The drive home was wordless. The radio played faintly in the background, a soft, nostalgic tune that neither of them paid attention to. Maira sat by the window, her fingers absently tracing invisible lines on the glass. Hadi kept his focus on the road ahead, his mind still tangled in Dr. Zafar’s words.
The building loomed quietly as they pulled into the parking lot. The sun had dipped lower now, casting long, sleepy shadows across the tiled compound. The familiar silence of the apartment greeted them as they entered, only interrupted by the dull creak of the door closing behind.
“Go lie down for a bit,” Hadi said gently, helping Maira with her sandals as she stepped inside. “You must be tired.”
She nodded without protest. “Yeah… a little.”
He watched her retreat into the bedroom, her steps slow, a hand grazing the wall for balance. When the door clicked softly behind her, he finally sank onto the couch, the weight of the day catching up with him all at once.
The living room felt unusually silent. Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, dust motes floating in the air like memories refusing to settle. A glass of water sat untouched on the coffee table. Hadi leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly as he stared at the floor, deep in thought.
His mind raced in loops, What now?
He had promised Rubina she wouldn’t have to stay beyond this. He couldn’t burden her any longer. But Maira wasn’t ready to be alone. And then there was the truth, the full truth, still sitting like a stone in his throat.
Was it time to bring her back to Mumbai?
But how would that even work?
Another hour passed, unnoticed. The ticking clock on the opposite wall marked time like footsteps in an empty hall. Hadi hadn’t moved. The city outside bustled with life, but inside, he was suspended, stuck between responsibility and reality.
Then, the sound of a key in the lock.
The door creaked open and Rubina stepped in, a familiar tote bag slung over her shoulder and her dupatta slightly creased from the breeze.
Hadi sat up, surprised. “You’re back early?”
She gave a tired half-smile as she set her bag down by the shoe rack. “I took a half-day. Thought I’d come back, check in.”
He nodded, grateful. “Thanks, Rubina.”
She walked over and settled into the armchair opposite him, pulling her feet up comfortably. Her face was flushed from the sun, but her eyes were sharp with concern. “So? What happened? What did Dr. Zafar say?”
Hadi rubbed his hands over his face before answering, voice low. “Everything is fine. That’s what he said. Nothing alarming. But I don’t know what to do next.” His eyes met hers briefly before darting away. “You’re going to Bangalore soon, and I can’t leave her here alone. I’m just… confused.”
Rubina didn’t reply right away. She looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable, then quietly said, “Why don’t you take her with you? To Mumbai.”
Hadi blinked.
The words hit him like a gust of cold wind. Take her to Mumbai?
It was so obvious, so logical, yet so terrifying.
“But... how?” he asked instinctively, his voice a whisper.
His mind had already leapt ahead. Lubna.
How would he feel about Maira’s presence in the same city, in close proximity, even if not under the same roof?
How would he handle both of them?
Rubina sensed his hesitation. “It’s not impossible, Hadi Bhai. You’ll just have to be careful. Lubna doesn’t need to know everything, not yet. Just get Maira to a safe space. She trusts you. And if you feel ready to tell Lubna, then I suggest you do it.”
He didn’t respond. The suggestion echoed in his mind, turning over and over. Telling Lubna would bring in unimaginable consequences. A thousand complications rose in protest, but so did one undeniable truth, Rubina was leaving, and Maira needed someone. More than anything, she needed safety. He could provide it.
Before he could gather his thoughts to speak, the soft sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence.
Both heads turned toward the hallway.
Maira stood there, leaning gently against the wall beside the bedroom door. Her hair as usual covered beneath her dupatta, and her face was pale but calm. She clutched the edge of her dupatta, fingers fidgeting nervously.
“I… I wanted to talk to you,” she said quietly, her gaze fixed on Hadi. “Can we talk?”
He straightened slightly, concern flickering in his eyes. “Okay,” he replied gently.
Then, almost unconsciously, he glanced at Rubina, a subtle exchange that held unspoken worry, curiosity, and something heavier. Rubina offered no comment, just a small nod that said, Go ahead.
Hadi rose from the couch and followed Maira toward the room, the door creaking open as she led the way. She didn’t close it entirely, instead, she left it slightly ajar, a symbolic act, perhaps, leaving space for honesty to breathe.
He stepped in, unsure of what she was about to say.
And just like that, the air shifted. The room felt heavier as they entered. The late afternoon sun spilled through the sheer curtains, casting a soft amber glow across the walls. The air was still, thick with unsaid things and the kind of tension that grows only in the spaces where hearts have quietly begun to drift.
Maira walked slowly to the bed and sat at the edge, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, as if they alone could hold her together. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor. There was a nervous flutter in her chest, one that she tried hard to suppress.
Hadi took the chair opposite her, the same chair where he had sat many times during her recovery. Always keeping a safe distance. Not just physical, but something that clung to the very air between them. He leaned slightly forward, sensing her hesitation.
“You can tell me,” he said gently. “Whatever it is… just say it. Relax.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. “I… I know this is very difficult for you. And you’ve done so much already,” she began, her voice small, tight at the edges. “It feels… it feels wrong for me to keep burdening you more.”
He blinked, confused. “What are you saying?” His voice rose slightly, almost incredulous.
“I’m saying…” Her voice cracked. She didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s time we… part ways.”
The words hit him like a blunt force. He sat up straighter, every breath suddenly harder to take. “Part ways?” he echoed, barely above a whisper.
She nodded, her gaze still lowered, hiding the moisture that had started to gather. “Yeah,” she said. “I know you did what you felt was right then. And I don’t blame you. I really don’t. But I’m fine now… I’ll be alright. You don’t have to take care of me anymore.”
Her voice shook, despite her efforts to keep it calm. There was a kind of dignity in the way she said it, but also a deep sorrow she couldn’t disguise.
Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “You should… get the divorce papers ready.”
Hadi froze.
He had been staring at the bedspread between them, trying to hold his emotions in check, but now his eyes snapped up to her face. He was stunned, not because he hadn’t expected the marriage to end, but because she had said it. Because it came from her.
She was letting him go, and he hadn’t prepared for that. He thought he'd be the one to initiate this conversation when she was ready, but, she was acting maturely here.
“I…” He opened his mouth, but no words followed. His throat felt like it was being held shut by something larger than grief. Shame? Guilt? Or maybe the weight of all the truths he had yet to tell.
“Please don’t worry about me,” she continued, her voice soft but deliberate. “I’ll manage. I’ll look for a job here. Maybe as a school teacher, or in an NGO like Rubina di. I don’t think I ever told you but…” her lips trembled into a soft smile, “I love kids. I’d love to be around them.”
She tried so hard to sound upbeat. To paint a future that didn’t sound like a fall from grace, a future where she didn’t need anyone’s pity. But inside, her heart was tearing. Not because she didn’t care for Hadi, but because she did. Enough to let him go.
She didn’t want to be known as a burden. A mistake someone had to keep cleaning up after. And most of all, she didn’t want to be the broken woman someone was tied to out of guilt.
Hadi, on the other hand, sat still, her words echoing in his mind like crashing waves.
“I love kids.”
It echoed again.
She had no idea. She didn’t know.
She didn’t know the possibility that she might never have her own children, that the injuries from the accident had done more damage than she’d been told. Damage that he had contributed to. Damage that he was too afraid to speak of.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. She was letting him go, graciously, gently, she was making a decision for him, which he himself wasn't able to and he was carrying a truth that might shatter her entirely.
It wasn’t that he wanted to stay married to her. He didn’t love her the way a husband should. But he didn’t want her to feel unwanted, either. Not after the way her own family had failed her. Not after how much she had endured in silence.
Not when she still wasn’t fully healed from the wounds he had been partly responsible for.
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor.
“I’ll be back,” he said quickly, his voice uneven.
And before she could respond, before she could reach out, or call his name, he was gone.
She stared at the door for a long second, her hands trembling in her lap, until her composure gave way and the tears that had been threatening all along finally spilled down her cheeks. Only she knew how difficult it was to suggest a divorce. She bowed her head, covering her face with both hands, letting the sobs come now that she was alone.
Except she wasn’t.
Rubina had been sitting quietly in the living room, pretending to scroll through her phone. But the moment she’d heard Maira’s voice crack, the moment she’d sensed the finality in the words exchanged between them, she knew.
She didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But her heart had stayed pressed to that conversation like a mother would to a child’s cry.
She rose, walked quietly into the room, and without saying a word, she sat beside Maira on the bed and pulled her gently into her arms.
Maira broke completely, her body trembling as she leaned into Rubina’s comforting presence, her sobs muffled against her shoulder.
“I’m so tired, di…” she whispered brokenly. “I’m just so tired…”
“I know,” Rubina whispered back, stroking her hair gently. “I know, sweetheart. You’ve been so strong. So strong.”
And there they sat, one grieving a marriage she’d never asked for, the other grieving a truth she could not yet tell.
The room filled with the quiet ache of two women, one holding the other through a pain that neither words nor decisions could fully soften.
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
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