His Prisoner 21+

49

Emaan woke up to an empty bed, the cold sheets beside her a silent reminder of his absence. The golden sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a warm glow across the luxurious bedroom, yet her heart felt unyieldingly heavy. The faint aroma of his cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the muted hum of the city outside. Her fingers traced the now-cool sheets where Arzal had been the night before, the echoes of his harsh words and suffocating possessiveness replaying in her mind. For a brief moment, she stayed still, staring at the ceiling, her mind clouded with fragmented thoughts until a sharp twinge in her still-healing wrist pulled her back to reality. With a resigned sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, bracing herself for another day in the shadow of his unpredictable world.

When she reached the kitchen, the faint clatter of utensils greeted her. Haya, efficient and polished in her demeanor, was already bustling about. Her dupatta was pinned neatly, and her hands worked methodically as she sorted groceries. She glanced up at Emaan with an overly saccharine smile, betraying its insincerity.

"Assalamualaikum, Emaan," Haya greeted, her tone sweet but hollow.

"Walaikumassalam," Emaan replied, settling into a chair at the dining table.

"Tumhara haath kaisa hai ab? Lagta hai Doctor Alizey ko bulana parega. Aj cast utaarne ka din hai, na?" Haya inquired with feigned concern. (How is your hand now? It seems we might need to call Dr. Alizey. Today is the day to remove the cast, isn't it?)

Emaan nodded quietly, her thoughts elsewhere. Not long after, Dr. Alizey arrived, her warm demeanor starkly contrasting the room's lingering tension.

"Hello, Emaan!" the doctor greeted, setting her medical bag on the coffee table. "Let's take a look at that wrist, shall we?"

Emaan extended her arm hesitantly as Dr. Alizey carefully began removing the cast.

"There we go," the doctor said with a smile as she inspected the wrist. "It's healed well, but it's going to be weak for a while. Avoid any heavy lifting or strain—it's been immobilized for weeks, and you'll need to regain strength gradually."

Emaan nodded, her expression unreadable. Dr. Alizey placed an ointment tube on the table. "Use this for any pain or stiffness, and remember, no overexerting yourself. Let your husband handle the heavy lifting." She chuckled lightly, oblivious to the flicker of discomfort that crossed Emaan's face.

Once the doctor left, Haya appeared at Emaan's side with a cup of tea, her eyes lingering on Emaan's wrist. She sighed dramatically, taking a seat beside her.

"Waise, bohot himmat hai tum mein, Emaan," Haya remarked, her tone laced with mock admiration. (By the way, you have a lot of courage, Emaan.)

Emaan frowned slightly. "Kya matlab?" (What do you mean?)

Haya gave her a pitying look. "Mujhse toh kabhi na hota. Ek din bhi na hota." She sipped her tea before continuing, her voice tinged with calculated vulnerability. "Maine toh chorh diya apne shohar ko." (I could never do it. Not even for a day. I left my husband, after all.)

Emaan's frown deepened. "Ji?" (What?)

"Haan. Usne mujhe talaak di, lekin woh maine khud apne liye talaak karwayi. Kab tak zilat bardasht karti? Self-respect bhi koi cheez hoti hai." (Yes, he divorced me, but I was the one who made him do it for my own sake. How long could I endure humiliation? Self-respect matters too, you know.)

Emaan swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to her hands.

"Mere bhi khwab the," Haya continued, her voice breaking slightly as tears welled in her eyes. "Socha tha, mera beta ache school mein parhe aur ham ek par-sukoon zindagi jeeyein. Lekin... uske naseeb mein yeh sab likha hi nahi." (I had dreams too. I had thought my son would study in a good school, and we would live a peaceful life. But... it just wasn't written in his fate.)