let Dad know once.” He stopped again to hear the other side. “If he knows, then everyone knows. Alright.” He stole a glance at Samaira, who was engrossed with the cat. He hung up the phone and returned to his papers.

“What happened? Who was it?” Samaira asked, still focused on the cat.

“Nothing,” Behram replied with a smile, looking at her. She remained absorbed in the cat. “Are you upset?” he asked gently, sensing something off.

Samaira stayed silent, still sitting with her gaze lowered. He got up and approached her, lying down in front of her on his elbows.

“Tell me, are you upset?” he asked in a loving tone. Samaira, stroking the cat, kept her eyes down and remained quiet. Behram gently held her hands and moved the cat aside. But the cat climbed back onto Samaira’s lap.

“Why are you upset?” he asked again.

“You lied to my family,” she said with displeasure.

“I didn’t lie. I really had to go to Islamabad today, but I couldn’t make it. You can see for yourself how much work there is,” Behram gestured toward the table. Samaira bit her lip and stayed quiet.

“And when will you take me to Mom’s house? That was a lie too—that you’d take me there after the honeymoon. Now the honeymoon is long over, but you…” Her voice broke as she pouted. “You promised, Behram…”

"Alright, fine. I'll take you, but let me finish my work first," Behram said with a smile.

"Promise me," Samaira insisted, holding his hand. He lowered his head and chuckled.

"Okay."

"What okay? Say 'promise'! In fact, say the whole statement: 'I promise I will take you to Mianwali this month, and we’ll stay for a week.'” She was beaming now.

"What?" Behram suddenly pulled his hand away, startled. "Who said that? That’s not happening."

"Fine, then I’m upset." She moved away and turned her attention back to the cat. Behram lay there helplessly, staring at her.

"Why don’t you ask for something else?" He tried one last time.

"No." Samaira replied quickly. "Besides, I haven’t been back since the wedding. And now that I’ve asked for a week, even that feels too much to you." Her tone turned serious. Behram felt she might start crying. She fell silent, knowing that if she spoke further, her voice would betray her emotions. Behram, feeling powerless, stood up and returned to his work. Samaira shook her head in disapproval as she watched him.

"You could invite your mom to Lahore instead; that way, you can meet her too." He offered a free suggestion.

"If you’re not taking me, then don’t give advice either," she snapped, putting on her shoes angrily. "I had something important to tell you, but if you can’t even agree to this, why would you listen to anything else?" She picked up the cat and walked out, her voice trembling. She was probably crying. Behram watched her go and then turned back to his work.

Sultana stood outside, instructing the new house staff, when she saw Samaira walking alone towards the lawn. Darkness had started to spread, and she was going out by herself.

"Turn on the lawn lights," Sultana Begum instructed the senior servant, Iftikhar, who immediately went to comply.

Samaira sat on a bench, running her hand through the soft fur of the cat. Yellow light fell on her face, illuminating the entire lawn with its warm glow. Just then, someone placed a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she turned around quickly to see Zimil standing there, smiling.

"What are you doing here?" Zimil asked as she sat beside her on the bench.

"Nothing, just wanted to spend some time alone," Samaira replied softly.

"Are you crying?" Zimil sensed the tremor in her voice and asked.

"No, why would I cry?" Samaira replied hastily with a smile.

"That’s what I’m asking—you tell me, why would you cry?"

Samaira lowered her head and broke into silent tears. No sound came out, but her tears fell one by one onto the cat’s fur.

"And I’ve noticed since you arrived, you haven’t let go of this cat. Is everything alright? Or have you developed a special attachment to the cat?" Zimil joked, laughing. Samaira raised her head and looked into Zimil's eyes.

"Yes, believe in the one sitting in front of you. This one’s sincere. Look at her—she’s broken inside too. Maybe the shattered pieces of both can make each other whole."

Samaira continued, her voice distant, as if talking to herself. "Four years ago, when Sarah’s wedding happened, I didn’t know all of you were cousins. I only knew Tabish, Sabeen, and Fateh. I had no idea who Behram was, who you were, that Amar is also your sister, or that there are disagreements between Ibrahim Uncle and Sultana Aunty." She locked eyes with Zimil as she spoke. "When Sarah's wedding took place, Tabish and Sabeen insisted on taking me along because I was all alone at home. I wanted to refuse, but…" She shook her head and laughed bitterly. "Dad called and told me to go. He himself attended the wedding too. Everything was fine; I stayed with Sabeen. But as night approached, when you all started dancing on stage, I told Sabeen I wanted to go home. She tried to stop me, tried her best to convince me to stay, saying there’d be no one at home and I should stay there. I wish she had insisted a little more; maybe I would’ve stayed." Zimil listened silently, engrossed in her words. "But I didn’t stay. She got me a taxi. It was around ten at night. It was drizzling lightly. I was on my way home when the taxi driver stopped and said the taxi had broken down. It really had broken down, but I was close to home, so I decided to walk. The rain wasn’t heavy enough to drench me, but the road was wet. And then, I started hearing strange noises behind me."

The scene seemed to pull her back into her memories.

"Catch the girl... hurry!"

She turned around and saw three men following her. She clutched her long ankle-length frock and started running. She had to run to save her life. She was running alone on the wet road, while the taxi driver, having fixed his car, drove off on his own.

“Hurry up, she’s running!” The voices from behind seemed to suck the life out of her. They were getting closer. Samaira ran as fast as she could, her dupatta tightly wrapped around her, clutching her purse to her chest. She stumbled a couple of times but managed to steady herself. Home was getting closer, and a flicker of hope grew within her.

Reaching the gate, she stretched her hand through the bars and unlatched the lock. She rushed inside, running blindly, not realizing where she was going. She pushed open the lounge door and saw someone standing there, their back turned to her. Ignoring him, she darted towards the stairs.

“Who’s there?” The person was startled by her sudden presence and turned to look, seeing Samaira rushing up the stairs. Instead of following her, the person ran outside.

Samaira opened the door to a room, entered, and locked it behind her. The room was spacious, every detail oozing luxury. She leaned against the door, trying to catch her breath, and sank to the floor.

“Welcome home.” A voice came from behind the door. Someone was turning a key in the lock. It was the voice of one of those three men. She backed away in fear, step by step. They were trying every key from a key ring, one by one, in the lock.

She rushed into the bathroom, locking the door, and pressed a hand tightly over her mouth to keep from making a sound.

“Come out, sweetheart. How long will you hide?” The man had managed to enter the room.

Samaira took out her phone from her purse and frantically dialed Sabeen’s number. It was now 11 p.m.

The three men were searching the room, checking under the bed, behind the sofa, and the window curtains.

“Hello!” Sabeen answered on the other end.

“Hello, Sabeen! I’m trapped. Someone’s following me. Please, come home quickly!” Samaira blurted out in one breath, her voice trembling.

"I’m on my way," Sabeen said before cutting the call. Samaira sat huddled on the edge of the bathtub, sobbing quietly. The sounds from outside had stopped, and time seemed to stretch endlessly. Gathering courage, she stood up and pressed her ear against the bathroom door to listen. An eerie silence hung in the air. Perhaps they had left.

She turned the handle cautiously, and the door clicked open.

Samaira hurried out and ran down the stairs. As she descended, she saw Sabeen entering through the lounge door. Her remaining strength gave way, and she burst into tears, collapsing into Sabeen’s arms.

"Alright, that’s enough," Sabeen said, trying to calm her down. "Who were they? Do you know anything? I’m here now." She gently patted Samaira’s head.

"I don’t know," Samaira sobbed, "but I think it was someone from this house. He had the keys to the room."

Sabeen narrowed her eyes and glanced up at the person standing by the railing. Anger flared in her eyes. Adjusting Samaira’s dupatta, she moved her slightly away.

"If Dad finds out, he’ll pull me out of university," Samaira said through her tears.

"Shh," Sabeen placed a finger on her lips. "No one will tell him. I promise. Let’s end this here."

"Do you know who it was?" Samaira snapped back to the present, her voice trembling. Zimil sat motionless, the cat asleep in her lap.

"It was Burhan," Samaira said, breaking down. "He tried to harass me again today."

"I always thought you were strong and brave, but you…" Zimil trailed off, taking her hand.

"I’m not," Samaira whispered, wiping her tears. "I cry at the smallest things."

"Talk to Behram," Zimil urged. "Tell him everything."

"Oh, so he can kill me?" Samaira said bitterly. "He won’t believe me."

"Have you talked to Behram?" Zimil asked, leaning in to catch a glimpse of her face.

"I know him. He’ll end up blaming me instead. He cares more about Sarah, Mom, and his brothers and bhabhi than he does about me. He accepts me, but only after all of them."

"You should at least try," Zimil said firmly. "If Burhan is in the wrong, Behram will never side with him. And if you’d told me earlier, maybe I could’ve done something… But anyway, you must talk to Behram. This isn’t a small matter." Zimil took a deep breath.

Samaira stood up, holding the cat tightly in her arms. There was still fear lingering inside her, the fear of Behram’s reaction that wouldn’t let her think clearly. She cradled the cat to her chest and went back to her room.

Behram had already turned off the lights and gone to sleep. Samaira placed the cat on the couch, then sat down on the floor beside it. Gently, she placed a small pillow under the cat’s head. Watching the cat, she drifted off to sleep right there on the floor.

☆☆☆☆☆

The days were changing. The heat of July was at its peak. Aneesa was combing her hair, getting ready. Ayesha was busy getting Shayan ready. The house was completely silent. Gul-e-Lala was making tea. There was a knock at the door. Aneesa, with her dupatta on her head, stepped outside. Gul-e-Lala followed.

"Who is it?" Gul-e-Lala asked.

"It's Farhana. Open the door." Aneesa frowned and went back inside. Gul-e-Lala brought Farhana in.

"Aunty, it's just us at home. Everyone else is at the hospital," Gul-e-Lala smiled awkwardly.

"Alright. You may leave." Farhana found Gul-e-Lala's presence strange. "Who leaves a young girl alone with strangers?" she thought and made a face.

He went back to the kitchen. Aneesa was pouring tea into cups.

"You go. Sit with Aunty. I'll take care of this," Gul-e-Lala took the cup from her hands. She stood there for a moment, then Ayesha arrived. Ayesha smiled at Aneesa and gently touched her cheek.

"How will Mahnoor be? She hasn't even called yet," Aneesa said, her voice quivering with worry.

"Oh, silly. Don't cry. We should pray," Ayesha took her hand and led her to the room.

"Mahnoor was crying. Her stomach hurt a lot. "Will the baby be okay? By now, she must have come into the world," she thought aloud.

"Yes. Let's get ready. Come on, let's decorate the room," Ayesha held her hand.

"No. I get scared of decorating rooms when someone is about to arrive," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Why?"

She fell silent. Ayesha realized why she was thinking this way.

"These are just our delusions, Aneesa. The laws of the world are different from these superstitions. Learn to rise above them, or else these delusions will turn into fears that will haunt you for life," Ayesha tried to explain.

"I don’t want to lose Mahnoor. I love her too. I love everyone. The ones we love are the first to leave us," she said, rubbing her eyes.

"Nothing will happen. And Kabeer Bhai is there too, with Kashmala," Ayesha reassured.

"Can Kabeer and Kashmala give life?" she looked at her helplessly.

"Okay, I'll call... Don't worry." Ayesha took out her phone and made the call in front of Aneesa.

"I won't talk; you do it," Aneesa whispered. Kashmala picked up the call.

"Hello," Kashmala spoke from the other side. Her voice was weary. After staying up all night, her eyelids were swollen, and Rania was sleeping in her lap.

"Kashmala Api, how is Mahnoor Api?" Ayesha smiled at Aneesa as she asked. "And how is the baby?"

"The baby is fine," Kashmala replied softly, scrunching her nose.

"And Mahnoor?"

"Yes... She's in the operating theater right now. She's not okay," her eyes welled up. "Please pray for her," Kashmala said, holding back her tears. "And don't tell Aneesa."

"Okay," Ayesha removed the phone from her ear. "Everything is fine," she reassured Aneesa. Aneesa let out a breath of relief.

"What is Shayan doing?" Kashmala asked.

"I've gotten him ready. He was playing with Ashir," Ayesha replied.

"Okay."

"Why haven't they come back yet?" Aneesa whispered. Kashmala had already heard it.

"Tell her they'll be back by tonight. Take care of yourself," Kashmala said, and the call ended.

"They'll all be back by tonight. You were worrying for no reason. Come on, let's decorate the room," Ayesha pulled her towards Mahnoor's room, where they had to do the decorations.

Kabeer was sitting on a bench at the end of the hospital corridor. Kashmala was no longer there. His hands covered his face, and he was rocking back and forth. His appearance was disheveled. Two police officers were standing at the reception, accompanied by two female officers.

Kashmala came out of the children's ward carrying a tiny baby. Rania was walking beside her with small steps. She stopped near Kabeer and placed her hand on his shoulder. Kabeer looked up. Kashmala stood with their daughter in her arms. He stood up with teary eyes, took his daughter in his arms, and started crying. He gently kissed her cheek, continuing to weep.

"Where is Dr. Yasmeen?" one of the female officers asked in a questioning tone.

"They are in their room. We immediately removed them from the operation theater," Kashmala informed and walked alongside the officer. "Her sister should also be arrested. She was involved in this too."

"Yes, yes, we’ll handle everything," the officer reassured Kashmala.

They both entered the room where Yasmeen was sitting.

"There she is. Arrest her," Kashmala pointed. The female officer brought out the handcuffs and began putting them on Yasmeen. Yasmeen resisted.

"For what?" she yelled.

"You are being arrested for assigning a case to a student as practice. Not only did you hand the case over to your sister for practice, but you also administered an overdose of aspirin to the patient, which worsened Mahnoor's condition," Kashmala said angrily.

"No, that’s a lie! She had already taken pills before she arrived," Yasmeen shouted, but the female officer had already handcuffed her. She continued yelling as they took her away. Kashmala stood by Kabeer outside.

"Don’t worry, Kabeer Bhai. Dr. Robina is one of the best doctors. Mahnoor will recover," Kashmala reassured him while pacing.

"What a rotten system. They kept experimenting on my wife," he said sadly. "Who knows what would’ve happened if we hadn’t found out in time."

"This is Pakistan. Unless you have connections at the top, even the hospital staff blames you. Thank goodness you knew Gulzar," she smiled.

"You’re right. There's no supervision at all."

"Let me take her," Kashmala extended her arms, trying to take the baby from Kabeer.

"No, I'll manage my daughter. You take some rest," he smiled, looking at his baby girl, who was sleeping peacefully with her eyes closed. Kashmala sat a little distance away from him.

The sound of people talking and children crying filled the air. The heat was increasing, and the afternoon was beginning to wane.

A short while later, doctors emerged from the operation theater, drenched in sweat, with blood on their hands and clothes.

"Doctor... Mahnoor..." Kabeer immediately stood up.

"She’s fine. It would be best to keep her admitted for a couple of days," Dr. Robina said as she moved ahead. Kabeer, filled with joy, looked at Kashmala.

"Take her home. It’s hot here," Kabeer handed the baby to Kashmala and went into the operation theater, where Mahnoor was lying. She was asleep under the influence of the medication. Kabeer stepped closer, touched her forehead, and kissed it reverently. He was crying. Today, he had felt the fear of losing someone. Becoming a father wasn’t easy either. He had been through his own share of pain.

☆☆☆☆☆

A light summer rain had begun in Islamabad. It was the fourth day of Ramadan. Samaira sat on the edge of her bed, reciting the Quran. It was six o'clock. The cat roamed the room, moving here and there. She had brought the cat with her from Lahore. Now it stayed in her room with her. Samaira had named the cat Lori.

After having suhoor, Behram had gone to the mosque and had just returned. Samaira, with a white scarf wrapped around her head, continued reciting the Quran aloud. She finished one juz every day, but today she planned to complete two—one in the morning and another in the evening. Behram lay down on the sofa and turned on the LCD, switching to a news channel. When Samaira glared at him angrily, he lowered the volume but didn’t turn it off.

Once she finished her recitation, she began getting ready for the hospital. Behram remained sprawled on the sofa, his attention drifting back and forth to Samaira. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. She walked past him several times, but he didn’t stop her. Wherever Samaira went, the cat followed her, wagging its tail. Standing in front of the dressing table, she started braiding her hair and then wrapped her hijab.

“Aren’t you going... to work?” Samaira asked, looking at Behram in the mirror. Over the past six months, she had realized that her husband didn’t have an ordinary job. She had only heard that he was a police officer but had never seen him in a police uniform.

"Not feeling like it today," he said, cracking his knuckles while resting his hands on his stomach. She fell silent, then went to the dressing room to grab her coat and bag. Behram was still waiting for her response, but she became overly engrossed in her tasks. He cleared his throat, but even then, she didn’t notice.

"Are you leaving?" Behram asked when he saw her taking things out of the drawer.

"Yes," came her one-word reply.

"Have you forgotten what I said?" He sat up.

"What?" She paused.

"You really don’t remember?"

"No. Tell me, I might recall if you actually said something." She seemed quite serious.

"Your job..." he reminded her. Samaira held her forehead.

"Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot. Okay," she said, her words measured. "I’ll do something about it." Weariness surfaced, and a tinge of sadness spread across her face.

"I would be happy if you listened to me and helped Mom with her business," he said as he stood, walked up to her, and stopped, placing both hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. She forced a faint smile.

"But I don’t want to join her business. This was the time you asked for, so I have to give it to you,” she replied, making an innocent face.

"Samaira..." Behram took a deep breath. "Here we go again. You’ll only do what Mom says. Our happiness lies in hers."

"So, will your honor allow your wife to walk the ramp wearing backless, sleeveless, and shoulder-less outfits for the world to see? Will you find happiness in that?"

"What nonsense are you talking about? Utterly absurd!" Behram scolded her.

"I’m saying it right. If you have another issue, tell me. But I can’t quit my job to start this... trade of your mother’s. Have some fear of God—you and your..." She spoke bitterly, leaving the sentence hanging.

"Enough!" Behram interrupted sharply. "If I weren’t fasting today, I would’ve shown you what a ‘trade’ really is!" he shouted and angrily shoved Samaira. She stumbled.

"I don’t know why you’re behaving like this," she said, breaking into tears. "You weren’t like this before."

"Yeah, I wasn’t like this because you weren’t like this either," he yelled back.

"Alright, then tell me what’s changed. I’ll change myself again," she said softly, taking his hand. "Don’t behave like this. It scares me," she pleaded, calming her tone.

"Then do what I tell you. I’ll provide you security," he said firmly. At that, she fell silent.

The cat brushed against her feet, and Samaira bent down to pick it up. Without another word, she left the room with the cat in her arms.

Behram started getting ready to go to the office. He began feeling the effects of fasting. Making a sour face, he went to take a shower. When he came out, he wore a three-piece suit and began fixing his hair. Then, putting his phone to his ear, he walked out.

"Hello, Furqan... Will the work be completed today? If so, I’ll visit the day after tomorrow. Let the staff know that AC Sahib will be coming for a visit. I don't want any mistakes. Everything should be perfect." Giving instructions, he stopped near Jahan Ara, who was sitting on the head chair in the lounge.

"Are you leaving?" Jahan Ara smiled as Behram hung up the call. She sat there with a fresh and radiant face.

"I'm going to the office and will visit the hospital the day after tomorrow if the construction is completed," he said confidently. A hint of displeasure appeared on Jahan Ara’s face, but her smile remained intact.

"Where’s Burhan?" Behram asked, looking around.

"He's sleeping," she said with a laugh.

"He didn’t even fast," Behram noted, as he hadn’t seen him awake during suhoor.

"His health isn’t well, that’s why. Actually, the bad food in prison has taken its toll." She seemed to sink into sadness again.

"Mom, here’s some juice," Aleena brought a glass of juice to Jahan Ara, and it was then that Behram realized his mother hadn’t fasted either. But she had still come for suhoor. Jahan Ara shot Aleena a sharp look and took the juice.

"Call Samaira," he ordered Aleena. As she turned to leave, Behram stopped her.

"She’s not at home; she’s gone to the hospital." Aleena stayed there, glancing between the two of them.

"Why?" Jahan Ara swallowed her bitterness. "Why don’t you make her dependent on us? Why have you given her so much freedom, huh? I ask, what’s the need for her to work when everything is provided?" She started lashing out at Behram.

"Mom, she’s not interested in your business. I’ll handle her in my way. Stay out of this matter," he said angrily.

"And what exactly is your way? I’ve noticed that after your honeymoon, your inclination toward Samaira has increased," she said with irritation, crossing her arms. Behram took a deep breath, stood up, and buttoned his coat.

"Take care of Mom," he said before walking out. Jahan Ara sat there helplessly, watching him leave. Her eyes were filled with anger, hatred, and jealousy.

☆☆☆☆☆

This area, surrounded by mountains, was far away from the city. Between two mountains, a river flowed, showcasing the beauty of nature. The water of the river washed over the stones as it flowed onward. Beyond these mountains, a stone house could be seen from afar. Due to the low walls, a woman was visible washing clothes in a large bowl. Beside her, a young girl was placing the washed clothes on the stone wall to dry. Both were dressed alike, wearing long, heavy frocks that reached their ankles.

Gul-e-Lala and Aneesa passed by them. Aneesa leaned her elbows on the wall, rested her chin on her hands, and began watching them.

“Have some shame, one shouldn’t peek into someone’s house like this,” Gul-e-Lala said, grabbing her by the elbow and trying to pull her away, but she wouldn’t budge.

“Give me some water,” Aneesa smiled and looked at the young girl. The girl blushed as she noticed them and brought a clay cup filled with water.

Aneesa drank the water. It was sweet, probably fetched from somewhere far, as the river water was only good for looking at.

“Do you want some? The water is delicious.”

"No," Gul-e-Lala smiled as he looked at the young girl, who had returned to her work.

"Come on, let's go," Aneesa said, moving forward with him. Masooma followed them, camera in hand, capturing high-quality images.

Gul-e-Lala arranged a seat of stones for Aneesa and sat beside her. The river's water flowed beneath their feet. Aneesa touched the water with her hand, enjoying it. In the heat of the late July days, the water was pleasantly cool.

Aneesa glanced at Gul-e-Lala, who was gazing up at the towering mountains. There were some houses on the slopes above. They could see a few men sitting there.

"Look, this color seems a little different—this one is dark brown, and that one is light. There's a bit of black on it too," he said, pointing out the details. Aneesa looked carefully and saw that it was exactly as Gul-e-Lala described. He was exploring while she was exploring him.

"Look for yourself," he suggested. He seemed mesmerized, unable to take his eyes off the beauty of nature.

Aneesa turned her gaze to Masooma, who was capturing nature like a professional with her camera.

"Look at her, Masooma is crazy. Instead of enjoying the moment, she's taking pictures. People don't realize that no matter how good a camera they use to capture nature, it can never match what the human eye captures," Aneesa said, looking around.

"True. Only beautiful eyes can see and recognize beauty," Gul-e-Lala replied, agreeing with her.

She smiled and looked into his eyes, which wandered around, eager to absorb the world.

"Yes, beautiful eyes can only see and recognize beauty," she said, mesmerized. Gul-e-Lala chuckled.

"You said it backward. It's beautiful things first, then beautiful eyes," he corrected her.

"It's the same thing," Aneesa replied hastily.

"It's not the same," he said, shaking his head. Aneesa silently looked at the water flowing beneath her. Masooma was moving further ahead, taking pictures.

"Come back, Masooma! Don't go too far," Gul-e-Lala shouted. Masooma quickly ran back to them.

"Alright then, I'll go to their house and see what they use and how they live," she said excitedly and started walking toward the stone house.

Aneesa seized the moment to look at Gul-e-Lala and tried to say something, but then she hesitated, fearing he might get upset.

"What if he says no? What if he ends the friendship too? No, I can’t afford that. And if Masooma finds out I spoke to Gul-e-Lala instead of her, she might end our friendship too. No." From every angle, she only saw her loss.

"Gul-e-Lala!" she finally mustered the courage.

"Yes?" he responded, unaware.

"Can I say something? You won’t mind, will you?" she asked cautiously.

"Why would I mind?" he laughed.

"Because it’s... that kind of thing," Aneesa bit her lip nervously. "I don’t know what you’ll think of me."

"Just say it," he said, looking at her. "Speak your mind. We’ll deal with whatever happens afterward." He smiled at her reassuringly.

"I want to..." she paused, averting her gaze. "I want to marry you," she confessed, her voice trembling. Gul-e-Lala felt a jolt deep within and stared at her in disbelief. "I've grown fond of you," she continued innocently. "I wish for you to be with me forever, to respect me as you do now, and to..."

"Stop," Gul-e-Lala interrupted, struggling to maintain his composure. "Please... I never thought you would start feeling this way about me. A man who respects a woman unknowingly sows the seeds of love in her heart. And I believe I am that man. I've never acted inappropriately, nor given you any sign that I have feelings for you," he paused to catch his breath.

"But I felt it," she said, loosening the knot of tears in her throat.

"Then you felt wrong," he replied, irritated. "You're beautiful and innocent. You could have anyone, so why me?" he asked, raising his hand in exasperation.

"I don't want anyone else, Gul-e-Lala, only you. Just you," she pleaded, looking at him with hope.

"I'm married and have a child," Gul-e-Lala said, locking eyes with her. In that moment, Aneesa felt as if icy water had been poured over her head. She was stunned.

"You're mistaken. And as for respect... I still hold the same respect for you in my heart. At the very least, I cannot betray Gul Noor. She's not only my wife but also the mother of my son. She has been faithful in every way. I must love Gul Noor until my dying breath," he spoke softly. "She stood by me through every hardship. And one should not bring misfortune upon those who stand by them in difficult times." He stood up. She remained seated on the stone, her tears rolling down her cheeks and merging with the flowing river. She wasn't listening to Gul-e-Lala anymore.

If anyone had asked her what disgrace and humiliation meant, she would have said it was to beg for love from someone with your own lips, to love blindly and madly without restraint.

"Come," Gul-e-Lala extended his hand. "Let's go. I'll end this matter here. It's okay," he said with a smile. "We can still be friends. Now, come on, smile for me."

She looked up at Gul-e-Lala, her gaze fixed on him. His green eyes were smiling, while her brown eyes brimmed with tears. She knew she had to play her part now, to uphold the bond of friendship he offered. That much she could do.

Wiping her tears, she stood up. Masooma snapped a picture of them both, and then they returned to their respective boundaries, confined within their separate worlds.

☆☆☆☆☆

The heat of Mianwali had slightly subsided by evening. The sun was setting, and it was nearing iftar time. Naheed was laying out the food on a mat in the veranda. Aneesa was arranging a plate of fruits to take upstairs. Gul-e-Lala was already upstairs. Masooma and Gul-e-Lala had come to visit her. They were spending this semester break at Aneesa's house.

"Here you go," Aneesa said, placing the plate on the table. "I'll bring water and juice." She started descending the stairs. Gul-e-Lala stood near the balcony, watching the traffic on the distant road. By the time she returned with water and juice, he was still standing there.

"What are you looking at?" Aneesa asked, coming closer to him.

"The cars. Aren't they beautiful?" He smiled.

"Yes. I stand here too, weaving dreams," she said, now also looking at the cars moving on the distant road. "My dreams are expensive. I might never afford them," she laughed sadly.

"My only dream is to have a car with blue lights and a green license plate," he said.

Just then, the siren rang. The fast had been broken. The call to prayer echoed from afar.

"I didn’t even make a prayer," he hurriedly pulled a chair close to the table, quickly made a prayer, and began breaking his fast.

"Pray for me too," she said, still looking out at the road.

"Of course. May all your expensive dreams come true. Wherever you live, may you be happy. And may whoever is with you remain happy as well." Gul-e-Lala’s last words stirred something within her. He was eating a date.

Zakariya was not home today. He was having iftar somewhere with friends. That’s why she was standing alone on the rooftop.

"When you visit during the winters, you'll enjoy the setting sun even more," she turned toward Gul-e-Lala. "You will come, won't you?" she asked, looking at him with hope.

"Yes, I will," he assured her. "Then we'll walk through the mustard fields; their fragrance is beautiful too." At his words, she smiled with tearful eyes. Gul-e-Lala stood up after finishing his iftar, spread out the prayer mat, and began his prayers.

She descended the stairs and joined Masooma, who was sitting with Naheed.

"You never told me your aunt is so sweet," Masooma said, looking at Aneesa.

"Really? Sweet? She beats me with a slipper!" Aneesa teased while eating pakoras. Naheed glared at her, making her fall silent.

"She's just joking," Naheed said with a smile. Sahira, observing them, also smiled.

"Hurry up! We'll go out for ice cream after Taraweeh prayers," Aneesa said, brushing off her hands and standing up.

"There's no need for that. You all were out the whole day yesterday too. Don’t you know anything other than wandering around?" Naheed scolded her. "Wait till your father comes home; I'll make sure to complain." Masooma suppressed a laugh and left to pray.

"Mom, please, let us go. We’ll come back quickly," Aneesa pleaded.

"Ask Shahroz. If he allows, you can go," Naheed said while picking up the dishes. Aneesa pouted, knowing Shahroz would never let her go out late at night.

"Use some sense, girl. If you keep this up, we’ll have you married off soon," Naheed scolded as she got busy with the chores. "And don’t forget, the matter with Tanveer isn’t over yet."

"Mom, please... I don't want to talk about this," she said angrily. "And don't compare me to him. Don't you remember it was Junaid Bhai who ended that proposal?"

"Junaid is no longer here. Even when he was alive, your father didn’t care about you. What will he do now?" Naheed replied bitterly. Aneesa glanced at Sahira.

"Stop her. Why does she say such things?" Aneesa said in a trembling voice, looking at Sahira with tearful eyes. "Junaid..." she murmured before running away.

"Please, Auntie," Sahira said, standing behind Naheed in the kitchen. "Don’t say things that break her heart. You know how attached she was to Junaid."

"I’m just stating the truth. With the way she roams around, one day Zakariya will clip her wings," Naheed said, drying her hands as she left the kitchen.

Aneesa was sitting in the lawn, crying. Sahira couldn’t bring herself to approach her. She decided to let her be alone for a while.

☆☆☆☆☆

The second ten days were about to begin. Nothing was on schedule anymore. The lifestyle had somewhat changed. It was the second day of Sultana Begum's son to Lahore. He was lying face down, asleep in his room, when someone pulled off his blanket and woke him up.

"Get up, you have a test today." A voice called out, and he opened his eyes but didn’t get up yet. He recognized his father’s voice, so he remained lying down, annoyed.

"I’ll make it to the center," he just said that much. After his father left, he quickly started getting ready. He couldn’t suppress the yawns that kept coming. Once he freshened up, he came out, took out his roll number slip and ID card, and rushed outside where Ibrahim Sikander was waiting for him.

"Took you long enough..." His father looked at him with reproachful eyes. He didn’t say anything in response.

The hospital was filled with the scent of fresh paint and new furniture. Every room had a tag outside, along with nameplates of the doctors. The new hospital was gleaming. Behram was visiting the hospital with his father, Niaz Sikander, while security guards followed them closely.

"What name have you thought of for your first creation?" Niaz asked admiringly.

"You tell me," Behram replied, walking seriously, observing everything around him.

When Niaz raised his hand, the security guards stopped. The father and son entered the operation theater, where new machinery and modern equipment were placed.

Behram was inspecting everything, touching each item to check it.

"You can decide better," Niaz smiled.

"Iffat Care Center?" Behram suggested with a melancholic smile, as if a shadow of sadness flickered. The color drained from Niaz Sikander's face. Behram, with his head lowered, engrossed in inspecting everything, didn’t notice his father’s changing expressions.

"Are you sure?" Behram looked up at him in response to the question, placing the instruments back on the tray. He could see that Niaz had furrowed his brow. At least here in the hospital, he didn’t want to argue with his father.

"Dad..." He took a deep breath, resting both hands on the stretcher that stood between them, leaning slightly forward. "What do you want?" he asked, as if for the last time.

"Is it really necessary to bring that woman back into my life? I’ve moved on now," Niaz said bluntly, shaking his head.

"That woman was my mother. I think of her every moment..."

"So what should I do? Keep those thoughts to yourself and don’t make her part of our lives." Niaz turned to leave.

"Do you never miss my mom?" There was something in Behram’s voice—something deep. Or perhaps it came from a place of profound depth. Behram swallowed a lot of emotions, but Niaz walked out without giving any reply or reaction.

"Sir, your wife’s call," Furqan entered, holding out the phone to Behram.

Behram’s hand instinctively went to his coat pocket. Pulling out his phone, he saw fifteen missed calls from Samaira. His phone had been on silent.

"You can leave," he gestured to Furqan to go. When Behram turned off the switch, darkness enveloped the operation theater. He dialed Samaira's number.

"Hello!" he said wearily.

"Behram, I've been calling for so long. When will you come?" she asked with concern.

"I'll come," he replied softly.

"I'm not upset with you. Please, don't be upset with me either," she pleaded.

"Hmm," he murmured, sitting on the stool next to the stretcher. Stretching his arms across the stretcher, he rested his head on them, as if wanting to listen to her.

"Come soon. I’m scared," she said anxiously.

"Why?" he asked absentmindedly.

"I don’t know, but... I want to be with you. When you’re angry or upset, I don’t like it. I even feel scared to tell you things sometimes." Her tone wasn’t of anger or reproach, just cautious complaint.

Her words saddened him. Once, his mother used to plead with his father in the same way. Iffat Ara would accept blame even when it wasn’t her fault, sometimes choosing silence over confrontation. And now, Behram had married someone just like her. Samaira, too, valued nothing more than Behram.

"Okay, I won’t get upset anymore," he promised. On the other end, he heard her laughter. A faint smile appeared on his face. "You’re happy now?" If she had been near, he might have pulled her close.

"Yes," her voice suddenly sparkled with energy.

"And how’s Lori? Has she taken my place?" Behram asked with a smile, though the corner of his eye was damp. He stepped outside.

"Yes, now she sleeps with me at night—completely in your place." Samaira knew Behram would never agree to share his spot with the cat, which is why she teased him like that.

Behram laughed wholeheartedly. Niaz Sikander and the others turned to look at him. His back was to them as he walked toward the lab. The mixed expressions of surprise and concern on Niaz Sikander’s face were unmistakable.

Still listening to the call, Behram continued walking until he reached the lab.

☆☆☆☆☆

The coming and going of distressed people in the hospital steadily increased. In the pediatric ward, the sounds of newborn babies could be heard. Samaira was holding a baby in her arms. She felt immense love for the child. After the delivery, the baby had no one. It was a case of an accident in which both the mother and father had passed away. No identification had been made yet.

"Ask the nurse to prepare a feeder and bring it," Samaira instructed while taking the baby to her room. She entered her room, where Sabeen was waiting for her.

"Oh, Sabeen, how are you?" she asked, laying the baby on a stretcher and hugging her.

"I'm fine," Sabeen replied, looking at her from head to toe. Samaira seemed to be in a cheerful mood. In the room, apart from them, Lori was wandering here and there. Samaira sat near the baby.

"Whose child is this?" Sabeen asked, sitting next to her.

"I don’t know. But isn’t he adorable?" Samaira asked excitedly. The baby had rosy cheeks. His dark eyes could barely open.

"Do you like babies?"

"Of course, I do! Very much," Samaira gestured with her hand. Just then, the nurse entered the room and handed her the feeder. Samaira began feeding the baby.

"Then talk to Behram," Sabin said, gently touching the baby's cheeks. There was a small mole between his neck and ear that became visible whenever he moved his head side to side while crying.

"Alright," Samaira laughed. "Lori!" she turned her attention to Lori, who was clinging to her legs. "Look, a new baby!" She was overjoyed. Sabeen watched her face, where a small mark resembling a nose ring was prominent near her nose. Samaira switched between doting on the baby and petting the cat, her innocent laughter enchanting Sabeen.

"When Aunty slapped you, did Behram do nothing?" Sabeen asked suddenly, almost unintentionally. Samaira’s smile began to fade. She looked at Sabeen, wondering how she knew.

"Everyone in the family knows. The household staff let it slip, and the news spread exactly that night," Sabeen replied, watching her with regret. Samaira fell silent.

"And have you told Behram about Burhan?" Sabeen asked. Samaira shook her head.

"When will you tell him? Will you ever?" Sabeen’s tone was laced with sadness.

"I’m quitting this job," Samaira dropped the news like a bombshell.

"What? Are you crazy?" Sabeen sat there, stunned. She straightened up, laying the baby in her lap. "Do you even realize how hard you worked to get this position? This is everything you wanted!"

"I don’t want anything except Behram," Samaira replied coldly.

"And I’m sure it’s Behram who told you to do this, didn’t he?" There was bitterness in Sabeen ’s voice. Silence followed.

Sabeen waited for her to speak.

"Look… I love Behram. I only need Behram. If he’s with me, I’ll have everything. I can’t upset him, and I can’t endure his anger," Samaira admitted.

"And Behram? If he loved you, he would have let you meet your sister’s kids. He would have been your full support system. He would’ve been the first to stop anyone who dared raise a hand against you. You’re heading toward a dark abyss, Samaira. It’s only you who loves him; he doesn’t love you back," Sabeen said, holding her hand. "Trust him and tell him everything."

"Okay," Samaira pulled her hand away. It seemed she wasn’t willing to hear anything about Behram.

Sabeen picked up her purse and left. As soon as she walked out, the nurse entered the room.

"Take care of him, and if someone comes to claim him, let me know," Samaira instructed, handing the baby to the nurse. She quickly gathered her things, picked up Lori, and stepped outside.

By the time she reached home, it was nearly evening. Today, Taimoor and Aleena were out for iftar, and Jahan Ara and Niaz Sikandar were with them. After breaking her fast, Samaira prayed in her room. Lori was circling around her. Smiling, she began making her supplications.

Lori was in her lap now. She gently massaged Lori’s head with her fingers. The cat was calm and relaxed. Holding Lori, she got up and went outside.

"Aren’t you afraid?" Burhan tugged at her dupatta. Displeasure flashed across Samaira’s face. She yanked her dupatta back and muttered under her breath, "Rude man."

"Aren’t you afraid of me?" he asked again. She was nervous but tried not to show it. She looked around anxiously, then started walking toward the lounge to leave. Burhan quickly moved forward, blocked her path, snatched Lori from her arms, and placed the cat outside the lounge door. He shut the door behind her. Lori, left outside, stared at Samaira through the glass door, but then Burhan pulled the curtain across, blocking her view.

"What are you doing?" Samaira’s hands were clammy with sweat. She was stepping back, one hesitant step at a time. Her mind was flashing red warnings. Burhan’s advancing steps carried a storm in their wake. She stumbled onto the sofa and sat down.

Burhan leaned over her, placing his hands on the arms of the sofa, trapping her in place.

"I love you," he said. The smell of cigarettes on his breath invaded her nostrils. She held her breath, turning her face away in disgust. Her revulsion was evident.

"Won’t you answer me?" He began running a finger across her face. Samaira, filled with loathing, shoved his hand away. He laughed but quickly grew serious.

Gripping her hair tightly in his fist, he yanked her head back. Tears spilled down her temples, streaming silently.

"Samaira, Samaira, Samaira... You are my love," he said as he began to hurt her.

"I’ll tell Behram," she threatened helplessly, her voice trembling.

"I hear this every time. Say something new… something interesting," he replied with a wink, his tone laced with innuendo. "And today, no one’s home either."

Samaira curled up, trying to make herself smaller. Her heart felt like it would break through her ribs. She shut her eyes, like a pigeon that closes its eyes when it sees a cat, pretending danger isn’t there.

"Let me go," she pleaded, attempting to push him away, but he stood firm as a rock. Outside the door, the cat paced back and forth. Burhan began spewing vile words. She cried, her voice shaking.

When she resisted, he struck her hard across the face. Her hand flew to her cheek as she stared at him in disbelief. He laughed.

"Now push me! Go on, push me!" he roared. His voice thundered, and Samaira shrank back further, terrified. She began calling out for Behram.

Burhan clenched his teeth and glared at her before biting her hand. She screamed, but no one heard. Not a single lifeless object in the room responded, nor did the birds perched on the windowsill—they neither saw nor heard.

Her scream was so agonizing, it barely registered even to herself. It was a silent echo of the cruelty inflicted in that moment, like so many injustices buried and forgotten under the weight of power and silence.

The sound of cars pulling into the driveway could be heard from outside. Burhan froze. Perhaps everyone had returned. Samaira glanced around hopefully. The door was locked.

Burhan quickly moved to the window, pulled back the curtain, and looked outside. Taimoor and Aleena were stepping out of the car with their children. With them were Jahan Ara and Niaz Sikandar.

Turning back, Burhan saw Samaira desperately trying to open the lounge door. She kept brushing her hair away from her face repeatedly as it fell over her eyes, struggling with the lock. She finally saw all the family members entering the house.

"What is she doing? What happened to her?" It was Aleena, walking toward her, with Taimoor following behind.

“This... he… slapped me…” Samaira panted, her voice trembling. Her hands were shaking, and her body quivered. She couldn’t unlock the door—it was a different kind of lock.

“Wait, wait.” Taimoor gestured with his hand and called for the key card to unlock the door. As soon as the door opened, Samaira collapsed into Aleena’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

“It’s okay, child… it was just a door that got locked,” Niaz Sikandar said, gently placing his hand on her head. Samaira’s eyes widened in disbelief. She turned around, but Burhan was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, it all felt like a terrifying nightmare. But she knew it wasn’t. It was all real.

Hiding her face, she began walking toward her room. Halfway up the stairs, she paused and thought about telling everyone. But would anyone believe her?

“No,” she dismissed the thought and went into her room. The room was engulfed in darkness—empty, desolate. Locking the door behind her, she sat on the rug in the middle of the room and began crying. Memories of everyone she cared for started flooding her mind. Her thoughts spiraled into chaos, her brain seemingly shutting down. She started screaming like someone losing control.

Outside the room, Lori scratched at the door with her claws. The night grew deeper, and her screams faded into the abyss of the dark silence.

☆☆☆☆☆

It was morning, yet the streets were somewhat deserted. While watering the plants, Aneesa kept glancing towards the gate repeatedly. Perhaps she was waiting for someone. Today, she felt particularly parched due to fasting.

A knock on the door broke her thoughts, and she hurried to the door.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“It’s Waheed, yaar” came the reply from the other side.

“Stop calling me ‘yaar’,” she said impatiently, getting straight to the point. “Give it to me.” She extended only her hand through the door. Waheed noticed her fair hand adorned with orange bangles. Smiling, he placed a box wrapped in a khaki cover in her hand.

“The password is inside. If you don’t understand something, let me know,” Waheed said as he left, starting his bike.

Aneesa quickly removed the cover. Inside were a phone and some memory cards.

“Wait, wait!” she shouted.

"I'm right here," he immediately replied, as if he had been waiting for her. Aneesa checked everything thoroughly.

"Yes, everything’s fine. You can go now," she said quickly, closing the gate and heading back inside. He remained standing there in the heat.

The password was written on the khaki wrapper. She started inserting the memory card into her phone. Taking a deep breath, she opened the gallery, which now displayed numerous new videos and photos.

The phone in her hand vibrated. It was Waheed calling.

"Are you okay?" Waheed asked.

"Yes, I’m fine. What could possibly happen to me?" she replied irritably and ended the call.

One by one, she began playing the videos. Unaware that her entire life was about to change, she kept watching everything.

Photos of Junaid and Madiha's murder appeared before her. She recognized the person standing in the morgue with Madiha and Junaid. It was Behram’s personal assistant. If they had no connection to the case, what was he doing there? She bit her lip, lost in thought.

During the postmortem, Khizar and Ayan were present, accompanied by Inspector Salman. They were the ones overseeing the case.

But something was missing. The king and queen of the chessboard were absent; only the pawns were running back and forth. She was restless. Her heart was heavy, a volcano simmering inside her, ready to erupt.

Cracking her knuckles repeatedly, she dialed Gul-e-Lala, who had returned to Mouch the previous day.

"I need Inspector Salman’s number," she said abruptly, skipping any pleasantries.

"Is everything okay?" Gul-e-Lala asked, puzzled.

"Yes. Get it from your brother and let me know. He’ll have it," she said, almost commanding him to get it for her at any cost.

"Okay," Gul-e-Lala replied. Shortly after, he sent her Inspector Salman’s number along with a brief message: Be careful, girl.

She smirked and dialed Inspector Salman. The phone rang, but no one picked up.

"Hello, who is this?" A feminine voice emerged from the other side.

"Is this Inspector Salman's number?" Aneesa asked.

"And who are you?" came the unexpected reply. For a moment, Aneesa thought it might be the wrong number.

"I'm his wife speaking. Who are you?" the woman said, making Aneesa smile awkwardly. She was momentarily at a loss for words, unsure of how to introduce herself.

"I'm Aneesa. I wanted to ask Inspector Salman something about the case," she replied softly.

"Alright, let me call him. Hold on," the woman said, covering the phone and calling out, "Salman… Salman! Come here, there's an urgent call for you."

Aneesa could hear her calling from the other side. A moment later, Salman took the phone, his voice hurried as he slipped on his boots. He seemed to be getting ready to leave for the station.

"Hello?" he said briskly.

"I need to meet you," Aneesa said immediately, without introducing herself.

"That's fine, but who exactly are you, madam?" Salman asked as he walked over to Mintha, who was seven months pregnant. This was their first child.

"I’m Junaid’s sister… Junaid Khan… Madiha Ali. Do you remember?" That brief introduction was enough. He froze for a moment, instantly understanding.

"Yes. Where should we meet?" he asked unexpectedly.

"Where are you right now?"

"I’m in Islamabad. And you?"

"Can I meet you on the third day of Eid? It’s not possible for me to come earlier," she replied after some thought.

"Of course. Just call me before coming," he said, holding Mintha’s hand. The call ended.

"Who was the girl?" Mintha asked, looking up at him.

"No idea. She said she’d meet me on Eid. Strange!" He shrugged, putting an arm around her. She smiled as they both stepped outside.

"Lock the door, and take care of yourself," he said as he bid her farewell. She closed the door and went inside.

On the other side, Aneesa opened her emails. As usual, there was only one sender.

"I’ve arrived in Pakistan. I was wrong about you. I want to meet you and clear all doubts."

"Ugh…" She held her head. A new move? Another new move.

☆☆☆☆☆

A melancholic morning had descended upon the mansion. It had been more than a week since Behram had gone to Lahore. The household staff, as usual, were busy cleaning the house. Eid was near, and the house needed to be redecorated. By 7 o'clock, Samaira was still lying in her room, asleep. Since that night, she had seldom stepped out. Either she would cry or think about Behram. She didn’t have the courage to tell anyone in the house what had happened to her.

Her phone, placed under the pillow, vibrated.

"Hello!" She had just woken up, her voice soft and low.

"Samaira ma’am, we couldn’t find a guardian for the child. Since you didn’t come back, I thought it best to inform you myself," it was a nurse calling from the hospital.

"Alright, do one thing—keep the child with you for now. I’ll let you know what to do," she said while rubbing her eyes. A thought crossed her mind: perhaps she should adopt the child. But consulting Behram was essential. She had to persuade him, no matter what.

The call was still ongoing when Sarah’s call started coming through. Apologizing to the nurse, she attended Sarah’s call.

"Samaira, how are you?" Sarah's cheerful, radiant voice echoed in her ears. Samaira lay in bed, draped in her somber night attire.

"Fine," she replied with just one word.

"Why don’t you come over for iftar today? It’ll lift your spirits. Arham misses you a lot." Sarah, sitting in her room, was feeding Arham breakfast.

"Alright, fine," Samaira said, her tone weary. She felt detached from these relationships. Her world now revolved solely around Behram. He had settled in the deepest depths of her heart.

"And you’re planning to shop with Behram, right?" Sarah asked casually, unaware of the irritation in Samaira’s voice.

"Yes. Did he tell you when he’s coming?" she asked impulsively.

"Yes, maybe he’ll come today," Sarah guessed.

"Okay, aunty’s calling me. I’ll talk to you later," Samaira quickly made an excuse and ended the call in haste.

"Don’t forget to come this evening. In fact, come early," Sarah reminded her again.

"Yes, yes, fine," Samaira replied and ended the call. Throwing off the comforter, she got up, picked out clothes from the dressing room, and went into the bathroom. After taking a shower and getting ready, she sat on the edge of the bed. She wore a black outfit with a golden dupatta. Turning to look at her phone lying on the bed, she thought of calling Behram but dismissed the idea.

Lori came and sat beside her, looking just as gloomy. On a whim, Samaira decided to call Behram. Initially, the line was busy, so she stopped trying. Engaging herself with Lori, she let time pass. Ten to fifteen minutes later, Behram called her himself. She felt a rush of happiness.

On the other end, Behram was busy. A stack of documents lay on the table in front of him.

"Hello, Behram!" Samaira spoke with excitement. Finally, he had called her himself. "When will you come?" she asked the same question as every day.

"By this evening," he said in a distracted tone, signing a file.

"Please come quickly. I need you," her voice quivered but she quickly composed herself.

"I’m busy. The situation has become very complicated. I think I might have to transfer to Lahore. There’s been a clash between political parties," Behram said, his tone preoccupied.

Samaira wasn’t really listening. She was lost in her own thoughts. She neither cared about these matters nor understood them.

"Behram... I don’t think Burhan’s behavior is right," she said cautiously.

"What did he do? He’s like that—always joking around with everyone," Behram replied distractedly, assuming it was just one of Burhan’s usual pranks with Samaira.

"Behram..." Her voice cracked. Lori lifted her head to look at her. Even she knew that Behram had a "honey" he cherished dearly. His honey’s eyes had filled with tears now, but he couldn’t see them or wipe them away.

"Honey..." he said tenderly from the other side.

"Behram... please try to understand me. Will you understand?" she cried softly.

"Yes, honey. Of course. Tell me, what happened? Actually, hold on. Let’s talk when I get home. I’m very busy," he said hastily.

"You’ll come soon, right?" she insisted like a child.

"Yes," he laughed. "Don’t be sad. I’ll come soon," he assured her. "Lori must be watching you," he added, trying to distract her. He knew this wasn’t easy for her. By evening, he had to return.

Samaira, now sitting cross-legged near Lori, gave a faint, melancholic smile. She was beginning to feel a little lighter. She believed Behram would trust her and understand her. It was a blind faith, so absolute that she couldn’t see beyond it.

☆☆☆☆☆ 

The hours of waiting in the evening felt endless. In her anticipation of Behram’s arrival, she had even forgotten to eat or drink. She neither went to Sarah’s house nor stepped out. She spent the entire day pacing in her room, standing by the window, thinking he would arrive any moment now.

Even during iftar, her thoughts kept drifting back to Behram repeatedly. Despite herself, she was restless. Evening slowly turned into night, and yet there was no sign of him. She wondered where he could be. If Behram didn’t come tonight, she decided she would go to Lahore.

As she paced the room, she stopped for a moment and looked at herself in the mirror. She adjusted her appearance, picked up a pink lipstick from the dressing table, and applied it to her lips. Brushing her hair lightly, she then reached for Behram’s perfume and sprayed it on both sides of her neck. It was the fragrance that woke her up in the mornings. Along with that scent came a loving touch that made her feel safe.

At last, exhausted, she rested her head against the headboard, waiting for Behram. Lori was still in her arms. Except for the ticking of the clock, there was silence. Time was merciless—it simply refused to pass. Eventually, she fell asleep. The room grew colder as the night deepened.

☆☆☆☆☆

It was an unknown hour of the night when someone came in, gently laid her straight, and covered her with the comforter. They carefully took Lori from her arms and placed it on the sofa. Startled, Samaira woke up, switched on the bedside lamp, and tried to see who it was. For a moment, her heart skipped a beat. 

"It’s me. Go back to sleep," the voice said. That was all it took for Samaira to leap off the bed and run into his arms in the dim light. Gripping his shirt tightly in her fists, she began sobbing uncontrollably.

"Honey, what happened?" For a moment, he was genuinely taken aback.

"Behram... I can’t stay here," she cried. "Do you know what happened when you weren’t here? Burhan harassed me." She began recounting everything.

Behram listened silently, holding her close. For the first time, he truly felt the depth of Samaira’s vulnerability, and he realized how wrong things had gone.

Gently brushing her hair away from her face, he pulled back slightly and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Drink some water," Behram quickly handed her a glass. She started drinking. Behram stood up, draped her dupatta over her shoulders, and sat beside her. Gently holding her hand, he took a lighter from his pocket and brought it close to her hand. The flame illuminated the spot where a bruise had formed—Burhan had bitten her.

"He’s the one who sent me those letters and flowers I once asked you about," she said in a trembling voice. To her, Behram was her savior now.

"You should have told Taimoor Bhai or Dad at the time," he said, sounding slightly exasperated.

Samaira, stunned, pulled her hand away and looked at him in disbelief.

"He ran away, disappeared. What was I supposed to say?" she burst out.

"Alright, fine. Just go to sleep for now. We’ll talk later," he said, clearly exhausted and seeking rest in that moment.

"Is this a small matter?" Samaira asked as if giving him one last chance.

"Maybe he was just joking," Behram said as he stood up, removing his watch and placing it on the dressing table.

"This was a joke? If someone came and did this to your sister, would it still be a joke?" she shouted angrily.

"Don’t take my sister’s name," he snapped back, his tone rising. "Or it won’t end well."

"If it wasn’t a joke, then why does it bother you so much, huh?" she said through her tears, standing right in front of him.

"I don’t want any drama," he said, pushing her aside and lying down on the bed.

"If you don’t understand, then who will? The neighbors? Or some stranger?" she said, standing over him.

"Please... Honey. I need some rest. I need you," he said, pulling the comforter over himself as he lay down. Frustrated, Samaira sat back in her place and eventually lay down. Anger boiled inside her.

"You weren’t like this before. I don’t know what’s happened to you. Just tell me," she said in a tone full of complaint. She turned to her side, hiding her tears.

Behram moved closer and pulled her into his arms. Samaira tried to push him away with her elbow, but he held her arm firmly.

"Ah, ah," he chuckled. "Alright, what do you want?" he asked in a tone filled with affection.

She lay there silently. She had already told him everything. And yet...

"This dress looked great on you. And with your hair down and pink lipstick, you look like the most beautiful woman in the world," Behram complimented her. When she didn’t respond, he rested his chin on her shoulder and looked at her face. Her eyes were closed, and her expression was blank. Behram gave her a light shake.

"I’m still alive," she murmured softly, making him laugh heartily.

"Alright, I’ve been thinking about family planning. Maybe I won’t have time later," he said, suddenly changing his tone and the subject.

"You were supposed to sleep. Weren’t you tired? Just for me?" she asked flatly.

"Yes, you’re absolutely right," he teased her. "I’m thinking of going back to Lahore."

"No. Don’t even think about it," Samaira said, looking at him instinctively and resting her head on his chest. "You’re always teasing me. When you’re here, I’m not scared, but without you, I can’t stay here."

"Alright, then. I’ll get my transfer to Lahore," he said, now somewhat at ease.

Samaira took a deep breath, feeling a little calmer herself.

"Do you really not care about what Burhan did to me?" Silence enveloped the room. The question started to feel wrong. Maybe Behram didn’t want to hear questions or complaints from Samaira.

"Your wife is insecure, Behram... don’t you love me?" She asked with such longing that only she knew the depth of her own feelings. He didn’t say a word. He remained silent, gently patting her back as he lay there.

"Should I go to him now and ask him? Or should I wait until tomorrow to see him?" he seemed bothered.

"Don’t go, don’t do anything. Don’t do anything for me," she said, sitting up, getting off the bed, and moving to sit on the sofa a little distance away. Behram shook his head and turned over to face the other side. She lay on the sofa, crying.

Now, only one hope remained for her. The same hope Behram had kept her from sharing with Kashmala—the truth about Burhan’s release—was now something she was ready to tell.

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