Months passed since Haya had been jailed, but the aftermath of everything that transpired still clung to Khan Haveli like a shadow. The house was quieter than it had ever been, but not in the peaceful way Murtasim had once longed for. It was the kind of silence that came when something precious was broken beyond repair.
Meerab had stayed.
She had stayed for Meesam, the daughter they both cherished, the little girl who had brought joy to the otherwise broken pieces of their lives. But that was all that kept them together now-their roles as co-parents to Meesam. The bond they had once shared as husband and wife, that inexplicable connection that had drawn them to each other, was severed. Meerab had made it clear the night Haya was taken away: she could never forgive him for what he had done.
The night of Mariyam's rukhsati haunted them both. The moment Haya had wrapped herself around him, the look on Meerab's face, the anger that followed, and the terrible mistake Murtasim made afterward. The breach of trust, the forceful act that he could never undo. It was that night, not just the night of Haya's betrayal, that had torn them apart.
Now, they lived under the same roof, but in separate worlds.
---
Meerab was thriving in her own right. After the storm of emotions had passed, she had returned to her studies with renewed focus, finally achieving her dream of becoming a lawyer. The fire inside her that had always burned for justice, for helping those who couldn't help themselves, had reignited. She threw herself into her work, pouring every ounce of energy into her cases. It was her way of coping, of finding purpose outside the suffocating walls of Khan Haveli.
In her professional life, Meerab flourished. She stood in courtrooms with confidence, her words sharp and persuasive. She became known for her tenacity, her unwillingness to back down when she believed in a cause. She had fulfilled the dream she had once thought impossible, and in doing so, she carved out a life for herself independent of the man who had once dominated her world.
At home, she was a devoted mother to Meesam. She and Murtasim shared custody in a way that was civil, even cooperative, but nothing more. They made decisions together for their daughter, attending school events, celebrating her milestones, but there was always a distance, a line that neither dared to cross. For Meesam's sake, they kept things amicable, but behind closed doors, the chasm between them was vast.
Meesam, a bright and happy child, knew nothing of the tension between her parents. To her, they were both loving, attentive, and always there. She didn't understand why her mama and baba didn't share the same room, or why they rarely looked at each other the way other parents did. But in her innocent world, she was the center of their universe, and that was enough.
---
Murtasim, on the other hand, was a man tormented by his past.
He hadn't just lost Meerab as his wife-he had lost her completely. Even though she was still in his life, still living in the haveli, she was a ghost of the woman she had once been with him. The playful banter, the fiery arguments, the moments of tenderness that had defined their relationship were gone. In their place was an impenetrable wall, one he had built with his own hands the night he let his anger and pride consume him.
Murtasim lived with the weight of his regret every day. The more he tried to make amends, the more it seemed like Meerab withdrew from him. She never spoke of that night, never confronted him about it again after the first time, but her silence spoke volumes. Every time he looked at her, he saw the pain in her eyes, the distrust that lingered like a wound that refused to heal.
He burned for her. He still loved her, more than he had ever loved anyone in his life, but that love was now a constant source of agony. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to make things right, but he knew deep down that some things could never be mended. He had crossed a line that should never have been crossed, and no matter how much he wished for forgiveness, he knew he didn't deserve it.
Nights were the hardest for Murtasim. He would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, the memories of their time together playing on a loop in his mind. He remembered the way she had smiled at him once, the softness in her eyes when she looked at him with something close to affection. He remembered the nights when they had shared the same bed, the way her presence beside him had brought him a peace he hadn't known before.
But now, those memories were like salt in an open wound. Meerab slept in her own room, and he was left to live with the knowledge that he had destroyed the one thing he valued most-her trust.
---
Meerab, for her part, had learned to compartmentalize her life. She was a mother, a lawyer, a woman with a future ahead of her. But she had also built walls around her heart, walls that kept Murtasim out. She couldn't allow herself to be vulnerable with him again, not after everything that had happened.
There were moments when she saw glimpses of the man she had once cared for, moments when he would play with Meesam or offer her a silent, regretful glance, and something in her chest would tighten. But she reminded herself of the pain he had caused her, the betrayal, the violence of that night, and her resolve would harden once more.
She couldn't forgive him. Not for that. And so, she continued to live her life, co-parenting Meesam with him, but keeping her distance in every other way.
---
The days turned into weeks, and then months, and still, nothing changed between them. Murtasim grew more hollow with each passing day, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. He threw himself into his work, trying to distract himself, but nothing could ease the ache in his chest. Every time he saw Meerab, every time they exchanged polite, distant words about their daughter, it was a reminder of what he had lost.
One night, after putting Meesam to bed, Murtasim found himself standing outside Meerab's room. He hadn't meant to come here-his feet had carried him before his mind had caught up. The door was closed, as it always was, and he stood there, staring at the wooden barrier between them.
He wanted to knock, to beg for forgiveness, to tell her how much he still loved her, how much he regretted everything. But he couldn't. He had said it all before, and nothing had changed. Meerab didn't want his apologies, his words. She wanted him to live with the consequences of his actions, and that's exactly what he was doing.
Murtasim took a deep breath, his hand hovering over the door for a moment before he let it fall back to his side. There was no point. She wouldn't open it, and even if she did, what could he say that hadn't already been said?
He turned away, retreating to his own room, the emptiness inside him growing with every step.
---
Years passed, and life in Khan Haveli continued. Meerab's career flourished, and Meesam grew into a smart, independent young girl, loved by both her parents. To the outside world, they were a family-albeit an unconventional one. But behind the closed doors of the haveli, the distance between Murtasim and Meerab remained.
Murtasim never remarried. He couldn't. His heart belonged to Meerab, even if she would never forgive him, even if they would never be together again as husband and wife. He had made his peace with that, or at least, he tried to.
He watched Meerab from afar, admiring her strength, her determination. She had built a life for herself, one that didn't rely on him, and he respected her for it. But it didn't make the ache any less.
Every day, he lived with the knowledge that he had ruined the one thing he had wanted most in life-a life with Meerab. And every day, he carried the weight of that regret, knowing that he would never be able to fix what he had broken.
But for the sake of Meesam, they continued. Two people bound together by a child, but separated by a wall of pain and betrayal that could never be torn down.
Murtasim lived with the consequences of his actions, yearning for the woman he loved, but knowing that the love he had destroyed could never be restored.
And so, they continued, together yet apart, living in the shadow of what might have been.
