Sharjeena lay in bed, shuffling from side to side, trying to quiet her racing mind. Each turn only seemed to stir her emotions further, making sleep impossible. Her thoughts spiraled back to the conversation with Mustafa that evening. When she first saw his bike parked outside, a glimmer of hope had sparked within her—she genuinely thought he had come because he missed her. But then, his words—those accusing, bitter words—shattered her completely. She had no idea that a simple Instagram post could provoke such jealousy. A part of her had wanted to tell him the truth, that she saw Rehan as a sibling, someone who reminded her of the brother she'd never had. But the anger had silenced her; she refused to explain herself to a man who had leapt to the worst conclusion so easily.

Trying to read, she flipped page after page, the words blurring together, unable to distract her from the image of Mustafa's hurt, angry face. She remembered how it used to be, back when they didn't need to say much at all. They had a way of understanding each other without words, and those moments had made everything else bearable. She thought about how she had been Mustafa's anchor when his father forced them out, when his family's betrayal had left him lost and heartbroken. Sharjeena had stayed strong for him, pouring herself into lifting his spirits, and every time she managed to make him smile, she felt a surge of triumph, as if she'd conquered the world.

He used to complain about their cramped apartment, about the walls and the dingy state of everything. She had made it her mission to transform it, painting walls, decorating every inch, building a small jungle of plants in their balcony to make the space feel alive and welcoming. Mustafa had loved it at first, admiring her efforts. But then, as he grew more obsessed with money and material things, he started overlooking everything she'd done. The night she had finally finished their bedroom, carefully painting and adding her own touches, he had come home in a bad mood, snapping at her for no reason. She remembered that night vividly, feeling crushed and wondering if all her efforts had been for nothing.

As she lay there, tears began to well up, spilling down her cheeks. If only Mustafa had let her in, she would have given him everything. She had opened her heart fully to him, and yet, when she needed him most, he wasn't there. Her mind drifted back to the day she discovered she was pregnant. The excitement had filled her entire day, her thoughts racing with the possibility of this new beginning. She had believed it would bring them closer, give them a fresh start after all they'd been through. But Mustafa's reaction—that distant look, the way he avoided her gaze—left her devastated. She had clung to him, threw herself in his arms despite his cold reaction, trying to believe he just needed time to process, that he'd come around. But that moment never came. Not even now.

For the first time, Sharjeena felt an overwhelming wave of self-pity. She had been alone at her wedding, during the early months of marriage when love hadn't yet blossomed between them. But she never imagined she'd face this pregnancy in solitude, especially not with someone she had once believed loved her more than life itself.

Finally, she drifted off to sleep, though it was short-lived. Morning sickness hit her hard, waking her with a jolt, and she rushed to the bathroom. As she sat by the toilet, weak and trembling, she was hit by the reality of her isolation. In her most vulnerable moment, she had no one to lean on.

As Sharjeena stepped out of the bathroom, dawn light crept softly into her room, illuminating familiar pieces of her past. Her gaze drifted to her study table, still decorated as she had left it before her marriage, each detail a reflection of her pride in life's accomplishments. Her awards, medals, and certificates were neatly displayed on the wall—a timeline of moments she had once cherished deeply. She remembered how her parents would beam with pride at every achievement, how she would tell them confidently that marriage would only add to her ambitions, that her partner and she would share both dreams and responsibilities equally.

A twinge of bittersweet nostalgia struck her as she thought about her in-laws, who had often taunted Mustafa about "living off his wife's earnings." And Back then, Mustafa had always brushed their comments aside, helping her with her studies, supporting her dreams. But after they were forced to leave his family's house, something changed. She noticed the slow, creeping transformation in him—how his confidence began to blur into insecurity, as though every hardship they endured was simply because they didn't have "enough." His pride twisted into something unyielding, making him reject her financial support. The final blow came when Mustafa told her to leave her job after an argument with her father. That day, something essential broke inside her as she realized that, to him, his ego outweighed her dreams.

After a quick shower, she changed and stepped out of her room to find her father seated in the living room, engrossed in the newspaper.

He looked up as she entered, his face softening with a warm smile. "Good morning, beta," he greeted, setting the paper aside.

"Morning, Baba," she replied quietly, sitting beside him. She could feel the words building in her chest, yet she struggled to find the right way to say them.

Noticing her hesitation, her father gently asked, "Neend nahi aayi achhe se?"

She shook her head, looking away for a moment. "Nahi, bas...kuch na kuch dimaag mein chal raha tha." Her voice wavered slightly, and she hoped he wouldn't press further, though a part of her wished he would.

Her father waited patiently, his comforting presence nudging her to speak. "Baba, aapko yaad hai hum jab baithke mere career ki baat karte the aur ammi meri shaadi ki, main hamesha kehti thi ki main career aur shaadi dono balance kar lungi and will still have a life filled with love, partnership?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes filled with understanding. "Yaad hai. Tum kaafi determined and sure thi."

A heavy sigh escaped her. "Somewhere along the way, that dream got lost. Bas voh saari baatein dil se laga ke baithi rehti hoon."

He reached over, placing a steady hand over hers. "Tumne sab kuch kia hai, beta. Kisi normal person se bohot zyada. Is baat pe kabhi doubt mat karna. Sometimes, people lose sight of their way, and they don't even know it. Par usase tumhara vajood nahi badalta, aur na hi yeh fact ki tumne life mein kya accomplish kia hai. Voh sab humaare saath hi rehta hai. Bas use dobara jagaane ki zarurat hoti hai."

Hearing those words, her heart ached. She could feel a lump rising in her throat as she squeezed his hand in return, grateful for his quiet strength. Her father's belief in her was enough to remind her of her own resilience, and in that moment, she promised herself she wouldn't let anything—or anyone—take away the dreams she'd worked so hard to build.

Sharjeena looked at her father, her gaze gentle yet determined. "Baba, aapne hamesha mujhe aage badh ke support kia hai. Mere dreams ko, mere saare aspirations ko. Toh phir aap aaj Mustafa ko support kyun nahi kar sakte?"

Her father's brow furrowed in surprise, and he looked at her, not entirely following.

She took a deep breath and continued, her voice soft but unwavering. "Aapne hamesha mujhe independent banaya, encourage kia ki main ek career build karu, aur shaadi ko equal partnership ki tarah dekhu. Toh phir aap aaj Mustafa ko itna judge kyun karte hain, baba? Voh bas thoda struggle hi toh kar raha hai. You get upset with him for not 'taking care of me,' but Baba, isn't marriage about both partners sharing that responsibility?"

Her father hesitated before replying, his voice low but firm. "Par beta, tum ho uski responsibility, aur main sirf itna chahta hoon ki voh yeh baat samajh jaaye. I want to see him stand by you without faltering."

Sharjeena placed her hands gently over her father's, leaning closer, her eyes pleading. "Baba, shaadi ka yeh matlab nahi hai ki ek insaan akela us rishte ka weight carry karta rahe. It's about stepping in for each other when one falls back. Maine saari zindagi aapse aur ammi se yahi seekha hai. Mustafa ne bhi hamesha apni responsibility puri karne ki try kari hai. Agar aisa na hota, toh usne mujhse shaadi hi nahi kari hoti. Us waqt usey meri zarurat nahi thi, mujhe uski zarurat thi. And if he falters sometimes, you should trust in the strength you gave me to hold us up, just as I have for my sisters. You didn't raise me to be someone who crumbles when things are hard. Main aapki bahadur beti hoon jaise aap hamesha kehte hain."

Her father looked down at their hands, his expression softening as her words settled in. He opened his mouth to speak but then stopped, lost in thought.

She squeezed his hands, her voice becoming a quiet plea. "Baba, wasn't the whole point of raising me differently, of making me strong, to prepare me for moments like this? Isiliye naa ki main apni zimmedaari nibha saku, apni family ko, apne husband ko support kar saku, jaise voh mujhe support karta hai. Please, have a little faith in Mustafa. Just as you have in me."

Her father's eyes shone with a hint of pride as he looked at her, his fingers moving gently to brush back a strand of her hair. "I understand, beta. Main vaada karta hoon ki I'll try to see things from your perspective."

At that moment, her mother entered the room carrying a tray, her warm smile lighting up the space as she placed a steaming cup of tea in front of Sharjeena and her father.

Sharjeena spent a warm morning surrounded by her family's love, a peaceful, nostalgic smile on her face as they relived old memories. Her mother delighted in retelling tales of her childhood, often drawing laughter from Sharjeena and her younger sister Rameen. Together, they revisited the small adventures, the little mischiefs, and the dreams she had as a child. The afternoon passed in comfortable warmth, with Sharjeena feeling both fulfilled and bittersweet as the moments slipped by.

As evening approached, Sharjeena mentioned she'd be heading home soon to prepare for the week ahead. She made her way to her room, now filled with memories, and began packing her things. Her gaze fell on a small, worn trophy—a memento of her first prize from kindergarten. Smiling softly, she decided to pack it, thinking it might bring a little of her past into her present life. Then, on a whim, she slipped a framed photo of her toddler self with her parents into her bag.

In the living room, her father waved off her insistence on taking a cab, firmly saying, "Tumhein main drop karunga. Vaise bhi kitne din ho gaye humein saath mein drive pe gaye hue."

Rameen hugged her tightly, a big smile lighting her face. "Kitne arse ke baad itna acchha weekend guzra hai, appi! Aap dobara se aisa plan banaayein jaldi."

Sharjeena hugged her back, feeling the familiar warmth of her sister's embrace. "Don't worry, main ab aati rahungi." She meant it, a promise that filled her with quiet resolve.

Her mother appeared then, carrying a lunch bag with a knowing smile. "Yeh lo, beta. Tumhare aur Mustafa ke liye dinner pack kar dia hai. Mujhe bilkul naa nahi sunani, theek hai?"

Sharjeena tried to decline, laughing, "Ammi, iski koi zarurat nahi hai," but her mother was as firm as her father, pressing the bag into her hands with a loving smile.

Reluctantly accepting, Sharjeena hugged her mother, feeling a blend of gratitude and ache. As she and her father stepped outside, she took a deep breath, storing the moment in her heart. The bittersweet feeling followed her as they settled into the car, her father's gentle presence next to her, grounding her as they headed back to her own life and the challenges waiting there.

Mustafa spent the entire Sunday haunted by Sharjeena's words about feeling abandoned. The weight of his guilt plagued him—had he really turned into the person who would desert his wife, especially now? As the evening approached, his heart grew heavier, anxious about whether she would come home tonight. He thought about calling, perhaps offering to pick her up. But the memory of Sharjeena's cool reception the day before held him back; he didn't want to overstep when she clearly wanted her space.

Just as dusk set in, Mustafa's pulse quickened as he heard a car pulling up. Glancing out the balcony, he immediately recognized Sharjeena's father's car. Relief washed over him, almost making his knees weak. He watched as her father stepped out, reaching for a few bags, while Sharjeena emerged from the car, her face calm but unreadable.

Without thinking, Mustafa rushed down the stairs. As he approached, he overheard Sharjeena's father offering to carry the bags, with her gently refusing. "Aapke liye stairs chadhna mushkil hoga, baba," she insisted. Just then, Mustafa greeted them, his voice slightly breathless, "Salaam walekum, Uncle."

They both turned, momentarily startled. "Waalekum salaam, beta." Her father returned the greeting, and to Mustafa's surprise, the older man's usual sternness seemed to have softened, his expression almost friendly. Mustafa noticed this shift, feeling a spark of hope flicker in his chest. Sharjeena handed the bags to him and said, "Mustafa samaan upar le jaaega, baba." Her father smiled slightly, saying, "I know." Mustafa felt a bit bewildered, almost thrown by the hint of acceptance in his father-in-law's words.

Sharjeena turned to her father and hugged him tightly, thanking him before waving goodbye. As he drove off, she turned to Mustafa, who was smiling in an effort to bridge the silence. "Hello," he said softly, a note of warmth in his voice. But Sharjeena only gave him a small nod, murmuring a quiet "Hello," her face still distant.

Without another word, Mustafa lifted the bags, carrying them up the stairs with Sharjeena walking silently behind him. Each step they took seemed to stretch, weighed down by the unspoken feelings that hung between them. As they reached the apartment, he was fighting the urge to apologize, to reach out, to find the right words. But as he opened the door and set the bags down, he wondered if he could ever find words strong enough to bring them back to the closeness they once had.

Mustafa stood in the living room, a mix of relief and longing coursing through him. Before he could even think, Sharjeena quickly retreated to the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. He watched, unsure how to interpret her swift movements, feeling the space between them more keenly than ever.

When she returned moments later, her clothes now changed, she moved past him, picking up a bag and heading toward the kitchen without so much as a glance his way. Something inside him stirred, a quiet but firm resolve that had been building all day. Without thinking, he followed her inside the kitchen, and reached out, gently wrapping his hand around hers. The touch made her pause. Mustafa carefully took the bags from her grasp, setting them down on the counter, and then, before he could hesitate, he pulled her into a warm, tight embrace.

Sharjeena froze, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. He held her as if grounding himself, as if waiting for life to feel like itself again, taking in her scent, her touch, feeling the familiar warmth of her presence. After a long moment, she slowly lifted her hands, resting them lightly on his back. That single gesture was enough to loosen the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Mustafa's grip softened, and he drew back slightly, searching her face, desperate for any hint that might tell him where they stood. Her cheeks were flushed, but her gaze didn't meet his, darting away instead as she quickly resumed unloading the food from the bag.

"Yeh sab kya hai?" Mustafa asked, trying to ease the silence.

Sharjeena's voice was soft. "Dinner," she said, "Ammi ne bheja hai. Tumhare liye kuch aur bana deti hoon." She picked up a few containers, busying herself with the task.

Mustafa shook his head, feeling a slight stab at the assumption. "Nahi, main bhi tumhare saath yahi khaaunga. Sab kuch kitna achha dikh raha hai," he replied, his tone gentle but firm.

She looked up, surprised, meeting his eyes for the briefest of seconds before nodding. "Theek hai...then you can help set the table."

They ate quietly, the clinking of cutlery filling the void between them. Mustafa took a bite, savoring the flavors, and a small smile crept across his face. "Please aunty ko bataana... the food's amazing," he said sincerely, hoping the compliment would reach her heart, not just her ears. Sharjeena gave a slight nod, not saying anything further.

When dinner ended, Mustafa looked at her, a gentle warmth in his gaze. "Main chaai banaata hoon," he offered. "Phir hum dono..."

But Sharjeena cut him off, her voice firm but soft. "It's late, Mustafa. Vaise bhi kal hum dono ko kaam pe jaana hai. I think it's best if I just... head to bed."

He nodded, watching her walk away, a hollow ache settling in his chest. Mustafa could feel her pulling away, but he was more resolved now than ever. Sharjeena had broken down his walls once; she had stayed by his side when everyone else turned away. It was his turn now to be there for her, to fight for her trust and the love that he knew still lived between them.

After a while, he joined her in bed, careful not to disturb her. Gently, he placed his hand on her waist, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing. Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, whispering a silent promise to himself. He wouldn't let go, not this time. Slowly, his eyes grew heavy, his heart calm but determined. Tomorrow was another day, and he would begin again, for her, for them.