Mehrem- The Confidant

20

Illiyeen

The following day, Mama and I went shopping for Humna Api. When we returned, Umair was in the backyard, working on a report with Dawood beside him. As I stepped outside, I noticed they were both deep in conversation.

"Hello, Bibi Ji," Dawood greeted me, standing up respectfully.

I smiled at him. "Hello, Dawood. How are the exams going?"

A few weeks ago, Umair had shared some of Dawood's background with me. He was the son of a family living on their land up north. Tragically, he had lost his parents when he was only fourteen, and the aftermath had led him down a difficult path. It was Baba who brought Dawood back, and since then, he had been working for Umair. My husband had taken it upon himself to enroll Dawood in college, giving him a fresh start.

Now, Dawood was in eleventh grade, majoring in business.

Dawood let out a sigh and sank back into his chair. "Not great," he admitted, a small frown creasing his brow.

I let out a gentle laugh, moving to sit beside Umair, who looked up at me, his eyes softening. "Hello, Husband."

"Hello, Begum." He reached for my hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. "Dawood needs your help."

Dawood handed me his notes and textbooks, and we spent the afternoon tackling microeconomics. I enjoyed tutoring, and seeing Dawood grasp concepts after struggling for so long brought a sense of satisfaction. At some point during the afternoon, Umair excused himself and went inside.

Hours later, when Dawood finally felt more confident, he thanked me with a beaming smile before leaving. I walked back into the house and paused, seeing Mama sitting silently, tears streaming down her face as she spoke on the phone.

Panic filled my chest. I rushed over, kneeling in front of her. "Mama?" I said, my voice shaky.

She quickly ended the call and pulled me into a hug. I could feel her trembling, and my mind raced with worries.

Her lips quivered as she whispered, "He agreed."

"Who?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"Umair," she replied, her tears starting anew. "He said... let's pack for Bahawalpur."

The weight of her words sank in slowly. My throat tightened, and for a moment, I couldn't find my voice. I kissed Mama's forehead softly, then rose, my legs carrying me almost on autopilot toward our bedroom. I wasn't sure what I would find, but when I reached the door, I saw Umair standing in the walk-in closet, his back to me, quietly folding clothes.

For a moment, I simply watched him. There was a vulnerability to the way he moved, each fold careful, almost deliberate, as if by focusing on the task, he could keep his emotions at bay.

I stepped inside, my footsteps light. "Umair?" I called softly, my voice barely carrying across the room.

He turned, his eyes meeting mine, and I saw the struggle there—the hesitation, the fear, the love. He gave me a small, tight smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I didn't want to put it off any longer," he said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of something deeper.

I nodded, stepping closer until I was beside him, reaching out to touch his arm. He looked down at me, and for a moment, it felt as though the weight of everything unsaid was hanging between us. I wrapped my arms around his waist, resting my forehead against his chest.

He hesitated, then sighed, wrapping his arms around me. We stood like that, neither of us speaking, just breathing together, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.