Malik mansion

Maliha and Daniyal were sitting in the hall. Zayran wasn't home, Iqra was busy with breakfast, and Zubair was helping his wife in the kitchen. Zarian, meanwhile, was still in his room.

Suddenly, the soft mewling of a cat echoed through the house. At first, Maliha and Daniyal ignored it, but when it came again, louder this time, Daniyal turned to Maliha.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

Maliha nodded, her brows furrowing as she glanced toward the direction of the sound. "But how? Bhai is allergic to cats. That's why we never keep them in the house."

"Exactly. Let's check it out," Daniyal said, getting up. Maliha followed.

As they walked down the corridor, they paused at the corner startled at what they saw. A tiny white and brown kitten was drinking milk from a bowl.

"Aww, he's so cute," Maliha whispered, kneeling down instantly.

Daniyal's eyes shifted to the side, where a maid was crouched beside the kitten, gently helping him drink. "What's this kitten doing here? Don't you know Zarian bhai is allergic to cats?" he asked, confused.

The maid stood up quickly, slightly startled. "Zarian sahab brought him home last night. He said to take care of him."

Both Maliha and Daniyal exchanged stunned glances.

"Are you sure Bhai brought him?" Maliha asked in disbelief.

"Jee," the maid confirmed with a small nod.

Without a word, the siblings crouched beside the kitten, now fully enchanted by the little furball. Maliha stroked his soft fur and giggled. "You're such a cutie. Do you have a name, or should we give you one?"

"Brownie," came a deep voice from behind them.

They turned around to find Zarian standing there, calm and composed.

"Bhai... you brought him home?" they both asked in unison.

Zarian gave a small nod, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Yes. And his name is Brownie."

Soon, their parents joined them. Iqra looked at the kitten and then turned to her son, her tone a mix of confusion and concern.

"Why did you bring him home, Zarian? You know you're allergic to cats."

Zarian gave a soft sigh. "Someone requested me... a lot. I couldn't say no. That's why I brought him."

Iqra narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean 'you couldn't say no'? Zarian, your health is more important than anything else."

"Yes, Ammi, I know," Zarian replied gently, taking her hand in his. "That's why I went to the doctor, got my check-up done, started the prescribed medicines, and even installed HEPA filters all around the house."

Iqra looked around and yes, the new filters were in place. But even then, her heart wasn't ready to compromise on her son's health.

"But still, Zarian, your.." she began, but paused mid-sentence when she felt something warm rub against her foot. She looked down and saw Brownie, cuddling at her feet, looking up at her with innocent eyes.

"Look, Ammi," Zarian smiled, "he's trying to convince you too."

Iqra let out a reluctant chuckle and knelt down, scooping Brownie into her arms. The little kitten nuzzled into her chest, purring softly.

"Alright," she said, her voice melting. "You can stay... but don't get too close to him, hmm? We'll all cuddle you, but he won't. Got it?"

As if understanding, Brownie gave a tiny, approving meow and nestled deeper into her hold.

A little later, the family gathered at the breakfast table. Just then, Zayran walked in.

Daniyal smirked, sensing the perfect opportunity to tease. "Kya baat hai, Bhai? These days, your wife, I mean your best friend Faris bhai hardly visits the house. Is everything okay?"

Zayran shot him a glare. "Why? Do you have some business with Faris? Why are you so eager to meet him?"

"Oh, come on, Bhai," Daniyal grinned. "Don't be so possessive. I'm not going to snatch him from you."

Zayran stood behind his chair, slowly rolling up his sleeves. "Should I show you what real possessiveness looks like?"

Before things could escalate, their father Zubair cleared his throat.

"Daniyal. Zayran. Eat your breakfast quietly."

Both brothers sat down instantly, trying to stifle their laughter.

As breakfast ended, Zarian and Zayran grabbed their files, straightening their suits, ready to head for the office when the maid appeared at the hallway door, a hint of unease in her voice.

"Sir... Ibrahim Khan and Iqbal Khan have arrived. They're waiting in the drawing room."

Their footsteps paused mid-step. A quiet, unspoken tension filled the space.

Moments later, the family gathered. Warm greetings were exchanged, and everyone settled into their seats. Ibrahim Khan pulled out an envelope and extended it with a gentle smile.

"Samad and Ayeda's nikkah is scheduled for next week. You all must come. Your presence is important to us."

There was polite nodding. Forced smiles. Muted congratulations. Words spoken out of respect, not excitement.

Zarian stood there, his face unreadable, his body stiff like stone. The envelope now lay on the coffee table in front of him, untouched, unopened yet heavier than any burden he had carried.

After a few moments of conversation, the guests left, and so did Zarian but not with his usual pace or composure. He didn't drive fast. He just let the silence seep into every corner of his mind like a slow, dragging fog.

At the office, he sat in his chair... but not a single task made sense.

The conversations from the morning blurred in his head. Samad and Ayeda.

Ayeda.

Her name alone burned a hollow space in his chest.

His pen tapped against the desk, but he wasn't writing. His laptop screen glowed blankly. The world around him moved, but inside him... everything stood still.

He closed his eyes.

He had always known. Ayeda was never his. Not by promise, not by fate, not even by chance. And yet he loved her like she belonged to him.

And now, someone else would hold her hand. Someone else would be the reason behind her smile, her laughter, her duas whispered late at night.

The girl he once dreamed of building a life with... would now live that life with someone else.

And worst of all he had no right to be shattered.

He had no right to ask why.

But the heart... it never asks for permission before breaking.

He clenched his fists and leaned back in the chair, his jaw tight. The nikkah hadn't even happened yet, but it already felt like mourning.

Not because he lost her.

But because he never had her... and still, she took pieces of him with her.

Afterwards, Zarian somehow pulled himself through two meetings. He nodded where required, spoke when spoken to but his mind wasn't in the room, and his heart certainly wasn't.

By the end of it, he couldn't fake it anymore.

He politely excused himself and left the office, not for home, not for coffee, not even for a long aimless drive like he sometimes did. No, today, his heart craved something quieter, something that wouldn't ask him to explain the storm brewing inside him.

He drove to the only place where he felt truly seen without being judged. Where words weren't needed, where silence was sacred. A place where hearts poured out freely, and souls returned lighter, even if nothing had changed outwardly.

The mosque.

He entered with slow steps, the silence embracing him like an old friend. The cool marble beneath his feet, the faint scent of rosewater in the air, it all felt familiar. Safe.

He wasn't there to speak to anyone. He just needed to breathe.

He performed his ablution, offered Asr namaz with quiet devotion, and then remained seated, his forehead pressed against the prayer mat longer than usual, not in supplication, but in surrender.

His heart was heavy. But here, in the stillness of these sacred walls, he didn't have to pretend. He didn't have to explain his pain or silence it. He just let it exist.

And somehow... that made it easier to bear.

He leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, letting the quiet sink into his bones. For the first time in days, his soul loosened its grip on all that pain not because it was gone, but because here, it finally had permission to be felt.

He didn't want to leave.

Because out there, the world was moving on with invitations, celebrations, and names that weren't his.

But here?

Here, in this sacred corner, he was just a man. Broken, but still breathing.

A man in his early fifties, with a kind face framed by a white beard and dressed in a simple cream kurta, quietly walked in and sat beside Zarian. There was something comforting about his presence familiar and warm.

He glanced at Zarian, his voice gentle.
"Kya baat hai beta? Sab theek hai?"

Zarian turned slightly, and recognition flickered in his eyes. He saw this man every day during prayers, they always exchanged a respectful smile or a nod.

Zarian forced a polite smile.
"Assalamualaikum, uncle."

The man smiled back
"Walaikumassalam, beta. Sab khairiyat hai? Kahi pareshaani toh nahi?"

Zarian shook his head softly.
"Nahi uncle, bas aise hi... thoda waqt yahan guzarna tha."

But the man wasn't convinced. He could sense the unease buried beneath Zarian's quiet tone. After a pause, he gently tried again.
"Kaam ka pressure hai? Business mein koi dikkat?"

Zarian gave a slight, respectful nod of reassurance.
"Nahi uncle, sab theek hai."

The man looked at him thoughtfully, then leaned in a little, his voice now tinted with a knowing smile.
"Phir kisi ladki ka masla lagta hai. Kya kisi ko pasand kar baithe ho?"

Zarian stayed silent for a moment his gaze lowered, his breath paused. Then, finally, he inhaled deeply and confessed,
"Pasand nahi... mohabbat karta hoon unse."

The man's eyes softened, a gentle smile curving on his lips.
"Toh phir masla kya hai, beta? Jaake baat karo, shaadi karo."

Zarian shook his head, a quiet ache flickering in his eyes.
"Woh mere naseeb mein nahi hain."

The man frowned slightly, confused.
"Kya matlab?"

Zarian's voice dipped lower, barely above a whisper.
"Unki shaadi hone wali hai... ek hafte mein."

There was silence for a moment, and then the man asked calmly,
"Toh gussa ho? Kisi se?"

Zarian looked at him, puzzled.
"Gussa? Kis par?"

The man tilted his head slightly, studying Zarian's face.
"Uss Rab se naraaz ho? Ke usne tumhari dua qubool nahi ki?
Ya us ladki se... jo tumhari kabhi ban hi nahi saki?"

Zarian let out a low, fragile chuckle not mocking, not amused... just tired.
The kind that comes when the heart is too heavy to cry.

"Nahi uncle... uss zaat se naraaz kaise ho sakta hoon," he whispered, his voice barely above the silence surrounding them.

"Us zaat se... jisne mujhe mere maangne se pehle hi sab kuch de diya?
Jisne har mod par mujhe us raste se bachaya jahan meri tabahi likhi thi...
aur har baar chupke se mere liye behtareen chuna...
chahe mujhe woh pasand ho ya nahi."

He paused, breathing deeply, not to gather strength, but to hold back whatever threatened to spill over.

"Jo uski raza mein razi hona seekh jaye...
woh shikayat kaise kare?"

The man remained silent, watching him with quiet wisdom.

Zarian's eyes lowered. His fingers toyed with the tasbeeh beads unconsciously, as though grounding himself.

Then, in a voice heavier than before, he added:

"Aur rahi baat unse gussa hone ki..."

He blinked slowly, his throat bobbing with emotion.

"Woh... toh main kabhi kar hi nahi sakta.
Mohabbat ki hai maine unse... poori niyyat, poori sachchai se.
Aur meri mohabbat itni kamzor nahi...
ke apne naseeb ki saza unhe doon."

There was no bitterness in his tone.

Only surrender. A quiet heartbreak that had learned how to bow.

The man's brows furrowed slightly, but his expression softened a rare blend of admiration and ache.

"Itni mohabbat karte ho... ke unhe kisi aur ke saath dekh loge?
...bina shikayat ke? Bina toote?"

Zarian gave a hollow smile, the kind that doesn't reach the eyes.

"Toot to gaya hoon uncle," he admitted quietly.

"Par shikayat... unse nahi. Kismat se hai thodi si.

Lekin... agar unhe kisi aur ke saath dekh bhi loon...
toh bhi meri zubaan se unke liye sirf dua niklegi."

He closed his eyes briefly, the words trembling at the edge.

"Unki khushi... meri dua ban gayi hai."

The man placed a hand on Zarian's shoulder firm, steady, yet infinitely gentle.

His eyes held the weight of years, the kind of wisdom only pain could carve.

"Barkhurdar..."

He spoke slowly, each word soaked in meaning.

"Yeh jo tumne kiya hai...
yeh mohabbat nahi hai.
Yeh... ishq hai."

Zarian looked up startled. That single word struck something deep in him.

"Ishq?" he whispered, as if tasting it for the first time.

The man nodded, his voice now no longer soft but powerful.

"Mohabbat mein log milne ki dua maangte hain.
Ishq mein... uski khushi ke liye apni khushi ki qurbani di jaati hai.

Mohabbat mein haath thaama jaata hai...
Lekin ishq mein haath chhod kar bhi uski dua nahi chhodi jaati."

Zarian blinked, his throat tightening.

"Mohabbat mein apnapan chaha jaata hai...
Ishq mein... uska begana ho jaana bhi qubool hota hai.

Mohabbat har roz ek umeed rakhti hai...
Ishq har roz ek sajda deta hai."

The man leaned closer, his voice almost a whisper now but echoing like thunder inside Zarian's soul.

"Mohabbat kehti hai 'mujhe chahiye'...
Ishq kehta hai 'woh khush rahe - chahe mere bina hi kyun na ho.'

Mohabbat shart lagati hai...
Ishq... har shart tod kar bhi wafa nibhaata hai.

Mohabbat mein intezaar hota hai...
Ishq mein sirf tasleem."

Zarian felt a strange warmth rising in his chest not comfort, but recognition.

The kind of ache that felt sacred.

The man continued, now almost lost in his own trance of truth.

"Mohabbat mein roothne ka haq hota hai...
Ishq mein bas uski khushi ka junoon.

Mohabbat kisi din khatam ho sakti hai...
Lekin ishq... ishq kabhi khatam nahi hota.

Woh toh sirf rooh ban jaata hai..
Zinda bhi rehkar, bas uske liye jeeta hai.
Mita bhi jaaye, toh uske naam pe hi mitta hai."

Zarian couldn't breathe for a moment. The air around him felt heavier, quieter.

That one word, Ishq no longer felt beautiful.

It felt... terrifying.

Because he finally understood it wasn't about possession.

It was about letting go... without ever letting love fade.

And maybe, that's what he had been doing all along.

They both sat in silence, the kind of silence that didn't need to be filled.

The stillness of the mosque surrounded them a stillness that calmed the body but stirred the heart.

Then, the old man finally spoke, not loudly, but with a firmness that demanded Zarian's soul to listen.

"Main tumhe umeed nahi de raha, beta" he said softly, looking ahead instead of at him.

"Umeed insaan deta hai.
Magar jo yaqeen tumhare dil mein hai... woh Allah ne khud daala hai.
Aur uss yaqeen ki gehraai tum khud behtar samajhte ho."

He paused, long enough for the words to sink into the cracks of Zarian's chest.

"Magar phir bhi... ek baat kehne ko jee chaahta hai," he added, this time his voice lower... steadier.

"Woh Rabb aksar humein hamari sabse pasandida cheezon se azmata hai.
Woh dekhna chahta hai ke hum usse chahte hain ya sirf uski ataayein."

Zarian's eyes glistened, his lips pressed in restraint.

"Lekin yaad rakhna..." the man continued,
"Woh kabhi kisi dua ko raad nahi karta. Woh unhe taalta hai... mehfooz rakhta hai.
Us waqt ke liye jab woh tumhare liye behtareen ho, na ke sirf pasandida."

The weight of those words pressed against Zarian's chest like a quiet storm. The man placed a hand over his own heart as he spoke again.

"Tumhari har khushi, har roothi tamanna, har unsuni dua...
Woh sunta hai. Woh dekhta hai. Aur woh likhta hai...
Apni marzi ke waqt ke liye.
Aur jab woh deta hai, beta..."

Now he turned to look at Zarian fully eyes kind but burning with truth.

"...toh insaan hairaan nahi hota
woh toot kar sajda kar deta hai.
Kyunki us waqt insaan samajhta hai ke uska intezaar bekaar nahi gaya.
Aur Allah kabhi kisi ko khali haath wapas nahi bhejta."

His voice was quiet now, almost a breath.

"Kabhi nahi."

Zarian looked at him, heart pounding quietly, unsure of what was heavier, the pain of the moment or the peace trying to wrap itself around his grief.

The man gave a faint smile one filled with wisdom and silent prayers.

Then, without another word, he rose...

and walked away

leaving behind a heart still shattered,

but no longer entirely hopeless.

It was never about winning her.
It was about loving her so deeply...
that he could lose her with grace.

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