Kabhi main, kabhi tum, kabhi yeh, kabhi voh

You'll Always Be My Home: Part 4

The day had been long and exhausting for Sharjeena, but it felt like her days never ended—they just blurred into one another, each one heavier than the last. The morning had started with her visiting the realtor's office, a decision she immediately regretted. The man's remarks were yet another in the series of patronizing, misogynistic lectures she had endured over the past few weeks. She didn't even argue this time; she simply walked out, her chest tightening, her patience worn thin. Driving to work, she felt like a stranger in her own city—defeated, rejected, and weighed down by memories she couldn't escape.

Her office provided her only escape, a place where her mind could drown in numbers, deadlines, and emails. But even there, her solace was fleeting. Around midday, as she was working through a spreadsheet, she overheard her colleagues talking about a recently transferred employee from Karachi to Islamabad.

That conversation struck a chord, an idea forming in her mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, she didn't belong in this city anymore. Maybe it wasn't just the painful memories or the constant rejections—it was the place itself, suffocating her with its weight. Maybe it's time to leave, she thought. The transfer would provide a fresh start, and with it, she could escape the haunting shadows of her past. And the company accommodation policy would save her from the torment of house-hunting.

But as the idea took root, guilt crept in. What about Ammi and Baba? she thought. They had been her anchors, her unwavering support system. The idea of leaving them behind made her feel selfish. But then, she thought of all the burdens she was adding to their lives—emotional, financial, and otherwise. The guilt shifted into something sharper: the belief that her presence in their home was weighing them down.

And then, inevitably, Mustafa crossed her mind. She clutched her pen tighter, her chest tightening as she tried to push the thoughts away. He abandoned me when we shared the same roof, she reasoned bitterly. Why would he care now? The memories of their life together, the pain of his absence when she needed him most, flooded her mind. It was a familiar ache, but she couldn't let it deter her. She was tired of being stuck, tired of the memories, tired of everything.

She straightened in her chair and approached her boss. "Sir," she said hesitantly, "the other day, you mentioned that our Islamabad branch is expanding and hiring?"

He nodded, looking up from his laptop. "Yes, they are. Why do you ask?"

"I wanted to request a transfer there," she said, her voice more assertive than she felt.

Her boss looked taken aback. "Why suddenly?"

She hesitated for a moment. "For growth," she said carefully, then added, almost impulsively, "and I need a fresh start."

Her boss leaned back in his chair, studying her face. "I see," he said. "I understand that. But I'll be honest—it won't be easy. The seniors here won't let you go without a fight, especially given your performance."

She gave a tight smile, grateful for the compliment but not for the answer.

"I also think that the position specific to your role in Islamabad has already been filled," he admitted. "But I'll keep an eye out and let you know. It might take a couple of months, though."

"Thank you," she said, her voice polite but flat. She left his office feeling even more unsatisfied, the faint hope she had grasped slipping through her fingers.

As she sat back at her desk, staring blankly at her computer, the weight of her decision bore down on her. A transfer might take months, and until then, she would have to endure the same cycle of rejection, the same haunting memories. The thought was suffocating, but she resolved to keep pushing forward. It's just a matter of time, she told herself, but deep down, she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep herself afloat.