Aini’s POV
I woke up with a stiff neck and aching shoulders, my body twisted into an uncomfortable position.
For a moment, my mind was blank.
Then last night rushed back in,
The bitterness returned to my mouth as I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
It was still early morning.
I quietly got up and went to my room, prayed Fajr, and made a long dua for Bade Abbu.
The house felt different now.
Heavy.
Like grief had settled into the walls.
I went to the kitchen and found Ammi already awake, making breakfast with tired hands.
“Ammi… main kuch madad kar doon?” I asked softly.
She looked at me and forced a small smile. “Nahi jaan, main sambhal loongi. Tum Fakhir ko utha do. Use hospital jaana hai.”
“Thik hai, Ammi.”
I walked toward Fakhir’s room.
The door was slightly open.
He was sleeping on the floor, his head resting against the couch, his body curled awkwardly, as he had simply collapsed where he stood.
He must have cried himself to sleep.
His hair was messy, fingers still half-curled as if they had been gripping his face all night. His skin looked pale, and dried tears traced faint lines across his cheeks.
Something twisted painfully inside my chest.
I reached out, almost touching his hair,
almost,
Then I stopped myself.
Pulled my hand back.
“Fakhir… uth jao,” I said softly. “Fakhir.”
His eyes opened slowly.
Empty.
Hollow.
I brought him a glass of water. “Paani pee lo… tumhein hospital jaana hai. Fresh ho jao.”
He nodded silently, drank the water, then said in a low voice, “Hospital ke liye nashta le jaana hai.”
“Ji. Ammi bana rahi hain tiffin.”
He hesitated, then said quietly, “Doctor ne kaha hai… Abbu ko aaj raat discharge mil jaayega. Par dawaiyaan chalti rahengi.”
Before I could reply, the doorbell rang.
“Tum ready ho jao. Main dekhti hoon kaun hai,” I said and walked toward the entrance.
Outside stood Saiqa Phopho and Fehmi Phopho, with Aiman and Sameer behind them.
They must have been called by Badi Ammi.
As soon as they entered, they rushed toward Dadi’s room.
“Ammi, aap theek ho?” Fehmi Phopho asked.
Saiqa Phopho turned to me sharply. “Aini, aise khadi mat raho. Sab ke liye chai bana kar lao.”
“Ji…”
I went to the kitchen.
Ammi was packing food into tiffin boxes.
“Aini, yeh Fakhir ko de do. Woh nikal raha hoga. Chai main bana loongi.”
I nodded and took the bag to his room.
“Ammi ne diya hai,” I said.
He took it silently.
Didn’t look at me.
Didn’t say thank you.
And left.
The rest of the day passed in fragments—books open but unread, tea cups untouched, Phopho’s sharp comments slicing through the air like invisible knives.
I pretended not to hear.
Pretended not to feel.
By evening, I was sitting in the garden with a book in my hands when a sudden noise rose from the gate.
Cars.
Voices.
Movement.
My heart jumped.
I ran to the front door.
Everyone was already gathered there.
Bade Abbu had come home.
He stood slowly, supported on both sides, a gentle smile resting on his lips.
But he looked older.
So much older.
As if one night had stolen years from him.
I watched silently.
Dadi lifted her trembling hands, removing his nazar.
Both Phopho talked to him about memories.
Badi Ammi smiled bravely, though her hands shook.
Abbu discussed factory matters in low tones, trying to stay practical.
Ammi rushed around, giving water, cushions, medicines—caring for everyone.
Aiman and Sameer stood absorbing their emotions.
Phopha looked away, their grief quiet and heavy.
And Bade Abbu…
He kept smiling.
Through pain.
Through weakness.
Through destiny.
Then I looked at Fakhir.
He wasn’t speaking.
He wasn’t blinking.
He was watching his father like someone trying to memorise a fading picture.
Every smile.
Every cough.
Every wrinkle.
Every breath.
As if he was afraid that if he looked away, even for a second, his Abbu would disappear.
Like smoke.
Like a dream.
I stood there, unable to move.
Watching my life fall apart…
Slowly.
Silently.
Piece by piece.
Dinner that night was nothing like the chaos of yesterday.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
A silence so thick it pressed against my ears, so loud that it drowned every thought.
No one spoke.
Plates clinked softly. Spoons moved. Breaths were counted.
Until Bade Abbu finally lifted his head.
“Aap sab jaante hain… mere paas ab kitna kam waqt bacha hai,” he said slowly.
His voice was calm, but every word felt like a crack in the walls around us.
“Isliye maine ek faisla liya hai.”
“Khuda ke waste, aisa mat kahiye,” Badi Ammi whispered, her voice trembling.
He shook his head gently. “Samina… jitni jaldi hum is sach ko apna lein, utna hi behtar hoga.”
Then he looked straight at Fakhir.
“Marne se pehle… main Fakhir ka nikaah karana chahta hoon.”
The world stopped breathing.
“What?” Badi Ammi gasped. “Zaheer, yeh kya keh rahe ho? Woh abhi bachcha hai. Sirf satrah saal ka.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Bade Abbu replied firmly. “Use zimmedari lena seekhni hogi. Mere paas aur uske paas… dono ke liye waqt bahut kam hai.”
The silence returned.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Then Fakhir finally spoke, his voice low but shaking.
“Main nikaah nahi kar sakta.”
Bade Abbu didn’t even look at him. “Main tumse pooch nahi raha hoon, Fakhir. Bata raha hoon.”
“Aap samajh hi nahi rahe!” Fakhir stood up. “Mujhe nikaah nahi karna. Abhi mujhe bohot kuch karna hai.”
“Kya karna hai tumhein?” Abbu snapped. “Padhai toh hoti nahi. Biwi aayegi toh shayad zimmedar ban jaoge.”
“Zaheer, bas karo,” Badi Ammi tried to intervene.
But Bade Abbu raised his hand.
“Mera faisla final hai.”
Then his eyes turned to me.
“Agle hafte Fakhir ka nikaah hoga… Aini ke saath. Main Habib se baat kar chuka hoon.”
My heart stopped.
Nikaah.
Fakhir.
With me.
No.
No.
No.
I wanted to study.
I wanted a future.
I wanted freedom.
Marriage was never part of my dreams.
“Bade Abbu… aap kya keh rahe hain?” I stammered, my voice breaking. Hum dono abhi bohot chhote hain. Hum padhna chahte hain. Hum… hum nikaah nahi kar sakte.”
“Chup,” Abbu said harshly. “Jo ho raha hai, tumhare bhale ke liye hi ho raha hai.”
“Aini sahi keh rahi hai,” Badi Ammi pleaded. “Dono bachche hain. Upar se in dono ki toh banti bhi nahi.”
“Ji, Zaheer bhai,” Ammi added softly. “Samina bhabhi ki baat suniye. Yeh dono kaise sambhaal paayenge sab kuch?”
“Tum chup raho,” Abbu snapped at her. “Is mamle mein mat pado.”
“Par Abbu—”
Dadi cut me off.
“Mujhe Zaheer ka faisla manzoor hai,” she said coldly. “Fakhir ko sambhalne wali biwi mil jaayegi, aur Aini ghar ke kaam seekh legi… kitaabein chhod kar.”
My chest tightened.
“Main padhna chahti hoon… main—” my voice collapsed into sobs.
Ammi rushed to hold me.
Bade Abbu said with a bit of warmth, “Aini, tum Nikaah ke baad bhi padh sakti ho.”
“Kyoon koi samajhna hi nahi chahta?” Fakhir shouted, his voice cracking through the room. “Hum nikaah nahi karna chahte! Aap log apne faisle hum par thop rahe ho! Main sirf satrah ka hoon, Abbu! Aur… aur mujhe Aini pasand bhi nahi!”
His words cut deep.
But Bade Abbu stood up.
“Nikaah ki taiyari shuru kar do,” he said coldly.
And walked away.
My legs gave up.
I slid to the floor, shaking, sobbing.
“Ammi…” I whispered through my tears. “Humein… humein yeh nahi karna…”
Dadi’s voice echoed through the house like a final verdict.
“Kisi ne suna nahi? Zaheer ne kya kaha tha. Nikaah ki taiyari shuru karo.”
I looked at Ammi, her face pale, her lips trembling.
She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again.
Helpless.
Abbu stood stiff, hands behind his back, staring at the floor.
"Habib," Badi Ammi called softly. "Tumhari beti hai yeh. Uski marzi poochho toh sahi."
"Marzi?" Abbu's voice was hard. "Marzi poochne ki umar nahi hai uski abhi. Yeh uske liye behtar hai."
"Behtar?" I whispered through my tears. "Behtar kaise hai yeh mere liye?"
No one answered.
Fakhir turned sharply and walked out of the room.
The door slammed behind him.
I sat there on the floor, broken.
My dreams.
My plans.
My freedom.
All crumbling like pages torn from a book I hadn't finished reading.
Ammi knelt beside me, pulling me into her arms.
"Sab theek ho jaayega jaan," she whispered.
But her voice shook.
And I knew she didn't believe it either.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Sleep wouldn't come.
My mind kept replaying Bade Abbu's words.
Agle hafte Fakhir ka nikah hoga… Aini ke saath.
One week.
Seven days.
And my entire life would change.
I turned to my side and hugged my pillow tight.
Somewhere in the house, I heard muffled voices.
Argument.
Frustration.
Tears.
But nothing would change.
Because in this house, decisions weren't made with hearts.
They were made with traditions.
With fear.
With control.
And I was just a girl.
Expected to obey.
Expected to accept.
Expected to smile.
Even when my world was ending.
I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and slowly sat up.
This couldn’t be it.
It couldn’t end like this.
“Ammi…” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Mujhe Fakhir se baat karni hai.”
Ammi, who was lying beside me, turned toward me immediately. Worry filled her tired eyes.
“Abhi? Is waqt?” she asked softly.
“Ji,” I said, forcing strength into my voice even though my chest felt hollow. “Agar hum dono mil kar inkaar karein… shayad kuch badal jaaye.”
Even as I said it, I wasn’t sure if I believed myself.
“Hum dono mil kar Bade Abbu ko samjhayenge… unhein bataayenge ke woh galat kar rahe hain. Woh… woh zaroor samajh jaayenge,” I murmured, more to convince myself than her.
Ammi stayed silent for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“Theek hai,” she whispered. “Par sambhal kar jaana. Agar kisi ne dekh liya toh baat aur bigad jaayegi.”
I didn’t wait for her to say more.
If I stayed even one second longer, my courage would break.
I slipped out of the room quietly, my bare feet cold against the floor. The house was asleep, but my heart was screaming, pounding so loudly I was afraid it would wake everyone.
Each step toward Fakhir’s room felt heavier than the last.
My hand trembled as I raised it and knocked softly.
No answer.
I swallowed and knocked again, a little louder this time.
After a moment, the door opened slightly.
Fakhir stood there.
His face was hard, guarded—like he had built walls around himself in just a few hours. His eyes were swollen, red from crying, but this time the tears were different.
Angrier.
Sharper.
More dangerous.
“Mujhe tumse baat karni hai,” I whispered.
He didn’t reply.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
So I gathered what little courage I had left and spoke.
“Main jaanti hoon tum bhi yeh nikaah nahi chahte… aur main bhi nahi chahti,” my voice shook. “Agar hum dono mil kar Bade Abbu se baat karein… unhein samjhaayein… toh shayad—”
He remained silent.
I rushed on, afraid he would stop me.
“Mujhe pata hai tum Amna ko pasand karte ho… aur main padhna chahti hoon. Apni zindagi banana chahti hoon. Hum dono is rishte ke liye tayaar nahi hain, Fakhir. Hum kisi bhi keemat par—”
He shut the door.
Right on my face.
The sound echoed in the quiet hallway.
For a second, I didn’t breathe.
I just stood there, staring at the wooden door like it had crushed something alive inside my chest.
My fingers slowly curled into my dupatta.
So this was it.
Not even a fight.
Not even a conversation.
I slid down against the wall, my knees giving up, my body folding onto the cold floor.
I pressed my hand over my mouth to stop my sobs from escaping.
I wasn’t crying just because of the forced marriage anymore.
I was crying because I had realised something much worse.
I was alone in this.
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