My Quiet Wife

Chapter 12: The Shattered Veil

Sufiyaan stormed into his study, his mind a tempest of suspicions and doubts. Ibrahim was already there, waiting patiently, his face calm but his eyes wary, sensing the storm brewing in his brother. Sufiyaan sat down, his expression stern, and gave Ibrahim a nod—the go-ahead to deliver the truth that had been meticulously uncovered.

"Jahanara is the daughter of Noor-e-Jahan," Ibrahim began, his voice steady. "The most famous courtesan of HeeraMandi."

Sufiyaan's reaction was immediate. His face turned pale, his eyes darkened with fury, and his jaw tightened. Rage washed over him, and he clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. The betrayal stung. The Nawabs, who had claimed that Jahanara was merely a housemaid, had hidden this truth. A wave of revulsion and anger swept through him, as if the very air had become suffocating.

Ibrahim watched Sufiyaan's fury boil over, but he pressed on, determined to deliver the full truth. "She left HeeraMandi when she was twelve," he said. "From what I found, she's innocent—she was just a child when she escaped."

Sufiyaan barely heard the last part. The thought of Jahanara's connection to HeeraMandi filled his mind, drowning out all else. It didn't matter to him that she was a child then; all he could feel was the sting of betrayal.

"And another thing," Ibrahim said cautiously, trying to ease the tension. "She's 18 now, but she was married for two years. How did she get married at 16?"

Sufiyaan's brow furrowed. This was new information—a realization that Jahanara was not just his wife but a girl ten years younger than him. His anger wavered, confusion taking its place. Protectiveness stirred within him, but he forced it down, refusing to let sympathy cloud his judgment.

"I don't think she's had any formal education," Ibrahim continued. "There were no school certificates, no academic records... nothing."

Sufiyaan's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" he demanded, the shock evident in his voice.

"I mean," Ibrahim said carefully, "she might not even know how to read or write."

Sufiyaan's anger flared again. He was about to demand more when Ibrahim added, "There's something else. She left HeeraMandi at 12, and she got married at 16. There's a four-year gap in her life that's completely blank. I couldn't find anything about what happened during that time, or how she came to be under the Nawabs' care. And as for her ex-husband... he's a ghost. No records, no background, nothing. The only link is the Nawabs, who apparently knew him."

The mention of HeeraMandi again sent Sufiyaan's thoughts spiraling. He felt sick, disgusted that a woman with such a past could be in his home, raising his children. Unable to contain his rage, he stood abruptly, his expression a stormy mask. He left the study with one purpose—confront Jahanara, demand answers, and settle this deception once and for all.

Meanwhile, Jahanara had changed into her night clothes, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. There was a sense of hope she hadn't allowed herself to feel before. For the first time, she allowed herself to believe that happiness might be within her reach. She spread out the prayer mat and began her prayer, her forehead touching the soft fabric as she prayed for guidance, for the strength to embrace this new life, and for the courage to move forward.

As she completed her prayers, she thought of Anila and Malik, who had shown her kindness and warmth she had never expected. She thought of Reyan, her son, who had accepted her so easily. And then her thoughts drifted to Sufiyaan. What kind of man was he? She didn't even know what he looked like. She had avoided him, kept her eyes down, fearful of what she might find if she looked too closely. But she knew his parents were good, and she wanted to believe that he might be too. For the first time, she resolved to give him a chance, to try and make this marriage work. She felt a flicker of determination take root.

Just as she was getting ready to sleep, arranging her pillow on the sofa, the door flew open, and Sufiyaan burst into the room, his face twisted with fury. Before she could even turn around, he crossed the distance between them in a few long strides, his eyes blazing. He grabbed her arm roughly, yanking her around to face him. Jahanara's heart stopped as her forehead collided with his chest, the impact forcing her to look up.

For the first time, their eyes met.

Her wide, frightened blue eyes locked with his stormy gray ones, and Sufiyaan's rage faltered. He had never seen such eyes before—so vivid and full of emotions, they seemed to pull him in, dragging him down into a depth he hadn't expected. It was as if the fury that had consumed him was suddenly drowned by the vast ocean of her gaze. He forgot, for a moment, what he had stormed in to say.

Jahanara, stunned, stared at the man before her—the man who was her husband. He was tall, towering over her, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, and his features were sharp, handsome, almost aristocratic. She had never imagined him to look like this. Her fear spiked as she saw the raw anger in his eyes, but there was something else, something hesitant, as if he was caught off guard by her presence.

They stood there, frozen, a heartbeat stretching into eternity.

Sufiyaan's eyes hardened again as reality returned. He looked away, anger simmering beneath the surface, and noticed Jahanara arranging her pillow on the sofa.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice low and rough. His eyes narrowed as he watched her.

Jahanara, confused and startled by his sudden outburst, said nothing. His intense gaze made her words catch in her throat. He stepped closer, towering over her.

"Why are you sleeping on the sofa?" he asked again, his tone more insistent.

Jahanara hesitated, sensing that he would not let this go until he had an answer. "This is where I sleep," she said softly, feeling small under his burning gaze.

His face darkened with anger, but when he spoke again, his voice was low, almost a growl. "Not anymore. A husband and wife sleep together." His tone left no room for argument, yet there was something vulnerable about it, a demand for something he didn't quite know how to ask for.

He turned abruptly, striding to the bathroom without another word. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Jahanara standing in the middle of the room, completely bewildered. His final words echoed in her mind, and she tried to grasp their meaning, unsure what to do, unsure what he truly expected from her.

She stared at the closed bathroom door, her heart pounding in her chest, and knew that whatever lay ahead, everything had changed.