White Roses Episode 13 Pawn

 

White Roses as symbol of love

Pawn

 

 Perhaps it's my grace that keeps me still,  

For otherwise, your flaws I know all too well.

Kashmala had now started living in Kakul. Mahnoor rarely needed any support anymore. It was afternoon. Batool was sitting in the sitting area, engrossed in playing with Uzair and Rania on the carpet. She had come to spend the month of Ramadan at Kashmala's house. Feeling lonely in Khizar's absence, she often stayed here with Kashmala.

Ayan had been posted to the border. It was the same area where Junaid was once supposed to be sent, but now Ayan was there in his place.

Kashmala was busy cleaning the house. During Ramadan, her routine was simple: she prepared the kids for school in the morning, went to college where she worked as a lecturer, and after returning home, she cleaned the house. Batool usually prepared the iftar.

There was still about half an hour left before she would return from college. Her class was nearly over, and as she walked down the corridor, a student nearby addressed her.

"Ma’am, your phone is ringing."

Adjusting her dupatta on her head, Kashmala searched her bag. It was Samaira calling. She put the phone to her ear and sat down on a bench under a tree nearby, where it was quieter.

"Kashmala, I need to tell you something," Samaira said, repeatedly rubbing her sweaty palms on her knees.

"Yes, quickly tell me. Is everything okay?" Kashmala asked, distressed by the heat.

"No, Kashmala, I’m not okay. Burhan has returned," Samaira said, breaking into tears.

"What? Are you joking?" Kashmala was stunned.

"No," Samaira replied. Just then, the door opened, and Luna entered, carrying Behram's freshly ironed suit.

"Where should I put this, ma’am?" Luna asked, looking at her.

"Hang it in the wardrobe," Samaira said, biting her lip and glancing at her. She kept watching Luna until she hung the suit and turned back to leave.

"Umm... has Behram returned?" Samaira asked.

"No, ma’am," Luna responded obediently, standing before her with her hand over the phone's speaker.

"Alright, you can go," Samaira said gently. Once Luna left, Samaira turned back to Kashmala.

"This must be Behram’s doing," Kashmala said bitterly.

"I don’t feel good about this, Kashmala. If Burhan..." Samaira couldn’t even bring herself to finish the thought. She had started getting constant headaches and felt like sleeping all the time.

"Don’t worry. I’ll do something today," Kashmala assured her, walking toward her car and heading home.

Samaira stood by the window, staring at the greenery outside. Her head throbbed with unbearable pain. Pressing her forehead with one hand, she made her way to the sofa. A feeling of suffocation enveloped her. Her head spun, and her body began to feel cold. For a moment, she felt nauseous, her stomach churning. She reached for her phone on the side table but collapsed onto the floor in a daze. The entire room seemed to spin around her.

"Behram..." The word barely left her lips, stuck somewhere in her throat. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t get up. Grasping the drawer’s knob for support, she tried again, but the drawer slid open, spilling its contents onto her leg. She winced in pain.

There was no one else in the room. Lori was outside, and Behram was at the office at this hour. Her vision grew darker and darker. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening as consciousness slipped away.

☆☆☆☆☆

The chill of the air conditioning filled the office. Through the sliding glass window, the entire cityscape was visible. Behram stood by the window, leaning against the wall, watching Niaz Sikandar, who was seated across from him. The afternoon was fading. To Niaz’s right sat Irfan Siddiqui.

"I didn’t know this news would leak out so quickly. And Burhan is always at home, so how did he find out?" Behram said, worried.

"Could it be one of the servants in your house?" Irfan Siddiqui suggested, looking at both of them.

"No, no. Everyone knows that betrayal is punishable by death." Behram sat in the head chair and started rocking back and forth. "Now the case better not be reopened," he said anxiously, rubbing his forehead.

Furqan entered the room, whispered something in Behram's ear, and stood beside him. Behram’s nerves loosened. He closed his eyes in anguish, grabbed his coat, and walked out.

Furqan followed him.

"Who told you?" Behram asked while starting the car.

"Your staff mentioned it, sir. Sorry, but it must have been Ma’am who told Kashmala. You can ask her," Furqan replied cautiously.

"Alright, fine. Get ready. Give Irfan Siddiqui whatever money he needs, but this case should not be reopened." Furqan, who was watching him through the car window, nodded obediently and stepped back as the car sped away.

As soon as he reached home, Behram, in a frenzy, rushed up the stairs toward the room. Anger coursed through his veins. He kicked the door open and slammed it shut with the same force.

"Samaira..." he called out, but there was no response. The room was empty. "Samaira..." He checked the dressing room, but she wasn’t there either. His anger was escalating. How could she betray him? By siding with the enemies, she had committed treachery against Behram. And Behram’s punishment for betrayal was always death.

"Could she have run away?" Behram thought for a moment. He quickly rushed outside and called for all the staff. Hearing his voice, Jahan Ara ara and Aleena also came out, and Burhan appeared in the lounge.

"Where is Samaira?" Behram kicked the table in the center.

"What happened, son?" Jahan Ara asked, concerned.

"Did she go out today?" he asked the other staff.

"No, sir," the watchman replied.

"Sir, Ma’am was at home until noon," Luna informed him.

"Then where is she now?" Behram pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

"What’s going on, brother?" Burhan placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Shut up! Why don’t you stay away from her? She’s my wife!" Behram grabbed him by the collar and delivered a strong punch to his face. "I must have lost my mind to bail you out," he said, glaring at Burhan, who stumbled onto the sofa.

"Stop it! What are you doing?" Jahan Ara stepped between them and separated them. "Is this all because of Samaira?"

"It's not just about Samaira... he harassed her too," Behram said, seething with anger and hatred. "And now she's told Kashmala that Burhan has been released. Pathetic man!" he hissed, glaring at Burhan.

"That girl is trying to create a rift between you two, son," Jahan Ara said, gently taking Behram's hands and softly massaging his shoulder, attempting to calm him down.

"Now find Samaira! Why are you all just staring at me?" Behram let go of Burhan and shouted at the staff. They disappeared like spirits.

"You’ll find her... you’ll find her. Stop shouting; you’ll hurt yourself," Jahan Ara  tried to soothe him.

"Mum, tell him to leave, or I’ll bash his head in," Behram said, lunging toward Burhan again. Jahan Ara gestured for Burhan to leave, and he complied.

Behram dropped into the sofa, his legs propped up on the table, sitting in a reclined and tense posture.

He then got up and went to his room. The evening call to prayer was echoing softly. In the dim light, he was on the phone with someone. Samaira's absence was unusual for him. He had checked with the hospital but was informed that she hadn't come in for five days. She couldn't have gone to Lahore, and Mianwali was out of the question. For the first time, he felt utterly helpless.

He stood up and drew the curtains over the window. As he turned around, his gaze froze on the figure lying on the floor. That single moment drained the life out of him. He instinctively dropped to his knees and touched Samaira's face. Hastily, he turned on the light and laid her on the bed. Frenziedly, he checked her breathing, heartbeat, and pulse.

"Luna... Luna..." he called out as he stepped out of the room. "Tell the driver to bring the car out!"

In that moment, he forgot his hunger, thirst, and even that he was fasting. Carrying Samaira in his arms, he started descending the stairs. Everyone in the house, both family members and staff, stood in stunned silence.

Fifteen minutes later, he had brought her to the hospital. Now, he sat on a bench outside the ICU, his eyes closed. The phone in his pocket was ringing incessantly, but he didn’t want to talk to anyone. The surrounding sounds felt distant, like muffled echoes in his ears. A heavy weight pressed down on his head.

Suddenly, he stood up and walked into the ICU. A nurse tried to stop him, but he didn’t pause. The redness around his eyes had deepened.

He saw Samaira. Her face was pale, drained of all color, as if all the blood had been drawn from her. He kept moving forward, unable to take his eyes off her.

"You’re going to be a father," he heard the words. The room seemed to empty out. All the noise faded. A profound calm enveloped him, a sense of peace taking over. He sat down on the edge of the stretcher next to Samaira. She lay there, eyes closed, lost in unconscious slumber. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead. In that moment, all his anger evaporated. He felt himself softening, melting.

For the first time, he felt someone was the closest part of his being. He experienced something he had always wanted but never acknowledged. Tears began to fall from his eyes, landing on Samaira’s cheeks. Overcome, he bent down and held her against his chest. Memories of Iffat Ara surfaced in his mind. No one was there for him, and his heart ached with emotion.

Samaira stirred, slowly opening her eyes, and wrapped her arms gently around him.

"Are you crying?" Behram’s tears fell onto her neck. He didn’t respond, just kept crying. The weight inside him was finally lifting.

"What’s wrong? I’m fine," she said softly. "Did you break your fast?"

Behram pulled away, wiping his tears quickly, hiding his face. He was never weak, and he didn’t want to appear so now. Gently brushing her hair aside, he held her hand.

"I’m going to be a father," he said with a smile.

She smiled back, blushed, but said nothing. Her face turned a shade of red that Behram noticed.

"I love you," he said, touching his nose to hers before kissing her with devotion. She lay there, shyly smiling, her cheeks aflame with warmth.

☆☆☆☆☆

It was 10 o’clock at night. Everyone was sitting anxiously in the lounge of the mansion. Taimoor paced back and forth, repeatedly trying to call Behram.

“What was the need for that good-for-nothing to harass Samaira? And how dare he?” Niaz Sikandar, sitting with Jahan Ara, was scolding Burhan. “Have you no shame? She’s your sister-in-law. If you keep up these actions, I’ll send you back to jail!” Niaz thundered.

“Just stop it now! Can’t you see his condition?” Jahan Ara snapped angrily. “And Samaira is no less conniving; she must have done something herself.”

“Enough, Jahan Ara!” Both husband and wife began arguing.

“Please, stop it!” Taimoor turned and looked at both of them. They fell silent. “Do you even realize what state Behram and Samaira must be in? And what will Behram think—that we couldn’t even take care of his wife in his absence?” he said regretfully, looking at his parents. Then, addressing Niaz, he added, “And what Burhan did to Samaira, you should have thought about it before his release. Didn’t we already know his nature?” He cast a sharp look at Burhan.

The lounge sank into silence.

The sound of a car horn came from outside. Aleena pulled back the curtain and looked out. Bahram was getting out of the car, holding Samaira’s hand.

"They're here," Aleena informed Taimoor. Just then, the two passed by the lounge door and headed to their room. Jahan Ara quickly followed and entered their room.

Behram was helping Samaira lie down.

"Shall I help?" she offered, stepping forward. Behram gestured with his hand for her to stay away. Samaira hesitated, glancing at both of them.

"Luna, Luna..." He got up and stood at the door, calling out for Luna. Luna came running upstairs.

"Prepare soup for ma'am, and quickly," he ordered, then sat down beside Samaira. Jahan Ara placed a hand on his shoulder, which Behram ignored entirely.

"Say something," she pleaded, her eyes brimming with tears. "Won't you even talk to your mother?" Behram shook off her hand.

"A house this big, with so many servants, and yet my wife was lying helpless in her room, and no one even noticed. Wow," he remarked sarcastically. "That's why I've decided—I’m moving to Lahore."

"As long as I’m here, stay away from my wife," Behram said coldly, his gaze fixed on Jahan Ara as she looked at him in disbelief, tears streaming down her face. "And especially your son," he added sharply. "I don't want any harm to come to our unborn child." Jahan Ara’s eyes shifted to Samaira, who lay silently, watching them both.

"What? A child? You... you..." Jahan Ara was far from thrilled, but she masked her feelings and hugged Behram. "I’ll tell everyone! I’m so happy!" she exclaimed, her tone artificially cheerful as she hurried out.

Her steps led her to Burhan’s room. Entering, she locked the door behind her.

"What happened?" he asked nonchalantly, lounging with one leg crossed over the other, absorbed in his phone.

"Samaira is giving Behram an heir. Now the mansion will have its successor, and Taimoor’s son will be sidelined," she said, pacing anxiously, hands on her hips.

"What?" Burhan shot up as if struck by lightning.

"Yes, pray that their child dies. Pray that Samaira dies!" Jahan Ara seemed deranged, raising her hands as if in supplication. "And I told her she would never be a mother. What have I done?" she cried, hitting her face in anguish.

Meanwhile, Behram sat beside Samaira, lovingly feeding her soup. She was being fussy.

"Even before this, you feel weak. Look at this..."

"Just drink it. Come on, this is the last spoon." He coaxed her, calling every spoon the "last" to get her to finish.

"Get me a Quran activity book, and that’s it. I won’t drink anymore," she pouted.

"Alright, fine." He got up, brought her the book, handed the dishes to Luna, and returned to sit beside her. Samaira began writing in the book, pen moving over the pages. Suddenly, Lori jumped onto her lap.

"Oh no, what’s this? At least leave her alone for now," he said, looking at Samaira. She smiled softly.

Taking off his coat, Behram leaned on his elbow in front of her. Samaira bit her lip, blushing deeply as her face turned crimson. Behram was amused.

He noticed her breathing quicken strangely. Samaira put the book aside on the table and picked up Lori, settling the cat on her lap. She couldn’t hide her shyness, no matter how hard she tried—the delicate vulnerability of her femininity.

"Are you happy?" Behram asked. She nodded, adjusting her dupatta in front of her, her gaze lowered. She was stroking Lori with both hands but could clearly feel the warmth of Behram's intense gaze on her face, a sensation she couldn’t ignore even if she tried.

Behram leaned in and touched her lips with his. She drew back slightly, her face blooming in a deep blush. Pushing Lori aside, he moved closer and pulled her into his embrace.

"Will you agree to one thing?" she asked softly, wrapped in his arms.

"What thing?" he asked. Biting her lip as she closed her eyes, seemingly gathering courage.

"There’s a child in the hospital. His parents passed away, and he has no one else. I want to take him in," she explained gently, trying to reassure him.

"And what about our own child?" he asked, running his fingers through her hair.

"Behram, there’s still time for that, and besides—"

"No means no," he interrupted firmly. His tone turned serious, silencing her. The smile on her face faded away.

"Now let’s sleep quickly. We have to wake up early," he said, laying her down and lying next to her. He turned off the light.

She was sleeping very close to him, feeling the comfort and security he provided.

☆☆☆☆☆

Two days were left for Eid. The house was bustling with activity and a lively atmosphere. Amar had taken over the entire house with his antics. Fateh was so busy helping his mother that he couldn’t catch a break. Zimil spent her time in the queen's room, sitting beside her.

"Look, isn’t this dress nice?" She had brought it while shopping for Malikah. "And these shoes, see? They’ll look great on you." Malikah sat silently, saying nothing. Hajra rarely did anything around the house now. Malikah had become confined to her room. Zimil sat at the edge of the bed, showing her things, while Malikah sat by the study table on a chair, looking forlorn.

"I need to meet Aneesa," she said in a low voice, her only words.

"Now? She won’t be here. She’s probably in Mianwali. How can I even..."

"I miss her a lot. More than anyone else. Her words... her care... they never leave my heart," she pleaded.

"Alright. Let’s talk to her. Do you have her number?" Zimil offered a simple and quick solution.

"But can I hug her? Can I rest my head on her shoulder and cry?"

"So, what should we do?" Zimil got up and came closer to her.

"She must miss me, ask about me, but she’s scared of her father. Otherwise, she would’ve come to meet me. She doesn’t like her father. He’s not a good person," she said, her eyes welling up with tears.

"Alright, let it be. I’ll tell Fateh to take us there. Is that okay now?" Zimil looked at her face, which still seemed sad.

"She must have come to Lahore for shopping. She always shops with Mahnoor. Ask her to meet me," Malikah said as she stood up. Zimil hugged her.

"Fine, let’s do this. You can ask her to meet at the shopping mall. That way, her father won’t object or even know."

"Yes. Call her, she’ll come," Malikah said, running to a drawer to fetch a notepad with her number written on it. Her phone had been lost, and she hadn’t deemed it appropriate to mention it to anyone. Alongside the pad were notes Aneesa had made for her.

Zimil started dialing the number.

"Hello, who is this?" She was passing through a crowded alley at the time, walking along the side. Mahnoor was with her, and both were heading toward the car.

"It’s Malikah," Malikah said softly.

"How are you?" she asked as they got into the car.

"I need to meet you," Malikah said hurriedly.

"I'm in Mianwali," she lied as she sat into the car. Mahnoor involuntarily glanced at her in surprise.

"Oh, when will you come?" On the other end, Malikah sounded disappointed.

"Not sure yet," she replied calmly. "I’m busy right now; I’ll call you when I’m free," she said and ended the call.

"Why did you lie?" Mahnoor, who was driving, looked at her briefly.

"A lie told for someone’s good isn’t a lie," she replied flatly.

"And who’s good was this lie for?"

"My own. From now on, whatever I do, it’ll be for myself."

"Why? She was your best friend," Mahnoor reminded her as if trying to rekindle an old memory.

"She was. Not anymore. If she wanted to stay my friend, she would’ve told me what happened to her. She wouldn’t have distanced herself from me," she said coldly, staring out of the window. Mahnoor fell silent.

☆☆☆☆☆

It was the third day of Eid, and the festivities were just as vibrant as on the first day. Zakariya, Aneesa, and Naheed were in Islamabad. Everyone was seated in the dining hall, enjoying the meal. Amar, Zimil, and Fateh were also present at Niaz Sikandar’s house. Due to the presence of guests, Aneesa was sitting in the lounge with Samaira. Sultana Begum was also with them.

"You need to take great care of yourself now," Sultana Begum said affectionately to Samaira. "Don’t stress at all. Everything will be fine." A shy smile appeared on Samaira’s face. Aneesa, seated on a single sofa, was watching the two of them. Just then, Behram entered and sat down beside Samaira.

"Did you tell Aneesa that we’re going to have a baby?" he asked, looking overjoyed and taking extra care of Samaira now.

"Hmm," she replied in a soft voice, smiling with her head lowered.

"Have you met Aunty?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes, just met her," she replied, blushing.

Aneesa rested her chin on her hand, quietly observing them.

"Go, spend some more time, talk a little," he said casually. Samaira got up and left, and Behram engrossed himself in his phone. Sultana Begum remained seated quietly.

"So, tell me, little sweet girl! What’s going on in life?" Behram broke the silence. Aneesa came out of her thoughts, looked at Behram, who was sprawled on the sofa with his arms spread out, smiling at her.

"Nothing much... just studies," she replied briefly.

"Nothing else?"

"No," she said, having nothing more to talk about.

"Shall I show you the house?" he offered sincerely. He had noticed her keen interest in every corner of the house. The way she was observing the rare furniture and showpieces made it obvious she was seeing such things for the first time.

"With you?"

"Yes, with me. Why? Do you have a problem?" he paused and asked.

"No," she replied and stood up. Both of them stepped out together. Samaira was walking toward them with her eyes lowered, smiling. She stopped when she saw them.

"I want to show your sister around the house," Behram said, holding Samaira’s hand as he spoke. Aneesa’s eyes instinctively focused on their hands. How painful it is to see others possess the blessings you’ve been deprived of.

"You promised me ice cream," Samaira said with childlike insistence. Aneesa watched them with longing as they walked away together. Left alone, she wandered into the orchard located on the left side of the house.

Folding her arms across her chest, she gazed at the tall grapevines climbing the wall. Moving closer, she tried to pluck some grapes but couldn’t reach them. She jumped a couple of times, but in vain. Finally, placing her hands on her hips, she looked at the grapes with a resigned expression.

Just then, a hand appeared from behind and plucked the grapes. Startled, she turned around to see Niaz Sikandar popping a grape into his mouth. They were uncomfortably close, and she immediately stepped back to create some distance.

"You shouldn’t reach for things out of your grasp. It only tires you out and causes harm. Look..." Niaz Sikandar gestured toward her. "You’re exhausted too."

And indeed, Aneesa was tired. His words felt strange and unsettling to her. She stared at him with her hazel eyes, finding his presence discomforting. He gave her a piercing smile before walking away.

Shaking off the intrusive thoughts, she turned back to the vines, trying again.

☆☆☆☆☆

In the afternoon, Aneesa managed to get permission to meet Inspector Salman, though it was not easy. She had told her father she was going to a friend’s house. She was observing the sweets and tea placed on the table. Mintha had greeted her warmly. Salman was outside at the moment. Aneesa's gaze repeatedly shifted toward Mintha, and when Mintha noticed, Aneesa would lower her eyes again. Mintha sat before her, spreading her dupatta over her abdomen.

"It's the first child," Mintha spoke on her own. Aneesa could only smile. She neither wanted to ask this question nor was looking at her with that intent.

"So, do you live alone?" Aneesa looked around the house. The house wasn't very big but was still charming. There were three master bedrooms. The kitchen was on the right side. Upstairs, Salman had set up a study room. The outdoor area was being used as a sitting space. That was where they were seated at the time. The outdoor area wasn't very spacious either. The lawn took up little space. Salman often parked his car there. The chairs were placed to the side. The plants in the pots were well-maintained.

"No, Salman comes back by evening," Mintha replied, taking a sip of tea. She was a cheerful girl, and Aneesa found her pleasant right from the start of their meeting. She was full of life.

"Don’t you ever feel scared?" Aneesa asked with a smile.

"Scared? Of what? Not at all!" Mintha laughed. "It shouldn’t be that way," she said, shaking her head.

"A love marriage?"

"Yes and no," Mintha smiled. Aneesa looked at her, puzzled. "Salman liked me, but I didn’t feel anything for him at first."

"So, don’t you love Inspector Salman?"

"I do. It happened after marriage. It’s barely been a year since we got married. Salman’s parents live in America. His sister lives there too—she’s married, Alhamdulillah." Mintha began talking about her and Salman’s families.

Salman parked his car in the lawn and entered the house. Aneesa instinctively stood up upon seeing him. Mintha, still seated, was smiling.

"Please, have a seat," Salman said politely after exchanging greetings, gesturing towards the chair before sitting down. Aneesa sat down as well.

"Did you serve anything?" Salman asked, now looking at Mintha.

"Yes, but she’s not eating the sweets. And you forgot to bring the cold drinks I asked for; otherwise, I’d have served those too," Mintha said as she began clearing the plates.

"No, it’s okay," Aneesa said instinctively.

"Alright then, introduce yourself," Salman said, crossing one leg over the other and looking at Aneesa. She began fidgeting with her hands, unsure of what to say. Meanwhile, Mintha went to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

"I… My name is Aneesa," she said after a pause. "I wanted information about the Junaid murder case and the Madiha murder case."

Salman looked her over from head to toe. She appeared quite young, probably around nineteen or twenty.

"Who asked you to investigate?" Salman inquired.

"I decided on my own. He was my brother. I don’t think the police investigated properly. Who was the culprit? Tanveer? That was just a temporary conclusion. You handled that case, didn’t you?" she asked, almost demanding clarity.

"Yes."

"Then please, if you could help me a little..."

"What kind of help?" Salman asked bluntly.

"You know very well who was behind all this. A successful cover-up was done," she said firmly, standing her ground.

"A successful cover-up? It was indeed successful," Salman replied with a sharp tone. "Look, young girl! Your brother was gathering evidence against people in high positions to take them down. Enemies are dealt with in their own way. He had skills but didn’t get the chance to use them. And now you’re doing the same. He was an army officer and was killed. Who are you? Under eighteen? A teenager?" Salman tried to reason with her.

"Did you kill him too?" she burst out. Mintha, who was in the kitchen, could clearly hear their conversation.

"I didn’t kill him," Salman said, still calm and composed.

"Then tell me the truth, or you’ll be equally complicit in the crime. A person who covers up a sin is as much a sinner as the one who commits it," she argued logically.

"Do you think you’ll be able to reach those killers?" Salman looked directly into her eyes. She seemed like a storm ready to burst. Her glare at Salman was sharp, as if she might attack him at any moment. But Salman knew she wouldn’t.

"Let me start from the beginning," Salman said. Aneesa straightened up, her posture alert. "Niaz Sikandar and Ibrahim Sikandar are often involved in illegal activities. Last year, there was a rape case linked to their son. You might know about it," Salman speculated. "The same day the court was supposed to deliver its verdict, Kashmala Ayan Alvi was shot. That was a collaboration between Niaz Sikandar and Behram Sikandar. Behram was Kashmala's opponent."

"Behram?" Aneesa looked at him in disbelief.

"Yes. To prove this, Junaid started his investigation. During this time, he uncovered a lot against their family—corruption cases, murder cases, illegal human trafficking—and their drug and mafia trade through Afghanistan. On the surface, they appear to be just a few people, but they have an entire network. These cousins mostly work in civil services. Some are good, while others are rotten eggs."

"Behram??" Aneesa exclaimed, shocked by the revelation.

"He’s at the top of the list. For the murders of Junaid and Madiha, he provided the second lead," Salman explained.

Aneesa was shaken by what she heard.

"But he wasn’t even there," she stammered, feeling her hands tremble.

"Do you know the first rule of a killer?" Salman leaned in slightly. She sat frozen. "To erase their name from the equation. And Behram was there that night, at the murder spot. He knows very well how to save himself. He played his move skillfully."

And then, another pawn stepped forward on the chessboard. Behram posed as the king of the opposing side.

"He brought Furqan forward. Your father, Zakariya Khan, right? He agreed to take the case for money. He upheld his friendship with Niaz Sikandar."

"So, who was leading the game?" Salman saw a tear escape her eye. He smiled faintly.

"Niaz Sikandar and your father."

"My father?" She clutched her chest as she spoke, her voice trembling. "So you deceived me too! Why did you withdraw the case?" she cried, standing abruptly.

"When the guardians of the victims decide to forgive the bloodshed, what can a common inspector like me do?" Salman retorted, standing as well, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Salman! Salman!" Mintha stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. He sat back down reluctantly, his expression still tense. "Calm down... she's just a child. What are you doing?"

Aneesa stood there, her wounded eyes staring at them.

"Sit down too, child," Mintha gestured to her gently. Aneesa sat, her movements slow and hesitant. Mintha picked a tissue from the box in front of her and handed it to Aneesa. She wiped her face, her tears still flowing.

"I’m Behram’s second cousin. Technically, I shouldn’t have told you all this. But..." Salman paused and then looked at her intently. "Don’t mention this to anyone. The time hasn’t come yet, and you’re not ready for it either."

Aneesa sat silently, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"I’ll check," Mintha started to get up, but Salman rushed out before her.

"Be careful," Mithsa said softly and then sat beside Aneesa. "Salman can be a bit short-tempered," she said with a faint smile. Aneesa didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the floor.

Moments later, Salman returned, bringing someone with him. When the man stepped into the sitting area, Aneesa froze. Her senses went numb. Standing before her was Zakariya Khan. The shock hit her like a 440-volt jolt.

☆☆☆☆☆

The mansion's backyard had a lawn where Fateh, Behram, and Samaira were enjoying their evening tea. Inside, the mansion was bustling with activity as all their cousins had come over for Eid.

"So, you’ve been demoted?" Fateh asked Behram in a low voice. Samaira was sitting a little farther away near Lori.

"Hmm," Behram responded softly. "Because of Samaira. She let it slip about Burhan..." He groaned, glancing at Samaira.

"What was the need to violate the law yourself?" Fateh scolded him lightly. "And now, don’t say anything to Samaira."

"Hmm... for now, I can’t say anything to her," Behram said, leaning back in his chair.

"What do you mean?" Fateh looked at him, confused.

"Nothing. Just forget it." Behram suddenly straightened up. "Champ, next month, you’ll be taking charge too."

"Hmm. I’m not expecting a posting in a prime area."

"Even if it’s not, Uncle Ibrahim will sort something out," Behram hinted with a slight smirk.

"Behram..." Samaira called him.

"What is it, honey?" He got up and sat beside her.

"We’ll take Lori to Lahore with us, won’t we? Otherwise, she’ll feel sad," she said, sounding melancholic.

"Okay, honey," Behram said, running his hand through her long hair that touched the ground. Samaira sat peacefully, playing with Lori. Fateh watched the two of them. Samaira was saying something to Behram that made him laugh. He was also affectionately petting Lori.

Samaira tried to touch his face with her hands, causing him to instinctively pull back. She laughed, placing her hand over her face. Their lives seemed to be writing a golden chapter, gilded with happiness and peace.

☆☆☆☆☆

"These are my friends," Inspector Salman said while looking at Aneesa. She stood there silently. Zakariya and Salman sat down.

"Your friend..." Zakariya looked at Aneesa with suspicion.

"This... Mintha." Aneesa instinctively placed her hand on Mintha's arm and smiled a fake smile. Mintha showed no reaction; she just smiled warmly. She knew exactly how to handle everything at that moment.

"Shall we go? Have you met them?" Zakariya stood up and looked at his daughter.

"Yes." Aneesa didn't know how to react in that moment. She stood up, hugged Mintha, and walked out. She glanced at Salman as well, who was still looking at her.

"You've made friends much older than you," Zakariya said as he got into the car. She remained silent. "Be a little more cautious. Being lenient doesn't mean you can do whatever you want," he warned her.

The car was on the road. Both father and daughter sat in silence. Zakariya stopped the car at a red signal. She sat there, head lowered, looking around aimlessly.

She cast a glance at the person sitting beside her, the killer of her brother and bhabhi. Disgust churned within her. She lowered the car window, feeling suffocated. She needed fresh air.

Fathers are supposed to be a source of comfort, so why did it feel like she was enduring the heat of hellfire? She pondered, taking a slow, deep breath to calm herself.

In these twenty years, if anything had mattered to Zakariya, it was money, his friends, and the rest of the extended family. His wife and children came last—or perhaps didn’t matter at all. To the extent that Zakariya had blocked all his children on WhatsApp to ensure none of them ever learned about his activities.

To this day, he maintained countless illicit relationships with women. He only came home to eat, rest, and sleep. What he did beyond that remained a mystery to everyone. The millions of rupees that flowed into the household were never spent on his children, nor did anyone know the source of his income.

☆☆☆☆☆

Behram was taking clothes out of the dressing room and packing them into a bag. Samaira was rushing after him. He was packing seriously, now packing Samaira's clothes.

"Let me take it, baby. Anyway, it’s not like it’ll cost anything." She was pleading, her dupatta touching the ground.

"It’s not about the money," he said while continuing his work. She had a sulky expression on her face. She wanted to take the baby born at the hospital with them to Lahore and keep the child with them forever. She had already quit her job, a fact Behram had discovered on the night before Eid when she was sitting on the chair in front of the dressing table, repeatedly looking at the henna on the back of her hands.

Bahram had been watching her. She began testing the lipsticks she had bought during their honeymoon, applying different shades of red on her lips, wiping them off, and then trying another shade.

"Stop it. Go to sleep," Behram said with a smile.

"Look! Doesn’t this look good?" she said, admiring herself in the mirror. Behram’s gaze fell on her neck, where the ruby sparkled brightly.

"Everything looks good on you," he said as he stood up and moved behind her. Gently, he brushed her hair to the side and began unclasping the chain’s hook. Then, removing the ruby necklace from her neck, he placed it on the table. She was still wiping off the lipstick with a tissue.

"Leave it as it is," Behram said, taking her hand. Both of them looked at each other’s reflections in the mirror. He leaned in and kissed her neck.

"I’ve resigned from my job," she said, looking at Behram through the mirror. Holding her gently, he guided her toward the bed to put her to sleep. "But I won’t join Aunty’s business," she added, turning her head to look at him.

"Okay," he simply replied. Both of them lay down.

"Aren’t you happy?" Samaira asked, noticing no reaction from him.

"No," he said. He didn’t understand it himself—he was neither happy nor sad. She, too, couldn’t figure out why the man who had been asking her to quit her job for days now seemed so indifferent, as if it didn’t matter to him at all.

Today, they were supposed to leave for Lahore. Behram’s posting area was "Low," a demotion despite being coupled with a promotion. The posting area was far behind in terms of career advancement.

"Then please agree, won’t you? Just listen to me for once," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. Her heart ached. "Shall we go now? Bring the baby? Yes? Say something."

He straightened up after zipping the bag. Hearing the same thing from Samaira over and over again was beginning to frustrate him.

Just then, the door opened. Both turned to look. Samaira peeked from behind Behram’s shoulder to see Burhan standing there.

"Brother, I need to talk to you," Burhan said.

"You ignorant fool! Don’t you have any manners?" Behram unleashed his pent-up anger on him. Burhan stood there stunned. "You knock before entering someone’s room!"

Burhan glanced at Samaira, who was peeking from behind Bahram’s shoulder, teasing him. She was amused, barely suppressing her laughter as she watched the two brothers.

"Get lost and ask for permission first!" Behram gestured toward the door. Burhan stepped out, closed the door, and knocked. Behram strode to the door with long steps, opened it, and looked at Burhan, who stood there helplessly. His face was flushed with anger, and he felt thoroughly humiliated.

"Get lost," Behram said curtly before returning to Samaira. She quickly hid her laughter.

"Pick up Lori and let’s go," he said, placing the bags on the floor and pushing her toward the door.

By now, Samaira had learned that when Behram didn’t want to do something, he simply wouldn’t do it. Quietly, she picked up Lori in her arms and followed him. The two of them left for Lahore.

Jahan Ara watched them through the window and then drew the curtains shut. She could see her kingdom slipping away from her hands. A new heir to the throne was soon to arrive. To her, it felt like the end of her lineage was in plain sight.

☆☆☆☆☆

In the last days of November, the intensity of the heat had completely subsided. The evenings felt slightly cold, though the days were still somewhat warm. A cold wave was about to set in. The streets of Lahore appeared filled with smoke during the day.

She was wearing jeans with a white shirt, a coat reaching down to her feet, and a hijab. After returning from university, she and Gul-e-Lala were walking to a café on foot. The light blue twilight of the evening surrounded them.

"He's a good guy," Gul-e-Lala said while walking beside her.

"Yes, he is," she replied, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. Both were walking along the edge of the road.

"So, is he worth considering?" Gul-e-Lala asked suddenly, looking at her face. She went silent, a smile playing on her lips.

"What do you personally think of him?" Gul-e-Lala now sought her opinion.

"I don’t know," she replied indifferently.

"He understands you. He will keep you happy," Gul-e-Lala said, kicking a stone in front of her that rolled far ahead.

"That's exactly the problem," she said, sounding sad.

"What do you mean?"

"Do I understand him?" She walked a little further and kicked the same stone Gul-e-Lala had kicked. Her eyes stayed on the stone. "I should understand him too, right?"

"You will. Understanding develops after entering a relationship," Gul-e-Lala reasoned, then stopped to open the café door for her. Both entered the cafeteria. Aneesa’s eyes instantly landed on Waheed, seated at a table in the corner. She instinctively glanced at Gul-e-Lala, who silently mouthed one word, "Sorry."

Gesturing with her head, Gul-e-Lala asked her to sit. She walked over and sat across from Waheed.

"I’ll order coffee," Gul-e-Lala said, deciding it was better to leave them alone.

"I don’t have any money. Leave it," Aneesa refused.

"It’s okay, I’ll pay," Waheed said instinctively. "And bring tea." He knew the girl sitting in front of him liked strong tea.

"Okay, just one hour," Gul-e-Lala laughed. Aneesa felt an intense surge of anger at that moment. But there was nothing she could do except sit with him. The place was crowded with people around them.

Aneesa, feeling restless, kept glancing here and there, shaking one leg continuously. Waheed was smiling as he looked at her.

"My father has passed away. My mother is a housewife. I have one sister; she’s married. And I am my mother’s only son," Waheed introduced himself. "We’ve been Maliks from the start. I’m currently working as a personal assistant to the DC, but my background is in IT."

She looked at him helplessly, unsure of what to do.

"When you say the word, we’ll get married. But for now, I’d like to have a conversation with your family," he spoke in a very polite and cautious tone.

"Not now," she said, unsure of what to do. She wished she had an invisibility cloak or could magically disappear like a sorceress.

"Alright then, let me know when you feel it’s the right time," Waheed said, pushing her further into discomfort. She grew even more restless, sitting in silence while nervously cracking her fingers.

She kept looking around for Gul-e-Lala, wondering where he had gone. But he was nowhere to be seen.

"Aneessssa..." Waheed called her name. Her moving eyeballs froze on a face. For a moment, she was still. He was smiling. Pulling herself together, she tried to regain her composure.

The waiter placed a tray between them, breaking the moment of silence.

"Just one cup?" Aneesa asked, noticing only one cup on the tray.

"For you," Waheed said, taking the cup and placing it in front of her. Hesitantly, she began sipping the tea, taking small gulps of the hot beverage, her gaze fixed downward.

"Do you not talk much, or is it just... that you don’t talk to me?" he asked.

"Hmm?" She looked up at the person sitting across from her. Was he complaining?

"Yes, I am complaining. Talk to me. Am I not good enough?" It was another grievance.

"I need to leave," she said, standing up abruptly and walking out on her own. Waheed sensed the tension in her demeanor. He could only watch her go, unable to stop her. She pushed the glass door and stepped outside.

His gaze returned to the empty chair. With a heavy heart, he pulled the cup of tea towards himself and took a sip of the leftover tea. Closing his eyes in pain, he smiled faintly. How cruel it was for his beloved to leave him like this.

She kept running down the road, crying incessantly. Only two images kept flashing in her mind—Omar and Gul-e-Lala. The thought of them being together forced her tears to flow even harder.

Do men cry when rejected in love too?

☆☆☆☆☆

After that day, everything had slowly started to get better. She had returned to her routine. In front of her was the glowing laptop screen, her gaze fixed on it. Out of the numerous matches over the past several months, today she had received the eleventh email. She began counting on her fingers. She sat frozen, as if in a trance.

Dr. Haroon kept coming to her mind repeatedly. This time, she planned to take Samaira along with her. It had been four months since Behram and Samaira had shifted to Lahore. Considering the condition, the area was the low choice. All administrative responsibilities had been entrusted to Behram.

She closed the email section and turned on her phone. She called Samaira. Whenever she thought of Samaira, instead of her face, Behram’s image would flash before her eyes. She had been bearing the weight of her emotions. She decided to remain silent until the delivery. 

The call was received.

“Hello.” The voice sounded tired.

“What happened? Is everything okay?” Aneesa guessed that she wasn’t feeling well.

“Hmm. Speak.” There was pain in her voice.

"Are you okay?" Aneesa grew suspicious that she wasn’t fine.

"Yes. You tell me, how are you?" Samaira replied from the other side.

"Are you home alone?" Aneesa asked, trying to gauge the situation.

"Yes. Behram comes back by evening," she said calmly.

"Are you crazy? What if something happens to you?" Concern was evident in her tone.

"Nothing will happen. I’m fine. Behram takes great care of me. There’s a maid too," she replied hastily.

"Okay." Aneesa felt reassured.

"Yes. Don’t worry."

"Alright, I was thinking of visiting Dr. Haroon. Would you come along?"

"No. That might not be possible," she said sadly.

"Why not?"

"Behram," she said, uttering just one word.

"Can’t you do anything without his permission? Is it necessary to ask for approval for everything?" Aneesa said, annoyed.

"Yes, my sister... It’s very necessary," she laughed. "You wouldn’t understand."

Just then, the gate opened, and a car drove in.

"Looks like Behram is back. I’ll call you later," she said and ended the call. A pang of discomfort hit Aneesa’s heart.

"Home early today?" Samaira asked, taking off his coat.

"Yes." Exhausted, he collapsed onto the sofa, almost lying down. The area’s administration was making his life difficult. Every day brought a new problem. Sometimes it was a robbery, sometimes a land dispute case, other times a murder or even a rape case. He was fed up now.

On top of that, the locals were lazy and corrupt, further worsening the system while blaming the administration. A man who once lived a peaceful life was now worn out solving their endless issues. It all boiled down to one regret: if only he hadn’t gotten Burhan released. If he had to, he should’ve sent him abroad.

By now, he could’ve been a commissioner—if only Samaira hadn’t let his secret slip.

Samaira brought a glass of water from the kitchen and handed it to him.

“Where’s the maid?” he asked, looking at Samaira while taking the glass of water.

“She didn’t come today. I don’t know why.” She sat beside him. “I’ve done all the work myself. I’m very tired,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

The thought jolted him—no maid today? Another issue to deal with.

“Alright, I’ll sort something out. Are you okay?”

“Hmm,” she replied softly.

“You rest. I’ll handle it.” A new worry crept into his mind. They both went into the room.

The government-provided house consisted of two bedrooms, a kitchen, a storeroom, and a lounge, with a veranda-like area in the front. There were four chairs and a round table placed in the middle. The condition of the house wasn’t great—it just needed a little maintenance, which Behram had been supervising daily. Over the past four months, the house had undergone a complete transformation.

This was the sixteenth maid Behram had hired in these four months. Most of them had been dismissed because he felt they were trying to influence his wife against him or meddling in their personal and marital life.

"Go stay at Sultana Aunty’s house for a few days," Behram said while covering her with a blanket.

"No, I’m fine here with you."

"I don’t think you’ll get proper care here. If anything goes wrong, I doubt we’ll even find a good doctor nearby," he said, genuinely concerned.

"You’re worried about me? And who will take care of you?" she asked, holding his hand.

"It’s just a matter of five months. Maybe I’ll get promoted, and we won’t have to come back here at all. Let’s compromise until the delivery. I don’t want anything to go wrong. Aunty will be there; she’ll take care of you," he said, wanting to protect her in every way.

"Then promise me one thing," she said, looking into his eyes. There was something familiar in her gaze. "Can I stay at Mahnoor’s house instead?"

Behram stayed silent for a few moments, thought it over, and then nodded in agreement.

"Thank you!" she said happily, wrapping her arms around him. This was the first time he had agreed to something, but even then, he wasn’t entirely at ease inside.

☆☆☆☆☆

It was a winter day, wrapped in fog, rushing by as if it had wings. Aneesa stepped out of the university gate. Classes were over. Today, Gul-e-Lala wasn’t with her; he had already left for the academy.

In the freezing cold, she was walking somewhere on foot. She had come by local bus today. With her bag slung over her shoulder and notebooks clutched to her chest, she was walking briskly. There was still a crowd around her—shops, coffee shops, mobile stores—all passed by. Eventually, she entered a general store.

She needed to buy something, but what exactly, even she didn’t know. She thought she would just pick whatever caught her eye. After a few minutes of aimlessly browsing the store, only one item appealed to her—a bedside lamp. It was made of wood and looked like an antique piece. Surely, if she decorated her room with it, anyone who saw it would be envious. She asked the salesboy for the price.

“Ma’am, one piece costs four thousand,” he replied fluently.

"So expensive?" She raised her eyebrows. "And if I buy two, will you give me a discount?" she asked while eyeing the piece.

"No, ma'am. If you want it, take it; otherwise, leave." The salesman seemed stern, so she walked out.

Next to it was a jewelry shop, and she entered there. One problem was that she didn’t even have any money.

It was a high-end shop where diamonds were on display.

"Are these real diamonds?" she asked, addressing the man. He turned to look at Aneesa. She was wearing an abaya and a veil.

"Yes," he replied curtly and then turned his attention back to the watch in his hand, not paying her much attention.

"How can you tell if a diamond is real?" she addressed him again.

"I don’t know," came the sharp reply. She fell silent and began observing the same watch he held. It was an extremely elegant piece, with diamonds embedded around its dial. It was a stunning men’s watch.

"I want to buy this," Aneesa pointed to the watch.

"It's worth five million," he dropped the bombshell. Aneesa didn’t even know how many zeros were in five million. He now glanced at her bag, which held nothing more than books and a few thousand rupees.

"That one is 30 million, this one is 27 million, and this one is 17 million," she overheard someone saying from a distance.

Biting her lip, she walked up to the counter.

"I want to sell something," she said, cracking her knuckles on the table.

"This way," the man at the counter gestured, showing her the direction. She now found herself sitting with another shopkeeper in the same store.

"I want to sell this ring. How much will it fetch?" Aneesa took the ring out of her bag and placed it in front of him.

The jeweler stared at her through his glasses. He was quite hefty, his belly protruding, likely from sitting all the time.

"Where did you buy it? Show me the receipt," he asked, narrowing his eyes at her again.

"I don’t have a receipt," she said, worried. "But it’s real gold." As Aneesa explained, the jeweler began inspecting the ring. He weighed it on a machine and brought it close to his eye for a detailed examination.

"Where did you get it from? Stolen, is it?" the jeweler asked suspiciously.

"No, no! It's from my engagement," Aneesa blurted out without thinking. He smiled, and she regretted it immediately. But in her mind, the ring held no value anymore—a baseless relationship that could never flourish.

"Alright, I'll set a price," the hefty man said, still glaring at her repeatedly. Then, he placed a bundle of cash in front of her.

"How much is this?" Aneesa picked up the money.

"Fifteen," he said, chewing on a betel nut.

"That's too little," she said, irritated.

"What do you want, girl? First, you don’t have a receipt, and on top of that, how can I trust this is actually your engagement ring? What if it’s stolen?"

"You’re not going to resell it; you’ll melt it anyway," she retorted sharply.

"I can give you two more," the jeweler said, taking out two more bundles.

"Fifteen plus two is seventeen," Aneesa calculated in her head.

"Still not enough. I need more. This is pure gold, and you’re not giving me the full amount," Aneesa said firmly.

"Seventeen is all it’s worth. The ring’s weight isn’t much," the jeweler dismissed her, waving his hand in the air.

"Fine, I'll check at another shop," she said, placing the money back on the counter and picking up her ring, preparing to leave. The hefty jeweler, sensing his deal slipping away, intervened.

"Alright, take twenty-five," he said, pulling out more cash from his drawer. Aneesa smiled triumphantly, masking her irritation.

"And how can you tell if a diamond is real or fake?" she suddenly asked.

"A diamond never breaks, nor does it scratch. Plus, we have a machine that confirms everything," the jeweler replied while handing her the money. She stood up and walked to the main counter.

"Show me a good watch, a men’s watch," she said in a low voice.

The man began showing her watches. She was determined to buy something today—no matter what, it had to be for Gul-e-Lala.

☆☆☆☆☆

Evening fog began to envelop the area. Behram was driving back home. The road was entirely unpaved, and dust swirled where the car had passed. He was heading home with a sense of irritation. A police mobile followed behind him.

Alam opened the gate. Behram parked the car and entered the house. Alam, after closing the gate, hurriedly followed his new master.

"Sir, here’s your food." Alam brought the food from the kitchen and placed it before him.

"Alright," Behram replied, washing his hands quickly before starting to eat.

Alam was still standing nearby.

"Is there something?" Behram asked, looking at Alam as he took a bite.

"Yes, sir. Every night there’s a theft at our place... daily. You caught some thieves before, but now there’s someone else who steals things at night," Alam said, clearly worried. "You’re the DC, sir. Please do something."

"Alright, I’ll handle it," Behram replied, utterly exhausted. He took out his phone and called an officer from his staff.

"Hello, Safdar..." He began giving him instructions. Alam felt reassured.

"Did the cook not come?" Behram asked after finishing his meal.

"No, his grandson was born," Alam informed him.

"Alright." Behram removed his coat and started climbing the stairs, then stopped.

"Listen, I've assigned officers here for tonight. Don’t worry," he said and continued walking.

"Thank you, sir!" Alam was happy that his master valued his concerns. Now he would tell people that the officers were deployed because of him.

Behram entered his room and lay down. His back ached from standing all day.

He took out some pills from the drawer, put them in his mouth, and swallowed them with water. The room was now eerily silent. Otherwise, every night was spent listening to Samaira's conversations. Time with her had always felt golden.

He took out his phone and dialed Niaz Sikandar.

Niaz was still at the PMS office. He was with the commissioner but immediately answered the call.

"Hello, Dad," Behram spoke in a low voice.

"We were just thinking about you," Niaz said with a smile. "Regarding your posting," he added cheerfully. His voice reflected his happiness.

"What’s the update?"

"Yes. Now Fateh will take charge there, and you’ll be coming to Lahore."

"By when?"

"Within a month."

"Oh..." Behram rubbed his face, as though carrying the weight of centuries of exhaustion.

"So, are you happy now?"

"Yes, but Fateh... The people here don’t suit his temperament."

"They don’t suit your temperament either. For now, let Fateh handle the charge there. He’s new; there will be challenges," Niaz replied nonchalantly.

"Do you know there’s an underground network operating here? Smuggling happens right under my nose in broad daylight!" Behram fumed.

"So what? He'll manage. He'll get used to it too. You focus on yourself. We'll transfer him out when things get worse. It’s not a big deal," Niaz reassured him.

Behram glanced at his phone as he heard a beep—Samaira was calling.

"Alright, Dad. I have an important call coming in; I’ll talk to you later." Ending Niaz's call, he answered Samaira's and lay down, pulling the blanket over himself.

Alam entered the room, turned on the heater, and closed the windows and doors before leaving quietly. He was a loyal servant of the house. Behram liked all the staff there; they were trustworthy. However, he had sensed from the very first day that the minds of the local people were tainted with mischief and discord. Only a few were genuinely working for the betterment of the area; the rest sought personal gain.

"What were you doing?" The sound of her voice seemed to dissolve his exhaustion into the air. His body felt lighter, as if he were soaring through the sky.

"I was about to sleep, very tired," he replied. Whenever she called, he was always exhausted. Now, he could only manage to visit Samaira in Lahore over the weekend, spending just one night before returning. Time had become scarce. They only managed to talk at night over the phone, and that too only when Samaira called; otherwise, he often just fell asleep.

"Who cooked the food today?"

"The cook, and there’s a girl too. She cooks sometimes," Behram explained.

Samaira narrowed her eyes.

"A girl?"

"She’s married," Behram reassured her, realizing instantly that Samaira had grown suspicious.

"Oh," she relaxed, feeling the weight of her doubt lift suddenly.

"How are you? Did you visit the doctor?"

"No, I’ll go with you. Last time I went with Mahnoor, and the doctor kept asking about you. What could I say? That the sahib is too busy," she replied with a smile.

"Alright," he chuckled and turned to his side.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I don’t know," he admitted. Perhaps it was some spell of hers.

"When you come, we’ll..." she started talking about everything under the sun. Exhausted from the day, he was now unwinding with her words, letting them wash away his fatigue.

☆☆☆☆☆

The night of December 31st was the most terrifying night. The streets were still crowded with vehicles. A car was racing down the road, performing stunts. It was drifting in a very sophisticated manner. A black car, surrounded by flashing red lights, stood out from the rest. It was a two-seater imported sports car. He skillfully maneuvered the car through tight spaces and then fearlessly stuck his head out of the window to look back and cheer.

In a highly dangerous way, he overtook several cars and bikes. Now, he was spinning the car in circles with the same audacity. He saw several cars collide on the road in front of him. The screeching sound of brakes filled the air.

Then, with a swift move, he sped away.

"Note the number!" voices could be heard, but he ignored them completely. In the rearview mirror, he could see severely injured people. Immersed in his thrill, he didn’t even realize the traffic light had turned red. Drifting his car, he had already broken several signals.

The New Year’s Eve celebration was just beginning. He stopped his car near the red-light area and went inside.

An hour later, when he came out, a girl was with him. He seated her in the car and headed toward a club. His phone was vibrating incessantly as calls kept coming in, but he turned the loud music on and answered one of them.

“Where are you?” he could hear, but he knew that no matter what he said, the person on the other end would only hear the blaring music. So, without a word, he tossed the phone somewhere in the car.

Long drags of cigarettes... alcohol consumption... adultery... obscenity... singing... dancing... immorality... fireworks... all of it was just moments away from beginning.

☆☆☆☆☆

The cold was growing more intense. Darkness was deepening. Samaira, wrapped in a shawl, was giving instructions to Saima, who was busy fixing the bed. Aneesa sat on the sofa, eating peanuts and watching a PTV drama on the LCD. The warmth of the heater filled the room.

This was Junaid and Madiha's room. All the furniture belonged to them as well. Whenever Behram visited, he stayed in this room with Samaira. Somewhere deep down, Aneesa resented Behram. She could not tolerate Behram staying in Madiha and Junaid's room. With her words, she poisoned the atmosphere in front of Bahram. What hurt her the most was her sister’s marital relationship with Behram.

“You can leave now; he’ll be here soon,”  Samaira said, sat on the bed with her knees bent. Saima had finished her work and left. Today was the weekend, and he was expected to arrive.

“I’ll leave. There’s just a little bit of the drama left,” Aneesa replied, her eyes still fixed on the screen. Samaira also turned her gaze to the screen. It was some feudal-themed drama.

After sitting for quite a while, Samaira heard the sound of Behram arriving. Aneesa heard it too but chose to ignore it, remaining seated. Eventually, Behram opened the door and entered.

"Hello, beautiful ladies..." he said cheerfully, looking at Samaira, who was clearly delighted by his arrival. Aneesa, however, noticed the sudden change in Samaira's expression within a split second. Then she glanced at Behram. The two were exchanging unspoken words through their eyes.

"I’ll get your clothes out. You can change," Samaira said as she moved toward the wardrobe. Behram unbuckled his belt, took out the holstered gun, and placed it on the side table. He then headed to the washroom to change.

"What?" Samaira looked at Aneesa, who had stopped watching the screen and was now glaring at her.

"What?" Aneesa replied curtly.

"That’s exactly what I’m asking—what? Go to your room," Samaira said with a hint of sternness. Aneesa slipped on her slippers and stood up. By then, Behram had come out as well.

"What’s going on?" he asked, adjusting his hair in front of the dressing mirror. Aneesa paused, hesitating to leave.

"Do you even sleep well in this room?" Behram stopped impulsively, catching her reflection in the mirror. His hand, mid-reach for the perfume, paused.

"What kind of question is that?" he said, composing himself, then laughed and sprayed perfume around him.

"It's nothing. You go now," Samaira said, grabbing Aneesa by the arm and ushering her out. Now the room belonged to the two of them.

Samaira sat on the left side of the bed, leaning against the headboard. Behram picked up the gun and placed it in the drawer before sitting beside her.

"What’s this childish drama? Let’s watch a movie," he said, changing the channel with the remote.

"Aneesa watches it," she replied softly. He moved closer, pulling her into his embrace. Settling on an English movie, he sat back. Bold scenes played on the screen.

"Skip the movie. Let’s not watch this," Samaira said, averting her gaze from the screen. Now she was looking at his face while he remained fixated on the screen.

"Just watch. It’s quite interesting." For a moment, Samaira felt like he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She placed her hand over his eyes, grabbed the remote, and switched the channel.

"Honey..." he said, lowering her hand.

"Behram, this is sinful," she said, placing the remote aside. "Have some shame," she added with a light scolding, noticing a flicker of displeasure in his eyes.

"Then what should we do?" he said, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"Anything but watching a movie. There are plenty of other things to do," she said with a shrug.

"Oh, really?" He seemed displeased.

She understood why he acted this way—it was a reflection of what children learn from their parents. But Behram didn’t see it that way. Perhaps that’s why her involvement in Quran-related activities had increased recently. Sitting silently, one hand resting on her belly where two lives were growing, she let the moment linger.

"You come for just one day, and even that you want to spend upset?" she complained softly.

"Don’t be sad. I’m not upset," he said, placing his hand over hers. She gave him a faint smile, and they began to draw closer. Behram was now kissing every contour of her face with tenderness.

Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud thud. Aneesa entered and froze, looking at them. Startled, they instinctively moved apart.

"I left my charger," she said, picking it up from the table. Her gaze briefly landed on the side table, noticing that the pistol was no longer there.

"If there's anything else, take it now," Samaira said firmly, her annoyance evident at Aneesa’s unannounced intrusion. Aneesa said nothing and left without a word.

"Did you forget to lock the door?" Behram asked after Aneesa left, locking the door himself and turning off the light before sitting beside her.

"I forgot," she admitted softly.

"It’s okay. Now this is our time. Don’t ruin the mood," he said gently, touching her with tenderness.

Meanwhile, in her room, Aneesa plugged her phone into the charger, her thoughts repeatedly circling around Samaira. What must it feel like to sleep beside a killer? she wondered. Samaira loves Behram, but what will she do when she finds out that… She closed her eyes in anguish and lay down. The room was cloaked in a dim, shadowy silence.

☆☆☆☆☆

On Sunday, the fog had thickened considerably, and the cold was at its peak. Inside the room, the heater had dispelled the harshness of the cold. She was wrapped in a velvet blanket, fast asleep, when Behram woke her. Sitting up, she saw Aneesa standing in their room with breakfast.

"Put it down," she said, yawning as she started gathering her hair. Glancing at Behram, who was already dressed, she went into the washroom, putting on her shoes on the way.

Behram poured tea into a cup while Aneesa was taking out bread and chapati. Alongside them were some rusks. She stole glances at Behram and then quickly turned her face away. Picking up the tea cup, she went and sat on the sofa. The leftover peanuts from last night were still lying there as she had left them.

"Are you going to have breakfast here?" Behram addressed her.

"Yes," she said flatly. "I always eat here." Then, as if catching herself, she added, "Nice." He took a sip of tea, speaking in a praising tone.

Samaira came out, freshened up, wiping her hands and face with a towel, and sat down with Aneesa.

"Tabish and Sabeen were asking about me; I couldn't tell them yesterday," she said, picking up a rusk. "We should visit them sometime," she added, looking at Behram.

"Hmm, if I'm free," he replied.

"I was thinking of going to see Mom. It's been a while since I visited her. I miss her. Will you take me?"

"Sure," he said curtly. If Aneesa hadn’t been there, he might have refused outright. Suddenly, his demeanor shifted. He got up and went to sit by the bedside table.

"What about the work you were doing? Is it done?" she asked. Aneesa sat silently between them, an unnoticed observer.

"What work?" he turned to look at Samaira.

"The administrative one."

"Yeah, yeah. It’s getting done."

"Are you working on something else too?" Samaira squinted at him inquisitively. Behram glared at her, and she smiled mischievously. He turned away and sat back, facing the other direction.

"Samaira... do you know that..." Aneesa got caught up in a conversation with Samaira.

Meanwhile, Behram dialed a number on his phone and stepped out.

"Furqan, my transfer is happening. You have to handle the entire setup. This time, there should be no mistakes," he said, pausing to listen before continuing. "No, just transfer the money. Shut him up, or silence him for good," he said, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "Don’t tell Mom anything... Dad already knows. I’ll send you the documents shortly. Hmm... I’ll be busy today." He began listing his tasks for the day while walking back into the room, ending the call as he entered.

Aneesa left the room with the breakfast dishes. Behram paced the room, repeatedly glancing at Samaira, who was busy fixing her hair.

"What are you looking at?" she asked without even glancing his way, instinctively aware that he was staring at her. She had grown used to the weight of his gaze.

"Doesn’t your sister’s behavior towards me seem odd?"

"Why? What did she do? Did she say something?" Samaira asked, looking at him. He sat down beside her.

"She conveys a lot without saying anything."

"Like what?"

"Like hatred..." Samaira laughed at his words. He hadn’t expected that response and simply stared at her.

"Well, I’m the only one who can love you," she said teasingly and rested her head on his chest.

"I’m not talking about you. You’re you, honey..."

"She’s always like this. You must be misunderstanding," Samaira remarked about Aneesa.

"Maybe," he said with a shrug. "And please, stop making random demands in front of your family when I’m around," he added abruptly, recalling her recent desire to visit Mianwali.

"What demands? What did I say?" Samaira looked up at him, noticing how serious he seemed.

"What you just told me—you want to go somewhere."

"Yes, so? I mentioned Mom’s house. What’s so unreasonable about that?" Disappointment clouded her face.

"For me, it is unreasonable. And I don’t want to hear it again," he said firmly.

"You’re arguing for no reason," she retorted, visibly upset. "I’ve always respected your wishes, and you... you’re so selfish, Behram."

"So what?" he replied indifferently.

"I have never said anything like that about your family," she retorted angrily.

"And you never will," he warned, his tone firm.

"Then neither can you," her voice rose slightly.

"Lower your voice," Behram glared at her, concerned about being overheard.

"Then neither can you," she repeated in a softer tone. "You always escalate things for no reason."

"Think whatever you want. In the end, you’ll be living in my house, with my mom and dad," he said as he stood up.

"In Islamabad?" Samaira let out a sarcastic laugh. "In that zoo? No way, Behram." Her words made Bahram turn and look at her sharply. The expression in his eyes was unmistakable—a fiery, uncontrollable anger. She had indirectly referred to his family as animals.

"I’m not living there," she tried again, her voice softer, almost pleading.

"We’ll see," he said, stepping closer, his voice icy. "Your tongue has gotten a bit too sharp," he muttered as he gripped her jaw firmly. "If I didn’t care about your condition, I’d bury you right here."

"Ah... let go," she whimpered. Behram noticed her condition deteriorating. Tears streamed down her face as her blood pressure seemed to drop, and her breathing grew rapid.

“Honey, honey.” Behram patted her face, trying to bring her back to her senses. Samaira pushed him away with a weak hand against his chest, but he leaned in closer again.

“I... I’m sorry. Are you in pain? Tell me, let’s go to the doctor,” he said, his voice filled with worry. His thoughts had already shifted to their unborn child as she clutched her stomach, groaning in pain.

“Mahnoor!” she cried out, tears streaming down her face.

“I’m here. Tell me,” Behram said, his anger melting in seconds. Aneesa came rushing into the room.

“Samaira... Samaira, what happened?” Aneesa’s face turned pale. “Get the car!” She pushed Bahram’s shoulder, snapping him out of his panic. He ran outside.

Samaira was crying from the intensity of the pain, struggling to catch her breath. Aneesa held her hand tightly, offering comfort. Mahnoor and Aneesa now helped her towards the car.

☆☆☆☆☆

On the fifteenth day of January, sunlight finally graced the skies. Everything appeared illuminated under its rays. A light, chilly breeze was blowing. Behram had been transferred, yet he was still in the same area, explaining work to Fateh. His face radiated contentment. He was returning to his previous position as DC, even before completing his tenure.

Fateh had taken charge here as DC, and the first thought that came to his mind was the lack of government facilities and the reckless misuse of public funds.

The entire area had only one school, which was in dire need of repairs. There was also just one government hospital, and it was in a dilapidated state. Equipment was almost nonexistent, and there were only a few doctors available. The police station, however, was in relatively better condition, with the name "Thana Khair Kot" written on it. Surrounding it were several shops and stores. The police station was located on the main road.

"Ahtisham... this is the new DC of this area. From today, whatever he says, you all follow it." Behram was introducing Fateh to the officers there. The young man seemed much younger than him in age. He had fair skin, his hair neatly set with gel, and a well-built, tall, and handsome appearance. He was a distinguished officer from the DMG cadre, now stepping into practical life.

"Now, you can at least handle the drifting here," Behram said in a teasing tone as they passed through the lush fields. The distant sound of a tubewell running could be heard.

"Come on. I can do that. No one here will object, right?"

"Not at all," Behram laughed.

"Why?"

"Because this is the government, and now you can't bring your girlfriend or even your support car. Especially not in this area."

"We’ll see," Fateh replied. "By the way, you’ve really enjoyed spending money." He suddenly paused.

"Me? What?" Behram started to clarify. "That money was only spent on government institutions."

"Okay, if you say so, I’ll believe it. But I still don’t see any change. Neither in the school nor in the hospital." Fateh glared at Behram.

"You’ll see the change through the people here," Behram responded calmly.

"What do you mean?" Fateh genuinely didn’t understand.

"Nothing," Behram said, suppressing a smile. "What’s the plan ahead?"

"Nothing special. Just sometimes feel like going for a desert safari night," Fateh said, raising both arms in the air as if stretching, then tying his hands behind his head. They had now reached the tubewell, where water was flowing into the fields.

"Some things are natural, and the rest is all artificial," Fateh laughed and stopped to drink water. Sitting on the wall of the tubewell, he leaned on the large pipe and bent down to drink. His hand slipped on the pipe.

"Ooohh..." he waved his hand in the air, lost his balance, and fell into the water. Water splashed, and he was submerged. The water wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t warm enough to feel comfortable either. He quickly jerked his head out of the water and started flailing his arms and legs.

Behram, still unable to understand what had happened, rushed toward him and extended his hand.

Fateh’s lips were trembling.

"Hey, Sahab G... what happened?" An elderly man on a bicycle approached them. By then, Behram had managed to pull Fateh out of the water.

"Take me to my house. It's nearby," the old man said. Behram recognized him. It was the same elderly man whose daughter came to bring him breakfast and dinner every day.

"Sherdil Chacha... everything is fine. It's okay." Behram helped Fateh take off his coat.

"No, Sahab G... come on," the old man insisted, dragging them toward his house.

In the small mud house, his wife had lit a fire in one corner. Behram placed Fateh's coat on the mud wall to dry.

"Sahab G, you should change your clothes. You’ll catch a cold and get sick." The elderly woman hurriedly brought her son's clothes for Fateh.

"Who is this odd person?" Fateh found it strange.

"Stop the nonsense, he's a good man. He helps a lot," Behram said with a restrained annoyance, keeping a smile on his lips. He knew Shehrdil’s wife was watching them.

"Here you go," Sherdil handed the clothes to Fateh.

"Am I supposed to wear this?" Fateh looked at the clothes, which seemed odd to him. He was used to wearing brands, and he couldn’t fathom how he would adapt to the lifestyle here.

"For now, this is what seems appropriate," Behram said seriously, looking at him. Sherdil led him to the washroom. The smell there was unbearable. As soon as he took a step inside, he came back out quickly, gagging.

"Take me back," he told Behram.

"Be a man, buddy," Behram said, pressing his shoulder.

"Go change in the room," a feminine voice came from behind them. They turned to see a girl, appearing to be around 27 or 28 years old, standing there. She wore a green tunic that reached her knees, with yellow shalwar, and a dupatta draped over her unkempt hair. She had been watching them through the window for some time and now stepped outside.

Fateh went inside to change. He was confused. When he came out, he was dressed in a black shalwar kameez. Behram was sitting on the charpoy, chatting with Sherdil's daughter.

"Give this to me. I’ll wash it today, and it will be back by tomorrow," she said, taking his wet three-piece suit.

"And why this kindness?" Fateh wondered and stepped outside. Behram was with him.

"Good people, these," Behram said to himself.

"The girl?"

"She's married, but her husband’s whereabouts are unknown," Behram explained.

☆☆☆☆☆

Since that day, Behram had only visited Samaira after two weeks. In the meantime, she had stayed at Naheed's house for a week, and the days she spent there were filled with tears. Naheed, too, struggled to understand her state of mind.

"Daughters look good only in their own homes," Naheed said while stoking the fire with a bellows.

"He hurts me."

"So? No matter how much he hurts you, he still cares for you. Think about your children. Will you carry the burden of one fight for the rest of your life?" Naheed kept justifying his actions.

"You used to say he was my father’s friend and that he would keep me happy. I thought so too, but why does he fight with me? I can't bear it when he speaks about my mother and sisters. Yet, he cannot tolerate anything about his own sister." Her heart ached as she spoke.

"That’s just a woman’s life. And a man can never tolerate a finger being pointed at his mother, sister, or daughter. These three relationships are sacred to him. A wife comes after them." Naheed gave a weak justification, rooted in her outdated beliefs.

"Ami..." Samaira spoke, sounding exhausted. "Why does a wife come before a daughter?"

"That's just the way it is. Endure it. You have to spend your life with Behram now. Do as he says; that’s better for both of you." Samaira looked at Naheed with a pale face as she busied herself with household chores like any traditional homemaker.

"Stay there. Neither your father nor your brother will be of any help. Your father has already turned his back on you, and you know your brother. That was Junaid... Junaid, who used to pamper you all. Now, understand this well: after marriage, a husband is a girl’s world and her true guardian. Got it?"

Samaira nodded silently, suppressing her emotions. But patience still eluded her.

"If you fight with your husband, who knows, he might get tired of you. And when a man grows tired of his wife, he looks toward another woman. It’s a wife’s duty to ensure her husband doesn’t even think of looking elsewhere." Naheed’s words echoed in her ears as she sat there, nodding like a puppet, unable to ask any questions.

And a woman?

Behram sat on the single sofa in the room. They were at Ibrahim Sikandar’s house, where, per Behram’s instructions, Samaira had been staying. Standing behind him, Samaira was gently massaging his temples with her fingers. Her soft hands moved to the back of his head, soothing him with her touch. The tender sensation traveled down to his neck as she used her thumbs to massage it. Behram leaned his head back in relaxation.

As her hands moved from his neck to his chest, she began unbuttoning his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders and massaging them. Their eyes met. He felt at peace, and she was the one giving him that peace.

“Honey... there’s magic in your hands,” Behram said, holding her moving hands and placing a kiss on them. She gently pulled her hands away and resumed massaging his shoulders.

Love can never thrive on stubbornness and ego. When love is genuine, understanding and sacrifice become the foundation of relationships. And in that moment, she stood by him, letting go of her pride and ego.

“Sit down... I’ll apply lotion to your feet,” Behram said, making a small space for her to sit beside him. Then he softly adjusted her hair that had fallen over her face. She smiled gently.

“No, I’ll do it myself.” There was no conflict, no tension anymore. Everything was fine now. Behram had become incredibly cautious when it came to her.

"What was Sabeen saying to you?" Behram asked, treating her like a child. He was aware of the phone call she had with Sabeen a few days ago. Samaira herself had mentioned it during a conversation with him on the call.

"She... she was talking about rejoining the hospital," Samaira replied, feeling his hands encircle her. "And she suggested I should stay in Lahore." She paused before continuing.

"And?" Behram looked at her face.

"And she said I should avoid going anywhere near where Burhan is," she said innocently, continuing her account.

"And what will you do?"

"Me? I’ll do whatever you tell me to, Behram," she replied, placing her hand on his cheek. Behram's smile deepened. A sharp wave of pain rose in Samaira’s head but disappeared just as quickly.

Unconsciously, she traced her finger over Behram's lips, perhaps checking if they were naturally pink or if it was some tint. It wasn’t any tint. She began to feel mesmerized. Her breath grew shallow, and she suddenly stood up, her eyes darting around the room.

"What are you looking for?" Behram stood behind her, wrapping his strong arms securely around her.

"Nothing... just Lory," she replied softly.

"Is Lory necessary? I’m here, aren’t I?" he pleaded. She stood silently.

"No, I’ll just go outside," she said, breaking free from his embrace and stepping away.

"Honey..." Behram looked at her with a hint of annoyance.

She smiled in response.

☆☆☆☆☆

After university, she was heading straight to the hospital today. The winter sunlight felt incredibly peaceful. She was on foot. Junaid's car was no longer in her use; it remained parked in the garage and was rarely utilized now.

As soon as she reached the hospital, she experienced a strange sensation. Many questions were running through her mind. Why was she coming here? What would she ask? Would she end up crying? Would have something new to reveal today?

Carrying a mind full of thoughts, she opened the door to the room and stepped inside. Today, she didn’t need an appointment. She sought permission and entered, then sat down on a chair.

On one side, a woman was seated on a sofa. She appeared to be around 49 years old and, like Aneesa, was dressed in a proper niqab and hijab, wrapped in an abaya.

Dr. Haroon was sitting on his head chair across the desk, engrossed in a book. He smiled when he saw Aneesa and put the book aside. The room was filled with the comforting warmth of a heater and a beautiful fragrance, like that of new books or perhaps flowers someone had brought in.

"Asiya, look! This is Aneesa," he said to his wife. "I mentioned her to you before, and you’ve even met her." His tone reflected respect for his wife. When Aneesa removed her niqab, Asiya warmly greeted her.

"Oh yes, I remember," she smiled. "You wanted to learn about the faith, didn’t you?"

Aneesa nodded in response.

"You’re quite a good girl," Asiya remarked, completely unaware that Aneesa had once taken a life. In this second meeting, Asiya found her extremely innocent and endearing. Aneesa was beginning to hold a special place in her heart.

"It feels so good to be with you both. I wish you could always be in my life, guiding me," Aneesa said affectionately.

"The company of good people is a blessing, even if they’re not always around. Their memories and words stay with you," Dr. Haroon said, smiling. "When some people leave, others take their place. Everyone has goodness in them; it’s our perspective that defines what’s good or bad."

"But not everyone can change their perspective," Aneesa replied.

"Samaira is your sister, isn’t she? How is she?" Asiya asked.

"Yes, she’s fine," Aneesa replied.

"I’ve heard that her husband is being considered for a political party these days," Asiya couldn’t resist asking. Aneesa was caught off guard and surprised.

"I don’t know about that," she replied.

Haroon subtly gestured to Asiya to remain quiet.

"Look, my child," Haroon said as Aneesa, who seemed perplexed, turned towards him. "Allah says:

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

This verse speaks of trials and the importance of patience in facing them," he explained gently.

"What does it mean to be tested? What are trials? Fear? Fear of losing something, fear of something happening, fear of enemies? Hunger? Hunger of the soul, the self, the body? Wealth? Money, riches, livestock, sustenance? Lives? Children, relationships, parents, siblings? And fruits? Look closely, and everything is encompassed in this. Everything in this world. This world itself is a trial—from birth to the grave, from the grave to the Day of Judgment. Trial after trial after trial.

And the solution to these trials has also been given by Allah: patience, patience, patience.

Trials come upon everyone, from ordinary people to the most exceptional. Rich or poor, no one is spared. Were Allah's prophets not tested? Even as Allah’s chosen ones, they remained steadfast at every step. So why can’t we? They are living examples for us, examples that endure to this day. We were meant to follow their path—are we doing so?

Here, as soon as a small difficulty arises, we start wailing and lamenting. Is this the way of Islam? Islam teaches us patience. The harder the patience, the smoother the paths become. And what kind of patience? The kind where we are grateful, where we do not call Allah’s plan a punishment. Where our words reflect what pleases Allah. Allah loves when His servant says, Alhamdulillah."

Aneesa listened intently. He was explaining everything in the most excellent manner.

"But sometimes Allah takes things away, and some blessings are never returned," she said, as though raising a point. Yet, the answer to her question was just as clear.

"Why does He take away some blessings? Sometimes, an abundance of blessings can also be a source of harm. We become arrogant because of His blessings. Only the one who humbles themselves attains true success. This is another question you raised, and it too is a test. Allah tests how the deprived react.

If they respond with patience and gratitude, then Allah’s mercy knows no bounds. But if they harbor complaints on their tongues, refrain from supplication, or fail to shed tears of humility, then remember, Allah is also the Most Majestic and Exalted.

Tears of humility should flow from the eyes. Sometimes, it’s not through words but through tears that we draw Allah closer to us. Our hearts soften to the extent that they begin to understand even the smallest matters. Gentle hearts readily absorb all that is good, while hardened hearts are like stones—neither does anything enter them, nor does any disturbance escape from them."

He placed his pen on the table and began rocking gently in his chair.

"Sometimes, it’s the dominance of an enemy; we might be on the verge of being subdued. At other times, hunger confronts us—not just physical hunger but the hunger of the soul. Controlling one’s desires is also a test. The loss of wealth, the end of sustenance, unemployment—these too are tests. And then, when something or someone is lost, when Allah takes away a relationship, how you navigate life amidst these challenges defines you.

The reward is immense. If you create the best circumstances for yourself in this world, your afterlife will automatically begin to shape itself. Whatever you must do, you have to do it here in this world—it is the foundation for what lies ahead. Understand?"

She nodded. The spell of his words broke, and a sudden silence filled the room. Asiya discreetly wiped the corner of her moist eye, and Dr. Haroon smiled.

Dr. Haroon continued speaking while Aneesa listened quietly. She only spoke when she had a question, but interrupting him never crossed her mind. There was something in his words that bypassed reason and went straight to the heart, where it stayed.

When she left, Dr. Haroon turned to Asiya. Taking a tissue from the box, he handed it to her and sat beside her.

It’s so easy to guide others, isn’t it? But how many thorns have we ourselves walked over to reach this point? He was patting her head gently, comforting her. "

Behind every prosperous life lies a chapter filled with pain.

☆☆☆☆☆

After being posted back to Lahore, life had returned to the same place it once was. Life felt easier, even simpler. The burden of responsibilities had suddenly lifted. He felt lighter. The new hospital had now been restored. Iffat Care Center, the beautiful dream of his life, stood before his eyes.

"Finalize the meeting with the commissioner today, and share the new case reports with me," he instructed Furqan.

"I’ll do it right away," Furqan replied, taking out his phone.

"And did Dad do anything about Malikah’s case?" he asked with concern.

"No, I don’t think so..." Furqan paused, lost in thought. "He was the one who got your transfer done as well." And that was when Behram felt the biggest shock of his life. He, who had been casually swinging in his chair, suddenly sat up straight.

"Dad did?" It was as if he had completely forgotten that his father was also a bureaucrat. But why would he do that? And what about the verdict in Malikah’s case? And Burhan’s release? What was all this? It felt like a flashback running back and forth in his mind. Everything was tangled.

"Are you sure?" Behram seemed to seek confirmation.

"Yes, sir. A hundred percent," Furqan responded confidently.

"And what happened with Malikah’s case?" He seemed confused.

"Sir, it was left unresolved. They also said that Malikah herself doesn't want to say anything."

"Did they ask Malikah?"

"They must have. But I wasn’t with them. Even Fateh wanted to talk to her, but she kept refusing to meet," Furqan said, looking at Behram.

"There must be someone she confided in. She must have said something. How can such a big matter be buried so easily?" He was restless. It was truly a worrisome situation for him. Why had his father let Malikah's case slip into oblivion?

"Maybe... that girl. Junaid’s sister. She’s her friend. She might know something."

"No, Furqan... no," he said, rubbing his thumb and fingers together, leaning back in his chair. "If she knew something, she would’ve told me. But I’ll find a way to get the information through her. For now, don’t mention to anyone that I’m investigating Malikah’s case, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Furqan replied.

"The commissioner has scheduled the meeting for 4 PM," Furqan informed him about the schedule.

Meanwhile, on the floor below, Niaz Sikandar was engaged in a serious conversation with Ibrahim Sikandar.

"If the system remains problematic, don’t delay the transfer. Hire someone new," Ibrahim told Niaz.

"Yes, don’t worry. It will be taken care of. I think your son will manage the charge there well. After all, he’s a capable DMG officer," Niaz said reassuringly.

"That’s true, but I’m afraid he might not be able to adjust to the environment there," he said, intertwining his fingers thoughtfully.

"He’ll get used to it. Just tell him to stay in Rana Sahib’s good books—they’ve been very useful to us," Niaz said with a smile.

"Of course, of course."

"They only have two main interests: narcotics production and the import-export of drugs and weapons."

"Hmm, it’s tricky, but I’ll let him know," Ibrahim assured him.

"Even with Behram around, they didn’t face any issues. I hope Fateh won’t disappoint either," Niaz added with a smirk. Ibrahim Sikandar nodded in agreement.

☆☆☆☆☆

Islamabad’s weather was pleasant. The chilly breeze lingered into late March. The room was quiet. A one-month-old baby girl lay asleep on the bed, with Mintha lying beside her. It was 8 PM, and Salman was late today. He was supposed to be home by 5. Wrapped in a blanket, she kept trying to call him repeatedly when he finally entered the house.

"I'm here. I’m here, my love," he said, stepping inside while speaking to her on the phone. Mintha’s expression shifted.

He walked into the room, took off his cap, and placed it on the dressing table. Leaning on his elbow on the bed, he kissed his daughter’s forehead, then reached under the blanket to hold Mintha’s hand.

"You’re late today," she said, annoyed.

"Hmm... there was a meeting with the commissioner in Lahore today," he replied with a tired smile.

"What was he saying?"

"You wouldn’t understand these matters," Salman said, brushing it off as if it were a joke.

"I’ll understand if you try," she said in a soft, serious voice. He got up and went to change. "You know I love you," she heard him say.

"So?" But by then, he was already gone. When he returned, she repeated her question.

"So?" Mintha looked into Salman’s eyes. He was now in a casual T-shirt.

"Have you eaten?" he asked. "I’ve already eaten," he added while lying down and pulling out his phone. The newborn baby was sleeping between them. He was effortlessly changing the subject.

"Salman," Mintha called out.

"Yes, my love," he replied, teasing her, deliberately diverting the conversation.

"Put your phone down first and listen to me."

He, who had been texting the commissioner, turned on his side and placed the phone on the side table, looking at her.

"Okay, phone’s down. Happy? Now all my time is yours."

"Who were you talking to?" she asked.

"My fourth wife," he said with a smile, looking into her eyes. He was joking.

"Cut the nonsense and tell that fourth wife of yours that this time belongs to your first and only wife, so she shouldn’t disturb you," she said, laughing. She knew that as long as she was in Salman’s life, he wouldn’t even glance at another woman. She was proud of that. A woman’s trust and pride in her man’s love are what make her flourish.

He couldn’t help but laugh at her words. The small baby stirred at the sound of their laughter. Mintha gestured with her finger for Salman to be quiet, then gently patted her daughter to reassure her of her presence.

Quietly, the couple stepped outside. Mintha rested her head on his shoulder as they sat together.

"Why didn’t you tell that girl about Furqan? Just because he’s your brother?" She came straight to the point.

"Mintha," Salman took a deep breath. "Stay out of this matter. You don’t understand how this system works. It’s very complex."

"It’s not complex, Salman. Nothing is as complex as we make it ourselves," she replied, offering her reasoning.

"I neither lied nor hid anything. He didn’t ask, so I didn’t tell him. That’s all there is to it," he said, trying to justify himself.

"There were many things she didn’t ask you about, yet you still told him. Like when you told Behram about being your second cousin. That wasn’t something she specifically asked, was it?" she said softly.

"Don’t overthink it. Just focus on yourself and our daughter," he said, kissing her hair.

"She’s someone’s daughter too. Someone must think about her too, right?" She looked up at Salman, her eyes questioning. He fell silent.

"It’s getting late, and I think Abeeha is awake now," he said, holding her close and guiding her back to the room. Abeeha was crying.

"Welcome," he said with a smile, looking at Mintha. She held Abeeha in her arms, hiding herself in his presence. As they settled down, Salman picked up his phone again and resumed texting his "fourth wife."

☆☆☆☆☆

The morning air was fragrant with the scent of mustard flowers. Sunlight falling on the dew-covered leaves made them sparkle like diamonds. He was running along the dirt path, jogging briskly. As he ran faster, he became breathless. Bending over with his hands on his knees, he caught his breath and started running again. Alam called out to him.

"Sir, breakfast is about to be served. Please come."

"Alright," he replied loudly, glancing around. He had been in this area for a month. Working alongside the SHO, he was striving for the development of the region. His personal assistant, Mir Sadiq, was supposed to visit him today.

When he returned home, he saw Sherdil standing with breakfast, waiting for him. As soon as Sherdil saw him, he began serving the meal. After washing his hands and face, he sat down with Sherdil.

"Sahab g, I wanted to talk to you about something." As he started eating, Sherdil began to speak.

"Yes, of course," he replied while eating his omelet.

"I have a daughter; her husband is missing. Please help us. It would be a great favor to us," he pleaded earnestly, his tone filled with hope that the new Sahab would listen to him.

"Why doesn't her in-laws speak about this? Where is he?" he asked.

"They threw my daughter out of the house," he replied sorrowfully.

"Alright, send your daughter to me. I'll ask her," he said.

Alam and Sherdil exchanged glances. Even Fateh sensed something was off. Had he said something inappropriate? This was a backward area where it was considered improper for women to meet men, especially non-mahrams, alone.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"Sahab g, she can't meet you, especially alone… people will start gossiping," Alam said impulsively.

"That's fine, then. We'll have Sherdil Chacha sit with us. No one will object in his presence, right?"

"Yes, Sherdil Chacha, this works," Alam smiled. Sherdil also seemed satisfied.

The next day, Sherdil brought his daughter to meet Fateh. They were seated in the sitting area. Fateh was running late; it was around 4 in the evening. Sherdil’s daughter sat wrapped in a shawl, her face covered by it.

When Fateh returned, he paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the father and daughter. He was on a call, but his hand holding the phone instinctively lowered. As Sherdil stood up to greet him, his daughter followed suit out of respect.

“Please, remain seated,” Fateh said as he took a seat on the sofa in front of them.

"Alam," he called out. Alam quickly appeared. "Serve something to the guests."

"Yes, Sahab g," Alam replied with a smile and left.

"May I know your name, ma'am?" Fateh asked, looking at Sherdil’s daughter, who was still sitting with her face covered.

"Gul Preet," she said softly.

"What is your husband's name, and what does he do?"

"Was," she corrected him. "Mubashir. He was an army officer."

"What happened to him?"

"I don't know."

"What do you think might have happened to him?"

"I don't know," she repeated firmly, her tone steady.

"Didn't your in-laws try to find out?" Fateh asked, intently looking into her eyes, the only part of her face visible.

"No. According to them, I made him disappear using black magic."

"What?" Fateh laughed sarcastically. "Black magic? That's absurd."

"And how long have you been living at your father's house?" Fateh continued his questioning. Alam placed tea and biscuits in front of them.

"It's been about five months."

"Oh," Fateh said thoughtfully. "And... how long has it been since your marriage?"

"It's been a year. I only lived with Mubashir for six months. After that, I spent one month with my in-laws. They used to abuse me every day," she said without a tremor in her voice, her composure unshaken. "During that month, Mubashir was likely transferred to the border. He had written a letter, but I wasn’t given it. My brother-in-law read it and threw it away, only telling me a few details." Her tone was calm and steady as she explained.

"So, you didn’t receive any more letters?"

"No. If anything came, it would have been sent to my in-laws' address."

"Are your in-laws from around here?" Fateh asked suspiciously.

"No, from Moch."

"Oh, okay. And what kind of person was Mubashir? Was he abusive too?"

"No, no," Gul Preet responded quickly. "He was completely different from his family." At the mention of Mubashir, something flickered in her eyes—a flood of emotions. "He always took great care of me. He considered it his duty to consult me in every matter."

"Alright, so Mubashir has been missing for around five months now," Fateh estimated.

"Not five, six," Gul Preet corrected again.

"Yes, five or six," Fateh leaned forward and handed his teacup to Sherdil.

"I’ll confirm within a day or two and let you know," Fateh said, smiling at Sherdil.

"Thank you, Sahab Ji," Sherdil began expressing his gratitude and showering him with prayers.

"Do have your tea as well," Fateh said as he left. Gul Preet removed the shawl from her face and began drinking her tea. Her eyes wandered around the room, taking in her surroundings. She was observing the house while Sherdil sat before her, praising the new Sahab.

☆☆☆☆☆

Sitting in class, her phone kept vibrating inside her bag repeatedly. Even though she didn’t want to, her attention was distracted from the lecture. After class ended, she went outside and finally turned on her phone. A faint smile appeared on her lips. Now the classes were over.

“Yes,” she said as she answered the call.

“I’m outside, come out,” he said on the other side.

“What?” She was stunned. “Why?”

“I needed to talk to you. I’ll drop you home,” he said calmly.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, worried. “I haven’t informed anyone at home. How can I just—”

“So, you still consider me a stranger?” There was a hint of grievance in his tone.

“Okay, I’m coming,” she said and walked over to Gul-e-Lala.

“Listen... I need a favor. Take Ayesha with you. I’ll come home a little later,” she informed Gul-e-Lala.

“Where are you going? If Mahnoor Api asks, what should I tell her?” Gul-e-Lala asked, noticing her sudden unease.

"Hmm," she thought for a moment. "Just say I’m at Masooma’s house." Saying this, she turned and walked away, neither hearing anything else nor saying more.

He was standing outside the university gate, waiting. As soon as he saw her, he opened the car door. Aneesa got into the car and sat in the front seat beside him.

"How long have you been waiting?" she asked as soon as she sat down.

"Not long, just an hour," he replied with a smile while driving. Silence filled the air. "By the way, Samaira never makes me wait for anything. She has everything ready even before I ask. Whenever we used to meet, she was always there before me."

Aneesa sat there seemingly uninterested in his words.

"Hmm. I see," she responded briefly. "By the way, what did you need?"

"Let’s go to a café. I’ll get you something to drink, and then we’ll talk," he said with a smile. Aneesa stayed silent.

He stopped the car in front of a café and opened the door for her. She stepped inside first. They both sat at an empty table.

"Two cups of coffee, please," Behram called out to a waiter while pulling out a chair to sit.

"Would you like anything else?" Behram asked Aneesa, looking at her.

"No. In fact, cancel my coffee. I don’t want it," she said with utmost seriousness.

"No way," he chuckled. "You have to have something."

"How’s Samaira?" she abruptly changed the subject.

"She’s fine. Happy and excited," he said, leaning forward slightly. She smiled at him from behind her veil.

"And you?"

"I’m fine too. Happy… and excited as well," he replied, intertwining his fingers.

Both of them fell silent. Behram kept looking at her. She resembled Samaira so much, or perhaps Samaira resembled her—it was hard for him to tell.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," he said after the waiter placed their coffee cups on the table.

"I’m listening," she replied, her gaze fixed on the coffee cup in front of her, which had a design on its surface.

"I wanted to talk to you about Malikah. I think you should meet her," he said formally.

"You think I’ll meet Malikah? She doesn’t even want to meet me," Aneesa said, startled as she looked at him.

"If you talk to her, she’ll agree. I’m sure she’ll tell you everything—everything she won’t or doesn’t want to share with anyone else," he paused before finishing.

"And why would she do that?" Aneesa peered into his eyes. He leaned forward, and their eyes locked.

"You’re her crush," he smiled. She let out a nervous laugh.

"One second... I can’t believe this. A woman can never have a crush on another woman. You’re wrong," she said in the same dismissive tone.

"She can. And she’s your friend. She’ll share everything with you," he was now trying to convince her.

"What should I ask her?" she said, taking a sip of her coffee. He began explaining every detail.

Aneesa listened, sipping her coffee and glancing around the café, her interest in the matter completely gone. She sat there, shaking one leg, half-heartedly listening as Behram continued. Once he finished, silence fell between them.

"And what will I get?" she asked abruptly. He was startled, unable to believe what he had just heard.

"What?" He was taken aback.

"What will I get?" she repeated her question.

"So, you’ve completely cut ties with Malikah?" he asked, adopting a casual tone.

"Yes."

"But a friend needs a friend," he said hurriedly.

"How many friends do you have?" she countered with a question instead of answering.

"Plenty. Being part of the system, I have thousands of friends... and enemies," he replied.

"I only asked about friends," she said intently. "Anyway... I’ll do your work," she added, making it clear she was doing him a favor. He couldn’t help but smile.

"But if someone connected to you turns up in this case, what will you do? Will you be able to get them punished?" she threw a difficult question at him.

He didn’t understand, but a wall of doubt began to build.

"Why do I feel like you already know something?" he asked, casting a serious, suspicious glance at her.

"Answer my question first," she retorted. She wasn’t Samaira, nor could he become Behram for her.

"An enemy can be dearer than life," he said, casting a meaningful glance at Aneesa as he took her within the circle of his gaze. "An enemy can also be beautiful; I’ve learned that today."

"Are you flirting?" she laughed oddly. "My sister is your wife—be careful."

As she picked up her bag, she placed a few hundred rupees on the table, paying her own bill. Her coffee cup was still half full.

"I’ll take care of it," he said, standing beside her.

"No, I’ll go on my own," she said hastily and walked out.

One should always stay four steps ahead of an enemy, she thought as she walked, lost in her thoughts. Malikah is still my friend. If my friends suffer because of me, it will hurt me deeply. At the very least, I need to keep Malikah hidden from the eyes of those killers.

The memory of her last meeting with Malikah, a few months ago, replayed in her mind like a terrifying nightmare.

☆☆☆☆☆

Ahtisham returned after three days. There was a crowd outside the Khair Kot police station. SHO Bilawal was investigating the matter and gathering some information from him. Listening to him with keen interest, he got up and called out to the officer to bring the car.

Now, he was headed towards the AC office. As usual, he was engrossed in his work. Life was flowing like the wind, with moments passing so swiftly that they seemed to fly by. After the Fajr prayer, he would teach children the Quran in the mosque every morning. Following that, he would jog, exercise, and freshen up before heading to the office. His days were spent entirely in the office—drafting new budgets, managing the costs of hospital and school repairs, and handling resource management. Life was entangling itself in these routines. He was still unaware of the biggest challenge ahead.

"Sir, here it is... This is the report of Army Officer Mubashir's deployment at the border. Along with him, some other officers were also martyred. Mubashir is among them." SHO Bilawal placed the official note in front of him.

"Why wasn’t this matter informed earlier? And why has the notice been received now?" He picked up the notice and began examining it.

"Sir, the notice has been received, but Sherdil’s daughter hasn’t been informed about it yet." While reading the notice, he nodded and listened to SHO's explanation.

"Did Gul Preet ever suggest something like this before? I mean, starting an inquiry?" At Fateh's question, the SHO remained silent.

"So, you don’t value public concerns?" He understood on his own. "Fine... I’ll inform their family myself." Placing the notice in the drawer, he added, "And who is Rana Sahib?" He heard this name during a phone call with his father a few days ago.

"They are one of the influential tribal families in the area. They’re often involved with various small and large political parties. They have several businesses."

"What kind of businesses? Illegal ones?" he asked sharply. The SHO fell silent again.

"Shut it down. And I don’t want to hear any complaints in the future," he ordered firmly. "Anyone who comes to file an FIR should have it processed immediately. I don’t want minor issues reaching me." He was issuing strict directives. Meanwhile, Mir Sadiq, seated beside the SHO, listened quietly while organizing the files.

After the SHO left, he leaned back in his chair, spinning slightly, and started dialing a number. With his hands clasped behind his neck, he began talking to someone on the phone, all the while giving instructions to Sadiq as well.

☆☆☆☆☆

As usual, he was sitting in the room with dim lighting. The glow of the LCD illuminated the space, displaying a news channel. He lay on his back, eyes fixed on the screen ahead.

Samaira entered the room and slightly increased the brightness. She glanced at Behram and sat on the other side of the bed. Picking up a lotion bottle, she began rubbing it on her hands.

"What were you doing?" He asked, as he routinely inquired about her day. No matter how busy the day had been or how little they'd talked, he always spoke to her at night. But she had grown silent. Every conversation seemed to end in a new argument, and she had been avoiding them consistently.

"I was sitting outside with Aunty," she replied cautiously, lying down carefully.

"I met Aneesa today," he said, starting to share on his own.

"Aneesa? How is she?" Her mood suddenly changed, but she remained lying down.

"She’s fine," he replied briefly.

"What did you talk about? Everything okay?" Her curiosity increased.

"Nothing much… just…"

"How is everyone at home? Did you ask?" she asked excitedly.

"Yeah, obviously. What's there to ask about the family?" He was changing the channel. Samaira sensed that Behram probably wasn’t interested in the conversation. She fell silent.

Her gaze moved to the screen but quickly shifted away. She turned to look at Behram, who was staring at the screen without blinking. Samaira sat up and moved closer to him. He began stroking her hair like a child.

Samaira placed her hands over his eyes. His smile deepened. The screen turned off, and the light in the room dimmed along with it.

"Honey," he murmured with his eyes closed. "My brown beauty."

She laughed. Like a child, she clung to his chest, laughing freely. Her loose hair fell forward in disarray. He was surprised, watching her as he lay there.

With his hands, he gently brushed her hair back from her face and pulled her down beside him. Like a child, she rested her head on his chest and lay there quietly.

"Why are you so beautiful?" he said admiringly. She laughed but said nothing. With one hand, he gently stroked her arm.

"I love you so much."

"And how much more will you love me?" She laughed, and her laughter continued. Even in the dim light, he could see her fair face turning pink. He was captivated by her femininity. His desire grew with the moment, and he began kissing her.

"Did you talk to Mom?" he asked, steering the conversation to a different topic. Her smile had certainly faded.

"No, she didn’t call," she replied, regaining her composure.

"You could’ve called her," he said softly.

"Hmm… Actually, I didn’t get the time," she tried to excuse herself. "And I wasn’t feeling well either, so…"

"What happened to you? Are you okay now?"

"Hmm…"

"Very soon, we’ll move back to Islamabad with our kids," he was sharing their future plans with her. Samaira’s expression suddenly changed. She wanted to completely remove this topic from her life. "Then you won’t have any issues either; Mom will be there, and so will Sarah Api." She just lay there, listening to him.

"I was thinking we could give one baby to Sarah. For her…"

"No!" she abruptly interrupted Behram and tried to sit up on her elbows. "I won’t…" she stopped mid-sentence and moved away from him.

"Why? Why not?" Behram also sat up, facing her. She started rubbing her hands nervously.

"No, Behram, please… I can’t give my children to anyone," she was almost on the verge of tears.

"Sarah is my sister, Honey. She would love our child more than we do," he tried to convince her.

"But she already has Arham, doesn’t she? Then why, Behram? These are our children. How can you make all the decisions on your own?" she said, holding his hands tightly.

"Alright, go to sleep," he said calmly. She knew then that whatever he had said, he was determined to do it. She felt restless, and Behram, too, had made up his mind. For now, he stayed quiet, considering her condition, but he intended to convince her later.

"Behram..." she lowered her head and began crying.

"Did I say anything?" Samaira looked up at him. He was staring at her with a blank expression.

"Shall we go outside?" He tried to change the topic, but it was a poor attempt.

"No, it's late," she replied, feeling hurt.

"How is it late? It’s only nine o’clock," Behram checked the time on his phone. "Alright, let’s go get some ice cream?"

"No, I’m not feeling well." She pulled the blanket over herself and lay down, tears streaming from her eyes.

"Don’t be upset," he said, resting his chin on her shoulder as he lay beside her, trying to console her. She began crying even more. She couldn’t understand why he was acting like this. He was never like this before.

☆☆☆☆☆

The entire house was illuminated with lights at night. The sound of drums and songs echoed in the air. One of the rooms in the house was decorated like a bride. On the sofa, Masooma sat dressed in a red bridal outfit. Aneesa was sitting next to her, laughing. She had come with Mahnoor and Gul-e-Lala. They were engrossed in conversation. The customs in their family were different; they did not have traditional mehndi and mayun ceremonies. The bride would leave right after the nikah.

Despite Masooma’s continuous refusal, her marriage to Hunaid was about to take place. It was a one-sided love, and Hunaid was her paternal cousin.

"Let’s take pictures," Aneesa said with a smile, pulling out the camera and starting to take her photos. At least in Aneesa’s presence, she looked somewhat happy. Aneesa twirled her around and they did a couple’s dance together.

"It’s good her friend came; otherwise, she was in a terrible state from crying," Masooma’s mother said to Mahnoor.

"Yes, it’s just that kind of time," Mahnoor replied, unaware of the full situation. Masooma’s mother smiled in response.

"A friend of hers, Malikah, was also supposed to come, but for some reason, she didn’t." They all started chatting among themselves. Mahnoor held her daughter in her lap.

Gul-e-Lala was outside, helping Masooma's father with household tasks. He was managing the arrival and departure of guests. Aneesa and Masooma were laughing at something together.

When Masooma had once mentioned Gul-e-Lala to Aneesa, asking whether he would marry her or not, Aneesa had replied that he had already refused. Masooma kept asking about the reason for his refusal.

"There must be a reason," she had said at the time. They were sitting in their classroom, whispering to each other instead of paying attention to the noisy students around them.

"Why do you have a problem with your cousin?" Aneesa said, growing impatient. How could she explain that she hadn’t proposed the idea of marriage to Gul-e-Lala for Masooma, but for herself? And in return, she had faced nothing but humiliation.

"I don’t have a problem; I have problems with him," Masooma said, frustrated. "His family is so strange. If you say no to something small, they blow it out of proportion. Why can’t Dad see this? I don’t want to marry him. Please talk to Gul-e-Lala... ask him to bring his family to our house." She pleaded desperately.

"Masooma..." Aneesa interrupted her and looked at her intently. "He’s married."

Masooma froze in place. She straightened up on her desk, looked ahead, and then lowered her gaze, letting out a peculiar laugh.

"And he has a son, too," Aneesa added, making Masooma’s eyes widen in shock. She couldn’t believe it for a moment.

"I’m telling the truth," Aneesa said, looking into her eyes to convince her.

"His love is only for Gul Noor," Aneesa continued, her voice tinged with sadness, though she maintained a composed and smiling facade.

"I thought... I thought..." Masooma couldn’t even complete her sentence.

They sat in silence for quite a while. Then Gul-e-Lala entered the classroom and sat down with them. Shortly after, Sir Yasir also came in and began the lecture.

After the nikah, Masooma embraced Aneesa tightly. The beads and sequins on her sleeves got tangled in her open hair. Her mother clung to Masooma, crying, while Hunaid stood silently, watching them. The wedding procession departed. Aneesa and Mahnoor stayed at their house for quite some time before returning home at 10 PM.

Entering her room, Aneesa gathered her loose hair and took off the dupatta from her lehenga, draping it over a chair. She flopped onto the bed at an odd angle, clearly exhausted.

Her phone beeped. She glanced at it.

“Dad is here, at home,” Mahnoor's message read.

Startled, she sat up abruptly.

“What?” she murmured, biting her lip, her eyes darting around the room. Her hands grew cold.

Just then, Zakariya opened the door and walked in. She froze, holding her breath, completely stunned.

☆☆☆☆☆

As soon as he stepped into the mansion, he felt exhausted. The whole day of work had left his head pounding. It had taken him longer than usual to get home today.

"Burhan Sahab has arrived," Iftikhar informed him.

"What?" For a moment, he forgot about his headache.

"Why?" he asked Iftikhar as he sat down in the lounge. Just then, Hajra passed by the door opposite him.

"I'm not sure, but it seems he will stay for a few days," Iftikhar replied.

"Alright. And send Hajra Aunty in. She went that way," he said, taking off his shoes and stretching out his legs on the table in front of him.

Iftikhar left. When Hajra entered, Behram sat up straight.

"How is Malikah?" he immediately asked Hajra with a smile.

"She’s fine," Hajra replied briefly and fell silent. Behind her, Iftikhar returned, carrying a brown envelope in his hand.

"This courier arrived, Sir," he said, handing the envelope to Behram.

"Has Samaira fallen asleep?" Behram asked Hajra while opening the envelope.

"Yes, she falls asleep early. Sometimes she waits for you," Hajra replied.

"Hmm..." Behram spread the documents in front of him.

"Do you need anything, Sir?" Iftikhar asked politely.

"No, you may go."

"Will you eat something?" Hajra asked.

"No, I had dinner outside today," he said while unfolding the documents.

Hajra and Iftikhar left. Behram’s attention was fully drawn to the documents.

"Divorce papers?" For a moment, he was stunned. He read the details and the names listed on the papers. He felt as though he had misunderstood something. His headache grew worse.

"Impossible." It felt as though he had been thrust into a scorching desert, where the blazing sun and the hot grains of sand began piercing his body. He felt as if cactus thorns were embedding themselves into his chest.

As he opened the second envelope, his mind went blank. It was a letter—addressed to Samaira. He read on, his expression hardening with every word. A wave of heat surged through him. He loosened the knot of his tie around his neck and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. Clenching his fists in anger, he turned toward his room, leaving the divorce papers lying there.

He opened the door and stormed into the room, switching on the light. On one side of the bed, Samaira lay fast asleep, oblivious to the world around her. Taking small, deliberate steps, he moved closer to her and stood by her side. Leaning down, he examined every feature of her face.

"She is innocent," his heart testified. Her face exuded a purity unparalleled, an innocence that seemed to encapsulate the whole world. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, her detachment from the conscious world, the two lives growing inside her, her tranquil face...

He kept watching her intently. Then, his hand moved to his belt. From it, he pulled out a pistol.

"I don't want you to know anything and leave me," he thought as he looked at her. "I’m sorry. It was my compulsion. I want to save you and our children. I want to give you every kind of security. I’m sorry."

With a soft touch, he caressed Samaira’s cheek, feeling the movement of life within her body.

He closed his eyes in agony. The atmosphere fell silent. For a long time, he felt the storm raging within him. A wave of love coursed through him. He knew he never wanted to lose the woman sleeping in front of him.

But if she woke up, she would leave him. Would eternal sleep be the answer?

The pistol was still in his other hand. He raised it, aiming at Samaira. BANG! A loud gunshot echoed through the room.

She flinched, her body jolting violently. Behram sat frozen, unable to move.

༒︎༒︎༒︎༒︎༒︎