Meerab: the heard echoes
The hallway was old and quiet.
The walls smelled of paint and dust.
Meerab stood in front of the door that said 104.
The brass number was a little crooked
.She took a deep breath and opened the door.The flat was small, simple, and quiet. Light came in through the thin white curtains. The windows were half open, letting in a cool breeze. It touched her cheeks like a soft memory.She stepped in slowly.A new home. A new life.She dropped her small suitcase near the sofa and looked around. No pictures. No past. Just peace.“Hello, new life,” she said with a smile. Her voice was cheerful, but a little lonely.She laughed. A short laugh, just to fill the silence.Then she turned in a circle with her arms open, like a little girl. She laughed again. The sound echoed gently on the empty walls.Her phone buzzed.She smiled immediately. Amaan.“Missed me already?” she said playfully.“Always,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “How’s the new place? Still standing?”“I haven’t broken anything yet,” she joked. “Except maybe the silence.”“Are you okay being alone there?”“Of course, Amaan. You’ll be back soon, right? I’m fine. I promise.”“Meerab...”She changed the topic with a smile. “Don’t go serious on me now. I’m in my movie-scene mood.”He laughed quietly.After the call, she walked into the bedroom. One brown box sat in the corner, unopened.She looked at it for a long moment. The words written in black marker said: "Meerab's Stuff — Don’t Open."She didn’t.Some things didn’t need to be remembered.Later, in the kitchen, she made tea and played music on her phone. She danced between the stove and the fridge, smiling to herself.She laughed at her own silly jokes. She made faces in the mirror. She talked to the spoons like they were her friends.She looked like someone happy. Someone free.She never mentioned her family. She never spoke their names. Not when the lady downstairs asked. Not when Amaan said, “One day, I want to meet everyone from your side.”She would just say, softly:“They are... no longer part of my life.”And change the topic.No one asked more.No one knew what that really meant.That night, when she lay in bed, something strange happened.She heard a small sound. Very light. Almost like humming. Or... like piano keys being touched softly.She sat up. Her room was dark. The wind touched the curtain. The noise stopped.She stared at the wall between her room and the one next door. Apartment 103.She had never seen anyone go in or out.A few days later, she stood on the small balcony. The city lights were far away. The sky was cloudy.She held her phone in her hand. She looked at it for a long time.Then she dialed a number she had not used in years.It rang. Then someone answered.“Dr. Faiza Khalid speaking.”Meerab stayed quiet for a second. Then her lips parted.But what she said... no one knows.The days passed slowly.Meerab tried to make this small apartment feel like a home. She added fairy lights above the bed, hung a few scarves over the windows, and even placed a little plant on the windowsill—though she had no idea how to take care of it.She laughed when it bent sideways the first night.“Just like me,” she told it. “Too soft for this world.”One evening, after cooking her favorite spicy noodles and burning her tongue again, she sat near the wall that touched Apartment 103.The piano sound was back.Soft. Like someone pressing one key again and again. Not music. Just a note... repeating.She pressed her ear against the wall. The sound stopped. The silence was louder now.She slowly stepped back. Shook her head.“Nope. Not today, Shaitaan,” she whispered to herself and walked away.Later that night, her phone rang. Amaan.“Tell me something interesting, Meerab.”She smiled.“I made noodles and nearly died of a spice attack.”“That’s not new.”“Okay fine... I also spoke to my plant.”“Poor thing.”They both laughed.Then his voice became a little softer.“You know... I’ve been thinking. When I come back, let’s travel. Anywhere. Just you and me.”“Where?” she asked, her eyes lighting up.“Turkey? Morocco? Hunza? I just want to see you laugh near mountains. Maybe crash a local wedding.”Meerab closed her eyes, imagining it.For a second, she was there.Wearing a red scarf. Laughing in the snow. Holding his hand. Free.Then something inside her shifted.A noise.A mirror breaking.A scream.Someone calling her name.She opened her eyes quickly. She was still in her room.The call was still going.“Meerab? You there?”She swallowed and forced a smile.“I am. Just… lost in the wedding plans.”“Good. Because when I come back, I want my wife to be wild and ready for adventure.”“I’m already wild,” she teased.But her hand touched her forehead. There was sweat.That night she dreamt something strange.A broken piano. A girl sitting in front of it, crying. Her face was covered. Her hands were shaking. Someone behind her shouted. The girl flinched. Then turned.Meerab saw her face.It was hers.She woke up with a sharp breath.Looked around. Room 104. Curtains. Fan. Calm.She touched her wrist. It was shaking.She tried to pray. Her lips moved, but her thoughts were running too fast. She stood, washed her face, and stared at herself in the mirror.“Don’t go back,” she whispered to her reflection. “Please don’t go back.”Her reflection looked tired. But smiled anyway.In the morning, she texted Amaan.“Let’s go to Skardu when you return.”“Done! I’ll book the tickets. Wild wife style!”She smiled. She held the phone to her chest.For now, this was her reality. Her new life.But the wall beside her hummed faintly again. As if someone was playing just one broken key.Again and again.The weather was cloudy.Meerab sat near the window, wearing Amaan’s old hoodie, her hair tied in a loose bun. She held a mug of chai and stared at the street below. A little boy was racing behind a tire with a stick, laughing. His laughter reminded her of something.Or maybe someone.She didn’t know.Her phone rang. Amaan – Video Call.She smiled and quickly picked up.“Look at you,” he said. “My hoodie and that messy bun—straight out of a drama.”“I’m the full package,” she said, laughing. “Wife material plus depression core.”“Don't say that,” he said quietly.“I’m joking.”She changed the topic quickly.They talked about everything—his job, the annoying new guy at his office, how expensive tea had become, and how much he missed home.“You know what I miss most?”“Don’t say my chai. Be original.”“No,” he smiled. “I miss your laugh.”She smiled back, but her eyes turned away. Sometimes, even smiling felt heavy.Then something strange happened.While they talked, the sound came again.Soft.Piano. One key. Again and again.Meerab froze.“What is it?” Amaan asked. “You look pale.”“Can you hear that?”“Hear what?”She turned the camera toward the wall.The sound stopped.Dead silence.She turned it back. Forced a laugh. “Sorry. Maybe it’s just the neighbors.”“Meerab, are you hearing things again?”“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Seriously. I’m not crazy.”“I didn’t say that.”“But you thought it.”He went silent.After the call, she couldn’t sit still. She kept looking at the wall.Apartment 103.Still locked. Still silent. Still… watching her.That night, she walked into the hallway. Her feet made no sound on the cold floor. She stood in front of the door of 103. It looked like all the others—but it didn’t feel like them.She didn’t touch it.But when she turned to leave… she saw something strange.Right near her own door, on the floor— A small, folded piece of paper.Old. Yellowed. Like it had been under something for years.She picked it up slowly.There was one line inside.Written in soft, shaking handwriting.“She still cries at night.”No name. No address. Just that.Meerab stared at it. Her hand became cold.She crushed the paper and threw it in the bin. Then walked inside. Closed the door. Locked it twice.She called Amaan again before sleeping. Just to hear his voice.He talked about renting a Jeep in Skardu. About taking pictures. About wearing matching hoodies.She listened.Laughed.But all night, the sound was back.Not a song.Just one broken piano key. Again. And again. And again.The day was warm. Soft sunlight touched the buildings as Meerab stepped into a rickshaw. She wore a dull pink kurta, simple makeup, and a smile that looked real enough.She was visiting her Khala’s house — the only relative she still met sometimes.A family lunch. Nothing big. Just a few cousins, children, tea, and old talks.She didn’t want to go. But she had promised.When she reached, everyone greeted her kindly.“Meerab beta! Look at you, mashallah. You’ve gained weight!”She smiled. “Good food, good sleep. No stress.”Everyone laughed politely.The room was filled with warm smells—biryani, kheer, chai.Children ran around, screaming. Women discussed rishtas. An aunt asked if she was working somewhere now.Meerab gave soft answers. Careful words. Nothing too deep.“You’re looking good these days,” someone said gently. “You look... stable.”She nodded. Said nothing.Stable.As if she was once something else.She slipped away to the balcony with her tea. Her phone buzzed.Amaan.“Reporting from battlefield,” she said with a smile.“How’s it going?”“Too many aunties. Too many questions. But I’m surviving.”“I’m proud of you. Seriously. You’re doing great.”She looked down at the street. A boy was flying a kite. The sky was big. Open. Free.Her chest felt tight for no reason.Inside, her cousin showed her old pictures from school. “Look at this! Remember that class trip? You sang that horrible Bollywood song on the bus!”Meerab laughed. Genuinely.But when she saw her own face in the picture—bright, loud, laughing—it felt like a stranger.Who was this girl?Where did she go?Later that evening, her Khala hugged her before she left.“Meerab… if you ever need anything, ever… my door is always open.”Meerab smiled.“I know, Khala. Thank you.”But she didn’t believe it. Not fully. No one opens their doors without questions.She came back to her apartment late. The sky was dark now. Her kurta smelled like biryani and rose perfume.She unlocked the door. Walked in.Everything was where she left it.Except one thing.A small mirror was lying face-down on the floor near her bed.She didn’t remember putting it there.She picked it up. Turned it over slowly.On the back, written in tiny, light pencil:“I remember your voice.”She dropped it.The glass cracked at the corner.Her fingers began to shake.She sat on the edge of her bed.Her phone buzzed again.Amaan: “Home safe?”She typed:“Yes. All good. Just tired.”She looked at the cracked mirror again.And for a second—just one— she thought she saw herself, but not as she was.Someone sadder. Someone smaller.Someone she used to be.Meerab couldn’t sleep properly these days.Even when her eyes were closed, her mind stayed awake.The piano sound had stopped. But other things started.Sometimes the mirror shook lightly — just for a second. Sometimes, her phone screen turned on with no reason. Once, she found her cupboard half open. And one evening — her window, which she had locked — was wide open when she came back from the market.She kept telling herself: I’m imagining. I’m overthinking. It’s nothing.But her heart said something else.One afternoon, she went to her Khala’s house again.Khala welcomed her warmly, served her chai and warm parathas. Her home always smelled like cardamom and old books.They sat together in the lounge.Meerab looked nervous.“Khala... can I tell you something? But promise you won’t laugh?”“Of course, beta. Tell me.”Meerab held her cup tight.“I think something is wrong in that apartment. My flat. Room 104. The wall beside mine... I keep hearing things. The piano. A voice. Small notes. Someone opened my window when I wasn’t home. I even found a cracked mirror on the floor. It had writing on it.”Her voice shook a little.Khala looked at her for a few seconds.Then sighed softly.“Meerab... listen to me. You’ve been through a lot. Sometimes our mind brings fear from the past into the present. It’s normal. But nothing is there.”Meerab looked down.“Don’t go back into those thoughts. That place you came from... it took you a long time to leave it behind. Don’t open that door again.”Meerab whispered, “But what if it’s not my mind this time?”Khala gently placed her hand on hers.“Even if it’s not... beta, please don’t tell Amaan.”Meerab’s head rose.“He’s far away, Meerab. He’ll get worried again. You know how much it hurt him last time. Don’t bring those fears back. You’re doing so well. Don’t break everything again.”Meerab just nodded.But something inside her went quiet.That evening, on the way home, she didn’t take the rickshaw.She walked slowly. Through narrow streets, old shops, soft wind.She looked around and saw people laughing. Friends drinking chai. Women buying vegetables. Life moving normally.Why does mine feel paused? she thought.When she reached her apartment, she unlocked the door slowly.Everything was in its place.The lights. The curtains. The little plant.She smiled at the plant. “You’re still alive, good job.”She turned to close the door...And saw it.A small piano key. Just one. Sitting on the doormat outside her room.Meerab stared at it.It was old. Yellow. And tiny letters were carved into it."You left me there."She picked it up with shaking fingers.Her phone buzzed.Amaan: “I just saw a cute hotel in Hunza. I’m booking us two nights!”She stared at the screen.She didn’t reply.Instead, she closed the door. Locked it.Then she sat on the floor.Holding the piano key in her hand.Not crying. Not screaming.Just silent.Like someone waiting for something they didn’t understand.Meerab stared at the box.It had been lying in the corner of her bedroom since the day she moved in. Old. Brown. A little dusty.“Meerab’s Stuff — Don’t Open” Written in black marker. Her own handwriting.But today… she was tired of pretending.Tired of quiet. Tired of fear. Tired of not knowing what she had forgotten.She sat on the floor. Slowly pulled the box toward her.Her hands shook.The tape was still strong. Like it didn’t want to open.She pulled it off anyway.Click.The lid opened.Inside: random things. Old notebooks. One scarf. A broken music CD. A blue pen.And then… a photo.She picked it up.It was faded.Her. A man behind her. A girl sitting on a piano bench.All smiling.But her own face looked different. Younger. Brighter. Eyes full of something she didn’t have anymore.Her fingers froze.Suddenly, everything came back — just for a few seconds.A voice shouting. A door locking. A hand pulling her away. The piano falling. Crying. Screaming. Silence.She gasped and dropped the photo.She held her head.Her breathing became fast. Her chest felt tight.No. No. No. Stop. Not now.She closed the box quickly. Shoved it back into the corner.Her eyes were wet.But no tears came.Just then, her phone rang.Amaan.She wiped her face and picked up the call.“Meerab?”“Hmm?” she tried to sound normal.“Don’t be mad, but... I have to stay a few more days. There’s a work issue. Maybe 4 or 5 days more.”She didn’t reply for a moment.Then smiled lightly. “It’s okay.”“You sure?”“Yes. I’ll survive.”“You sound tired. Everything okay?”She looked at the photo on the floor.Then turned away.“I’m just sleepy. I’ll call you in the morning.”“Okay. I love you.”She forced a smile. “I love you too.”After the call, she sat on the bed.Silent.She didn’t touch the box again.But inside her, something had opened.Something that didn’t want to close anymore.The night was silent.Meerab lay in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.She hadn’t slept properly in days.The piano key still sat inside her drawer. She couldn’t throw it away. The photo was hidden under her pillow.She wanted to forget again.But her mind… didn’t want to listen anymore.Around 4 a.m., she finally closed her eyes.And the dream came.She was running.Barefoot. Dark road. Her white clothes soaked in red.Blood.Her own?She didn’t know.Her feet hurt. Her legs were shaking. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get away.Behind her — footsteps.Fast. Heavy.And a voice.A man’s voice.Calling her name.“Meerab...! Meerab, stop! Come back! You can’t leave!”She turned her head for one second— but she couldn’t see his face.Just a shadow.She ran faster. Her heart was racing. Her hands were bloody. Her scarf was gone. She was screaming— but no sound came out.Suddenly, a door.She reached for it, tried to open it—SLAM.Closed.She turned around— And he was there.So close.“Meerab!”She screamed.Ding-dong!Her eyes flew open.Her breath was heavy. Her body covered in sweat.Ding-dong!The bell again.She sat up, shaking.Looked around. Her room. The curtains. Her plant. Morning light was starting to come in.Another bell.Meerab stood slowly and opened the door.The milkman was there.“Baji, doodh.”She nodded silently, paid him, and closed the door again.She leaned against the wall.Her heart was still racing.Her lips were dry.She looked down at her hands.They were clean.But her mind... still saw blood.Meerab was sitting on the floor, near the window.The tea beside her had gone cold. Her eyes were tired. But her thoughts were loud.She hadn’t told anyone about the dream. Not even Khala. Not Amaan.She didn’t want to hear the same words again:"It’s just your mind, beta."She wasn’t sure if she believed it herself.She stood up to go drink some water.But something caught her eye.Right under the door — a folded piece of paper.Meerab froze.Her heart began to beat faster.Slowly, she picked it up.It was the same yellow paper… just like last time.She opened it.Only one sentence was written:"How long can someone escape?"Her hands became cold. She stepped back. The room started spinning a little.She ran out of her apartment into the hallway, holding her phone.Her fingers shook as she dialed.Amaan.He picked up after two rings.“Meerab? What’s wrong?”She was breathing heavily.“I got a note. Again. Under my door. It says… it says ‘How long can someone escape?’ Amaan, I’m scared. I don’t know what’s happening!”“Okay, okay. I’m here. Calm down. Take a deep breath.”She tried. But her voice was still shaking.“I’m not imagining this, Amaan. I swear. The piano key, the mirror, the notes— It’s not in my head!”“Okay, I believe you. Just... show me the note, Meerab. Show it to me. Let me see it.”Meerab nodded, still panicked.“I’ll go get it. It’s right there in the room.”She ran back into the apartment.Straight to the floor where she had dropped the letter.But it wasn’t there.The floor was clean.No paper.She checked the drawer — No piano key.She looked near the bed — No cracked mirror.She opened her cupboard, even checked the trash bin.Nothing.Everything was gone.As if it had never existed.She stood still in the middle of the room.Silent.Then slowly lifted her phone to her ear again.Amaan was still there.“Meerab? Did you find it?”Her voice came out weak. Almost like a whisper.“It’s gone.”“What do you mean?”“The letter. The mirror. The key. Amaan, they’re all... gone.”A long silence.Only her soft breathing. Only the sound of the fan spinning.Then Amaan spoke slowly.“Meerab… are you sure you saw it?”She didn’t reply.Because she didn’t know the answer anymore.The night felt heavier than usual.Meerab sat curled on the sofa, blanket around her, the lights dim. The apartment was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made your ears ache.She didn’t try to sleep.She didn’t try to think.She just stared at the empty space where the mirror had once fallen… where the piano key had once rested… where the note had once been.Now — nothing.Not even proof.Only the memory of fear.11:47 p.m.The clock ticked loudly.Meerab rubbed her eyes. Her phone was beside her, Amaan’s name last on the call list. She thought about calling again. Maybe hearing his voice would help.But then—Knock.Soft.Not loud. Not urgent. Just... gentle. Like someone didn’t want to wake others.Meerab froze.Her eyes moved slowly to the door.She didn’t get up.Knock. Again.Same sound. Same rhythm.Like a question waiting for an answer.She stood, bare feet touching the cold floor.She didn’t say anything.Didn’t ask who it was.Then—A voice.Soft. Dry. Too familiar.“Meerab...”Her name.Spoken like a memory.A whisper that scratched the walls.“Meerab... it’s time.”Her heart jumped.She stepped back.“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no...”Knock.“Open the door.”She shook her head. Covered her ears. Closed her eyes tight.The voice kept calling.“Meerab.”“You left me.”“You promised.”And then — darkness.Her knees gave up. Her body felt light.She fell.Her head hit the floor.And everything — the voice, the knocking, the fear —vanished.Light.Meerab slowly opened her eyes.Everything felt slow. Heavy. Her head throbbed. Her lips were dry.She was on the bed. A soft blanket covered her. The curtain moved gently in the breeze. She blinked a few times — confused.How did she get here?Then she heard it.A voice.Warm. Real.“Meerab?”She turned her head.And saw him.Amaan.Sitting right beside her.Eyes tired. Face full of worry.Her Amaan.She sat up suddenly.“Wh–what… how are you here?”He placed his hand on hers.“I came early. Wanted to surprise you.”She stared at him.Still half in disbelief.“But... how did you—?”“I found you on the floor. The door wasn’t locked. You were unconscious. I didn’t want to leave you alone, Meerab. You weren’t answering my calls.”Her mind flashed back.The knock. The voice. The fear.“You didn’t knock?” she whispered.He shook his head gently. “No.”Her eyes filled with tears.“So it was real...”He pulled her close. Held her gently.“Meerab,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m here now. Whatever it is... we’ll face it together.”She didn’t respond.Because a part of her was breaking inside — And another part just wanted to disappear into his arms and never remember again.Later, she sat on the sofa while Amaan made tea in the kitchen.The apartment felt different with him in it. Less lonely. Less haunted.But as she stared at the floor near the door, she thought to herself:If Amaan didn’t knock…Then who did?“Pass me that cup, Captain Chai Expert,” Meerab said with a grin, as she sat cross-legged on the floor.Amaan handed her the tea, smiling. “You always call me that when you’re trying to avoid something.”“Excuse me, I’m enjoying a beautiful, normal morning with my extremely average husband,” she joked, sipping her tea dramatically.He gave a quiet chuckle. “You fainted last night.”“Drama. I was just testing your emergency handling skills.”“You passed out on the floor.”Meerab widened her eyes. “Don’t be so negative, Amaan. Focus on the positives. The milkman didn’t step on me.”She moved around the apartment like nothing had happened.Wiped windows. Talked to her plant. Turned on loud music and danced a little in the kitchen.Laughed too much. Talked too fast.She was trying so hard to be normal — it almost looked real.Almost.Amaan didn’t say much.He watched her quietly. Let her speak. Let her joke.He didn’t ask questions.But his eyes… they were full of questions he wasn’t speaking out loud.After lunch, Meerab stood near the mirror brushing her hair.He leaned against the wall nearby.“You don’t have to act happy, Meerab,” he said gently.She looked at him through the mirror.“Why not? You’re finally here. I’ve waited for months. I’m supposed to be glowing.”“But you’re shivering.”She stopped brushing. Just for a second. Then smiled again.“Maybe the fan’s too high.”That evening, he read a book in the lounge while Meerab folded laundry.The quiet between them was soft. Not heavy. Just… honest.No questions.No pressure.Just space to breathe.When Amaan went to take a nap, Meerab went to her drawer to put away some clothes.And then she saw it.A photo.Old. Folded.The same one. The one from the box. Her. The piano. A child. A man in the background.She stared at it.It was not there yesterday.She touched it.Held it tight.Didn’t say a word.She simply folded it again.And slid it under her pillow.Then walked out of the room.Smiling.The building was quiet that afternoon.Meerab stood near her balcony, watching the sunlight fall through the net curtain. Amaan was out to buy groceries. The flat was silent.Until she heard it.A sound.Not loud. Not clear.Just a soft voice. Faint. Gentle. Echoing from above.“Meerab…”She turned sharply.The voice came again.“Come up. Just once.”Her heart skipped a beat.She slowly stepped out of her apartment. Looked up the stairs.Nobody.Only still air. And the old rusted railing.She climbed one step. Then another.The hallway above was darker. The light bulb flickered.She moved slowly, her breath uneven.“Meerab… do you remember?”The voice again.Her head felt heavy.She clutched the railing tighter.Then suddenly— Her foot slipped.The world turned sideways.Her body twisted.And she fell.Down the stairs.Hard.Fast.Then— Black.Silence.Nothingness.Then...A soft beep.A white ceiling.And the faint smell of antiseptic.Meerab opened her eyes slowly.Her head ached. Her body felt like it had been hit by a truck.She blinked.Where was she?A hospital.She tried to move, but her arm was in a sling.A nurse walked by and noticed her awake.“Thank God. You’re conscious.”Meerab tried to speak. Her voice was dry.“W-what… happened?”“You had a fall. Staircase injury. You’re lucky. You’ve been here two nights.”Meerab blinked slowly.The nurse smiled softly. “There’s someone here to see you.”And then— A man stepped in.Tall. Silent.Familiar face.His eyes locked on hers.Not Amaan.Not a stranger.Someone else.Someone from the past.The hospital room was quiet.Meerab lay still, her arm bandaged, the machines beeping softly around her. Amaan had gone home to rest, promising to return early.The nurse had dimmed the lights.It was just past 2 a.m.Outside, the hallway was silent. Only a ceiling fan hummed.Meerab closed her eyes, trying to sleep.But something didn’t feel right.She felt… watched.Then she heard it.A soft creak.Like footsteps on the tiled floor.Her eyes flew open.The lights were still dim. The room looked the same.But she wasn’t alone.A figure stood beside her bed.Silent. Still. Holding a pillow.She couldn’t see the face. Just a shadow. A blurred body.Her heart jumped.Before she could scream— The pillow pressed down on her face.She struggled. Kicked the blanket.Her breath was trapped. Her eyes wide.Tears rolled down her temples as she reached blindly— Her hand touched the bedside glass.She grabbed it. Slammed it backward.Crash!Glass shattered.The pillow lifted slightly as she gasped for air.She swung her bleeding hand forward in panic.Then—Light flooded the room.The door slammed open.Amaan stood there.“Meerab?!”She sat up, crying, blood dripping from her hand.He rushed to her, held her arms.But there was no one else in the room.No shadow. No pillow out of place. No signs of anyone.Just a broken glass. And Meerab — shaking, bleeding, and whispering:“He was here. I swear, Amaan… he was here.”Amaan looked around. Confused. Breathing fast.Then he turned to her.“I believe you.”The hospital room was filled with quiet murmurs and the soft scent of medicines. Meerab sat near the edge of the bed, arm wrapped in white bandage, her eyes staring at nothing.Amaan finished signing the discharge papers.“Let’s go home,” he said with a soft smile. “I made biryani.”She looked at him. Her lips curved slightly, but her eyes remained tired.She didn’t say yes. She just stood up slowly.And walked beside him.The ride home was calm. The streets were half empty, the sun warm on the glass.Meerab kept her forehead near the window.Amaan played soft music on low volume.Not a word was spoken.When they reached the apartment, everything looked the same.Clean. Quiet. Normal.Almost too normal.Amaan opened the door, stepped in first, checked everything once without saying anything.Then turned to her. “Safe,” he said playfully.Meerab gave a tiny nod and entered.He had laid out fresh bedsheets. Lit a candle in the corner. A small bowl of roses sat near the window.“Look,” he said, pointing at the plant on the table. “Still alive. It waited for you.”She sat quietly on the sofa.He brought her tea, sat across from her.“Meerab…”She didn’t look up.“I’m not saying what you felt didn’t happen. But maybe... your mind is just tired. You’ve been through so much. When the brain is tired, even shadows can look like people.”Still, she didn’t reply.“Sometimes fear returns dressed as truth.”She finally looked up.“I didn’t imagine the pillow, Amaan.”Her voice was soft, but steady.He paused. Then nodded.“Okay.”But she saw it in his eyes.That quiet thought:He doesn’t believe me.And somehow, that hurt more than the pillow.That night, Amaan made dinner and played an old movie on his laptop.Meerab sat beside him, laughing at one or two silly scenes, saying small things here and there.But inside?She wasn’t laughing.Inside… she was watching the door.Because deep in her heart, she knew—Shadows don’t wait forever.Meerab came out of her room, still sleepy-eyed, still quiet.But something was different.The living room looked brighter. The curtains were changed. The lights near the bookshelf had a soft golden glow. And Amaan was standing on a stool, adjusting a fairy light across the wall.She blinked. “What’s going on?”Amaan smiled down at her.“Operation: Fresh Vibes.”She raised an eyebrow. “What?”“Just changing the energy in here. New lights, fresh curtains, fake plants — very aesthetic. Instagram would approve.”She walked over, still half-surprised.“Why suddenly?”“For you.”He jumped off the stool and pointed around the room.“This place needed light. You need light. I need tea. Everyone wins.”Meerab sat on the sofa, watching him fix the cushions.She gave a small smile.“You’re being extra today.”“Well,” he said, sitting across from her, “my sisters have been calling nonstop. Apparently, they miss you more than me.”She laughed softly. “That’s fair. I was always the nicer one.”“You broke Zara’s bracelet once.”“She stole my chips.”“That’s true.”They both laughed quietly.The kind of laugh that feels like home.Amaan looked around the room and then at her.“You know... sometimes I think we forget how lucky we are.”Meerab looked at him.“We’re messed up. We’re tired. We overthink. But still... we’re here. Together.”She nodded.“Sometimes I don’t say it, but I’m really glad you exist, Meerab.”She looked down. A small smile crept across her lips.“I’m glad you exist too, Captain Chai Expert.”They sat for a long while — no stress, no fear.Just soft jokes, gentle tea, and golden lights glowing quietly in the background.The apartment felt safe.Meerab leaned back against the cushions.For the first time in days… she felt okay.The apartment smelled of biryani and cardamom.Meerab was setting the table, her sleeves rolled up, placing glasses in perfect lines. Amaan stood near the stove, tasting curry and pretending to be a food critic.“Too much salt,” he joked.She rolled her eyes. “You put the salt.”“Exactly. I’m the problem.”They both laughed.It was a soft evening.Peaceful.Normal.They were expecting Amaan’s old friend from university — just a casual dinner. Light talk. Good food. A break from heavy days.“I’ll go downstairs and receive him,” Amaan said, putting on his sandals.“Okay,” Meerab smiled. “Don’t take a year.”“Don’t cut your finger again while cutting lemon.”She threw a dishcloth at him.He caught it, grinning — and left.Six minutes.That’s how long he was gone.Six minutes.When he returned — the door was unlocked.He entered, still laughing with his friend, saying,“You’ll love the chai she makes—”Then he saw her.On the floor.Blood everywhere.Her hand — bleeding, limp.Her eyes — open, but fading.The glass she used — broken beside her.Time stopped.The world froze.The friend screamed. Amaan dropped the bag in his hand. Fell to his knees.“Meerab!”His voice broke.He grabbed her. Held her. Shouted for help.His hands, now covered in blood, shook uncontrollably.“Meerab! No — no, no, not like this—”He never knew his heart could break like this.He had known pain. He had known fear.But this?This was something else.This was the end of his breath.In that moment, all the laughter from minutes ago… All the memories… All the tea, the jokes, the fairy lights…Meant nothing.Because the only person who made them feel like home —Was bleeding in his arms.The hospital room was full of quiet beeping.Meerab lay still. Pale. Weak. Lost between life and death.Her hand was wrapped in white bandage. Her face was soft — too soft — like all the pain had gone somewhere deep.Machines tried to keep her alive.Amaan sat beside her.His eyes red. His hands still shaking. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t slept.He just sat there. Watching her. Begging in silence.“Please stay.”His mind went back.To years ago.To a day in America. To a simple bookstore near his college campus.It was raining that day.He went inside for shelter.The store smelled like old paper and warm coffee.She was there. Sitting on the floor between two shelves. Wearing a long black coat, a notebook in her lap, a soft smile on her face.Her hair was a little messy. Her shoes were wet. But she looked… calm.Happy in her own small world.He had dropped a book by mistake.It landed near her.She picked it up and handed it to him.“You don’t look like a poetry person,” she said.He laughed. “And you look like you own this whole aisle.”“Maybe I do.”They smiled.That was it.That was how it started.They didn’t fall in love that day.They didn’t plan anything big.They just started talking.Then walking. Then sharing food, then sharing fears.She had told him little things. That she liked rain but hated thunder. That she loved music but never played it anymore. That sometimes she woke up crying without knowing why.And he had just listened.He had never tried to fix her.He just stayed.Now, sitting beside her hospital bed, Amaan held her cold hand.“You found me in the rain,” he whispered. “Now let me bring you back.”He wiped a tear from her cheek.“You’re not alone, Meerab. Not anymore.”The beeping of machines felt slower now.Meerab opened her eyes again — this time for real.The ceiling was white. The smell of medicine returned. She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to the soft light.Her hand moved.And someone noticed.“Meerab?” It was Amaan. Sitting right beside her, head low, face tired — but smiling now.He stood up quickly and held her hand.“You’re back,” he whispered. “You really came back.”She didn’t speak. Her throat was dry. But her eyes filled with tears.A few hours later, the room was filled with warm faces.Amaan’s mother hugged her gently, tears falling but her voice soft.“You gave us a big scare, beta. Never again, okay?”His father stood near the corner, clearing his throat often, quietly saying,“We’re just glad you’re here.”The sisters came in like sunshine.Zahra, Asra, Shahnoor, Azka, and Tooba — all carrying little gifts and snacks, talking over each other, and refusing to let her lift even a finger.“You’re our queen now,” Azka said. “No more dishwashing,” Shahnoor added. “Or lemon cutting,” Zahra winked.Meerab smiled weakly but fully.For the first time in days… this smile didn’t feel fake.By evening, the doctor allowed a few visitors to stay.Amaan stood near her bed, checking his watch.“I’ll drop them to the hotel. They’re all tired.”He looked at Zahra and said,“You’re staying, okay? No arguments. She needs someone fun around.”Zahra sat up straight.“Captain Zahra reporting for duty.”Amaan leaned toward Meerab, tucking her blanket gently.“I’ll be back in an hour. Zahra’s got snacks and bad jokes. You’re safe.”She nodded, eyes soft.“Thank you.”When he left with the family, Zahra took out a packet of chips and said:“Okay. Let’s talk. First: why are hospital beds so uncomfortable?”Meerab laughed quietly.The room, once cold and full of pain, now felt like a safe corner of the world again.She looked at Zahra munching chips and joking nonstop — and whispered to herself:Maybe the world isn’t so dark after all. Maybe, just maybe... this is what it means to live again.The hospital room was quiet.Zahra sat cross-legged on the sofa with a juice box in her hand, watching a cooking show with the volume low.Meerab lay on the bed, half-sitting, smiling softly.They weren’t talking much.But the silence wasn’t heavy. It felt like comfort.After a while, Zahra looked at her.“You don’t have to tell me everything. But… are you okay, really?”Meerab was quiet for a moment.Then she said softly,“I don’t remember everything. Just small pieces. Like shadows in the corner.”Zahra nodded. “That’s okay.”Meerab looked down at her hands.“Sometimes I feel like something inside me is broken. Like I’m here, but not fully here.”Zahra placed her juice on the side table.Then gently held Meerab’s hand.“I don’t think you’re broken,” she said. “I think you’ve just been carrying too much. For too long.”Meerab blinked. A tear escaped her eye.Zahra smiled.“And you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”They sat quietly.Meerab rested her head back. Zahra started braiding her hair softly, humming an old Urdu lullaby.The lights were dim. The air was calm.For a while… there was peace.Then the door opened gently.It was Amaan.He stepped in, holding a small paper bag.“I brought soup. And Zahra’s chocolate biscuits.”Zahra stood and smiled.“Perfect timing. We were getting too emotional.”Meerab wiped her eye quickly and smiled too — but said nothing.Amaan noticed.He didn’t ask.He just placed the bag on the table and sat beside them.No questions.Just quiet presence.The room filled with the warm smell of soup.No one said much.But inside all three hearts, something had changed.The fear wasn’t gone.But the darkness had softened.And for the first time in a long time,Meerab didn’t feel alone.It was a quiet evening in the hospital.Zahra sat beside Meerab, telling funny stories. Meerab smiled and laughed a little. Her face looked tired, but calm.Suddenly, Zahra’s phone rang.She looked at it.“It’s Baba. He’s downstairs. He came to take me back to the hotel.”Meerab nodded slowly.“You should go. You didn’t sleep last night.”Zahra stood up and fixed her scarf.“Only for tonight. I’ll come early tomorrow, okay?”She walked closer and hugged Meerab gently.“Try to sleep. And don’t cry at night. I’m not here to tell you bad jokes.”Meerab smiled.“You’re the worst at jokes anyway.”Zahra laughed. “That’s true.”Amaan came into the room with a cup of tea.He saw Zahra getting ready.“Going now?”She nodded. “Baba’s downstairs. I’ll come after breakfast tomorrow.”He walked with her to the door and gave her the tea to take for their mother.Then he came back and sat near Meerab.The room felt quiet now.A little empty.Meerab looked outside the window.The night sky was dark, but there were a few stars.Amaan didn’t say anything. He just sat near her bed and looked at her.“You okay?” he asked softly.Meerab nodded.“Yes. Just… quiet.”He smiled.“It’s okay. Some nights are like that.”She turned her face toward the window again.And Amaan stayed there beside her.No talking. No noise. Just soft silence.The hospital hallway was quiet.Amaan stood outside the doctor’s room, waiting.The door opened.“You can come in,” the doctor said kindly.Amaan walked in and sat down.The doctor looked at a file, then at Amaan.“I wanted to talk to you about Meerab.”Amaan nodded. “Yes, please.”The doctor closed the file and spoke slowly.“She is doing much better. Her wounds are healing. She is eating and talking again.”Amaan smiled a little. “Yes… she’s even joking with my sisters.”The doctor nodded. But then said something that made Amaan stop.“That’s what I wanted to talk about.”The doctor leaned forward.“Her behavior is… very calm. Very normal.”Amaan looked confused. “Isn’t that good?”The doctor spoke softly.“It is… but it’s also strange. People who go through this… they don’t usually act this normal so fast.”Amaan’s smile faded.“So what does it mean?”The doctor shook his head.“It means… maybe there’s something deeper. Something we don’t know yet.”Amaan looked down at his hands.He felt cold inside.“But she’s okay, right?”The doctor nodded slowly.“She’s okay... on the outside. But inside? We can’t say.”Amaan stood up to leave.Before walking out, he turned back.“She says she doesn’t remember her past.”The doctor looked at him seriously.“Maybe she doesn’t want to.”Outside, Amaan walked slowly down the hallway.His heart felt heavy.Meerab was smiling. Talking. Eating.But now he wondered—Was she hiding something?And if yes...What was she hiding it from?The house was peaceful.Amaan brought two cups of tea and placed one in front of Meerab.She was sitting on the floor, wrapped in a soft shawl, her hair tied in a loose bun.The lights were dim. The windows open. A cool breeze touched the curtains.“Your tea smells different,” she said.Amaan sat beside her with a smile.“I added cinnamon. Master chef move.”She took a sip and made a face.“Cinnamon should stay in biryani.”They both laughed.After a while, their voices slowed.They looked around the house.It was small — but it was home.“You think we’ll stay here forever?” she asked softly.Amaan shook his head.“Maybe not. Maybe we’ll move to Turkey. Or Canada. Or some place with better weather.”“Or better tea,” Meerab added.They smiled.Amaan looked at her.“But honestly… I like this small house. It has peace.”Meerab nodded.“And fewer people to judge you.”They both got quiet for a moment.Then Meerab smiled.“Do you remember how we used to fight before marriage?”Amaan groaned.“Don’t remind me. You blocked me seven times.”“You said I was dramatic.”“You were!”“You said I talk too much.”“You do!”She threw a pillow at him. He caught it and laughed.“But you still married me.”Amaan looked at her kindly.“Yes. And I’d do it again.”They talked more about their old memories.How Amaan once burned toast on purpose just to make her talk to him again.How Meerab once ignored his calls for three days and then sent him a meme to break the silence.“You’re still the same,” he said.“No,” she whispered. “I’m softer now. Tired… but softer.”He didn’t reply.He just reached over and held her hand.The night passed slowly.No strange sounds.No shadows.Only two people sitting together, remembering the past, and gently building the future.The sky was light orange. Evening had arrived.Amaan and Meerab stepped out of the house for a small walk.The streets were quiet. A few children played near the park. A cat sat on a wall, blinking slowly.Meerab walked slowly, hands in her shawl. Amaan walked beside her — calm, relaxed.They didn’t talk much at first. The silence was easy. Gentle.When a car passed by, Amaan quietly moved to the side — putting himself between Meerab and the road.She noticed… but said nothing.When the wind got stronger, he gently pulled her shawl forward and fixed it near her shoulder.“It’s getting cold,” he said simply.She nodded.“Just a little.”They passed a shop.Amaan stopped and bought a juice box — her favorite kind.“Drink this,” he said. “Your face looks tired.”Meerab took it with a soft smile.“Are you always this bossy?”“Only with you.”They reached a small bench near the park.Amaan looked at her and said,“Sit. You walked enough for today.”She sat without arguing.He didn’t ask if her legs were hurting. He just knew they were.As they sat together, Meerab looked at the trees, the birds, the sky slowly turning dark.Amaan looked at her.But not too long.Just enough to see that she was okay.She spoke after a while.“You don’t say much. But you notice everything.”He smiled.“Old habit.”She turned to him.“You take care of me without making it heavy.”Amaan didn’t reply right away.Then he said:“Sometimes care is quiet. It doesn’t need noise.”They sat in silence again.But the silence was full.Full of safety. Full of warmth.That evening, Meerab didn’t feel like someone healing from pain.She felt like someone learning to live again.Step by step.With someone beside her who saw everything…Even when she said nothing.The morning was slow and quiet.Amaan was putting things into a small travel bag.“Just for one night,” he said. “I’ll go with Baba and drop everyone at the train station. They want me to help with the luggage.”Meerab stood near the kitchen, holding her cup.She didn’t say anything.But her eyes were heavy.Amaan looked up.“I’ll be back by evening. Promise.”Meerab placed the cup down.Then spoke softly.“Do you really have to go?”Amaan stopped moving.He looked at her face.She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t shaking. But she looked… scared.“I won’t be long,” he said gently. “You’ll be okay.”Meerab didn’t answer.She looked down. Her fingers curled at her sides.She wanted to say:What if it happens again? What if someone comes? What if you’re wrong… and I’m right?But she stayed quiet.Because even now…She felt like he didn’t believe her fears completely.Amaan stepped closer.“I know it’s hard. But you’re getting stronger. I see it. You’re safe here.”She nodded slowly. But inside, she didn’t feel safe.She felt like she was hiding inside a soft shell — but cracks were there. Waiting.Still, she smiled weakly.“Okay. Go. I’m fine.”Amaan looked at her again — long and careful.Then touched her shoulder gently.“I’ll come back early. Don’t open the door for anyone.”After he left, the house felt big again.The silence wasn’t soft anymore.It was loud.Like an empty room waiting for something.Meerab sat on the sofa.She looked at the door.He still doesn’t understand… How can he leave me alone when he knows what I’ve seen? What I’ve felt?But she also knew —He trusted the silence too much.And she trusted it too little.The clock ticked too loudly.Meerab sat alone on the sofa.The sunlight had faded. The shadows in the room had stretched long.She tried to read. She tried to hum a tune. She tried to be normal.But it was coming back.That feeling again.The one she had felt just before her hands bled. The one she had felt before fainting at night. The one she had never told anyone about — not fully.The walls of the house felt closer. The air colder.Then it started again.A small knock at the window.Then a creak of a door.Meerab stood up, eyes wide. “No,” she whispered. “Not again.”She walked backward, heart racing.A shadow moved in the hallway. Her breath caught in her throat.She turned — ran into the other room — locked the door.The voices came again.Muffled. Broken. “Meerab… you saw it… Meerab…”She covered her ears and sat down.But this time…Something was different.She wasn’t blank. She wasn’t lost.This time… she remembered.It hit her like lightning.A sound — a song.People laughing.Lights. Food. Music.She saw herself… at a party.Wearing a black dress. Holding a glass of juice.Her mother in a red sari, smiling with pride. Her father in a white shalwar kameez, cracking a joke. Her little sister — twelve, maybe thirteen — standing beside her, shy but happy. And… her uncle.Laughing with them. Standing too close.Meerab saw it all. In one moment — it all came back.She stood from the chair. Hands shaking. Eyes full.The voices in her head were still coming — but now she knew why.This wasn’t madness.This was memory.She remembered the end of the party.People had left.The music had stopped.Then…A fight.Two male voices in the other room.She walked toward the hallway.She saw her uncle and her father shouting. Arguing.Money.Property.And then — a shot.Loud. Sudden.Her father dropped.Blood on his white kurta.Her mother screamed. Ran to him.Another shot.Her mother fell beside him.Meerab’s eyes were full. She couldn’t breathe.She turned to her sister. Her sister turned to her.Then — another shot.The bullet missed.The sister screamed. Ran out of the house.Meerab tried to follow — but her legs gave out.A door slammed.Then heavy footsteps.Someone chasing.A voice. Her uncle’s voice.“Meerab… come out. You saw too much.”Then — black.Everything had gone dark in her memory.Until now.Now she stood in the room, in the present, her hands over her face, crying hard.But not shaking anymore.She turned to the hallway.She looked at the shadow there.Tears falling.Her voice broke… but it was loud.It was full.It was truth.She screamed—“Uncle!”“You… you killed my... my family!”“You killed my mother… my father… my sister!”“You—!”She cried harder.But she wasn’t afraid anymore.She wasn’t hiding anymore.She remembered.She had finally remembered.And now…She was ready to fight.:The door burst open.Amaan rushed inside.He found Meerab standing in the middle of the room — crying, shaking, but standing straight.Her eyes were wide. Her face wet with tears.“Meerab!” he ran to her, held her shoulders. “What happened?!”She didn’t answer.She looked at him — and fell into his arms, breathing fast.“I remember…” she whispered. “I remember everything…”They sat on the floor.The air was still heavy.But Meerab spoke. Her voice breaking. Her hands cold.“There was a party… a fight… and then shots.”“My father… my mother…”“He killed them… He killed all of them.”“And then… he came for my sister…”“I ran. I don’t know what happened after that. Everything went dark.”Her voice cracked again.Amaan held her tightly.“Meerab… I believe you.”She looked at him, surprised.“You… believe me now?”Amaan nodded slowly.Then he took a deep breath.“I need to tell you something.”He stood up and walked to the shelf.He pulled out a small black device — a camera recorder.Meerab stared.“After your fall… when you said you heard voices… saw shadows…”“I didn’t understand at first. But something felt wrong.”“The door was locked… but you were still hurt. You almost died.”“That’s when I set up these cameras. Secretly. I didn’t tell you. You asked me why I changed the lights…”“And I lied.”“I was watching.”Meerab couldn’t speak.Her heart raced.Amaan continued.“Then that second night — when you tried to take your life again… when you said someone was in the room…”“I checked the footage.”“And I saw him.”“Not your uncle’s face clearly… but his body, his voice. He came in with someone else. Someone dressed… like you.”“A fake. A trap.”“He came here with that woman… and tried to kill you, thinking you were alone again.”“But I was already waiting.”He pulled out his phone and showed her a video.Her uncle. Caught on camera. Fighting. Screaming.Then a flash — police lights.“He’s gone now,” Amaan said softly.“He’ll never come near you again.”Meerab sat still.Her body was shaking — not with fear.But with relief.Years of silence. Years of forgetting. Years of pain.And now, finally…Truth.Justice.“It wasn’t just your memory that saw the truth,” Amaan whispered. “The truth was watching too.”Meerab looked at him, eyes full of tears.She whispered, almost broken,“It… it wasn’t him.”Amaan frowned.“What?”Meerab spoke again.“The man I saw in the house… the shadow…”“He wasn’t my uncle.”Meerab sat on the sofa, still breathing heavily.Her tears were dry now.Her voice shaky, but clear.“It… it wasn’t him. The man I saw… it wasn’t my uncle.”Amaan looked at her with a calm smile.Then he sat down beside her and held her hand.“You’re right.”Meerab looked at him in surprise.“I knew it,” she whispered. “Something was different.”Amaan nodded.“Yes. Because this time… it wasn’t just a memory.”“This time, it was a trap. A safe one.”Meerab blinked.“A trap?”Amaan took a deep breath.“For so long, you were stuck between forgetting and remembering.”“You were scared, confused, broken — but you never fully remembered that night.”“So I talked to your doctor. We made a plan.”“This time, I wanted to bring your past in front of you — slowly, carefully.”“To help you face it.”“To help you come out of it.”Meerab stared at him.Her heart was beating fast again — but it didn’t hurt.“So… that man? The one who looked like…?”Amaan stood up and called gently,“Doctor Hadi, you can come now.”The door opened.A tall man stepped inside — clean-shaven, wearing a simple grey sweater.He smiled kindly.Meerab stood up in shock.“You?!”The man nodded.“Yes. I was your therapist during your recovery. And I was the man playing your uncle’s shadow.”“Not to scare you… but to help you finally remember.”“And you did.”Meerab stood there, silent for a second.Then she… smiled.A small, soft smile that slowly grew.“That was cruel… but it worked.”The doctor laughed.“I’ll take that as a thank you.”Amaan looked at her — finally at peace.“You did it, Meerab. You really came out of it.”They all laughed quietly.Not loud. Not loud at all.But it was real.And it had been missing for so long.Doctor Hadi picked up his bag.“My job here is done. Meerab is finally free.”He shook hands with Amaan and gave Meerab a small, respectful nod.“Take care. And remember — your story didn’t end in that night. It started after it.”He walked to the door.Amaan opened it and smiled.“Goodbye, Doctor. And thank you… for giving her back.”The door closed behind him.Meerab sat back down slowly.She looked at Amaan, eyes soft.“Did you really believe I could do it?”Amaan nodded.“Always.”The house was quiet again.Meerab sat on the edge of the bed, her hands resting in her lap.Her hair was tied back loosely. Her face was calm… but her eyes still held one question.Amaan stood near the window, looking outside. The moonlight touched the side of his face.Meerab finally spoke.“Amaan?”He turned softly.“Hmm?”She looked at him.Her voice wasn’t scared anymore. Just curious. Heavy, but steady.“Why didn’t he kill me back then?”“Why did he let me live for so long?”“If he killed everyone that night… why not me?”Amaan didn’t answer right away.He walked over, sat beside her, and sighed.Then he said slowly,“I didn’t want to tell you this part until you were ready.”“But you are.”He took her hand gently.“When your grandfather passed away… he left everything — the house, the land, the money — in your father’s name.”“And your father transferred it all to your name before he died.”Meerab’s brows furrowed.“But I was a child.”Amaan nodded.“Yes. You were seven years old.”“And legally… a child can’t use or control property. Not until they turn twenty-four.”Meerab stared at him.“Twenty-four…”Amaan looked at her deeply.“Yes. On your 24th birthday, the property became yours. Fully.”“Your uncle knew that.”“He didn’t kill you that night… because he needed you alive.”Meerab’s breath caught in her throat.She stood up slowly, like something inside her was burning.“He waited… all these years…”“He let me live… only so he could get my name signed off later?”“All those years… he was just waiting?”Amaan stood too.“He thought he’d scare you enough to stay silent. Maybe unstable. Maybe weak.”“He tried to take control without killing.”“But when he saw you slowly recovering… stronger… building a life… he got scared.”Meerab was shaking, not with fear — but anger.Her voice broke.“That’s why it started… that night.”“My 24th birthday.”“The voices… the letters… the knock on the door…”She looked at Amaan.“That was the trigger.”Amaan nodded slowly.“Yes. That was the moment you became the legal owner.”“And in his eyes… you became a threat.”Meerab sat back down.She stared at the floor. Her hands tight in her lap.“All this pain… all this silence…”“Because of land?”“Because of money?”Amaan sat beside her again.He didn’t say much.Only this:“Some people lose their soul chasing what’s not theirs.”They sat in silence.But it was a different silence now.Meerab didn’t feel confused anymore.She didn’t feel lost.She finally understood the timeline of her pain.And with that understanding…She began to heal.The morning sun filled the living room with golden light.Meerab was folding laundry on the sofa, humming a soft tune.Amaan walked in, holding two mugs of coffee and a white envelope in his hand.“Your coffee, madam.”She smiled.“And what’s that in your other hand?”Amaan sat beside her and handed her the envelope.“Open it and find out.”Meerab looked at him, curious.She opened the flap carefully.Two plane tickets slipped out.She read the words.Her eyes widened.“Hunza?!”Amaan grinned.“Yes. We’re going. Next week.”Meerab gasped.“You’re joking.”“Nope.”She stood up, still holding the tickets.“Amaan! You know I’ve always wanted to go!”He laughed.“I know. That’s why we’re going.”“Snow, mountains, fresh air. No noise. Just peace.”Meerab threw a cushion at him playfully.“This is crazy!”“This is perfect,” Amaan replied.They laughed for a while, sitting together on the floor.Meerab hugged the tickets to her chest.“I can’t believe this.”“You better. Because there’s more.”She raised an eyebrow.“What now?”Amaan smiled warmly.“After Hunza… we’re going home.”She looked confused.“Home?”He nodded.“Canada.”Meerab blinked.Amaan continued.“We’ve waited enough. Recovered enough. Maybe… we were always meant to live there.”“A fresh life. Our own space. Our peace.”Meerab smiled.A slow, glowing smile that reached her eyes.“You’re serious?”“Completely.”She didn’t cry.She didn’t question.She just leaned her head on his shoulder and said softly,“I think I’m ready now.”They spent the rest of the day laughing, planning.Googling Hunza hotels. Choosing jackets. Arguing over who would carry the camera.There were no shadows.No whispers.Only sunlight, travel dreams, and quiet smiles.The wedding lights danced across the garden.Laughter floated in the air, warm and full. A soft song played somewhere behind the flowers. Everyone was smiling, celebrating, living.Meerab stood quietly near the corner of the big white tent.Her eyes moved slowly — not with sadness, not with worry — just peace.She watched Zahra, dressed like a dream, walking with flowers in her hands, surrounded by joy.She watched Amaan, laughing with family, looking handsome as always, fixing his tie with that little frown he always made.And beside him…Shahmeer. Kashmala.Two children.Not born together. But raised in the same warmth, the same love.Shahmeer had come first — a fragile newborn left at the hospital gate. Amaan had held him before anyone else. He had cried. Meerab had cried too.One month later… Kashmala arrived.Their surprise.Their blessing.Meerab had laughed that day and said:"God didn’t send us one. He sent us both."And He did.She looked at the scene before her — her husband, her children, her sister-in-law, all dressed in soft gold and white.And she thought:This is what peace feels like. This is the part the stories never show. The calm after the storm. The light after years of shadows. How blessed I am… to have such a family.Just then—“mommy”“mommy, look!”Shahmeer ran toward her, holding a piece of cake in one hand and Kashmala’s hand in the other.Kashmala giggled.“He dropped the cake on granny shoes!”Meerab laughed.She bent down and pulled both of them into a hug.“I’m not saving either of you. Go say sorry before he eats all your candies!”The kids laughed and ran back into the crowd.Amaan walked up behind her, a soft smile on his face.“So? You cried yet?”Meerab looked up at him.“I’m saving my tears for the actual rukhsati.”He leaned in, quietly fixing her dupatta at the shoulder.“You look beautiful,” he said.“You too,” she said. “Especially with that tie half-fixed.”They both laughed.They stood there for a while, side by side.No rush. No noise.Only their home — their world — built slowly, honestly, together.Somewhere in the background, someone called for photos.The lights got brighter.Children’s laughter echoed again.Meerab turned to Amaan, her hand finding his like a quiet habit.“Let’s go,” she whispered.“Let’s go be happy.”
The End.
