The soft ticking of the clock was the only sound that filled the apartment. The sunlight filtering in through the curtains had turned a gentle orange, casting long shadows across the room. It was past 5 PM, yet Maira hadn’t stirred.
Hadi sat beside her, elbows resting on his knees, his hands tightly interlaced as if in silent prayer.
His eyes remained fixed on her still form, her lips slightly parted, face pale, framed by a disheveled mess of dark hair sprawled across the pillow. A dull ache had taken root in his chest the moment he’d seen her faint, and now, hours later, that ache had hardened into something unbearable.
How had it come to this?
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
“What have I done to you, Maira…” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.
His mind was a mess, memories crashing over him like relentless waves. As he stared at her fragile form, all the pain of the past few months came crashing down on him.
The accident. Her blood. Her lying on the road, broken and unconscious. Her uncle turning his back on her. The surgery. The rushed marriage, done in desperation rather than clarity. At the time, everything had felt urgent, and her survival was the only thing that mattered. There was no time for logic, no room for ethical debates. Just action. Now, with silence surrounding them, he saw it all differently. He should have handled it better. But he hadn't. And that truth stung.
Her quiet suffering in Nashik. Her loneliness in Mumbai.
And today, his harshness, his venom-laced words… when all she wanted was to live with dignity.
He rubbed his face with both hands, guilt clawing its way up his throat.
“You didn’t even let her speak,” his conscience whispered.
And it was true. He hadn’t. He hadn’t given her a single chance to explain. To defend herself. To share her side of the story. He felt the weight of his words like stones in his chest, each one hurled recklessly when all she might have needed was a little patience.
He had walked in, a storm ready to destroy and now here he was, sitting beside the ruins.
But maybe… maybe it wasn’t just Maira’s ‘carelessness’ that had triggered his outburst. Maybe it was more than that.
All the pent-up frustration. The weight of months of pretending. The torment of being stuck in a situation he no longer had control over.
He wanted to end it. All of it. This chaotic, suffocating tie between them. He had wanted to give her what she asked for, a divorce. And not because he hated her. No. He didn’t. But because their nikaah had served its purpose. It was supposed to be temporary a bridge through a storm. A compassionate gesture in the face of tragedy.
But the storm hadn’t passed.
She still needed him. Still needed care. And worse, she didn’t even know the full truth about what she had lost in that accident. And how could he just abandon her now?
He couldn’t.
Not as a human being. Not as someone who had stood beside her hospital bed and made a promise even if it was unspoken.
So he stayed.
But at what cost?
His life had turned into a delicate balancing act. Lies stacking one over another, threatening to collapse at any moment. Lubna, his wife, the woman he loved, was still in the dark. So was his son.
And the guilt of hiding this from them? It gnawed at him every single day.
He had become a coward. Yes, he could admit that now.
A coward.
Because he didn’t know how to tell the truth without tearing everything apart. Because protecting Lubna and Zohan meant burying this truth so deep, no one could ever find it. Even if it meant carrying the burden alone.
Even if it meant hurting himself again and again.
His eyes burned. He hadn’t realized when they had begun to sting, but the rawness in his chest was now creeping up to his throat. He turned his face away, blinked rapidly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, this time not aloud, but to himself.
Sorry for yelling.
Sorry for accusing.
Sorry for being too afraid.
He looked at Maira again, her stillness now more painful than any argument.
---
A low groan escaped Maira’s lips as her lashes fluttered open. The fan spun lazily overhead. The pale amber light filtering through the curtains told her it was evening. Her body felt heavy, her throat parched, and for a moment, her mind blanked.
The moment she saw Hadi sitting on the cushioned chair beside her bed, everything came rushing back, his voice, his accusations, the cruel words that had shattered what little strength she had left.
She slowly tried to sit up, her head still spinning. The movement made her wince.
“I need... water,” she whispered, barely audible.
Hadi, sprang to action. Without a word, he picked up the glass from the bedside table, filled to the brim. He steadied it in one hand, and with the other, helped her sit straighter against the headboard. Her hands instinctively reached for the glass, but the moment her fingers brushed it, they started trembling.
Hadi didn’t let her hold it.
“Let me,” he murmured gently.
Carefully, he brought the glass to her lips, tilting it just enough for her to sip. Maira gulped in the cool water slowly, not meeting his eyes, her fingers curled tightly into the bedsheet beneath her. Every gulp felt like it was washing down pieces of pain stuck in her throat. Once she had enough, he kept the glass aside and sat back down, folding his hands in his lap. For a while, he didn’t say anything.
Then finally, in a voice softer than she’d expected, he asked, “How are you feeling?”
Her eyes stayed glued to the fabric of her dupatta gathered in her lap as she whispered, “I'm fine.”
It was a lie. But he didn’t call her out on it.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, the guilt in his voice unmistakable. “I know I hurt you again. I should’ve given you a chance to explain. But I was… blinded. Blinded by my own fears, my own thoughts. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did. Forgive me.”
His eyes remained downcast, ashamed of the man he had become, short-tempered, cold, accusatory. He hadn’t recognized himself in that moment earlier.
Maira didn’t respond. She simply listened. Her silence was loud, louder than any words she could’ve spoken. And when she finally lifted her gaze, she didn’t look at him with anger.
Just a quiet, aching disappointment.
Hadi shifted uncomfortably, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“I want to know why you did what you did,” he asked, gently nudging her to open up.
There was hesitation, but she complied. Knowing, this was her chance to clear the air.
“I was looking for a job…” she began slowly, her voice hoarse from all the crying earlier. “And I had failed three interviews already. I happened to meet her, Lubna, at the park, as you know. I didn’t really know… she was the same Lubna, your....your wife. I was careless. I know. I’m sorry.” Her voice broke slightly on the last word.
His eyes remained fixed on her. He wanted to believe her. He did believe her.
“Why do you need a job?” he asked again, this time less sharply.
“I don’t want to be a burden on you,” she replied, honestly. “Especially when I know the reality of our situation. Today you are here, tomorrow you might not be. I can’t just keep sitting here all day. I get bored. And I feel like… I’ve healed.”
She still didn’t raise her voice, nor her head. But her quiet defiance was unmistakable.
“You’re not a burden, Maira,” he said softly.
Her eyes met his now. Unblinking. Searching. Accusing.
“Am I not? Are you sure?” she asked.
The question caught him off guard. Her gaze was intense, making him look away, fumbling for words.
“I… I just think, right now, your only focus should be on healing,” he said, trying to stay firm.
“Healing from what? I already feel better.” Her tone was clipped, restrained, but unmistakably annoyed.
He opened his mouth to speak, to tell her the truth, but the words got stuck in his throat. She wasn’t ready for that truth. Not yet.
After a long pause, he stood up, smoothing the creases of his shirt, voice firmer now. “Fine. Whatever happened today, happened. But henceforth, I don’t want you roaming around. You’re not going to do a job. Not right now. I'll help you look for one in the future if you need it And again, I request you to please… understand my position and stay away from my family.”
The words cut through her like glass. Cold. Detached. Final.
She said nothing. What could she say?
“I’ll send dinner. Have it. And rest. Make sure you don’t skip your meals,” he added, already walking toward the door. He paused before turning the knob.
“I’m sorry again… for being harsh earlier. I hope you can understand.”
And then he was gone.
The door clicked shut.
Maira sat there, stunned.
Understand?
He hoped she could understand that he was protecting his family… by pushing her deeper into isolation?
That he was still trying to be responsible… by treating her like an inconvenience?
Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time, she didn’t let them fall.
She simply leaned back into the pillow and stared at the ceiling.
Some wounds don’t bleed. They just sit quietly. Like broken promises.
---
Hadi stepped into the elevator, his jaw clenched tight, each floor number lighting up slowly as the cabin descended. His reflection stared back at him from the mirrored wall, tense, conflicted, cold. The guilt clawed at the back of his chest, but he kept pushing it down. He had no choice. Not anymore.
Yes, he had been harsh on Maira, his words had stung, he could see it in her eyes, but he couldn’t afford to be soft. She didn’t know what was at stake. She didn’t know what she had lost.
She thought she had healed. But she hadn't. And until that changed, he couldn’t allow her to go about living as if everything was normal. Because it wasn’t. And if he had to be the villain in her eyes to protect her from hurting herself more, so be it.
He walked out of the building with long strides, shoving his hands into his pockets, the late evening wind tousling his hair. The sky was cloudy, the sun fading behind a veil of dusk. Hadi paused at the gate, pulling out his phone. His fingers hovered for a second before he finally made the call.
“Deliver a full dinner to the address I'm sending you. Make sure it’s fresh and mild. Nothing spicy. Add soup and salad,” he said curtly, then hung up.
His eyes flickered one last time toward the building. He sighed, pulled the car door open, slid inside, and drove off, the weight in his chest growing heavier with each mile.
---
Maira sat curled up on the bed, her knees drawn to her chest, her eyes swollen, her face pale. The room around her was dim, the curtains pulled slightly to let in a soft spill of twilight. Her chest still hurt from crying. She felt like a wrung-out cloth—tired, drained, empty.
Just then, her phone buzzed in her lap.
Rubina Calling…
She blinked back fresh tears, sniffled, and wiped her cheeks with the corner of her dupatta before answering.
“Assalamualaikum,” she said, her voice thin and broken.
(Peace be upon you)
“Waalaikum assalam, Maira,” Rubina’s warm voice came through. “How are you, dear? Your voice... is everything okay?"
“Yeah... all good,” Maira lied quietly, forcing a smile that her voice couldn’t carry.
Rubina didn’t buy it.
“Maira…” she said, softly but firmly. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Main hoon na. Batao mujhe.”
(I’m here for you. Tell me what’s wrong.)
And that was it. That tiny crack of kindness broke open everything she had been holding in. Her voice cracked mid-breath as the first sob slipped out.
Maira couldn’t hold it in anymore. She cried, heart-wrenching sobs that shook her shoulders as she told Rubina everything. From the accidental meeting with Lubna, to the job offer, to the storm of Hadi’s fury that followed.
Rubina listened quietly, absorbing every word, her own brows knitted in disbelief and sadness.
“I’m shocked,” she finally said. “I’ve never seen Hadi this angry. He’s always been calm, so composed. But… I also understand. The situation isn’t easy.”
There was a long pause on the line, just the sound of both women breathing through the storm.
“Maira, listen to me,” Rubina continued, her voice kind but firm. “What Hadi said was wrong, how he said it was worse. You didn’t deserve to be shouted at. But he was right about one thing. You shouldn’t be working right now. Your health comes first. Please, promise me you’ll rest. At least for now.”
“Hmmm…” Maira hummed, a soft sound of reluctant agreement. They talked a little more, the conversation gentler, Rubina trying to comfort her as best as she could.
After they hung up, Maira sat still for a while. She pressed the phone to her heart, grateful, but still hurting. The heaviness hadn’t gone away, but at least she didn’t feel entirely alone anymore.
A soft ring broke the silence.
The doorbell.
Dragging herself to her feet, she walked slowly toward the door, her steps heavy. She could feel it, how her limbs ached, how her body was still healing even if her heart refused to slow down. Maybe… maybe Rubina and Hadi were right. Maybe she was rushing things too fast.
She opened the door.
A delivery man stood there, holding a warm food parcel. “Maira Ali?” he asked.
She nodded silently.
He handed the parcel and left. Closing the door, she carried the bag to the kitchen counter, opened it, and was hit with the aroma of home-cooked comfort: soft dal khichdi, a bowl of steaming soup, crisp salad on the side.
It was simple.
It was thoughtful.
It made her chest ache again.
She didn’t bother with a plate. She sat down at the dining table, unwrapped the containers and dug in. Each bite grounded her. Made her feel human again.
Meanwhile, far away, Rubina sat in her own home, the phone still in her hand. Her heart was heavy.
She debated, should she call Hadi?
Should she tell him he was being too harsh?
But then, she shook her head. Maybe he wouldn’t take it well. Maybe he would think she was interfering. She kept the phone aside, sighing.
Her thoughts wandered back to that night. That one night that had changed everything.
The night of Maira’s accident. The chaos. The desperation. And the decision.
It had been Rubina who had first suggested it. The nikaah. Hadi had resisted, had even told them he was already married. But none of them had stopped to think. Maira’s life had hung by a thread, and that one signature, that one decision, had felt like the only way to keep her alive.
And it had worked.
They had saved her.
But now?
Now Rubina wasn’t sure whether they had saved Maira… or just transferred her pain into a new form. A more quiet, complicated sorrow.
She wiped her eyes, whispering a silent dua under her breath.
“Ya Allah… bas sab kuch theek kar dein. Sab ke liye.”
(Oh Allah… please make everything right. For everyone.)
She didn’t know how. Or when.
But for now, all she could do… was pray.
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
Follow me on Instagram - @author_siya_m for spoilers!!
Rest of the chapters of this story are available on - https://siya-m-writes.stck.me
.
ns216.73.216.13da2
and then Add to home screen.