Years passed, and the world outside Khan Haveli moved forward, but inside its walls, time seemed to linger in an endless loop of memories and missed opportunities. The grandeur of the haveli, once filled with the lively echoes of family gatherings and laughter, was now accompanied by a quiet stillness. Life went on, but the unspoken weight of history hung over every corner, every glance, every word exchanged between Murtasim and Meerab.
Meesam, now in her early teens, had blossomed into a bright, curious girl. She had inherited her mother’s fiery determination and her father’s stubborn strength. She was the bridge between two worlds that had forever drifted apart, the living reminder of what had once been. She often wandered the haveli, her laughter the only sound that could lift the silence, her questions often leaving Murtasim and Meerab scrambling for answers they weren’t ready to confront.
Despite the broken relationship between her parents, Meesam never felt unloved. Both Murtasim and Meerab showered her with affection, though never at the same time. They were careful never to let her witness the distance between them, shielding her from the cold truth of their relationship. To Meesam, they were simply her mama and baba, two people who loved her more than anything else in the world.
But even Meesam, in her youthful innocence, couldn’t help but notice the unspoken tension between her parents. She often wondered why her mother’s smile never reached her eyes when her father was in the room, or why her father’s gaze lingered on her mother as though he was searching for something he could never find.
---
It was one warm evening when Meesam, returning from school, found herself sitting with Murtasim in the garden. The garden, which had once been Meerab’s favorite place to sit and read, was now a space where Murtasim often retreated to, lost in thought. Meesam had noticed her father was quiet today—quieter than usual.
“Baba?” she asked, her voice soft but curious.
Murtasim looked down at his daughter, forcing a smile to hide the storm brewing inside him. “Yes, jaan?”
“Why don’t you and Mama talk much?” Meesam’s question was innocent, but it struck him like a dagger. She had asked this question before, but never with such directness.
Murtasim sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. “Some things are… complicated, beti. Adults don’t always get along.”
Meesam frowned, her young mind trying to understand. “But you love Mama, right?”
Murtasim’s heart clenched. If only it were that simple. He loved Meerab more than words could express, but love wasn’t enough. Love hadn’t saved them from the choices they had made, from the wounds that had never healed. He had spent years yearning for her, burning with regret and remorse, but Meerab had never forgiven him—and he couldn’t blame her for that.
“I do, Meesam. I love your mother more than anything in this world,” he said, his voice heavy with truth.
Meesam’s face lit up with a smile. “Then why don’t you tell her? Maybe she’ll love you back.”
Murtasim chuckled bitterly, pain flashing in his eyes. “Some things aren’t that easy to fix, jaan.”
Meesam seemed to consider this for a moment before shrugging. “Well, you should try.”
---
Inside the haveli, Meerab stood by the window of her room, watching Murtasim and Meesam from afar. She had overheard part of their conversation, her heart aching at her daughter’s innocent questions. Meesam was growing up, becoming more perceptive, and sooner or later, she would understand the truth. Meerab wasn’t ready for that conversation—not yet.
Her fingers absentmindedly traced the cool glass of the window, her thoughts drifting back to the past. She had built a new life for herself—a successful one. Her career as a lawyer had brought her purpose and fulfillment, and she had finally achieved the dreams she had once set aside for her marriage. But no matter how much she had accomplished, the scars of her past remained.
She had never forgiven Murtasim. How could she?
She had learned to live with the pain, to coexist with him for Meesam’s sake, but she had never forgotten. Every time she looked at him, she saw the man who had shattered her trust, the man who had crossed a line she could never erase from her memory. And yet, there were times when she caught glimpses of the man she had once cared for—the one who had made her feel safe, cherished. Those fleeting moments of tenderness only made it harder, reminding her of what could have been if things had been different.
But things weren’t different.
Meerab had chosen her path, and Murtasim had chosen his. And now, they lived as two strangers under the same roof, tied together only by their love for Meesam.
---
As the years passed, Murtasim’s regret never faded. He continued to yearn for Meerab, to burn with a love that would never be returned. The weight of his guilt sat heavy on his shoulders, but he carried it in silence, never once asking for forgiveness again. He knew he didn’t deserve it.
Meerab, for her part, continued to thrive in her career, finding solace in her work and in raising Meesam. She had built a life that no longer revolved around Murtasim, and while the pain of their past still lingered, she had learned to move forward—without him.
Together, they raised Meesam, offering her the love and support she needed to grow into a strong, independent young woman. But as for Murtasim and Meerab, they remained locked in a stalemate, the shadows of their past too deep to escape from.
---
One day, many years later, when Meesam was grown and ready to leave the haveli to pursue her own dreams, she sat with her parents for one last dinner in the haveli. It was an odd sight—Meerab and Murtasim at the same table, sharing a meal as a family, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. For Meesam, they could come together, if only for a little while.
After dinner, as Meesam said her goodbyes and left the haveli to begin her new life, Murtasim and Meerab stood at the entrance, watching her go. The air between them was thick with the weight of everything left unsaid over the years.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Murtasim spoke softly, his voice filled with longing and sadness. “She’s gone now. It’s just us.”
Meerab didn’t respond at first, her eyes following the path Meesam had taken out of the haveli. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady but distant. “We’ll always be parents to her. But it was never ‘just us.’ Not anymore.”
Murtasim turned to her, his heart heavy with the truth of her words. “Do you ever think… we could have made it work?”
Meerab looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a moment, she saw the man she had once cared for—the man who had once loved her with every fiber of his being. But that man was buried beneath layers of pain and regret, just as she was.
“No,” she said quietly, her voice firm. “Some things are broken beyond repair, Murtasim.”
He nodded, accepting her words, though they cut him deeper than he could ever express.
They stood there for a moment longer, the silence between them heavy with the weight of all they had lost. And then, without another word, they turned and walked back inside the haveli—two people bound by the past, but forever separated by the choices they had made.
The echoes of their love, once fierce and passionate, had faded into the shadows of what could have been.
And so, they continued—together, yet apart, living in the hollow remnants of a love that would never be whole again.
