Uska milna to bas ek khwaab tha,Jaise chand se lipti raat thi.
Par uske jaane ke baad dil mein,
Ek khaali sa aalam saath tha.
Unka chhod jaana yun laga,
Jaise sanson ka saath chhoot gaya.
Dil ki har dhadkan se poocha humne,Kya kabhi woh laut ke aayenge wapas yahaan?
Uske bina zindagi veeran si hai,
Jaise sehra mein khoi hui raat ho.
Ab toh sirf yaadon ka sahara hai,Aur ek dard hai jo uske intezaar mein zinda hai.
She sat there, thinking he might be joking, that he would return to her in just a few minutes—or maybe even a few seconds.
But he didn’t come back. The night passed, and she remained there, sitting on the bed, her gaze fixed on the door, her eyes vacant.
She had never been like this before. What had happened to him? It wasn’t such a big deal…was it?
Her heart answered, “Yes…maybe it was big deal for him,she did mistake my asking simple question.”
What was he trying to teach her?
First, he had taught her, “Love is important.” Now, he seemed to be saying, “Trust is important.”
She sat there, confused, her heart heavy. She had trusted him…but was that really trust?
She had cried in front of him, hoping he would understand. Yet he had walked away, leaving her alone in her pain. Now, she even felt ashamed to cry by herself.
She walked into the bathroom, took a long,warm shower, and stepped out with a pounding head, the weight of a sleepless night pressing down on her.
After hurriedly reviewing her notes, she left her room. Lajjo saw her and asked what was wrong, but she stayed silent, unable to find the words.
As she walked out of the house, she saw the car waiting for her. She got in, not bothering to look up.
The car drove off and stopped in front of the school. She stepped out, and Lajjo wished her good luck as she headed to class.
Luck? She thought bitterly. I wasn’t born with luck.
After her exams, she came out and sat by herself, waiting for the car to arrive. Lajjo was with her, so Shanno had stayed back, leaving her alone for a few moments.
It was afternoon, but the lingering winter chill hung in the air. Nowadays, it was hard to make out faces even from a short distance in the morning because of the thick kohra that blanketed everything. She wore both a sweater and a shawl now whenever she stepped outside.
Finally, she spotted the car approaching. As she walked towards it, Lajjo came out of the classroom, and they both reached the car together.
She opened the door, and her heart sank when she saw Raza in the driver’s seat, his eyes red and swollen.
“Aapko kya hua?” she asked immediately, her heart racing.
(What happened to you?)
"Tum baitho, ghar chalo, pata chal jayega. Tum shant raho," he said, his voice strained. All the way home, she kept asking him what was wrong, but he only stared out the window, driving in silence, his eyes brimming with tears.
(You sit Quietly,You will get to know after reaching home.)
Lajjo kept urging her to sit quietly, but her heart was anything but calm. As soon as the car stopped outside her house, her pulse quickened, then sank as she took in the scene before her.
A crowd had gathered outside, their voices thick with grief and soft murmurs, filling the air with a haunting sorrow.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door and rushed toward them, her heart racing with dread. The loud wails pierced her ears as she pushed through the people clustered around the gate.
Then her steps faltered. She saw Rafia, Ahmed, her mother, her father—all familiar faces twisted with pain. But her gaze was drawn to someone lying still, draped in white.
Her entire body began to tremble violently, a wave of fear and disbelief sweeping over her. She felt her strength slipping away, her legs weakening beneath her. Just as she was about to collapse, strong arms caught her, holding her up as the world spun around her.

I swear to God, I am very happy to meet her.
Today, I am going to meet my Halima. As soon as I reached home, I went to my room and got ready.
When I stepped outside, I found out that Amma and Abba were angrily asking me, “Who is that girl?”
I looked at the girl, who seemed to be around twenty or twenty-one years old, dressed simply in a salwar kameez, with red eyes gazing at me. As soon as I looked at her, her gaze dropped.
I explained everything to Amma and Abba and suggested they could provide her with a place in the servants' quarters and give her some work. She was alone and a Muslim, so my heart didn't allow me to leave her on the street. If we have the means to help someone, why shouldn’t we?
When Allah has given me so much, I should at least be able to give a little to His servants.
Thinking this, I brought her here.
After finishing my conversation, I stepped out of the Haveli. It was dark now, and as I walked, I kept encountering people. The longer I took, the more uneasiness grew in my heart.
As I stepped into the house, the eerie silence enveloped me, sending a shiver down my spine. Something felt off.
I walked into the room, only to find her sleeping peacefully.
Her cute red lips were pouting slightly, her eyes closed, and long eyelashes framing her delicate face—she looked ethereal in red.
My Queen.
Just then, the electricity went out. I moved toward the door, and as I stepped outside, a wave of uneasiness settled heavily in my heart.
I had missed my Jaan for five long weeks, and seeing her now brought joy, but that nagging emptiness made my heart sink deeper.
I returned with a lantern, placing it on the side table. The moment I looked at her, all my unease vanished, replaced by a sense of calm that enveloped me.
She woke up and bombarded me with questions, one of which was the ultimate question of love. I loved her deeply, and over these five weeks, I had realized that being apart from her was unbearable. She was becoming my everything.
In her eyes, I could see the love shining brightly, unmistakable. But then, she asked about that girl, and my mind went blank. The uncertainty hit me—did she doubt me? Did she not trust me?
Uneasiness settled in my heart once more, this time mingled with anger. I yearned to make her mine forever today, yet she said she would give me anything I desired. All I wanted was her, but my feelings had morphed into something else—anger, fear, and uneasiness wrestled within me.
I never intended to hurt her, but today I did. As I brushed my fingers against her lips, all I wanted was to lean in, to press my lips against hers and believe that everything would be alright. But something held me back. I knew I would regret this moment, yet the shadows of this house loomed over me, and seeing her tear-streaked face ignited a desire to hold her close, to kiss her, to make her truly mine.
I wanted to cry, and her tears stirred emotions I couldn’t quite comprehend. I was frustrated, angry, and above all, I felt a profound sadness. I wished for her to trust me without a hint of doubt.
As I released her grip from my arm, I felt my soul slipping away with her touch. I had disrespected her, smudged her lipstick, and spoken words that pierced her heart. I walked away, burdened by my actions.
Taking a deep breath, I turned back to the door, yet I couldn’t summon the courage to step back into that room. It was strange— for the first time in my life, I found myself caught in a battle between my mind and my heart. A sense of dread washed over me, as if something terrible was about to unfold.
With tears stinging my eyes, I made my way to Dadu's room. As we spoke, I kept hearing him repeat one thing over and over.
“Halima ke liye mukhlis ek tum hi ho, usse kabhi dukh mat dena, tum mard ho apne aap ko sambhal sakte ho Raza par wo aurat zaat hai. Auraton ke muamle me Allah se daro.” Hearing my grandfather’s words, guilt surged within me, dragging my mind back to the moment I had mistreated her.
(You are the only sincere one for Halima, never cause her pain. You are a man; you can control yourself, Raza, but she is a woman. Fear Allah when it comes to women.)
“Wo mere liye teri dadi ke baad sabse keemti insaan hai, meri beti ko rulana mat kabhi bhi.” In that moment, I couldn’t contain myself any longer.
(She is the most precious person to me after your grandmother; never make my daughter cry.)
He loves her more than me...
I broke down, crying in his arms. Dadu looked at me with a pained expression, as if he could read the turmoil within my heart and mind, as if he knew exactly what I had done to Halima.
“Mere bacche… Main kuch soch kar usse tujhe diya tha. Tu usse khush rakhega to samajh lena, main bhi hamesha tumse khush rahunga,” he said. After talking for a while, I felt that weight settling heavily on my shoulders and in my heart.
(My child… I gave her to you after thinking it over. If you keep her happy, then understand that I will always be happy with you forever.)
He truly loves her more than he loves me; he can sense her pain, but what about my suffering? Doesn’t he feel the agony that is burning me from the inside? I laughed bitterly at myself, wondering why I was even feeling this pain.

The uneasiness settled in him again, making Bakhtiyar’s room feel suffocating. After struggling to find comfort there, he finally gave up and bid farewell to Bakhtiyar, unaware that this would be their last conversation.
Stepping outside, he was engulfed by guilt, unable to face Halima. As he walked away, a foreboding voice in his mind whispered that something dreadful was about to happen. He longed to turn back, to find solace in Halima’s embrace, but the insistence of his mind urged him to move forward, and so he complied.
Entering his room, he collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling fan, unable to sleep. His thoughts felt like a blank slate, tears streaming down his face as feelings of despair engulfed him.
In the morning, he couldn’t wake up for Fajr,this happened first time ever in years. His eyes opened to the sound of someone crying outside, and in that instant, it felt as though the ground had vanished beneath him.
He heard her mother wailing, “Areyyy mere abbaa…”
(Ohhh...my Father....)
Suddenly, he understood why he had felt such unease the day before; today, he had lost everything—his most beloved grandfather.
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