I was in the middle of a conversation with Rehan's mother, nodding politely as she spoke, when my phone buzzed softly in my lap. I reached for it instinctively, and the screen lit up with a name that sent a chill through my entire body.

Zain.

He had messaged me.

Zain:

Come to your room. Right now.

Saarah:
Zain... I can't. My in-laws are in the living room. What's wrong with you?

Zain:
What's wrong with me? You are still marrying him . I said—come. Now.

Saarah:
Lower your voice. If they see me sneaking around, they'll start asking questions.

Zain:
Let them ask. You think I care what they think when you can't even give me five minutes?

Saarah:
You're being impossible. This isn't the time.

Zain:
If you're not here in one minute, I swear I'll walk out there and call you in front of them.

Saarah:
Zain, don't you dare.

Zain:
Then move. I'm not playing games.

Saarah:
God, you're stubborn. Fine. I'm coming. But this better be worth it.

Zain:
It is. Trust me.

I paused outside the door, the air heavy around me like it knew what I was about to do. My hand hovered near the handle, heart stammering in my chest. I wasn’t sure if I was ready—or if I ever would be—but my feet had brought me here anyway. Quiet steps. One after another.

He knew I was there. I could feel it through the door.

I hesitated. Then turned the handle.

The moment I stepped inside, something shifted. The air felt charged, thick with everything we hadn’t said but somehow already knew. The door clicked shut behind me with an almost too-loud thud. I flinched, just a little. Then I saw him.

He didn’t speak.

He moved.

Before I could process it, he was in front of me—close. Too close. His hand slid around my waist and I gasped, instinctively—but not in fear. More like my body was catching up to what my heart already knew. Then the soft thud of my back meeting the wall. His arm brushing past me. The door locking with a sharp, unmistakable click.

My breath caught.

I stared up at him, my spine straight against the wall but my knees not entirely sure what they were doing anymore. His face was inches from mine. His eyes unreadable but burning. The kind of stare that makes you forget what you came to say. The kind that leaves no room for pretending.

Every nerve in my body stood on edge. His hand was still at my waist, warm through the fabric. I could feel his restraint like a rope pulled tight—ready to snap or let go, I wasn’t sure.

He said my name like it meant something. Like it was something.

“Saarah.”

Just that.

No promises. No questions. Just my name, low and rough and so full of everything I didn’t know how to answer.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I just looked at him, searching his eyes for something solid to hold on to. My heart was loud. My breath louder. I didn’t even know what I wanted him to say—I just knew I didn’t want him to stop.

His presence wrapped around me like heat—steady, unmoving, and impossible to ignore. My back pressed against the wall, his hand still at my waist, fingers curled like he wasn’t ready to let go. Maybe I didn’t want him to.

He was close enough that I could feel the shift in his breathing. The way his chest rose and fell—tight, controlled. I felt it in my own ribs, like my lungs were borrowing rhythm from his.

His eyes searched mine. Quiet, slow, almost tender now. The tension hadn’t left, but it had changed. Softened at the edges.

My hands lifted on their own, brushing against his chest, unsure of what they were asking for—more space or none at all. My fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. I didn’t pull him closer. But I didn’t push him away, either.

The silence was thick, full of things we never dared to speak aloud. It felt like if I breathed the wrong way, it would all collapse.

Then his voice broke through. Low. Rough. Honest.

“What are you doing, Saarah?”

The question sliced through the fog in my head. My brows pulled together, confused, unsure if he meant now or in the bigger, heavier sense of everything.

“I—what?”

He leaned in slightly, his gaze sharper now, more demanding. 

“Don’t,” 

he said, his voice darkened with something deeper than frustration.

 “Don’t be innocent here.”

I blinked, my mouth opening, but nothing came out.

He shook his head once, like he was done dancing around it. 

“Why the fuck are you still marrying someone else?”

 His voice cracked slightly on the last word, like the thought itself burned his throat. 

“After everything—after I apologized, after you forgave me—why the hell are you still doing this?”

His words landed heavy. My breath hitched.

I hadn’t been ready for that. Not here. Not like this. But maybe there was no other way he could’ve asked me—no gentler version that would’ve made the truth any easier to speak.

His hand at my waist tightened just a little, and his eyes… they weren’t angry. They were hurt. Desperate, even. And that undid something in me I didn’t realize I’d kept locked away.

His words echoed in the quiet space between us.

Why the fuck are you still marrying someone else?

Something inside me cracked.

I looked at him—really looked at him. And I hated that even now, with everything falling apart, a part of me still wanted to close the space between us and stay there. But that part didn’t get to win anymore. Not now.

My throat tightened, my chest burning as the words clawed their way out.

“I can’t, Zain.”

He didn’t flinch, but I saw it in his eyes—that flicker of something breaking.

“We can’t.”

I took a breath that felt like glass going down. “You’re late, Zain. You’re late.” My voice rose, trembling. “Today is my marriage to Rehan.”

He took a step back like the name physically hit him. My hands dropped from his shirt.

“I can’t just cancel it at the last moment. Do you have any idea what that means?” I was crying now, silent tears spilling fast. “Everyone knows. Everyone’s watching. Khan’s only daughter is getting married—it’s not just some event. It’s our reputation. What about my father, my grandfather? They gave their entire lives for that name. For the respect people attach to it.”

Zain stared at me, jaw clenched, breathing hard—but silent.

“This isn’t college anymore, Zain,” I said, voice shaking. “Where you can say sorry and think things just fall back into place.”

I wiped my cheek, but the tears kept coming. I didn’t care anymore.

“If you didn’t do what you did…” My voice cracked, and I had to look away for a second.

 “It would’ve been us getting married.”

Those words felt like fire on my tongue.

I looked back at him, barely able to see through the blur in my eyes.

 “But you did. And now… it’s too late.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. Just stood there, eyes burning, chest rising and falling like he was holding something inside that wanted to tear out of him.

Then his voice came—rough, low, breaking.

“But what about you?”

I froze.

“What about what you want?” he asked again, stepping closer.

I took a small step back, instinctively, like distance might soften the ache. It didn’t.

“What about your wish, Saarah?” His voice was shaking now. “What about your love?”

Another step from him. Another step back from me.

He wasn’t yelling. That made it worse. It was the kind of quiet that begged. That shattered.

“What about your feelings for me?” he said, his voice catching, eyes shining. “Do you really not love me anymore?”

The last part hit like a punch to the chest. I looked away, but he stepped closer again, closing the space, refusing to let me hide.

“Say it, Saarah.” His voice dropped, but the emotion in it was sharp as a blade. “If you don’t love me anymore, say it. Right now. I’ll walk out. I swear I will.”

I couldn’t breathe. My back touched the opposite wall—fitting, wasn’t it? Him on one side, the world on the other, and me stuck in between with no way out that didn’t cost me everything.

My lips parted, but no sound came.

Because how do you lie to someone who knows your silence better than your words?

My hands were trembling. My heart was screaming. And he was standing there, eyes wide and glassy, like his whole world was balancing on the edge of what I’d say next.

And the truth?

I still loved him. God help me—I still did.

But love wasn’t always enough.

I had to gather every last shred of strength I had left—every cracked, trembling piece of myself—to say it.

“No,”

 I whispered, then louder, firmer, with the kind of courage that doesn’t come from the heart, but from the pain trying to protect it. 

“I don’t love you.”

He froze.

I saw it hit him. Like he’d stopped breathing.

Before I could move, his hand wrapped around my waist again—not rough, not forceful—just desperate. His other hand came to my jaw, gentle but unyielding, forcing my gaze up to meet his.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice breaking like a plea he didn’t want to hear answered. “Say you don’t love me.”

His eyes searched mine, raw and vulnerable, like he was begging for even a flicker of doubt in what I’d said.

“Say it by looking in my eyes.”

That was the moment that nearly killed me.

Because I was already broken. Already bleeding from every part of me that had dreamed of him. And yet, I stood there, shaking in his hands, holding myself up on a lie that was too heavy to carry but too dangerous to drop.

“Yes,” I said, my voice barely more than a breath. “I don’t love you. Not anymore.”

He stared at me for a second—just a second. Then he let go.

Completely.

His hands dropped to his sides like something inside him had given up. He nodded once, almost to himself, then turned away. No words. No glance back. Just silence.

And then… he was gone.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, my knees gave out.

I slid down the wall, a mess of shaking limbs and silent sobs, the weight of everything I hadn’t said crushing me from the inside out. My chest heaved, my hands gripped the fabric of my dress, and I cried—not the kind of tears that ask for comfort, but the kind that come when you’ve lost something you can’t ever get back.

Because I hadn’t lied to protect myself.

I’d lied to protect everyone else.

And in doing so, I’d destroyed us.

I don’t know how long I sat there, crumpled on the floor like the air had been ripped out of me. My sobs had turned silent, the kind that didn’t make sound anymore—just left stains down my face and a hollow ache in my chest.

Then the door creaked open.

“Aapi?”

Rida’s voice was soft. Too soft.

I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. Not yet.

She walked in carefully, her heels clicking gently against the floor, and then they stopped. A moment later, I felt her drop down beside me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders like she was trying to put back pieces that had already shattered.

“Aapi,” she whispered again, her voice tighter now, “why are you crying?”

I turned my head slowly, my eyes swollen, lips trembling. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. What could I say? I let him go. I told the only lie that ever broke me.

Rida just looked at me. Her eyes weren’t filled with judgment. But they weren’t soft either.

“You chose it,” she said quietly. “You chose this pain, Aapi.”

My breath caught.

“Zain bhai did everything,” she continued, her voice rising—not in anger, but heartbreak. “He did everything to get you back.”

I blinked, the tears starting all over again. But she didn’t stop.

“He was so guilty. So broken about what he did to you. And no one even knows the full truth. No one except you.”

I swallowed hard, gripping the edge of my dress.

“Do you even know?” she whispered. “Zain bhai… he apologized to everyone in our family. Not just with words—he literally folded his hands in front of Mamu and Mami. Begged them to forgive him.”

My head snapped up, shocked. That… I didn’t know.

“They didn’t tell anyone. Because they didn’t want to interfere,” she said, wiping her eyes now too. “But they told me. They said… ‘Saarah will decide. We won’t stand in the way of her choice. Even if it breaks her.’”

My chest was caving in.

“And you know what hurts most?” Rida’s voice cracked. “He loves you. Everyone sees it. And you do too. But still… you chose reputation over love.”

I burst into tears again, pressing my palm against my mouth like I could hold it in, but I couldn’t. The sobs came raw, unstoppable.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” I gasped, voice muffled by guilt and grief. “I didn’t know how to choose me.”

Rida held me tighter, rocking me gently.

And in that moment, I didn’t feel like Khan’s daughter. Or anyone’s bride. Just a girl, broken in her sister’s arms, mourning the love she gave away to protect the very people who had left the choice to her all along.

Rida was still holding me, brushing my hair gently as I wept in her lap like I was fifteen again. No makeup, no jewelry, no facade. Just pain.

Then, softly—like she was easing me into something—she spoke again.

“Aapi… you remember that day? When you had the worst period cramps? Your first day. You were crying in bed like the world was ending.”

I blinked through tears. My chest ached, but the memory stirred—familiar, vivid. And before I could answer, it swept over me like a wave.

Flashback

"Ughhh, these cramps," I moaned, curling into myself, lying on my front. My blanket was pulled up to my ears, face buried in the pillow. My whole body ached, sharp pulses of pain ripping through my lower stomach.

Tears welled up. I didn’t care about anything else—I just wanted it to stop.

I heard the door creak open behind me.

“Rida,” 

I groaned, not looking up. 

“Can you bring some hot chocolate… and the heating pad? Please. It hurts so much.”

No answer.

But a few seconds later, gentle hands slid under the blanket, massaging my abdomen slowly, carefully. Warm, soothing pressure that made me flinch at first, then melt.

“Ahhhh,” I breathed, my eyes fluttering shut.

 “Allah tumhari har dua qubool kare…”

I didn’t know when I slipped into sleep. But just before I did, I heard a soft whisper.

“Ameen.”

When I woke, the sky outside had turned orange.

I blinked, groggy and confused, sitting up slowly. The cramps had eased. I reached for the cup on the table beside my bed—hot chocolate, still steaming.

Still hot.

That meant… someone had timed it. As if they knew exactly when I’d wake up.

I’d always assumed it was Rida.

Flashback ends.

I looked at her, stunned. 

“Yeah,” I whispered.

 “My sweet little sister took such good care of me.”

Rida giggled.

But then she shook her head. “That wasn’t me, Aapi.”

I stared.

“It was Zain bhai.”

My breath caught.

“He was the one who massaged your abdomen. He stayed with you the whole time. And he knew you’d wake up in three hours, so he made the hot chocolate exactly when it would still be warm for you.”

I couldn’t speak. My hands trembled in my lap.

“He left just before you woke up,” Rida whispered.

 “Because he didn’t want to make it awkward. Or weird. He just… wanted you to be okay.”

My lips parted, but nothing came out. My chest was rising and falling rapidly, the weight of that memory crashing down on me like a storm I hadn’t seen coming.

He was there.
He always was. Even when I didn’t know it. Even when I didn’t ask.

And I’d told that same man I didn’t love him anymore.

Rida looked at me carefully, wiping the tear from my cheek. “Are you really okay with letting go of a love like that?”

And in that moment, I didn’t know.

Because for the first time… I wasn’t sure if I could live with the decision I’d made.

The mirror didn’t feel like a mirror anymore—it felt like a stranger staring back.

I sat still, barely breathing, in my wedding dress. It was deep crimson, threaded with gold so fine it shimmered even under the softest light. The dupatta draped over my head was like misted sunlight, delicately pinned with tiny rubies that kissed my forehead.

Kohl lined my eyes, subtle but striking, and my lips were a soft rose, trembling slightly no matter how still I tried to keep them. The jewelry was heavy, but not as heavy as the silence in my chest.

Everyone said I looked beautiful.

But beautiful didn’t feel like anything right now.

Just then, the door opened with a little chaos, as expected in this house.

“Aapi!” Rida came in first, wide-eyed and dramatic. “Don’t move! I’m taking pictures you’ll never see again because I’ll be crying too hard later.”

I tried to smile.

Then came Ahan, holding a tray of sweets and pretending to trip. “Oops! If I fall and ruin your lehenga, do I get disowned or just slapped?”

“You get murdered,” Rida snapped, glaring.

“Perfect. ?” he smirked, popping a laddoo into his mouth.

I shook my head, laughing quietly as the room filled with more family—Ammi with her dupatta already soaked in tears, Mami trying to pretend she wasn’t crying, and Dadi saying for the tenth time, 

"Bilkul apni maa jaisi lag rahi hai shaadi ke din."

It was overwhelming and oddly comforting. Familiar chaos.

“Don’t cry too much, Aapi,” Rida sniffed, fanning her face to stop her mascara from running. “You’ll ruin your contour.”

“Oh please,” Ahan groaned. “What even is a ‘contour’? It sounds like a fake disease.”

“It’s what your brain lacks,” Rida snapped.

“please,” I said, half-laughing. 

“Don’t start World War III right before the baraat arrives.”

But of course, they didn’t stop.

“You always take her side!” Rida glared at me.

 “He changed the music playlist to Mohabbatein theme just to make fun of me last night!”

“I was romanticizing your attitude problems,” Ahan shot back. 

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re so annoying, Ahan!”

“And you're so dramatic, Rida!"

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, okay, timeout. Both of you—hug it out before I force you to.”

Ahan raised a brow. “Do I look like I want cooties today?”

“I swear to God—” Rida lunged, and he ducked behind me like a child.

I laughed, a real one this time. They bickered like toddlers but were two halves of my heart. No matter how loud they got, I wouldn't trade this moment.

A few minutes later, Rida was called away to check on something downstairs, leaving me alone with Ahan.

He stood there awkwardly for a moment, his hands in his pockets, his teasing gone.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

I nodded.

He didn’t believe me.

He came closer, sat on the stool beside me, and looked straight ahead at the mirror instead of me.

“I was there when you used to draw your wedding dress in that old sketchbook,” he said. “The one with the ripped cover and glitter glue.”

I smiled faintly. “You made fun of my drawing.”

“Only because your groom looked like a stick figure with a bald spot.”

I laughed again, wiping the corner of my eye.

Then his voice dropped, serious now. “You don’t have to say anything, Saarah. But I just… I hope whatever choice you’re making—whether it’s for love or duty—it doesn’t break you.”

That one sentence cut right through me.

Ahan had always known how to hide the deepest truths in the simplest words.

He turned to me, finally meeting my eyes. “And if it does… I’ll be the first one to throw rocks at the guy who let you fall apart.”

I laughed through the tears and hugged him.

“Thanks,” I whispered. “You’re the only idiot I’d ever want as a brother.”

“Damn right,” he mumbled into my shoulder. “But if you cry too much and ruin your mascara, Rida’s going to kill us both.”

We pulled back, laughing—and just like that, the storm inside me calmed… even if only f

The laughter faded. One by one, everyone left the room, their voices echoing down the hallway as they moved on to the next ritual, the next photo, the next moment meant to carry this wedding forward.

And just like that, silence returned.

I sat there, staring at myself in the mirror. Still. Silent. Like a portrait instead of a person.

The kohl. The jewelry. The red and gold. The elegance of it all.

But under it… I could barely recognize myself.

Then, something moved behind me.

A quiet sound—the faint creak of the balcony window easing open. I froze.

I looked up, not directly… but through the mirror.

And there he was.

Zain.

Climbing in carefully, quietly, like a memory breaking into my present. His black kurta was wrinkled, his hair messy like he’d been running—or maybe just thinking too hard, again. His eyes met mine in the glass.

And for a long second… neither of us looked away.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud.

It was just us.

The kind of eye contact that said everything we never dared to speak out loud. And for a second, I let myself believe time had stopped, just so we could stay here.

But then I blinked and broke the moment.

“Kaisi lag rahi hoon?” I asked quietly, not turning toward him. Still speaking to his reflection in the mirror. “How do I look?”

His voice cracked before it even reached me.

“Bilkul meri biwi jaisi,” he said, his eyes glistening.

Like his heart was standing in front of him, wrapped in red and gold, about to belong to someone else.

I looked down.

Because if I looked any longer, I might’ve run to him without thinking.

And right now… thinking was the only thing keeping my world from falling apart.

Zain took a slow step toward me, his voice barely a whisper—shaking, broken, real.

“Mat karo yeh, Saarah… please mat karo,” he said, and I turned in my seat to face him.

His eyes were wet, glimmering in the soft yellow light of the vanity bulbs, and his hands were clenched by his sides like he was holding himself back from breaking apart completely.

“Bohot dukh raha hai yaar,” he said again, like the pain was too much for words and yet he couldn’t stop himself from trying.

He moved closer. Just a few steps between us now.

“Please… come with me,” he said, his voice trembling. “Let’s go… far away from all this. From this cruel world, this name, this pressure… just you and me, please. Let’s run away, Saarah. Please go with me.”

I stood up slowly, my lehenga swaying around my feet, my bangles softly chiming like warnings in the silence.

And then I looked him in the eyes.

“It’s not about me,” I said, my voice barely above a breath. “Not about us, Zain. Not anymore.”

His face twisted, like he knew what was coming but was still begging fate to change it.

“Five years ago…” I started, my throat tightening, “you destroyed me.”

He looked away, guilt flooding his features like a shadow he couldn’t escape.

“You made fun of my feelings. My love. Me. In front of the entire college. You humiliated me. You broke me. And even then… I still forgave you.”

I wiped a tear that slipped past the kohl and gold. “Because that love… that us… meant everything to me.”

Zain shook his head, his voice cracking. “I was a stupid, Saarah… scared, stupid—”

“I know,” I cut in, softer now. 

“And that’s why I let it go. That pain? I buried it.”

“But this time,” I whispered, “it’s not just about me. Not just about us.”

My lips trembled. My fingers twisted into the fabric of my dupatta.

“This time… it’s about my family, Zain.”

He stood still.

“I can’t lose them. I can’t hurt them,” I said, eyes stinging again. “My father, my grandfather—they gave their lives to build this name. This moment… this wedding… it’s theirs too.”

Zain was silent. He didn’t argue. He didn’t shout.

He just looked at me.

And that hurt more than anything else.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Because there was nothing else left to say.

Ek favour karogi?” he asked, voice heavy, gaze locked on mine.

I looked up, barely holding myself together.

 “Kya?” I whispered.

He stepped back, just a little, the pain written all over his face.

“Main ja raha hoon…” he said quietly, 

“mere piche se door lock kar dena.”

My heart twisted. I shook my head slightly, but he kept going.

“Main fir dastak dunga…” his voice cracked, 

“tumse pyaar ki bhikh mangunga…”

He paused, breath shaking, eyes shining.

“Par tum kholna mat.”

And with that, he turned around and walked to the door—his steps slow, final.

My fingers trembled as I reached out and locked it.

Just like he said.

A few seconds passed.

Then came the knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

“Saarah,” he whispered from the other side. “Bas ek baar. Bas ek baar mil lo mujhse…”

I closed my eyes. My back against the door. Tears running down freely.

Another knock.

“Main jaanta hoon maine galti ki… par main sab theek kar dunga. Bas ek baar...”

I bit my lip to stop the sob from escaping.

Then he began to cry.

His voice broke completely.

“Saarah… please. I love you. I can’t breathe without you. Please mat jao. Mat chhodo mujhe...”

He knocked again.

Begged again.

And I—on the other side—was already shattered.

I slid down, my bridal outfit heavy around me, bangles clinking as I covered my mouth, crying into my own hands.

I had done what he asked. I didn’t open the door.

But with every knock, something inside me collapsed.

And then I whispered to myself, trembling:

“No… I can’t do this.”

I stood up, breath shaking. “Main nahi jee sakti uske bina.”

He is my everything.

He is all I have.

And finally, I said the words that had been burning my chest since the day I lied to him:

“I love him.”

I ran to the door, fumbled with the lock, breath short and fast, hands shaking.

And just as I flung it open—

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲!

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let's see what's destiny planning for them.

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐥𝐥❤