Beneath His Name

The air was still in the dimly lit drawing room. Just the sound of rustling paper and quiet sobs. Sana sat, wrapped in a dull blue dupatta, trembling as the Qazi asked her name once again.

"Sana Ameen... do you accept Raheel Zubair as your husband?"

Her heart pounded so loud she thought it would echo through the room. Her eyes found her uncle's, and then her mother's tear-streaked face. This wasn't a wedding. It was a transaction.

"Qubool hai," she whispered.

Once.
Twice.
Thrice.

And just like that... at only 18, she was married. To a man who hadn't even looked at her once.

---

Raheel Zubair, 27, stood outside on the balcony, a lit cigarette between his fingers. He wasn't in a sherwani. He wasn't even in the mood. This was a farz, a final promise to his dying father.

He didn't want a girl from a backward town, homeschooled and soft-spoken.
He wanted a woman who could stand beside him, not hide behind walls.

But here he was - tied to a girl he hadn't chosen.
And here she was - tied to a man who wouldn't even acknowledge her.

---

6 Months Later...

Nobody knew Sana was his wife.

To his friends, she was "a cousin visiting."
To his staff, she was "a girl from the village."
To himself, she was just a duty - locked away in the guest room, wearing sindoor in private and waiting for him to come home.

But he never did. Not to her.

Until one day... she heard laughter from downstairs.

A woman's voice. Sharp, confident.

"Raheel, your fiancée's waiting!"

Fiancée?
Her hands went cold. Her feet wouldn't move.

She ran down.
She saw it.
A beautiful woman, older, modern - slipping a ring on his finger while photographers clicked.

Raheel didn't stop them.
Raheel didn't look at her.

That night, Sana waited at the door like she always did. But this time, when he entered, she asked:

"What am I to you?"

He looked at her blankly. "A mistake."