Shahla walked along the dusty road leading to her village, her head bowed and her feet heavy with regret. The vibrant green fields surrounding her were familiar, yet they felt distant, like a world she no longer belonged to. Her clothes were simple, her once-proud demeanor now replaced by quiet resignation. She didn't know what she hoped to find here, but the pull to return to her roots had been too strong to ignore.
As she entered the village, she noticed the changes. The small market looked busier, the houses more modern. Children ran through the streets, their laughter ringing in the air. Shahla paused, her heart tightening as memories of her youth flooded back. She had once walked these roads with pride, dreaming of a grand future. Now, she felt like an intruder in a life she had abandoned.
She made her way to Jamshed's grocery store, a place she knew well from her childhood. The elderly shopkeeper, with his white beard and kind eyes, was arranging goods on a wooden shelf when he noticed her. His brows furrowed as he tried to place her face.
"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.
Shahla hesitated, unsure of how to introduce herself. "I'm... I'm Shahla," she said softly. "I used to live here. Chaudhry Nisar's daughter."
Jamshed's expression shifted to one of recognition and surprise. "Shahla?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "The Shahla who left years ago?"
She nodded, feeling a wave of shame wash over her. "Yes, it's me. I came back to... to see what's left."
Jamshed set down the jar he was holding and motioned for her to sit on a wooden stool near the counter. "It's been a long time," he said, his voice quieter now. "The village has changed, but so have you, it seems."
Shahla looked down at her hands, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I've made mistakes, Jamshed. I thought I was chasing happiness, but I only lost everything that mattered."
Jamshed studied her for a moment before speaking. "Do you know what happened after you left?" he asked.
Shahla shook her head, dreading the answer. "I've heard bits and pieces, but not everything."
Jamshed sighed deeply, his gaze distant. "Your father, Chaudhry Nisar, was never the same after you left. He was a proud man, but losing you broke him. He blamed himself, thinking he had pushed you away. When he filed that case, he hoped it would bring you back. But when he learned the truth about your marriage, his heart couldn't bear it."
Shahla's breath caught in her throat. "What happened to him?"
"He had a heart attack," Jamshed said softly. "Right there in the courtroom. He didn't survive."
Tears welled up in Shahla's eyes as she processed the weight of Jamshed's words. Her father's death was something she had never truly allowed herself to think about, but now, the reality of it crushed her. "It's my fault," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I left him, and it killed him."
Jamshed placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "We all make choices, Shahla. Some of them we regret, but we can't change the past. What matters is what you do with the time you have now."
Shahla wiped her tears and nodded, though the guilt remained heavy in her heart. "Where is our house?" she asked, her voice shaky. "I want to see it."
Jamshed's expression shifted, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. "The house isn't there anymore, Shahla," he said gently. "It was sold after your father passed. It's a school now. A place for children to learn and grow."
Shahla felt a pang of sadness at his words. The house she had grown up in, the place that held so many memories, was no longer hers. But the idea of it being a school gave her a strange sense of comfort. At least it was being used for something meaningful.
She thanked Jamshed and made her way toward the site of her former home. The path was lined with trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. As she approached the building, she saw children playing in the courtyard, their laughter echoing in the air.
The once-grand house was now painted in bright colors, its walls adorned with drawings and posters. Shahla stood at the gate, her hands gripping the metal bars as she stared at the building that had once been her home.
Her mind was flooded with memories—her father sitting in his favorite chair, her mother bustling in the kitchen, the sound of her own laughter as a child. She thought of the dreams she had once had, the choices she had made, and the life she had left behind.
A young girl noticed her standing there and ran up to the gate. "Do you want to come in?" the girl asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Shahla shook her head, forcing a small smile. "No, thank you. I just wanted to see it."
The girl nodded and ran back to her friends, leaving Shahla alone once more. She stood there for a long time, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. The laughter of the children seemed to echo her regrets, each sound a reminder of the life she had left behind and the family she had broken.
She took a deep breath and turned away from the school, her steps slow and hesitant. As she walked through the village, memories of her childhood rushed back. She could almost hear her father's voice calling her name, her mother's soft hums as she worked in the kitchen, and the warmth of a home filled with love and security. Those memories, once a source of pride, now felt like a distant dream she had destroyed with her own hands.
Why did I leave? she thought, her hands trembling. Why wasn't it enough?
Shahla's inner turmoil grew heavier as she made her way to a quiet spot near the edge of the village. Sitting under an old tree, she stared at the horizon. Her mind raced with questions she couldn't answer, and her heart ached with guilt she couldn't soothe. She had traded her family's love for fleeting promises, only to find herself utterly alone.
Meanwhile, in the Malik household, the atmosphere was vibrant. Hassan's hard work and determination had not only brought financial stability but also restored a sense of unity among the family. Her rise to prominence within the business community had earned her respect and admiration, both inside and outside the home.
One afternoon, Hassan sat in the garden, watching Farwa play with her toys. Fatima joined her, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. "You've changed so much, Hassan," Fatima said, her voice warm with pride. "When I look at you now, I see a woman who can handle anything."
Hassan smiled, pouring tea into the delicate cups. "It hasn't been easy, but I've learned that strength comes from within. I had to find it for myself, and for Farwa."
Fatima nodded, her eyes softening as she looked at her granddaughter. "And you've given her a life filled with love and security. That's all a mother can hope for."
As they sipped their tea, Rehman approached from the main gate. He hesitated before stepping into the garden, unsure of his place in this new version of his family. He watched as Hassan laughed with Fatima, her confidence shining through every word and gesture.
For a moment, he felt a pang of regret so deep it was almost unbearable. This was the life he could have had—the life he had walked away from. He had thought he could find happiness elsewhere, but now he saw how wrong he had been. Hassan had grown into someone he barely recognized, someone strong and self-assured, while he was still trying to piece his life together.
Rehman took a deep breath and walked toward them. Hassan noticed him immediately, her expression calm but unreadable. "Rehman," she said, acknowledging him with a nod.
"I just came to see Farwa," he said quietly, his voice tinged with hesitation.
Hassan gestured toward their daughter, who was happily playing nearby. "She's right there. You can spend time with her."
Rehman approached Farwa, who greeted him with a big smile. "Papa!" she exclaimed, running to him with open arms.
The warmth of her embrace momentarily eased the guilt weighing on his heart. He sat with her, listening to her chatter about her day, her innocence a stark contrast to the mistakes he had made.
As Rehman played with Farwa, he couldn't help but glance at Hassan. Her strength and grace were evident in every interaction, and he realized how much he had underestimated her. He had left, believing she couldn't manage without him, but she had proven him wrong in every way.
Later, as Rehman prepared to leave, he turned to Hassan. "You've done an incredible job," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Farwa is lucky to have you."
Hassan met his gaze, her expression steady. "She's lucky to have both her parents," she replied. "But actions speak louder than words, Rehman. If you want to be in her life, you have to show her—and me—that you've changed."
Rehman nodded, understanding the weight of her words. "I will," he promised. "I won't let her down again."
Back in the village, Shahla wandered aimlessly, unsure of where to go or what to do next. Her reflection in a passing shop window startled her. She barely recognized herself. The confident, ambitious woman she once was had been replaced by someone she didn't know—a woman worn down by her own choices.
As she walked past a group of villagers, she overheard snippets of their conversation. They were talking about Hassan, praising her for her resilience and success. "She's an inspiration," one woman said. "After everything she went through, she's still standing tall."
Shahla froze, her heart sinking. She hadn't heard Hassan's name in years, but the mention of it stirred something deep within her. She realized how much her choices had affected not just herself but everyone she had left behind.
Hassan found her strength, Shahla thought, her chest tightening. Why couldn't I?
The thought lingered as Shahla made her way back to the quiet corner of the village where she had started her day. She sat under the same tree, her mind racing. The weight of her choices felt heavier than ever, but for the first time, she allowed herself to confront it fully.
I can't go back, she thought, tears streaming down her face. But maybe I can still find a way forward. Maybe I can learn to live with the consequences.
As she sat there, lost in her thoughts, the distant sound of laughter reached her ears. She looked up and saw a group of children playing nearby. They chased each other, their joy unfiltered and pure. The sight tugged at something deep within Shahla. She hadn't allowed herself to feel anything but regret for so long that the children's laughter felt almost foreign.
One little girl, no older than five, noticed Shahla sitting under the tree. She broke away from the group and ran toward her, her small feet kicking up dust as she approached. "Are you sad?" the girl asked, tilting her head curiously.
Shahla managed a weak smile. "A little," she admitted. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you look like my auntie when she's upset," the girl said matter-of-factly. "She sits under a tree too, but she says it helps her think."
Shahla couldn't help but chuckle softly at the child's innocence. "Maybe it does," she said, her voice tinged with a faint hope she hadn't felt in years.
The girl grinned, revealing a gap where a tooth had recently fallen out. "You can come play with us if you want," she offered. "It always makes me feel better."
Shahla hesitated, surprised by the offer. She shook her head gently. "Thank you, but I'll just watch for now."
The girl nodded and ran back to her friends, her laughter blending with the others. Shahla's gaze followed her, a bittersweet smile on her lips. She envied their freedom, their ability to exist without the burdens of the past weighing them down. Yet, she couldn't help but feel a glimmer of something she hadn't felt in a long time—connection.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the village in hues of orange and gold, Shahla stayed under the tree, watching the children play. She thought about the life she had left behind, the people she had hurt, and the innocence she had lost along the way. Each thought was like a stone added to the weight she carried, but she didn't shy away from them this time. She let herself feel the pain, hoping that facing it might help her heal.
The children eventually dispersed, their laughter fading into the distance as they were called home. Shahla stood up, brushing the dust from her clothes. She began walking aimlessly through the village, her steps slow and deliberate. Every corner seemed to hold a memory—some joyful, others tinged with sorrow. She passed by the well where she used to fetch water with her mother, the small shop where her father would buy her sweets, and the mosque where she had once prayed with her family.
Each memory was a reminder of what she had lost, but also of what she had once had. She realized that while her choices had led her here, they didn't have to define her forever. Change, she thought, was still possible, even if it came slowly.
As the village grew quieter with the approaching night, Shahla found herself drawn back to the tree where she had spent most of her day. She sat down again, hugging her knees to her chest. The solitude felt heavier now, the weight of her guilt pressing down on her. She thought about the little girl's offer to play and how easily she had declined. Perhaps, she mused, she had been avoiding more than just the children. She had been avoiding herself.
How do I fix this? she wondered, her thoughts racing. Can I even fix it? Or is this my punishment—to live with the choices I made and the lives I destroyed?
Her tears flowed freely now, soaking into the dry earth beneath her. The moon had risen, casting a pale glow over the village. Shahla felt small, like a shadow of the person she had once been. The confidence, the ambition, the defiance—all of it seemed so far away, replaced by a hollow shell of regret.
For the first time in years, Shahla prayed. Her words were quiet and broken, whispered into the night. She prayed for forgiveness—not just from those she had hurt, but from herself. She prayed for strength to face her guilt, for courage to move forward, and for a chance to find purpose again.
As the village fell into silence, Shahla remained under the tree, her thoughts circling endlessly. The solitude she had once sought now felt suffocating, yet she couldn't bring herself to leave. She wasn't ready to face the world beyond the tree's shade. For now, this was her refuge, a place to confront her past and search for a way to begin again.