27.

As the morning light poured into the kitchen, Anam tried her best to distract herself. The clattering of dishes, the rhythmic motion of chopping vegetables, and the familiar scent of freshly brewed chai filled the air. But despite all of it, she couldn't push away the painful memory of Feras' reaction last night. The sharp edge of his words, the coldness in his voice... it lingered like a shadow in her heart.

Her hands trembled slightly as she stirred the chai, the steam rising in soft curls. She'd hoped that time would ease the ache, that the bustle of the morning would allow her to forget. But as she went through the motions of preparing breakfast, every thought seemed to lead back to him, to his disapproving gaze, to the way he dismissed her beliefs as something strange.

Why does it hurt so much?

She wondered, as she set the chai cups onto the table. She had prayed for him, for his well-being, for understanding, yet all she got in return was rejection, indifference. It wasn't just his disregard for her faith; it was the sense that he didn't truly see her.

The kitchen door opened behind her, and she turned around quickly, hoping it wasn't Feras, but her heart skipped a beat when she saw it was him standing in the doorway. He was still in his formal clothes, his hair a little tousled as if he'd just woken up. His expression was unreadable, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

Anam lowered her gaze, unwilling to meet his eyes. She didn't know if she could bear to face him right now.

"I didn't hear you get up," Feras said, his voice quiet but still holding a certain coolness. He walked into the kitchen and stopped near the counter, eyeing the breakfast she had prepared.

"I've been up for a while," Anam replied softly, trying to keep her voice steady. She moved to the side, busying herself with tidying up a few stray items on the counter, avoiding any direct interaction.

A heavy silence filled the room, and Feras noticed her attempt to avoid him. His brow furrowed, a flicker of something... concern, maybe, or guilt... crossing his features. He watched her for a moment longer before stepping forward.

"Anam," he started, his voice gentler now, but still distant, "I didn't mean to upset you."

She looked up at him, but her gaze faltered, not wanting to let him see the hurt in her eyes. "It's fine," she murmured, her voice low. "I'm fine."

But Feras could hear the crack in her tone, the way she seemed to withdraw even further. He exhaled sharply, clearly struggling with his emotions. He stepped closer, this time putting a hand on her shoulder... light, but enough to make her freeze.

Feras stepped closer, his eyes scanning her face, as though searching for something hidden behind her silence. "You're still upset."

Anam shook her head quickly, not wanting him to see how much his words affected her. "I'm just tired."

Feras didn't respond immediately. He reached for the tea kettle, his hand brushing hers. The simple touch sent a ripple of warmth through her, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"Anam," he said, his voice softer now, "you're avoiding me."

She felt her heart flutter uncomfortably. Could he tell?

She didn't want to face him... not with the unresolved tension between them, not with the heavy weight of his earlier rejection still fresh in her mind.

"I'm not avoiding you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I need time."

Feras' jaw clenched, and she saw his frustration flicker in his eyes before he turned away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

.....

Feras left the house later than usual that morning. His movements were slower, his mind clouded with thoughts he couldn't shake. He hadn't touched the breakfast Anam had quietly prepared, though the sight of her in the kitchen, moving with that quiet grace, had lingered in his mind long after he walked out the door.

He had tried to feign indifference, the armor he had built around his heart firmly in place, but her words from Tahajjud refused to leave him. They played on a loop in his mind...

"Ye sab mere liye nahi hai," he had told himself as he gripped the steering wheel, driving through the city streets. But the truth gnawed at him. (This is not for me)

She was slowly breaking his walls... walls he had carefully constructed over years of hurt, betrayal, and disappointment. The cold fortress around his heart was cracking, and with each encounter, with each glimpse of her purity and devotion, the cracks widened.

Her words about faith and purpose, about life being a test and not just a pursuit of fleeting joys, echoed in the recesses of his mind.

He pulled into a quiet corner of the parking lot, his hands gripping the wheel as he leaned his head back against the seat.

"Why does she make me feel this way?" he whispered to the empty car, his voice strained.

It wasn't just what she said... it was how she said it. It was the way she looked at him, not with judgment, but with a hope that unnerved him. It was the way she carried herself, her gentleness a stark contrast to his own harsh edges.

As the morning wore on, he realized something he didn't want to admit: she wasn't just breaking through his walls... she was changing something within him. Something he had thought was too cold, too hardened to ever thaw.

Uska wajood noor ka ek dariya hai,

Meri rooh ke khushk sehra ko tar karta ja rha hai.

Dil ke andheron mein uska imaan roshan hai,

Wo har baat mein mujhe mere rab ka ehsaas dilati ja rhi hai.

(Her existence is a river of light,

Flowing through the barren desert of my soul, bringing it to life.

In the darkness of my heart, her faith shines bright,

With every word, she reminds me of my Lord's presence.)

He sat there in silence, the world around him bustling as the city came alive. But in his chest, there was a quiet storm brewing, one he couldn't ignore. And at the center of it was her... Anam, the woman who had come into his life not just to be his wife, but perhaps, to change him in ways he was only beginning to understand...

.....

The sun hung high in the sky, its warm rays casting a golden glow over the garden. The soft breeze rustled the trees, adding a refreshing chill to the air. Anam stood, holding the badminton racket with a determined smile on her face.

Ayan, Ayub, Pari, and Anam were all gathered outside, playing badminton, their laughter filling the air. For a few hours, she could forget the weight of the tension that had settled between her and Feras.

Ayan stood across from her, a playful grin on his face as he attempted to hit the shuttlecock back to her side. He swung the racket with enthusiasm, but Anam was quick to react, easily swatting the shuttlecock over his head.

"Come on, Ayan bhai! You're slacking!" Anam teased, her voice light with laughter.

Ayan chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm just giving you a head start, Anam! I don't want to embarrass you in front of everyone," he shot back, grinning mischievously.

Anam giggled, her competitive spirit ignited as she leaped forward, hitting the shuttlecock with perfect precision. It sailed effortlessly over the net, landing just inches away from Ayub, who was positioned at the side.

"Point for me!" Anam exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

The game continued with the group exchanging playful banter and laughter. Anam felt lighter than she had in days, her worries about Feras and the tension between them slipping away with each swing of the racket.

At one point, Ayan threw a teasing glance her way. "Alright, Anam, show me what you've got. I'm going to give you my best shot!"

Anam raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curling on her lips. "Bring it on, Ayan Bhai" she said, ready to face his challenge.

He tossed the shuttlecock into the air with a swift movement and swung his racket with all his might. But Anam was ready. With lightning-fast reflexes, she smacked it back so hard that it sent Ayan stumbling backward in surprise. The shuttlecock soared gracefully over the net and landed perfectly on the ground on Ayan's side.

"Ha! Not even close, bhai," Anam grinned, watching as he tried to catch his breath. "You really need to step up your game."

Ayan was laughing. "Acha, acha I give up. You're too good," he admitted with a dramatic sigh, raising his hands in mock surrender. (Okay, okay)

The group burst into laughter, the air filled with joy and lightheartedness.

As the game came to a natural pause, everyone gathered around, panting and laughing, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon.

The lively laughter that filled the garden suddenly quieted when Chachi's sharp voice cut through the air. She stood at the edge of the lawn, her dupatta pinned neatly over her shoulder, her expression venomous as she zeroed in on Anam. Her disapproving glare felt heavy, and the air seemed to shift with the weight of her presence.

"Wah, Anam," Chachi began, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "playing games like a carefree child, while this household faces the ruin you brought upon us." (Wow Anam)

The cheerful atmosphere dissolved instantly. Ayan stiffened, his usual goofy demeanor replaced with a protective stance, while Ayub frowned, her brows knitting together. Pari, standing slightly behind Chachi, looked visibly uncomfortable, casting Anam an apologetic glance.

Anam, caught off guard, lowered her gaze and began to rise to her feet, dusting her hands nervously. "Chachi, main toh bas..." she started to explain, but Chachi didn't let her finish. (I was just...)

"Bas kya?" Chachi snapped, stepping closer. "First, you destroy Seher's life, and now, look at you, flaunting yourself out here as if you've done no wrong." (Just what?)

Anam felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She wanted to defend herself, to tell Chachi that none of this was her fault, but the words stuck in her throat. She could feel tears prickling at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

"And look at you," Chachi continued, her voice laced with malice. Her eyes swept over Anam critically. "Do you think running around in the sun will help you? Maybe if you lost some weight, Feras might look at you the way a man should look at his wife."

The words struck Anam like a physical blow, her heart sinking in her chest. Her hands instinctively moved to her dupatta, adjusting it to cover herself more fully, as if that could shield her from the cruel words.

"That's enough, Chachi." Ayan's voice was firm, louder than anyone had heard him speak in a long time. He stepped in front of Anam, his usually cheerful expression now protective. "If you have something to say, say it to me. Stop taking out your frustrations on Anam."

Ayub, too, came to Anam's side, her expression just as fiery as Ayan's. "Chachi, you have no right to talk to Anam Api like that," she said, her voice trembling with emotion. "If anything, she's the only one who treats everyone with respect—even when they don't deserve it."

Chachi's face turned red with anger, but before she could respond, Pari stepped forward, her head bowed slightly. "Ammi, please," she said softly, her voice filled with quiet shame. "Bas kardein ab. Please just stop it." (Stop it please)

Chachi turned to Pari, her fury momentarily redirected. "You, too? Don't tell me you're siding with her now."

Pari didn't meet her mother's eyes. Instead, she looked at Anam, her gaze full of apology.

Anam tried to muster a small smile, but her lips trembled. "It's okay," she whispered, though it was far from okay. Her heart felt heavy, and she wished the ground would swallow her whole.

Chachi huffed, clearly outnumbered. "Fine," she spat, glaring at Anam one last time. "Play your silly games."

With that, she spun on her heel and stormed off, leaving behind an awkward silence. Anam stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the grass as if trying to disappear into it. Ayan gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't listen to her, Anam," he said softly.

Ayub nodded in agreement. "Chachi just wants someone to blame. Don't let her words get to you, Api."

Anam nodded silently, her heart still aching. Pari approached her hesitantly, her eyes full of regret. "I really am sorry," she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. "If I could stop her, I would."

Anam finally looked up, forcing a weak smile. "It's okay, Pari. I know it's not your fault."

.....

It was 11 PM, a time Feras was accustomed to being home. The house was quiet, the world outside wrapped in a soft, almost haunting silence. He had always been a late-night wanderer, driven by work, by the weight of his responsibilities. But tonight, it wasn't just the usual rush that kept him late. It was the remnants of his thoughts... of her words, of that unsettling feeling she had stirred within him.

As he opened the door, he expected the usual emptiness, the cold quiet of the house at this hour. What he hadn't expected was Anam. There she was, standing in the dim light of the hallway, her figure a silhouette against the soft glow of the lamp. She was waiting for him. He blinked, momentarily thrown off.

She greeted him with a soft, "Assalamu alaikum," her voice quiet but carrying the weight of something more. There was a smile on her lips, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Her gaze was steady, as if she had been waiting there for what felt like an eternity.

Feras stood there for a moment, his usual composure cracking for just an instant. He returned the greeting, his voice flat, betraying none of the thoughts that raced through his mind. "Wa alaikum assalam," he replied, his voice carrying the coldness he had perfected over the years.

There was a long pause. Neither of them moved, the silence thick with tension. The gap between them felt wider than ever, the space charged with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Feras shifted slightly, the unease in his chest almost palpable.

"Water," he said, his voice detached as he finally broke the silence. "Please."

Anam nodded silently, her movements calm but her face betraying the quiet storm within. She turned to walk toward the kitchen, but before she did, her eyes lingered on him for a moment, as if searching for something in his expression. Then, without another word, she walked away.

The awkwardness from their conversation during Tahajjud hung between them, a chasm neither of them knew how to bridge.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. It was as if no matter how much he tried to push her away, to dismiss her, she was slowly carving a space for herself in his life, in his heart. A part of him resented that, resented the vulnerability she brought out in him, but another part of him... another part wanted to know more, wanted to understand her more.

Anam returned, holding the glass of water in her hand. She offered it to him without a word, her eyes briefly meeting his, before she quickly looked away. He took the glass, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment... just a moment, but it felt like an eternity.

The brief touch, the quiet exchange, seemed to deepen the tension. She stepped back, her body language stiff as she waited for him to take the water. He did, his movements slow, deliberate, as if the silence between them could somehow be stretched longer.

Anam stood there, not sure what to say or how to fix the distance that had suddenly stretched between them.

As Feras took the water, he noticed her standing there, her eyes cast down, her hands folded in front of her. The silence lingered, heavy with everything they had both left unsaid.

"I'll go to bed now," Anam said softly, breaking the stillness between them. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Good night."

Feras didn't respond immediately. He stared at her for a long moment, his mind racing, but his face remained unreadable. Finally, he nodded, his voice as cold as ever. "Good night."

With that, she turned, her soft footsteps fading as she retreated.

Feras stood there for a long time after she had gone, the glass of water still in his hand.

.....

The night had stretched on, the house quiet, the tension thickening with every passing minute. Anam had decided to wait for him and to discuss and resolve the problem with him, but his cold and indifferent behaviour made her even sadder than usual, although she is used to him behaving like this, but this time she couldn't handle it.

Anam lay on the bed, unable to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill ever since their exchange at Tahajjud. She had been trying to keep it together... pretend like everything was fine... but the weight of it all had become too much. Chachi's taunting words, Seher's spiteful remarks, and then Feras' coldness after their heartfelt conversation... it all seemed to pile up, suffocating her.

Her sobs wracked her body, silent at first, but growing louder and harder to control. She had cried before, but this felt different. It was like the weight of everything that had been left unsaid was now crashing down on her all at once.

Feras entered their room, his footsteps almost too quiet on the floor, but he immediately stopped in his tracks when he saw her. She was lying on the bed, curled up in a ball, her shoulders shaking with each sob. The sight struck him like a physical blow, something deep in his chest tightening painfully. His first instinct was to rush to her, to ask what was wrong, but a flash of anger surged through him as well. Who had hurt her? Seher? Chachi? His mind raced as he moved closer to her.

"Anam," he called out, his voice filled with worry but also an edge of anger. "Kya hua? Kis ne tumhe rulaya hai?" His words were a bit harsh, but the anger was not directed at her...it was the worry for her that had manifested itself as frustration. (Who made you cry?)

She suddenly looked up at him, her bloodshot eyes wide with a mix of pain and fury. It took him off guard... the intensity in her gaze, the way her chest rose and fell with every sob. Her voice, trembling but louder than usual, broke through the tension in the room. "Mai apki waja se ro rhi hoon!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "Apne rulaya hai mujhe, Feras!" (I'm crying because of you. You're the one who made me cry.)

Feras stood frozen, the words hitting him like a punch. He had always been the one in control of the situation, always the one who always had a plan for every situatio, who had everything under control. But here she was, raw and vulnerable, though many things have happened, but he had never seen her this vulnerable.

Anam wiped at her eyes, her voice breaking as she continued. "Why are you so cold towards me? Ham husband and wife hain, we are supposed to understand each other... but apne mujhe samajhne ki koshish hi nahi ki, Feras!" She was crying now, almost like a child, and her words came in a rush, each one carrying the weight of everything she had been holding back. (Why are you so cold towards me? We are husband and wife, we are supposed to understand each other... but you don't even try to understand me, Feras!)

Feras didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth, but the words didn't come. He stood there, paralyzed for a moment, as he watched her break down in front of him. He had been cruel during their conversation at Tahajjud... he knew that. He had acted out of frustration, out of a lifetime of beliefs and teachings that were now being questioned by her words. He hadn't been prepared for the way she had affected him. And now, here she was, looking at him with those teary eyes, expecting him to understand, to make it right.

And in that moment, something inside him shifted. The hardness he had built around his heart, the walls he had so carefully constructed, started to crumble just a little more.

She looked at him through her tears, and pouted lips, almost demanding an answer, and it was then that something caught him off guard. He couldn't help but laugh. It was an unexpected sound, breaking through the tension like a crack of light in the dark.

Her eyes narrowed, a mix of surprise, confusion, and frustration on her face. "Why are you laughing?" she asked, her voice still shaky.

He shook his head, a small, almost affectionate smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "You... you're crying like a child, Anam. How can I not find that cute?" His tone was still laced with a bit of humor, but the tenderness in his eyes softened the words. He had meant it as an attempt to ease the tension, to bring a little lightness into the heavy atmosphere.

He called her cute.

Anam blinked, her frustration lingering for a moment before she let out a small, hiccup-like laugh despite herself. She wiped her face again, but this time, there was a flicker of something else in her eyes... something softer.

"You... you think this is cute?" she asked incredulously, still sniffling.

Feras' expression softened, and he stepped closer to her, his voice more serious now. "Anam..." he began, but then stopped. He didn't know how to explain it. How could he? Everything had changed so suddenly, and he was still trying to make sense of it all. He hadn't been prepared for her vulnerability, her openness, her pain. He wasn't used to seeing her like this, wasn't used to caring this much.

He sat beside her on the bed, his hand moving cautiously to rest on hers. "I... I wasn't prepared for this, " he said quietly. "For the way you make me question everything I've believed in. My whole life, I've been told certain things... And you made me... made me think about them in a way I never did before."

She looked at him with confusion, but there was understanding in her eyes now. "I don't want you to believe what I believe, Feras. I just want you to understand where I'm coming from. If you don't, then ask me. I'm here, always. You don't have to shut me out."

His chest tightened at her words, but this time. The way she spoke, the way she made him want to open up, it was all too much.

"Then... then I'll try to understand," he whispered, his hand tightening around hers.

She nodded, her eyes still red but the hurt was completely gone.

She wiped away the last of her tears, and though her heart was still heavy, there was a sense of peace that had settled over her. The pain of the past few hours, the taunts, the distance, was still fresh, but there was hope now... hope that things will start to get better between them.

Feras, however, remained the same. His cold demeanor hadn't completely melted away. He was still distant, still closed off in his own way, but she had seen a flicker of something else. A vulnerability. And that was enough for now.

Anam turned her head slightly, catching his gaze. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the silence between them comfortable yet filled with so many unspoken words. It wasn't the same coldness she had before. There was a warmth there now, a quiet acknowledgment that something had shifted.

"Feras," she whispered, her voice still a little shaky but gentle, "I don't need you to change everything overnight. We will start to understand each other slowly." Her eyes searched his, hoping he would understand.

Feras remained quiet for a long moment, his eyes meeting hers with a certain intensity that made her heart flutter. And then, for the first time in what felt like forever, he moved. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair that came out of her hijab, tugging it back inside, his touch tender, almost reverent.

"You are... something else, Anam," he muttered softly, his voice laced with a warmth that she hadn't expected. "I don't know why you make me feel like this, but I will try. I promise."

Anam's heart skipped a beat as she felt the sincerity in his words, though his tone remained as cool as ever.

She smiled, a soft, quiet smile that spoke volumes. "Jee." (Yes)

He leaned in, his face just inches from hers. Her breath hitched as he hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her lips. Then, without warning, his lips brushed gently against her forehead in a fleeting kiss. The touch was light, almost tentative, but it felt like an explosion inside her chest.

Feras pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with something she couldn't fully decipher. But there was a vulnerability there now, something that hadn't been present before. His breath was unsteady, his gaze intense, as if he, too, was struggling to process the weight of what had just happened.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room felt like it was suspended in time, the air thick with the unspoken connection that had formed between them in that brief touch. Another crack in the walls he had built around his heart.

Anam, still reeling from the unexpected intimacy of the moment, found herself leaning into him. She didn't say a word, but as she rested her head on his shoulder, a sense of peace settled over her. She had always loved him, through his distance and his walls. He might be cold, might be distant, but he was still hers... his heart, though still wrapped in armor, was slowly beginning to thaw, one moment at a time.

And that, in itself, was a beautiful start.

"Women are like flowers, they should be treated, gently, kindly, and with affection."

—Imam Ali as