Feeling frustrated and annoyed after watching episode 20, I needed to vent. What if the theft fiasco hadn't been depicted on screen or if Musjeena had departed the house by another means?"
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Mustafa stood outside Sharjeena's office, his eyes darting between his watch and the entrance. The sun was beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the city. He leaned against his bike, tapping his foot impatiently. Sharjeena was never this late. He had called her several times, but each attempt went unanswered, the phone ringing endlessly before going to voicemail. His mind raced with worry, imagining all sorts of scenarios.
An hour later, just as the streetlights flickered on, the office doors finally opened. Sharjeena stepped out, looking weary and surprised to see Mustafa waiting. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice tinged with exhaustion.
Mustafa pushed off from his bike, a mix of relief and concern washing over his face. "What do you think I'm doing? Waiting for my wife. Why were you so late today, and why didn't you pick up my calls?"
Sharjeena sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair. "We had an important meeting today, and I didn't get a chance to check my phone. It was on silent, so I didn't notice your calls. If I had known you were coming to pick me up, I would have informed you about the delay."
Mustafa's expression softened, his initial frustration melting away. "It's no problem," he said, his tone gentle.
He took a closer look at her, noticing the dark circles under her eyes and the way her shoulders drooped. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.
"I have a severe headache, Mustafa," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Let's go home then. You can take some medicine and rest," he suggested, his voice soothing.
Sharjeena nodded gratefully and climbed onto the bike, her movements slow and deliberate. She wrapped her arms tightly around Mustafa, leaning her head against his back. As they rode home, the cool evening breeze provided some relief from her pounding headache. The city lights blurred into a comforting glow, and she felt a sense of peace and security holding onto him. The rhythmic hum of the bike and the steady presence of Mustafa made her feel like everything would be alright.
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Mustafa gently set Sharjeena down at the front gate, the hum of the bike's engine still echoing in the quiet evening air. "You go inside and let me park this bike in its place," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. Sharjeena nodded, her steps slow and deliberate as she made her way to the house.
Opening the door, she was greeted by the familiar sight of Shagufta and Rubab seated together. "As Salamu Alaikum, Ammi," she greeted, her voice carrying a hint of fatigue.
"Walaikum As Salam," Shagufta replied, her tone as steady as ever.
Sharjeena was about to slip away to the sanctuary of her room when Shagufta's voice stopped her. "Get ready to make biryani tonight. Rubab wants to eat it."
Sharjeena hesitated, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. "Can I make it later?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Shagufta's eyes narrowed slightly. "And why is that?"
"I have a headache," Sharjeena explained, rubbing her temples. "Let me take some medicine, and then I'll make it."
Shagufta's expression hardened. "Why don't you just say you don't want to make it? This headache is just an excuse, I know. When I said to make it for Rubab, you got jealous. That's why you're making excuses. Leave it, I will do it. You've already done us a great favor by cooking for us."
