Kabhi main, kabhi tum, kabhi yeh, kabhi voh

You'll Always Be My Home: Part 6

Sharjeena woke before dawn, as she had done for months. But this morning felt different. The familiar weight of despair that usually gripped her chest was absent. Instead, she felt a warmth—a sense of comfort she hadn't known in six long months. She realized she was nestled in Mustafa's arms, his hold gentle but firm, as though even in his sleep, he was trying to shield her from the world.

For a moment, she lay still, processing how she had ended up here. She couldn't remember much of the night, just fragments of her nightmares and his voice softly soothing her. A part of her wanted to stay in his embrace, to let herself be wrapped in the safety he offered. But the walls she had built around her heart reminded her of the pain he had caused, and she knew she couldn't let herself fall again.

She carefully slipped out of his arms, trying not to wake him. The movement made her pause, though; for the first time in months, she didn't feel like crying first thing in the morning or like her heart was pounding out of her chest. There was no nausea threatening to overwhelm her. Instead, there was a faint sense of calm. She glanced at Mustafa's sleeping face, peaceful and vulnerable in the faint light. She hesitated for a moment, then quickly turned away and went about her morning routine.

In the shower, she tried to shake off the feelings that were creeping back into her heart. This doesn't change anything, she reminded herself. But the memory of his arms around her, the safety she had felt, kept interrupting her thoughts. She dressed quickly, choosing her usual plain office attire, and went downstairs.

In the kitchen, she busied herself preparing breakfast. She made enough for two and then started packing lunches. She tried to keep her mind on the task, focusing on the movements of her hands rather than the emotions swirling inside her. Before she knew it, she had packed two lunchboxes—one for herself and one for Mustafa. It was automatic, instinctive. Despite everything, a part of her still wanted to take care of him.

She set the table for breakfast and was just about to pack her own breakfast to go when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Mustafa appeared, yawning and stretching. His hair was a mess, and he rubbed his eyes sleepily. The sight was so familiar, so nostalgic, that it made her heart ache.

"Tum tayyar bhi ho gayin?" he asked, his voice groggy. "Abhi toh kaafi jaldi hai."

"Haan," she replied shortly. "Main office subah jaldi hi jaati hoon."

He nodded, still waking up. "Okay, main bhi jaldi se ready ho jaata hoon. Phir saath nikal lenge."

His casual words sent a wave of panic through her. "Nahi," she said too quickly, her tone sharper than she intended. "Mujhe abhi hi nikalna hai, late ho rahi hoon." She gestured to the table. "Maine breakfast banaa diya tha aur lunch bhi pack kar diya tha. Tum kha lena."

Mustafa frowned slightly, clearly taken aback by her abruptness, but he nodded. "Thank you, Sharjeena," he said softly, his voice sincere. "Is sab ki kya zarurat..."

She didn't let him finish. She picked up her packed breakfast and bag, avoiding his gaze. "I'll see you later," she said, her voice clipped. Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned and walked out the door.

Mustafa stood there for a moment, watching her leave. The quiet hum of the apartment felt deafening. He looked at the table, at the breakfast she had made and the lunchboxes neatly packed. It wasn't much, but it was more than he had hoped for. He sat down, sighing heavily, trying to savor the small victory. She's still here, he told himself. That's all that matters for now.
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Sharjeena kept herself buried in work, moving from meeting to meeting, emails to presentations, determined not to let her mind wander. The flurry of activity kept her from thinking too much about the morning or about Mustafa, whose presence seemed to linger in her thoughts no matter how much she tried to suppress it. She knew she would eventually have to face the emotions swirling inside her, but not now—not when the walls she had carefully rebuilt over the last six months felt so fragile.