Zaryab rarely visited his flat these days, perhaps haunted by everything that had happened. Sitting on the sofa in the living room, he thought back to how he had apologized to Anaya's father the day before. He had come to realize that what he felt for Anaya was mere liking, not love. Now, he didn't even like her anymore. There was nothing left for him to hold on to.
Exhaustion from work, compounded by depression, worsened his migraine. All he craved was sleep—he needed peace.
His phone beeped with a notification. It was 11 p.m., and Mujtaba had posted a story. Zaryab ignored it at first but then gave in to curiosity, wondering how Mujtaba was doing.
The story revealed that Mujtaba was at a wedding. As Zaryab scrolled through the images, his heart sank when he saw a picture of Suleman and his bride. Relief washed over him when he realized that Mehmal wasn't the bride. But then, confusion set in—why was Mujtaba there? Had he met them? Had he seen Mehmal?
His heart pounded when the next story appeared. There she was, Mehmal, in a red gown, looking breathtakingly beautiful. He had never seen anyone more stunning, or maybe no one had ever appeared more beautiful to him than her in that moment.
Then, the next story hit him like a sledgehammer. It was their engagement. Zaryab watched in horror as the images replayed in his mind—Mehmal wearing the ring, dancing, being wrapped in the red dupatta by another man. His Mehmal. His wife.
Zaryab felt like his heart was collapsing in on itself, or that his mind was unraveling. Tears streamed down his face as he frantically called Mujtaba.
"This can't be true. My Mano is just angry. I'll apologize; she'll never leave me. She can't give my place to someone else," he muttered to himself, his voice breaking.
Mujtaba didn't pick up. Zaryab called again... and again. But there was no answer.
In a fit of rage and despair, he screamed and felt his hands go numb. He hurled his phone against the wall, then began throwing everything in his reach. His screams echoed through the flat until he finally collapsed to the ground, utterly broken.
"Allah, this can't be happening. I can't bear this pain," he whispered, his voice choked. He was drowning in regret, overwhelmed by remorse.
As the intensity of his screams subsided, he suddenly heard another voice—his own, from the past.
"I love her and you as well. But if you become stubborn, it will be miserable and difficult for me to treat you equally. In any case, she will be my wife," he had once said.
Zaryab looked around and saw a vision of Mehmal in the exact spot where he had been screaming. She was crying, her face a reflection of his own agony.
"Stop crying, Mehmal. Stop crying," Zaryab screamed, but the image persisted.
"Oh Allah, don't hold me accountable here... this pain is unbearable," he pleaded, seeing her in his mind, remembering how he had left her in the name of needing space. A tug of sorrow pulled at his heart. Anaya texted him, but he ignored it, consumed by the torment of losing Mehmal.
"My God, what have I done? Stop her screaming, stop her..." He wailed, placing his hands over his ears to drown out the cries only he could hear. He broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.
"This is too much pain... I can't bear it. Oh Allah, please stop," he screamed, overturning the center table, shattering the glass on the floor. "Don't do this, Allah. Don't take the woman I love."
His crying stopped abruptly.
"Love." The word hung in the air, dawning on him with terrifying clarity. It was in this same room that he had once confessed his love for another woman and taken a second wife.
"Love," he repeated, the revelation sinking in. "Mehmal wasn't just my remorse, my guilt, or even just my wife. It's love. The pain I was feeling wasn't just attraction—it was love I was chasing."
Tears still flowed as the weight of his realization crushed him. Suddenly, he struggled to breathe. With trembling legs, he stumbled to the terrace door, desperate for air. He collapsed to the ground, coughing, leaning against the railing, his breath heavy and ragged as he cried over the love he had lost.
Zaryab always believed he cared deeply for Mehmal, that his emotional attachment to her was just that—care, nothing more. He had convinced himself that his true love was Anaya, and that life had to move forward. Mehmal had found a great partner, after all. But now, sitting in his flat, he felt the weight of his past decisions crushing down on him.
His eyes wandered to the chair where he and Mehmal had once shared their most beautiful memories. He blinked, and suddenly, it was as though Mehmal was sitting there again, laughing, her reflection smiling back at him. A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it quickly disappeared when she turned away. It wasn't his reflection she was smiling at—it was the reflection of another man sitting beside her. Zaryab's heart sank as he watched this man touch her the way he used to, saw her laughing and kissing him.
The scene was too much to bear. Zaryab's knees buckled, and he fell backward, his vision blurring as he struggled to stay upright. His head hit the railing wall, but he was lucky—he didn't injure himself severely. Yet the reflection of Mehmal and that man continued to taunt him, showing them sharing a cup just as he and Mehmal once had.
The reality of his loss hit him like a tidal wave. The thought that another man would now share in the intimacy they once had was unbearable. Holding his head, he felt nausea rising. He leaned over the railing, retching violently as he cried out in despair and vomited continually . He couldn't stay there any longer; the pain was too much. He fled the flat, running aimlessly down the footpath.
"Why don't men understand the pain of women?" he thought bitterly. "Just as a man can't share his love, why do men expect women to share theirs? They promise justice, to love both equally, but it's their wish, not the woman's. Her wish is not to share her husband—will they ever understand that?"
His sobs echoed in the night as he ran, oblivious to the stares of the passersby. The darkest chapter of his life was unfolding before his eyes, and it was one he had written with his own hands.
"Zaryab, please don't do this," Mehmal's voice echoed in his mind, haunting him. He could still hear her screams, still see her begging him not to leave, her eyes filled with pain when she saw him with Anaya at the hospital, and the vision of her engagement, the dance, the red dupatta wrapped around her—it all replayed in his mind, tormenting him.
"Stop!" he screamed, clutching his head as his migraine intensified. The pain was unbearable, and the world around him blurred into darkness. He staggered into the middle of the road and collapsed.
People gathered around him, their voices distant and fading. Zaryab's world slipped into silence as he succumbed to the darkness.
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YOU ARE READING
Mehmal
Romance"I'm taking another wife." Mehmal's heart shattere. Zaryab insisted that he still loved her and that he would treat them both equally. However, Mehmal was adamant: "I don't want this," she replied. Zaryab, holding both of her hands, insisted that h...
