Part 9

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The wait is over.

Here is the chapter

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Inayah's POV

After meeting Hamad and telling him my plan, I left immediately for home. My heart felt heavy, weighed down by the betrayal of my own parents. How could they fix my wedding date without even asking me? Without a single phone call? The sting of their decision made my chest tighten, but I swallowed the lump in my throat and hurried home, hoping for a moment's solace.

But the moment I stepped inside, my hopes shattered. The sight before me was horrifying—Mom was furiously beating Sifna. My delicate, innocent baby sister was curled up on the floor, trying to shield herself from the blows. A fragile vase lay broken near her feet, the apparent reason for my mother’s wrath.

“Sifna!” I cried, rushing to her. My voice trembled with urgency as I stepped between them, shielding her with my body. My arms wrapped around her tightly, trying to absorb her trembling sobs. Her small frame quivered as she clung to me like a lifeline. "Shhh, Sifna... bache, chup ho jao. Main aa gayi hoon. Ab koi tumhe nahi maarega, meri jaan. (Hush, Sifna... my baby, calm down. I’m here now. No one will hurt you, my love.)" My voice cracked as I gently rocked her in my arms, her tears soaking through my shirt.

I lifted my head and glared at my mother with a fire I couldn’t contain. “Aapne phir ispar haath kyun uthaya? Huh? Aapko sharam nahi aati apni doosri beti par haath uthate hue? (Why did you raise your hand on her again? Don’t you feel ashamed of hitting your own daughter?)”

Her anger was instant, rising like a storm. “Yeh meri aulaad nahi hai! Tumhare baad mujhe beta chahiye tha, lekin yeh manhoos, nikammi, kaamchor paida ho gayi! (She’s not my child! After you, I wanted a son, but this cursed, useless, good-for-nothing girl was born instead!)”

I flinched at her words, though I had heard them a thousand times before. I held Sifna tighter, as if my embrace could shield her from every cruel syllable. My mother continued, her voice venomous. “Tum apne kamre mein jao. Isse toh main sambhalungi! (Go to your room. I’ll deal with her myself!)”

But I had reached my limit. Today, I refused to back down. “Bas! (Enough!)” My voice thundered through the room, silencing her. I rose to my feet, still holding Sifna close. “Agar aaj ke baad, meri shaadi tak bhi, aapne ispar haath uthaya na, toh yaad rakhiyega, accha nahi hoga! (If you lay a hand on her even once until my wedding, remember—it won’t end well for you!)”

Her eyes widened in shock. I smirked bitterly. “Aapko lag raha hoga, mujhe kaise pata? Mujhe Hamad ki maa ne phone kiya tha. (You must be wondering how I know. Hamad’s mother called me.)” I lied through my teeth, my voice sharp and unwavering. “Aur haan, maa, main jaanti hoon ke aap mujhse pyaar karti hain, lekin yeh bhi jaanti hoon ke aap kitni lalchi hain. (And yes, Mom, I know you love me—but I also know how greedy you are.)”

Before she could retaliate, a soft, broken whimper reached my ears. I looked down and saw Sifna’s eyes flutter shut. She had fainted in my arms.

My heart stopped.

“Sifna!” I shook her gently, panic washing over me. My mother stood frozen, but I had no time for her. I carried Sifna to my room and gently laid her on my bed. Her pale face, streaked with tears, looked fragile enough to shatter. My fingers trembled as I brushed her hair back.

She didn’t even share this room with me. My mother had forbidden it. I had begged her countless times to move in with me, but she always said, "Ammi-Abbu ki nafarmani nahi kar sakti, aapi. (I can’t disobey Mom and Dad, sister.)"

How much more would she endure? How much longer would this pure soul suffer?

I called the doctor immediately. He arrived within ten minutes, his face grim as he checked her vitals. “She’s very weak,” he said, his voice heavy. “She needs proper food, medicines, and at least ten days of complete rest.”

I nodded, barely able to speak. After thanking him and seeing him out, I returned to my mother, who was pacing the living room. I stopped her with a cold glare.

“Yaad rakhiye. Agar aapne meri behen par ek kharoch bhi aayi na, toh yeh jo main aapko har mahine paisa deti hoon, yeh jo aapki aish-o-araam wali zindagi hai—sab khatam kar dungi! (Remember. If even a scratch appears on my sister, the money I give you every month, this luxurious life of yours—I’ll end it all!)”

She looked at me in stunned silence, but I didn’t care.

Back in my room, I sat beside Sifna, running my fingers gently through her hair. Her breathing was slow and steady now, but my heart ached at the sight of her.

“Meri jaan...” I whispered, tears slipping down my cheeks. “Bas kuch din aur. Tumhe is jahannum se nikal dungi. Main jaanti hoon tum nahi manogi, lekin bas... ab aur nahi. (My love... just a few more days. I’ll take you away from this hell. I know you won’t agree, but... not anymore.)”

I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, my resolve hardening. She deserved the world. And I would give it to her, even if it meant losing everything else

Sifna's POV

I was cleaning the tea stains from the counter when Ammi called for me. My head felt slightly heavy, and a faint dizziness clouded my mind, but I brushed it off. I had work to finish. Wiping my hands on my dupatta, I walked toward her room.

“Ji, Ammi? Aapne bulaya? (Yes, Ammi? Did you call me?)” I asked softly, standing at the doorway.

Her eyes darted toward me, filled with that usual anger that I had grown used to. “Zara kaam ki aadat nahi lagi, kalmuhi karamjali! Ab tak bartan nahi dhoye? (You useless, cursed girl! Haven’t you washed the dishes yet?)”

My hands instinctively clenched at her harsh words, but I kept my voice steady. “Nahi, Ammi. Bas ho gaya kitchen ka kaam khatam. (No, Ammi. I’ve just finished the kitchen work.)”

She scoffed, waving me away dismissively. “Thik hai, thik hai. Jaa, jaldi mere liye chai banakar la. (Fine, fine. Go and quickly make tea for me.)”

“Ji, Ammi. Abhi laati hoon. (Yes, Ammi. I’ll bring it now.),” I replied, bowing my head.

I hurried back to the kitchen, finishing the last few chores before starting on the tea. My hands moved mechanically, my mind a blur of exhaustion. The moment the tea was ready, I placed it on a tray and took it to her. She didn’t even glance at me, just barked another order.

“Chal, jaa. Washroom mein kapde rakhe hain. Unhe haath se dho le. (Go now. There are clothes in the washroom. Wash them by hand.)”

“Ji, Ammi. (Yes, Ammi.),” I mumbled, though my vision was beginning to blur again. I stood there for a moment, my knees wobbling slightly. Then it happened.

The dizziness hit me all at once, and I stumbled. My hand brushed against the table, knocking the vase onto the floor. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room, louder than my panicked heartbeat.

I froze, my body trembling. I turned toward Ammi, terrified, knowing what was coming. Her face contorted with rage, and before I could explain, she marched toward me.

Her hand swung across my face, the slap ringing in my ears. The belt came next, the sting of leather cutting through my skin. Ammi! Ammi, mujhe maaf kar dein! Ammi, bohot dard ho raha hai! (Ammi! Ammi, please forgive me! It hurts so much!)” i cried out, but she wasn’t listening. Each strike was accompanied by her cruel words. “Kalmuhi! Manhoos! Tere paise ka nahi hai! Kisi kaam ki nahi hai, nikammi nalayak! (Cursed girl! Unlucky! You’re worth nothing! You’re useless and incompetent!)”

I fell to the floor, my body writhing in pain. Tears blurred my vision as I clasped my hands together. Ya Allah, save me. Please, save me.

And then, like a miracle, I heard a voice—familiar, strong, and filled with love.

“Inayah Appi!” I gasped through my sobs as she rushed toward me. She dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around me tightly. Her touch felt like a shield, her scent like safety.

“Shhh... shhh, bacha. Mere jaan, mai aa gayi hoon. Ab koi tumhe nahi marega. (Hush, my love. I’m here now. No one will hurt you anymore.),” she whispered, her voice trembling as she cradled me.

I clung to her desperately, my body shaking with uncontrollable sobs. I could hear her heart racing, feel her hands running gently over my back, but my tears wouldn’t stop. I was breaking, and she was the only thing holding me together.

Then her voice changed, sharp and furious, as she confronted Ammi. “Aapne phir ispar haath kyun uthaya? Huh? Aapko sharam nahi aati apni doosri beti par haath uthate hue? (Why did you hit her again? Huh? Don’t you feel ashamed of hitting your own daughter?)”

Ammi’s reply was venomous, but I couldn’t make out all her words. “Yeh meri aulaad nahi hai! Tumhare baad mujhe beta chahiye tha, lekin yeh manhoos, nikammi, kaamchor paida ho gayi! (She’s not my child! After you, I wanted a son, but this cursed, useless, good-for-nothing girl was born instead!)”

Their voices blurred together, my world spinning. The last thing I remembered was Appi holding me tightly, her warmth anchoring me as everything faded to black.

And then, there was nothing.

After sometime,

Slowly, I opened my heavy eyelids. The first thing I saw was Inayah Appi’s face hovering over mine, her fingers gently combing through my hair. Her touch was so soft, so full of love, that it felt like a balm for my aching heart. No words could escape my parched lips, but somehow, I managed to whisper, "Pa... pa... pani" (Wa... wa... water).

She immediately leaned closer, her voice soothing like a lullaby. “Mere jaan, piyo” (My love, drink), she murmured, propping me up carefully. She held the glass to my lips, her steady hand supporting mine as I whispered, “Bismillah” (In the name of Allah). I sipped the water, every drop a comfort, and all the while, her other hand continued to stroke my hair.

When I had finished, she set the glass aside and turned back to me, her tone shifting slightly—gentle yet firm. “Sifna,” she said softly but with resolve, “I don’t want you going to that store room anymore. The one Mom gave you to stay in.” Her voice faltered for a moment, but she continued, “Aaj se tum mere kamre mein rahogi” (From today, you will stay in my room).

I blinked at her, confused but wanting to argue. “Appi, but...” I began weakly, but she placed a finger on my lips.

“Shhhh! Ek lafz nahi. Bas keh diya toh keh diya.” (Shhhh! Not another word. Once I’ve said it, it’s final.)

I looked at her hesitantly. “But... Ammi...”

She interrupted again, her voice calm yet determined. “Unki chinta mat karo.” (Don’t worry about her.) She cupped my face, her thumb brushing away the moisture that had gathered at the corners of my eyes. “Aaj se woh tumhe kuch nahi kahegi. Koi kaam bhi nahi. Waada hai tumhari behen ka.” (From today, she won’t say anything to you. No chores either. That’s your sister’s promise.)

My lips quivered, and before I knew it, tears started streaming down my face. “Didaa...” I whispered through my sobs, “Aapne phirse mere wajah se Ammi se ladai ki, na?” (You fought with Mom again because of me, didn’t you?)

Her eyes softened, and she wiped my tears with the edge of her dupatta. “Didaa, woh Ammi hain humari. Dekhna, woh ek din mujhe bhi pyaar karengi.” (Appi, she’s our mother. You’ll see—one day, she’ll love me too.) My voice cracked as I added, “Aapko unse ladna nahi chahiye tha.” (You shouldn’t have fought with her.)

She shook her head, her jaw tightening, and spoke with quiet defiance. “Lekin Sifna, kab tak? Kab tak tum yeh sab sahogi?” (But Sifna, how long? How long will you endure all this?) Her voice broke, but her grip on my hands remained steady. “Woh tumhe kabhi pyaar nahi kar sakti, kyunki unki nazar mein... bas unhe beta chahiye tha.” (She can never love you because, in her eyes, all she wanted was a son.)

She leaned closer, her eyes glistening. “But Sifna, do you know? I always prayed to Allah for a younger sister. Every single day. And then He gave me you. You’re my answered prayer, my dua.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and I felt the warmth of her love radiating through every word. “Bas ab se, tum par is ghar mein koi zyadaati nahi karega.” (From now on, no one in this house will wrong you.)

I hiccuped, my tears refusing to stop. “Didaa, you know... The Messenger of Allah (peace be upon him) said, ‘Do not hate your daughters, for they are your precious companions.’” My voice wavered, but I held onto her hand tightly, seeking her reassurance.

Her face softened into a bittersweet smile, and she pulled me into her arms, hugging me as if she could shield me from all the pain in the world. “Baby,” she whispered, her voice tender and full of hope, “Tumhe sab kuch milega. Pyaar bhi, khushi bhi. InshaAllah.” (You will have everything, my love. Love, happiness—everything. God willing.)

I buried my face in her shoulder, letting her warmth and scent soothe my aching heart. We stayed like that for what felt like forever until exhaustion overtook us both, and we fell asleep in each other’s arms—two sisters, bound not just by blood, but by a love so pure that it could weather any storm.

On the other side

Hamad's POV

After learning of the plan, a smirk played on my lips. Without another word, I agreed and left. The drive back home was quiet, my thoughts tangled in the chaos the plan was bound to unleash. As my car approached the mansion, the security guards immediately opened the car door for me, bowing slightly as they always did.

I stepped out and strode towards the grand entrance of the Malik mansion. The towering wooden doors, carved with intricate floral patterns, gleamed under the soft glow of the porch lights. As soon as I crossed the threshold, someone threw their arms around me.

It was abeeha

I relaxed instantly, patting her head lightly.

"Abhi aise kaun karta hai?" (Who does this these days?) I asked softly, amused.  But then, I heard her chirpy voice.

"Mai karti hu bhai!" (I do, brother!)

Her giggle echoed through the hall, but what she said next wiped the faint smile off my face.

“Bhai, mai bohot khush hu! Aapki shaadi hone wali hai, maze hi maze!” (Brother, I’m so happy! You’re getting married—what fun!)

Her cheerfulness was contagious, but I couldn’t share her enthusiasm. Instead, a sinister smirk crept back onto my face, one I didn’t bother hiding. Shaadi? Maze? If only she knew the storm brewing behind the scenes. That happiness she was celebrating? It wouldn’t last long.

I stepped further inside, noticing the lively buzz in the hall. The entire family seemed to be engrossed in wedding preparations. My mother sat elegantly on the plush white sofa, her golden dupatta slipping slightly off her shoulder as she discussed the guest list with Papa. My uncles  and aunts  were seated nearby, debating decorations, while my brothers huddled over a notepad, planning something mischievous, no doubt.

I was uninterested in the chatter. Quietly, I turned towards the stairs, intending to slip away to my room, but Aaban’s voice stopped me.

“Bhai, aap kab aaye?” (Brother, when did you come?)

“Jab tum log shaadi ki baatein kar rahe the,” I replied sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. (When you all were talking about the wedding.)

Before he could respond, Hadi, always the playful one, piped up with a wide grin,

“Bhai, shaadi aapki hai aur aap hi kahin jaa rahe hain!” (Brother, it’s your wedding, and you’re the one walking away?)

As if on cue, Daamin added teasingly,

“Bhai, sharmaiye mat, aayein na!” (Brother, don’t be shy. Come join us!)

I stopped in my tracks and turned back to face them. “I’m blocking your cards,” I announced nonchalantly, enjoying the shocked expressions that followed.

“Lekin bhai, Daamin protested, his voice rising in panic. (But brother, only two months?) Two months i again said

Aaban immediately jumped in, two months bhai, please!” i cutted him  off and said four months.I crossed my arms, my smirk deepening.

Daamin was going to say soemthing but hadi cutted him off saying slowly “oye chup hojaa agar aur protest kiya toh ek saal ke liye block kardege card bhai. (Hey be quiet if we protest more, bhai can  block it for a year!)

Their jaws dropped as they exchanged horrified glances. Abeeha, meanwhile, was laughing uncontrollably at their misery. Her laughter echoed through the hall, lightening the atmosphere.

Trying one last time, Aaban turned to Mama with pleading eyes. “Dekho na, Maa! Bhai ne humare cards block kar diye!” (Look, Maa! Brother has blocked our cards!)

Before Mama could say anything, I cut in smoothly, “Six months.”

The room fell silent, their mouths hanging open in shock. Satisfied, I turned to my mother and said in a quieter tone,

“Mumma, I’m going to my room to rest.”

She nodded, her warm eyes softening as she replied, “Theek hai beta, lekin baad mein hall mein aana, theek hai? Arrangements ke baare mein baat karni hai.” (Alright, son, but come back to the hall later, okay? We need to discuss the arrangements.)

“Ji, Maa,” I said reluctantly, before heading  towards my room.

Author's pov

Hamad went towards his room. The room was a sanctuary of dominance, exuding a dark elegance that reflected Hamad’s commanding presence. The high, slanted ceiling, clad in rich, dark wood paneling, gave the space a feeling of grandeur, the kind that whispered stories of wealth and power. The black chandelier, suspended like an ominous crown in the center, carried globe lights that cast a soft, golden glow, creating pockets of light and shadow that danced across the room. The interplay of darkness and warmth was intoxicating, a perfect blend of mystery and allure.

The walls were an ode to power, painted in matte black with textured panels that seemed to absorb the light, giving the room a depth that was as intimidating as it was captivating. Reflections from hidden LED strips accentuated the subtle metallic finishes, while the floor-to-ceiling glass windows along one side offered a view of a dense, shadowy forest. The glass was pristine, an unyielding barrier between Hamad and the world outside, a reminder of his self-imposed isolation. Beyond the windows, the forest stretched endlessly, an untamed wilderness that only added to the room’s air of control—nature itself seemed to bow to him.

At the heart of the room was the bed, grand and unapologetically masculine. Its padded leather headboard, in muted brown, was tall and imposing, grounding the space. The bedding was as immaculate as Hamad himself: black satin sheets draped effortlessly, catching the dim light in silky waves, while a quilted duvet added a hint of texture. On one side of the bed stood a nightstand—a raw wooden stump, polished just enough to gleam but rough enough to retain its organic charm. It was a subtle nod to his ability to merge nature with structure, chaos with control.

In the corner of the room, a freestanding black bathtub rested like a sculptural masterpiece, its curves both modern and timeless. The bathroom itself was partially visible through a frosted glass divider, teasing at the luxury within—a rainfall shower, marble floors, and the quiet opulence of sleek, minimal fixtures. The design was seamless, as if the room itself had been carved from a single idea of perfection.

Opposite the bed, the fireplace commanded attention. Its linear design stretched along the wall, flames flickering behind black stone and glass. The warmth from the fire was subtle, more aesthetic than functional, but its presence was undeniable—a reminder that even the coldest hearts could not resist a spark. Nearby, a low-seated black leather sofa and a single chair formed a quiet space for reflection or perhaps private conversations.

Above, overlooking the room like a sentinel, was an open-concept loft-style wardrobe. Rows of meticulously arranged suits, shirts, and ties stood as a testament to Hamad’s discipline and precision. Every item was a reflection of his personality: tailored, refined, and utterly unapologetic.

The floors were polished concrete, smooth and cool beneath the feet, their subtle sheen mirroring the glow of the lighting. In one corner, a single leafy plant broke the monotony of the dark tones, its vibrant green leaves softening the room’s otherwise hard edges. It was a quiet rebellion against the dominance of black, a small but intentional reminder of life amidst the stillness.

Every detail in the room was deliberate. It was not merely a place to sleep; it was a statement. The air was heavy with power, secrecy, and sophistication, as if the walls themselves were privy to Hamad’s darkest thoughts. This was not just a room—it was his empire in miniature, a reflection of the man who ruled it.

The bedroom

Closet

Bathroom

The balcony

So my beautiful readers wait is over here is chapter. I know i am not good at choosing the room combinations colours and i am sorry for that and thanks for everyone for supporting me loving me

So what plan has inayah made with hamad.

What will happen.

Sifna's suffering will end or not.

What will happen to know further stay tuned.

I will upload the next chapter on sunday  but late as i have paper on Monday. Yesterday was my first paper but as promised target was completed so uploaod the chapter.

Give lots of vote and comment.