Khwabeeda-e-Ishq

Chapter 2| Giving Up

🖤"Life is filled with uncertainties.
Accept changes, maintain your composure, and make the best out of your current situation"🖤

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•||"Giving Up the Past: Moving Forward and Letting Go"||•

To the world, he was Zain Haider Khan—the dependable son, the picture of composure, perfect in all the ways people expected him to be. But tonight, beneath the watchful glow of the moon, he was just Zain, standing still as his legs went numb. Stubborn as always, he refused to move.

This was simply what he did whenever anger or unease clawed at him—standing still, silent, letting the night swallow his unrest.

Tonight, though, it wasn’t anger alone. It was something heavier, something he couldn’t yet name. The moon above looked so calm, so unbothered, and for a fleeting second, its quiet glow eased the storm inside him. But peace never lasted long these days.

Once, he had believed her face carried the same serenity—soft, radiant, grounding. Now, whenever her face flashed before him, it only set his soul ablaze, reminding him of feelings he wished he could bury. He despised himself for it. Love—such a fragile, weighty word. Too heavy for him to carry, too dangerous to utter aloud. Maybe it was time to let it go, to move on, to stop confusing longing with destruction.

The word marriage itself, however, pulled him back into restlessness. People often said men had it easy, but he knew better. Expectations pressed on men too, unspoken but unrelenting. His mother’s recent proposal weighed on him more than he’d admit. She was skilled at using silence and pleading eyes like weapons, slipping guilt into his chest until it grew unbearable. Tonight, he told himself, she had won—at least in making him feel torn.

Still, unease lingered. He wanted to trust his mother's choice, to believe the girl she had chosen would be good for their family. But a part of him resisted. What if she wasn’t who she seemed? What if her intentions ran dark beneath her delicate name? His mind spiraled with what-ifs—of greedy brides and domineering wives, the kind that turned homes into battlefields. He scoffed at his own paranoia, muttering inwardly, Enough. Let it go. Hope for the best. But what was her name again yes—Hoor. Beautiful, almost poetic. He prayed her nature would match it.

On his way down the corridor, laughter seeped faintly from his younger brother’s room. Mischief lived there; Netflix binges, junk food wrappers, the careless joy of youth. His cousins joined often, a small army of night owls thriving in stolen hours. A pang of longing tugged at him. He missed those simple nights of shared laughter. These days, time with them was rare, and he regretted every moment lost.

But his thoughts were never merciful. A mocking voice in the back of his mind stirred again, bitter and sharp, throwing names, taunting his scars. He fought it back, wrestling with himself as though silence could cage the noise.

At last, he gathered his resolve and knocked on his parents door. His mother opened it, her expression tight at first, but softening quickly into a smile the moment she saw him. Her warmth never failed to disarm him.
"I hope I didn’t disturb you," he said quietly, though he already knew the answer.

"Not at all," she replied with a gentle smile. "I was waiting for you."
The question came as expected, hesitant yet heavy. "Have you thought about what I said?"

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then he nodded, voice subdued. "Yes."

His mother’s smile trembled, as though she hadn’t expected such an easy answer. "It’s okay, you don’t have to rush. Take your time. Just remember, I’m here if you need to talk."