HER POV

After coming back home, I’m just... blank.

Clueless about what to feel.

Do I process the betrayal first? Or the loss? Or the fact that everything I built, everything I believed in, crumbled all at once?

Broken? Betrayed? Empty? Like I’ve lost everything? Or maybe… all of it at once.

I’ve always been used to being abandoned. But this time… it aches differently.

“Hayee Allah, yeh sab kya ho raha hai? Main kya karun, rone ke alawa? Kuch samajh hi nahi aa raha... Koi samjhane wala nahi hai mere paas. Na samajhne wala...” [“Oh Allah, what is happening with all this? What do I do, besides crying? I don't understand anything... I don't have anyone to explain things to me. Nor anyone to understand me...”] I whispered, my voice trembling as my fingers dug into my scalp, gripping my tied hair in frustration.

“Jo tha... woh bhi ab kaafi samajhdar ban gaya hai,” [“The one who was there... he too has become quite smart now,”] I let out a bitter chuckle through the sobs, before I collapsed to my knees, turning instinctively towards the west—towards Kaaba Sharif.

Because if no one else will listen, maybe He will.

And then I cried. Not just out of pain, but surrender.

Cried like a child, like no one was watching, because no one was watching.

“Ya Allah… main kya karu?” [“Oh Allah... what should I do?”] I whispered, tears running endlessly as my knees sank deeper into the floor.

“Iss se zyada aapko kuch chheenna baaki reh gaya hai toh... please mujhe apne paas bula lijiye... iss se pehle mujhse koi badi galti ho jaaye...” [“If there is anything more left for You to snatch away... please call me to You... before I end up making a huge mistake...”] I sobbed, my voice breaking into silence.

A silence that echoed louder than any scream. I sat there, facing the west, trembling, begging.

Just then, I heard the soft tick of the door unlocking.

And I knew who it was.

But I didn’t move.

Didn’t turn.

Mujhe usse kuch puchna bhi nahi tha. [I didn't even want to ask him anything.]

Puchungi bhi kya? Jab saara kasoor mera hi hai. [What would I even ask? When the entire fault is mine.]

Even the questions had left me. Just like everyone else.

.

.

.

He left the room. Silently. Without a word.

And I… stayed there.

Curled up on the floor. Eyes swollen, heart hollow.

I must’ve drifted off for a while—not exactly sleeping, just... passing time. Letting the ache slowly burn itself out.

My body was still, but the tears didn’t stop.

They kept falling quietly, relentlessly—as if they had a story to finish without me.

Then came the boom.

A loud thud against my window. The storm had arrived.

The wind howled violently, shaking the walls and pushing through every crack like it was trying to reach me.

It felt like Khuda wanted me to see my pain—not just feel it.

To watch it rage outside, so I’d stop hiding it inside.

The rain began moments later. Heavy. Unforgiving.

But somehow… comforting.

Like the skies had come down to keep me company.

I got up slowly, legs still shaky, and walked to the kitchen.

A few sips of water—just enough to remind myself I still existed.

Then I turned around and headed towards the terrace.

Just to wash the grief off my soul. Or maybe… I just wanted someone—anything—to cry with me.

The rain hit me like icy needles—sharp, merciless.

Each drop slammed against my skin as if trying to force the grief out of me.

My whole body shivered; my teeth clenched uncontrollably. But I didn’t look back.

I walked forward.

Step by step, until I reached the edge of the terrace wall.

And then I sat there—numb, soaked, and utterly still.

If anyone saw me from down below, they’d probably think I was a ghost.

Or worse—someone about to jump.

But no. Neither of those are true.

Ghosts are dead, and I’m still here, barely.

And suicide?

That takes a kind of decision, a kind of strength, I don’t even feel worthy of.

.

.

.

More than twenty minutes passed.

I just sat there, letting the storm rage around me.

The rain was relentless. But in its wildness… I found company.

It was like the skies were crying with me.

Like Allah was letting me borrow the storm for a little while.

And somewhere between the wind and the water… the ache faded.

Not completely, but enough for me to survive again.

A strange calm settled into my bones.

Jo hua, sab past tha. [Whatever happened, it was all in the past.]

Maybe it’s not too late to begin again.

Maybe I could restart—not for love, not for anyone—just for me.

I wiped my face slowly, cleared my thoughts, and began thinking about tomorrow.

What would I do? Where would I begin?

That’s when I heard it.

“Izel… Izel!”

A voice frantic, familiar.

My body flinched instinctively.

I turned my head slowly, blinking through the rain.

It was Irfaz.

“Neeche aao,” [“Come down,”] he called out.

His voice shook, not with anger, but with something desperate.

I didn’t move, nor did I respond.

My limbs felt too heavy, and my heart too quiet.

Then thunder cracked through the sky, followed by a sudden lightning flash—white and sharp—illuminating everything for a heartbeat.

And in that flicker, I saw him clearly.

Soaked, panting, standing there like he’d run through the storm just to reach me.

“I promise…” he called again, louder this time.

“Jo kahogi, wohi karunga. Bas neeche aao.” [“Whatever you say, I will do. Just come down.”]

I turned more fully this time.

In the lightning's glow, his face was briefly lit—and in that one second, I saw what I hadn’t expected.

His eyes. Red. Swollen.

He had been crying too.

“Please… neeche aao… I promise I will listen to you,” [“Please... come down... I promise I will listen to you,”] his voice broke, each word trembling in the wind.

“Don’t scare me more… I love you, yaar,” [“Don't scare me more... I love you, man,”] he cried.

For a moment, I just stared at him through the curtain of rain, the lightning casting fleeting glimpses of his pleading, terrified face.

And then it hit me. Like a punch in the gut.

Does he think I’m going to jump?

My breath caught.

The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind tonight—not seriously—but looking at him now, I realized that’s all he must’ve seen.

A drenched, silent figure sitting at the edge of the terrace in the middle of a storm.

From down there… I must look like someone ready to disappear.

I climbed down from the terrace, each step heavy from the soaked clothes clinging to me.

When I reached him, I stopped just a breath away.

Standing there, rain dripping from my hair, I looked straight into his red, tear-swollen eyes.

“Kya?” [“What?”] I asked flatly.

“Please… I’m sorry. Don’t do this,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “I’ll listen to you. Everything. Whatever you say.”

He stood up, taking my frozen hand gently in both of his—the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to my icy fingers.

“If you want to live separately from me… I’ll do it. I’ll even file for divorce if....”

SLAP.

My palm met his cheek with a sharp, echoing thud, the sound cutting through the rain.

“Mere ko talaq dene ki himmat bhi mat karna,” [“Don't you dare even think of giving me a divorce,”] I snapped, my voice trembling—not from fear, but from rage.

I wasn’t thinking about divorce. Not at all.

I was confused. Shattered. Drowning in my own thoughts.

Maybe I just needed time… time to heal. And healing is never instant.

The slap stunned him into silence.

His lips parted, like he wanted to argue… but instead, he stepped closer.

Slowly. Hesitantly.

And then, without a word, he pulled me into his arms.

I froze at first. My mind screamed at me to push him away—to guard the last fragile pieces of myself.

But his hold wasn’t forceful. It was desperate… warm… trembling.

The kind of hug you give someone when you’re afraid it might be the last.

This was the same warmth, the same sincerity I’d felt on the day I gave him a chance—right after my muh dikhai [face-revealing ceremony].

The day I had trusted him to hold me, to protect me, to be mine.

“I’m not letting go,” he whispered against my hair. “Not now… not ever.”

I rested my head against his chest, listening to the wild rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Just… give me some time to pull back to reality.”

He nodded against my hair, holding me tighter as if promising he would wait.

And somehow… that felt like coming home.

THE END
🤣🤣

BHAI ISS SE ZYDA HAPPY ENDING MEIN NAHI LIKH SAKTI 🥱

MY PLAN WAS TO WRITE A TRAGEDY SE BHARDI SAD ENDING BUT KUCH LOGO KI GAALIYAN KHA KE😁🤣🤣

LINE MEIN AAGYI🥱

CHALO KOI NA I WILL COMPENSATE WITH CUTE CUTE BONUS CHAPTER 😂🤣

OKAY....

SO HERE I GUESS THE OFFICIALLY THE BOOK ENDED🤍🧿

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