Arshad’s POV

I never looked back at her. Yes, I never did. Why would I? If I did, it would only give her false hope, and that was something I didn’t want.

I saw her standing quietly in the corner of the living room. When my eyes fell on her, I noticed her gaze fixed on Sofia and Amar as they exchanged goodbyes, a frown tugging at her face. Before her eyes could meet mine, I averted my gaze. I wanted her to understand that she didn’t have to wait for me. She should focus on herself, on her studies.

When she went to the washroom, I quietly slipped into her room and placed the envelope she had earlier refused on her table. I couldn’t just walk away leaving her without money. I knew Amma Jaan would take care of her expenses, but still, deep down, I couldn’t forget that she had once been my responsibility.

“Finally, we’re back,” Sofia exclaimed with relief as our car stopped in front of our apartment. We entered the house, and the servant carried our bags inside.

“You don’t like living with our family, do you?” I asked as I sat on the sofa. She stood before me, a smile spreading across her face.

“Honestly, I love it when it’s just you and me. In our home. So I can have you all to myself,” she said, throwing her arms around my neck. I held her by the waist and smiled as she brushed her lips against mine.

“Baby, please bring me some coffee. My head is aching,” I asked as she sat beside me.

“Baby, I’m too tired. Tell Sara to bring you coffee. I’m going to take a shower,” she said and headed toward our room. I shrugged and walked toward the kitchen.

After asking Sara to bring me coffee, I returned to my room. I called Amma Jaan to inform her about our arrival before lying down on the bed, closing my eyes. For the first time in days, I felt calm and relaxed, free of any worries.

---

Isha’s POV

“Amma Jaan, here’s your tea,” I said, placing the tray on the nightstand before taking out her medicine. “Please take your medicine after this,” I reminded her. “I’ll need to leave early today since I have a test.”

“And I’m sure you’ve prepared enough to outshine all your classmates,” she said with a warm smile. I grinned and nodded.

“Okay, Amma Jaan, I’m leaving. Please don’t forget to take your medicines after lunch as well. And don’t take them before eating—doctor strictly forbade it,” I reminded her, ready to leave when she suddenly called me back.

“Isha, beta, here—take this.” She handed me an envelope. Holding it tightly, I walked to my room. I knew what was inside—money. On the first day of every month, she distributed salaries to all the servants. Whenever she handed mine, it pierced my heart. But from her point of view, she was right. I did the work. I took care of her, so why wouldn’t she pay me? I wasn’t her blood relative, neither her daughter nor daughter-in-law—though in truth, I was the latter, but not for the world. I had no right to say I would care for her without a salary. And besides, I needed the money for my own expenses since I had no mahram (male guardian) here to take care of me.

I opened the drawer and placed the envelope beside the one that had been lying untouched for one and a half years. His envelope. I had never touched the money he left. I never once called the number he had given me. I never heard from him again. He had probably forgotten me altogether.

My eyes fell on the picture in the drawer. I picked it up.

“But I can’t forget you,” I whispered. “You may have another wife, but for me, you are my only mahram, my only husband. I can’t forget you. Even after years, I will still be here, where you left me, as your wife. Though I’m not waiting for you because I know you won’t come back for me.”

I caressed his picture frame, a faint smile on my lips. “And I’m happy that you’re happy. Amma Jaan often talks about you and Sofia baaji. Sorry, haan, I eavesdrop on her conversations with your brothers sometimes,” I chuckled softly at the memory. “I heard you want a baby.” I stared into his still eyes. “I’ll pray to Allah. Insha’Allah, He will bless you with a beautiful child soon.”

“Isha Api!”

I snapped out of my trance and hurriedly placed Arshad’s picture back in the drawer.

“Yes, Jawad, I’m coming!” I called out. He was waiting for me outside. I grabbed my bag, took a deep breath, and wiped away the tears I hadn’t even realized had fallen.

I always spoke to his picture frame. It made me feel a little closer to him, even though that picture never responded—sometimes, that silence hurt. Yet, maybe it was better that way, because if the picture ever could respond, it would probably remind me that I had no right to keep it. Perhaps I didn’t.

“Baba is waiting for you,” said little Jawad, Kubra bi’s six-year-old son, who was also Bablu bhai’s child, the old driver. We always went together to school.

“Let’s go,” I said with a smile, holding his small hand as we walked to the waiting car. Jawad sat beside his father, and as always, I sat quietly in the back seat.

After dropping me, they headed to Jawad’s school. I walked into my university with a pounding heart. No matter how much time passed, I never grew used to the crowd. The uneasiness never left.

I took my usual seat and opened my books, ignoring everyone around me like always. I never liked making friends. Watching the other students laugh and mingle—boys and girls together—always made me uncomfortable. I knew I shouldn’t judge; this was their world, the city life, and they were used to it. But I wasn’t. I was different, and I didn’t want to change. I liked who I was, the way I was.

After a few minutes, our lecturer entered, and the class fell silent.

---

Later, at home, while I was eating lunch, Asam bhai walked in, visibly excited.

“Isha, make something special for dinner. We’re expecting guests,” he said with a grin.

“Okay, bhai. What should I make? And how many people are coming?” I asked, standing up.

“Make whatever you want. Your cooking beats any five-star restaurant. As for the guests—about three people, a family,” he said with that same wide grin before leaving.

“Jabse tum aayi ho, ye sab sirf tumhare haath ka khana hi pasand karte hain (ever since you came, they only like eating food cooked by you),” Kubra bi smiled as she worked. I only smiled back and began preparing dinner.

…

[scene continues with cake, Amar’s taunts, guests, humiliation, Isha’s inner pain, Arshad’s photo, and finally—]

The mobile on Amma Jaan’s bed began to ring. My heart nearly stopped when I saw the name.

Arshad.

“Isha, is it Arshad?” Amma Jaan called from the bathroom.

“Y…ye…yes,” I managed, my voice trembling.

“Tell him to call me later,” she said.

My palms were sweaty as I picked up the phone with shaky hands. I had never spoken to him in all this time. The ringing stopped. I exhaled in relief, but before I could put it down, it rang again.

This time, I answered.

“Assalamualaikum Amma Jaan,” I heard his voice. My breath hitched, my heartbeat racing.

“Amma Jaan?” he called when I didn’t respond.

“Wa…walaikum…as…asal…assalam,” I stuttered so badly I was sure he hadn’t understood a word. Silence stretched for a moment before I heard him again.

“Isha?”

My heart skipped a beat.

★★★★★