40.

The soft light of dawn began to filter through the curtains as Feras stirred awake because of Azan, his internal clock tuned to the time for Fajr. He slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb Anam, and made his way to the bathroom. The sound of running water and the click of the door was the only disturbance in the quiet room.

After performing ablution, he returned to the room and began setting up his prayer mat. Just as he was about to begin, he noticed movement from the bed. Anam was fluttering her eyes open, her face groggy but curious. Her gaze landed on Feras, and as she realized he was about to pray, she sat up quickly, excitement lighting up her features. Without hesitation, she pushed the blanket aside.

"Me too!" she exclaimed and started to get out of bed in haste.

But her steps wavered, and she stumbled. Feras was there in an instant, catching her firmly before she could fall. His expression turned cold with concern as he steadied her. "How many times do I have to tell you to be careful, Anam?" he scolded, his voice low but stern.

She pouted, her lips curving into a small frown. "You promised," she said, her tone laced with childlike innocence. "You promised that when I got better, we'd pray together."

His hardened expression softened immediately, and his grip on her shoulders became more tender. Looking into her eyes, he nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. "Go do wuzu, but be careful. If you need help, call me. Understood?"

Anam rolled her eyes playfully and quipped, "You're being way too dramatic."

Feras raised an eyebrow at her defiance, his lips twitching into an almost-smile. "Dramatic?" he echoed, giving her a pointed look. "We'll see how dramatic it feels when you trip again."

She giggled softly and walked to the bathroom, her movements slower and more measured now. Feras sighed, shaking his head fondly as he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for her.

When she returned, her face fresh and her sleeves damp from wuzu, Feras pointed toward the wardrobe. "Your prayer chadar is in there," he said, his voice back to its usual calm.

Anam nodded and fetched her chadar, draping it neatly over herself. She joined him on the prayer mat, standing side by side. As they prayed together, the room filled with a serene silence, broken only by the soft whispers of their recitation.

After they finished, Anam remained seated on the mat, her eyes wandering. That's when her gaze fell on a small, beautifully bound booklet resting on a nearby shelf. Her eyes widened as she gasped, her voice bubbling with excitement. "Ziyarat-e-Ashura!" she exclaimed, reaching for it.

Feras, who had been rolling up his prayer mat, looked up and smiled faintly. "Yes, it's yours," he said simply.

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she looked between him and the booklet. "Mine?" she echoed, tilting her head.

He nodded. "You used to recite it every day," he explained, his tone gentle, as if coaxing her memory to resurface.

Her expression softened, and she picked up the booklet with reverence. Turning it over in her hands, she nodded slowly. "I... I don't remember, but it's cover feels familiar," she murmured before opening it and starting to read aloud.

Feras watched her silently, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions... love, pride, and a quiet hope. He remained seated by her side, letting her voice fill the room.

.....

Feras stood in his study, gathering his files and essentials for the day. His heart weighed heavier than the briefcase he carried... leaving Anam alone, even for a few hours, was not something he liked, but his secretary's urgent call left him no choice. Resolving to return as soon as possible, he headed downstairs.

Meanwhile, Anam wandered into the living room, her cheerful mood dimming as she spotted Chachi emerging from the kitchen. Chachi's cold gaze landed on her, a sneer curling her lips.

"Anam," Chachi said sharply, crossing her arms. "Since you're just wandering around, why don't you make chai for everyone? Do something useful for once."

Anam froze, her eyes widening in shock. Part of her wanted to argue, but the idea of causing unnecessary drama held her back. With a reluctant glare at Chachi, she walked toward the kitchen.

Inside, she found Ayan, leaning casually against the counter, munching on a biscuit. His face lit up at the sight of her.

"Anam! The queen herself has graced the kitchen," he teased dramatically, throwing his arms wide. "To what do I owe this rare honor in this unworthy place?"

Despite her mood, Anam giggled, shaking her head at his antics. "Chachi told me to make chai for everyone," she grumbled, her irritation evident.

Ayan frowned, sitting up straight. "Wait, she told you what? What does she think you are, her personal chef? You just got out of the hospital!"

Anam shrugged, a small pout forming on her lips. "I didn't want to start an argument," she admitted softly.

Ayan's expression turned mischievous, a glint of mischief sparking in his eyes. "You don't have to argue to make a point. Let's have some fun with this."

Anam tilted her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Instead of sugar, add salt to their chai. Trust me, it'll be hilarious."

Anam's jaw dropped in surprise before a sly smile spread across her face. "Ayan bhai! That's so mean!" she said, giggling.

"Just a little payback for all the nonsense they've put you through," he said with a wink.

Feeling a spark of rebellious joy, Anam set to work, carefully adding salt to the cups meant for Chachi and Seher. Ayan, satisfied with his contribution, slipped out of the kitchen, leaving her to finish the task.

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Anam prepared the chai as instructed, swapping the sugar with salt for Chachi and Seher's cups. They both exchanged conspiratorial grins before Ayan left, leaving her to serve the tea.

Moments later, Chachi and Seher each took a sip, their faces twisting in horror.

"What is this?!" Chachi shrieked, spitting the tea back into the cup. Seher followed suit, coughing dramatically.

"This is salt! Did you put salt in our chai?!" Seher bellowed, her voice high-pitched with rage. Both women stormed toward Anam, their expressions furious.

Anam's heart raced, but before they could reach her, the front door opened, and Feras walked in, exuding his usual commanding presence. Spotting the commotion, he raised an eyebrow.

Anam didn't waste a second. She darted across the room and hid behind Feras, clutching the back of his arm. "They're after me!" she squeaked, peeking out from behind him.

Chachi and Seher stopped in their tracks, their anger momentarily stifled by Feras' intimidating glare.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, his voice cold and firm, his sharp gaze moving between the two women.

"Your wife—" Chachi began, but Feras raised a hand to silence her.

"Whatever excuse you're about to give, save it," he snapped. "Anam just got out of the hospital, and instead of letting her rest, you're giving her orders like she's your servant? And now you're yelling at her? If anything, you should be ashamed of yourselves!"

Seher looked down in embarrassment, while Chachi glared at Feras, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Behind him, Anam couldn't resist. She stuck out her tongue at Chachi and Seher, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Ahmed and Salman entered the room, drawn by the commotion. Ahmed's deep voice cut through the tension. "What's happening here?"

"Nothing worth your time," Feras replied curtly, his tone final as he turned his attention back to Anam.

"Did you have breakfast?" he asked, his voice softening as he looked down at her.

Anam shook her head sheepishly. "Not yet," she admitted.

Feras sighed, his hand gently brushing her hair. "Let's fix that. Ao mere sath." (Come with me)

With that, he led her to the dining table, leaving a stunned Chachi and Seher in his wake. Ahmed and Salman exchanged knowing looks but said nothing, quietly taking their seats.

Anam glanced up at Feras, her heart swelling with affection.

.....

After breakfast, Feras stood up, smoothing out his kurta. He picked up his car keys from the table and looked at Anam, his tone gentle yet firm. "I'll be back by evening," he told Anam softly, noticing her gaze fixed on him.

Anam, sitting at the table and watching him with longing eyes, she hesitated, before suddenly reaching out and grabbing his wrist. He turned back, his brows furrowing slightly as he looked at her.

"Feras," she said, her voice small.

He looked down at her with a questioning expression. "Kya hua?" (What is it?)

"I... I want to come with you," she said softly, almost pleadingly.

Feras raised an eyebrow, surprised. "To the office?"

"Yes," she replied quickly, avoiding his eyes.

Feras tilted his head, studying her. "Anam, you need to stay home and rest—"

"I don't want to stay here alone," she interrupted, her voice cracking slightly. She glanced toward the living room, where Chachi was sitting. "Everyone else will either be at work or university. I don't want to be here with just... her."

Her words made sense, but Feras sensed there was more to it. He looked into her eyes, noticing the way they shimmered with unshed tears. She wasn't just scared of being alone... she didn't want to be apart from him.

He let out a soft sigh, his features softening. "Alright," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "Go grab your burkah. I'll wait in the car."

Anam's face lit up, a small smile gracing her lips as she nodded.

She hurried to her room, grabbed her burkah, and joined him outside.

In the car, the journey began in comfortable silence. Feras stole a glance at her and noticed something odd. Anam sat quietly, staring out the window, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly. His brows knit together in concern.

"Anam," he called softly, his voice cutting through the silence.

She didn't respond. He immediately pulled over to the side of the road and turned toward her. Gently, he cupped her face in his hands, tilting it so she had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice a mix of authority and tenderness.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she finally let out a sob. "I... I just miss them so much," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I've been trying to stay strong, but I can't stop thinking about my parents. I miss them every single day, and it hurts so much."

Feras' heart clenched. He wiped her tears with his thumbs, his gaze never leaving hers. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked gently.

"Mai apko tang nhi karna chahti thi," she said, her voice barely audible. (I didn't want to bother you)

"Anam," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You are never an inconvenience to me. Never."

He leaned back in his seat, thinking for a moment before making a decision. "Let's bring you somewhere, we'll go to work later," he said as he started the car again.

"Kider?" she asked, her voice tinged with confusion. (Where?)

"You'll see," he replied, his voice calm yet determined.

A short while later, the car came to a stop near the cemetery. Anam looked out the window, her breath catching in her throat as she realized where they were. Feras stepped out, walked over to her side, and opened the door. He held out his hand, helping her out of the car.

He led her through the rows of graves, his hand securely around hers, until they stopped in front of her parents' resting place. Anam's knees buckled as she fell to the ground, her hands trembling as they touched the cool stone.

"Ammi... Abbu..." she choked out, her tears flowing freely now. "Why did you leave so early? I miss you so much. I wish you were here. I wish I could talk to you, hug you, hear your voices again. I don't know how to live without you. I feel so lost without your guidance, without your love." She sobbed.

Feras knelt beside her, staying silent but keeping a steady hand on her shoulder. He didn't interrupt her grieving, knowing she needed this moment to let it out. His presence was steady, grounding her in a way that words never could.

After some time, he began reciting Surah Al-Fatiha softly, his deep voice carrying a soothing calmness. Anam joined in, her voice shaky. Together, they prayed for her parents.

When they finished, she turned to him, her tear-streaked face filled with sorrow but also gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice raw with emotion.

Feras nodded, his eyes soft as he looked at her. "Whenever you miss them, tell me. Don't keep it inside. We'll come here as often as you need."

She nodded leaning into him, resting her head on his shoulder as she wept softly. Feras wrapped an arm around her, holding her close, his heart heavy.

"You're not alone, Anam," he murmured. "Not now, not ever. I'm here."

.....

The car ride back from the university was filled with the usual banter and laughter. Pari, grinned as she poked fun at Ayan. "Only three days left, bhai! Are you ready to lose your freedom?" she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Ayan rolled his eyes dramatically. "Pari, please. If you keep this up, I might just run away," he quipped, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

"Good idea," Pari shot back. "That way, bhabhi-to-be will have the entire house to herself!"

The others burst into laughter, but Ayan's eyes flickered toward Ayub, who had been unusually quiet throughout the ride. She stared out the window, her face unreadable.

"Ayub," Ayan called, leaning slightly toward her, "What do you think? Should I run away or stay?"

She glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze to the window. "Do whatever you want, Ayan bhai," she said softly, her voice devoid of its usual liveliness.

Ayan frowned, his humor vanishing. He tried to engage her again, tossing out a light-hearted comment, but she ignored him. Pari noticed the tension and gave Ayan a subtle shrug, as if to say, Leave her alone for now.

When they arrived home, the group dispersed toward the dining area. Ayub paused at the stairs, looking around. "Where's Anam Api?" she asked one of the maids.

"She went with Feras sahab to his office," the maid replied.

Ayub nodded and turned to head upstairs. Pari called after her, "Ayub, aren't you coming to eat?"

"I'm not hungry," she replied without looking back. "I'll just go work on my assignments."

Ayan watched her retreating figure, concern clouding his face.

In her room, Ayub closed the door, her heart heavy. She spread out her praying mat and performed wudu before standing to pray Zohar. Her heart seeking solace as she bowed before her Creator.

When she finished her namaz, she remained seated on the mat, her hands raised in dua. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, "Ya Allah, please... take this love out of my heart. It's wrong. It's not meant for me. Make me strong enough to let go."

Her sobs filled the room, but as the moments passed, a strange calm began to settle over her. She wiped her tears, feeling a sense of relief, and resolved to focus on her studies.

Ayub sat at her desk, surrounded by books, when a soft knock at her door interrupted her. Before she could respond, Ayan stepped inside.

"Ayub," he said, his tone serious, "are you okay?"

She forced a smile, hiding her discomfort. "Yes, Ayan bhai. I'm fine."

He narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. "No, you're not. You've been so quiet these days. What's going on with you?"

Ayub's hands tightened around her pen. She looked away, avoiding his piercing gaze. "Nothing, bhai. I'm just busy."

Frustrated, Ayan moved closer. "Don't lie to me, Ayub," he said firmly, his voice laced with concern. "You've been acting strange, and I can't figure out why. Just talk to me."

Ayub's breath hitched when he placed a hand on her shoulder. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, but to her, it was a painful reminder of the barrier between them.

She stood abruptly, shrugging off his hand. Her voice trembled as she said, "Don't touch me. You're my na-mehram, Ayan bhai. Please don't forget that."

Her words struck him like a blow. Hurt flashed across his face, and for the first time, Ayan was at a loss for words. He stared at her for a moment before nodding stiffly. "Fine," he muttered, turning toward the door.

As he left, Ayub felt the tears return, this time uncontrollable. She clutched her chest, sinking to the floor as sobs wracked her body. The sound of the door closing behind him only deepened her pain.

.....

Ayan slumped into his chair, staring blankly at the wall of his room, his mind a storm of emotions. These past few days had been a whirlwind ever since his Abbu dropped the bombshell of his niqah. At first, he had brushed it off, joking and laughing, the way he always did. But now, the weight of it was beginning to sink in.

It wasn't the niqah itself that bothered him, though. What gnawed at his heart was Ayub.

She had changed.

Gone was the fiery, mischievous girl who was always by his side. They had been partners in crime, inseparable, each other's confidants in a house full of chaos. Ayub wasn't just his cousin; she was his closest friend. She knew his deepest secrets, his dreams, his fears, even the silly things like how he hated ginger in his food but ate it anyway because Abbu used to scold him otherwise.

But these days... she was distant. Quiet. She barely looked at him, let alone laughed at his jokes or joined him in their usual pranks.

Ayan frowned, running a hand through his hair. He had always thought of Ayub as his little sister. That's what she was to him, wasn't she? A sister.

So why did it hurt so much when she ignored him? Why did her silence feel like a void swallowing him whole?

His days felt incomplete without her by his side, egging him on to steal a bite of dessert before dinner or planning another ridiculous scheme to irritate Pari. Her absence felt like someone had taken all the colors from his world, leaving only gray.

And today... today had been the worst. Her reaction... her coldness... had cut him deeper than he cared to admit. He could still see the way she shook off his hand, her words echoing in his mind: "Don't touch me. You're my na-mehram."

Ayan clenched his jaw, the memory making his chest tighten. She had looked at him like he was a stranger. Not the Ayan she used to run to with every problem, not the one she teased endlessly.

His hands balled into fists as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. Why was she doing this? Why was she pushing him away when he needed her the most?

He couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear her ignorance, her coldness.

The thought of losing her... losing the bond they shared... gnawed at him. For the first time in his life, Ayan felt truly helpless. He didn't know how to fix this. All he knew was that Ayub mattered to him more than he could ever put into words.

She was everything to him.

He sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow, he would find a way to talk to her, to fix whatever had gone wrong between them. He couldn't let things stay like this.

He wouldn't.