For the next three days, Hadi became Maira’s anchor.
He helped her sit up when the pain got unbearable, adjusted her pillows every few hours, and never once let her skip her medication. He accompanied her to the doctor’s appointment, keeping a careful arm around her, not touching, but enough to hold her if she lost balance, or when she winced while walking. Her meals were always ready, her medicines administered on time, and her needs taken care of without her asking.
Their conversations were brief, often drifting into random topics, how Mumbai traffic made no sense, how she liked her tea with just a hint of cardamom, how he found Rubina’s obsession with cleaning endearing. But never once did they mention the nikaah. The silence around it was heavy, like a curtain they both pretended not to see. It lingered in the space between them, unspoken yet very much present.
Whenever his phone rang and Love calling... flashed on the screen, Maira knew it was her, Lubna. His wife. The first one. The one the world knows about. And every time, Hadi would excuse himself quietly, stepping out of the room to answer.
Maira had only caught the name once, in a casual glance, but it had burned itself into her memory. She never asked about her. Never complained. She didn’t feel she had the right. How could she, when she was the second wife in a nikaah neither of them had planned?
She watched Hadi in those days, and it only added to the ache in her heart. He was everything a woman could ask for gentle, caring, respectful. He never let his eyes linger on her unnecessarily, and wouldn’t stay in the room longer than required. His loyalty was carved in his every action, his every boundary. And that made it worse.
Maira couldn’t pin down what she was feeling, was it envy? Hurt? Sadness? Longing? She didn’t know. All she knew was that something inside her twisted painfully every time he left the room to speak to Lubna.
---
Rubina had shifted into the apartment by the second night, her suitcase tucked in a corner. She had told her manager, that she needed time off to care for her sick cousin, and her request had been granted immediately, testament to her sincerity and commitment. Maira and Rubina now shared the master bedroom, while Hadi stayed into the guest room.
On the fourth day, late afternoon light streamed lazily through the window as the aroma of masoor dal and rice filled the apartment. Rubina was in the kitchen, humming a naat softly, when Hadi's phone rang. He answered, and his expression shifted almost immediately. Creases formed on his forehead, his thumb rubbing his temple as he listened intently.
When the call ended, he stood still for a second, then quietly made his way to Maira’s room. He knocked gently, then pushed the door open.
Maira was sitting up, her back against the headboard, a soft shawl draped around her shoulders. She looked up, sensing something was wrong.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
Hadi didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pulled a chair near the window, sitting across from her. His eyes looked tired.
“I had to talk to you about something,” he began.
She nodded, watching him curiously.
“Lubna called. She thinks I’m in Bangalore, taking care of some business. She…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “She wants me home. Zohan’s getting crankier, and she’s finding it hard to manage alone.”
Maira nodded slowly. Zohan. Their son. She remembered Hadi mentioning Lubna worked as an interior designer. She could imagine the struggle.
“So…” Hadi continued, “I’ll have to go home. Before she starts getting suspicious. I’ve never stayed away for so long before.”
It was clear now. He wasn’t asking, he was telling her. Informing her. And it hurt more than she had expected.
“When are you leaving?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.
“Today evening,” he replied quickly.
That one sentence. It settled in her chest like a weight. He was leaving. And it wasn’t wrong, he had a family to go back to. But something inside her screamed. One call from his wife, and he was ready to leave everything. Her heart ached at the thought.
Will he ever love me like that? A fleeting thought she immediately buried. It felt wrong, misplaced. She had no right to expect that from him. None.
“I’ll talk to Rubina,” Hadi said. “She’ll stay with you. If you need anything, just call me, okay?”
She stayed silent.
“I hope you’re not mad at me. Please understand, I can’t stay here longer.” His voice was gentle, laced with guilt.
“It’s okay,” she said with a smile. It didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I understand. You should go. I’ll be fine here.”
Hadi gave her a long look, as if wanting to say something more, but then stood up and walked out. Maira sat motionless, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.
Why did it hurt so much?
He isn’t mine. He can’t stay. Then why did the thought of him leaving make her feel so utterly abandoned?
She pressed her palm tightly over her mouth, stifling a sob that forced its way up her throat. Her chest trembled with the weight of it.
In the living room, Hadi found Rubina washing dishes.
“I have to leave in the evening,” he said quietly.
Rubina looked up sharply, her face falling. She immediately thought of Maira, of how she’d take it.
But she nodded. “I understand. It had to happen at some point.”
He motioned her to sit down and lowered his voice. “There’s something you need to know. Maira, she has an abdominal internal injury, which had affected her uterus. The doctor prescribed medication, two times a day. But she doesn’t know how serious it is. She just thinks it’s a normal medication prescribed for her weakness.”
Rubina’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell her?”
“I didn’t want her to panic. Or feel more overwhelmed. But it’s important. Please make sure she doesn’t miss her medication. No matter what.”
Rubina felt a wave of sorrow wash over her. As if this girl, who had already suffered so much, still had more to endure. But she nodded firmly.
“I’ll take care of her. I promise.”
Relief passed through Hadi’s eyes. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without your help.”
Later that evening, as the sky turned dusky and the apartment was bathed in soft orange light, Hadi stood by the main door, ready to leave. His bags were packed, shoes on. Rubina had already said her goodbyes and disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the two of them alone.
Maira stood a few feet away, her expression guarded. She didn’t dare make eye contact. She knew she would cry if she did.
“Please take care,” Hadi whispered.
She gave him a quick nod.
Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope and a credit card. He held them out to her.
She looked at them in confusion. “What’s this?”
“This card has twenty lakh rupees for now,” he said, his voice steady. “It’s your haq meher, decided at the time of… nikaah. You can use it whenever you need. I’ll keep sending more so you won’t have any problems.”
Her lips parted slightly. She wanted to refuse. To tell him she didn’t want his money. That she wasn’t someone to be bought or pitied. But she didn’t have the strength to argue.
He gently placed the envelope and card into her hand, his touch light but deliberate. Erupting goosebumps across her body. Their eyes met, just for a second. Then he whispered, “Bye.”
And he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him, and Maira was left standing in the stillness, her fingers clutching the envelope, her heart aching in places she didn’t know existed.
---
Maira walked back to her room slowly, her steps heavy, her heart heavier. Her hand clutched the white envelope and the credit card he had left behind, symbols of a bond she couldn’t name, of a relationship hanging in ambiguity. Each step echoed with a strange finality. The scent of his cologne still lingered faintly in the corridor, teasing her senses and making it harder to hold herself together.
Rubina was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling through reels and news, trying to keep herself distracted. The moment she saw Maira walk in, her eyes flicked to her hands, those two items clearly not there before.
She straightened up slightly and asked, voice curious but gentle, "What is this?"
Maira stood at the foot of the bed for a second too long, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Her voice was flat, emotionless, too tired to feel anymore.
"He said it's... the card has twenty lakhs. It’s for me. My haq meher. And he said he’ll keep sending more if I need anything," she repeated mechanically, as though she was reciting a text someone else had memorized for her.
Then, without another word, she quietly lowered herself onto the bed. She moved like someone who didn’t want to disturb the silence that had settled into her chest. She curled onto her side, hugging her own body like it was the only form of comfort she had left. Her eyes fluttered shut, not from sleep but as a shield from the rawness that threatened to spill.
Rubina looked at her for a long moment, concern etching into her features.
Then she asked gently, "And... what’s inside the envelope?"
There was a long pause.
Still with her eyes shut, Maira murmured, "I don’t know... you can check." Her voice cracked just slightly at the end. She turned her back to Rubina, burying her face into the pillow, as if turning away could shield her from the questions, from the reality, from her own aching truth.
Rubina picked up the envelope with care, as if it were fragile.
She opened it slowly.
Inside was a bundle of crisp currency notes, neatly stacked. The paper still had the scent of newness, untainted. She began to count, fingers steady but heart heavy.
"Thirty thousand... in cash," she said out loud, almost to herself. Her voice had a note of surprise but also quiet admiration.
She looked back at Maira, her face softening. "He is so thoughtful, Maira. Keep this safe, and use it whenever you need to."
But Maira didn’t move. Her body remained still, her breathing calm but not peaceful. She had heard Rubina. Every word. But she didn't respond, didn’t turn. The words hung in the air like dust in sunlight, visible, present, but untouched.
She wanted to say I don’t want his money. She wanted to scream it, throw the card away, fling the envelope across the room. But she didn’t have the strength. Not today. Not when her heart felt like it was cracking open with every beat.
She knew she had no other option.
She wasn’t in a state to earn. She couldn’t feed herself. Her body was still healing. Her mind, not so much.
So, instead, she shut her eyes tighter, willing the ache to leave her bones. Willing her mind to stop replaying the way he said goodbye. The whisper of his voice still echoed in her ears “Please take care.”
She clenched her fists under the blanket, knuckles white.
It wasn’t the money that broke her. It was the kindness. The unshakable, unwavering, devastating kindness.
How could someone so tender, so thoughtful even exist, was she dreaming?
Tears slipped from the corner of her eyes, soaking into the pillow beneath her cheek. Silent, raw, involuntary.
She didn’t wipe them. Let them stay. Let them remind her that something inside her still felt.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but right now, she would grieve quietly.
Alone.
And beside her, Rubina placed the envelope carefully on the nightstand, glanced once more at Maira’s turned back, and said nothing.
Because sometimes silence was the kindest response to pain you didn’t yet know how to fix.
♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
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