Author's POV.

Dua packed her bag and sat on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. It had been years since she’d truly slept. She just sat there, staring into space, her mind painting his face everywhere.

“You are mine. The only person in this world who makes me happy, who gives me peace… it’s you.”

His words echoed in her ears.

Momin ki Dua…

Tears escaped her eyes. How lovingly he used to call her Momin ki Dua (Momin’s Dua).

She felt him sitting beside her. He smiled and wiped her tears.

“Momin…”

A whisper left her mouth.

“Jee, Momin ki Dua” (Yes, Momin’s Dua), she heard his reply. A faint smile curved her lips. He wrapped his arms around her, and Dua rested her head on his shoulder.

“I am missing you,” she whispered. He just rubbed her arms. She always felt him close like this.

“Please come back…” She waited, but still, he didn’t reply. She sat there silently, feeling his presence. She tried to touch him—but he was gone.

She looked around and couldn’t control her tears. Memories began haunting her, and she muffled her cry.

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

Hana, Maham, and Shabana (Dua’s grandmother) sat in the living room, looking at the photos from Maham’s engagement.

“Maham looks so beautiful,” Shabana said lovingly, gazing at her granddaughter. Hana smiled at her beautiful daughter, all grown up in the picture.

“Haan… and I wish I could see Dua like this,” (Yes… and I wish I could see Dua like this) she said, her tone filled with sadness.

Shabana put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“Hana… beta, tum jao Dua ke paas. Tum manaogi to wo maan jayegi.” (Hana… dear, go to Dua. If you convince her, she will agree.)

“Nahi mama… wo nahi manegi. I hurt her the most,” Hana’s eyes filled up at the thought of her eldest child.

“And you are the one who can melt her,” Shabana insisted.

“You know mama, I and Rumaan went to her twice but she refused to meet us. And when she came here, she didn’t let us meet her either.” Hana’s voice was heavy with the pain of her daughter’s distant behaviour.

Maham, who had been sitting silently, drifted into her thoughts.

Flashback

Dua cried in her room day and night. Hana hadn’t spoken to her since that day. It had been three days, and Dua had locked herself in her room.

Shabana came in holding a lunch tray.

“Dua… beta, have something. You didn’t have your breakfast either,” she said, sitting beside her.

“I don’t want it, Dadu. Please go from here,” Dua replied, drained of all energy.

“Dua beta, don’t do this. It’s your fault, and by doing this you’re only hurting your parents. Because of you, Hana got angry at Rumaan. She blamed him for your actions—that he let you go there. Rumaan has been stressed about everything. He’s searching for Momin, but there’s still no sign of him. He must be hiding somewhere,” Shabana said, pouring out everything in her heart.

“But you can pray for him. Do your salah continuously. Ask Allah’s forgiveness and ask Him to give you your husband back. Allah loves it when you pray for your mahram. One day, He will return your husband to you, Insha’Allah.”

Dua stared at her grandmother with a new spark of hope in her eyes.

“Aap sach keh rahi hain? Meri dua qubool hogi?” (Are you telling the truth? Will my prayer be accepted?) she asked, hope trembling in her voice.

“Insha’Allah zaroor, meri jaan. Jab miya-biwi ek dusre ke liye dua mangte hain to sidhe Allah tak jaa pahunchti hai. Even if it takes time, it will be answered. You have to be patience. ” (Insha’Allah, my dear. When a husband and wife pray for each other, it reaches directly to Allah. Even if it takes time, it will be answered.)

Shabana patted her cheek and, after much coaxing, managed to feed her.

After lunch, Dua got out of bed and went to the washroom. She performed wudu, came out, and prayed salah before raising her hands to Allah. She asked His forgiveness first and then begged for her husband’s return. She cried for some time but felt lighter afterward.

Finishing her salah, she folded her prayer mat and put it back in its place. She went to the dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked completely different from the Dua in the USA. This Dua looked like the one Momin had always wanted—beautiful, with her body and head covered.

At that moment, she decided she would always keep her dupatta on her head, just like her husband had wished. She would cover herself as he had wanted. Her beauty would be only for him.

When she stepped outside, Rafay appeared in front of her.

Aapi… I was going to come to you, he said. “Come with me.”

He took her hand and led her downstairs and out of the house.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, confused.

They stopped in front of a beautiful new black car.

“This is for you,” he said, leaving her shocked.

“What… Dad bought it?” she asked, confused.

“No… Momin bhai ordered it. I went with him to the showroom before he went to the USA. He wanted to surprise you after you came back. But when the showroom owner got no response in the past few days, he called me yesterday. I told him to send it, as Momin bhai had already paid for it. It’s your graduation gift,” Rafay explained in one breath.

Tears welled in her eyes. She caressed the car with her fingers.

“Take this,” Rafay said, handing her the keys. She held them close and kissed them—it was his gift.

They returned inside, and Dua decided to go to Momin’s room. She hadn’t been there since coming back. She wanted to feel his presence.

Stepping inside, she was immediately surrounded by his fragrance. She sat on his bed, touching his pillow and mattress as tears welled up again.

She went to his table, where his belongings still sat. Picking up a small photo frame of his parents, she noticed how much Momin resembled his father. She wiped imaginary dust off the frame with her dupatta before placing it back.

Opening his wardrobe, she inhaled deeply as his scent washed over her. She took out one of his shirts and pressed it to her face.

Love.

Only one word came to her mind—love. His fragrance was love for Dua.

Tears soaked into the fabric as she kissed the shirt. She missed him terribly. How could she live without him? No—she couldn’t. He had to come back. Her love would bring him back. Her prayers would compel him to return.

As she placed the shirt back and was about to close the wardrobe, her eyes caught a small box.

She took it out and opened it—it was a keychain.

A gasp escaped her lips as she read the words engraved on it:

Our Home

A small note was attached:

This is our gift. This house is your gift, and now you will make it a home for me. Then it will be my gift.

Her resolve broke. She sank to the floor, crying out loud.

How could she have been so blind? She had almost forgotten that Momin was building a home for her. And what had she given him in return?

Betrayal.

Cheating.

Disloyalty.

Heartbreak.

Pain.

She didn’t know how long she had been crying when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw Maham standing there, tears in her eyes. Dua’s gaze turned cold as she stood up.

“Ye dekho,” (Look at this) she said, showing her the keychain. “Momin ne mere liye ghar banaya hai. Wo kitni mohabbat karta hai mujhse, janti ho? Nahi, tum nahi janti. Agar janti hoti… to yun na karti.” (Momin built a home for me. Do you know how much he loves me? No, you don’t. If you did… you wouldn’t have done this.)

Maham stared at the keychain. Our Home—the words stabbed into her heart, making it ache with a new intensity.

“Ye ghar… ye ghar basne se pehle hi tut gaya. Kyun kiya tumne, Maham, aisa? I know I am at fault, but agar tum wo sab na karti to shayad mai Momin ko na khoti!” (This home… this home broke before it could even be built. Why did you do this, Maham? I know I am at fault, but if you hadn’t done all that, maybe I wouldn’t have lost Momin!)

she referred the Kiss which was somewhere true if that kiss won't happen then Momin wouldn't have been left

She yelled, “Why did you ask Ruhan to kiss me? Why, Maham, why? Why did you break my Momin like this? I was intoxicated—you knew that. I was angry at him—you knew that. Ruhan was using me to take revenge—you knew that. You knew everything, Maham! Why did you break our home!?”

“Dua—” Before Maham could speak, Dua slapped her. Again. And again.

Maham started crying silently, making no attempt to stop her.

“Aapi!” Rafay rushed in, holding Dua and pulling her away.

“I hate you! I hate you! Main kabhi maaf nahi karungi tumhe! I hate you!” (I will never forgive you!) Dua broke down in Rafay’s arms. "I hate her Rafey. I hate her" Rafay heard everything and his eyes burned with tears seeing his sisters like this.

Rafay rubbed her back, trying to calm her, and gestured to Maham to leave.

Maham ran out of the room, crying.

Flashback ends.

.

........

"You know it's my first time," Jiya mumbled, holding Dua's hand. Dua smiled, gently squeezing it. They were on the flight, looking out of the window.

"Don't worry, Insha Allah nothing will happen," she reassured her. Jiya nodded excited and nervous at the same time.

Dua had traveled abroad before for meetings, but only for two or three days. This time, they were going for two weeks.

Dua remained lost in her thoughts the whole way. Jiya glanced at her every now and then.

"Dua, don't worry. Everything will be fine," she said softly. Dua nodded without a word.

When they landed at night, Dua felt the fresh air hit her face. She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders—it was chilly.

There were eight people from their company who had come to Turkey. They all got into the cars that had been sent to take them to the small apartment the company had rented for their stay.

They reached after 25 minute drive.

D

ua and Jiya went to their room and settled in.

"Turkey is so beautiful," Jiya exclaimed, falling onto the bed.

"Yeah… I feel peace in this air," Dua murmured, standing by the window and feeling the cool wind touch her face.

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

"What it this?" someone asked.

They were walking along the street. Dua was so engrossed in the surroundings that she didn’t pay attention to the conversation.

She took out her phone to capture the beautiful mosque in their way. After taking a few pictures, suddenly, she turned other side and noticed a side profile of someone on her phone screen. Her eyes widened.

The man took a flower from a lady at the flower shop and handed her money. Then he turned around, a small smile on his face, holding a bouquet of roses in his hand.

Dua’s phone slipped from her hands, her eyes wide open. She looked again—but he was gone. Her feet moved on their own, rushing toward the shop, but he wasn’t there. Jiya saw her phone falling. She pick it up and looked around and found her running somewhere.

"Wo… wo… kaha gaya?" ("Whe… where did he go?") Dua stammered, tears brimming in her eyes.

The lady looked confused, not understanding her language.

"Did you say something?" the woman asked in English.

"Yes… that man… where did he go? He was just here. You… you gave him roses," Dua’s voice broke, a lump in her throat making it hard to speak as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"He went there," the lady replied quickly, seeing her desperation.

Dua ran in that direction instantly. Jiya, startled, ran behind her, seeing her friend run like a madwoman.

Dua bumped into people along the way, her eyes scanning every face in the crowd. She didn’t even know where she was going; she was just running, looking left and right. For the first time in six years, her dupatta slipped from her head, but she didn’t even realize.

Finally, she stopped, gasping for breath. Panting, she looked around—so many people, but not him. Tears streamed down her face. She stood there, crying in the middle of the street. She had lost him again… before even meeting him.

"Momin…" she whispered.

"Momin!" she screamed.

People stopped to look at the crying woman in the road.

And somewhere nearby, someone froze on his tracks.

"Momin!"

His eyes widened. He heard the voice from behind. He didn’t turn at first—his world felt like it had stopped. His heartbeat quickened, his breath caught in his throat.

Finally, gathering courage, he turned around—just as Jiya stepped in front of Dua.

"Dua, what happened? What are you doing?"

"Momin! Momin is here. I saw him," she said desperately, but Jiya didn’t believe her. She held her by the shoulders.

"There’s no one here, Dua," she said softly, placing the dupatta back on Dua’s head, knowing she never liked to be without it in front of men—and right now, she was clearly not in her senses.

"Momin… I saw Momin. He was here."

"Dua, you’re just imagining things."

"No! I asked that lady—she told me he was there," Dua pointed toward a faraway shop that Jiya couldn’t even see, but she still nodded, trying to calm her.

After a few minutes of convincing, Jiya led her back.

Meanwhile, the man stood there, looking everywhere but finding no one. His heart ached with a familiar pain. Why did he feel her breath in this same air? Why did his heart race when she wasn’t supposed to be here? No… she couldn’t be here.

His eyes fell on the flowers in his hands. Composing himself, he smiled faintly and began walking again—toward the one who was waiting for him.

★★★★