Maa Begum confronted her son, the matriarch who had unknowingly played a role in shaping the man he had become. Her stern voice pierced the air, questioning the very essence of his upbringing.
"Was this what I taught you?" she exclaimed, her disappointment echoing through the walls. "Ye tarbiyat thi meri?"
Murtasim, tears streaming down his face, felt the weight of his mother's rebuke. "Murtasim, ye kya kardiya tumne!" she cried hysterically, unable to fathom the depths of her son's transgressions. "Aaj ke baad apni shakal na dikhana mujhe."
With bowed head, Murtasim left the room, the weight of his actions heavy on his shoulders. He recognized the magnitude of his wrongdoing, the betrayal of values instilled by his mother.
As he sat outside, seeking solace in the rain-soaked darkness, an unexpected presence approached. Haya, with misguided empathy, attempted to console him with a hug, igniting a spark of anger within him.
"Ye kya badtameezi hai?" he questioned, pushing her away. Haya stumbled, but her defiance remained. "Tum udaas hona, isliye tumse humdardi karne aagayi," she explained, her intentions misguided.
Murtasim's anger flared as he recalled her actions from that fateful night. "Haya, ek baat kaan kholkar sunlo, mai tumhe bilkul pasand nahi karta."
Attempting to justify herself, Haya stopped him. "Tumhe bas uska andaaza nahi abhi. Tum sachme mujhse mohabbat karte ho Murtasim, agar nahi karte toh har baar meri galtiyon ko nazar andaaz kaise kardete ho, mai jab paas aati hu toh tum kuch nahi kehte. Ye mohabbat nahi toh kya hai?"
Murtasim's disgust was palpable. "Bas. Bohot hogaya abhi issi wakt mere ghar se niklo."
Haya, stunned by his decision, questioned where she would go. Murtasim, resolute, replied, "Tum jahanam jao, mujhe farak nahi padhta. Bakhtu."
Summoning Bakhtu, he instructed him to escort Haya out and inform his mother that she wouldn't be allowed back for the next ten years.
"Murtasim!" she screamed in protest. "Ye sab us Meerab ki wajeh se hua hai."
The night wore on, the rain outside a mournful symphony to the shattered pieces of relationships within the house. Meanwhile, Waqas Ahmad's call to Meerab marked the beginning of a legal battle, setting the stage for a tumultuous journey ahead.
Later that night, Meerab found herself summoned into Maa Begum's room, a room that had always held an air of mystery, but tonight it seemed to bear the weight of an impending storm. Maa Begum, usually draped in a veil, now sat with her dupatta on her shoulders, an unusual sight that added to the gravity of the moment.
The room felt heavy with silent tension as Meerab cautiously approached. Maa Begum's eyes, usually stern and commanding, now held a mix of sorrow and something Meerab couldn't quite decipher.
"Meerab," Maa Begum spoke with a depth that sent shivers down Meerab's spine. "Sit, my child."
Meerab took a seat, her eyes never leaving Maa Begum's face. The sound of raindrops tapping against the windowpane created a sombre backdrop for the conversation that was about to unfold.
"Maa Begum, aap ne mujhe bulaya?" Meerab inquired, her voice a mere whisper in the silence of the room.
Maa Begum sighed, her gaze fixed on some distant point. "Meerab, I have witnessed the unravelling of this family, and I cannot ignore the role I played in it."
Confusion clouded Meerab's eyes as she waited for Maa Begum to continue.
"When I was young," Maa Begum began, her voice a melancholic melody, "I made choices that set a precedent for the generations that followed. Choices that perpetuated a cycle of pain and silence."
