The first two days in the new apartment passed in silence for Maira.
The space was clean, quiet, almost too perfect, like it hadn’t yet learned to breathe with life. Maira tried her best to settle in: arranging her things neatly, learning how the kitchen appliances worked, folding and refolding her clothes just to feel occupied.
But the stillness… it hung heavy.
She hadn’t heard from Hadi since he dropped her off. No messages. No calls. Not even a knock to check in.
Maybe he’s busy, she had thought.
Still, there was a faint tug of disappointment inside her. She had never expected warmth, but a few words, even out of courtesy, would’ve made her feel less... abandoned.
On the third day, the quiet began to ache.
By late morning, Maira stood near the window, sunlight pouring in over her face. She looked down at the society park, lush, peaceful, and buzzing with the soft movement of life. Children riding tiny cycles. An old couple tending to a small garden patch.
She couldn’t resist.
Throwing on a loose kurta and tying her hair into a bun, wrapping her dupatta over her head, she stepped into her sandals and left the apartment.
The society was big, trees lining each path, soft breeze fluttering dupattas from balconies, and the occasional chirping of birds. But her eyes stayed focused on the elderly couple by the garden. The old man wore a white kurta-pajama, bent slightly with age but steady in his movements. The woman, wearing a light pink saree and a straw hat over her white hair, was humming something softly while pulling weeds.
Maira walked closer and offered a shy smile.
"Hello aunty," she said gently.
The woman looked up, surprised but pleased. "Hello beta, nayi ho society mein?"
(Are you new in the society?)
"Ji," Maira nodded, "kal hi shift hui hoon."
(Yes, I've shifted yesterday)
Without much hesitation, she knelt beside them and began helping. The soil was cool in her palms. There was something soothing about it, the earth between her fingers, the simplicity of the task, the warm small talk between the couple. For the first time in weeks, she felt… useful.
Time passed unnoticed.
Back in the apartment building, Hadi rang the apartment door bell a couple of times, but got no response, he walked in with his key, shutting the door behind him with a tired hand.
He looked around, the silence of the flat unusually loud.
“Maira?” he called out, stepping into the hallway. He knocked on the bedroom door. No response.
He opened it slowly.
Empty.
His brows furrowed.
He checked the bathroom.
Nothing.
“Maira?” he tried again, this time a bit louder. But it only confirmed what he feared, she wasn’t in the apartment.
His chest tightened with concern. He reached for his phone, but then froze.
He didn’t even have her contact number.
“Great,” he muttered under his breath, frustration brewing. He had taken half a day off from work just to take her for the appointment with Dr. Farha Wasim, her assistant had called earlier that morning to confirm availability. It wasn’t easy stepping away from his piled-up deadlines, yet here he was, standing in a half-lived apartment with no idea where she’d gone.
He ran a hand through his hair, grabbed his car keys, and rushed out.
The watchman didn’t know. The receptionist didn’t see her leave. Asking around in the society barely helped “ ek slim si ladki, halki si wheatish skin, black hair…” he tried to describe, but it wasn’t enough. He had no photo to show.
(A slim girl, light white skin, black hair,...)
An hour passed but, nothing.
Agitated and defeated, Hadi returned to the apartment.
He paced the floor, every tick of the clock heightening his worry.
It was almost sunset when he finally heard the soft click of the door.
He turned instantly.
There she was, standing in the doorway, hands smeared in mud, sleeves stained, strands of hair escaping her dupatta, cheeks slightly flushed, but with a peaceful smile on her face, the kind he hadn’t seen in a long time.
But Hadi’s face contorted into a frown as he stepped forward.
"Kahan gayi thi? Aur yeh sab kya hai?" he asked sharply, eyeing her messy state.
(Where did you go? And what is all this?)
Maira startled at the sound of his voice.
She hadn’t realized he was home. Her eyes widened as she turned, he was standing near the sofa, sleeves rolled up, blazer tossed casually aside, eyes tired, clearly upset.
"Maira, I'm asking you something. Are you hurt? Why are you covered in mud?" he repeated, tone firmer this time.
Her lips parted slightly, then stammered, "Main… main woh bahar gayi thi, garden mein."
(I… I went outside, to the garden.)
He raised an eyebrow, arms folded now, standing with authority and exasperation.
"Aur kya, bachchon ke saath mud fight kheli hain?"
(And what, you played mud fight with kids?)
"Nahi," she answered quietly, her eyes on the floor, "I helped in gardening."
(No)
Hadi let out a groan, running his hand through his already ruffled hair. He sat down heavily on the couch, sighing.
"Oh Allah… Maira, how can you be so careless? At least you should have informed me when you were going out, I was worried sick."
His voice was strained, equal parts anger and concern.
Maira felt a sting of guilt. She stepped a little closer, unsure, then softly said, "I'm sorry."
Hadi closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. When he opened them again, he looked at her, truly looked at her.
Her muddy fingers, downcast eyes, shoulders slouched.
Still avoiding his gaze.
Still lost in a storm.
He shook his head slightly.
"Jao, jaakar fresh ho jao. I'm waiting here."
(Go, freshen up. I'm waiting here.)
She nodded quickly and disappeared into the bedroom without another word.
Hadi leaned back, letting his head rest against the cushion.
His eyes closed. His mind, however, was still running. The worry hadn't faded.
But the weight of responsibility… it was only getting heavier.
---
After a while, Maira stepped out of her room, freshened up and quietly composed. Her damp hair was tied into a loose braid, a few wisps falling across her forehead. She was barefoot, the soft tapping of her steps barely audible against the tiled floor as she entered the living room.
Her gaze immediately found Hadi.
He was resting on the couch, his head leaned back, eyes closed, face visibly tired. His shirt sleeves still rolled up to the elbow, and the blazer remained tossed carelessly over the side of the sofa. The frown on his forehead hadn’t yet disappeared. He looked like he was holding the weight of an entire day on his shoulders.
Without a sound, Maira walked into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. She stood silently beside him, unsure whether to disturb his rest. But instead of moving away, she lingered there, simply watching him.
For a moment, in that rare quiet, she allowed herself to admire the man she had come to share this strange, uncertain life with. The way his lashes rested against his cheeks, the faint creases on his forehead, the sharp angle of his jaw, all softened in the peace of that pause.
Then, as if sensing her gaze, Hadi’s eyes slowly fluttered open.
Their eyes met.
Startled, Maira gasped slightly and quickly looked down. Her fingers tightened slightly around the glass, and in a small voice, she stretched her hand toward him, whispering, “Water.”
He accepted the glass without a word and drank deeply. Then, placing it gently on the side table, he turned toward her.
“Sit,” he said simply, nodding to the couch across from him.
She obeyed wordlessly, settling down with quiet grace. Her hands fidgeted in her lap.
“I wanted to take you to Dr. Farha, as suggested by Dr. Zafar,” he began, his voice softer than before. “But it's way past the appointment time now. Should I book it for tomorrow?”
“Okay,” Maira replied meekly, barely above a whisper.
“Be ready tomorrow around 4 p.m. I’ll pick you up.”
She nodded again, eyes downcast.
Reaching for his phone, Hadi handed it to her across the table. “Apna number save kar do, I wasn’t able to contact you earlier.”
(Save your number.)
She hesitated, looking first at him, then at the phone in her hand. Her expression turned awkward, and she looked up hesitantly.
“What?” he asked, sensing her reluctance.
“...Mere paas phone nahi hai,” she said softly. And with that, she lowered her eyes again, as if ashamed.
(I don't have a phone)
Hadi stared at her, stunned into silence. In all these months he had known her, it had never occurred to him that she didn’t own a phone. But then again… he had never contacted her directly. It had always been Rubina who communicated in between.
He sighed, heavily.
Then, without another word, he picked up his phone again and began doing something. His brows furrowed in concentration as he typed away. Maira glanced at him every now and then, trying not to be obvious. There was something oddly calming about watching him work, the seriousness on his face, the way his fingers moved swiftly, the subtle lines near his eyes that hinted at stress he didn’t voice.
When he was done, he put his phone aside. Maira quickly turned her gaze away, not wanting to get caught looking.
“Did you like the apartment? Are you comfortable here?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied quickly, nodding.
“Do you need anything else?” he asked again.
She glanced at him this time, eyes hesitating as if words sat on the tip of her tongue. But she only shook her head in a quiet No.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, just heavy with unsaid things.
Then, mustering a little courage, Maira asked hesitantly, “Aap kuch lenge?”
(Will you have something?)
Hadi looked surprised, then quickly shook his head. “No, I don’t need anything.”
But Maira could see through that. His eyes looked worn out, and she had a strong feeling he hadn’t eaten in hours. Without pressing further, she quietly got up and walked toward the open kitchen.
Hadi’s gaze followed her, curious.
He watched as she opened a cabinet, took out a glass bottle filled with cookies, plated a few with care, and brought them to him. She placed the plate in front of him and said softly, “Please have them.”
“I remember not ordering these. Did you bring them?” he asked.
“No. I made them,” she replied, glancing at the cookies shyly.
His brows rose in surprise. She knew how to bake?
Taking one, he bit into it. The taste was light, just the right amount of sweet. “They’re good,” he said, genuinely impressed.
A small, proud smile touched her lips. It was the first time he had tasted something she made.
Then, after a moment, she hesitated before asking, “Uh… Aap mujhe coffee machine use karna sikha denge?”
(Uh… Will you teach me how to use the coffee machine?)
Hadi looked up. “Of course,” he said without hesitation.
Dusting his hands, he stood, and Maira followed. He guided her to the sleek coffee machine placed at the edge of the counter. It was a modern appliance, the kind that came with far too many buttons. Hadi had picked it himself, so he knew exactly how it worked.
Patiently, step-by-step, he showed her the mechanism, the compartments, the settings.
Then, he filled two cups and handed her one.
When he was done, he asked, “Aur kuch jaanna hai?”
(Anything else you want to know?)
She shook her head with a soft smile. She had mostly figured the rest out on her own.
They walked back to the living room, sipping slowly. A quiet comfort settled between them.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Hadi excused himself and went to open the door, returning with a small delivery box in hand.
He settled on the couch again and began unwrapping it. Maira, curious sat straight, placing the coffee cup neatly on the table.
Inside the box was a brand-new iPhone 16 pro max, the latest model, along with a new SIM card.
Maira’s eyes widened.
Without saying much, Hadi began setting it up. He taught her the basic use and saved a few emergency contacts into it. His number was the first.
Maira was hesitant. It felt like too much. But he was firm, he had ordered her to keep the phone with her at all times and keep him informed about her whereabouts.
She had no choice but to agree.
Once everything was set up, Hadi stood, preparing to leave.
Just then, Maira pointed gently toward the half-finished coffee cup on the table. It had almost turned cold.
Realizing, he picked it up and finished it in one go.
Then he turned to her. “Lock the door. Be ready tomorrow, I'll leave now” he said before walking out.
The sound of the door closing echoed across the empty apartment.
Maira stood there, the silence swallowing her whole. She felt it again, that quiet ache in her chest. She didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want to be alone in this place. A part of her, despite everything, wanted him to stay a little longer… to sit with her a little more.
But she knew he wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
And perhaps… he didn’t want to.
So, she turned away… and embraced the silence once more.
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
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