In the echoes of night's silent reverie, I find myself adrift amidst the shards of my own misgivings. Memories cascade like fragile petals, each a testament to the fractures in my understanding, the breaches in the fortress of our love.
The tapestry of our existence, woven with threads of apprehension and misunderstanding, bore witness to my ignorance. Raised in the shadow of repressed dreams and entrenched oppression, I failed to grasp the depth of Meerab's silent suffering. She remained a figure veiled in the shroud of my expectations, a wife confined within the walls of marital obligation, not a soul yearning to be known.
The weight of my own experiences, witnessing sacrifices and oppressed voices, clouded my vision, blinding me to the extent of Meerab's anguish. Our relationship lacked the sanctity of open communion; she was but a reflection of my conjugal aspirations, not an individual with her own dreams and struggles.
Reflection beckons me to moments etched in the tapestry of our tumultuous past—the night veiled in darkness where my love, distorted by desperation, metamorphosed into a force of oppression. I grapple with the shadows of regret, wondering if, instead of succumbing to impulsive rage, a more mature resolve could have untangled the knots of our discord.
Yet, preceding that night, the echoes of Meerab's fall, orchestrated by Haya's malicious intent, reverberate within my consciousness. Naively, I relinquished my responsibility, assuming Maa Begum took care of it. It was a grave oversight that left Meerab vulnerable, bearing scars unseen, wounds unspoken.
Recollection morphs into the madness I harbored—the desperate plea for validation leading me to ask Meerab to leap from the terrace, an act not of reason but of my own ins Trust, a fleeting whisper, evaded me when I needed it most. I failed to listen, to comprehend her truth, ensnared instead by the web of distrust that clouded my judgment.
The betrayal I felt in Maryam's departure eclipsed my ability to empathize, blinding me to Meerab's plea, casting her into the tempest without a chance for her voice to resonate within the halls of our home. My fatigue with the turmoil, the limits I crossed, paint a portrait of my failure—a failure to cherish, to communicate, to treat my beloved as the sovereign of my heart.
Love, an essence inherent within us, often obscured by the constructs of our fears and insecurities. We erect barriers, fortresses of protection, fearing the vulnerability that accompanies love's embrace. These walls, while shielding us, confine us within the solitude of our own creation. Love, the elusive key, holds the power to unlock the shackles that imprison our souls.
In the frantic pursuit of life's demands, we often forget the innate nature of love. We venture out seeking it, only to find it elusive, evading our grasp as we traverse the labyrinth of existence.
In the labyrinth of hindsight, I unearth the morals of love buried beneath the debris of my own shortcomings.
Love, I realize now, is not a singular melody but a symphony of compromise and understanding. It thrives not in the absence of flaws but in the embrace of imperfections. It flourishes in the tender moments of forgiveness, not in the shadows of blame and accusation.
I failed to recognize that love blooms not in the garden of fault-finding but in the nurturing soil of empathy and compassion. Meerab's tears and pleas were not signs of weakness but echoes of her love, a love I overlooked amidst my own insecurities.
Her departure echoes a poignant lesson: love can not flourish where blame takes root. It demands the nourishment of trust, the understanding that compromise is the bridge to connection.
She, like a radiant flame, taught me that love's essence lies not in possession but in liberation—setting each other's spirits alight, not to consume but to illuminate.
I mourn the missed chances, the unspoken words of devotion. I rue the absence of understanding, the inability to appreciate the depths of her affection.
Love, I now comprehend, is not a privilege to be taken for granted but a delicate dance requiring both partners to move in harmony, embracing each other's flaws while nurturing the garden of understanding.
If only I had grasped these morals earlier, perhaps the symphony of our love would have played a different, more harmonious melody.
From years that slipped away unnoticed,
Through the corridors of time's relentless march,
I came to understand the duty of a Khan,
While the echoes of a finalized divorce lingered,
Maa Begum departed, leaving me behind.
In moments stolen, I'd search for her,
Eyes alight with every glimpse of her triumphs.
She found success, embraced a love she deserved,
While I remained tethered to a haunting past.
A relentless prisoner of bygone days,
I aged, carrying the weight of regrets.
On my final breath, a longing stirred,
To seek her out one last time,
In distant London, she lingered,
Days it took for her return to me.
I yearned to seek redemption, to apologize,
Words unspoken, feelings unexpressed,
Yet destiny played its cruel hand,
As my gaze met her beauty one last time.
Meerab, the flower of paradise,
Whispered her name upon my fading lips.
And as life ebbed away, a vision appeared,
You, in sorrow, hands veiling your face,
My voice, a phantom of regret, reached you,
Yet you searched, unable to find me.
In the midst of nature's chorus,
A lone butterfly danced in the sky,
Unseen, it alighted gently near you,
Unaware that once it soared by your side.
Brushing tears away, I lingered,
A gentle zephyr, a silent companion.
A final goodbye in my fragile form.The teachings never warned of. As I dissolved away, I heard your whispered prayer,
"May we reunite in the gardens of paradise."
The End
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If you guys have any short story requests you can ask here...
Writer's thoughts:
When I started writing, I hated Meerab with everything in my heart. Eventually, I started sympathizing with her character and fell in love with her. You might have felt that in Sadqay Tumharey when I gave her a fairy like presence then turned her into a bossqueen (sorry, can'thelp it, I was obsessed with Saira- so obsessed that I think I will officially publish ST as an indivisual book and change their names). Honestly, the shows Meerab would have never returned if it wasn't for Meesam. If there was no Meesam and she had gotten her parent's support, then Meerab would have turned out much different.
MR is extremely triggering for me, I can handle watching my favourite character getting murdered over it anytime. Imagine living with your assa*lter for a lifetime. If I had taken the show's Murtasim, he would have married Haya and had his happily ever after. which I would have hated. Thus, this end.
