Author's POV.

6 Years later.

"Are you ready?" Hana walked into the room.

"Yes," she replied in a soft voice. Hana stepped forward and adjusted the dupatta on her head.

She was dressed in a pink sharara with intricate golden embroidery. A matching dupatta draped modestly over her head, her makeup was light and elegant, and a small maang tikka adorned her forehead. She looked stunning. Hana smiled at her daughter and kissed her forehead.

"I'm glad you finally accepted our decision. May Allah always keep you happy," she said warmly, taking her daughter's hand in hers.

"I'm missing her," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears at the thought of her sister. Hana's heart ached at the reminder of her lost daughter, but she composed herself so this daughter's special day wouldn’t be overshadowed.

"We all miss her," Hana admitted. "But we can’t force her. We did wrong to her." She wiped a single tear from her eyes. "Anyway, let's go. It's your big day. After years, I saw a hint of happiness in your Papa's eyes. We shouldn't take that away." She gently patted her daughter's cheek.

It was her engagement day.

Hana led her to the living room where everyone was waiting. She walked slowly, her head slightly lowered.

Rumaan looked at his daughter and smiled. Walking over to her, he embraced her.

"You look beautiful, mere bacche," (my child) he said, placing a kiss on her forehead. She lowered her eyes as a single tear escaped.

The parents brought her to the man waiting for her. They made her sit beside him. He looked at her with admiration, a smile brightening his face. Everyone around praised her beauty and adored the couple.

"Let’s exchange the rings!" someone from the crowd called out. She didn’t look up to see who it was. The man gently held her trembling hand and slid a ring onto her finger. She slowly raised her eyes and saw him smiling at her.

"You look gorgeous," he complimented sincerely. Rafay handed her the ring, which she carefully placed on the man's finger. Everyone clapped and hugged the couple, offering congratulations.

The celebration continued, but she remained distant, her mind weighed down by guilt and regret.

"Mahi," someone whispered in her ear, making her startle. "I love you," he whispered again, causing her heart to tremble. She knew he loved her, but his genuine affection brought her no peace. The love and attention from everyone in her family—which she had once longed for—now felt like a burden.

"Amad, Maham, look here!" Rafay called. They turned to him. Amad wore a bright smile, while Maham's eyes shimmered with tears.

After the party, Maham returned to her room. She had changed into a nightdress and now sat on the bed holding a photo frame.

It was a picture of Dua—in a blue dress—hugging Maham—in a white dress—from behind. Dua wore a wide smile while Maham had a faint one. Anyone looking at the photo could tell that the girl in blue was vibrant and full of life, while the girl in white looked reserved and somewhat lost.

"I never valued your worth when you loved me unconditionally. You always tried to make me happy like an older sister, but I always felt like your presence overshadowed mine. I thought you were dominating me, but now, when you’re gone, I realize I can’t find happiness without you. Today was my big day, and I know if you had been here, you would've celebrated more than anyone else. I missed you so much, Dua. Please forgive me." She hugged the photo frame close to her chest as tears poured down her face.

She felt as if even thinking about him was a sin — the man who still held every shattered piece of her heart. She couldn’t forget him, no matter how hard she tried. But she had finally accepted the truth, he was never hers.

He belonged to her sister.

Yes, she tried to steal him... but did she win? No.

In trying to make him hers, she lost the one person who truly loved her — her sister.

She didn’t just lose a man.

She lost a bond that could never be replaced — a sister and a genuine friend.

And now, she had no one.

Not him. Not her.

Only regrets left.

She had taken everything from the sister who had given her nothing but love.

Rafay entered the room, pressing his lips together. He knew the whole truth. He sat beside her and wrapped his arms around her. She hugged him tightly, crying. She didn’t usually cry like this, but on special occasions—Eid, functions—she couldn't stop herself from breaking down, missing her sister.

"Shh... it's okay."

"I missed her, Rafay. Please tell her to forgive me."

"I will. Don’t cry like this. If Mama and Papa see you like this, they’ll be heartbroken."

"I snatched everyone's happiness. I took the smile from my family's face."

"It's in the past now. We should try to move forward."

"I can’t. I wronged both of them. And I want them back. I want their forgiveness." She sobbed. Rafay had no words—he simply stroked her back in silence.

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

"You're still awake?" Hana entered the room after helping the house staff clean up. She saw Rumaan sitting on the sofa with his laptop open and papers scattered across the table. She sat beside him.

"Hmm. Tomorrow we have an important meeting, and Rafay prepares a presentation. I need to review it," he said, eyes still on the screen.

"Leave it, Maan. I know you’re just keeping yourself busy to avoid remembering her." Hana leaned her head on his shoulder. Rumaan paused for a moment before continuing to type. Hana looked up at him.

"Maan, bring her back. I miss her," Hana's voice cracked with emotion. Hearing her, Rumaan sighed. He couldn’t bear to see tears in her eyes. He straightened up and pulled her into his arms.

"You know she won’t come. But if you want, we can go to meet her," he offered, though he knew Dua didn’t welcome their visits.

"No, I want her back in this house, with us, in our joy."

"We hurt her, Hana. We pushed her away when she needed us most. Now, she doesn’t need us."

Hana shook her head and cried silently in his embrace, while Rumaan’s eyes filled with tears too at the memory of his beloved daughter.

They remembered the day they learned Dua and Momin had secretly married.

-Flashback-

When Rumaan couldn’t reach Dua, Maham, or Momin by phone, he contacted Riya and asked her to check on them.

Riya went with her son Hammad and discovered Momin had left. They questioned Dua, but she was lost in thought and unresponsive. Maham told them Momin had left after a fight with Dua.

They searched for him for a week, but Rumaan wanted his daughters home. They eventually returned to India.

Rumaan instructed Hammad to continue searching for Momin. Though he was hurt by the secret marriage, he knew Momin must have agreed because of Dua, as always.

When Dua and Maham arrived at the airport, Rumaan picked them up. He hugged Dua, but it was a dull, cold embrace.

Dua saw her mother waiting in the living room. Hana's eyes were filled with pain and anger. Her daughter's betrayal ran deep. She remembered the time before Dua left for America—how she starved herself for two days and then demanded something from Momin. He eventually gave in. It must have been the nikah she wanted.

But now Momin was gone.

Tears welled up in Dua's eyes. She took a step toward her mother, but Hana raised her hand to stop her.

"How could you do this? Didn't you think of your father's reputation?" Hana's voice was loud. "You got married like this—why? If you wanted to get married, you should have come to us. We would have arranged everything. But doing it this way makes people talk. They think we didn't approve. They think Momin betrayed us. And I know it was you who forced him... I know you better!" she shouted, gripping Dua's arms.

"And where is Momin now? What did you do? I know you did something. Tell me, Dua, where is my son?" Hana continued to scream. She loved Momin like her first son.

Dua lowered her head and began to cry. Everyone was gathered in the living room—her grandparents, Rafay, Rumaan, Maham.

"Tell me, what did you do?" Hana yelled.

"I cheated on him," Dua whispered. Her words cut through the air.

A sharp sting hit her cheek.

Hana had slapped her.

"Mujhe sharm aa rahi hai tumhe apni beti kehne mein. Nikli na tum bhi apne baap ki tarah!" (I feel ashamed to call you my daughter. You turned out just like your father!) she screamed, pushing Dua away.

Everyone stood frozen in shock. Rumaan felt his body go numb.

History had repeated itself.

-Flashback ends-

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

"What are you doing? Everyone is waiting for you!" Jiya barged into the room.

"Ah, sorry, I forgot. You go ahead, I'll come," she said, tapping her forehead.

"Nope! You're coming with me," Jiya replied firmly and sat down infront of her.

She smiled and started gathering her work papers.

"Come on, let’s go." She adjusted her dupatta and draped her shawl properly. Jiya made a face.

"You look like a maulani!"

She laughed at Jiya's remark.

"Seriously, yaar. It's been six years working together, and I’ve never seen you without that shawl and dupatta," Jiya said. She simply smiled, not replying. Jiya knew she wouldn’t. It was something she never spoke about.

They walked to the cafeteria, where everyone was waiting.

"Our ATM card is here!" someone teased, making her blush as the group applauded.

"Order whatever you want, today's lunch is sponsored by our Executive Director!" Jiya announced proudly.

She playfully pouted and nodded in mock sadness. Everyone laughed.

She sat down, and the team placed their orders. They shared jokes and lunch together. The staff were genuinely happy that someone like her had earned the title.

The Managing Director walked in, and the room went quiet. He smiled at her gracefully.

"This is for you," he said, handing her a gift-wrapped box. She accepted it and opened it as everyone insisted.

Inside was a nameplate:

**Executive Director**

**Dua Momin Ali**

She smiled, running her fingers over her name. The team clapped and cheered. She looked around the room, her heart full. So many people were genuinely happy for her. Her eyes shimmered, but she held back the tears—just as she had for all these years.

"Sir, please join us," Dua invited politely.

"Of course!" Sahil, the MD, replied and took a seat with them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the evening, she was cooking in her kitchen when her phone rang.

It was Rafay.

After a few rings, she answered the call.

"Dua aapi, how are you?"

"Good," she replied shortly.

"Did you see the photos? Maham api and Amad bhai looked so good together!" he exclaimed.

"Hmm, I saw," Dua remembered receiving photos of Maham’s engagement the night before. She was happy and relieved that Maham had decided to move on, but she didn’t have the heart to congratulate her.

"Everyone missed you so much. You should have come," he complained.

"I was busy. You know I got promoted. Otherwise, I would've come," Dua replied.

"I know very well," she heard the sadness in his voice.

"Okay, I’m in the kitchen. I’ll talk to you later," she said.

"But..." he paused.

"Allah Hafiz." After a few seconds of silence, she ended the call. Dua placed her hand on the counter and took a deep breath. She missed her family.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t visited in the past six years. She had, but only three times—once, four years ago when her grandfather fell ill; the second time, three years ago when he passed away shortly after; and the third, a year and a half ago, when her grandmother suffered a minor heart attack. Rafay visited her with Shabana occasionally and made her feel welcome. Her parents had only visited twice, and when they did, she refused to open the door.

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

"So, what did you decide?" Jiya asked. Dua looked at her.

"I don’t know," she mumbled. "I have responsibilities."

"Your family is there for you. You shouldn't reject the offer because of that," Jiya tried to reason.

"You know my terms with my family aren't good, and I don’t want to put more pressure on them," Dua said, walking ahead with a composed face.

They were leaving the office. Jiya smiled sadly and wrapped her arm around Dua's shoulder. "Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out."

Dua got into the driver’s seat, and Jiya sat beside her.

"Let’s change this car, yaar. You’re earning a good salary now. You can easily afford a new one," Jiya said.

Dua smiled and shook her head. "This car isn’t just a car. It’s an emotion. I’ll never sell it."

"Yeah, yeah, I know—it was a gift from your husband," Jiya said with a mock annoyance. Dua remained silent and kept driving.

After a while, she stopped the car near their neighborhood. "You go. I’ll come after freshening up," Dua said. Jiya got out.

"Come fast. Or else we’ll come get you," Jiya teased before walking away.

Dua parked a bit further and went to her apartment. She walked to her room where a large photo from her and Momin’s nikah day hung. She was smiling, maybe even blushing, while he was grinning, saying something to her.

As always, she stared at the photo with a faint smile. Then she went to the washroom with her clothes and changed into a simple peach salwar suit.

She laid her prayer mat and performed her namaz. After finishing, she raised her hands. As usual, she said nothing aloud, but silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Please forgive me. Please give him back to me," she finally whispered. Those were the only words she ever uttered in her supplication.

She stood up, folded the mat, and placed it back. Then she went to bed and picked up a small frame from the bedside table. It was a selfie Momin had taken—she had ice cream in her hand, and he was holding her from behind. They were both laughing.

She caressed the frame as tears welled in her eyes again.

"I miss you. Please forgive me. Please come back. Don’t test me this much," she whispered as a tear fell onto the glass. "Momin, it hurts. Every time I say this, the pain grows worse. People say time heals—no. Time teaches you how to live, how to hide, how to endure, and how to be patient."

She kissed his face in the photo. "I’m still where you left me. And I’ll wait for you even if it takes my whole life. This is the punishment you chose for me, and I’ll live it until you return. I have faith in my prayers. I have faith in Allah that He’ll give me back my husband. That He’ll forgive me one day."

She lay on the bed, closed her eyes, forgetting someone was eagerly waiting for her at Jiya’s house.

After a while, her eyes snapped open. She rushed to the washroom, splashed water on her face, then hurried out, locking the door behind her. Her steps were fast but her smile was back—hiding all the pain behind her usual grace.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°

She was in the office when her phone rang.

"Yes..."

"Okay."

"I have too much work. I can’t," Dua said helplessly.

"Okay, okay. I’ll try. Bye." She smiled faintly and ended the call, returning to her work.

Just then, a knock came at the office door.

"Come in," she called.

"Miss Dua, Sahil Sir is calling you," his PA informed her.

"Okay, I’ll be there." She closed her file, adjusted her dupatta and shawl, and walked out of her office.

Knocking on the cabin door, she waited.

"Come in," she heard and entered.

"Yes Sir, did you call me?" she asked politely.

"Yes, Miss Dua. What have you decided? You will join us for the Turkey trip, right?"

Dua fidgeted with her fingers. It was a great opportunity. They were visiting the new branch. The visit would include assessments, and those who passed would be selected for positions at the new Turkey branch. If chosen, she'd have to settle there for the next few years.

"It’s just for two weeks. If you don’t like it, you can return," he reassured.

After a pause, Dua nodded.

"Yes Sir. I will come," she finally agreed.

★★★★