Kabhi main, kabhi tum, kabhi yeh, kabhi voh

You'll Always Be My Home: Part 8 / Last Part

Sharjeena didn't know where she was headed. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened as she drove aimlessly, tears cascading down her cheeks, hot and relentless. The ache in her chest felt unbearable, Mustafa's words echoing in her mind like a haunting melody. She cursed herself repeatedly—for believing that things could work out, for daring to hope, for letting herself think that life had offered her another chance. The fragile hope she'd built up over the weeks had come crashing down with Mustafa's accusations.

Her thoughts spiraled as she pressed harder on the accelerator, her vision blurry from the tears. The world around her felt like a blur of faint lights and shadows, matching the chaos inside her. Her phone buzzed repeatedly, the sound sharp in the quiet of the car, but she ignored it. She didn't want to face Mustafa—not now, not when her emotions were in turmoil.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a man darted into the road. Sharjeena slammed on the brakes, her body jolting forward as the car screeched to a halt. The man yelled something at her, his voice muffled through the closed windows, before crossing the street and disappearing into the darkness. She sat there, her heart racing, the weight of the moment pulling her back to reality.

Breathing heavily, she looked around, realizing she had no idea where she was. The unfamiliar streets were dimly lit, the quiet eerie. Reaching for her phone in the cup holder, she noticed the screen lit up with notifications—more than 40 missed calls from Mustafa. Her heart sank further as his name flashed on the screen again, the device vibrating insistently in her hand.

Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she sighed deeply, setting it aside. Resting her head against the backrest, she closed her eyes, inhaling shakily in an attempt to calm herself. She wiped her tears with her sleeve, but they kept coming. Mustafa's words, his doubt, his accusations—they cut deeper than she wanted to admit.

She opened her eyes and stared out at the empty road ahead, her mind racing as she whispered to herself, "Ab kya, Sharjeena?" The question lingered, heavy and unanswered.

She then started the car again and drove towards an area less deserted than this one. As she sat in her car, now parked in a lively area, her world felt anything but vibrant. The city buzzed around her—laughter, voices, and honking cars—but she remained disconnected, trapped in her own whirlwind of emotions. Her phone buzzed constantly in the background, Mustafa's name lighting up the screen, but she ignored it. She couldn't deal with him, not right now.

Her thoughts raced. She had left Mustafa's apartment with nothing—no luggage, no money, no concrete plan. The familiar thought of going to her parents' house crossed her mind, but she dismissed it almost instantly. How could she? What would she even tell them? That she had left Mustafa again? It felt like a never-ending loop, this back and forth, and it drained her soul.

Her tears started falling again, unbidden and relentless. She wiped them away furiously, scolding herself aloud. You've cried enough, Sharjeena. Enough drama now. Pull yourself together. Ab yahi zindagi hai. Tooti hui. Bikhri hui. Koi nahi aa raha aansoo ponchne. Aise hi jeena padega.

Taking deep breaths, she tried to think rationally. Wherever she went, she knew she would have to retrieve her belongings from Mustafa's apartment sooner or later, especially her work laptop. But before that, she needed a plan. She had left her wallet, her cards, all behind at the apartment. Her mind went to the emergency cash she always kept hidden in her car's seat cover, and with shaky hands, she reached for it. Her fingers brushed against the cash, and she pulled it out, counting the notes. Her heart sank. It wasn't enough to afford even a decent hotel for the night, let alone cover any other expenses.

She thought about staying in her car, but the idea filled her with dread. The dark corners of the city were no place for a woman alone, and she had learned that the hard way. Frustrated, she shoved her hand deeper into the seat pocket, her fingers searching for something, anything. Suddenly, she felt a metallic object—a small bunch of keys. Pulling them out, she stared at them in confusion. It took her a moment to realize what they were: the keys to their old apartment.