Arshad’s POV

I came to the dining room early as usual, but today I had a purpose—I needed to talk to Isha. Last night, I couldn’t say anything; I was still reeling from the shock that she had heard my bitter words. Words I never truly meant. She was not a burden. She was not a compulsion. She never demanded anything from me. She never posed a threat. Even though I hadn’t chosen to marry her, it happened, and that was enough. I shouldn’t have said those things. I could only imagine how much it hurt her. And all of this… all of this had happened because of Adil.

I cursed him under my breath, imagining hundreds of ways to torture him. If he hadn’t pushed me, stirred that unknown feeling in my heart, I wouldn’t have had to say those words, as if to make myself less guilty for having these feelings for Isha. Yes… guilty. My heart was betraying Sofia, and I hated it. I didn’t want to be labeled a deceitful husband. This whole situation was suffocating me. How can a man manage to have two wives? I couldn’t even begin to understand.

I shook my head and sat in my chair, waiting for Isha to bring my breakfast. A small smile tugged at my lips as I thought of her. She always prepared my breakfast herself, and I swore, her hand-made food had a taste no one else could match. I was a foodie, but after marrying Sofia and moving to Dubai, I’d lost the joy of eating delicious food—food that reminded me of home, of Amma Jaan’s cooking. Sofia couldn’t cook, and maid-prepared meals lacked the love a mother or wife put into them.

Love?

Did Isha put love into my meals? Is that why they tasted so warm, so comforting?

What the hell was I thinking?

I shook my head, trying to dispel the thought. It was wrong. I shouldn’t think like that.

My trance broke when I saw Raziya Bi entering with a tray of dishes.

"Where is Isha?" I asked, disappointment slipping into my tone before I could stop myself.

"She went to her room to get ready for college," Raziya Bi replied, thankfully ignoring my eager tone.

She set the breakfast before me, and just from the aroma, I knew it was made by Isha. True to her word, she had prepared it herself, just as she had once said she would love to cook for me. I ate silently, unwilling to ignore the food she had made with such care.

After breakfast, I intended to go to her room, but I paused when I saw her already walking toward the main door.

She hadn’t eaten.

I followed, laptop bag in hand.

"Isha!" I called out. She stopped but didn’t turn to me.

"Come, I’ll drop you," I said, stepping in front of her. She kept her head lowered.

"I’ll take a cab… like I’ve been doing the past few days," she said softly, avoiding my gaze.

"Isha…"

"Please… let me go. I don’t want to be late," her voice carried a quiet plea. She didn’t want to be close to me. I stepped aside, giving her the space she clearly needed. She walked away without a single glance, and my heart twisted in a knot of emotions.

I wanted to see her beautiful, innocent hazel eyes, the ones that rarely met my black gaze with ease. I wanted to tell her that I hadn’t meant what I said, but I knew I had to give her time. After my hurtful words, she certainly didn’t want to see my face.

So, I gave her space.

Days passed. Isha continued to ignore me, and with each passing day, my heart grew more restless—to see her smile, to meet her gaze, to witness her blush. Yet she remained steadfast, resolute in her silence. And I couldn’t even blame her.

***********

I came home from the company and sank onto the sofa, resting my head back and closing my eyes. Work at the company was increasing day by day, and I didn’t want to bother Asam; he wasn’t very active at the office these days because of his upcoming wedding. My brother was too much in love to refuse any date or demand from his soon-to-be wife.

“Water.” I opened my eyes to see Amma jaan holding a glass of water in her hand. I took it and gulped it down in one go. She sat beside me, and I lay back on the sofa, resting my head on her lap as she began running her fingers through my hair.

“Baat karni thi tumse, beta. (I want to talk to you, son),” she said after a few minutes, just as I was about to drift off to sleep.

“Haan, boley. (Yes, say it),” I replied, opening my eyes.

“Uh… Amar ke bare me… (It’s about Amar),” she hesitated. I sat up, alert.

“Tell me, Amma jaan. What did Amar do now?” I asked, hoping he hadn’t done anything to hurt Isha—or else I would…

“I didn’t do anything, Bhai.” I was about to plan how I would straighten him out when his voice broke my thoughts. I looked up. He was coming toward the sofa, accompanied by Sofia and Asam.

“Then what was Amma jaan saying?” I asked. And his next words literally shook my world.

“I want to marry Isha. And Amma jaan is not agreeing. She wants your opinion,” he declared. I froze in place.

“I don’t know what to say to him. Isha is a nice girl, but…” Amma jaan trailed off and looked at me. “You tell me. Do you think it’s a good decision? I like her, and I know she would make a good daughter-in-law, but still… I’m confused.”

“You… you said Isha is not a maid. Then what’s the problem with making her my wife? I like her, Bhai. I want her,” Amar said.

I clenched my fists and tightened my jaw to stop myself from blurting out anything.

“Beta, there is no problem. I’m just saying you’re not ready to take this responsibility,” Amma jaan said, her tone full of concern.

“Amma jaan, I’m ready. I want Isha…”

“Shut up, Amar!” I yelled, standing up and glaring at him. How dare he talk about Isha like that? “Erase this thought—it’s better for you,” I said, pointing my finger at him. He stood there with a frown.

“Why, Bhai? I like her, so why can’t I marry her? You, Asam bhai, choose your girls yourself, then why can’t I choose for myself? I want to marry her, and I will marry her!” he declared with determination.

“You…” I stepped closer, anger rising, but Sofia came in front of me.

“Arshad, calm down. Why are you angry?” she asked, confused.

“Why am I angry? Can’t you hear what this idiot is saying? How could he even think about her like that?!” My voice rose, and a foreign burning sensation surged within me.

“Why? What’s the problem? He likes her and wants to marry. I don’t see any problem. I don’t understand why you don’t agree. It’s his life, his choice. We should support him,” Sofia said. I stared at her in bewilderment.

“Sofia, how can you say that? He’s talking about Isha… Isha is…” I stopped, realizing I couldn’t put my thoughts into words, especially as I looked into Sofia’s confused eyes.

“Isha… what, Arshad?” she asked again.

“She’s… she… she is not old enough to get married,” I said.

“She’s nineteen, Bhai,” Amar replied. I clenched my fists tighter to control my anger.

“She’s only nineteen,” I emphasized.

“Arshad, I think you’re overthinking. You should be proud that your brother chose an orphan girl to marry. She’ll become a younger daughter-in-law of this house. She’ll be happy,” Amma jaan said. I wasn’t convinced, but her last words left me in a dilemma.

She will be happy.

How could I be so selfish? I wasn’t accepting her, yet I wouldn’t let her be happy with anyone else. I had a wife, and I was happy. But Isha lived here as a maid. That was selfish. She deserved someone who could love her fully, give her respect and happiness. But why did the thought of her being with someone else burn me so?

No, no, no! I can’t even imagine.

Then accept her.

What about Sofia? She will leave me.

Then let go of Isha. Don’t hold her happiness. Let her be happy, even if it means being with someone else. Let her go.

“As you decide, Amma jaan. I don’t have any problem,” I said, turning to leave.

But I stopped. My eyes fell on her—innocent, broken, horrified. Isha’s wide eyes pierced my heart. Her face turned pale, and she shook her head vigorously before running to her room.

I stood frozen, unsure what to do. Amar continued talking to Amma jaan, and Sofia listened to their conversation. Taking advantage of the moment, I went to Isha’s room.

“Isha,” I called as I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. She stood in the middle of the room.

“No, no,” she shook her head continuously.

“Isha, listen to me.”

“Aap rokein ye sab. Wo aisa soch bhi kaise sakte hai! (How can they even think like this?)” she exclaimed, trembling.

“Isha,” I walked toward her and held her hands, trying to calm her. “Come here.” I made her sit on the sofa and knelt in front of her.

“I know it’s not easy, but…” I stopped. For some reason, the words became hard to say. “…but think about it. You’ll be happy. You’ll get what you deserve. A man who… who will lo… love you… who will give you everything you deserve. Amar is a very nice boy. He may do wrong things in anger, but he’s not a bad person at heart. I know you’ll be happy with him,” I said, holding her hands, eyes fixed on our joined hands.

“Sharam nahi aati aapko? Thodi bhi ghairat nahi hai apme. Ya aap mujhe itna na pasand karte hai ke bas mujhse picha chudana chahte ho? (You don’t feel ashamed? You have no honor? Or you dislike me so much that you just want to get rid of me?)” she said, staring at me with sadness. I let go of her hands and stood up.

Ghairat? (Honor?)

She said I had none. I clenched my jaw.

“Ghairat hai, par khudgarzi nahi. (I have honor, but not selfishness),” I said, glaring at her. She stood, glaring back.

“Aap me ghairat nahi hai. Sirf khudgarzi hai. Agr ghairat hoti to apni biwi ka naam kisi aur mard ke saath jodne se pehle sau mout marte. (You have no honor, only selfishness. If you had honor, you would have died hundreds of times before attaching your wife’s name to another man.)” she spat.

“I’m saying, after thinking, Isha… it’s better for you. For your happiness.”

“My happiness? My happiness is not with someone else. My happiness lies with you,” she exclaimed.

“Isha, please. You need to understand. We all will be happy with this decision,” I said, frustrated.

“Oh, yeah right. You’ll be happy to get rid of me. Finally, you found a way to throw me out of your life.”

“Oh god, aisa nahi! I’m saying this for your happiness.”

“Yes, my happiness. You want to do this for my happiness?” she asked. I nodded.

“Then fine.” She nodded, wiped her tears, and walked to the cupboard. Opening it, she began dragging out her clothes.

“Ye kya kar rahi ho tum? (What are you doing?)” I asked, moving toward her.

“Jaa rahi hun. Aapki zindagi se bhi aur is ghar se bhi. (I’m leaving—from your life and from this home),” she declared, making my breath hitch.

“Nahi. You’re not going anywhere. Jhodo ise! (Leave this),” I pulled the suitcase from her hands.

“Why? You want my happiness, na? So this is my happiness. I want to leave all this. Maine sab kuch bardasht kiya. Sab kuch, sirf isliye kyunki aapki biwi hun. Par agar aap mujhse ye haq bhi cheeno ge to mai aapki zindagi me ek pal nahi rukungi. (I endured everything, everything just because I’m your wife, but if you snatch this right from me too, I will not stay in your life a single moment more),” she said, trying to pull the suitcase again. I held her arms, forcing her to look at me.

“Tum kahi nahi jaogi. Suna tumne? (You are not going anywhere, do you hear me?)” I gritted.

“Mai jaa rahi hun. Agar zabardasti ki to jaan dedugi par mai aapke bhai se shadi nahi karungi. (I’m leaving. If you force me, I will kill myself, but I won’t marry your brother),” she yelled, making me shudder. “I won’t force you to accept me, but don’t force me to be with someone else. Just let me go.” She stopped struggling, weeping, lowering her head.

“You will be happy, Isha. Why can’t you understand?”

“Why can’t YOU understand? Mai aapki biwi hun, koi khilona nahi. (I’m your wife, not a plaything),” she cried, holding my collar and pulling me closer. “Mai kisi aur mard ke bare me soch bhi nahi sakti. Ye gunah hai… Chheee!! (I can’t even think about another man—it’s a sin.)” Exhausted, she laid her head on my chest. “Mai aapki biwi hun. Aapki hun. Sirf aapki. (I’m your wife. Yours, only yours.)”

With that statement, all thoughts of marrying her off to someone else vanished.

She is my wife. Mine.

My eyes widened, and my heart raced as the realization hit me. She was making her way into my heart. I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly for the first time. Selfish as it was, I felt a relief wash over me.

I don’t want her to marry anyone else.

“You know, I can’t accept you in front of the world, yet you’re choosing this for yourself,” I murmured, inhaling her scent.

“I’m ready to be your secret wife. But not anyone else’s wife. Please don’t snatch this from me.” She hugged me tightly.

“Okay,” I agreed, pulling back slightly. “Koi zabardasti nahi karega tumse. (No one will force you.) When Amma jaan asks, tell her you’re not ready for marriage. I’ll handle the rest, okay? Now stop crying.” I wiped her wet cheeks, and she rewarded me with a smile. I smiled back and, before I could stop myself, leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. She lowered her head further, cheeks tinged pink.

Smiling, I walked out of the room.

★★★★