Whispers Of The Heart

Chapter 28

Ek umar guzari hai humnein, tumhari aarzoo karte hue,

Tum lakh namukkamal hi sahi, par phir bhi apne se lagte ho.

She looked around, her senses immediately captivated by the familiar scent of old paper. Tall wooden shelves stretched up towards the ceiling, lined with books of various sizes and colors. The soft glow of a nearby lamp cast a warm, golden hue over the rich mahogany wood, creating an inviting atmosphere. Each shelf seemed to beckon her closer, promising a world of knowledge and adventure within its pages.

She had always been fond of books, spending countless hours in the library of her home, surrounded by her favorite reads. But for years, that simple pleasure had been denied to her. Although she had managed to buy a few books with her salary, it was never as fulfilling as sitting in a room like this, where the air was thick with the wisdom of countless authors.

Now, standing in the study of the Qureshi Mansion, she felt that sense of comfort once more. As she moved along the shelves, her fingers lightly brushing the spines of the books, her eyes stopped on one particular title. It was a recent release from her favorite author, a book she had longed to read. With a small smile, she picked it up and walked over to a large, sturdy table in the center of the room. She settled into the plush chair, the soft leather cushioning her as she prepared to lose herself in the story.

Just as she was about to open the book, the door creaked open behind her. She turned around to see Hamid standing there, his presence commanding as always. For a moment, uncertainty gripped her, and she hesitated before rising from the chair, intending to leave.

"Can you please wait? I want to have a talk with you." Hamid's voice, firm yet not unkind, stopped her in her tracks.

She turned back, facing him. His demeanor was as imposing as it had been four years ago, his posture straight, and his gaze steady. Yet, beneath the surface, there was something different—something softer.

"Uncle, I know that you do not like me..." Dinayah began, but her words faltered.

"Who told you that?" He interrupted.

She stood frozen, her mind struggling to process his words. There was no anger in his eyes, only a softening that she had not expected. The lines on his face seemed to ease, and the rigidity of his expression melted away, revealing a gentler side she had never seen before.

"I didn't even know you well enough to like or dislike you," he continued, his voice now carrying a hint of regret. "It's just that I didn't want my son to fall into any trouble. I knew his lifestyle, and at that time, I believed that marrying would only create problems—not just for him and our family, but for you as well. He wasn't responsible enough to bear the weight of a marriage. I'm sorry for sending you away like that, but as a father, it was all I could think to do."

Dinayah listened quietly, her heart softening as she heard the sincerity in his voice. How could she ever think ill of him? She never had. His actions, though not right, were those of a father trying to protect his child.

"But now," Hamid continued, his eyes glinting with a faint pride, "I see my son is more than capable and responsible. And I believe you had a hand in that change. Allah brought you two into this relationship for a reason. In these four years, I've seen him cry for you, pray for you, and do everything possible to find you. You were destined to be with him. And no, I do not dislike you. Please forgive me for what I did."

Dinayah felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. An apology from him? She had never expected that, and it made her feel awkward, almost undeserving.

"Please, don't say sorry," she said, her voice gentle. "I understand your concern. And honestly, even if you hadn't told me to leave, I would have left eventually. Maybe after his discharge from the hospital, but I would have left. So it's not your fault."