The next day, right at 4:00 pm, the doorbell to Maira's apartment chimed softly, echoing through the quiet space. Maira, who had been pacing lightly in anticipation, immediately straightened. She pulled her dupatta gently over her head, making sure it was pinned in place. Her fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from a sense of uncertainty that clung to her like a second skin.
She opened the door.
There he stood, Hadi, in a neatly tailored charcoal grey suit, the sharp lapels crisp against the white of his shirt. A navy-blue tie sat snug at his collar, complementing the pocket square peeking out from his coat. His hair was combed back, a faint trace of cologne clinging to him, subtle, but warm. He looked effortlessly composed, the kind of composed that comes not just from power, but from habit.
"Assalamualaikum," he greeted, voice calm and respectful.
(Peace be upon you.)
"Walaikum assalam," Maira replied softly, stepping aside to let him in.
(And peace be upon you too.)
She moved carefully, as if trying not to disturb the air around them, while Hadi stepped in, his gaze scanning the modest apartment briefly before returning to her.
"Ready ho? Files le li?" he asked, adjusting the strap of his wristwatch while glancing at her.
(Are you ready? Did you take the files?)
"Yes," she nodded, holding up the small beige handbag that dangled from her shoulder.
"Okay let's go," he said with a brief nod, already stepping out. He reached for the keys hanging near the entrance and locked the door behind them with practiced ease.
The hallway outside was quiet, the click of Maira’s sandals against the tiled floor the only sound as they walked to the elevator. Inside, a dense silence settled. Hadi stood to one side, absorbed in his phone, thumb gliding across the screen with swift precision. Maira stood beside him, hands clutched in front of her, eyes fixed on the flickering floor numbers.
When the elevator dinged open, they stepped out wordlessly and made their way toward the car.
Outside, the late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over everything. Hadi’s black BMW sat polished and gleaming, its surface reflecting the orange sky above. Without a word, he opened the passenger-side door for her, an automatic gesture, but not without meaning. Maira lowered herself into the seat, careful not to wrinkle her simple cotton shalwar kameez. Hadi rounded to the driver’s side and slid in, the car humming to life as he turned the ignition.
The drive was... silent.
The city passed them by in a blur of colors and honking horns, but inside the car, it was almost too still. Hadi focused on the road, his jawline taut in the side mirror. Maira sat still, her eyes flickering between the dashboard and the view outside. Words hung between them, unsaid, perhaps unformed.
Eventually, they reached the clinic.
The waiting area was brightly lit, with pale walls and clean tiles. A receptionist greeted them with a polite smile and gestured to a pair of seats. Maira sat stiffly, her hands in her lap, while Hadi checked something on his phone. Their names were called soon after.
Inside, Dr. Farha greeted them with a gentle smile, her tone warm and knowing.
"I’ve already spoken to Dr. Zafar about the case," she said, her eyes flicking briefly, and rather knowingly, toward Hadi. There was something in her gaze. Not judgment, but recognition. As if she understood more than what had been told.
Hadi didn’t respond to the glance, but Maira noticed his posture straighten slightly, just for a second.
Dr. Farha then moved to Maira, her tone soft and professional as she conducted a routine check-up. Her hands were gentle, her manner calming.
“Everything seems to be alright,” she concluded after a few minutes, pulling off her gloves. “But you must continue with the prescribed medication. It’s important. Also, monthly visits are necessary so we can monitor progress.”
Maira nodded quietly, while Hadi responded with a short but respectful, “Thank you, doctor.”
They both stood up, thanking her in unison. As they turned to leave, Dr. Farha's voice followed them with a final note of warmth.
“Take care, Maira.”
She smiled again, this time more personally, and Maira gave her a shy, grateful smile in return before stepping out of the room beside Hadi.
---
The sky had begun to fade into a dusky lavender as the car pulled into the apartment complex. The ride back had been just as silent as before, two people enclosed in the same space, yet caught in two very different worlds of thoughts.
Hadi parked the car neatly into its slot, cut the ignition, and without a word, stepped out. He walked around and opened the passenger-side door, silently inviting Maira to step out. She nodded slightly, murmuring a quiet thanks that didn't quite leave her lips. As she walked ahead, he followed her, the soles of their shoes tapping against the cool marble floor of the corridor.
Once at the door, Hadi waited as she unlocked it, then gently closed it behind them with a soft click, the final sound cutting through the quiet like a punctuation mark.
Maira didn’t pause. With a kind of quiet urgency, she headed straight to the kitchen. The space was small and warm, holding the faint scent of spices and lemon-scented dish soap. She grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, filled them with cool water from the filter, and walked back into the living room.
Hadi had taken a seat on the sofa by now, one leg crossed over the other, speaking in hushed tones on a phone call. His voice was low, focused, businesslike. He barely looked up when she entered, though his eyes flicked toward her in brief acknowledgement.
Without interrupting, Maira placed one of the glasses on the side table next to him, then took her place on the adjacent sofa, her own glass in hand. The water felt good, cool against her parched throat. She took measured gulps, her posture straight, almost rigid, as though reminding herself to stay composed.
Hadi ended his call a few minutes later, setting the phone down on the table. He reached for the glass she’d given him and took a sip, then finally turned toward her. His voice was calm, but there was something guarded in his expression.
"I've talked to one of my staff," he said, voice firm but thoughtful. "They'll be arranging all your important ID proofs and documents that you've lost, in the... accident."
The last word left his mouth a little slower, a little softer. It lingered in the air between them like a bruise, unseen but deeply felt.
Maira looked at him, her eyes softening. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but rich in gratitude.
He nodded slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward for the briefest moment, a ghost of a smile, maybe.
Silence settled over them once again, this time heavier. There was nothing to say, and yet so much unsaid. They sat there, both immersed in a quiet where the air felt too still, too full of what wasn’t being spoken.
As the shadows outside grew longer, the warm amber of the setting sun began to retreat. The call to Maghrib would echo soon. Maira’s eyes flicked to the wall clock, then back to Hadi. He was lost in thought, his brows knitted, a slight crease forming between them, like someone trying to solve an unsolvable riddle.
She spoke gently, her voice almost tentative.
"Kya aap dinner ke liye rukenge?"
(Will you stay for dinner?)
Hadi looked at her, surprised, not by the offer, but perhaps by the tone. She wasn’t pleading, nor expecting. Just asking. Like one would to a passing guest.
When he didn’t respond immediately, she added softly,
"I'll cook."
There was a beat. And then, as if struck by something electric, Hadi abruptly stood up, the motion so sudden it startled Maira. Her hand paused mid-motion on the glass in her lap. His words came out jumbled, unsure, but clear enough.
"No... Uh... I'll leave now, Lubna must be waiting."
He didn’t wait for her response. With hurried steps and nervous hands, he reached for the door, slipping his phone into his coat pocket. There was something unmistakably deliberate in the way he left, as if staying any longer would be crossing an invisible boundary, one he wasn't ready, or allowed, to cross.
And yet... for Maira, it wasn’t a boundary. It was simply kindness. She had asked out of decency, not hope. But the speed of his exit cut deeper than she expected. It shouldn't have hurt... but it did.
The lock clicked shut behind him. The apartment now felt even quieter than before. Her shoulders slumped, the strength she had held up all day slipping off her like a heavy shawl.
After performing ablution, she walked slowly to her prayer mat and laid it out. The sky outside had deepened to blue now, and the Azaan began to echo gently through the open window. Maira raised her hands in takbeer, beginning her Maghrib prayer.
But once the final salaam was whispered, she didn’t move.
She remained seated on the mat, her head bowed. Tears streamed down her cheeks, quiet, unassuming tears, like gentle rain that falls without thunder. Her lips trembled as they whispered broken supplications.
“Ya Allah, please asaani karde… unke liye bhi, mere liye bhi. Agar humara raasta alag hai, tou alag kar de… lekin itna mushkil na banade ke har qadam dard ban jaye.”
(O Allah please make it easy… for him and for me. If our paths are meant to be separate, then separate them… but don’t make it so painful that every step becomes agony.)
Her body trembled with the weight of unspoken grief, of emotions buried too long. It wasn’t just about Hadi. It was about the void, the in-between space they both occupied. Neither strangers nor something more. Just two souls circling around wounds too complicated to name.
After a long while, when her tears had dried into silence, Maira wiped her face, folded the prayer mat, and walked into the kitchen. Cooking was her sanctuary, her one remaining place of control.
She rolled up the sleeves of her kurta, tied her hair in a loose bun, and began pulling out ingredients from the cabinets. Her fingers moved with familiarity: washing, chopping, stirring. The rhythm of it calmed her. As she worked, she began humming a soft naat under her breath, its words wrapping around her like a balm.
In that quiet little kitchen, amidst simmering spices and low chants of praise, she found a sliver of peace, not because things were better, but because she could still breathe.
---
Hadi sat in his car, parked neatly in the driveway of his home, the engine now off, but the weight in his chest very much still running. He didn’t move to open the door or unbuckle his seatbelt. Instead, he sat there, staring through the windshield at the quiet house in front of him, the porch light casting long golden shadows across the path.
His fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel, nervous, unsure. He leaned back in his seat, exhaling deeply. Something twisted inside him, a pull that wouldn’t go away.
He picked up his phone from the passenger seat, stared at the screen for a few seconds, thinking, doubting, then scrolled down to her name.
"Maira"
He tapped the call icon.
---
In her modest kitchen, Maira stood stirring a bubbling pot of lentils on the stove. The comforting scent of sautéed garlic and cumin wafted through the air, blending with the softness of her humming.
She was about to add salt when her phone, resting near the sink, began to ring.
She frowned, eyebrows knitting together. Kaun ho sakta hai iss waqt?
(Who could it be at this time?)
Wiping her hands quickly on the towel, she reached over and looked at the screen.
"Hadi calling..."
Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened, surprise spreading across her face. He was calling her for the first time. What could it be?
She hesitated for a moment, heart pounding, then slowly swiped the screen to answer.
"Assalamualaikum," she said, voice tentative, almost breathless.
(Peace be upon you,)
"WalaikumAssalam," came the response, his voice low and rough, like it had scraped through something heavy to reach her.
(And peace be upon you, too)
A shiver ran down her spine. She closed her eyes for a brief second, composing herself.
Before she could ask the reason for the call, his voice continued rushed, like he didn’t want to give himself a moment to reconsider.
"I wanted to ask if you need a maid or helper to cook or help you around working, I'm sorry it slipped out of my mind earlier and I completely forgot to ask."
She blinked, taken aback by the concern in his tone. Her lips lifted into a soft smile.
"No, it's okay, I can manage," she replied gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Are you sure? I can arrange someone by tomorrow." His voice held firmness, but underneath it was care, subtle, almost hidden.
"No no it's alright, there's nothing much to do anyways," she murmured, her tone light, trying to assure him.
There was a pause.
"Okay then," he said finally, his voice back to formal. "Don't forget to take your medications. I'll have to go now. Bye."
"Bye," she whispered, the line cutting off with a soft click.
She stood there holding the phone to her chest, her fingers gently curled around it, her smile now spreading fully across her face like sunlight on a winter morning. Her cheeks were warm. Her heart fluttered in her chest, not because of hope, but simply because she was seen, remembered in absence, even for a second.
But the sudden sharp whistle of the pressure cooker jolted her out of her trance. She jumped, flustered, then let out a breathy laugh and shook her head.
“Pagal ho gayi ho, Maira…” she muttered under her breath, lightly hitting her forehead with the palm of her hand.
(You’ve gone mad, Maira…)
---
Meanwhile, outside in the fading light of the evening, Hadi finally stepped out of his car, locking it with a mechanical beep. He was about to head inside when he noticed a familiar silver SUV pulling into the driveway.
A warm smile tugged at his lips as Lubna’s car rolled to a stop. She stepped out gracefully, dressed in a soft lilac co-ord, her hair pinned back neatly, face glowing from a long day.
As her eyes landed on him, she beamed. He opened his arms toward her, a playful twinkle in his eyes.
"Were you waiting for me, Mr. Husband?" she asked with a teasing smile, tilting her head as she approached him.
"Of course, Love," he chuckled, embracing her with practiced warmth.
She giggled as he held her, and together, they turned toward the door, fitting into a picture that looked perfect on the outside.
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
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