HER POV

HIS HOUSE

As I stepped out of the car, I was greeted by Irfan’s family at their house. But the atmosphere was far from festive. The decorations were minimal, and there were hardly any guests. It looked like they had thrown everything together at the last minute.

The whole scene felt rushed and unplanned, like they were just going through the motions.

A lady, presumably Irfan’s mother, welcomed me with a forced smile.

“Aao beta, come in.”

I didn’t know Irfan’s family, and the awkwardness was palpable.

Irfan himself was quiet during the entire ride, and now he just nodded at me before disappearing into the house.

The lady showed me to my room, saying,

“You must be tired, go rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

I felt like I was being dismissed, like I was just a burden they had to tolerate. Where was the warmth, the excitement, the joy that was supposed to come with a new bride’s arrival?

I looked around the room, feeling like an outsider. This was supposed to be my new home, but it felt like a stranger’s house. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off, that something was going to go wrong.

“Bhai, aise new bride ka welcome koun krta hai?” I thought to myself. Who welcomes a new bride like this?

No joy, no excitement, just a sense of obligation.

I felt like I was just a mere aunt, not the new daughter-in-law of the house.

HER POV (BEDROOM)

I sat on the bed, exhausted from the day’s events. The heavy dress, the makeup, the fake smiles - it had all taken a toll on me. But it wasn’t just physical fatigue; my mind was reeling from the shock of being forced into this marriage.

I heard the door open and close, and then the sound of the lock clicking into place. Irfan walked in, his eyes fixed on me. I felt a shiver run down my spine as he approached me.

“Koi umeed na rakhna mere se,” he said, his voice cold and detached.

“I am just your husband outside this bedroom.”

I felt a pang of disappointment, but also a sense of relief. Maybe this was a sign that he didn’t want to force himself on me.

“Meri koi si bhi cheez idhar udhar bhi mat krna,” he continued, his eyes scanning the room.

“And sleep somewhere else, not in the bed. It’s mine.”

As he spoke, he removed the mask he had been wearing, revealing his true face.

And that’s when I saw him - Irfaz Ahmed, my business collaborator.

My mind went blank as I tried to process what was happening.

“How can he and I get married?” I thought to myself, my mind racing with questions.

“What’s wrong with this? Why did my parents agree to this?”

I felt like I had been punched in the gut.

Irfaz Ahmed, the man I had worked with, the man I had trusted, was now my husband.

I looked at him, trying to read his expression, but his face was a mask of indifference. I felt trapped, like I was stuck in a nightmare from which I couldn’t wake up.

I rushed to check our marriage certificate, my heart racing with anxiety. And there it was, in black and white: Irfaz Ahmed, my husband.

But how could this be?

We had worked together, collaborated on projects, and I had never suspected that he was capable of such deception.

How can it be possible?

Does he not know me?

Should I tell him?

I thought to myself, feeling a mix of shock and confusion.

Just then, a voice came from behind me, echoing my thoughts.

“If you’re thinking that your groom has changed, then you’re absolutely right.”

I turned around to see Irfaz standing there, his expression cold and distant.

“Now sleep,” he said curtly, his tone devoid of any warmth or affection.

I was taken aback by his coldness. This was not the Irfaz Ahmed I knew from the office or our phone calls. He was always charming and professional, but now he seemed like a stranger.

He went to the bathroom to change, and when he came back, he climbed into bed, covering the entire surface with his sprawling body.

{Reb: don’t judge ur author dressing sense woh ase he. Dress up hoti h🥲 ghr pe bhi}

I went to the bathroom, washed my face, and changed into a comfortable white cotton suit.

As I stepped out, he remarked, “No need to sleep in the bed; find another spot for yourself.”

Left with no other option, I had to search for a different place to sleep.

I grabbed my pillow and made my way to the sofa, which was mercifully large enough to accommodate me.

“Thank God the sofa is big enough to cover me,” I thought, feeling a small sense of relief in the midst of this chaotic situation.

As I settled in, I couldn’t help but wonder what the future held for me and Irfaz.

Was this marriage just a business arrangement, or was there something more to it?

And why was he being so cold and distant towards me?

The situation had stolen my sleep, leaving me wide awake and restless. I tried to close my eyes, but my mind was racing with thoughts and questions. Before I knew it, the first light of dawn crept in, signaling the time for Fajr prayer.

I had missed Isha prayer the previous night, and now I felt a sense of guilt and responsibility to perform my morning salah. I got up from the sofa and headed to the bathroom to perform my wudu.

As I washed my face and hands, I felt a sense of calm wash over me.

I stood up to pray, trying to clear my mind and focus on my salah. But as I went into sajda, prostrating myself before Allah, tears began to roll down my cheeks.

The emotions I had been holding back finally broke free, and I sobbed uncontrollably.

“Allah, main toh bahut pareshan hoon,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

“Mujhe kuch samajh nahi aata, kya karun, kya nahi karun.sabne mujhe dhoka diya hai.”

I sobbed uncontrollably, feeling the weight of my emotions.

“Par kyun, Allah? Kyun yeh sab hua? Main toh Irfaz ko jaanti thi, par ab toh main kuch nahi jaanti.”

“Par kyun, Allah? Kyun aisa hua? Aap ne toh mujhe kis dard mein daal diya?”

“Bachpan mein gharwalo ka pyar nahi mila, ab jis last bande se ummid thi, woh bhi tod diya.”

“Mera koi nahi hai aapke alawa. Aap ache se jaante the yeh. Phir bhi?”

“Meri madad karo ab iss halat se bachne ke liye, sehen karne ke liye. Main already toot ke, bohot mehnat se khud ko joda tha,”

“ab toot ke jodne ki himmat nahi hai mere andar.”

As I prayed, I poured my heart out to Allah, seeking guidance and comfort in this difficult time.

As I lay in sajda, sobbing uncontrollably, Irfaz’s voice pierced through my tears.

“Can you stop crying? And let me sleep,” he said, his tone taunting and uncaring.

I felt a fresh wave of pain wash over me.

“If you want to cry, go outside and cry. At least don’t disturb my sleep,” he added, his words like a slap in the face.

I was taken aback by his cruelty.

“I’m sorry,”

I whispered, my voice barely audible, as I slowly got up from my sajda and lay down beside him, trying to stifle my sobs.

The silence that followed was deafening, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of despair. Irfaz’s indifference had crushed me, and I didn’t know how to process the pain and hurt that I was feeling.

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