•𝐊𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐕𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚| ✓

Ninth Chapter نواں باب

Seven months have swept by since the union of their marriages, and seven months have embraced the revelation of Dua and Hadia's impending motherhood. The family exuded jubilation upon learning about Hadia's pregnancy as well,

After that pivotal call, an unsettling silence befell the communication between Dua and her mother. Despite Romaisa not assuming the role of a mother for Dua, her affection persevered, extending not only to her mother but also encompassing her father. She was just a child yearning for parental love after all.

In the lounge, Hadia luxuriated on the sofa, engrossed in a conversation with Maha. Meanwhile, Maha toiled away in the kitchen, crafting butter-roasted makhane—a delicacy revered by expectant mothers. It had become a cherished tradition since Azzan Khan's mother first prepared it for her daughter-in-law.

"Hadia, that's enough. No more," admonished Maha, as Hadia whimpered, still craving for more. "No, Maha, I swear bhot ache hain!" Hadia protested. Maha wrinkled her nose, openly expressing her aversion to the makhane. "I don't like it at all; I don't know how you manage to eat it."

(They are soo good)

Hadia chuckled, uttering something under her breath. Maha caught the words, and her mood promptly plummeted upon hearing Hadia say, "Because you're not pregnant." A wave of disbelief and tension lingered in the air, casting a subtle shadow on maha's face, it going unsee by busy hadia...

When the news of the dual pregnancies reached everyone's ears, relatives began to taunt Maha for not conceiving, despite both her sisters-in-law expecting. Despite their simultaneous marriages, Maha longed to cradle the joy of motherhood in her arms. Rayyan and Maha made earnest attempts, but the elusive blessing of a child eluded them, inflicting a deep ache on Rayyan as he witnessed his wife weeping for the pitter-patter of tiny feet. Frustrated, they decided to relinquish control and entrusted their hopes to Allah, believing that He, in His divine wisdom, would grant them the gift they so fervently desired.

Azaan Khan sat on the sofa, quietly observing his family, immersed in the warmth of their presence. Suddenly, Rehan came rushing towards him, whispering something in his ear. Azaan, gripped by the words, stilled, his gaze locking onto Rehan. As the tears welled up in Azaan's eyes, Rehan, mirroring his father's emotions, began shedding tears as well.

Rayyan, the first to notice their distress, hurried to their side. The entire family's attention pivoted towards them. "Dadajaan, kya hua hai, bataen Dadajaan" Rayyan implored. Azaan Khan shook his head, grappling with the weight of the news. It was then that Rehan, mustering the strength, quietly uttered the revelation. A hush descended upon them all—a silence that resonated with shock and sorrow.

"Dada jaan, what happened, tell us dada jaan"

Dua, caught in the grip of impending doom, felt her breath quicken, and the world around her blurred as she succumbed to unconsciousness. In those final moments of awareness, the echoes of her husband's desperate calls were the last things she heard. The room itself seemed to shudder with the weight of the revelation, encapsulating a sense of impending doom that gripped each family member's heart...

Romaisa Khan was en route to Khan Villa, yearning to reunite with her daughter and her family. As her car cruised along, a sudden jolt sent her world into chaos. Her head collided with the window, shattering it upon impact before striking the front seat. Pain rippled through every inch of her body, a symphony of agony.

With eyes fluttering, she felt the sensation of something wet on her head. Trepidation filled her as she gingerly touched the dampness, discovering the warmth of blood. Her eyes, heavy with the weight of impending darkness, closed, and she drew in a breath, as if tasting the bitter sweetness of her final moments.

In that heart-wrenching instance, the essence of her existence seemed to ebb away. The car, a metallic cocoon of tragedy, held the aftermath of an unforeseen farewell. The cruel intersection of fate painted a somber tableau as Romaisa Khan embraced the quiet release of her last breath, leaving behind an echo of heartbreak and an unfinished journey to the family she longed to see.

Arshad's heart raced relentlessly; the walls of Lahore's largest hospital felt oppressive around him. His wife, Dua, was in the operating room, the premature birth of their child hanging in the balance. An unspoken fear gripped Arshad's thoughts—his mind swirling with a tempest of uncertainties. Helplessness, a foreign emotion for him, settled heavily in the depths of his being.

Endless hours ticked by in the waiting area, each moment a torment of anxious anticipation. Finally, the heavy door swung open, and a wave of doctors emerged. Arshad, rising in trepidation, identified himself as Dua's husband. With a quivering voice, he asked, "K-kya h-hua hai?" The doctor, a mix of relief and caution, patted his shoulder, delivering the bittersweet news: "Congratulations. You are now a father of a SON."

Arshad's breath caught, a fragile smile breaking through the storm of emotions. Yet, his joy was overshadowed as he sought answers about Dua. The doctor's words hung in the air, delivering a crushing blow. Dua had slipped into unconsciousness due to premature labor induced by shock. The uncertain prognosis, the possibility of her not waking up, sent Arshad reeling into the depths of despair. The ground beneath him seemed to vanish as he faced the grim reality—his beloved wife in a coma, her fate hanging in an agonizing balance.

Ayaan Arshad Khan, their premature son, entered the world with a head full of chocolate brown hair, a perfect set of fingers and toes—yet his father hadn't held him, a poignant void in the joyous occasion.

As the days stretched into weeks, the hospital room became a silent witness to Arshad's profound agony. Ayaan, craving the warmth of his parents, was tended to by Hadia, who stepped into the role of a surrogate mother. But no one saw the shattering pain that consumed Arshad.

Sitting vigil by Dua's bedside, he revisited the regrets that haunted him. He lamented the time not spent, the moments taken for granted. The weight of remorse bore down on him, a constant ache for not embracing his wife when he had the chance. Love had bloomed too late, and now, as he yearned to show her, Dua lay unresponsive.

Arshad's tears fell silently, mirroring the cascade of emotions within—regret, sorrow, and an unwavering plea for Dua's return. The hospital room echoed with the heart-wrenching symphony of a man grappling with the consequences of lost time, his soul laid bare amidst the quiet suffering of a fractured family.

Sitting before her hospital bed, Arshad's heart ached with the cruel memories of that fateful night after their nikkah. Dua's mother, eager for the rukhsati, hastened the proceedings despite Azaan Khan's reluctance to let go of his daughter so swiftly.

Arshad's fury swelled within him like a tempest. Marriage, especially to Dua, was not his desire. Witnessing her in their shared space fueled his rage. With forceful strides, he seized her arm, compelling her to stand. Cupping her face with his fingers, he drew her close, his words dripping with anger, "You are not my wife. I don't accept anything between us. Remember this, Dua. Don't expect anything from me, nor any connection of being my wife."

Dua's tears, borne of both physical and emotional pain, flowed silently. She endured in silence, understanding it wasn't his fault. As her tears fell, his grip tightened, eliciting a yelp. "And these tears... keep them to yourself. I know you and your mother's drama. Even if you come close to me, no one will treat you worse than I will," he declared callously, dragging her towards the door. Unceremoniously, he threw her out, closing the door with a force that echoed the brutal rejection.

Arshad's family watched in shock, unable to intervene. His hurt and anger shouted, "She won't stay in my room anymore." The door slammed shut, unaware of the profound wound carved into Dua's tender soul. Despite the relentless insults and dismissals, Dua persistently sought proximity, her silent gestures yearning for a connection.

Now, remembering his past behavior, Arshad sobbed like a broken man, yearning for her presence. "Come back, Dua... I won't do anything now. I love you," he pleaded, his face buried in her hands. Tears streamed down his face, and in his vulnerability, the echoes of remorse and love intertwined, creating a poignant symphony that pierced the heart of anyone witnessing this emotional unraveling.