When she ignored him,
it pierced his heart
in a way nothing else ever had.

Nothing before had ached like that—
no loss, no silence, no wound he carried.
But her absence did.
Her not looking back did.

And for the first time,
he understood something terrifying and gentle all at once—

loving her was not a weakness,
not a passing want,
not something he could abandon
without abandoning himself.

It was his salvation.

And some salvations
you do not walk away from,
even if they burn you alive.

-Zaid

(ALIGANJ, LUCKNOW)

(ST. MARY SECONDARY SCHOOL)

Zaid stood alone in the school playground, the late afternoon air hanging thick around him. His hands were clenched at his sides, fingers twisted into the fabric of his trousers so tightly his knuckles ached. He didn't notice. All he could see was the peepal tree standing ahead—unchanging, unmoved—unlike the storm raging inside his chest.

God... what had she done to him?

Why couldn't he forget her? Not even for a single, merciful minute.

How had she carved herself so deeply into him that even his thoughts no longer belonged to him? When had she become everything?

The truth struck him with a cruel kind of simplicity. It had only been a week.

Just one week since she had stumbled into him—clumsy, breathless, eyes wide with confusion. The way she had stared at him as if he were the mad one. The way guilt had softened her voice, her hands fidgeting as she tried to apologize, as if she truly cared whether she had hurt him.

That was the moment. That was when something inside his chest had tightened and never loosened again.

It hurt—God, it hurt—in a way nothing ever had before. A quiet, suffocating ache that wrapped itself around his heart and refused to let go. She held that power over him now, effortlessly, unknowingly.

And the worst part?

He didn't regret it. Not even a little.

Because somewhere between that collision and this unbearable longing, Zaid had fallen in love.

Completely. Helplessly.

He knew it with a certainty that terrified him. And all he wanted now—all he wanted—was for her to know. To look at him and see what he carried for her, what was slowly destroying him from the inside.

Because keeping it locked inside was killing him. He loved her.

And deep down, with every fractured piece of his heart, he knew he would do anything—everything—for her.

Zaid was thrown off out of his thoughts as two voices called out to him - grinning and playful. He turned to see Akshay and Vikram running toward him, shirts half-tucked, faces drenched in sweat.

Of course it was.

They had been playing cricket for about an hour and Zaid didn't. He really didn't.

For the first time, he hadn't.

Too lost in his own head. Too lost thinking about Gauri.

Because, of course, that woman lived rent-free in his mind.
His heart.
Every part of him.

Both of them jumped in either side of him - as usual grinning and smirking at him. 

''Bhai kya tu khelne nahi aaya?'' Akshay asks nudging against his arm, an eyebrow raised at him. But Zaid focused on none of them. 

"Y-yaar... tum... tum log... meri... meri baat... suno..'' His tone made Vikram and Akshay share a look with each other and ofcourse more attentive towards him as they leaned in instinctively.

Zaid glanced at them in mock disgust.
"K-ku... kutto... itna... itna paas... mat aao... t-tumhara... tumhara paseena... mere upar... giraoge kya...?"

Both of them froze at his words pausing for a minute. For a moment it seemed they might be offended but then there it is. Laughter in the air - rich and real

 They then moved back little enough for them to hear Zaid and of course not invading his space.

"Haan, kya baat hai?" Vikram whispered, his voice rough, breath still uneven from the match.

"A-a... abe y-yaar... m-maine... n-na... Zoya ko... b-bata diya tha..."

Zaid lowered his voice, eyes flickering between them, gauging their reactions. Almost like a little kid telling his parents he had done something wrong and yet was acting innocent even though he had done something wrong.

"Kya bol diya tha, bhai?" Akshay asked, genuinely confused. Vikram nodded, equally lost.

"Haan yaar, kya baat hai?" Vikram repeated, keeping his voice steady—though the moment he heard Zoya's name, his heart thudded a little faster. And it obviously wasn't due to

Damn. Even her name did that to him.

Zaid exhaled.
"Y-yaar... d-day before... b-before yesterday... hum... hum baat... baat kar rahe the... a-aur... main... main chhupa... n-nahi... paaya... m-maine... usse... b-bol diya... ki... ki mujhe... Gauri... pasand... hai..."

And then his cheeks went dark - crimson red. Even speaking of him loving Gauri made his heart go - DHAK....DHAK.....DHAK.....

Akshay and Vikram froze, as if the ground had slipped out from under their feet. God. What had he done?

Akshay recovered first, smacking Zaid lightly on the chest.
"Saale, tu pagal hai kya? Vo jaake Gauri ko bata degi."

Zaid's eyes widened, realization crashing into him. A part of him wanted Gauri to know—but he wanted to be the one to tell her.

Not like this.
Not through someone else.

"N-nahi... b-batayegi... v-vo... meri... meri behen... hai..."

He whispered it, even though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. He knew it was a lie. Deep down, he did.

"Haan, bilkul nahi batayegi," Akshay shot back sarcastically repeating Zaid's words.
"Abe bhai, vo Gauri ki best friend hai. Kyun nahi batayegi? Aur tujhe kyun lagta hai teri behen tujhse jhooth nahi bolegi?"

Vikram froze.Did this idiot just call Zoya a liar?

His eyes darkened instantly. He could go a day without cricket—but not a second listening to someone talk about Zoya like that.

His feet moved before his brain caught up. Vikram grabbed Akshay by the collar, eyes blazing. Almost making Akshay fall back on the grass whose eyes were confused and almost in disbelief.

"Abe saale, kya bol raha hai tu?"

Zaid was stuck between them completely confused why his bestfriend would be so furious over his sister. Its not like Akshay really meant to insult Zoya - he was just stating a fact.

Stupid Zaid didn't even understand that his own bestfriend loved his sister deeply but he was stuck in his own turmoil to realise that.

"Abe, sahi toh bol raha hoon," Akshay muttered, still clueless about what he'd triggered. He didn't know he has triggered a man who loved a woman too much to hear someone call a liar.

And the worst part?

That woman didn't even know a man loved her so much. 

"Jhoothi vo nahi hai—tu hoga." Vikram barked, fury rolling off him like heat. He almost barked at Akshay - eyes furious like a lion ready to snap any minute. 

Zaid and Akshay both froze. But Zaid almost stilled who had already been frozen. 

They had never seen Vikram like this—so fierce, so protective.

But this is how a man turned into a beast ready to pounce any moment like a ticking bomb.

"B-bhai... c-calm... c-calm down..." Zaid said quickly, pulling Vikram back, confusion clouding his face.
Why would he react like this? Why so offended when it came to Zoya? He didn't understand but he ignored it for now pulling Vikram back - he had more important things to discuss right now.

Vikram sat back, still glaring at Akshay. His jaw was tight.

He couldn't take it.
Not when it came to Zoya.

Not when someone spoke about her like that.

"Haan, tu agli baar Akshara ko batana," Vikram said quietly looking at Zaid but glaring at Akshay side by side, his tone sharp, mocking.
"Jab vo jaake Gauri ko batayegi, tab hum usse bhi jhoothi bolenge."

Akshay stilled. Did this fucker speak like that on Akshara? His Akshara

Akshay snapped, glaring at him like Vikram had just crossed a line. Because he really had when it came to his Akshara he had.
"Oye, tu Akshara pe mat jaa."

Vikram's lips curled into a slow smirk.
"Saale... ab pata chala kaisa lagta hai."

Everyone loses it when it comes to the woman they love.

And today—

The lines were being drawn. Akshay was almost about to pounce on Vikram until—

Just then, before anyone could respond, Zoya walked toward them. Her eyes were wide and confused—it was clear she had heard them fighting. Vikram looked away, cursing himself, hoping she hadn't heard him defend her. Because of course, that would make it clear.

HE LOVES HER.

"Z-Zoya... k-kya... k-kya hua...?"Zaid asks his sister softly , his eyes flickering the ointment tube she was holding in her hand. 

"Bhai, mujhe inse zara baat karni thi." She pointed at Vikram, and instantly he froze, watching her as she lowered her gaze.

Was she calling him?
Is this a dream or what?

Fuck...
Fuck...
Fuck...

She was calling him.

She was actually calling for him.

Vikram stood up, and before he realized it, he was standing in front of her—his tall figure towering over hers even when he tried not to.

He was still, as if almost scared to break the moment. God, she wanted to talk to him. He felt like a little child inside, bursting with joy about getting his favorite chocolate, but unable to show it.

"Uh... aapko dard ho raha hai kya?" she asked softly—too softly, in a way that made his heart ache like it never had before, but in a good way.

Vikram froze. What was she talking about? Konsa dard?

"Ji? Aap kya bol rahi hain?" Vikram asked, his voice soft—too soft. Completely different from how he had sounded moments ago with Akshay, who had insulted her in Vikram's perspective, even though deep down, he really hadn't.

"Kal aapko lag gayi thi." She pointed toward his bruised knuckles—the same ones he had used mercilessly on Rohan when he beat him for calling her a slut.

"Don't worry, I'm okay." He shrugged it off with a small smile, gesturing casually with his hand.

"Par aapko meri wajah se—"

Zoya couldn't even complete her sentence before he spoke.

"Never be sorry about being protected. As a man, it's my duty to protect you—and any girl who gets insulted by that bastard, Rohan." His eyes were determined, fierce, yet his expression remained calm.

And in that moment, even though she was worried, she felt proud. Proud that there were men like him in society who cared.

"But aapko lag gayi," she said again, almost to herself, wincing as she stared at his swollen knuckles—like she could feel his pain.

"IT'S WORTH it." Vikram said firmly, his voice strong, yet soft—only for her. Always for her.

Because he was right. It was worth it.
When it came to saving her, it always was.

For her, he could bleed, stand up again, and not regret it even a little.

Because this Vikram would die for Zoya—and not care about dying. The only thing he would ever care about was her being safe. Protected.

Zoya stared at him, eyes wide and frozen. Did he really say it was worth it? When had anyone ever said that about her?

Never.

Before she could speak again, he spoke.

"I did what a man should do, Zoya. A man should always stand up when bastards like Rohan show up. And I would do that—not just for you, but for any woman." His voice was firm and unwavering—or at least that's how she heard it.

She didn't catch the slight twitch in it. Because it was a lie. He wouldn't do this for every woman.

Yes, he would protect others. He would stop it.
But he wouldn't be this angry. This protective.

This rage only came when Rohan had grabbed her wrist and called her a slut.

He lost it. And those punches weren't enough. If she hadn't stopped him, he would've gone further. He wanted to end that bastard right there. He wouldn't have stopped—if her gentle voice hadn't told him to.

"Uh... aap yeh ointment laga lijiye," Zoya said, holding it out. "Aapko help karega."

Vikram froze. Such simple words—yet they healed something deep inside him. Because they came from her. They wouldn't have meant the same from anyone else.

He nodded. "I—I will. Thank you."

And just like that, with a small smile that stole his heart, she was gone.

But something inside him softened.

If getting hurt like this meant her caring for him—

He would do it every day.
Every minute.
Every second.

He stared at the ointment in his hand.

It wasn't just an ointment. He knew that much.

It was the first thing she had ever given him. The first time she had thought of him like this—noticed him enough to bring something back just for him.

He didn't smile. He didn't react.

But somewhere inside, something loosened. Something that had been hurting for a long time finally eased, even if just a little.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

TRIPATHI NIWAS

Mandakini sat settled on the bed, watching Bharat sleep beside her. His breaths were even, calm—so unlike the storm he had been last night. A slow sigh escaped her lips as memories rose uninvited.

The way he had spoken about his insecurities.
The ones she had never known existed.

It had caught her off guard—because she had never truly known how he felt when he was away from home. Yesterday, something as small as a neighbour helping her had unraveled him. Triggered emotions he kept buried beneath discipline and silence.

For a moment, she felt relieved that he had finally let them out. But another part of her felt unbearably disappointed. 

Disappointed in herself.

As a wife.

All these years of marriage, she had believed they were fine—that distance hadn't touched them, that trust and understanding were enough. She had thought she knew him. Thought she understood everything.

She didn't. His words still echoed in her ears.

"Tumne mujhe yaad bhi kiya tha...?"

The insecurity in them had hit her hard. She couldn't forget the desperation—the way he had kissed her as if afraid she would slip away. She had never seen him like that. He was always composed, controlled... never this raw.

And then—

Before she could sink deeper into thought, the mattress shifted.

Mandakini turned just in time to see him sitting up, rubbing his eyes, hair messy and falling over his forehead—looking almost boyish in sleep's aftermath.

"Mandakini?" Bharat whispered, his voice deeper, roughened by sleep. His lips curved into a faint smile when he noticed a few loose strands escaping her braid, resting against her forehead.

"Hmm," she murmured, still not looking at him. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her saree, betraying her. Another sigh slipped out.

Bharat blinked.

Once.
Twice.

He leaned closer, tilting his head slightly, studying her face. The faint lines of tension on her forehead, the restless fingers—he knew those signs too well.

Something was wrong. That habit only surfaced when she wasn't okay.

He sat up fully, leaning back against the headboard. His hand reached out, resting on her waist—soft, familiar, yet firm enough to ground her. With practiced ease, his other hand slipped beneath her knees, lifting her just enough to pull her onto his lap.

Her body fit against his like it always had.

A low groan escaped him before he could stop it. God—how long had it been since he'd held her like this?

Duty. Distance. Life.
Something was always in the way.

His face found the crook of her neck, breath warm against her skin. Another sound escaped him—half sigh, half relief.

It felt like home. After so long.

Mandakini's breath hitched as his lips pressed against her pulse point, lingering, almost desperate.

"Bharat," she whispered, the word slipping out like a plea even as she leaned into him.

"Hm?" he hummed, arms tightening around her waist as if afraid she might disappear.

"What's troubling you, jaan?"

She froze.

Of course he knew.
Of course he asked.

He always did.

Even when she tried to hide.

"I..." she swallowed. "I was thinking about yesterday."

His movements stilled instantly.

Slowly, he lifted his head, resting his forehead against hers. His thumb traced small circles at her waist, grounding both of them.

"About what I said?" he asked quietly. No accusation. Just honesty.

She finally looked at him then—really looked.

"I didn't know," she whispered. "I didn't know you felt that way. And that scares me... because I should have."

His jaw tightened for a second, then relaxed.

"Mandu," he murmured, brushing his nose against hers, "you didn't fail me."

Her eyes welled up. "But I thought we were okay. I thought—"

"We are okay," he interrupted gently. "But even strong things crack when they're stretched too far."

He pulled her closer, her forehead resting against his shoulder now.

"I didn't say those things to hurt you," he continued softly. "I said them because... for the first time, I was scared of losing you."

Her fingers curled into his kurta.

"I'm here," she whispered. "I've always been."

He closed his eyes at that, pressing a kiss into her hair—slow, reverent.

"I know," he said quietly. "And maybe... that's why it hurt so much to ask."

Bharat's arms loosened just enough for him to lean back and look at her. His eyes weren't hard—just tired. Exposed in a way she rarely saw.

"When that neighbour helped you yesterday..." he began, then stopped. A faint, humorless breath left him. "I know it was nothing."

Her lips parted to speak, but he shook his head gently, thumb brushing against her arm.

"Let me finish."

She nodded.

"I know he didn't mean anything wrong. And I know you didn't either." His jaw clenched briefly before he forced himself to continue. "But in that moment... it felt like I wasn't there."

Her chest tightened.

"I was miles away," he said quietly, "and someone else was standing where I should have been."

His voice dropped, softer now—almost ashamed.

"I spend my life protecting strangers. Standing guard for people who don't even know my name." He swallowed. "And yet, when it came to you... I wasn't there to offer you help in picking up those bags. Or help you with something small."

Mandakini's eyes burned.

"It wasn't jealousy," he added, meeting her gaze. "It was helplessness."

His hand slid up her back, steady, grounding.

"For a second, I felt replaceable," he admitted. "Like maybe the world keeps moving just fine without me... even in your life."

Her fingers tightened in his kurta instantly.

"That's why I asked you," he whispered.
"Tumne mujhe yaad bhi kiya tha...?"

His forehead dropped against hers again.

"Because I needed to know that even when I'm not there—when duty takes me away—you still look for me."

Tears slipped free then, trailing down Mandakini's cheeks. She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her.

"I didn't know you felt so alone," she whispered, voice trembling. "I swear, Bharat... not for one second did I think of anyone else. I just assumed you knew."

He closed his eyes briefly, leaning into her touch.

"I assumed that too," he said softly. "And assumptions..." a pause, "they build distance without us realizing."

She rested her forehead against his, breathing him in.

"I always wait for you," she said firmly. "Even when you're not here. Especially then."

Something in him finally eased. His arms wrapped around her again—not desperate this time, but sure. Anchored.

"That's all I needed to hear," he murmured, kissing her temple. "I just... needed to feel chosen."

They stayed like that, holding each other as the morning light slowly crept in—no words needed as tension eased.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

ST. MARY SECONDARY SCHOOL

Gauri stepped out of the washroom, fixing her skirt, when laughter rolled through the corridor—too loud, too careless.

Not playful.

Cruel.

"Arre suno," a voice scoffed, "loverboy ban raha hai."

She slowed.

"Kis ke liye?" another boy laughed. "Head girl ke liye."

Her breath caught.

Gauri followed the sound, heart thudding harder with every step—and then she saw them.

Zaid stood near the lockers, surrounded. Hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, that familiar careless slouch in place like nothing in the world touched him. A lazy smirk played on his lips, effortless and provoking.

Rohan stood closest.

"Seriously, Zaid?" he laughed. "Gauri?"

The boys burst out laughing.

"Newbie hai tu," someone added. "She wouldn't even look at you like that."

Rohan shook his head in mock pity. "Head girl hai woh. Discipline, standards, izzat. Aur tu?" He looked Zaid up and down slowly. "Timepass. Smoke, fights, bad reputation."

Zaid's smirk sharpened, but something in his eyes hardened.

"Sapne dekhna achhi baat hai," Rohan continued, leaning closer, voice low and taunting. "Par apni aukaat ke andar."

A boy nudged Zaid's shoulder. "Dil tootega tera, loverboy."

The laughter rang again.

Zaid said nothing. He didn't need to.

Silence was his weapon. Stillness. Control. He let them talk, let them think they were winning—because reacting would give them what they wanted.

But inside, something burned.

That's when the corridor shifted.

"Bas."

The word landed softly—but it silenced everything.

Gauri stood there.

Her posture straight. Her face calm. Her eyes fixed—not on Zaid, but on the boys surrounding him. She walked forward without hesitation and stopped beside him.

Beside.

Not behind.

"She wouldn't look at him like that," she repeated slowly, her voice steady. "Yeh kisne decide kiya?"

No one answered.

Rohan tried to laugh it off. "Arre Gauri, hum toh bas—"

"Tum bas kya?" she cut in. "Kisi ke character pe hansna? Kisi ke emotions ko neecha dikhana?"

Her gaze flicked briefly to Zaid—just for a second—but it was enough.

Enough to make his smirk fade.

"Tumhe lagta hai standards sirf titles se aate hain?" she continued. "Head girl hona discipline sikhata hai. Par respect... woh tumhare paas hona chahiye."

Silence fell heavy. Zaid looked at her then. Really looked at her.

Not as his best friend's sister.
Not as the untouchable head girl.

But as the girl who had just shut the world up for him.

And in that moment, he knew—

He had fallen long ago. He just hadn't realized how deep. 

Boys slipped away slowly - some embrassed, some angered.

The corridor stayed silent. Too silent.

Zaid didn't move. Couldn't. Because the moment her words settled, one thought hit him—sharp and terrifying.

She knows. Not suspects. Not guesses.

Knows.

The smirk was gone now, completely. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his fingers curled into fists inside them. His heartbeat thudded loud enough that he was sure someone could hear it.

She had said it out loud.
Defended him.
Stood beside him.

And worse—she had looked at him. Just once. Just for a second.

But it had been enough.

Panic rose in his chest, sudden and unfamiliar. This wasn't a fight he could throw a punch at. This wasn't something he could joke his way out of.

What if she was angry?

What if she felt uncomfortable?

What if she pulled away—kept her distance, stopped being normal, stopped talking?

God.

She was his best friend's sister. The head girl. Gauri. The girl who lived by rules and lines he had already crossed just by feeling this.

Zaid swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as a hundred thoughts crashed into him at once.

What if she hates this?
What if she thinks I'm cheap?
What if I've ruined everything without even saying a word?

He stared straight ahead, afraid—actually afraid—to look at her now. Afraid of what he might see in her eyes.

Disgust.
Awkwardness.
Distance.

Anything but this.

For the first time, Zaid felt exposed. Stripped of the careless mask, the nonchalance, the smirk he hid behind. This wasn't him being brave.

This was him being seen.

And that terrified him.

Because falling for her had been quiet, private—his own secret.

And now she knew.

And he had no idea what she was going to do with it.

"Aap theek hai?" Gauri whispers softly, turning toward him when she notices the panic flicker across his face—panic she doesn't quite understand.

Her voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looks up, meets her eyes, and the concern there hits him harder than anything else. His expression softens without permission, without effort—his heart betraying him yet again.

He nods, unable to speak. The words refuse to form, clogging his throat. He doesn't know how she'll react now, doesn't know what this knowing means—but a small, foolish part of him is relieved. She isn't looking at him differently. Not yet.

"I—uh—gotta go... washroom," he mutters.

And just like that, he's gone.

He rushes away, breath uneven, heart racing—this stupid heart that never listens. That beats for her. Only her. No matter how hard he tries to control it, it refuses.

It always has. And the worst part? 

He isn't even angry about it.

Because somewhere deep inside, he knows this—she—is where he belongs. What claws at him instead is the question he's too afraid to answer.

How will she react now?

Will she ignore him?

God... no.

He couldn't survive that. Her standing right in front of him, acting like he doesn't exist—like he was never there at all.

The thought alone makes his chest ache, makes him want to rip his own heart out just to make it stop.

And that—

That is his biggest fear.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

IQBAL RESIDENCE

Imam stood in the bedroom long after his legs began to ache, hands resting against his knees as though that was the only thing keeping him upright.

He watched Aisha from the corner of his eyes.She looked the same. And yet—she didn't.

There was exhaustion in her movements, yes. Familiar. But beneath it lay something colder, sharper. A distance he had never known how to measure, only feel.

It had been two hours since he came home.

Two hours of waiting.
Two hours of hoping she would turn, walk into his arms like she always did—like she had to.

In all their years of marriage, this had never happened. Not once. No matter how late he came. No matter how tired she was. Aisha was always there.

She was the reason he came back alive.
The reason borders felt bearable.
The reason goodbyes tore through him like a wound that never healed.

"Aisha?"

His voice cracked despite his effort to keep it steady.

Almost pleading.

He had faced bullets, blood, and men who had lost their humanity—but none of that compared to this moment. None of it had ever reduced him to this helpless ache.

He needed her.

His wife.
Her touch.
Her quiet presence that stitched him back together without words.

Nothing ever calmed him like she did.
Nothing ever had.

Silence answered him.

She kept folding clothes, precise and careful, as if every crease mattered more than him standing there unraveling. As if he was nothing more than a shadow in the room.

His chest tightened painfully.

This hurt.
God, this hurt more than any wound he had ever carried.

She had never ignored him. Not once. Not even during their worst arguments.

So why now?

What had he done?

His mind raced, panic crawling up his spine.

Think, Imam. Think.

Then—

"Aisha beta, sabzi wala aaye hai. Jaldi aaja."

His mother's voice drifted up from downstairs—old, frail, yet unwavering.

Aisha turned instantly, her feet moving faster than they had a moment ago, like distance itself could protect her from him.

He told himself it didn't hurt. That this was fine. Expected, even.

But his chest tightened anyway.

She walked toward the door without looking back, her decision already made. Not in anger. Not in haste.

Just final.

Without a single glance back, she walked out, her suit salwar brushing softly against her legs as she left.

That sound.

It used to make him smile. Used to feel like home. Today, it felt cruel.

Like the house itself was mocking him—highlighting the silence, the widening space between them that he didn't know how to cross.

Outside, Aisha found Amna standing beside the vegetable vendor, hands planted on her waist, scolding him with fierce conviction over the inflated prices.

A faint smile appeared on Aisha's lips, automatic and tired, as she watched her mother-in-law argue like the world depended on it.

"Meri jaan, idhar aao jaldi," Amna called, waving her closer.

Aisha stepped beside her, listening as Amna continued her rant, voice sharp, protective.

"Ammi, it's okay," Aisha said softly, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry."

Amna scoffed, eyes still on the vendor.
"You are too kind, meri jaan. The world doesn't deserve you."

The words landed like a blow.

Too kind.

They echoed in her head, louder than any shout.

Was that why he cheated?

Because she was kind?
Because she trusted too easily? Loved too deeply?

Had her kindness made her foolish in his eyes? Had he taken advantage of the fact that she never doubted him, never questioned where his heart lay?

Her throat burned.

She swallowed hard, forcing the tears back.

Not here. Not where people could see.

She wouldn't break like this. She refused to.

Amna noticed the stillness in her daughter-in-law, the way her eyes seemed to lose focus. She tightened her grip on Aisha's shoulder.

"Kya hua beta?" she asked gently. "Tum kahin khoyi si lag rahi ho."

Aisha turned slowly. She smiled.

A smile she had perfected over years—one that hid pain so well even she sometimes believed it.

"I'm fine, Ammi," she said softly. "Don't worry."

But even her Allah knew she was far from fine.

But inside, something had already shattered.

And she didn't know if it could ever be put back together again.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

ST. MARY SECONDARY SCHOOL

The cafeteria buzzed like it always did—loud, alive, chaotic in the most familiar way.

Boys laughed too loudly over nothing important. Girls leaned into each other, gossip spilling faster than the lunch trays being passed around. Somewhere near the counter, the PT teacher paced back and forth, eyes sharp, pretending not to notice the harmless rule-breaking that happened every single day.

And of course—
a long, frustrating line at the counter.

Akshara sat beside Zoya, chewing on her sandwich like it was the last meal on earth. No pauses. No manners. Just bite after desperate bite.

Like she hadn't eaten in days. Which, in a way, wasn't far from the truth.

She hadn't eaten anything that morning—too busy shouting, too busy crying, too busy slamming the door behind her after yet another fight with her father. The anger had burned hot in her chest then, making food feel pointless.

Now, hunger clawed back with vengeance.

Especially for someone like her—a certified foodie who treated food like comfort, distraction, and joy all wrapped into one.

She glanced down at the lunch box again, her name scribbled neatly on it. She didn't remember bringing it.

Maybe the servants from home had sent it. Maybe someone noticed she'd left without eating. She didn't question it too much.

At least someone cared. The thought softened something inside her.

A small, unguarded smile curved her lips as she took another bite, flavors exploding on her tongue. God—this was really good. Warm. Familiar. Almost comforting enough to drown out the echo of harsh words from the morning.

For a moment, she forgot everything else.

A few feet away, someone leaned casually against the wall.

No teasing smirk.
No mockery.

Just a quiet, genuine smile—one that stayed as he watched her eat like the world owed her this one moment of peace.

"Akshara, dheere kha yaar," Zoya whispered, not even looking up from her notebook. "Choke ho jaayega tujhe."

Akshara shot her a look, cheeks full, eyes dramatic.
"Haan haan, samajh gayi," she whispered back, rolling her eyes and pouting slightly.

As if being told how to eat was the greatest injustice of her life.

Annoyed—yes.
But not really. Because deep down, she knew Zoya was right.

And Zoya knew her well enough to say it anyway.

Her eating habits were a disaster.
But right now—this sandwich, this noise, this ordinary chaos—was the only thing holding her together.

And for once, that was enough.

Just then, a crushed paper ball came flying from somewhere, skidding across the floor and stopping right in front of Zoya's feet. She looked around instinctively—but no one was looking at her. No laughter. No whispers. Nothing.

Her gaze shifted to Akshara, who stared back with genuine curiosity, a faint caution lingering in her eyes after everything that had happened yesterday. Zoya bent down slowly and uncrumpled the paper.

Zoya bent down slowly and uncrumpled the paper.

The moment she read it, her blood ran cold.

"You think that fucking Vikram can save you by acting hero? You are very much wrong, darling. I have pictures of you—pictures you wouldn't want getting out. So come and see me. Otherwise, I'm sending them directly to your parents."

Her breath hitched. The paper trembled in her hands.

Tears pricked her eyes, spilling before she could stop them. She kept rereading the words, hoping—begging—that she had misunderstood. That it was some cruel joke.

But she knew better.

Rohan didn't joke.
And when his ego was bruised, he ruined people. He was coming back for her.

Yet her mind raced uselessly—what pictures? She had never uploaded anything. Never shared anything. Never—

So how?

Akshara kept calling her name, panic creeping into her voice, but Zoya couldn't respond. Her body felt stiff, frozen, as if the world had gone mute around her.

Finally, Akshara snatched the paper from her hand.

She read it.

And froze.

Anger surged so sharply it made her dizzy.

"How dare he?" Akshara hissed, standing up abruptly and gripping Zoya's hand as her sobs broke free, uncontrollable now.

Across the cafeteria, Akshay noticed them. The casual smirk on his face vanished the second he saw Zoya's tears—and the fury etched on Akshara's face.

"Akshara, kya hua?" he asked, already moving toward them, concern raw and brother-like.

She said nothing. Just shoved the paper into his hand.

Akshay's expression hardened as he read. His jaw clenched. His fingers curled around the note.

He looked at Zoya gently. "Zoya... kuch nahi hoga. We're here. Samjhi?"

But she barely heard him. Humiliation pressed down on her chest until breathing felt like effort. She felt exposed, unclean—like her shame had slipped past her skin and into the open, visible to anyone who cared to look.

It was the kind of shame that hollowed her out. Silent. Heavy. The kind that made disappearing feel kinder than staying.

"Akshay... Zaid bhai kahan hai?" Akshara asked urgently.

They turned. Zaid and Vikram stood near the corner, mid-conversation.

The moment Zaid saw his sister crying, something in him snapped. The cocky ease he usually carried disappeared entirely.

Zoya broke. She collapsed into his arms, burying her face in his chest, sobbing as if holding herself together had finally become impossible.

Akshay explained everything. Zaid's arms tightened around her. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

Rohan.

But Vikram had already turned away. His footsteps were fast, heavy—each step fueled by pure, unfiltered rage as he pushed past everyone, eyes locked on one target.

That bastard.

Akshay and Akshara rushed after him, knowing this well—Vikram had lost control. When it came to Zoya, he always did.

There was something fiercely protective in him that woke only for her.

And today, no one was saving Rohan.

Not today.

Gauri, on head-girl duty, noticed Vikram storm past—followed closely by Akshay and Akshara, all burning with purpose. Something was wrong. She hurried after them, catching up as Akshara explained everything between rushed breaths.

Gauri's eyes widened—anger and shock colliding. She had known Rohan was vile.

But this?

This was unforgivable. Vikram didn't find that bastard anywhere.

Not near the corridors.
Not near the washrooms.
Not in the corners he usually haunted.

Each empty space only fueled his rage further.

Finally, he grabbed a boy by the collar, yanking him close. "Where is Rohan?" he demanded through gritted teeth, barely holding himself together.

"He... he went home," the boy stammered.

That single sentence made something snap inside Vikram.

Gone.
Run away.

That bastard had played his game and fled—after making a girl cry, after treating her honour and dignity like some cheap high-school joke.

Vikram shoved the boy away, sending him stumbling back.

"I'll kill him," Vikram growled, chest heaving. "I swear I'll kill that bastard for what he's done."

"Bhai... calm down," Gauri whispered, gripping his arm tightly. She knew his anger—had seen it before—but this wasn't normal rage.

This was different.

This was the kind of fury that could burn the world down.

"Bhai, she's right," Akshay added quickly, eyes flickering between Vikram and Gauri. "Let's go back to the cafeteria. We need to think."

Reluctantly—barely—they managed to pull Vikram away.

Back in the cafeteria, Zaid sat beside Zoya, one arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other holding her hand firmly. She looked calmer now, her sobs reduced to quiet, shaky breaths—her brother's presence grounding her.

Gauri and Akshara rushed to her side immediately, concern etched deep into their faces, anger simmering just beneath.

Zaid stood up, letting them take over. His eyes flickered briefly toward Gauri—uncertain, hopeful. Please don't look at me differently. Please let everything stay the same.

But even he knew—there were bigger problems right now.

Focus, Zaid. Focus.

He walked toward Akshay, who was still restraining Vikram, whose entire body screamed violence.

"We need to be careful," Zaid said quietly, rubbing his temples. "If that bastard says he has photos... it means he has something. We can't act blindly."

His words made Vikram pause. Hate still burned in his eyes—but reality crept in.

Rohan had control right now. And he hated every part of it. God, Fuck.....Fuck......

And that was dangerous.

Vikram finally nodded once. Akshay loosened his grip, knowing he wouldn't attack—at least not yet.

"The bell's about to ring," Akshay said. "Library. Seventh period. We discuss everything there."

They all agreed, though the tension in the air refused to fade. Rohan had crossed a line today.

A line he never should have dared to cross.

And only God could save him from the wrath of a brother—and a man who would destroy anyone who hurt the woman he loved.

Gauri gently wiped Zoya's tears, handing her a bottle of water, murmuring softly as she helped her drink. Comfort wouldn't fix this—but calm was necessary.

"Haan, Zoya," Gauri whispered. "Tu chinta mat kar. Hum log hain na."

The words soothed her a little.

But fear still clung to her chest.

What if the photos get out?
What would her parents think?
And if they did—

She didn't know if she would survive that.

TING... TING... TING...

The bell rang.

Silently, all of them headed toward their classes—each step heavy with the knowledge that nothing would be the same after today.

LIBRARY - 7TH PERIOD

The library was silent—just the soft rustle of turning pages and the occasional slide of books being returned to shelves. The kind of quiet that felt heavy, deliberate. Students were scattered around: some studying, some pretending to, some half-asleep with their heads resting on open books.

The group sat around a single table.

The boys—Akshay, Vikram, and Zaid—on one side.
The girls—Akshara, Zoya, and Gauri—on the other.

"Okay," Zaid whispered finally, his voice low but steady. "I've thought this through. Zoya... he asked you to meet him, right?"

Zoya stiffened.

"So—you go."

Her breath hitched. Her own brother was telling her to meet Rohan?

"What?" Vikram snapped before she could speak. "Tu pagal wagal hai kya?" He caught himself instantly, lowering his voice as a few heads turned.

Zaid didn't flinch. "Listen to me. All of you," he said quietly, firmly. "Right now, he has control. He says he has photos—and until we know what he has or how he got them, we can't act recklessly. We need to be smart."

Silence followed. The weight of his words settled over them.

Gauri nodded first. "He's right," she said softly. "This is the safest way."

Warmth spread in Zaid's chest at her support—her trusting his judgment before anyone else. For a brief moment, despite everything, he felt lighter.

"Vikram and I will follow Zoya," Zaid continued. "Wherever he's called her, we confront him there. Akshay—you stay ready with the camera. We'll need proof before taking this to the principal."

Akshay nodded. "Done."

Vikram nodded too, his expression unreadable—but the fury was still there, burning quietly. He wouldn't rest until Rohan paid. Until every tear Zoya had shed was accounted for.

His gaze drifted to her face, and instantly, his anger softened. The way her hands clenched in her skirt - fidgeting.
God, he thought. She does this to me every time.

"I think we should move now," Zaid whispered. "Before the teacher separates us for talking."

With quick nods, they broke apart.

Vikram and Akshay settled at a nearby table, grabbing random books and pretending to read. Akshara and Zoya headed toward the fiction section. Gauri turned to leave—

"Gauri."

Of course.

She stopped and turned.

Zaid stood there, watching her, searching her face—hoping for reassurance, for normalcy, for anything that said he hadn't ruined everything.

"Ji, boliye?" she replied, her tone polite, neutral. Too neutral.

She knew what he wanted to talk about.
She knew he wanted to know how she felt.

But she wouldn't give him that.

It was better this way. If she pushed him away now, maybe he'd forget. Maybe this was just attraction. Maybe it would fade.

Zaid opened his mouth, eyes locked onto hers, trying to read what she was hiding—

"Uh... I should go," she said softly. "I think Zoya is calling me."

And just like that, she walked away. His chest tightened painfully. He knew Zoya hadn't called her. He knew she was ignoring him.

And he knew—he had ruined it.

But had he?

All he wanted was to talk to her. Just once. But even that felt impossible now.

A sharp desperation clawed at him. Akshay had been right—he shouldn't have told anyone. But he had told his sister.

And of course, it had reached Gauri.

Seeing her walk away without looking back hurt more than he could explain. It felt like something had been driven straight into his ribcage, something bleeding inside him that refused to heal.

Nothing helped. Nothing except her. And that was the worst part.

2:00 PM 

Gauri stood in the girls' washroom, leaning against the sink as cold water ran over her face. As if washing it might also rinse away the exhaustion clinging to her skin.

But that wasn't what she was trying to wash off.

It was the guilt.

The kind that sat heavy in her chest, growing louder the more she tried to ignore it. She saw him again in her mind—the way he had looked at her, hesitant, hopeful. He had wanted to talk. He had waited.

And all she had done was brush past him like he didn't exist.

It hurt—hurting him like that. Because from the very first day, he had been nothing but kind. Gentle. Careful. And yet here she was, treating him like some careless jerk.

Which he wasn't. She knew that. She knew it far too well.

All he did was like her. That was normal, right?

Boys liked girls all the time. It wasn't a crime. Still, she told herself that silence was the best solution. That ignoring him was necessary. That it would save both of them.

There were reasons—real ones.

1. A relationship had never been her goal. Not now. Not ever.

2. Her father would lose his mind if he ever found out a Muslim boy liked her.

And then there was the worst part of all—he wasn't just any boy.

3. He was her best friend's brother.

Too many lines she wasn't allowed to cross. She had never been the one to disobey her parents and nor she would do it now.

That's what she thought. Atleast.

So she would push him away. She had to. If she stayed distant long enough, he would lose interest.

Wouldn't he?

All boys did.

She remembered last year—a boy from her class who had liked her. She had given him the same cold silence, the same avoidance. And just like that—boom.

He disappeared.

She convinced herself Zaid would be no different. That this was just attraction. Temporary. Something that would fade if she starved it long enough.

After all, what else could he like her for?

But what she didn't know—what she couldn't see yet—was how wrong she was going to be.

She stepped out of the washroom, letting out a slow, shaky sigh, forcing herself to straighten up. Pretend she was fine.

God, it was so hard to ignore someone who had never given her a reason to. God, it felt almost a sin to treat him like that. Her Shankar wouldn't approve this but she knew this was the right decision.

She whispered a silent prayer as she walked away.

God, please let this work.

And if it doesn't—

God, why does it hurt so much already?

As she walks out of the washroom lost in her own thoughts.

The corridor was crowded, loud with voices and hurried footsteps as students poured out after the final bell.

Gauri walked with her head down, lost in her thoughts, barely aware of her surroundings.

She didn't see the rush of students behind her.

The push came suddenly—rough, unexpected. "Hey—" she barely managed before her feet slipped.

She was falling. She stumbled, her foot slipping forward.

For a split second, she thought she would fall.

Arms caught her instead. She collided into a solid chest, her hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his shirt. Her breath hitched as she steadied herself, her forehead brushing against his chest.

God, the height difference was real.

Zaid.

He stood frozen, his hands firm but gentle on her arms, as if holding her too tightly might scare her away—and letting go too soon might make her fall again.

Their eyes met. Too close. Too sudden.

The noise around them faded, leaving only the sound of her uneven breathing and the way his chest rose beneath her hands.

Then reality struck. She stepped back at once, pulling away as if the moment had burned her.

"I—sorry," she said quickly, her voice low, eyes already dropping.

Zaid's lips parted, like he wanted to say something. Anything. But the words never came. Its like his mouth had been frozen after seeing her.

God, the way she always made him lose control.

Fuck......

"It's okay," he replied softly.

She nodded once and walked past him, her heart pounding painfully.

Behind her, he stood exactly where she left him—hands slowly falling back to his sides. And this time, it wasn't the fall that stayed with her.

It was the way he had caught her—

And how quickly she had chosen to leave his arms.

ZAID'S POV

The bell had already rung, yet the noise in the corridor felt distant to him.

Zaid walked without really seeing where he was going, his eyes finding her without effort—like they always did.

She was ahead of him.

Gauri.

She didn't look back. She never did anymore.

He slowed his steps without realizing it, watching the way she walked faster, as if trying to outrun something. Or someone. Each time he thought she might turn around, she didn't.

Something twisted in his chest. Had he done something wrong?

Why wouldn't she talk to him.

He replayed every conversation in his head—every word, every glance. He searched for the moment where he might have crossed a line, said too much, felt too openly.

He found nothing. And that hurt even more.

She walked past him without looking at him. Not even once. Like he wasn't there.

Like he didn't exist.

His jaw tightened as he looked away, forcing himself to breathe normally. Maybe this was his answer. Maybe this was her way of telling him to stop.

Then it happened.

A sudden shove from behind sent her stumbling.

Zaid reacted before he could think.

She fell straight into him. His arms came up instantly, catching her, pulling her in before she could hit the floor.

His breath left him in a sharp inhale. For a second, his entire world stopped.

Her hands clutched his shirt. Her weight rested against his chest. He could feel her—warm, real, trembling slightly.

She was in his arms.

Again.

His heart slammed painfully as he looked down at her, afraid that if he moved, even an inch, she would disappear.

Her eyes met his.

Too close.

Too much.

He wanted to ask her—What did I do wrong? Why are you pushing me away?
The questions burned at the back of his throat.

But before he could say a word, she pulled away.

Just like that.

She stepped back as if his arms had hurt her, not saved her.

"I—sorry," she said, already looking away.

Sorry. That was all.

"It's okay," he managed, though it didn't feel like it. Even though nothing felt okay.

All he wanted was to scream - to let all the pain out. To cry to Allah. To ask him what had he done wrong?

She walked past him without another glance, leaving behind the echo of her warmth and the ache in his chest.

Zaid stayed where he was, staring at the empty space she had left behind.

He hadn't let go of her.
He hadn't pushed her away.

So why did it feel like he was the one being abandoned?

And just like that, a tear escaped his eyes. Not just a tear—but a drop added to the ache already weighing on his chest.

A small thing.

Yet enough to make him bleed all over again.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

IQBAL RESIDENCE

The sun slipped lower, light turning amber as it filtered through the curtains, stretching long shadows across walls that had once felt warm. The call to prayer echoed faintly from a distant mosque, familiar and grounding—but today, even that failed to steady him.

Imam had spent hours like this.

Sitting.
Standing.
Pacing.

Thinking.

Replaying every conversation. Every look. Every moment from the past weeks, months—searching desperately for the point where everything had gone wrong.

Had he said something careless?
Missed something important?
Failed her in a way he hadn't even noticed?

His mind refused to give him answers. Only questions.

Only guilt over something he didn't even knew of. What had he done wrong?

And the silence. It was unbearable. It was killing him. No bullet pierced through him till today. Not the one that hurts like this. But her silence did.

She moved through the house as if he wasn't there. Soft footsteps. Doors opening and closing. The faint rustle of fabric. Every sound told him she was near—yet impossibly far.

By the time the aroma of spices drifted through the air, his chest felt tight enough to hurt. She was in the kitchen. Cooking. 

Her hands working precisely on cutting the vegetables - something he usually did. Whenever he was home they would cook together. He would cut the vegetables and she would make the sabzi.

But today she didn't even ask him.

God, it hurt him.

He stood outside the kitchen doorway for a long moment, watching her from behind. Aisha's back was straight, movements practiced and calm as she stirred the pot on the stove. The bangles on her wrist clinked softly with every motion.

That sound used to soothe him.
Today, it cut.

She hadn't looked at him all evening. Not once.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

This was Enough. He can't take this - not anymore. When he doesn't even know what it is that she is ignoring. 

He stepped inside.

"Aisha..."

Her name left his lips quietly, almost cautiously, as if saying it too loudly might break something beyond repair.

She didn't turn. The flame under the pot flickered. She adjusted it, focused, precise.

"I'm listening," she said after a moment. Her voice was calm. Too calm. So calm that it made him want to pierce against his own heart.

It shattered him more than anger ever could.

Imam swallowed hard, throat dry. He took a step closer, the smell of cumin and onions thick in the air.

"I've been trying to understand," he said, words tumbling out slowly, carefully. "Since the afternoon... I've been thinking. I can't—" His voice faltered. He cleared his throat. "I don't know what I did."

Still, she didn't face him.

"You didn't do anything today," Aisha replied, stirring again. "The salt?"

She reached for it herself before he could answer, sprinkling it into the pot with steady hands.

The normalcy of it broke something inside him.

"Then why won't you look at me?" he asked, the plea slipping out despite his effort to remain composed. "Why won't you talk to me like you used to?"

The spoon stilled.

For just a second.

His heart lurched.

Slowly, Aisha turned off the stove. She placed the spoon aside with care, wiped her hands on the corner of her dupatta—and only then did she turn to face him.

Her eyes met his.

And he wished—God, he wished—they hadn't. God, the way she looked at him like he was some stranger.

There was no anger in them.
No tears.
Just something distant. Guarded.

"You want me to talk?" she asked softly.

He nodded instantly. "Yes. Please."

She held his gaze for a moment longer, as if weighing something heavy inside her chest. Then she said quietly,

"What would you like to hear, Imam?"

And in that moment, he realized with a sharp, terrifying clarity—

She wasn't asking because she didn't know what to say.

Before Imam could answer—

The front door opened. Footsteps spilled into the house, familiar and rushed.

"Ammi... we're home."

Zoya's voice came first. Soft. Careful. Zain's laughter followed, echoing down the hallway, and then Zaid's—muted, distracted—as he told Zain to move.

The moment in the kitchen fractured.

Aisha turned back to the stove, her movements settling into routine. The spoon touched the pot. A small, steady sound.

"How was school?" she asked gently. "Haath dhoke aao."

"Fine.''

Zaid answered, already dropping his bag. He headed toward the bathroom, fingers brushing the sink as he turned the tap on, staring at the water like he'd forgotten why he was there. His shoulders sagged, breath uneven, movements slower than usual—careless, unguarded.

This wasn't him. Not the Zaid who joked, who filled rooms without trying. Just a quiet shell walking through his own house.

Zain laughed, his eyes flickering toward his elder brother—bright, innocent, unaware of the storm his bhai was carrying.

"He didn't even talk all day."

Zaid glanced at him. No glare. No warning look. Just a brief, hollow stare before his gaze dropped away. Even that much reaction seemed to cost him something.

He stepped into the kitchen a moment later, eyes dull, shoulders slightly hunched. The weight in his chest hadn't eased since morning.

Since Gauri.

Since the way she had walked past him like he didn't exist.
Since she hadn't looked at him. Hadn't spoken. Hadn't even paused.

The silence had followed him all day, pressing against his ribs.

He leaned against the counter, staring at nothing in particular.

Zoya entered more slowly, lingering near the doorway. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, her gaze flicking once toward her parents—too much space between them.

Something felt off. Aisha noticed at once. This wasn't how her children usually were. They were here, yet not really here. Normally, their presence filled the room—jokes flying, playful insults thrown without mercy. Tonight, they were quiet.

Too quiet.

Aisha smiled anyway, the kind she had learned to wear without thinking. "Kya hua?" she asked softly. The words were gentle, but there was a tiredness beneath them—the voice of a mother who had carried more than she ever said aloud, and still chose to stand steady for her children."Go change, both of you.''

Zoya nodded and turned away. She didn't look at anyone—not even when their grandmother, Amna, called out to her. If she did, she knew she would break. And she couldn't afford that. She had to be strong. She had to trust her brother's plan.

And maybe she didn't know it—but not very far away, someone else was burning with her pain. Somewhere, someone couldn't sleep, couldn't rest, couldn't eat. Not until that bastard Rohan paid.

Zaid didn't move right away. As if even movement demanded effort. Effort he no longer had the strength to give.

His eyes drifted to his mother—then to his father—then fell to the floor. Houses were meant to feel safe. Steady. Today, this one felt like it was holding its breath.

Zain tugged at his sleeve, unaware of the tension clinging to the room. Of course he wouldn't notice. He was still just a little boy—one who had known nothing but joy.

  "Come on."

Zaid followed, footsteps slow, his thoughts already somewhere else—back in the corridor at school, replaying the moment Gauri had brushed past him, her shoulder missing his by inches.

It hurt more than it should have.

Their voices faded down the hallway.

The kitchen fell quiet again.

Imam exhaled slowly. "Zaid seems... off."

Aisha stirred the pot. "They all are."

He watched her, wanting to say something more. Wanting to ask about the way sadness sat so easily in their children now.

But he stayed silent.

9:30 PM

Night settled over the house slowly, wrapping it in a quiet that felt too deliberate. Dinner had come and gone with minimal conversation. Plates were cleared. The television murmured softly now, volume low, more habit than interest.

Everyone sat in the living room.

Amna occupied the armchair near the window, Zain curled into her lap, half-asleep, his head resting against her chest. She stroked his hair absentmindedly, whispering a dua under her breath as the boy yawned.

Zoya sat on the floor, knees pulled close, her back against the sofa. Her gaze stayed fixed on the screen, though she hadn't reacted to anything it showed. Her fingers twisted the edge of her dupatta, slow and repetitive.

Zaid sat at the other end of the couch, shoulders slumped, phone resting face-down in his hands. He hadn't checked it in a while. Hadn't needed to. There were no messages waiting for him anyway.

Across the room, Aisha sat quietly, hands folded in her lap. Her gaze rested on the wall, unfocused, as if she were looking through it rather than at it. Something in her had gone still—because even the ones who hold everything together reach a point where they begin to crack.

Too quiet.

She responded when spoken to. Smiled when needed. But she felt... elsewhere. Like she had already stepped away from something none of them could see.

Imam sat beside her, sighing softly, close enough to feel her warmth yet far enough to feel the distance between them. It had been like this all evening..

Polite.
Contained.
Unbearable.

He shifted in his seat, jaw tightening. The silence pressed harder with every passing second, crawling under his skin.

He glanced at his children.

Zoya—withdrawn, guarded.
Zaid—hurting in a way he didn't yet know how to name.
Zain—innocent, unaware.

And Aisha.

God, Aisha.

He couldn't do this anymore.

He cleared his throat, the sound sharper than he intended.

"Aisha," he said quietly.

She turned to him, expression calm, composed.

"Yes?"

That tone—distant, almost like she was speaking to a stranger. Not him. Not the man who had been the father of her children, the man she had called her husband, the one she had spent years with.

It did something to him.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced tightly. "We need to talk."

Amna looked up then. She had sensed it for a while now—something was wrong between her children. But she said nothing. It wasn't her place. Matters between husband and wife rarely were.

"Abhi?" she asked gently, picking up on the shift. "Bacche—"

"Ammi," Imam interrupted softly, forcing the word to stay respectful. He didn't want to snap at his mother, but his patience was thinning. It really was. "Please."

The room stilled.

Zoya glanced up from the screen, heart thudding.
Zaid's grip tightened around his phone.
Even Zain stirred slightly in Amna's lap.

Aisha held Imam's gaze for a long moment, then looked away, almost afraid that showing weakness might give him an opening.

Once again, she nodded.

"Ammi," she said calmly, standing. "Main thodi der ke liye upar jaa rahi hoon." Her voice came out almost hoarse and cracking  like she might break down any minute.

Imam rose immediately. He wasn't letting this go—not now. He needed to know. He really did.

"Aisha—"

She paused, just long enough to look back. "Not here," she said quietly. "Not in front of them."

Her eyes flicked—briefly—to the children.

That was all it took.

Something cracked open inside Imam's chest. She was right. The kids didn't deserve this—not to witness whatever conversation was about to happen, even though he didn't yet know what it was.

He nodded. "I'll come," he said.

Aisha turned and walked toward the stairs, her steps steady, measured. Hands clenching against her salwar as if holding onto for dear life. Because if she let go she might crumbled right here.

Imam followed a second later. He took a deep breath finally entering the room, almost scared - about what was coming but he also knew he had to do this.

Behind them, the living room remained frozen. Amna watched their retreating figures, worry creasing her features. Praying that nothing went wrong. That whatever this was, they would get through it.

Allah, please.

Zoya hugged her knees tighter. Zaid stared at the floor, his heart sinking with the certainty that whatever was happening between their parents—

It wasn't small. And it wasn't going to end quietly.

For a moment, both siblings forgot their own turmoil. All these years, they had never seen their parents like this.

Never this silence between them. And today, they did.

And it scared them.

The door closed behind them with a soft click. Too soft for something this heavy. Aisha walked a few steps into the bedroom before stopping. She didn't turn around immediately. The room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp, shadows stretching across the walls like they were listening.

Imam stood near the door. Waiting. He was tired of this silence, he needed to know what he had done wrong. Exactly what was it so serious that brought this silence between them.

His pulse thundered in his ears. "Aisha... whatever this is, please—just tell me."

She let out a quiet breath.

Then she spoke - her voice almost teary "You don't need to act anymore."

The words were calm.
Flat.
Final.

Imam blinked twice, confusion clouding his features. What was she even talking about? Acting? What acting?

"Act?"

He wouldn't act. Not in front of her.

She turned then. Slowly.

Her eyes met his, and for the first time that day, there was no softness left in them.

"I know," she said.

He frowned, confusion cutting through the fear. "Know... what?". God this conversation was killing, he was being accused of acting and of something he didn't even know.

Aisha's lips pressed together for a moment, as if steadying herself. "That you've been cheating on me."

The sentence fell between them.

Simple.
Unadorned.
Merciless.

Imam felt the world tilt. Did he hear that right? Did his wife just—

Blame him.

"What?" he whispered, as if saying it again might undo it, or maybe the wrong words had slipped from her lips. He hoped.

Her gaze didn't waver. "With a woman from your duty. During one of your postings." Her eyes burned with a pain only a woman could feel—betrayed despite all she had given.

His breath left him in a sharp, hollow exhale.

"No," he said immediately. "Aisha, no—"

"I don't want excuses," she cut in quietly. "I don't want explanations. I don't want lies dressed up as concern."

He felt hurt like never before. Lies dressed as concern? His love for her had never been an act. How could she even think that?

Each accusation, each harsh word she threw at him felt like a shard tearing through his heart—but alongside the pain was a deeper ache: disappointment in himself. As her husband, he had failed. He had let her think this. Let her feel this.

He took a step toward her, panic flooding his veins. "I swear to you, I don't know what you're talking about."

She laughed then. Not loud. Not bitter. Just tired. Like woman who had enough and she couldn't just take it anymore.

"That's the cruel part, isn't it?" she said softly. "You don't even realize how obvious it was."

Imam shook his head, hands lifting helplessly. "I would never—never do that to you. To us."

Her voice dropped. "Then tell me why I know her name."

His chest constricted. "Tell me why she called this house," Aisha continued, each word steady. "Why she knew when you'd be home. Why she spoke like she had a right."

His blood ran cold. Whoever had called their house—whoever had made his wife believe that someone else had rights over him—was going to pay.

''Called... this house?

"I didn't know," he whispered. "I had no idea. Aisha, I swear to you—I don't know any woman like that."

Silence stretched. Aisha watched him closely now. Not with anger—but with something far more frightening.

Evaluation.

"She said you told her you were alone," Aisha said. "That you had no one waiting for you. No wife."

Imam felt something inside him shatter. "That's not true," he said hoarsely. "I would never erase you like that."

Her eyes glistened for a brief second before she looked away.''You don't get to decide that anymore," she said quietly.

He froze. Truly froze.

Because in that moment, he understood—

This wasn't just about betrayal. It was about trust already broken, whether by his hand or not.

And he had no idea how to prove his innocence when the damage had already been done.

The words still hung in the air—

The door burst open. Imam spun around at the sound—only to find his son standing there.

Zaid stood frozen in the doorway, eyes glistening, breath coming uneven, as if what he had heard was too much to bear. Color had drained from his face, leaving it almost pale—no trace of the cocky smirk he usually wore.

For a split second, no one moved. Time itself seemed to fracture—each second stretching, echoing in the hollow silence of the room. Hearts thudded loudly in the stillness, breaths caught mid-air, and the weight of everything unspoken pressed down like a physical force.

"Zaid?" Aisha whispered.

But it was too late. He had heard everything. And every word was breaking him slowly and slowly one by one.

The word cheating echoed violently in his head, louder than his own heartbeat. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms like pain was the only thing keeping him upright.

"You—" His voice cracked, sharp and broken. "You cheated?"

Imam felt the floor drop out from under him. His son had said you—hadn't even called him Abba, like he always did.

It was as if the verdict had already been passed. As if he no longer deserved that name.

"No," he said instantly, stepping forward. "Zaid, listen to me—"

Zaid laughed through those tears. A short, disbelieving sound that scraped his throat raw. "Of course you'd say that," he snapped. "That's what people always say, right?"

Aisha took a step toward her son. "Beta—"

"Did you?" Zaid demanded, eyes burning now, locked on his father. "Did you tell some woman you didn't have a wife? Did you let her call this house?"

Imam opened his mouth.Nothing came out. He had no idea what to say. Not because he was guilty—

—but because how did you explain innocence when the damage had already carved itself into the people you loved?

"I didn't know," Imam said finally, voice hoarse. "I swear to you. I had no idea. I would never do that to your Ammi. Never."

Zaid shook his head, backing away like the room itself was unsafe.

"You know what's funny?" he said, breath uneven. "I spent all day wondering what I did wrong. Thinking maybe if I said something different—if I waited—if I didn't care so much—"

His voice broke completely. Tears streamed down without pause, carrying with them the weight of everything that had happened today. It felt as if the whole world, every person, every moment, was pressing down on him—hurting him from all sides.

"Turns out I learned it from you." The words hit harder than any blow Imam had ever taken.

Aisha gasped softly. She had never seen her son like this—her boy who always cracked jokes, who lived freely without a care or judgment.

"Zaid—please—"

"No," Zaid said, tears finally spilling despite his effort to stop them. "Don't. Don't protect him."

Imam's chest caved inward. He felt utterly broken. He didn't know what to do or what to say.

"Bacha," he whispered. "You don't understand."

Zaid wiped his face angrily. "Then explain it. Explain how a man who taught me loyalty... does this."

Silence answered him. Thick. Damning.

Zaid let out a shaky, hollow breath. He couldn't believe it—his own father, the man he had looked up to, his hero, the one he would have moved mountains for... could do something like this.

"I don't want to hear it," he said. "Not tonight."

He turned sharply, shoulders stiff, and walked out—each step heavy, deliberate, like he was leaving something behind that he could never return to.

The door slammed. The room froze—so did the people in it. For the first time, Imam felt he had failed—not just as a husband, but as a father too.

Not because he had done anything wrong. He knew he hadn't. But because he had let his wife and son believe it. Because he had let them cry.

Because in that moment, he realized—

Whatever this misunderstanding was had taken from him... It had already taken his son.

And he didn't know how to get him back.

"Zaid—"

Zoya saw him just as he reached the stairs. She froze, catching the hurt in her brother's eyes, the tear streaks on his cheeks. His head hung low, steps uneven, and he didn't slow when he heard her.

Something inside her dropped. She followed.

Upstairs, the bedroom door stood ajar. Light spilled into the hallway. Zoya stopped at the threshold, suddenly unsure—then stepped inside.

The room felt wrong.

Aisha stood near the bed, her hands clasped too tightly. Imam was by the door, unmoving, his face pale and distant.

No one spoke.

Zoya didn't ask what had happened. She already knew something had—but this was different. Her brother walking out, their parents like this—it was frightening.

Her eyes went to her mother first, searching instinctively. Aisha met her gaze, and in it was a quiet request.

"Go after him," Aisha said softly, trying, even now, to hold them together despite everything.

Zoya nodded, but still hesitated. Her eyes went to Imam—her father, the man who had always been her world. Never denying, always giving, always the best. Not accusing. Just hurt. Just confused.

"Is this why everything's been so quiet?" she asked, voice barely there.

Imam's throat moved. He didn't answer.

Zoya inhaled shakily, then exhaled. The sound trembled.

"Okay," she said.

She turned to leave, then paused at the door.

Without looking back, she said, "Abbu... please don't make us guess."

Then she walked away, her footsteps fading down the hall as she chased after her brother. But Zaid had already reached his room and shut the door.

Amna watched from the corner, seeing her house unravel before her eyes.

"Jaan... jao, so jao," she whispered to Zoya. At this point, everyone needed their own space—and sometimes, that was the kindest thing she could do.

Aisha sank slowly onto the edge of the bed. Imam stayed standing. None of them spoke anymore. 

Because some truths didn't need to be spoken aloud—

They settled into children's hearts all on their own.

Midnight crept in quietly. The house slept. But people in it never did.

Especially him.

Lights were off, doors closed, breaths even and unaware—except for one room where sleep refused to come.

Zaid stood by his window, the curtains drawn just enough for the streetlight to spill in, cutting pale lines across the floor. Pale. Cold. Unforgiving. The glass pressed cool against his knuckles as he leaned forward, shoulders tight, jaw clenched like iron.

A cigarette smoldered between his fingers. He didn't remember when he'd lit it. Didn't care. It was just something to hold, something to burn.

The smoke rose in lazy curls, dissolving into the dark as if it had somewhere better to be. He drew in a long drag. Held it. Nothing eased. His pain thickened, knotting in his chest, deepening with every exhale—and still he didn't stop. At least this was a distraction.

His eyes burned, but no tears came. They were trapped deeper, heavier, bleeding inward where no one could see. He had always thought he was strong.

He had watched his father leave for duty, over and over. Watched his mother hold the house together with quiet, ironed-back resolve. Watched fear walk through their lives like a guest who never stayed too long. He had told himself that pain was something you carried quietly. That nothing could really break you.

He had been wrong.

Not even tonight. Not even the things he had been forced to hear, the things meant to stay hidden.

It was Gauri.

Her silence.

The way she had looked past him all day, like he was air. Like he had never existed. Like whatever she had seen—or heard—had changed something between them forever.

He replayed it again and again.

Her eyes flickering with realization. That split second where something shifted inside her.

She knew. She had figured it out.

That he liked her. That he cared more than he should. That his heart had betrayed him before he'd even had a chance to guard it.

And instead of saying something—
Instead of asking—

She had chosen silence. She didn't even realise how much she was killing him. That was what hurt.

Not rejection. Not anger.

Being erased.

His fingers clenched the cigarette until the burning tip bit into his skin. He hissed, pulling back, letting the sting anchor him for a fleeting moment.

"Pathetic," he muttered not to her or someone else but himself, voice low.

Was he really that... dispensable? That easy to ignore? That inconvenient to acknowledge?

His chest ached, heavy with the weight of questions he had no answers to.

Maybe he had imagined it all. Maybe she had never felt anything. Maybe this—this quiet punishment—was her way of reminding him to stay invisible.

The smoke blurred his vision—or maybe it was the hurt pressing too close, filling every hollow space inside him.

He crushed the cigarette against the windowsill, grinding it down harder than necessary.

Still no tears.

Just a hollow pressure behind his ribs, like something had been torn out and left to bleed quietly where it belonged.

He rested his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes. 

Why Allah why. 

He didn't know when love had become something this heavy, this sharp, this unbearable. He didn't realise in her love he was breaking and this was just starting.

All he knew was one thing:

Tonight, the silence had won.

And he had never felt more alone.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Deewangi Writess