She didn't know what to do.
She couldn't process what had just happened.
Her grandfather-the most supportive person in her life-lay lifeless before her.
She brushed Raza's touch off her arm, and he looked at her in shock.
She didn't even turn to look at him, because she recognized his touch, feeling the weight of his last conversation with Bakhtiyar echoing in his mind.
He would be her pillar, even if she didn't want him to be.
Walking toward the body, she sat beside it, her gaze locked on Bakhtiyar's peaceful, closed eyes.
"Daddu... ayeee Daddu... uthoo," she pleaded softly, resting her hand on his cheek.
(Please, Grandpa... oh Grandpa... get up.)
Rafia leaned over, gently pushing her hand away, her own eyes red and swollen. "Halima, na chuo," she whispered.
(Halima, don't touch him.)
Halima stared at her sister in shock, then slowly rose, her expression hardening as she stood under the gaze of everyone around her.
"Halimaa....", Rafia kept calling her but she didn't listen to her.
Without another word, she walked into the house and made her way to his room, his empty bed haunting her vision.
As she was about to close the door, he entered the room. She looked at him, her face blank, her eyes unblinking.
"Halima, ro lo," he said, his voice breaking, barely able to hold back his own tears.
(Halima,cry...)
She looked at him, her expression unchanged, then turned away, walked to the bed slowly, and lay down, still wrapped tightly in her shawl.
"Mai aaj raat bhar soi nahi hun, mujhe neend aa rahi hai... aap jaao," she murmured, closing her eyes.
(I haven't slept all night,I feel sleepy... please leave.)
He stood there, gazing at her closed eyes, knowing she was struggling to react, unable to truly process what had happened.
"Halima..." he called softly, but she stayed silent.
Just yesterday, he didn't want to see her cry. And today, he almost laughed at the irony,his own words mocking him-he wanted her to cry, to release the pain. But today, she held back her tears, even in the solitude of this room.
The girl he knew, his wife, was always such a crybaby. Yet today, she was fighting, refusing to break in front of him, even when they were alone.
His heart felt unbearably heavy. He walked to the door, gently closing it behind him, and she thought he had left.
Eyes still shut, she pulled her shawl over her face. That's when he heard it-a tremble in her voice, her sobs breaking through the silence.
"Daddu... Mere Daddu... Ya Allah... Ya Allah... kyu?" She cried out, her voice shattering as her whole body shook with grief and helplessness.
(Grandpa... My Grandpa... Oh God... Oh God... why?)
He slowly sank to the floor, watching her, feeling his heart twist in agony at the sight of her in pain.
He knew he had done this to himself. He deserved it. Today, he longed to feel her warmth, to break down in her arms, to hold her close. But today, she couldn't find comfort in him. Not even a little,Just because how he behaved with her yesterday.
"Ya Allah, Daddu... kyu??... ek wahi toh the mere... Ya Allah... Daddu..." Her sobs grew louder, her body shaking, her voice changing with every desperate breath.
(Oh God, Grandpa... why??... he was the only one I had... Oh God... Grandpa...)
He sat there, tears streaming down his face as he watched her, feeling utterly hollow.
As her sobs intensified, he noticed her struggling for air, her breaths coming in stuttering hiccups. Without a second thought, he stood up, wiping his own tears and rushed to her.
She flinched at his touch when he touched her back,immediately scooting away.
He swallowed hard at her reaction, his voice soft but firm. "Yaha aao."
(Come here.)
She shook her head, her chest heaving with hiccups, her face flushed and drenched with tears, her mouth open as she gasped for air.
He quickly poured water into a glass and held it out to her, but she pushed it away.
"Aap jaao yaha se," she said through hiccups, but he didn't move, grabbing her hand to steady her, putting the glass back.
(Go away from here.)
"Jaao yaha se!" she shouted, and he froze.
(Leave!)
For a moment, he considered leaving. But seeing her state, he reached out again, tightening his grip on her arm.
As she struggled against him, his frustration boiled over. He held her firmly, his fingers pressing into her arms. She winced at the strength of his hold.
"Chup ho jaao aur paani pee lo. Nahi toh abhi ek padegi tumhe," he warned through gritted teeth.
(Be quiet and drink the water. Or I swear, I'll slap you right now.)
She hiccuped but stopped resisting, closing her eyes, fighting the tears that threatened to spill in front of him. "Aap jaayein yaha se,please.."
(Just go away from here..please.)
"Tumhe chhod kar nahi jaaunga kahi bhi ab," he murmured, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her tightly.
(I'm never leaving you anywhere now.)
She rested her cheek on his shoulder, hugging him tightly. Who wouldn't want someone supportive by their side in their lowest moments?
She wanted to shut down her mind, to escape thinking about anything or anyone. For a fleeting second, she even wished for memory loss-maybe that would help, right?
"Mujhe mere Daddu de dein... mai kuch nahi maangungi kabhi bhi aap se, please Daddu, mai unke bina nahi reh sakti..." Her voice trembled as she sobbed, clutching his hands,her hands visibly shivering.
(Please, give me back my Grandpa... I'll never ask for anything from you again, please Grandpa, I can't live without him...)
"Jab bhi darr lagta tha, unke paas chali aati thi... unse sir par haath rakh ke so jaati thi. Mai kal kyun nahi aayi yaha..." She sank down in front of him, her fingers gripping his tightly, her voice breaking.
(Whenever I felt scared, I would go to him... he would place his hand on my head, and I would fall asleep. Why didn't I come here yesterday...)
"Kal mujhe bohut darr laga aapse... mujhe laga aap ekdam badal gaye hain. Mai bohut badi galti ki... kal mai ana chahti thi Daddu ke paas, par nahi aayi... mere andar utni taqat nahi bachi thi ki mai unke paas aati..."
(Yesterday, I was so scared of you... I felt like you had completely changed. I made such a big mistake... I wanted to come to Daddu, but I didn't... I didn't have the strength left in me to go to him...)
He sat there, feeling the sting of guilt weigh down his heart.
"Halima... wo baat bhool jaao. Mujhe lag raha hai mera dil kaam karna band kar dega. Mujhe maaf kar do... Mujhe aaj tum sambhal lo... mai zindagi bhar tumhara shukrguzaar rahunga," he whispered, then lowered his head onto her lap.
(Halima... forget about that. I feel like my heart is going to stop. Forgive me... Take care of me today... I will be forever grateful to you.)
She sat frozen, watching him, feeling his head heavy against her thighs.
Then she felt a dampness seeping into her kameez, her heart pounding as realization hit her.
The men in her family never cried-especially not in front of a woman. But here he was, on her lap... crying.
When a man breaks down and cries in front of you, imagine what he must be feeling-truly, his heart must be on the verge of stopping.
Bakhtiyar had loved her more than anything, but he had never loved anyone as much as he loved Bakhtiyar. And in the very moment he realized he loved her even more than Bakhtiyar, this happened-Bakhtiyar left them both, so that in their shared loss, they might finally find each other.
They both stayed in that position, silent and unmoving, as she gently threaded her fingers through his hair. They remained like that for what felt like an eternity until a soft knock at the door shattered the moment.
She flinched and pulled her hand back, while he straightened up, a faint calm settling over his heart. "Chalo mere saath bahar," he said, his voice low and resonant.
(Come outside with me.)
She hesitated, blinking with uncertainty. "Mai napaak hun, iss liye Rafi ne kaha ki Daddu ko naa chuo," she whispered in shame, a tear slipping down her cheek as the feeling of helplessness washed over her.
(I am impure, that's why Rafi said not to touch Daddu.)
He looked at her for a long moment, absorbing the pain in her words, then nodded gently. "Koi baat nahi. Chalo mere saath aur thoda door baithna." He extended his hand toward her, waiting.
(It's okay. Come with me; just sit a bit further away.)
For a moment, she simply stared at his outstretched hand, her own trembling, damp with nervous sweat. But at last, she placed her hand in his, rising slowly. As she tilted her head up to look at him, she murmured, "Paani pee lein."
(Please, have some water.)
He shook his head in quiet refusal, eyes averted, refusing to meet her gaze. As he took a tentative step forward, she gripped his hand tighter, silently urging him to stay. He turned to look back at her, noticing how she hadn't moved, rooted there.
Then, her other hand reached up to clutch the corner of her shawl as she drew closer, stretching onto her toes to reach his face.
Her delicate fingers brushed his damp, reddened cheeks. She dabbed gently, wiping away the tears that lingered on his skin, then moved to his neck, her touch soft.
He remained silent,his eyes closed, surrendering to her touch, unable to look at her even now, Her quiet care spoke volumes, even as the silence around them deepened. In that stillness, her soft gestures offered the solace he had been too proud, too wounded, to ask for.
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