12.

The atmosphere in the house was oppressive after Ahmed's announcement. Everyone was still processing the sudden shift in plans, and the tension was palpable. Anam tried to stay out of sight, keeping herself busy with chores in the kitchen, but her mind was far from the tasks at hand. Her hands trembled as she arranged plates, her thoughts consumed by Feras's cold words.

"I won't marry her."

The memory of his tone cut deeper than she wanted to admit. She had no expectations, no dreams of grandeur when it came to him. Yet hearing him so adamantly reject the idea had felt like a sharp blow to her already fragile heart.

Later that evening, as she carried a tray of tea into the drawing room, she found Feras standing by the window, his silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun. He seemed lost in thought, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his posture rigid. For a moment, she hesitated, unsure whether to disturb him.

But she had no choice. With a deep breath, she cleared her throat softly. "Feras bhai," she began, her voice trembling slightly as it always did around him. She set the tray down on the table. "Chai."

At the sound of her voice, he turned, his sharp eyes locking onto her. "Don't call me that," he said abruptly, his tone laced with irritation.

Anam froze, her eyes widening in surprise. "I—kya?" she stamered. (I... what?)

"You heard me," he said, his voice colder now. "If we're to be married, you can't keep calling me 'bhai.' It's... inappropriate."

The word hung in the air, heavy . Anam's cheeks burned, and she quickly lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her hands clutching the hem of her dupatta nervously.

Feras sighed, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to the window. "Forget it," he muttered. "I'm not in the mood to argue."

Anam stood there for a moment, unsure whether to stay or leave. She wanted to say something, anything to ease the tension between them, but the words refused to come. Finally, she managed to whisper, "I didn't ask for this, you know."

Feras turned to her again, his expression unredable. "Neither did I," he said flatly.

Her heart sank further, and she clenched her hands to stop them from shaking. "Then why did you say YES?" she dared to ask, her voice barely audible.

His gaze softened for a fleeting moment, but it was quickly replaced by a steely resolve. "Because Abbu made it clear that it was my mother's wish. It's my responsibility, to fulfill her last wish"

Responsibilities. The word hit her like a slap. That's all she was to him... a duty, a burden to be carried because it was expected of him.

"I see," she said quietly, her voice betraying none of the pain she felt. "Mai chalti hun phir." She turned to leave, but before she could take a step, his voice stopped her. (I'm going, then...)

"Anam."

She paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

"Tum itni tension mat lo," he said, his tone softer now, almost resigned. "jo bhi ho rha hai... iss sab mai tumhari koi galti nhi hai. It's just the way things are." (Don't overthink. Whatever is happening, it's not your fault)

She nodded, forcing a small smile. "I understand."

But she didn't. Not really. As she walked away, her heart felt heavier than ever, and her mind raced with unanswered questions. Was this how her life with Feras would be... cold, distant, and devoid of the warmth she had once dreamed of? She swallowed the lump in her throat, reminding herself of the prayer she had whispered countless times over the past few days.

Ya Allah, take his love out of my heart. Replace it with patience, with strength.

But as much as she tried, the pain lingered, refusing to let her go.

.....

It was a crisp morning, and the family was bustling to prepare for the day ahead. Anam, dressed in a simple yet elegant purple kurta and shalwar, with her dupatta draped neatly over her shoulder with purple hijab, finished preparing breakfast before heading to the door. Ayub and Ayaan were already waiting, ready to leave for the university. Pari and Aman lingered in the lounge, scrolling on their phones as they waited.

As Anam reached for her bag, Chachi's sharp voice stopped her in her tracks. "So, you're going to prance off to university while I'm left to do all the work again?" Chachi stood near the kitchen door, her gaze venomous.

Anam inhaled deeply, keeping her calm as she turned to face her aunt. "I already prepared breakfast and cleaned up, Chachi. Sab kuch finish hogaya hai." (Everything is finished)

Chachi sneered. "Finish hogaya hai? You think doing the bare minimum excuses you? You think that makes you better than anyone in this house?" She stepped closer, her voice rising. "I knew it. Just like your mother. Arrogant and selfish." (Everything is finished?)

The mention of her mother hit like a slap. Anam's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, her heart thudding as she tried to keep her composure. But Chachi wasn't finished.

"Look at you," she hissed. "Your parents didn't even raise you properly. That's why you're such a burden on this family. Always flaunting your piety and patience, but it's all a show, isn't it? Just like your mother's arrogance."

The words cut deeper than Anam could bear. Her cheeks flushed with anger, and before she could stop herself, she turned sharply to face Chachi.

"That's enough, Chachi," Anam said, her voice firm but shaking slightly. The room went still. Seher glanced up from her phone, and even Aman looked away from the screen, startled by the sudden change in Anam's tone.

"I've kept my patience for years," Anam continued, her voice steadying as she spoke. "I've swallowed every insult, every taunt you've thrown at me. But don't you dare bring my parents into this." Her eyes glistened, but she stood tall, her words ringing through the room. "They were good people. They raised me with values, with faith. And whatever is happening now is not my fault. I will not stand here and listen to you insult them."

For a moment, the silence was deafening. Chachi's face turned red with fury.

"Teri himmat kese hoyi larki?" she snapped, lifting her hand to strike Anam. (How dare you speak back to me?)

But the slap never came.

A strong hand caught Chachi's wrist mid-air, freezing the room. Feras had appeared, his tall frame towering over both women. His face was cold, his jaw clenched, and his sharp eyes burned with restrained fury.

"That's enough," Feras said, his voice low but commanding. He released Chachi's wrist with a firm push, stepping between her and Anam.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath. Aman and Pari ecxchanged glances, while Ayaan, who had been about to intervene, stopped in his tracks.

"Go to the university," Feras said, his gaze shifting briefly to Anam and all the cousins. His voice left no room for argument. "Now."

Ayaan nodded quickly, taking Ayub by the arm and gesturing for Anam to follow. Pari stood hesitantly but joined them, her expression unreadable. Aman lingered, glaring at Feras before muttering under his breath and heading toward the door.

Once they had left, Feras turned his attention back to Chachi.

"Stop this, Chachi," he said, his voice colder than Anam had ever heard it. "Enough of these taunts, enough of these accusations. Jo kuch bhi hua, uss mai Anam ki koi galti nhi thi. Apko pta hai." (Whatever has happened, it's not Anam's fault. And you know it.)

Chachi sputtered, still seething. "She has—"

"BAS!" Feras cut her off sharply, his tone silencing her immediately. He exhaled, his anger still evident but under control. "This family has been through enough already. Stop adding to the chaos."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Chachi standing there, her expression a mixture of humiliation and rage.

.....

As the car sped through the streets on their way to university, the atmosphere was anything but lighthearted. Ayan, as usual, was in the driver's seat, humming along to a Pakistani qawali on the radio. Anam and Ayub sat quietly in the back, their expressions still clouded by the morning's events. Pari sat beside Ayan, scrolling through her phone. Aman was sprawled out in the seat beside Anam, an irritating smirk playing on his lips.

"So," Aman began, breaking the uneasy silence, "our Anam baji finally found her voice, huh? Guess even the quiet ones have their limits."

Anam stiffened but said nothing, staring out of the window.

"Shut it, Aman," Ayan snapped, his tone light but with a warning edge. "Chup chap bethe rho." (Sit quietly)

"I'm just saying," Aman continued, clearly enjoying himself. "It's kind of amusing seeing her get all riled up. Not exactly the picture of haya we're all so used to."

Ayub's head snapped up, her eyes blazing. "She stood up for our parents! She had every right—"

"And I'm sure Ammi had her reasons too," Aman interrupted, leaning back lazily. "After all, where there's smoke, there's fire."

"Aman," Ayan said sharply, his cheerfulness evaporating. "Bas ab. Agar tum chup nhi rhe to tumhe abhi hi iss gari se bahir phenk dunga. And believe me, I won't regret it." (If you don't shut up, then I'm going to throw you out of the car, right now.)

Aman raised his hands in mock surrender, a sly grin still plastered on his face. "Fine, fine. No need to get your kurta in a twist, bhai."

Pari, who had been silent until now, glanced at Anam. "He's just trying to get a reaction out of you. Ignore him."

Anam forced a small smile but kept her gaze averted. Pari's words, while well-meaning, didn't do much to soothe the ache Aman's jabs had left. Even if she didn't care for his opinions, his words always carried an edge of malice that cut deeper than she cared to admit.

"Honestly, Aman," Ayan said, his tone lightening again, "I don't get why you feel the need to open your mouth every time. We all know nothing intelligent ever comes out."

Ayub stifled a laugh, and even Pari cracked a faint smile. Aman, on the other hand, scowled.

"Whatever, Ayan. At least I'm not the one playing driver for everyone."

"And yet here you are, in my car," Ayan shot back, grinning. "Keep talking, and I might just charge you for the ride."

The banter between the two brothers seemed to lift some of the tension in the car, but Anam stayed quiet. Her thoughts were still tangled in the morning's confrontation, in Chachi's harsh words, and in the way Feras had stepped in to defend her. The memory of his cold expression lingered in her mind, a mix of gratitude and unease twisting in her chest.

As they neared the university, Ayan glanced at Anam through the rearview mirror. "You okay back there?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Anam nodded quickly. "I'm fine, bhai" she murmured, though her voice lacked conviction.

Ayan didn't press her but gave her a reassuring smile before turning his attention back to the road.

As they pulled into the university parking lot, Aman was the first to hop out, already pulling out his phone and heading toward a group of his friends. Pari followed after a moment, giving Anam a small nod before walking away. Ayub and Ayan waited for Anam, the three of them walking together toward the main building.

"Don't let him get to you," Ayan said quietly as they walked. "He's all talk and no substance."

Anam gave a small smile. "I know. Thank you, Ayan bhai."

"Anytime, Annu," Ayan replied, his grin back in place. "You've got me and Ayub in your corner. Always."

Though Anam's heart still felt heavy, their kindness was a small comfort... a reminder that not everyone in her life sought to tear her down.

"We have those who will love us even if we cut them into pieces, and those who will hate us even if we feed them pure honey."

― Imam Ali as