Azlan's entrance into the room shattered the tranquil atmosphere, much like the fragments of his broken heart. He strode in, heading straight for the washroom and slamming the door shut with a resounding thud, causing Shahana to flinch in her place.As Shahana dried her hair and wrapped a loose scarf around her head, Azlan emerged, his demeanor changed after freshening up. His eyes darted around the room, searching for a tissue box to wipe his face. Though the old woman had sent a towel through a young boy named Rahim, Azlan couldn't bring himself to use it due to his OCD. Despite its apparent newness, he hesitated.Observing his dilemma, Shahana retrieved a brand-new towel from her luggage. "Here. Use this. It's new. I haven't touched it," she offered, extending the towel towards him. However, Azlan ignored her gesture, opting instead to use the towel Rahim had brought. With a pointed gaze locked onto Shahana's, he wiped his face and hands, his eyes revealing a myriad of emotions, most notably, grievances and anguish.Without uttering a word, Azlan left the room, leaving Shahana standing there, holding the towel, lost in another memory.-----It was six months into their marriage, and Shahana stood on the veranda, enjoying a cup of tea. The two-story building they lived in was nestled amidst the tranquility of nature, surrounded by lush trees. It was a serene and picturesque setting that Shahana often sought solace in whenever she had a moment to spare.Azlan had returned from work early and decided to take an afternoon nap. A gentle breeze tousled Shahana's hair as she stood lost in thought, until she sensed Azlan's presence beside her."You always sneak up on me," Shahana remarked, a playful smile dancing on her lips as Azlan used her scarf to wipe his face."Old habits die hard," he quipped, leaning against her shoulder.Shahana teasingly pulled her scarf back. "You know, there's something called a towel for wiping your face."Azlan chuckled, then mischievously leaned in and began wiping his face on her dress. "Thank you for the reminder. I'll try to remember next time," he said, his tone playful."But I thought you had OCD," Shahana remarked with a grin."I think you're my cure," he replied, his eyes twinkling with affection."He said," and Shahana couldn't help but smile."I also want to drink," he requested."Okay," she said and turned to leave for the kitchen.But he stopped her by holding her wrist."Where?" he asked."To the kitchen," she replied."I want to drink what you are drinking.""My dear husband, this is tea, not coffee."Shahana chuckled."Doesn't matter." He clarified, bringing her mug to his lips and taking a sip from where she had taken hers, his eyes locked onto hers, radiating love, affection, and compassion.Shahana's trance broke and a lone tear escaped her eyes which she rubbed mercilessly. --------- Mansur's prosperous farmhouse bustled with activity. A successful farmer, his fields yielded a bounty of crops and vegetables that ensured a comfortable life by Allah's grace. Humayun Akram, the revered founder and headmaster of the village school, was known and respected by everyone, including Mansur whose own children had been Akram's students. So, when Mansur learned that Akram's granddaughter, her husband, and nephew were visiting, he eagerly prepared a grand feast in their honor.In a short span of time, he asked his wife to cook several delicacies. His wife, Azimunnahar, being a great cook, swiftly prepared various dishes such as chicken curry, duck curry, Shak vaji (Sautéed leafy greens), Begun vaji (Fried brinjal), fish curry, fish fry, lentils, several types of vorta (Mashed boiled vegetables or potatoes with raw onions, salt, mustard oil, and chili), and steamed rice. It was their hospitality, showcasing love and respect for their guests.Azlan was flabbergasted. He was unfamiliar with the hospitality of common villagers, a side effect of his wealth. Such experiences were rare for the affluent; they seldom witnessed the lives of ordinary people. Mansur conversed with Azlan as if he were the son-in-law of the house, welcoming him with a warmth that transcended social boundaries.On the other hand, Shahana was well acquainted with the hospitality of the villagers. She had often visited the village to spend time with her grandmother, affectionately known as "nani," before her marriage to Azlan.Muiz, on the other hand, found himself thoroughly enjoying the company of the village children. Everything felt entirely new to him, as he had never visited a village before. Although his father had promised to take him to their own village, work commitments forced him to travel abroad, leading Muiz to accompany Shahana on this trip instead. The sight of village children dressed in shorts or thin sleeveless shirts took him by surprise, their casual attire contrasting sharply with his city upbringing. A gaggle of village children, their ages ranging from curious toddlers to mischievous pre-teens, materialized around Muiz. Unlike his city clothes, their attire was a symphony of simplicity – shorts that stopped well above the knee, or thin lungis (lightweight skirts) for the girls, paired with sleeveless shirts in a kaleidoscope of faded colors. The clothes, some bearing the playful marks of mud pies or a recent curry adventure, spoke of a life lived close to the earth. Their bare feet slapped playfully on the dusty ground, a stark contrast to Muiz's polished shoes.The village children, seeing a city boy , treated him like a celebrity. Their wide-eyed curiosity and genuine excitement filled Muiz with boundless joy.Azlan and the men were huddled in the dining room, their conversation a low rumble about, you guessed it, farming. Meanwhile, the ladies lunched in the sitting room. Shahana, ever the good wife, offered Muiz a spot beside her. Muiz, chest puffed with pride, declared, "I'm a big boy now! Boys eat with the men!"He marched into the dining room, determined to conquer the world of adult conversation. Five minutes later, Muiz shuffled back out, a look of utter boredom plastered on his face. Turns out, discussions about fertilizer and crop rotation weren't quite as thrilling as they sounded. "Actually," he mumbled to Shahana, "maybe I am still a child. Can I eat with you ?"Shahana smothered a laugh. "Sure," she said, trying to hide her amusement. After lunch, Muiz bolted back like a furry rocket, eager to rejoin his curious crew of village playmates. Shahana suggested a nap, but Muiz, with the boundless energy only a child on a sugar rush can possess, declared, "Naps are for the weak! There's too much exploring to do!Lunch came and went, but Azlan remained conspicuously absent. Shahana briefly entertained the thought of where he might be, then wisely discarded it. Azimunnahar's daughter, Marjan, a young woman recently finished with her intermediate exams and on the cusp of marriage, arrived to keep Shahana company. The rain, which had started as a sprinkle, had escalated into a full-blown monsoon downpour, drumming a steady rhythm on the roof. Fortunately, Mansur's house was spacious enough for Muiz and the other children to unleash their playful energy indoors, leaving Shahana feeling pleasantly relaxed.As evening settled, Azimunnahar joined them, bringing a steaming pot of milk tea and a tempting array of pitha (sweet rice cakes). Laughter and conversation flowed. Then, amidst the chitchat, Azimunnahar surprised Shahana with a comment, "Mashallah, dear, your husband is quite the handsome fellow. You guys really look good together."Shahana offered a tight nod, the compliment about Azlan catching in her throat. Azimunnahar's next words, though well-meaning, felt like a punch to the gut. "And your son," she beamed, "he's absolutely adorable!""He's actually my nephew," Shahana managed, forcing a strained smile. "Just here for a visit."Azimunnahar's smile faltered slightly. "Oh, I see! Well, Inshallah," she continued, her voice taking on a hopeful tone, "next time you visit, we'll see you with your own little one. May Allah bless you with a righteous child."Shahana's heart ached. The warmth of the hospitality was a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled within her. A forced smile wouldn't come, the simple joy of the moment stolen by the weight of her unspoken truth.As they conversed, Shahana found herself drawn into Azimunnahar's world of struggles and resilience. The woman who had greeted them with a warm smile and cared for them with such grace had endured unimaginable hardships.Azimunnahar's smile, always warm and welcoming, faltered for a moment. "Life throws its curveballs, doesn't it?" she sighed, her voice tinged with a quiet ache. "Three surgeries, that's what that accident left me with. Days where even breathing felt like a chore."Her eyes, crinkled at the corners from years of laughter, now held a well of unshed tears. "But that, my dear," she continued, a shaky breath escaping her lips, "that wasn't the hardest part. It was losing my youngest, my little jewel, taken away in a blink."A silence settled, thick with unspoken grief. Azimunnahar dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a corner of her sari, her voice a mere whisper. "My eldest," she choked out, "married a girl abroad. Now, she won't let him come back, not him, not the grandchildren I long to hold."A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her weathered cheek. "The wedding is coming up, Marjan's wedding," she murmured, her voice thick with worry. "Will I even get to see him then, my own son?"Shahana felt a lump form in her throat, her own struggles pale in comparison to the storm raging within Azimunnahar. All she could do was reach out, a silent gesture of understanding, and squeeze Azimunnahar's trembling hand. The room, once filled with the lively chatter of women, was now a haven of shared sorrow, a bond forged in the crucible of unspoken pain.Tears welled in Shahana's own eyes as Azimunnahar's voice hitched, "Will I ever see my grandchildren?"Taking a deep breath, Shahana squeezed Azimunnahar's hand. "Keep making dua, Aunty. Only dua can fight with destiny. It's a weapon of the believer, a way to change fate. Keep asking Allah, the Most High, the Most Glorified. He will help you. Inshallah, your son will come. Just keep making dua."Azimunnahar's eyes, glistening with tears, held a flicker of hope. "You're right, beta," she whispered, a small smile gracing her lips. "Sorry, I burdened you with my sorrow.""No, Aunty," Shahana replied softly, "I'm glad you shared it with me."Later that night, as Shahana knelt in prostration during Isha prayer, her heart overflowed with empathy. Every word of dua that escaped her lips carried the silent echo of Azimunnahar's longing. She prayed fervently for the reunion of a mother and her son, a request to the Almighty.--------- Muiz, a whirlwind of energy personified, finally returned from his adventures. His face was flushed, his clothes rumpled, and a satisfied exhaustion hung heavy on his small frame. He collapsed onto Shahana's lap, his eyelids fluttering shut almost instantly. Shahana, who had ensured he filled his belly with snacks earlier, smiled and gently ushered him towards the bed. Soon, soft snores filled the room, a testament to his day's exertions.The village nights adhered to a different rhythm. By 10 pm, darkness had settled, cloaking the entire household in its quiet embrace. Azlan, who had spent the evening a solitary figure in the sitting room, found himself confronted with a decision. He didn't hesitate – he simply didn't want to go to bed, to face her. Yet, the thought of lingering in the sitting room, drawing unwanted questions about their seemingly happy marriage, was equally unappealing. Azlan with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, trudged towards the bedroom. A knot of apprehension tightened in his stomach as he reached for the doorknob. He was relieved as it turned easily. He slipped inside, the room bathed in the cool, ethereal glow of moonlight. His gaze darted towards the bed, where Muiz sleeping in the center. The only other piece of furniture was a lonely dressing table. But where was Shahana?The answer wasn't far. A slender figure stood silhouetted against the window, seemingly unaware of his arrival. The rain outside hammered a relentless rhythm against the glass, mimicking the frantic beat of his heart. Her waist-length hair cascaded down her back in a loose braid. A simple brown cotton salwar kameez draped her form .A memory flickered to life.He saw himself, younger, lighter, bounding out of his study towards the bedroom. His eyes frantically searched for Shahana, his beloved wife, finding only an empty room. The veranda, too, was deserted. Night had fallen, and rain lashed against the windows.Then, downstairs. There she was, silhouetted against the rain-streaked glass, a solitary figure seemingly lost in the downpour. Relief washed over him as he rushed to her side, collapsing next to her on the damp floor. "What's wrong?" he'd asked, his voice laced with concern. "Just enjoying the rain," she'd replied, a wistful smile playing on her lips.A mischievous glint sparked in his eyes then, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within him now. A devilish grin spread across his face. He grabbed her hand, the warmth a stark memory against the coldness that had settled between them. "Let's enjoy it together," he'd declared, pulling her to her feet before she could protest.Confusion clouded her features. "What are you doing?" she'd asked, her voice a mix of amusement and apprehension. But before she could resist, he was already dragging her towards the garden. The next moment, they were both soaked to the bone, the cool rain washing away the city dust and leaving behind a carefree laughter that echoed through the night."Azlan, what have you done?" she'd sputtered, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite herself."Just enjoying the rain.""This is enjoying the rain?""_To the fullest," he'd replied, his voice husky with a joy he couldn't quite explain. "We might catch a cold," she'd warned, a hint of mock seriousness in her voice as she turned to leave. But his hand clamped around her wrist, a gentle yet firm hold."_Come on," he'd coaxed, his eyes sparkling with a familiar light. "Nothing will happen." Shahana, unable to resist the playful tug-of-war, had finally relented. "You're crazy," she'd declared, her voice laced with a hint of fondness."_Only when I'm with you," he'd whispered, pulling her close. Shahana's initial resistance melted into surprised laughter as Azlan twirled her around the garden. Her simple salwar kameez, once dry cotton, clung to her form, the rain highlighting the vibrant colors. Her hair, unbound from its braid, whipped around her face in a dark cascade. Azlan, his shirt plastered to his chest, mirrored her joy. He spun her, his laughter echoing hers, the sound a melody woven into the symphony of the rain. Their movements were clumsy, more playful splashes than graceful steps, but their hearts danced a perfect waltz. And they danced their laughter the only music against the symphony of the rain.The memory faded, leaving a bittersweet ache in its wake. Suddenly, he found himself engulfed in a whirlpool of emotions, caught off guard by the flood of feelings washing over him. The serene ambiance of the room, punctuated by the gentle pitter-patter of rain outside, seemed to amplify the intensity of the moment, with the woman he loved standing before him.As Shahana turned, their eyes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. Time seemed to stand still, the space between them filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Neither dared to bridge the gap, each burdened by their own reasons and heartache.With a heavy heart, Azlan retreated to the bed, seeking solace in its embrace as he covered his eyes with a trembling hand."Turn off the lights. I can't bear them," his voice cracked with a vulnerability that betrayed his inner turmoil, though Shahana had already anticipated his request.Silently, Shahana complied, extinguishing the lights before joining him on the other side of the bed. The weight of their shared sorrow hung heavy in the air, each breath a reminder of the chasm between them.As they lay in the darkness, the night stretched on endlessly, each passing moment a testament to the ache of their unspoken longing. Yet, like all nights before it, dawn would eventually break, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness of their despair.----------The next day dawned with a crystal-clear sky, devoid of any traces of the previous day's storm. After a hearty breakfast, Azlan, Shahana, and Muiz made their way towards Humayun Akram's house. Despite Mansur and Azimunnahar's insistence that they stay for lunch, they politely declined, promising instead to try their best to attend Marjan's wedding. Muiz, in his youthful exuberance, extended invitations to his newfound friends, urging them to visit him whenever they ventured into the city.With Azlan's car now fixed, their journey to Nani's house proceeded without any hiccups.As Shahana stepped out of the car with Muiz, she was taken aback to see another vehicle parked in front of the house. Her surprise turned to shock as she recognized the figure emerging from the house.Azlan, too, emerged from the car, his brow furrowing in confusion. Riaz, who had dropped his mother off, initially hesitated, unable to recognize Shahana as she was completely covered. However, upon closer inspection, he recognized her and began to approach. Before he could reach her, Azlan swiftly moved forward, wrapping his arms around Shahana's shoulders protectively, and guided her into the house.The tension between Azlan and Riaz was palpable, their unspoken rivalry casting a shadow over the unexpected reunion. "Wait, Shahana," Riaz said, halting their path with urgency."Hold on a minute, Shahana," Azlan interjected, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Riaz's spine. He steered Shahana possessively closer, his stance radiating a silent message of ownership. Riaz faltered, the apology dying on his lips."What is it, Mr. Ahmed?" Azlan's voice dripped with icy courtesy. "Surely, you don't expect a friendly chat after the way things ended?"Shame colored Riaz's cheeks. "No, I... I just wanted to apologize."Azlan scoffed, a humorless sound. "Her forgiveness isn't yours to offer. And frankly, neither of us are interested in your excuses."Throughout the exchange, Shahana remained a silent statue, her form cloaked not just by the niqab but by an impenetrable veil of composure. Neither Riaz nor Azlan could decipher the emotions swirling behind the fabric. Her eyes, usually windows to her soul, offered no betrayal. No flicker of recognition, no spark of anger, no hint of lingering affection for her ex-husband. It was as if he were a stranger, a ghost from a forgotten past.Azlan cast a pointed glance at Shahana, his concern for her evident despite his steely demeanor. "Now, if you'll excuse us." He ushered Shahana and Muiz towards the house, his arm possessively linked with hers. Riaz watched them disappear into the doorway, a defeated sigh escaping his lips.---------