16| A Nightmare

A   N I G H T M A R E

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Do you sometimes react like this when reading a scene that makes you feel all giddy and happy?

As Anaabiya reached up to unpin her hijab, the soft fabric slid from her head, falling loosely around her shoulders.

The moment her bruised neck was exposed, a sharp gasp filled the room.

Bibijaan's hand flew to her chest, her eyes widening in horror.

"Oh, Allah," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Maliha looked just as stunned, her expression a mix of shock and sadness.

The bruises were worse than she had thought.

Ugly.

Raw.

A physical reminder of what had just happened.

Anaabiya averted her gaze, unwilling to meet their eyes.

Shame burned through her, but she didn't know why.

She wasn't the one who had done this.

Humza was.

And yet, as she sat frozen in Bibijaan's room, she felt like she was the one who had been stripped bare.

Her body felt cold, despite the warmth in the room.

Her fingers hovered over her throat, feeling the soreness, the bruises that would darken by morning.

Humza had nearly—

She sucked in a sharp breath, stopping the thought before it could fully form.

No.

She wouldn't let herself think about it.

She wouldn't give in to the fear clawing at her chest.

But her body betrayed her.

Her hands trembled. Her lips quivered. Her vision blurred.

"I don't even want to think about what could have happened if I hadn't come," Bibijaan's voice was sharp, filled with anger.

Anaabiya remained silent. She had no words.

Because what could she say?

Even her aunt had never done this to her.

The woman who had made her life a living nightmare—who had slapped, insulted, and belittled her—had never choked her.

Never made her feel like she was moments away from death.

Humza had.

She swallowed painfully, flinching as Bibijaan pressed a cold embrocation to her neck.

A sharp sting shot through her, and the last of her composure shattered.

"It hurts," she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bibijaan's expression softened. "I know, habibti. Just a little more and we will be done."

Anaabiya squeezed Maliha's hand, trying to ground herself through the pain. Maliha caressed her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her, but the ache was more than physical.

The betrayal hurt more.

The realization of what had just happened hurt more.

"I don't understand why he did that," Maliha muttered, frustration lacing her voice. "He knows you weren't aware."

Anaabiya frowned, her tired mind struggling to keep up. "Aware of what?"

Maliha hesitated.

Then, with a deep breath, she said, "Bashar Uncle. He passed away."

The words slammed into Anaabiya like a wrecking ball.

Her breath hitched. "What?"

Maliha nodded, her face grim. "A car accident."

Anaabiya's hands covered her mouth, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

She had just seen him a few weeks ago. How—

Wait.

No.

Maliha sighed, realizing her mistake. "Not Fahad Uncle. Bashar Uncle. Humza's real father."

Anaabiya's stomach twisted.

She had heard Bashar Uncle's name before—during the wedding. The qazi had mentioned 'late' before his name, but she hadn't paid attention.

She had no idea.

"He died when Humza was seventeen," Bibijaan said, her voice quieter now. "Humza had just learned how to drive. He was the one behind the wheel that day."

The air in Anaabiya's lungs stilled.

"He blames himself," Bibijaan added. "Even now."

Anaabiya's throat felt tighter, but this time, it had nothing to do with the bruises.

"He wasn't always like this," Bibijaan murmured. "He was sweet when he was younger. He changed after his mother's second marriage. He never accepted Fahad as his father. He hates him, Anaabiya. Nobody dares to mention his father around him."

The pieces clicked together.

His reaction.

His rage.

The sheer madness in his eyes when she had mistakenly referred to Fahad uncle as his father, Bashar Uncle.

Anaabiya exhaled shakily, her fingers brushing over her bruised throat.

"I feel bad for him," she admitted, voice hollow. "But that doesn't mean I deserved—" She cut herself off, the words too painful to say out loud.

She didn't deserve to be nearly strangled to death.

No one did.

She wasn't an outlet for his demons.

She wasn't his punching bag.

Maliha and Bibijaan exchanged glances, but neither disagreed.

Anaabiya looked down at her lap, her voice bitter. "What about Malika? Why does he protect her so much?"

Maliha hesitated.

Bibijaan sighed. "That question will be answered another day."

Anaabiya knew what that meant.

There was something deeper. Something bigger.

But right now, she was too exhausted to press.

"The pain killer I gave you will make you feel sleepy. You can rest here," Bibijaan urged.

Her voice was so warm, so filled with genuine care, that for a second, Anaabiya wanted to say yes.

Wanted to curl up and feel safe for just one night.

But she couldn't. She had already stayed in Bibijaan's room for hours since the incident. She couldn't hide here all her life.

She needed space now.

"I'll just go back to my room," she whispered, pushing herself up.

Her legs felt unsteady, but she forced herself to stand.

"Are you sure?" Bibijaan asked her with concern.

"Yes! I am sure."

She didn't look in the mirror, because she knew she wouldn't be able to handle seeing her own reflection.

She just left.

Anaabiya walked through the dimly lit hallway, her footsteps eerily quiet against the cold marble floor. Each step felt heavier than the last, her body aching, her soul even more so.

As she neared her room, she noticed Humza's door was shut. For a fleeting second, she hesitated, staring at the wooden barrier that separated him from the rest of the house. A part of her wondered what he was doing inside, if he even cared about what he had done. But she quickly shook the thought away. It didn't matter. Nothing could justify what had happened tonight.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she walked past his door, refusing to let her mind linger on him any longer. But just as she reached her own door, she heard it.

A creak.

Humza's door slowly opened.

Anaabiya stiffened. Her fingers gripped the doorknob, her breath catching in her chest. She didn't turn around, didn't want to see him. But something made her glance back, something beyond her control.

And when she did—she froze.

Humza stood there, barely a few feet away, looking like he had been through hell. His hair was disheveled, strands falling messily over his forehead, as if he had been running his hands through them over and over again. His eyes—usually filled with arrogance, with confidence—were puffy and red-rimmed, like he hadn't just been angry, but broken.

For a long moment, he just stared at her.

And Anaabiya couldn't breathe.

Because in that silence, in that raw gaze, there was something she couldn't quite understand.

Regret?

Pain?

Or was it something else entirely?

Her throat tightened as a flood of emotions rushed back to her. The bruises on her neck pulsed, as if reminding her of what he had done. Of how close she had come to—

Her vision blurred.

She clenched her fists.

No. No matter how broken he looked now, no matter how much regret flickered in his eyes, he had no right.

No right to hurt her.

No right to steal her breath away.

No right to make her fear for her life.

Her eyes welled up against her will, but she blinked back the tears that threatened to spill.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, Humza took a step toward her.

Just one.

A step filled with hesitation, with something that almost felt like an unspoken plea.

But Anaabiya refused to stand there and let him close the distance between them.

Before he could say a word—before she could crumble into the mess of emotions swirling inside her—she turned on her heel and shut the door to her room.

The sound of the latch clicking into place echoed in the silence.

She waited.

She listened.

But there was nothing.

No knocking.

No footsteps lingering outside.

He was gone.

With that realization, whatever strength she had left shattered completely.

Her knees buckled, and she sank onto the bed, her hands gripping the sheets as the dam inside her broke.

The tears she had been holding back came rushing down, hot and unstoppable. She wept—silently at first, then violently, her shoulders shaking, her body curling in on itself.

She cried for the girl she used to be.

She cried for the woman she was now.

She cried for the bruises that marred her skin, for the ones that would never fade from her soul.

She cried for the fate that had bound her to a man who had no mercy.

A man who had stolen the last shred of safety she had left.

And as she lay there, drowning in her grief, a bitter thought crept into her mind.

Uzair was right.

She needed to be saved.

And if running away with him was the only way out—

Then maybe, just maybe...

She would.

To a place where she could live freely, where she could feel loved.

Anaabiya drifted into sleep, exhaustion weighing down her body like chains. She didn't know how long she had been asleep, nor did she have any desire to wake up. The darkness was comforting, a refuge from the pain, from the bruises, from the storm raging inside her.

But then, a sound pulled her out of the abyss.

A soft knock.

Her eyelids fluttered open, her heart pounding as she turned toward the door.

Humza stood there.

His face was pale, his features worn with something that almost looked like vulnerability. His eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, bore into hers, pleading without words. His disheveled hair, his slumped shoulders—he looked like he had been through hell.

"I need to talk to you," he said, his voice rough.

Anaabiya sat up, her entire body tensing.

"I don't want to," she spat, her voice colder than she had ever heard it. "Go away. I don't even want to see your face."

And before he could respond, before he could take another step closer, she slammed the door shut.

She was done taking his cruelty.

She was done letting him in.

The moment the door clicked into place, her surroundings shifted.

The cream walls of her room faded into nothingness, dissolving like mist.

When she opened her eyes again, she wasn't in her room anymore.

She was standing in a meadow.

The air was thick with the scent of wildflowers, and the golden light of the setting sun bathed the field in an otherworldly glow. The wind whispered through the tall grass, carrying with it a familiar presence.

Uzair.

He was standing before her, his hand in hers.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She had known him her whole life, had seen him in every phase—when he was just a lanky boy with sharp cheekbones, when he had started to fill out, when he had grown into the man he was now.

Strong.

Commanding.

Safe.

His presence had always been grounding, always a place of solace she had never truly recognized until now.

His thick lashes framed eyes that burned with intensity, his sculpted features almost too perfect, like a painting brought to life. But it wasn't his face that struck her—it was the quiet strength he carried, the unwavering certainty in his stance.

He had always been there.

A shield she hadn't realized she had needed.

A protector she had craved without ever knowing.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" His voice was quiet, but it cut through her like a blade.

"I did," she whispered, her voice breaking. "But I was married to him. Forced." Her fingers tightened around his as she choked on the words. "I can never love him. He is a monster."

Uzair pulled her into his embrace, his warmth wrapping around her like a shield.

"I'll rescue you," he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple. "We don't have to live apart. We'll leave, Anaa. I promise."

A sharp crack split the air.

A gunshot.

Anaabiya's heart stopped.

For a moment, she thought the sky had exploded, that the world had shattered—until she felt it.

The warm, wet slickness of blood on her hands.

Uzair's blood.

Her head snapped up, her body frozen in horror.

He staggered back, his face pale, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

And then he collapsed.

His body hit the ground, lifeless.

"No—No, Uzair—please—" She fell to her knees beside him, shaking him, begging him to wake up.

But he didn't move.

Tears blurred her vision as she looked up, her entire body trembling.

And there, standing over them, was Humza.

A silver pistol gleamed in his hand, smoke still curling from the barrel.

He smirked.

Terror shot through her veins.

But before she could scream, before she could even react—

Everything changed again.

The meadow dissolved, and suddenly, she was no longer kneeling beside Uzair's lifeless body.

She was in the back seat of a car.

Rain lashed against the windshield, and the hum of the tires against wet pavement filled her ears.

She knew this place.

Her chest constricted.

No. Not again.

She turned to the front, her stomach twisting painfully.

Her parents were there, their laughter ringing through the small space.

Her father was smiling at her mother, his eyes crinkled with happiness. Her mother's laughter was soft, filled with warmth.

Anaabiya's breath came out in harsh, panicked gasps.

She tried to move.

Tried to scream.

Tried to wake up.

But she couldn't.

Her body trembled violently, and she curled into herself, whimpering. "Please...not again."

Death was approaching, second by second.

She could feel it, taste it in the air.

And then—

Strong arms wrapped around her.

A firm, familiar chest pressed against her.

Her body knew before her mind did.

Uzair.

She sobbed into his shirt, clutching onto him like a lifeline.

"Shhh," he soothed, his voice low and comforting. "It's just a dream, a nightmare, Anaabiya. You're safe."

Her breathing was ragged, uneven, but the warmth of his arms, the steadiness of his heartbeat against her ear, slowly pulled her away from the nightmare.

"Open your eyes," he urged, his voice soft but firm.

She tried.

But her eyelids felt like lead, the weight of exhaustion keeping her trapped between sleep and wakefulness.

Uzair didn't stop.

He kept murmuring to her, his words gentle, steady. Each syllable anchored her, grounded her.

And finally, after what felt like an eternity, her lashes fluttered open.

The remnants of her nightmare still clung to her, like ghostly fingers wrapped around her throat. She was drenched in sweat, her skin clammy, her hands cold.

But she was here.

She was safe.

He was still holding her, his grip protective, unwavering.

And in that moment, she realized something she hadn't before.

Uzair had always been there.

Not as a lover.

Not as something she had ever imagined for herself.

But as a protector.

As the only person who had ever made her feel safe.

As the only one who had ever truly seen her.

Her lips parted, and the words fell from them before she could stop them.

"I need you, Uzair."

A small, almost relieved smile touched her lips.

But as soon as the words left her mouth, his body tensed.

His muscles grew rigid beneath her fingers.

And in that moment, a terrible realization settled in her chest—

This wasn't Uzair.

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E D I T E D on 17.2.2025