Author's POV

Momin stared at Dua in Ruhan’s arms, dressed in a knee-length outfit with spaghetti straps, and he quite literally felt his heart breaking. His fists clenched, and his jaw tightened painfully.

“Put me down, Ruhan!” Dua growled, struggling in his grip. Ruhan shrugged before placing her back on the ground.

“Momin? Maham? You guys are here?” Dua asked, surprised to see them. Momin walked straight toward her, his expression unreadable but his eyes burning with fury.

“I know you’re not happy to see us, but I think your time is over. And mine has just begun.” He grabbed her hand. “We’re leaving.” Without another word, he began dragging her toward their cab. He heard her hiss in pain, but for the first time, he ignored her discomfort and kept pulling her along.

“Momin! Listen to me!”

“Hey bro, what are you doing? Where are you taking her?” Ruhan stepped in front of them.

"Stay away!" Momin growled.

Ruhan looked at Dua, who quickly nodded her head. She just wanted to get out of there.

Ruhan moved aside, and Momin pushed her into the back seat where Maham was already sitting.

“Maham!” Dua exclaimed, pulling her into a tight hug. Maham was still in a daze after seeing Dua dressed like that. She had seen pictures before—thought maybe it meant Dua was finally slipping out of Momin’s hands—but now, seeing her like this, something tugged at her heart.

This wasn’t her sister. Her sister was innocent, head over heels in love with Momin. But this version of Dua—her eyes held no haya (modesty). Her face reflected no innocence.

“I missed you!” Dua murmured, and Maham’s arms instinctively wrapped around her.

“I’am also missing my sister“ Maham whispered.

Dua smiled and pulled away. “You mean to say ‘I missed you,’ right?” she asked, misunderstanding the intent behind Maham’s words.

But only Maham knew what she truly meant.

She forced a small smile.

Momin sat silently in the passenger seat, trying to restrain the storm raging inside him.

---

When they reached the apartment, Dua looked around. Though her mind was brimming with questions, knowing she was in the wrong, she kept quiet.

As they stepped inside, Momin didn’t say a word—he just grabbed her elbow and pulled her with him.

“Momin…” Maham tried to speak, but he cut her off.

“Humare beech mat aao Maham.” (Don’t come between us, Maham.) Saying this, he dragged Dua into the room and slammed the door shut.

“Momin, leave my hand!” Dua yanked her arm free. “We can talk. Why are you—”

“Chup!” he roared, making her flinch. (Quiet!) “What exactly do you want me to listen to? That you left your hostel to live with so-called friends—and that too, boys? Or do you want to tell me how you ended up in that dress and in his arms?” He gripped her arms so tightly they would leave bruises.

“I got hurt! Ruhan and I were returning from the hospital. Look.” She pointed at her foot, a white bandage wrapped around it, a red stain blooming through the fabric. “This evening, I slipped in the kitchen. I tried to catch myself, but the scissor fell from the counter and cut my foot badly. It’s a deep wound.”

Momin felt a sting of pain seeing the blood and bandage, but one look at her outfit and his fury reignited.

“And what about this dress?” he snapped, eyes ran over her from head to toe, his voice quivering in rage. “Tumhein sharam nahi aayi yeh pehn kar bahar jaate hue? Kis ne diya tumhein yeh haq ke tum meri biwi ho kar aise kapray pehno?” (Didn’t you feel ashamed going out dressed like this? Who gave you the right to wear something like this while being my wife?)

“Meri izzat ho tum, meri mohabbat ho tum, meri biwi ho tum, Dua!” (You are my honour. You are my love. You are my wife, Dua!) “Main ne kabhi tumhein sleeveless pehnne ki ijaazat nahi di, aur tum yeh chhoti si dress pehn kar ladkon ke saath ghoom rahi ho? Tumhein zara bhi khauf nahi aya?” (I never allowed you to wear sleeveless clothes, and yet here you are, roaming around in a short dress with boys? Didn't you feel even a little bit of shame?)

“This is normal, Momin. It’s neither short nor vulgar,” she replied calmly but firmly.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

“Normal?” he echoed, stunned.

She just shrugged and sank into the sofa like his rage was nothing more than a tantrum.

“Look, Momin... in this country, it’s normal. Don’t worry, I won’t wear clothes like this in India,” she tried to soothe him, but instead, her words threw oil onto the fire.

He marched toward her again, eyes blazing, and yanked her up by the arm.

“Not just in this country—anywhere in the world, anywhere outside our room—you will never wear clothes like this again. Do you understand?”

“No!” she shouted, shoving him away. “Don’t you dare try to dominate me! I’m not scared of you, Momin!”

“And why are you acting like I’m wearing a bikini or something!?”

“Dua! Mind your language!” he bellowed

“Fine! I’ll mind my language. But will you mind your own business and stop interfering in mine?”

He stared at her in disbelief, breathing heavily.

“Everything about you is mine! You’re my wife, Dua! Have you forgotten we are in love? That we’re married?”

“Momin, please yaar,” she said bitterly. “Don’t keep throwing this ‘marriage’ and ‘wife’ label in my face every time we talk. I’m tired of it. This marriage… it feels like a knife hanging over my head. I can’t enjoy my life while constantly remembering I’m bound to you in nikah. It’s suffocating, Momin.”

She turned her face away. “You promised me four years, right? Then just... forget we’re married until I return to India.”

Momin felt his heart sank. He gulped the lump in his throat.

“Dua…” his voice softened, like it always did whenever she raised hers. As always, he swallowed his pride, suppressed his anger—not out of weakness, but to protect what they had. To save their fragile bond from shattering. He gently held her hand in both of his.

“Yeh mat karo…” (Don’t do this…) he whispered, voice trembling. “Mere paas tumhare siwa kuch nahi hai.” (I have nothing except you.) His eyes glistened. “Tum meri zindagi ki saari investment ho. Tum hi sab kuch ho mera. Mujhse yeh mat cheeno…” (You are the only investment of my life. You are everything to me. Don’t take that away from me…)

His voice cracked with emotion. “Main mar jaunga Dua.” (I will die, Dua.)

For a brief moment, Dua’s heart softened. She saw the same wild, devoted love in his eyes—the one that used to overwhelm her heart. She knew if she pushed harder, he would break. He would kneel. He always did. That was just how he was—he buried his own pain just to quiet hers.

But she didn’t see what Momin saw at that moment.

He was witnessing the slow destruction of their love and marriage.

This time, he wasn’t just calming her anger.

He was trying to save himself.

Because if he lost her… he would lose everything that held him together.

Dua took her hands and walked out of the room.

While Momin fell on the sofa.

************

Dua's POV

I was shocked to find Momin and Maham here. They wanted to surprise me. But in reality, I surprised them by not being present in the hostel.

I had left the hostel three months ago due to Rabia’s constant pressure. She told me that all of them—Laiba, Sharon, Daisy, and Rabiya—would be shifting to a new apartment and wanted me to join them. I refused at first, but after their constant persuasion, I finally agreed. I lived happily with them for the next two months, but then Ruhan and his two friends rented the upper floor of the same apartment because they were facing some issues in their hostel. Rabiya moved back to the hostel last week, saying she would rejoin us after a few days because she wanted to be with another friend who had gone through a terrible breakup with her boyfriend, and Rabiya needed to be with her for a while.

I was actually happy that Ruhan and his friends respected our personal space. They never entered the downstairs area without our permission. We spent most of our evenings enjoying ourselves in the patio, often inviting a few of our college friends as well.

I never told Momin or anyone else about this because I knew they would never allow it—just like I never let them know about me becoming bold. I had started wearing sleeveless and knee-length clothes back in the hostel, and it's been a year since my clothing style changed. I loved this freedom. I loved not being controlled by anyone. I loved being this bold Dua that everyone admired.

Ruhan and I were still the same—good friends—but now I didn’t find his decent touches inappropriate. Holding hands, hugging, or even kisses on the cheek felt normal here.

Today, I was in the kitchen making a simple chicken curry for everyone. I was almost done when I slipped, and as I tried to grab something for support, a kitchen scissor fell from the shelf and landed on my foot, leaving a deep cut. Everyone came running, and then Ruhan took me to the hospital. On our way back, he kept making jokes to cheer me up. I enjoyed his respectful flirtation.

When we reached home, Ruhan suddenly picked me up in his arms without my consent.

After that, Momin and I had a terrible argument. I didn’t like his controlling nature. He wants to hide me from the world. He wants me only for himself. I used to admire his possessiveness before, but now it feels suffocating. I hated being controlled by him. This is my life, and I have every right to enjoy it the way I want. I love wearing clothes like this, and I will wear them for as long as I want.

I wanted to say all of this to him, but seeing the hurt in his eyes because of my words, I stopped myself. In that moment, I realized I still love him. I can't bear to see pain in his eyes. It’s just that I love my freedom a little more. So, to avoid having another argument, I left his room.

I needed to clear my mind. For the past few months, I’d been doubting whether I could truly be happy with a man like Momin. I love him—there’s no doubt about that—but can I really be happy with him?

Rabiya constantly tells me how controlling he is, that I deserve a man who can love me with freedom, someone who won’t cage me, someone who will give me the right to live and dress how I want. And Ruhan—he’s someone she says I deserve. He respects me, and I know he likes me.

But what about my heart, which only chants Momin’s name?

I can’t find peace imagining my life with anyone else. I’m confused and doubting myself, and I need to clear all of this before going back to India.

*********

He opened the door and entered the room. It was midnight, and both Dua and Maham were already asleep in their respective rooms. He walked over to the bed where Dua was sleeping soundly. Gently pulling back her blanket, he knelt beside the bed to check the injury on her foot. She hadn’t changed the bandage—it still had a bloodstain. He placed the first aid kit beside him and began unwrapping the bandage. First, he cleaned the wound. Dua hissed in pain.

He blew on the wound softly. He was so focused on bandaging her that he didn’t notice when Dua woke up. Once he finished, he stood up—only to find her wide awake, staring at him. He looked away, about to leave, but she held his hand. Momin turned to look at her. She sat up and pulled him down beside her. Dua felt her heart tremble at the longing in his eyes. He lowered his gaze, trying to hide his emotions, but they knew each other better than anyone.

Dua cupped his face and kissed his forehead. “Dua only loves her Momin.”

Momin tightly shut his eyes before pulling her into his arms.

“And Momin always loves his Dua.”

---

The next morning, Dua woke up alone in the room. Momin was gone.

She got up and looked at her foot—it wasn’t hurting anymore. She went to the washroom and got ready in Maham's clothes, which she had taken the night before. She planned to bring her belongings from their flat, knowing Momin and Maham would stay until her graduation.

“Hey Maham,” Dua found her sister in the kitchen. She walked over and hugged her from behind. “I really missed you,” she said, tightening her hold on Maham.

Maham smiled and gently squeezed her hands. “I missed you too.”

“What are you making?” Dua asked, sitting on the chair across from the kitchen counter.

“Pancakes. Sit, I’ll serve you.”

“Hmm.” Dua looked around. “Where’s Momin?” she asked.

“Don’t know. I haven’t seen him since I woke up,” Maham replied, still focused on cooking.

Dua just hummed in response, and they both had breakfast while engaging in light conversation.

---

The soft golden light of early morning stretched lazily across the quiet neighborhood streets. Momin walked along the sidewalk, his hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets, his breath forming faint clouds in the crisp air.

His thoughts were a storm. He hadn't been in the right state of mind since last night. He didn’t want to dwell on how bold Dua had become or how close she had gotten to Ruhan—but his mind kept replaying the scene over and over: Dua in Ruhan’s arms, and her painful words—how the marriage felt like a hanging knife over her head, how it suffocated her. He didn’t want to question her love.

No, I shouldn’t think like that. Last night, the way she expressed her love… it proved she only loves me. She’s my amanat—my sacred trust. She wouldn’t betray that.

He tried to calm his heart, and the thought brought him a small measure of peace.

He sighed and shook his head, trying to distract himself by observing the neat lawns and modern American homes. The neighborhood was peaceful—almost too peaceful for his stormy heart.

As he passed a white-bricked house with a glass fence, something caught his attention.

A splash.

Then a high-pitched cry.

He stopped, eyes narrowing as he turned toward the sound. Through the glass fence, he spotted a little boy—no older than three—struggling in a swimming pool, his tiny arms splashing helplessly as his head repeatedly dipped beneath the water.

Panic surged through Momin.

No adult in sight. The sliding glass door was half open, but no one was coming.

Without hesitation, he ran to the side gate—it was locked.

No time.

Backing up a step, Momin sprinted forward and leapt over the low fence with a grunt, landing hard on the grass.

He rushed to the pool’s edge. The boy’s movements were slowing, his cries now choked with water. Without wasting a second, Momin threw off his jacket and dove in, the icy water wrapping around him like a vice.

Within seconds, he reached the boy, scooping him into his arms and lifting him above the water as he kicked back to the edge. He climbed out, clutching the child, who was now coughing and crying—alive, terrified, but safe.

Momin laid the boy gently on the patio tiles and patted his back as he expelled the water. The child clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder.

“It’s okay… you’re okay,” Momin whispered, brushing the wet hair from the boy’s forehead. “You’re safe now…” He carried the boy and started walking toward the house, shouting:

“Hello! Anybody here?!”

Just then, a woman came running out—a young mother in a Pakistani suit, her face ashen when she saw her child in the arms of a stranger.

“What happened?!” she cried, her voice trembling with panic.

“He fell in the pool,” Momin explained calmly, walking toward her with the child in his arms. “I was walking by and heard the splash. I didn’t see anyone, so I came in.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she took the child, hugging him tightly, whispering frantic prayers of gratitude.

“Thank you… oh God, thank you. I—I was just in the kitchen for a minute… I didn’t even hear—”

“It’s alright,” Momin said gently, brushing water off his arms. “He’s okay now. Just… be careful, please.”

She nodded, overwhelmed, her hands trembling.

Momin gave the boy one last glance—his small fingers clinging to his mother’s scarf, eyes red but full of life.

He smiled softly, picked up his jacket, and slipped it on.

“Thank you again!” the young woman called out through grateful tears. If he hadn’t been there, she could’ve lost her child.

“It’s okay. It’s our duty to save those we can,” he replied, then walked out through the gate.

And in that moment, something struck him deeply.

If he could save that little boy from drowning, then he could save Dua too. He could pull her from whatever abyss she was falling into.

Yes… he would save her. He would protect her.

★★★★