The room was thick with silence, broken only by the soft rustling of clothes as Shehnaaz packed her bag with absent-minded care. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows over the scattered belongings, as if echoing the heaviness settling in her chest. She folded each garment carefully but without enthusiasm, her fingers trembling ever so slightly with memories that refused to stay buried.
Zain stood near the door, watching her quietly. His brow was furrowed, but his voice when he finally spoke was gentle, laced with concern.
“Yaar, Sana… agar main tumhe maaroon bhi, toh tum roti bhi nahi. Phir uske naam se aansu kyun aate hain?”
Shehnaaz’s hand stilled. The question hung between them, fragile and aching.
“Pata nahi,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Bas... aansu aa jaate hain.”
Her admission was soft, as if she was confessing to herself more than to him. She turned away, busying herself with the bag to hide the wetness gathering in her eyes.
Zain took a step closer. “Matlab... wohi tha na? Jo tum chhupa rahi ho?”
She didn’t answer, only nodded faintly, as if the weight of her silence was confirmation enough.
He sighed. “Sana, ek baar phir socho. Tumhe panic attacks hote the... mujhe pata hai. Toh main aise kaise chhod doon tumhe?”
Her eyes snapped up, sharp and tired.
“Please, Zain,” she said firmly, voice steady but brittle. “Apne baare mein soch, aur rahi baat panic attacks ki — main depressed nahi hoon, na hi woh emotional ladki jo har chhoti baat pe roti hai.”
Her tone was almost defiant, a shield around the fragile core he knew existed.
Zain’s expression softened. “Theek hai. Tumhara faisla. Par subah kitne baje nikalna hai?”
“Paanch baje,” she replied quietly. “Aur aath baje tak pahunch jaayenge. Nau baje meeting hai.”
He groaned dramatically, rubbing his face. “Yaar, main kab soongaa? Tumhein toh neend nahi aati, par meri halat bhi socho.”
She laughed—a rare, genuine sound—and smiled softly.
“Flight mein so jaana,” she teased.
“Woh toh theek hai. But you should sleep too” he suggested
“Ok, I will” Shehnaaz replied
“Are we going to stay with your friend there?,” he asked
“Nahi, hotel mein. Do rooms book kiye hain.”
Zain’s face tightened for a moment but he said nothing more. Respecting her choice, he nodded silently.
The next morning,
Soft morning light filtered through the airplane window, casting a gentle glow on Shehnaaz’s tired face. In her arms, little Shaina slept peacefully, her breath warm and steady against Shehnaaz’s chest. The baby’s delicate fingers curled loosely around the edge of Shehnaaz’s shawl, as if searching for comfort. Shehnaaz pressed her lips to the child’s forehead, feeling a strange tenderness bloom in her heart.
“Mera bacha...” she whispered.
But the words were bittersweet. She knew she was no mother to Shaina—not really. Shaina was Zain’s last tie to his late wife, the fragile thread keeping his shattered heart together. And yet, in these stolen moments, Shehnaaz felt the aching, beautiful illusion of motherhood — a feeling she never thought she’d experience.
Zain had never relinquished custody. He called Shaina the last sign of his wife’s existence — something sacred, impossible to replace. But he had trusted Shehnaaz enough to let her care for the child. It was a fragile trust, and Shehnaaz cherished it like a lifeline.
YOU ARE READING
can you mend the broken✓(Editing)
Fanfiction•°•°•★Cover by: @AmreenShaikh6 Sidharth Shukla married Shehnaaz Gill After one week of marriage, he left the city due to some important work at his office. When he came back after 6 months, he found his wife living like a corpse. From the doctor, h...
