Hirz-e-Jaan

Ulfat 8

Author's POV

The past few days had passed in a blur of sweetness and noise.

Trays of mithai were sent out to relatives and neighbors, baskets exchanged hands, congratulations echoing from every corner of the village. People smiled too easily, laughed too loudly. Everywhere Mehrunnisa went, she heard the same words repeated with certainty, with approval.

"Allah ne jori banayi hai." (God Himself has made this match.)

"Kitni khoobsurat jodi hai." (What a beautiful couple.)

"Bilkul kamil jora." (A perfect pair.)

Kamil jora. (A perfect pair)

The words settled heavily in her chest, foreign and untrue. She smiled when required, lowered her gaze when praised, nodded when blessings were given. From the outside, she looked exactly as a newly engaged girl should.

Inside, something felt deeply wrong.

It wasn't fear alone.
It wasn't anger either.

It was the unsettling sense that she was living inside a performance, a performance she hadn't chosen but one she couldn't step off from. Everything felt rehearsed, polished, inevitable. As if her life had skipped ahead without asking her if she was ready.

Zorawar noticed.

He always did.

"Kya tum khush ho?" he asked her one evening, not for the first time. (Are you happy with this?)

She smiled at him, the same practiced smile she'd perfected over days.
"Haan, bohut zyada." she said lightly. (Yes. Very much.)

But as she turned away, her chest tightened.

She knew her brother.
She knew that look.

Zorawar didn't believe her.
Not completely.

And perhaps that was worse, knowing someone could sense the fracture but not knowing how to name it.

Haider, on the other hand, tried. Tried to make sure she was okay.

In small ways.
Careful ways.

He found excuses to pass by, sent word through others, lingered where he might catch a glimpse of her even if only from a distance. Every attempt met the same wall.

Mehrunnisa always stayed in her room.

Amina encouraged it, insisting gently that an almost-wed bride should be shielded from the world.
"Nazar lag jaati hai," she'd said. (The evil eye falls.)

There were preparations to be made anyway: beauty rituals, fabrics, jewelry decisions. Mehrunnisa let herself be absorbed into them without resistance. It was easier to disappear into routine than to think.

Safeena, however, came often.

Sometimes with gifts like bangles, dupattas, sweets.
Sometimes with nothing but herself.

She would sit beside Mehrunnisa, asking about her health, her sleep, her comfort, speaking as though the bond already existed, as though this transition had always been natural.

"Tum ab meri beti jaisi ho," Safeena said once, smiling warmly. (You are like my daughter now.)

Mehrunnisa had smiled back.

What else could she do?

Today was different.

Today, the date of the wedding was to be decided.