Author’s POV

Dua was fuming as she spotted Momin outside her university gates. Panic surged through her. The last thing she wanted was anyone seeing her with a boy—it could shatter the carefully maintained image of a shareef (modest) girl she had built here.

“What are you doing here?” she whisper-yelled, storming toward him.

Momin blinked in surprise. “I thought I’d—”

“You shouldn’t have thought anything! I told you I’d come myself. What was the need to show up like this?” Her voice was sharp, her eyes anxiously scanning her surroundings.

Ruhan had gone to get his bike. They had made lunch plans—he’d been insisting all morning that they hadn’t properly celebrated her birthday and today was the perfect day. Dua had finally agreed, thinking she’d meet Momin afterwards.

“Dua… why are you so upset?” Momin asked gently, clearly hurt. Back in India, this same Dua used to glow with happiness whenever he surprised her outside her college. Now she looked at him like he was a problem.

“Momin—” Dua began, but before she could finish, Rabiya appeared with a few of her friends. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw Momin.

“When did you came here?” Rabiya asked cheerfully.

“Just a couple of days ago,” Momin replied politely.

“You didn’t tell me, Dua?” Rabiya raised an eyebrow.

“I forgot,” Dua muttered, distracted, her eyes locked on the parking lot where Ruhan was now approaching.

“You should go,” she suddenly said to Momin, practically pushing him toward the car. His heart dropped at her coldness.

“Come with me,” he said in a firmer tone. Her behavior was setting off alarms in his mind.

Dua’s face went pale as she stared past him—Momin turned to follow her gaze.

Ruhan pulled up on his bike and stopped right in front of them. He was adjusting the mirror, looking unbothered.

“Let’s go,” Ruhan said casually, not acknowledging Momin or the others. Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed Dua’s wrist. “Come on, na,” he added, tugging her slightly.

Before he could touch her again, Momin stepped forward and gripped Ruhan’s hand tightly, jerking it away and pulling Dua behind him

“How dare you touch her?” he growled, his voice trembling with restrained fury.

Ruhan stepped off his bike and faced him. “And who the hell are you?”

Momin turned to Dua. “You know him?”

“Yes…” she stammered, dreading what might come next. If Momin found out about her recent behavior—or her growing friendship with Ruhan—he would see it as betrayal. Even if she hadn't crossed any lines, she knew what it would look like in his eyes. But it's just friendship and she doesn't want her relationship with Momin to come out because she doesn't want to label herself as a married woman in her early age.

“Who is he?” Momin asked again, more sternly this time.

Before she could answer, Ruhan stepped in. “Her friend. I’m Ruhan.”

Momin’s heart twisted. In all the time Dua had been abroad, not once had he heard that name from her lips.

“And who is he?” Ruhan asked, gesturing toward Momin.

“I’m her—”

“He’s the son of her father’s old employee,” Rabiya cut in smoothly before Momin could speak. “His parents died, and her father took responsibility for him. He lives with their family. Kind of like a driver… or bodyguard. An orphan.”

Dua whipped her head toward Rabiya, eyes wide. But she didn’t say a word. She didn’t deny it.

Momin’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at her, hoping even a small correction from her lips. But she stayed silent.

“Bodyguard? Driver?” Ruhan raised an eyebrow at Dua. She said nothing—her throat felt dry, her words stuck.

Momin released her wrist slowly, like letting go of something sacred that had betrayed him.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, voice eerily calm as he turned and walked to his car.

Realizing what was happening, Dua panicked. She ran after him, opened the passenger door, and slipped inside. He drove off without a word.

“Momin—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off coldly, eyes focused on the road.

The silence in the car was suffocating. He parked in front of the hotel and stepped out. She followed him silently to his room.

“Explain,” he said simply as the door shut behind them.

“He’s just a friend,” she replied, trying to sound composed.

“Since when?”

“Since about a week after I arrived.”

“You mean… one and a half years?” he asked in disbelief.

She nodded.

“And you never thought to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was important,” she said defensively.

“Not important?” He stepped closer, eyes burning. “Just like you didn’t think it was important to tell them who I really am?”

“What was I supposed to say?” she snapped. “That you’re my lover? My husband? My owner?”

“Owner?” His voice dropped, shocked.

“You’re acting like one!” she shouted, backing away.

“You could’ve just said I’m your friend…” he said quietly. “Or do you really think of me as an orphan under your father’s mercy? Your driver? Your bodyguard?”

She felt the weight of those words hit her like a slap. His eyes glistened.

“They think I don’t befriend guys,” she finally said, voice trembling. “Ruhan was the only one in our group. He seemed sweet, decent. At first I told them I don’t talk to boys, but… he insisted. And I gave in.”

“You’re changing, Dua,” he said softly, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

Her heart trembled..

She ran to him, hugging him tightly.

“I love you, Momin,” she whispered desperately, cupping his face and brushing away his tear. “Only you. Always you.”

She kissed his chin gently, eyes pleading. I didn't do anything cause Rabiya was also there and if she came to know about our relationship then it would not be good. Don’t you trust me?"

“If I didn’t…” he paused, meeting her eyes, “…I wouldn’t have asked you to explain.”

She smiled in relief, hugging him tighter. She couldn’t afford to lose him—not now, not ever.

Momin didn’t ask anything further about Ruhan that day. But Dua knew, deep inside, that this wasn’t the end of it.

---

It was late afternoon when Momin stepped into the warm silence of the house. The familiar scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, and the distant sound of the azaan (call tho prayer) echoed softly through the open window. Something in his chest tightened. The past few days in the USA had drained him emotionally—seeing Dua change, watching her slip away from the girl he once knew. He had returned, but with a heart heavier than when he left.

As he placed his bag beside the shoe rack, a soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"You’re back?"

Maham stood at the edge of the hallway, arms loosely crossed, her hair tied in a casual braid. She looked composed, but her eyes shimmered—with relief, confusion… and something that looked dangerously like hope.

Momin turned to her, his expression weary but kind.

“Yeah… just got in.”

“You didn’t tell me before leaving,” she said softly, her tone carrying a quiet accusation wrapped in concern.

He shrugged. “It wasn’t planned. I just needed… a break.”

“A break from what?” Her voice was gentle, but her eyes searched his face with quiet intensity.

“From everything,” he replied, unable to meet her gaze. “I just NEEDED to breathe somewhere else for a while.”

She nodded slowly and stepped a little closer. “I see. Where did you go?”

There it was—the question she had been holding back. Her tone was neutral, almost casual, but her eyes were too focused, too knowing.

“Just... abroad. Some work stuff,” he replied, too casually.

Maham let out a small, breathy laugh—not mocking, but clearly unconvinced.

“You’re lying,” she said lightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But that’s okay. Everyone has their secrets.”

Momin blinked, caught off guard, but before he could respond, she walked past him, heading toward the living room.

“Want tea?” she asked over her shoulder.

“I’ll make it,” he offered.

She glanced back, her eyes unreadable.

“You just got back. Sit. I’ll bring it.”

As she disappeared into the kitchen, Momin stood there quietly, thoughtful.

He had no idea she already knew everything.

Meanwhile, Maham stood by the stove, stirring the chai, swallowing the storm in her chest. She knew. Of course, she knew.

But if pretending not to know was the only way to keep Momin close… she would pretend forever.

____________

One year later…

Dua walked into the party beside Ruhan, nervous energy clinging to her skin. It was her first late-night party, and despite agreeing to come, fear curled in her stomach. But Ruhan had convinced her.

“I’ll be there the whole time,” he had promised, brushing his fingers reassuringly against hers. “You don’t need to worry. Just enjoy.”

Now, she stood in the center of the room, a glass of some unknown drink in her hand, people around her laughing, dancing, and urging her to take a sip.

She looked at Ruhan.

“I don’t drink,” she reminded him again, her voice small.

He smiled, easy and charming.

“I know. But one sip is one moment of freedom. It won’t make you drunk—it’ll just make you feel lighter… freer. Like the bird you are. I’m here, Dua. You trust me, right?”

He cupped her cheek, his touch warm. And how could Dua not trust him? He had never crossed the line, never let anyone hurt her during their time at the university. He had been her best support system for over two and a half years. In this foreign land, he had become her home.

She closed her eyes. Momin’s face flashed before her—the quiet intensity of his eyes, the way he would drape his jacket over her even if she didn’t feel cold, the way he always knew when she was slipping.

He would never approve of this.

But… he’s not here.

He left. He gave me space. He trusts me.

She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and lifted the glass to her lips.

One sip. Just one.

The drink stung her throat—sweet with a bitter aftertaste. She winced.

Ruhan chuckled.

“See? Not so bad.”

She nodded, unsure if she was trying to convince him or herself.

The room was dimly lit, colors flashing against the walls. Music thumped like a heartbeat. Girls in short dresses and boys in ripped jeans danced like no one was watching.

Dua stood frozen. She didn’t belong here.

But Ruhan leaned in, his voice soft in her ear.

“You’re safe with me,” he said. “No one’s judging. They don’t even know you. You can be whoever you want here.”

She looked up at him, her eyes uncertain.

“And who am I, Ruhan?”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“You’re someone tired of being the obedient daughter. The quiet girl in the background. You’re someone who deserves to be seen.”

Something in her chest ached.

He doesn’t know me… yet somehow, he does.

The music slowed—sultry and hypnotic.

Ruhan extended his hand.

“Dance with me?”

“I don’t dance,” she whispered.

“You didn’t drink either,” he said with a grin. “But you did.”

Hesitating, her mind torn between memories of Momin’s steady love and this strange new high… she placed her hand in his.

He led her to the dance floor. Her body was stiff at first, her eyes cast downward. Ruhan gently lifted her chin.

“Look at me. Just feel the music. Forget everything else.”

His hands rested on her waist, close but respectful—enough to make her heart skip. Slowly, she let the rhythm guide her. The world blurred. She began to move with him, her body loosening, her mind floating.

For a fleeting moment, she felt like she was flying.

But freedom always demands a price.

“You’re too good,” Dua slurred, giggling at Ruhan as they sat on the counter with fresh drinks.

He smiled, eyes gleaming.

“I know. But do you even care about me?” he pouted.

“I do… I really do…” she leaned toward him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

“Then kiss me,” he whispered.

Dua blinked, confused, then grinned and pecked his cheek.

“See? I kissed you. I do care!” she said, swaying a little.

He laughed softly.

“That’s not a kiss, stupid.”

He held her hand, pulling her close again.

“Kiss me… on the lips,” he breathed into her ear, then caught her earlobe between his lips, making her gasp.

His lips trailed to her neck, pressing against the vein. A soft moan escaped her before she could stop it. Her head spun. Her body responded. She didn't know if it was the alcohol or the longing—but she was craving more.

And then—she imagined Momin.

The way he held her without asking. The way his love always made her feel cherished, never dirty. What she was feeling now—this wasn’t that. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t Momin.

Ruhan cupped her face. She looked into his eyes.

It wasn’t love she saw. It was hunger. Something hollow and dark.

“No,” she whispered.

“Please, Dua. Just one kiss.”

"I said no," she pulled back, trying to sound firm.

“Dua, don’t push me away. It’s just a kiss,” he insisted, grabbing her wrist.

Her hand raised and she slapped him before she could stop herself.

The room went silent.

Everyone turned, eyes wide in shock. Ruhan—the charming, untouchable boy—had just been slapped.

"You’re not Momin," she said through breathing heavily "Only he has the right to touch me. Don’t you dare."

She turned and walked toward the exit, her steps shaky.

Is it freedom?

And somewhere deep inside, she knew—freedom wasn’t always found in flying.

Sometimes, it was in knowing where not to go.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

One thought echoed through her mind like a haunting whisper.

Momin will never forgive me… if he ever finds out.

★★★★