Hadi stood outside the bedroom door, his hand hovering just a second too long before he finally knocked. A soft thak-thak broke the silence of the apartment.
From inside, her voice came, fragile but clear, “Aa jaaiye.”
(Come in.)
He pushed the door gently, leaving it slightly ajar behind him as he stepped inside.
Maira was sitting upright on the bed, her back resting against the headboard. Her dupatta was neatly wrapped around her head, chest and arms, modest yet graceful, like she had taken special care, perhaps to appear more composed than she actually felt. Her eyes lifted when he entered, but he didn’t allow his gaze to linger. His eyes scanned the walls, the curtains, even the side table, but not her.
“Assalamualaikum,” he said quietly, almost hesitantly.
(Peace be upon you.)
It was the first word he’d spoken directly to her since she had opened her eyes in the hospital.
“Walaikum assalam,” she replied softly.
(And peace be upon you too.)
That one whisper, filled with a strange calm, made his chest ache. He knew the storm that was about to unfold.
“I’m sure you want to know what all happened,” he began, standing a safe distance away, near the foot of the bed.
She gave a small nod, one he noticed from his peripheral vision.
“But you will have to promise me… you won’t freak out. Aur stress nahi lena.”
(You won’t freak out. And no stress.)
“I promise,” she said, her voice low but firm.
He exhaled, then went and sat down on the edge of the lounge chair beside the window, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Then he began.
From the start.
He told her how he was driving from Nashik to Mumbai, late at night, how it had been raining hard, headlights dimmed by fog, horn unresponsive, and how in that blur of night and water and panic, he had hit her.
He recounted how he had rushed her almost lifeless body to the hospital, completely panicked, and how, when they needed her family, her uncle had denied any connection to her.
Maira’s expression didn’t change. Her face remained calm, almost disturbingly neutral, as though her uncle's betrayal hadn’t even scratched the surface of what she had already endured.
Hadi paused briefly, almost unsure whether to continue, but then carried on.
He told her about the consent form. How she needed a family member’s approval for the emergency surgery. How they had discussed a quick solution, Nikaah, not caring about the consequences. He explained how his guilt had pushed him toward the decision, how time was slipping and her survival hung by a thread. That he had explained it all to her before she was sedated, how she had blinked when asked, and how, with trembling hands, he had signed the consent form.
He left out the coma. The moments her heartbeat had faltered. The near loss. She didn’t need that weight, not now.
“And jab doctor ne kaha… survival chance sirf 30% hai… tab bhi maine umeed nahi chhodi,” he said quietly. He knew every life mattered and so did hers.
(And when the doctor said your survival chance was just 30%… even then, I didn’t give up hope.)
He finished the account in a whisper, and silence enveloped the room again.
Maira sat motionless, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. She looked… not shocked, not angry, just hollow. Like she was still absorbing every word, tracing every layer of consequence.
“Aap theek ho?” he asked gently, standing now and picking up the glass of water from her side table. He offered it to her.
(Are you okay?)
She took it silently, sipping slowly.
And then… he saw it.
A single tear slid down her cheek.
Followed by another.
Then, without sound or protest, she began to sob, quiet, breathless sobs that seemed to come from somewhere far deeper than pain. He handed her tissues, his own eyes stinging, but he stayed silent, letting her weep, letting her release everything she had held inside.
Once her cries had subsided into quiet sniffles, he took a deep breath and… sank to his knees beside her bed.
Maira looked down at him, startled by the sudden shift. His head was bowed, shoulders heavy with shame.
Before she could speak, he did.
“I'm sorry. Genuinely sorry. If I had been more careful… maybe none of this would’ve happened. You wouldn’t be in that accident… we wouldn’t be in this situation."
“I'm torn, Maira, I love my wife. My son… Zohan… he’s my world. I can’t lose them." He said, voice cracking.
“I don’t know where this nikaah will lead us. I just want… her to never know. Because, I don't wish to hurt her, not even in my dreams. Please, forgive me. I never meant for this to happen… but it has. I’m to blame… and I’m trying to redeem it. But I also have limits…”
His tears flowed freely now. This wasn’t a man escaping responsibility, this was a man cornered by consequence and helpless against fate.
Maira watched him, tears sliding down her own face again. Her husband, kneeling, broken, honest. Telling her how much he loves his first wife, and doesn't want to loose her. How ironic.
“Please get up,” she said softly, her voice barely audible.
He hesitated, then rose slowly to his feet. She picked up the glass of water and handed it to him. He took it, drinking three slow sips, not realizing it was the same glass she had used just minutes ago.
Their shared silence stretched. Then she spoke again.
“It’s okay… this isn’t your fault. Maybe my destiny is just a disaster.”
His head snapped toward her, alarmed.
“Kismat ko nahi koste,” he said, his voice raw with emotion.
(We shouldn't blame destiny.)
“It’s the only thing I can do… main aapko blame nahi kar sakti,” she said with a hollow smile, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
(I can’t blame you.)
“If I suffered because of you… you also saved me. You married me when my own blood relative left me. You paid my bills… this place… all of it…” she said.
"Please dont take me wrong but I only married you so I can save you, and all this I'm doing is because I feel guilty of the situation I have put you in" He tried to explain his point.
"I know" She whispered.
Their eyes met. His gaze trembled, but he looked away.
There was a long silence between them, as if the air had thickened with everything they had just shared. Outside, the rain had started, its gentle patter against the window now a background hum to the quiet storm inside the room.
Hadi sat back on the edge of her bed, his eyes focused on the pattern of the rug beneath him, unable to bring himself to meet her eyes again. Yet something tugged at him, a restlessness, a lingering confusion.
He finally spoke, his voice low and uncertain,“That night… in the middle of the highway… in such heavy rain, what were you doing there?”
Maira let out a soft, dry chuckle, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She looked down, her fingers tightening around the bedsheet beneath her, her voice trembling but steady enough to speak.
“I ran away from home."
His head shot up, brows furrowed, stunned. “What?”
He blinked in disbelief, not able to wrap his head around what she had just admitted. “But why?”
Her shoulders dropped. Her smile vanished. And with it, whatever little strength she had found moments ago. Yet she began, slowly at first, like tearing open a long-healed wound.
“I was just 8 when my parents passed away. My father had a heart attack, and my mother… couldn’t bear the loss. She followed him a few days later. They left me with my paternal uncle… the same one you met at the hospital.”
She paused, her eyes unfocused, as if watching the past play out before her.
“My parents had left some savings, and with that, I completed my studies. I graduated in computer science. But my uncle… he was always gambling. Slowly, he lost all their money. The only thing left was my parents’ house. He mortgaged that too.”
She sniffled and continued, her voice beginning to break now and then.
“I thought maybe he would stop now. But I was wrong. The next time he gambled… it was with me. I don’t know with whom, or why… but he bet me in a gamble.”
Her lips trembled, and Hadi’s breath caught in his throat. His fists clenched unconsciously.
“I couldn’t stay. I had to save myself. So I ran away. I had a small bag with me… it had my documents. I think I lost it in the accident. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t even have money to take a cab or auto… I was just running. And then… a car hit me.”
She laughed bitterly, a cracked sound that twisted in her throat. “So it’s not just you… I was also at fault… I was careless. So it’s not just your fault.”
But her laughter didn’t last, her voice cracked again, and this time, the tears came freely. She wiped them away quickly, angrily, trying to hide them. But Hadi saw, the glistening trails on her cheeks, the trembling of her lips, the way her chest heaved with every held-back sob.
He sat frozen, every word of hers replaying in his mind. He had no words. Nothing could capture the swirl of emotion inside him, guilt for being part of her pain, anger at the man who dared gamble her life away, pity for her shattered world, and a strange surge of protectiveness he hadn’t anticipated.
Then he heard her again, her voice just a whisper now.
“I’m sorry… for barging into your perfect life… and ruining it.”
She was biting her lip now, trying to hold back a sob, but her shoulders shook despite her effort.
Hadi’s throat tightened. He wanted to say something , anything, but his mouth refused to move. For once, words failed him.
All he could do was look at her, truly look at her, and for the first time since their strange fate had bound them together, he saw not just a girl who’d survived an accident, or a stranger he’d had to marry out of circumstance.
He saw Maira, a girl who had known unbearable loss too young, who had fought quietly against fate, who had survived cruelty and betrayal, and still had the courage to smile through her tears.
And he… didn’t know how to carry all of it.
Not yet.22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNs2vIGyd6L
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