Isha’s POV

"Arshad Malik wald marhoom Kamran Malik, kya aapko Isha Abdullah dukhtar marhoom Jameel Abdullah se yeh nikkah qubool hai? (Do you, Arshad Malik son of late Kamran Malik, accept Isha Abdullah daughter of late Jameel Abdullah as your lawful wife?)"

"Qubool hai." (I do)

"Qubool hai."

"Qubool hai."

"Isha Abdullah dukhtar marhoom Jameel Abdullah, kya aapko Arshad Malik wald marhoom Kamran Malik se yeh nikkah qubool hai? (Do you, Isha Abdullah daughter of late Jameel Abdullah, accept Arshad Malik son of late Kamran Malik as your lawful husband?)"

A shiver ran down my spine as I saw the man sitting in front of me looking like the dead. His head was lowered, but I could still see the tears falling from his eyes. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to cause problems in his life, but I had no choice. If I said no, they would burn me alive. And I didn’t want to die. Allah showed me this path to live—how could I deny it? I closed my eyes as my tears fell.

Please forgive me.

I silently asked forgiveness from him and his wife before saying,

"Qubool hai." (I do)

"Qubool hai."

"Qubool hai."

And there… I became his second wife.

---

I sat inside the room while everyone outside was discussing something—probably bargaining over me. A broken chuckle escaped my lips, followed by tears. I never wanted this. I never wanted to be sold. But here I was. Sold. Not to anyone else, but to my husband.

I buried my face in my hands and cried.

“Baji,” I heard Najma’s voice. She uncovered my face and made me look at her. “Baji, please don’t cry,” she whispered, wiping my tears.

“Crying has become my fate, Naju… Crying has become my fate,” I mumbled, sobbing.

“No, Baaji. Don’t say that. Insha’Allah you will have a better life than what you had here,” she tried to console me. But how could I tell her what I was feeling?

“You know why I eloped from the house? Because I didn’t want to be sold. But look, Najma— even though I’m married, I’m still sold. He will give them money before taking me, his wife! And the cherry on top—he is already married to someone else. It would’ve been better if I had married that old man, rather than ruining someone else’s marriage,” I cried again, covering my face. “I will never forgive myself. I could never look him in the eyes. After he purchases me, I will be nothing but his slave. He already has a wife—he doesn’t need me. Why does this have to happen to me, Khudaya (Lord)? Why!?”

I felt her arms wrap around me. I didn’t know how long I cried, but we pulled apart when we heard a knock. My eyes met his brown ones. A shiver ran down my spine as he stared at me. I immediately lowered my gaze and wiped my face with the back of my hand.

“We should leave,” he spoke. I nodded and looked at Najma.

“Baaji,” she hugged me tightly. “Baaji, don’t think negatively. He saved you from those evil people. You should be thankful to Allah and Arshad bhai. What happened was not your fault—it was all planned by Allah. We should accept His decision. Allah has given you another chance to live. And about his first wife—Baaji, you have to accept her before you accept your husband. I read somewhere that marriage is based on patience and adjustment. And you need both.”

She then turned to him, then back to me with a small smile. “When he didn’t even know you, he saved you from them. He stood in front of you as your shield when those people tried to burn you. He even jeopardized his marriage for you. Then just think, Baaji—now that you’re his wife, to what extent will he go to protect you, his wife, from this cruel world?”

My eyes unconsciously went to him. He stood there with a straight face, but he was tapping his foot, showing impatience to leave. He couldn’t hear us as he was standing far away.

“Take care,” I kissed her forehead and walked toward the door while Najma dragged my old suitcase. Seeing the suitcase, I stopped a few feet away from him, suddenly remembering my bag—the one that had my parents’ photo and mother’s jewelry.

“Najma… my bag?” I asked with trembling lips.

“Oh Baaji, I don’t know about that bag. And I couldn’t ask Amma, as she won’t let you take it. But I will go to that barn house and collect your bag. Insha’Allah, when we meet again, I will give it to you,” she assured me.

“But that bag has my Amma’s belongings… Amma and Baba’s picture. I want it…”

“Baaji, please trust me. I will keep that bag safe.”

My tears rolled down as I realized I had to leave that bag here. “Okay…” I turned and saw him walking away. I followed him.

“You know you can’t take her before paying,” a voice halted us. We turned to see my stepmother approaching.

“First give me 10 million as per our deal,” she said coldly.

I closed my eyes, biting my lips as humiliating tears escaped.

“Which deal?” I heard his cold voice.

“Deal—that you will marry her and give me 10 million before taking her with you.”

“I never made such a deal. I said I will marry her, and I did. About money—I never said I would give you anything.”

My eyes shot open. I stared at him as he glared at my stepmother.

“Tum mujhe dhoka nahi de sakte! Main nahi le jaane dungi tumhe ise! (You can’t betray me! I won’t let you take her!)”

“Agar aapko yaad na ho toh yaad dila dun… kharida nahi hai maine ise, nikkah kiya hai. Biwi hai yeh meri. Aur poora gaon iska gawah hai. (If you’ve forgotten, let me remind you—I did not purchase her, I married her. She is my wife. And this whole village is witness to it.) You have no right to stop me from taking her. And I won’t give you any money.”

He smirked and looked at me. This time, my tears weren’t of humiliation but of relief and contentment. He saved me from losing my self-respect.

“I won’t let you take her!” my stepmother yelled, marching toward me. My eyes widened in fear, but he stepped in front of me.

“Take another step toward her, and you will see who you’re messing with. She is not just your stepdaughter anymore—she is my wife,” his cold, dangerous voice thundered. I shivered.

“I will see…”

“You can take her. She is your wife. No one has the right to stop you,” the old man’s voice interrupted.

“Bhai jaan…”

“Let them go, Famida. You’re the one who made them marry in front of all the villagers. Now let him take his wife.”

His words carried a smirk, and I saw my stepmother’s face pale.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I looked at my stepmother glaring at me with hatred, and my stomach churned. Then I felt his hand wrap around my wrist. Goosebumps rose on my skin where he touched. With one hand, he dragged my suitcase, and with the other, he held me firmly. I stared at his back, Najma’s words ringing in my mind.

"Then just think, Baaji—now you’re his wife. To what extent could he go to protect you, his wife, from this cruel world?"

And at that moment… I felt protected. I wasn’t alone in this world anymore. I had a husband who would protect me from every harm, from every pain.

Little did I know… he would be the one to give me the worst pain.

He opened the car door for me without looking at me. I quietly sat inside. He went to the other side, started the engine, and drove off. I kept my gaze lowered to my lap, fidgeting nervously with my fingers.

After a while, I realized he was driving through a forest road. I wanted to tell him there was no path leading to the main city this way, but I stayed silent. I didn’t dare to speak.

He suddenly stopped the car in the middle of nowhere and got out, making sweat bead on my forehead.

Ya Khudaya… kahan chale gaye yeh? (Oh God… where has he gone?)

I thought nervously, looking around. Minutes passed, but he didn’t return. I was about to get out when I saw him walking back—holding something.

A bag. My bag.

He sat inside and placed it on my lap. My eyes welled up. I quickly took out my parents’ picture, staring at it while running my fingers across the frame. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks.

He started the engine again, and we drove off… toward our new journey.

•••••••••••••••••••••

Isha’s POV

“Suno.” (Hey)

“Suno, utho.” (Hey, wake up)

I heard someone calling which caused me to stir, but not paying attention, I tried to sleep again.

“Utho! Mai tumse baat kar raha hun!” (Wake up! I’m talking to you!)

I jolted up hearing a loud voice. My eyes widened as I looked around. Quickly, I covered myself properly with my dupatta while my mind replayed everything that had happened in my life within just a few hours. I looked at the man who was now my husband. He was sitting beside me, his eyes fixed on the road, but I knew he was the one who had been waking me up.

“J…ji?” (Yes?) I asked in a whisper, keeping my gaze lowered on my lap.

“Let’s go,” he said and got out of the car.

I tried to open the door, but… I didn’t know how. I had never sat in a car before. I had only seen it in movies. I knew nothing about such things. My eyes filled up and my hands began to tremble in embarrassment.

What will he think of me? He will laugh. He will make fun of me. Or maybe he will be angry that I’m so dumb. I don’t know anything. I’m illiterate.

Suddenly, my side of the car door opened, pulling me out of my self-pity. I looked up and saw him standing in front of me with a serious expression. I quickly got out while he closed the door. Taking my suitcase, he walked toward the building, and holding my bag tightly, I silently followed him.

We went inside the elevator, and he pressed the button for the 7th floor. I stood in the far corner, avoiding his gaze. The elevator doors opened, and he walked out, dragging my suitcase, with me following close behind.

He stopped in front of a door and rang the bell. My heart began racing as I stood next to him. I was nervous, scared, and panicked. I didn’t know where he had brought me.

What if this is his house? What if his wife is inside? How will she react? Will she slap me? Will she hurt me? Will she throw me out? Will she force him to divorce me? Where will I go then? I don’t know anyone. I can’t go back to my village. Ya Khudaya (Oh Lord), what will I do?

All these questions made me sick to my core. Sweat formed on my forehead and palms, and all the color drained from my face. My body trembled.

“Don’t worry, it’s not my home,” he said, making me look up at him. His eyes were still on the door, but maybe he had caught a glimpse of my trembling body from the corner of his eyes.

Relief washed over me when I heard that this wasn’t his house. But if it wasn’t… then where were we?

My thoughts were interrupted when someone opened the door. A very handsome man stood there, around Arshad’s age.

“What were you doing?” Arshad asked.

“I was in the shower,” the man replied, then glanced at me. His eyes widened. I quickly moved behind Arshad, hiding from the stranger’s gaze.

“What the hell, dude! Why did you bring her here?!” he shouted.

“I already told you, Adil,” Arshad replied in a bored tone.

“And I told you not to—”

“Adil, give me the keys. I’ll talk to you later,” Arshad cut him off.

Adil stared at him for a few moments before nodding and going inside. After a few minutes, he returned and handed the keys to Arshad, tilting slightly to look at me, but again I hid behind Arshad.

“You’re in big trouble, Arshad,” Adil muttered before closing the door.

Arshad turned around. I lowered my head. He walked past me, and I followed him silently. After a few steps, he stopped in front of another door and unlocked it with the keys. Holding the door open, he gave me space to enter.

I slowly stepped inside, mumbling, “Assalamualaikum.” (Peace be upon you)

I heard him close the door. Turning around, I saw him still standing there, looking straight at me for the first time. My eyes immediately fell to the floor. Clutching my bag tightly, I didn’t know what to do or say.

I wasn’t scared of him—why would I be? He was my husband. I was just afraid of his reaction. He hadn’t uttered a single word until now, but I knew he could burst out at any moment.

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