The next day in the evening, he was present at the requested address. Sitting in the car outside the gate, he read the name on the nameplate—Haroon Ahmed. Just then, the gate opened, and seeing the arriving person, a faint flush of red glowed on his face.
"Assalamu Alaikum!"
"Why did you stop outside? Bring the car inside," Abdul Ahad said seriously, observing his cold demeanor. Then he stepped aside from the path.
"Come on in," Abdul Ahad said with the same seriousness as Mutahir stepped out of the car.
In the drawing room, a woman aged thirty-five to forty welcomed him warmly.
"How are you, son?" The woman, whom Abdul Ahad had addressed as Phupo (paternal aunt), held Mutahir's face in her hands and spoke in a tearful tone, leaving him astonished. (Given everything he had done, his surprise at receiving such a warm reception was quite justified.)
"Yes, I am fine. Are you okay?" he asked politely.
"I am completely fine now," she smiled. "I've been waiting since yesterday when brother told me you were coming today."
Rubbing her eyes, she was smiling. Abdul Ahad looked at Mutahir's surprised face. A light pink shirt paired with jeans matched his complexion; with three or four days of stubble growth, he looked handsome.
"Phupo! At least let him sit down."
"Oh—" She touched her forehead in embarrassment. "I completely forgot. You sit down, please." She sat down right beside him as well. If she could have had her way, she would have showered Mutahir with kisses on the spot; her eyes were continuously fixed on his face.
Ahad had to go to the kitchen himself. When he returned a little while later, he had a jug of plain water and glasses in his hands. Phupo was looking at Mutahir with adoring eyes while he, feeling rather restless, was letting his gaze wander around.
"Where is Musaffa, Mutahir?" Ahad asked, offering him a glass of water to break Phupo's state of awe. Phupo snapped out of it, while Mutahir let out a quiet, calm breath.
"She is fine. In fact, I came today regarding that very matter." Without letting the glass touch his lips, he placed it back on the table. Abdul Ahad felt good that he had at least held the glass.
"Baba! He will be arriving soon, talk to him directly," Abdul Ahad said seriously, looking toward Phupo.
"Aren't you going to offer Mutahir any refreshments?"
"Please! There is no need for anything," Mutahir said immediately, looking at the woman with gentleness. "I am in a hurry."
Just then, when Mr. Abdul Rahim entered the drawing room, he stood up reflexively. Phupo was simply overjoyed by his gesture. Spontaneously, he squeezed his hand in his hands; this time, Mutahir was left dumbfounded.
"Assalamu Alaikum, Baba," Abdul Ahad’s greeting brought him back to reality.
"Wa Alaikum Assalam, son! How are you, young man?" He answered his son and then asked Mutahir. He answered with a nod of his head.
"Regarding what matter did you want to meet?" He sat next to Ahad, and as Phupo went into the kitchen, he initiated the conversation.
"I want you to bring Musaffa back."
"Why?" he asked seriously.
"Am I bound to answer your every question?" Ahad could barely suppress a smile.
"What if I say yes?"
"Then this time, line up the entire city's police force with a single call, or invite the media," Mutahir continued, clenching his jaw. "But I will not answer any question."
"Stay calm, young man. If you don't want to answer, then don't—it's your choice."
Mutahir looked at his composed demeanor in disbelief (Accepted it so easily? Wow).
"Okay, then pick her up from my house tomorrow or the day after." As he stood up, Abdul Ahad stood up alongside him.
"Sit down, Phupo is arranging food," Abdul Rahim said seriously.
"Is this the time for a meal?" Turning his wrist, he checked the time; it was four-thirty in the afternoon. His tone carried sarcasm, but they didn't pay it any mind.
"If not for a meal, it is time for tea. Sit down, you've come for the first time."
"I don't understand," Mutahir began in a piercing tone as he sat back down. "After everything I have done, how can you people be so kind to me?"
"Because no matter the circumstances, you are the son-in-law of this house, and in our traditions, a son-in-law should receive royal protocol," he said playfully and laughed spontaneously. Mutahir found his smile very familiar.
About five minutes after Mr. Abdul Rahim stepped away from the scene, Mutahir startled back to his senses, and fifteen minutes later, he was present at Mutahir House.
--- ♡ ۞ ♡ ---
"What happened? Why do you look so worried? Where is that girl?" He grew concerned seeing Zain's face.
"Have you seen Abdul Ahad's sister, Mutahir?" Shah Zain asked seriously. When he had brought her this morning, her face was hidden in a shawl.
"I am very worried, Zain! Stop speaking in riddles and tell me what happened."
"No, first tell me, have you seen her?" Zain stubbornly repeated the question.
"I haven't seen her," Mutahir ground his teeth. "I only know her name. This morning, first of all, I was extremely angry, and secondly, she probably had her face covered. Now will you tell me where she is?"
"Do you remember that girl we met at the mall who was proudly admitting to her 'black tongue' (curse)?"
Zain was determined to test Mutahir, but Mutahir felt severe annoyance and anger at this ill-timed banter.
"What is the point of mentioning that black tongue now? I don't have time. If you don't tell me where that girl is in the next second, remember I will treat you very badly."
"Relax, brother." Shah Zain took two steps back as a precaution.
"Abdul Ahad's sister is Musaffa Abdul Rahim," he told Mutahir while looking into his eyes, but sensing Mutahir's confused gaze on him, he shook his head in regret.
"Musaffa is the same girl whom you grabbed by the wrist and pulled into the elevator—"
That face instantly flashed in Mutahir's mind, and the scene spun before his eyes when, despite so much panic, that girl had unconsciously placed her free hand on his chest to keep herself at a distance. He stood there astonished while Zain looked apologetic.
"Where is she?" Mutahir composed himself.
"Over there in Phupo's room." When Mutahir entered the room accompanied by Zain, her eyes were fixed on the wall, leaning against it with her face buried in her knees, crying bitterly. Mutahir walked step by step and stopped a short distance from her. Zain was standing at the doorway.
"Musaffa!"
At the call of her name, she raised her face, and her countenance went pale. Seeing her tear-soaked face and swollen red eyes from intense weeping, Mutahir now clenched his eyes tightly shut.
"Go wash your face and freshen up," composure regained after a few moments, he said in an emotionless tone.
Shah Zain came close to him.
"Tell her to get ready; her Nikkah (marriage contract) is in a little while, we are going to court," Mutahir said in the manner of reading a news bulletin, looking toward Shah Zain as Musaffa's eyes followed them. While a mountain of shock broke over Musaffa, Zain was left equally stunned.
"N-no... I don't want to do the Nikkah—" Musaffa requested Zain with pleading eyes.
"You will have to," came the reply from Mutahir. Zain probably wasn't even in a position to speak. Musaffa looked at Mutahir through flowing tears.
"What harm have I done to you? Please let me go, I fold my hands before you," saying this, she folded both hands before Mutahir. Mutahir instinctively reached out to unfold her bound hands, but she pulled her hands back. Zain sharply noted her movement.
"You have ten minutes. Wash your face and come outside. I am waiting outside—"
"I will die, but I will not obey you," Musaffa said, jerking her face up in a stubborn tone, and Mutahir looked at her seriously, concealing his surprise.
"In case of refusal, I can happily give you the gift of two corpses—no need to tell you who those people are. Now make your decision and come outside." Saying this in annoyance, he walked out while looking at Musaffa's turning-white face. Zain also rushed behind him.
"Mutahir! What did you just say to Musaffa inside?" Shah Zain dropped his head into both hands and asked Mutahir, his tone carrying suppressed astonishment. "You had no such plan, so why did you say all this?"
"Her father came to my office," he fixed his bloodshot eyes on Zain's face with restraint. "He put down the condition of Nikkah."
"And you agreed?" Zain was left amazed.
"I had to agree because he swore an oath that if I didn't perform the Nikkah, he would end his own life along with Musaffa's. Now you tell me, what should I do, where should I go?"
"Whatever is going to happen, let it happen," after a few moments of nerve-wracking silence, Zain said in a somewhat steady tone, and Mutahir instinctively looked at him.
"Whatever happens, happens for the best." A smile touched Zain's lips. "Accept what destiny has written." Placing a hand on his shoulder, his manner was friendly.
"And Phupo?" Remembering her, Zain looked at Mutahir's face—he was serious now.
"They have given only an hour and a half." As he pressed his temple, Zain looked at him with concern, because under stress, he suffered from severe migraines which would leave him gripped by fever for an entire week following it.
"Don't worry, Mutahir! Keep yourself calm. You know how sick you get from mental pressure."
"Zain! What is happening to me, man?" He looked at Zain with pinkish eyes, his manner innocent. Zain held his hand to reassure him.
"Insha'Allah, everything will be fine. How funny that you are becoming a married man without even trying—" Zain teased him in a lighthearted manner to ease the tension in the environment, but Mutahir was so mentally disturbed that he didn't even catch on.
"But Zain! What about Mom?"
"We won't tell her anything right now; we will reveal the truth when the time is right. You freshen up too."
And an hour and a half later, Musaffa Abdul Rahim became Musaffa Mutahir. It was Zain's idea to send Musaffa to Uncle's house. He didn't want to deliver this news to Phupo all at once, which was why, along with the name change, he fabricated an entire fictional story to tell the uncle and aunt.
--- ♡ ۞ ♡ ---
"Mahrukh! Take this, dear, it's for you." She had been at Mutahir's place since yesterday; it was afternoon time when she placed the bag before her.
"For me? But why?" she asked in surprise.
"Why, can't I give you a gift? Look and tell me if you like them." When Musaffa looked at the dresses, admiration appeared in her eyes.
"They are nice, Aunty, thank you." Just then, Mutahir's call came on her phone.
"Yes, son?" Musaffa instinctively looked at her, as she was listening intently to Mutahir's words.
"Is Mahrukh with you?" She looked at Mahrukh, who was paying attention to her, and then said, "Hmm."
"Tell her she has to go to her home. I will come at three o'clock, and her brother will be with me. If she knows about going in advance, it will be fine; otherwise, it might disturb her suddenly. Should I come home as well, Mom?"
"Yes, absolutely. Take care of yourself." Closing the phone, she looked toward Mahrukh and smiled—a pure smile that could only belong to a mother.
It was Mutahir's call. She held her hand. "He was saying you should get ready, he will take you home in the evening." Capturing her face in her gaze carefully, she told her half the truth. Musaffa's face turned rosy.
"Yes, Aunty."
"I will miss you, Mahrukh." Her tone carried depth. Musaffa looked at her, confused.
"Will you come to our place again?"
"What do you mean, Aunty! Where am I going?" Her face turned pale.
"Nowhere, where would you go anyway?" She smiled intentionally.
"Come, give me some help. I clean Mutahir's room myself." As she entered the room with her, Mutahir's smiling close-up photo on the side table in the master bedroom became the center of attention—the carpeted seater, small glass table, dressing area. His room was fragranced with the scent of cologne and room freshener.
Musaffa took a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance. Sara was organizing Mutahir's closet while sharing stories from Mutahir's childhood, which Musaffa was listening to with a smile and interest.
"Set these files to one side, Mahrukh!"
Indicating two files resting on the table, she obediently picked them up and arranged them neatly among the files in the rack. Just as she turned around, her eyes fell on the pen placed on the notepad. She glanced once at Aunty, who was smoothing out the wrinkles on the bedsheet. She picked up the notepad, and her eyes fell upon the writing:
"From my delusion to my presumption,
This was the stage of loyalty.
From my desire to my destiny,
This was the matter of God."
Musaffa looked around and saw a pen resting on drawing materials. Picking up the pen in her hands, she began writing on the page below—it was an entirely involuntary action. Sara turned to look at her. Holding the pen, she was writing something. She turned her gaze away, while Musaffa Muhammad Mutahir had perhaps forgotten her presence.
"What we feel,
If it reaches you,
Then just understand this much—
It is the fragrance of expressed emotions,
Which we cannot put into words.
But if you permit,
We may say it in a few words that...
Without you, we can die,
Without you, we cannot live."
After writing, she looked up and, finding Aunty absent, felt embarrassed and quickly stepped outside. Sara told her to go freshen up. Dressed in a frock with yellow and red buds, her long hair in a simple braid, an ethereal glow lit up her face. She was going somewhere with Mutahir two months after the Nikkah. Earlier, she hadn't been afraid looking at him, but ever since the tea incident, she had fallen in love with Muhammad Mutahir. She remembered every single moment and second spent with Mutahir. Sitting alone in the lounge with her eyes closed, she was feeling those moments that had passed with Mutahir.
"Assalamu Alaikum, Mom." Her thoughts were brought to a halt by Mutahir's voice, who was standing in the kitchen greeting his mother. Musaffa quickly got up and went into the room. Mutahir had neither seen her sitting nor getting up to leave the room—
"Wa Alaikum Assalam!" Sara turned to him with a smile. "You came early?"
"Yes, I was free, so I thought I'd freshen up until Abdul Ahad arrives. Did you tell her about leaving?"
"Freshen up, Mutahir! I'll make tea, then we'll talk."
"Where is Maha, Mom? Did you tell her about leaving?" Dressed in a green t-shirt over trousers after freshening up, Mutahir came to the dining table and asked seriously. Sara took a deep breath and shook her head in refusal.
Lifting the cup toward his mouth, Mutahir looked at her face in disbelief and placed the cup back down.
"I told you to tell her." His tone was rough.
"I tried, but seeing her condition when she heard about leaving, I didn't tell her."
"Ugh, Mom." Mutahir rubbed his forehead. "What do I do now? I asked you for one small task. Why does no one understand my problem?" In his anger, he wasn't even aware of what he was saying.
"That girl is your responsibility, not mine. So tell her yourself." Sara said in annoyance as well, and Mutahir dropped his head into his hands.
"Mutahir." Sara raised his face. "Why are you giving this girl so much importance?" He suddenly looked at his mother's face, where a soft smile was spread across her lips.
"I like that you give her importance." This time, Mutahir was left surprised.
"Go and tell her yourself. You are sending her temporarily with her brother; we will bring her here permanently very soon. Go, she is in the room." Kissing his forehead, she walked toward her room.
"Mom, please—" Mutahir quickly rushed behind her. "You tell her about leaving."
"Okay, I will tell her. You go ahead, I will bring tea."
"Thanks, Mom—" Feeling at ease, he knocked lightly and peeked inside. Musaffa was sitting right in front at the edge of the bed.
"How are you?" Mutahir came and stopped in front of her, and she stood up instinctively.
"I'm fine." A sudden thought arose in Musaffa's heart—Mutahir was about to be separated from her. This thought drained the color from her face. Seeing her condition, Mutahir took her hand into his strong hands; there was warmth of belonging and love in his touch. Musaffa Muhammad Mutahir's eyes quickly grew tearful.
Since you say so, I accept,
That only angels can truly understand.
"Please, Mutahir! Don't do anything that I wouldn't be able to bear." Holding Mutahir's hand in both of her hands, her tone was like a plea.
That was the prologue that made me cry,
Compose yourself, the story is still left.
"What do you want to say?" Musaffa Muhammad Mutahir's tone choked up, causing him to snap out of it as if waking from sleep. Spontaneously, he looked at his hand captive in Musaffa's hands. Suddenly he realized how emotional he had been acting—no, he must not put Musaffa through any ordeal. Thinking this, he pulled his hand back. Musaffa looked in agony at her remaining empty hands.
"Abdul Ahad is coming to pick you up," saying this in an ordinary tone, he took several steps back. Musaffa looked at his face in disbelief.
"This was agreed upon—you didn't come here permanently." Mutahir sat down, speaking indifferently. Musaffa stared unblinkingly at his face.
"Get ready—"
"Does my going make no difference to you?"
"No." The one-word answer came instantly.
"Then why did you marry me—that too forcefully?" Musaffa asked in a softly choked tone, sitting at a slight distance beside him. Mutahir closed his eyes tightly for a moment, opened them, and focused on her face.
"I didn't do it willingly; your father threatened to kill you."
"So it is decided then," Musaffa said in an ambiguous tone, wiping her tears. Mutahir startled at her manner.
"When I am in pain, will you come to me only then?"
"What do you mean?"
Mutahir was confused—just then, his phone rang. He looked at the phone screen.
"Your brother is at the gate. Get your things—"
"I entered this house empty-handed." She stood up and quickly walked out.
As soon as she exited the door, she saw Sara, who passionately kissed her forehead. Mutahir walked alongside her to the gate as well. Leaving through the small gate, their eyes met, where an identical agony was written.
The world robbed me of my life's savings,
I lost the person I earned in love.
"So according to your track record, you will come to me when I am in pain, right?" Her eyes were tearful while her tone carried a faint smile (she had discovered Mutahir's weakness).
"What nonsense are you talking!" Mutahir scolded her. "You are going to your own house, so what pain? If you even think of such nonsense again, you know me, right?" His manner was threatening. Musaffa bowed her head and stepped outside. Mutahir watched with restraint as she sat on the front seat beside Abdul Ahad. Ahad waved goodbye to him, but Musaffa did not even raise her eyes.
Ego says, Mohsin, let those who turn away go,
Someone inside says, it would have been better to persuade them.
--- ♡ ۞ ♡ ---
"Assalamu Alaikum, angry young man!" Busy on his laptop, Mutahir raised his gaze at the enthusiastic voice and suddenly stood up upon seeing Angeline behind Zain.
"When did you arrive, Angie?"
"An hour ago!" She came to a stop two steps in front of him with a smiling tone. "I have to get a grand treat from you because Zain told me about your wedding—oh, sorry—"
Angie tapped her head to correct herself, then looked at Mutahir's face, which carried deep seriousness. "—he has already broken the good news of your Nikkah! Oh my God, I can't tell you how happy I am!" There was no need to tell him—happiness was radiating from every inch of her. Sitting on the sofa, Zain began watching her silly antics with interest, while Mutahir stood still like a statue.
"Do you know, Shah? I had told Musaffa that I would find a groom for her, but look, before I could find one, Mutahir found her!"
This time, Mutahir looked at Zain in utter disbelief, who immediately bowed his head in surrender, while Angie kept talking non-stop—
"My goodness, she is so cute and innocent that the moment I saw her, I thought of you. Now I can't wait any longer—call her quickly!"
"She cannot meet you." Mutahir was now seated in a calm manner.
"Why on earth can't she meet me?" Angie glared at him in annoyance.
"Because she went back to her home yesterday evening." The composure with which he said it left both Zain and Angie equally shocked.
"What do you mean, Mutahir? Which home are you talking about! Where is Musaffa?"
Zain asked anxiously, but he remained composed, casually shrugging his shoulders—
"At Mr. Abdul Rahim's house—her brother took her away yesterday."
"Mutahir, she is your wife! How could you throw her out?" Zain asked in shock.
"Wife?" Mutahir glared at Zain, knitting his brows—
"You know her father blackmailed me. From day one, it was an agreed matter that Musaffa Abdul Rahim was not to stay here. Certainly not when her brother's name is Abdul Ahad." His face turned red. Angeline looked at him with tearful eyes.
"You are punishing Musaffa because of Abdul Ahad, Mutahir, when neither of them was at fault!" Mutahir looked at her angrily.
"Stop taking that man's side pointlessly, Angeline Farooq!"
"I am not taking his side pointlessly, Mutahir!" she shouted. "He didn't do anything wrong!"
"Then for what joy were you exiled from the country?" Mutahir shouted right back at her.
"Abdul Ahad's only fault was that he raised a question mark on your character! He viewed our relationship with suspicion—" Zain was left dumbfounded, while Mutahir wasn't even in a position to speak as Angeline continued speaking.
"He said, 'I am a landlord, no matter how modern I become, I cannot tolerate such closeness with a cousin. You should leave me and marry Muhammad Mutahir.' You are like a brother to me, aren't you, Mutahir?" Her tone was fading now—
"You know the purity of our relationship, and I know it, but onlookers don't know, Mutahir!" She was whispering now; the two of them could barely hear her voice. "That is why I didn't want to tell you, so you wouldn't get hurt. God is my witness, if I had the slightest feeling that you would react so severely to this, I would have told you everything on the first day. But I didn't want to ruin Ahad's image in your eyes, yet at the hands of this foolishness, I have ruined everything—" Angeline burst into tears. Zain and Mutahir sat in stunned silence.
"What should be done now?" After a few moments, Shah Zain looked toward Mutahir.
"What do you mean, what should be done?" He looked at Shah Zain with a pale face.
"You should bring Musaffa back," Angie said, wiping her face in annoyance. Mutahir looked at her seriously.
"This is my life, Angeline Farooq! I am no one's bought slave, nor a puppet that people can dance on their fingertips."
His face flushed red like a ripe Kandahari pomegranate. Angie and Zain watched his intense reaction in surprise—
"I will make every decision of my life myself. I don't need anyone's dictation."
"So you won't bring Musaffa back?" Zain stood opposite him.
"I said I don't need anyone's dictation."
"I am just asking, man!" Zain patted his shoulder. "Good luck with whatever decision you take, may Allah keep you steadfast. We won't force you in any matter. Come on, Angie—"
--- ♡ ۞ ♡ ---
"Mutahir—"
This was the very next day, early in the morning, when Shah Zain came to Phupo's place. Dressed in track pants and a shirt, with unkempt hair and a distressed look, he called out to Mutahir, who was sitting at the dining table drinking tea. There was so much agony in his tone that Mutahir's hands trembled along with Phupo's. His body felt lifeless; there was no strength in his legs to stand. Since the middle of the night, his body had been burning with fever. Zain reached the table, breathing heavily—
"Why is your number off? Ahad has been calling you since morning."
"Why is he calling?" Sara asked as well, while Mutahir sat motionless, one sentence echoing repeatedly in his mind ("According to your track record, when I am in pain, you will come to me, right?").
"Are you listening, Mutahir! We have to go to the hospital right now. Musaffa is in the hospital—she slit her wrist this morning—" Zain shook him. He snapped out of it, his eyes turning pink, tears glistening rapidly in them.
"We have to go, get up—" Zain held his hand and stood him up.
"Tell me, Zain, who is Musaffa?" Phupo grabbed his wrist and asked angrily.
"Musaffa Abdul Rahim is your daughter-in-law, Muhammad Mutahir's wife—I'll tell you the rest of the details later." They quickly exited outside.
"Why aren't you saying anything, Mutahir? Please say something—" Zain grew worried at his silent, lost state.
"What should I say?" His manner was like speaking to himself.
"Anything, but please say something, don't stay quiet like this—" Zain pleaded—
"She had said, Zain: 'When I am in pain, will you come to me?'" Zain's foot reflexively hit the brakes—the car jolted to a stop. He looked at Mutahir's bloodless eyes in disbelief—
"You still let her go, Mutahir?"
"She wants to torture me, Zain—" Mutahir acted as if he hadn't heard his question at all. "She wants to punish me." In a state of trance, he took out a folded notepad page from his pocket, which he had picked up this morning after offering Fajr prayer while picking up the file.
Zain instinctively held the page and lowered his gaze, where a couplet and a poem were written in beautiful handwriting—
"Did Musaffa write this?" Zain recognized Mutahir's handwriting. Mutahir nodded his head in affirmation (God knows how he was holding himself back from crying).
"She is blackmailing me, just as Abdul Rahim did two months ago, exactly like Angeline Farooq did with my love. Why do only the people I love torture me? It's strange, Zain, I have even fallen in love with Mr. Abdul Rahim," he confessed his love in a guilty manner. "But enough is enough, I am not going to fall for these people's blackmailing anymore—"
Opening the door, he stepped out, and Zain quickly rushed out too—
"What madness is this, Mutahir! We should go to the hospital right now. She is in pain; Ahad was saying there has been a lot of bleeding, and the wound is deep."
"I will not go, Zain—" Mutahir said stubbornly—
"Don't you feel any pity for her?"
"Did she feel any pity for me, Zain?" He gripped Zain's hand desperately. "She felt no pity for me doing such an act! If something happens to her, how will Muhammad Mutahir live? Will I never get that happiness in life which is the desire of my heart? Will I always remain thirsty?"
Zain watched with immense sorrow as the six-foot tall, fully grown man broke down like a child—a man whose life was outwardly complete, but whose interior was filled with deprivations.
"Go, Zain, tell her to get well and then call me with love. If I don't come, she can give whatever punishment her heart desires, but not like this, Zain—" He took two steps back.
"Go and tell her that her leaving matters to Muhammad Mutahir, and it matters so much that except for her, nothing else is visible in this world—tell her to walk on her own feet into her home, where Muhammad Mutahir has laid his heart and soul as a carpet. Please, Zain, tell her—" Zain instinctively embraced him, his own eyes moistening.
"You take the car, Mutahir, I will go by auto-rickshaw. As soon as she regains consciousness, I will call you. Keep your number on—" He patted his shoulder and signaled an auto-rickshaw to stop, and right before Mutahir's eyes, he vanished from sight.
--- ♡ ۞ ♡ ---
This secret too was revealed after centuries of humility,
That if love doesn't reduce one to dust, then love is worthless.
"Shah!" Seeing a face at the far end of the hospital corridor, Sara called out to Zain, who was walking beside her.
"Yes, Phupo!"
"That man?" With a trembling frame, she indicated toward the man, seeing whom twenty-five years of effort to forget had gone in vain. Shah Zain looked at the spot she pointed out, where Ahad and Abdul Rahim were sitting on a bench.
"That is Mr. Abdul Rahim, Musaffa's father!"
It felt as though Shah Zain had pulled the soul out of her body; she stumbled. Zain instinctively caught her in his arms; she had fainted.
"Are you okay, Phupo?" About twenty minutes later, she opened her eyes to find herself on a hospital bed. When Zain drew her attention, she looked at his face with hollow eyes, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Why are you crying?"
"Zain, tell me the whole truth. Who is Musaffa? How did they get married?" Sitting beside her, Zain narrated the entire story.
"What kind of cruelty is this, Zain!"
"What do you mean, Phupo?" Zain was surprised.
"That man forced Mutahir into a marriage against his will?"
"I just told you that was how it was."
"Zain, call that man here, for God's sake!" Crying, she folded her hands before him.
"Please, Phupo! Don't cry. I will call him right away." Five minutes later, someone knocked lightly and entered the room. When Sara Hayat raised her eyes, they remained fixed—how hard she had tried to forget that face, but the truth was that this face had never vanished from before her eyes for twenty-five years. Muhammad Mutahir was the exact image of this very man, while the newcomer's manner was normal, as if he knew which personality he was about to meet.
"Zain was saying you wanted to talk to me." Sara stood before him with a pale, tearful face (the dignity, pride, and arrogance that were once her hallmarks were all gone; she existed merely as a defeated woman).
"Did you forcibly marry Mutahir to Musaffa?"
"He is not a child who can be forced into doing anything against his will; he is a conscious young man. He has the ability to make his own decisions; he is a lawyer, Masha'Allah." His composure was noteworthy. Sara couldn't understand how to tell him the truth—the truth that had plunged her existence into turmoil.
"Can I leave now? Was this all you wanted to ask?"
"You have committed a great injustice! Not just injustice, you have committed a grave sin," Sara shouted in a suppressed manner.
"The sin of marrying a brother and sister. Mutahir is your son!" Hiding her face in her hands, she sat on the floor and wept.
"Which son... whose son?" His face turned red. "When did you ever tell me that I have a child in this world?"
"This is the truth—Mutahir is your blood, he is your son, and Musaffa is your daughter! What kind of torment is this!"
"Look at me, Sara," his tone softened.
"I do not accept that Mutahir is my son. You only want to torture me, that's all."
"God is my witness!" She stood desperately before him.
"Keeping Allah as witness, I say Mutahir Owais is your blood! Do something before something untoward happens." He smiled deeply from his heart. Now the time had come to tell Sara the truth; he opened his lips.
--- ♡ ۞ ♡ ---
Despite intense opposition from Sara and Farooq, Hayat Damen's children stepped out, and Sara arrived in the village as a bride, becoming Muhammad Owais's destiny. For a moment, she too stood still upon seeing Owais's attractive and handsome personality, but what could be done when she had set priorities for her life from which deviation was impossible for her? It was decided she would not live in the village; she was looking for an opportunity. Despite trying, she couldn't find a single flaw in Owais's personality and character—a man of character and honor who could be any girl's ideal. But perhaps Sara Hayat was not counted among those girls, and one day, she laid her hands on Owais's weakness.
Kausar, the wife of his elder brother Abdul Rahim—who was also his maternal cousin—was someone he respected greatly. Kausar's word was a command for Muhammad Owais. Abdul Rahim and Kausar had only one son, Abdul Ahad, a one-and-a-half-year-old who spent all his time in his aunt's lap.
A month and a half after the marriage, that night brought the opportunity Sara Hayat had been eagerly waiting for.
"Does your aunt have no other daughter?"
"No, why?" Owais looked at Sara in confusion; the question was straightforward, but the manner of asking was far from it.
"I was thinking, given how much you love your maternal cousin, if Brother Abdul Rahim wasn't in between, you would have happily married her." Aamna, who was standing outside with Muhammad Owais, turned red in the face. Her educated third sister-in-law, whose exterior was beautiful but whose interior was equally foul—she felt disgust toward that beautiful face, and was astonished by her brother: why was he silently listening to such useless nonsense, why didn't he break that girl's mouth?
"Pack your bags, Sara! I will drop you off at Uncle's place." Muhammad Owais's deep, steady voice echoed, leaving Sara dumbfounded. No apology, no condemnation; she looked at Muhammad Owais's handsome face in disbelief.
"What are you saying?"
"This is your wish, isn't it? I am fulfilling it. Remember one thing in life, Sara Hayat!" Leaning against the edge of the bed, he lay half-down.
"To reach your destinations, do not scatter thorns in the paths of others, because when you ruin the path of an innocent, destinations turn their backs on you as well. Good night."
Turning over and switching off the light, he felt at peace after showing Sara Hayat her true reality. The next day, she returned from the village forever. After returning, news came that the arrival of a little guest was expected; she was happy. The gynecologist, Um-e-Ayman, was the sister of Muhammad Owais's friend, through whom the news reached Owais as well.
"Man, you are so cold-hearted," Kashan scolded him on the call.
"What happened?"
"I am going to become an uncle, and you didn't even tell me!" And Muhammad Owais found himself surrounded by strange emotions—the good news to which he had the primary right, he was hearing from a third person's mouth. Abdul Rahim, Kausar, and Abdul Khaliq went to bring Sara back, but she flatly refused to come, along with a demand for divorce. She went to her brother in Mirpur. Farooq's daughter Hafsa was one-and-a-half months old at the time, while Ahmar's twin sons were Shariq and Shah Zain; Shoaib was the eldest among them. Muhammad Mutahir was six months younger than Shah Zain and Shariq. Muhammad Owais had hidden the good news from his family. On the day Mutahir was born, Muhammad Owais sent the divorce papers to Sara Hayat on the third day, along with a quote:
"Those whom we do not answer, time certainly answers them."
With passing time, he did not remain detached from Mutahir either. He always kept indirect contact with his son. Mutahir was one and a half years old when a proposal came for Sara from Farooq's friend, but the marriage lasted only a year; Sufyan could not survive a heart attack, and Sara returned to Farooq's home forever.
Meanwhile, tragedy had struck Abdul Khaliq's mansion. Abdul Rahim and Kausar died in a road accident; Musaffa was only three months old then. Thus, those three beings became the center of Muhammad Owais's life: two-and-a-half-year-old Abdul Ahad, three-month-old Musaffa, and fifteen-year-old Aamna. Muhammad Owais's own desires were left far behind. He became Abdul Rahim; yes, whenever he yearned for Muhammad Mutahir, in those moments he became only Muhammad Owais.
He remained aware of Mutahir's educational milestones, his personality, and even his likes and dislikes.
He was confident.
He had faith in the Almighty that one day would come when the piece of his heart, his Mutahir, would embrace his chest.
Then, after Aamna's marriage and the birth of her children, Abdul Ahad and Musaffa shifted to the city, where Ahad met Angeline Farooq.
The day Ahad mentioned Angie to Aamna, she asked him about her background, and upon learning the truth, strictly forbade him from meeting that girl and revealed the truth upon his persistence. Despite knowing the truth, Ahad could not stop himself from loving Angeline. Even after knowing the truth about Angeline's aunt, he didn't have the courage to reject the girl without any justification. He had to make Angeline disillusioned with him so she could forget him and start a new life, and he found a pretext in the form of Mutahir to make Angeline disillusioned with him, even though he knew Angeline possessed a very simple mind. He didn't know Mutahir. Whatever he wished happened, but whatever happened beyond that was no less than a horrific nightmare.
Musaffa's abduction was a bombshell on Owais's nerves, but hearing Mutahir's name, he calmed down. He trusted his own blood, having the same belief in his son's character as in the oneness of God. He didn't need to ask anyone about Mutahir's office. How his heart raced upon seeing his young, handsome son face-to-face for the first time—either Muhammad Owais's heart knew, or their Lord. His heart longed to embrace him and tell him the truth. Mutahir's eyes, complexion, and stature were just like his. How respectfully and gently he spoke—he felt proud of himself, fell in love with his own destiny, and his heart bowed in prostration before the Writer of Fate.
Right at that moment, he made a decision—the decision regarding the Nikkah of Muhammad Mutahir and Musaffa Abdul Rahim. However, upon his return, when he broke the news of Musaffa’s Nikkah to Aamna and Ahad, both were left astonished.
"Bhai! What have you done? Don't you know that family?" Aamna was shocked, but he remained composed and content.
"Do you trust me, Aamna?"
"More than myself."
"And Abdul Ahad, do you have trust in your Baba's character?" He now addressed his son.
"I have trust in you and your character more than in myself."
"Could I ever do anything bad to Musaffa?" He looked at both of them turn by turn.
"Not at all!" slipped spontaneously from both their mouths, and he smiled naturally.
"Then you people should have the same blind trust in Muhammad Mutahir as well." The divine smile on his face brought peace and reassurance to Ahad and Aamna.
"How can you give testimony for that boy with such certainty, Bhai?"
"His name is Muhammad Mutahir Owais, Aamna! He is my son, your nephew, and your brother, Ahad," his tone grew tearful.
"Are you telling the truth, Bhai?" Aamna sat beside him anxiously, her voice trembling. Muhammad Owais wiped a tear and nodded.
"Yes, Aamna! He is your nephew. I am certain he will never do anything wrong—this is a father's faith." And how rock-solid his belief was—a verdict on that was reached soon enough.
Then Musaffa came back, but the act she committed threw everyone into a state of panic. No one had expected that Muhammad Mutahir mattered so much to Musaffa Abdul Rahim. Seeing Sara arrive at the hospital with Shah Zain, he had turned his face away, and now, as he finished revealing the whole truth before Sara, the only sound in the room was Sara's sobbing.
"Please forgive me! I was wrong, my perspective was wrong, I am your offender," Sara folded her hands in a plea. "By separating you from Mutahir, I committed a grave cruelty against him. He never smiled freely in his entire life. Earlier I used to think that was just his nature, but that day I overheard him confessing before Shah that he misses his father and feels his presence. He was truthful—the testimony of his heart was true, which never allowed him to accept that his father was no longer in this world. And the entire credit for that goes to your love and prayers. In light of everything you have just shared, it seems Mutahir is enveloped in such a deep shadow of your love and prayers that my love cannot even enter it." Standing at the doorway, Zain instinctively looked at Mutahir's face, which was turning red with intense self-restraint, while Angeline Farooq was weeping openly.
"I couldn't prove to be a good wife, nor a good mother. For the sake of my happiness, my son surrendered the greatest desire of his life. I am a mother—I have read the writing on his face; Muhammad Mutahir truly and deeply loves Musaffa Abdul Rahim. What kind of a mother am I, who didn't give her child even a single moment of happiness and hid the truth from him despite his father being alive? Musaffa is his wife, yet for the sake of my happiness, he kept calling her his friend's sister. And that girl, in whose eyes I saw my son's reflection—I am the one responsible for bringing her to this state. Angie suffered the punishment for my deeds."
Her eyes were swollen from continuous weeping. Through her tear-stained face, she looked at Owais's face, which was turning rosy with restraint.
"I cast false allegations upon you—even while knowing how pure your love was for Bhabhi. But ego makes a person do everything they never intended to do. You had said that those whom we do not answer, time certainly answers them. Look Owais, how time slammed my allegation back into my face today. For my freedom, I dragged a sacred relationship through the mud, and twenty-five years later, time made Abdul Ahad speak those exact same words for people for the sanctity of whose relationship I could swear an oath. The words Abdul Ahad spoke weren't his—they were mine. The guilty one is not Abdul Ahad, but Sara Hayat. If only, Owais, if only you had spoken back then, perhaps you would have been erased from my heart and mind, but for twenty-five years, you have kept me trapped in a state of agony." This spontaneous confession left Owais and the three individuals standing outside dumbfounded.
"After so many years, I am realizing the futility of my journey. The destination of madness is perhaps nothing more than a mirage, which is a disease just like jealousy and malice—one that sweeps away everything of the person afflicted by it. Moderation is the mark of the wise, while madness belongs to the crazed and distracted. See for yourself, Owais! What did I gain in all these years?"
She spread her hands toward Muhammad Owais—hands that had lost the right to touch those hands decades ago. His calm, steady gaze remained fixed on Sara Hayat.
--- ♡ ۞ ♡ ---
"That person will long for me all his life,
It was his fate that he squandered me."
Musaffa had regained consciousness, and everyone had met her except Mutahir. In the evening, she went home; her eyes kept searching for Mutahir until the very last moment, but found nothing but disappointment. Her heart wept.
The next day, Muhammad Owais invited Shah Zain, Mutahir, and everyone except Shuab and Rania.
All of them (except Mutahir) had been there since morning. Sara had sent over dresses for Musaffa, out of which she was currently wearing a black A-line shirt. Aamna was floating around with a joyful glow. Shah Zain was head over heels upon seeing Musaffa's friend Iram, while Musaffa was listlessly watching everyone engaged in cheerful banter. Noticing her mood, Angeline brought her over to sit in the middle of everyone. She wore silver ear studs and eight or nine silver bangles on her wrist. In her light, simple attire, there was a faint paleness on her face, yet she still looked like the most beautiful girl in the world to Angeline.
Parking his car outside, Mutahir stepped inside with soft steps. Seeing the young group busy in the drawing room, Abdul Ahad signaled that the path was clear, and thanking him, Mutahir walked toward Muhammad Owais's room—he wanted to meet him in private, which was why he had asked Abdul Ahad not to inform anyone of his arrival. Coincidentally, he too was wearing a black kurta over a white shalwar, adorned with delicate silver embroidery. Before he could step inside, Ahad grabbed his wrist, and Mutahir looked at him with questioning eyes.
"Just as I helped you, please put in a good word for me in return."
"Okay. Now clear the way." As Ahad stepped aside, Mutahir took a deep breath, knocked lightly, and entered with a pounding heart. At the sound of the knock, Muhammad Owais looked toward the door, and his face lit up.
The state was mutual for Muhammad Mutahir—today he considered himself the luckiest man alive. After years, he stood before this majestic personality, about to embrace him and feel that presence which was bound to his subconscious mind like an octopus.
Twenty-five years later, a son stood before his father. As the father opened his arms with tearful eyes, the son nestled into his open embrace like a newborn. Was there any joy or solace in the world greater than what Muhammad Owais felt at that moment, holding his grown son against his chest? Could he ever be grateful enough for this blessing?
"No, never," he confessed from his heart, cupping Mutahir's face in his hands and kissing his forehead.
"My life, the tranquility of my heart—my Muhammad Mutahir!" He affectionately kissed every feature of his face.
"If I ask you for something, will you give it to me?" Mutahir held his hands in his own strong grip.
"Speak, my life."
"Please forgive Mom. She feels very guilty, and so does Uncle."
"I hold no resentment in my heart for anyone, my son!" he said seriously. "I had forgiven them back when you were born. In fact, I am indebted to her now."
"How so, Baba?" slipped from Mutahir's lips. The word Baba overwhelmed him with joy, and he spontaneously kissed Mutahir's hand.
"Is this reason not enough to be indebted to her—that she raised such a handsome young man who calls me Baba? If she wanted, she could have deprived me of this happiness, but she didn't. Is that a small favor?" Just then, Angeline, along with Zain and Phupo's two daughters, raided the room.
"Ugh, Bhaiya! You are hiding in here!" Namal held his hand affectionately.
"I'm not hiding, dear. Just talking to Baba." He gently patted Namal's cheek.
"Come outside, Phupo is calling," Zain pulled him. Over the next two minutes, Zain seated him on the drawing-room sofa right next to Musaffa.
"Sit right here, root of all trouble! What's with all this arrogance and attitude anyway?"
"Fear God, man! Why are you casting false allegations on a poor guy like me?" Mutahir glanced at Musaffa and glared at Zain.
"Lawyers aren't poor, sir!" Angeline pulled his leg. Ahad reflexively looked at her, as she had been ignoring him severely since morning.
"Lawyers extract money even out of people's skins!" Rania Bhabhi agreed with Angeline.
"People say, 'May God protect us from police and doctors,' but I say, 'May God keep us miles away from lawyers!'" Zain said with absolute seriousness, making everyone burst out laughing, while Mutahir glared at them all.
"Go ahead, everyone, ruin my dignity—you probably won't get an opportunity like this again in your life," he said crossly, folding his arms across his chest.
"Please, man, put in a word for me too; there's a little plea for mercy in the High Court," Abdul Ahad requested everyone in a pleading tone while looking at the indifferent Angeline.
"Stop crying like a woman for someone you can't fight for like a man."
Mutahir gave him an indirect red flag. Ahad looked at him in shock.
"I didn't expect disloyalty from you, Mutahir!"
"And I have no expectation of loyalty from her!" Angeline said in a rather piercing tone, glaring at Mutahir, who sat detached from Musaffa, while Abdul Ahad brightened up seeing Angeline agree with him—he saw a ray of hope.
"Disloyal friend! I asked you about your ideal, why don't you ask me about mine?" Shah Zain stubbornly said, gesturing with an eyebrow toward Iram, while Mutahir barely suppressed a smile.
"So friend, should I ask in private or in front of the whole gathering?"
"What's the point in private? Ask right here in front of everyone—I am not afraid of anyone!"
What confidence! Everyone burst into laughter, while Iram subtly turned her face away. Ever since she had arrived, Musaffa's naughty brother-in-law had kept her locked in his gaze. Zain laughed spontaneously at her reaction.
"Those who reside in the heart,
Are the very ones who make living impossible."
Catching the theft of his gaze, Mutahir recited the couplet spontaneously, and the drawing room echoed with praise. Forgetting her previous sadness, Musaffa sat with a blushing face, resting her face in her cupped hands, enjoying everyone's antics. Sitting beside Mutahir—with his tall stature and deep, commanding presence—she looked like a delicate doll. The eyes of the young group kept wandering back to admire the two of them.
They looked so lovely sitting together. Zain was barely holding himself back from dropping a playful line, because he knew that Musaffa, who was currently sitting peacefully beside Mutahir, would run away in a heartbeat, and his heart wasn't done admiring this beautiful sight just yet.
"You tell us your ideal, Shah." Pretending to place his phone on the table in an unnoticeable manner, Mutahir leaned slightly closer to Musaffa, but she wasn't paying attention. Seeing her deep absorption, Mutahir looked on with interest, a smile touching his lips.
"My ideal—" Shah Zain dramatically scanned his gaze across the girls turn by turn.
Musaffa was beginning to feel drowsy; barely holding open her eyes weighed down by medication, she didn't want to miss this gathering. Mutahir gently rested her head against his shoulder. Without any resistance, Musaffa rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.
"Angeline doesn't even come close to my ideal!" Zain made a face. Ahad raised a fist at him, but since it was Zain facing him, he dismissively waved his hand and blew off the threat in a second.
"Namal and Ismail are like my daughters."
"What?!" Rania Bhabhi, Hoor, and Angie cried out. "Daughters before marriage?!"
"Be quiet and listen to my ideal!" Zain glared at everyone.
"Why are you creating unnecessary suspense for no reason? Just spill it directly—who do you like?" Angeline glared at him.
"If you keep your beak shut, I might actually speak! You have an objection to every other sentence."
"I yield!" Angeline folded both hands in surrender. "I won't say a word now."
"Just unclamp your hands now, I'm about to tell." Shah Zain said with utmost composure.
Now Iram was held in the circle of his gaze; the poor girl was practically blushing double.
"Ma'am! What are you searching for on the floor?" Zain addressed Iram directly with mock seriousness, and she reflexively raised her eyes to look at Zain—which was exactly what he wanted.
"Eyes deep black!" he said instantly, making everyone burst out laughing at his mischief. The loudest laugh belonged to Mutahir. Startled awake, Musaffa shrank back into herself. Realizing how close she was to Mutahir (oh!), she quickly stood up, while Mutahir watched her leave. He himself was looking for just such an opportunity to talk to Musaffa alone when she was by herself. Glancing at Angeline and Zain throwing cushions at each other, he quietly slipped away to Musaffa's room. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs dangling and her head bowed.
"How are you?" Mutahir walked over with soft steps and sat beside her. Musaffa looked at him through flowing tears, grievances stirring in her eyes.
"You still wouldn't have come—you would have come just once to place flowers on my grave."
"Musaffa!" Mutahir took a deep breath with restraint and looked at her. "Do you realize how much pain you have caused me?" Wiping her tears, a grievance came from his side too—
"While doing such a drastic thing, didn't your heart tremble even once for me? If something had happened to you, what would have become of me?"
"You would have lived happily! You said it yourself that my leaving makes no difference to you," she said, rubbing her face with her dupatta in cross irritation.
"First, stop crying."
"It's not stopping, what should I do?"
She said in helplessness, making Mutahir burst out laughing. Seeing him laugh for the first time, Musaffa was left spellbound; her tears stopped.
"To stop your tears, I'll have to laugh," Mutahir said playfully, making Musaffa lower her gaze in embarrassment.
Mutahir knelt on one knee on the floor right in front of her; Musaffa watched his action in wonder.
"You don't need to torture yourself just to call me to you, Musaffa! Because your pain takes a toll on my very life. My breath begins to choke. Whenever you call me, you will find me by your side."
"Why didn't you come to the hospital? I waited so much for you."
"I was hidden from your eyes, but I wasn't far away." Mutahir held her soft, delicate hands in his.
"Muhammad Mutahir is deeply affected by Musaffa Mutahir's departure. If you call me and I don't come, give me whatever punishment you wish, but promise me you will never inflict pain on yourself again."
"I promise, but you have to make a promise too."
"Tell me, what promise do you want?" He encouraged her with a gentle smile.
"You won't even look toward any fair-skinned girl." Hearing the words coming out of Musaffa's mouth, Mutahir burst into spontaneous laughter—laughing so hard that tears came to his eyes. Musaffa pressed her lips together, watching his spontaneous laughter.
Some people's laughter can be so precious that it makes the other person forget themselves. Musaffa felt amazed.
"Promise—I won't look at all." He sat back down beside Musaffa.
"Fair skin doesn't appeal to me at all." He locked her lovely, duskily radiant face in his gaze.
"And as for highly qualified girls—God forbid!" He touched his ears playfully. "It is enough for me if my wife is educated just enough to write me a beautiful poem." Musaffa's face turned rapidly rosy; so he had read the poem she wrote. "If you need any further guarantee, take it."
"Uh-uh," Musaffa reflexively shook her head in refusal.
"Are you sure? Lest tomorrow other misgivings start troubling you." He was teasing her.
"Do you want to make me angry?"
"Do you even know how to get angry, Musaffa?" Mutahir looked at her face with interest, where a divine glow of love currently illuminated her features.
"Yes, I get very angry!" She tried to convince him in a threatening tone, but feeling Mutahir's gaze on her face, she lowered her eyelashes.
Mutahir took her left hand and placed it right over his heart.
"Remember, Musaffa? In our very first meeting, you knocked on my heart with this exact hand."
"You remember something from so long ago?" Musaffa asked in disbelief.
"It's not that long ago—only six months, two weeks, and eight hours. Why, don't you remember that scene?"
"I don't remember anything." Bowing her head, she pulled her hand out of Mutahir's grip.
"But I remember everything," Mutahir smiled.
"Because after that, a couplet deeply made me feel your presence." Musaffa looked at him with questioning eyes.
"At midnight, in the devotion of tahajjud's silent prayer,
I asked for you until the calls of Fajr."
