Chapter : 57 - The Answered Prayer

It was 6 in the Paris morning. The clouds were slowly drifting away, and a cold breeze was spreading all around, brushing against my body. My thin black shirt couldn't bear the chill, but I was enjoying the open air. I stood on my terrace, holding her photo lost in gazing at the sky.

Slowly, the clouds cleared, revealing the open sky before my eyes. The sky was clear, stars were sparkling, and the breeze was incredibly calming—yet I found no peace. Why?

This is the question I ask myself every day. Despite having everything, peace still eludes me. And how could it not, when there’s a woman standing between me and peace—or perhaps she is that peace. Yet, she’s not with me.

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For Hindi/Urdu Readers :

For English Readers :

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I was still looking at the sky, holding her photo in my hand.

Today is a huge day for me; my dream is about to become reality. Today, the design I created in someone’s love is going to be launched.

Before I froze in the cold, I came down the stairs and entered my empty house. Home doesn’t bring me peace—nothing does. A faint, helpless smile flickered on my face. Putting my thoughts aside, I went to the kitchen, made myself some hot tea, then sat down on the couch and opened my laptop.

The Paris fashion show is starting this evening, and there’s still a lot of preparation left. So, without wasting time, I started reviewing all the documents, model designs, and assignments with my assistants. I took a sip of tea, then looked at the designs, and suddenly, my hand froze while scrolling when my gaze fell on the design that’s going to be today’s highlight.

Putting down my cup, I zoomed in on the deep red fabric and began to inspect every detail. I hadn’t gone to the office yet, so I hadn’t seen the design in person, but even on the laptop, it looked incredibly beautiful.

After finishing my tea, I went to take a shower. Wearing my bathrobe, I opened my wardrobe to choose a suit for the day. Despite the dozens of colors, I was drawn to the same suit on which, seven years ago, Sahara spilled both water and coffee. Thinking back to that moment still makes me laugh. With a smile, I took out the cream suit and went to change.

A little while later, I returned, gave my hair a quick comb, leaving it messy, and with no time I headed to the office. I reached the office right at 9:00, where there was a buzz of activity everywhere. Without listening to any issues, I went straight to the design room where the only piece of "Sahara" - my design was placed.

In front of me stood a mannequin draped in a white cloth. I stepped forward slowly, feeling a rush of emotions and a strange happiness. With great care, I lifted the cloth, and it was as if my breath stopped.

The outfit was crafted beautifully—every detail, the gold embroidery, every stone, was perfect, just as I had seen in my dreams. And today, for the first time, I understood what it meant to turn dreams into reality.

My dream had come true. I hope my prayers will be fulfilled too. At this moment, there was only a smile on my face because I imagined this dress on her.

I imagined my Sahara wearing it.

"Sir, everything is ready, but we haven’t confirmed a model for this design—" My assistant started, but I stopped him with a gesture of my hand.

“No one will wear this dress, Anas. This isn’t made for a model; it will only be launched. Only one piece of it will be available, that’s it,” I said, finishing my sentence while touching the fabric of the dress.

“Okay, sir,” Anas replied professionally.

“But, sir, we’ve been calling you since last night. Is there something wrong with your phone?” Anas’s words hit me, and realization dawned—I had left my phone switched off. I knew Aziz might have called me several times. I quickly looked for my phone in my office, found it, gave it to Anas to charge, and borrowed his phone to call Aziz, ready to hear his scolding.

“Assalam walaikum, Aziz,” I greeted with complete calmness as I walked toward the window.

“Walaikum assalam,” came his calm response. I let out a sigh of relief.

“Just tell me, do you still want this friendship or not? Do you even know how many times I called you, Farsi? If you can’t answer the phone, just burn it!” he lashed out, clearly annoyed. I knew it was my fault—I should’ve called him back.

“Alright, leave all that. Tell me, what do women like?” Aziz’s question pulled me back from my thoughts. I felt like I’d heard him wrong.

Why is he asking me this?

“What did you say?” I asked, utterly confused.

“What do women like? You know, when their mood swings are all over the place?” Aziz explained, but I was still puzzled.

“You were calling me just to ask this?” I clarified.

“Of course. Why else would I call you?” he replied casually. Betrayer. True traitor. I made a mistake befriending this guy.

“Wow, Aziz. ‘How are you, how’s it going, how was your flight, why didn't you pick up the call, didn’t you get hurt—’ None of that exists in your dictionary, right? Shameless person,” I finally lashed out at him.

“Are you done? Now answer my question,” he said hurriedly, and I could hear some noises from his side, making me want to throw this phone at his head.

“You’re asking me as if I’m your first wife, giving you advice on how to please your second wife, Aziz,” I said, deciding to tease him and raise his already high blood pressure.

“Samir!” he shouted a bit loudly.

“Aziz!” I replied back with the same energy.

“I’m hanging up now!" He declared ready to cut the call, my dear friend is upset now,a small chuckle left from my mouth.

“I guess chocolates might work,” I suggested calmly.

“There are tons of chocolates in the fridge, but your sister-in-law refused to even touch a single piece!” Aziz complained in an exasperated tone.

"Then cut some fruit for bhabhi," I suggested another idea.

"Not bad, but will it work?" Aziz asked, sounding unsure.

"I'm sure it will. Take apples for bhabhi; that would be the best," I assured him softly.

"Okay, and tell me, how is it going there?" he finally asked about me.

"Took you long enough to ask, Aziz," I taunted.

"Just speak up, Samir" he replied with a bit more energy in his voice.

"It’s going well. The show will start soon, and I’ll have to stay a few more days. Then—"

"You’ll come back, right?" Aziz asked with a tone of concern. But I didn’t have an answer for his question. My heart wants to go back, but I don’t have the courage to face her again. I might break once more because there's no chance that Sahara and I will ever be together again.

Going back to India would mean seeing her, and that would spark a hope in me to win her back, even though it's impossible now. Our paths have diverged.

"We’ll see," I replied dryly.

"I think you will come back," Aziz’s voice held something different—a strange kind of hope. Hearing him, a small smile crept onto my face.

"Alright, I’ll hang up now," I said, wanting to end the conversation before the longing in my heart to see her grew even stronger.

"Take care, Samir," Aziz said with a certain patience in his voice before ending the call. I handed the phone back to Anas and walked toward my cabin.

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Exactly at 7 p.m., I was sitting with some business partners at the venue, engaging in conversation. Everything was beautifully arranged—models, designers, music, the setup, the Eiffel tower everything was perfect.

But this heat was something else. Before my body dried out, I took off my cream coat, folded it, and placed it on my lap.

The show had started, and before I could focus on it, her scent stole my senses.

This scent—it’s Sahara’s.

"Before I have to cut your hand off, roll down those sleeves of yours, Mr. Farsi!" Her voice echoed in my ears, the voice I had been longing to hear.

It was Sahara's beautiful, stern voice.

I steadied my heartbeat and looked up, and everything froze—my breath, my heartbeat, my thoughts, the people, the sounds. I lowered my gaze, thinking this was just another beautiful dream of mine.

Mai toh khuli aankh mein bhi is aurat ko dekhne laga hoon aur mai jaanta hoon agar maine phirse nazre uthai toh woh gayab ho jaigi, isliye maine nazre uthai, lekin woh gayab nahi hui, aur ab meri nazar usse hathi nahi.

(I’ve been seeing this woman even with my eyes open, and I know that if I look up again, she’ll disappear. So I looked up, but she hadn’t vanished. And now, my gaze couldn’t leave her).

"Sahara?" Her name slipped from my lips as if it were my last breath.

"Yes, Samir," she responded, and my breath caught hearing her say my name.

"Are you real, or are you just another beautiful dream I never want to wake up from?" I couldn’t help but ask.

"I’m truly here, Samir," she said my name again, and once more, my breath stopped.

Yaal khuda, yeh ab teri konsi aazmayish hai?

Kya mujhe sachme yakeen karna hai ki joh aurat is waqt mere saamne khadi hi woh sachme Sahara hai, wahi rang ka libaas pehna hai usne jiska zikr maine apni kitaab mein kiya tha, woh rang, woh aurat, woh awaaz, woh aankhen aur mera sukoon mere saamne khadi thi.

(Oh God, is this another one of Your tests? Am I really supposed to believe that the woman standing in front of me is actually Sahara? She’s even wearing the color I mentioned in my book, that color, that woman, that voice, those eyes—and my peace—was standing right in front of me).

“Aren’t you going to ask me to sit?” she asked calmly.

And I couldn’t say anything; I was too stunned to see her here.

“I...” My words wouldn’t come out.

I hurriedly stood and offered her a seat. Sahara smiled as she sat down, and I just kept looking at her, completely unaware of everything around me.

“Bait jou, Samir,” she said, looking at me.

I left some space between us and sat down, but I couldn’t stop looking at her, or should I say, my eyes only wanted to look at her. This is  just a dream; I kept trying to convince myself.

“How will you look without your hand, Samir?” Her words went over my head.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“Roll down your sleeves, Farsi?” She threatened, and my heart melted.

I looked at my sleeves, which were rolled up to my elbows, revealing my veiny hands. Without a word or thought, I rolled down my sleeves and put my coat back on, then went back to admiring her.

She smiled, and then I smiled.

“Tum khush ho mujhe yahan dekh ke?” Mohtarma asked in her sweet voice, sounding innocent.

(Are you happy to see me here?)

“Khush? Mai toh toh fanah ho gaya hoon tumhe dekh ke,” I replied.

“Enough now, Samir. Are you just going to keep looking at me, or are you going to look around too?” she said, now blushing.

“Mai kya karu tumse nazre hath hein nahi rahi hai, Mohtarma!” I said, gazing at her even more intensely.

(What can I do? I just can’t look away from you).

Usne apni jheel sih aankhon mein kaala kajal lagaya hua tha, joh uski aankhon ki khubsurati ko aur bada raha tha, uska chera saaf tha, koi makeup nahi, dupatta dhele seh sar par lipte hue tha, uske jhumke yeh phiki Shaam mein aur  chamak rahe the, uske kuch julf nazar aarahe the aur unki khusbu yaaha tak aarahi thi, uske naak ka naath kuch kam nahi tha, behad khubsurat tha, aur uske libaas neh toh mere banaiye hue design ko bhi phika kardiya.

(Her ocean-like eyes had black kohl lining them, which only enhanced their beauty. Her face was clear, without makeup, a loose scarf draped around her head. Her earrings sparkled, and a few stray strands of her hair were visible, carrying their scent all the way to me. The nose ring only added to her beauty, and her outfit outshone even my own designs).

“I think you should focus on your show now. I’ll send you the address; join me after the show, Samir.” She stood up to leave, and I quickly grabbed the end of her scarf.

“Don’t go, Sahara, or else this will feel like a dream again,” I pleaded.

“I’m right here, Samir,” she reassured me.

“Stay with me,” I said with intensity.

“But your show—”

“Just stay with me, Mohtarma,” I said, looking deeply into her eyes.

“Fine,” she replied and sat back beside me.

Duri abhi thi,f aasle abhi bhi the, magar ek umeed ki kiran thi joh har faasle ko mitaane ke liye taiyaar the.

(There was still a distance between us, but there was a glimmer of hope, one that was ready to bridge every gap).

I tried to focus on the show, but I couldn’t. Because she stole the whole show, when she is sitting right beside me. How could I look at anyone else? My neck had been turned toward her the entire event, and now my neck was in severe pain.

Exactly at 9 p.m., the event ended, and my designs were launched. But the dress Sahara wore overshadowed my own designs. She looked happy seeing my designs, as if they were her own success, and I felt joy seeing her happy about my success.

“I want to take you somewhere. Will you come with me, Samir?” she asked, getting up with her radiant smile.

“Mera Qatal karna chahati ho, kya Mohtarma?” I asked, looking at her with a mischievous smile.

(You’re planning to kill me, Mohtarma?)

“Tum kabhi nahi sudroge, Samir,” she replied, her face turning red with anger as she walked ahead, she got so engrossed in being angry with me that she forget her purse here. I picked it up and followed her.

I was behaving like a teenage boy at the moment, but I don't care, because I am shameless. Oh Allah, what’s happening to me? I couldn’t control myself; my mind had shut down, my heartbeat was racing so fast as if it  could stop any second now.

“Hurry up,” she commanded firmly from up ahead, and I just smiled and started walking toward her.

We stepped outside, and my driver pulled up in front of us in my black Mercedes. I took the car keys from him and booked a cab for him. Then I looked at Sahara, who was busy looking at me, and suddenly, I started feeling shy.

“Are you blushing, Samir?” she teased.

“No,” I replied, avoiding her gaze.

“Oh really? Then why are your cheeks turning red?” she teased further, making me blush even more.

“Sahara, look around; where are you teasing me? You’re making me really shy with your words, Mohtarma!” I declared being a blushing mess in front of her.

“Oh please, Mr Farsi, I’m not teasing you. It’s your shameless cheeks that aren’t under control. Take care of them!” she said, as if it were all my fault.

Admitting defeat in front of her, I opened the door for her. She thanked me, and I got into the driver’s seat and started the car.

Mukammal Khamoshi!

What happened to her now? Say something, Sahara, I’m getting restless here.

She didn’t say a word, so I drove down the road in silence, the air filling the quietness between us.

“By the way, where are we heading?” I broke the silence.

“Near the Eiffel Tower,” she replied quickly, turning to gaze out the window at the Paris night.

And I didn’t feel like saying anything else either, because I’d started to enjoy her silence. She was with me—that was enough.

Finally, after 15 minutes of complete silence, we reached near the Eiffel Tower. I got out and opened the door for Sahara. She took her sweet time to step out, and as always, her long veil got caught in the car. I bent down, carefully untangled it, and held it in my hand. She walked ahead, and I, holding her dupatta, followed her until we reached close to the tower.

The lights of the tower seemed to shine even brighter. A few people were nearby, but they stood far from us. Sahara stopped, and I stood beside her. She turned towards me, and her first question left me stunned.

"Is your phone off?" she asked, eyeing me sharply.

"Yes, it's switched off," I replied, as if it was the most normal thing.

"Fine, I'll argue with you about that later—"

"Argue?" I asked, surprised.

"Later!" she said firmly.

"By the way, I’m not really a romantic person—"

"Yes, I know. You're unromantic, Mohtarma," I admitted honestly.

"I'm unromantic, Farsi?" she asked, glaring at me. Seeing her expression made me happy; teasing her is my specialty.

"Why don't you talk for what you came here, Sahara?" I defended.

"You're distracting me, Samir!" Sahara said, placing her hands on her waist, visibly angry. I was pretty sure her blood pressure was rising, judging by how red her face was.

"Alright, I won't do it anymore. Go on," I apologized.

"First, give me my purse," she demanded, and I looked around.

"I don’t have it," I said, showing her my empty hands.

"The one you've had on your shoulder, Samir—take it off and give it to me," Sahara clarified. Only then did I realize I had been wearing her purse on my shoulder for the past 45 minutes and hadn’t noticed.

"Sahara, you’re going to ruin my reputation," I said, putting a hand on my forehead.

"You don’t like carrying my purse?" she suddenly sounded upset, and I was surprised again. Who changes moods this quickly?

"No, Jaan, I'd even hold your heels for you!" I tried to smooth things over with a smile.

"If you don’t stop flirting, I’ll crush your foot with these heels, Samir!" she threatened.

"Wait a minute—did you come here to tell me something, or just to threaten me?" I finally asked her.

"You're the one who is giving me the chance, Samir," she said, and I admitted defeat.

"Fine, it’s all my fault. Now tell me, what did you want to say, Mohtarma?" I was getting impatient to hear her.

Sahara first took her purse from my hand, then started looking for something. After about a minute, she took out a white rose.

"You like white roses, right?" she asked, smiling brightly.

Do I like white roses? I asked myself.

"I really like them too," she said, caressing the rose before I could answer.

Oh, so she likes them, so now they must be my favorite too. For some reason, my cheeks blushed again.

She held the rose as if she was going to give it to me, but she didn’t. So I waited for her to extend her hand first. Mohtarma then took a long breath, and I did the same, but instead of inhaling oxygen, I inhaled her fragrance. A wave of relief washed over my face seeing her so close to me.

"Do you know, Samir, what kind of person you are? You're shameless, your bhegairat, your crazy—"

"Is that a compliment?" I replied with a hint of sarcasm.

"Listen first," Sahara urged.

"I’m listening, Mohtarma," I said with the same energy.

"In spite of all of that, you still rule over this shameless heart of mine, Samir. Forgive me for not understanding you or your love," she said, looking down, her voice filled with calmness.

"But before it’s too late, I want to say something," she said, pausing as she lifted her gaze to meet mine.

She looked at me, and I got lost in her eyes.

"Mai phirse tumse mohabbat karne lagi hoon, Samir Farsi," her words brought my world to a standstill. My breath, my heartbeat, everything seemed to pause. My legs almost gave way, my hands went cold, my eyes forgot to blink, my voice sank inside, and my heart began to beat so loudly that she could hear it.

(I’ve fallen in love with you again, Samir Farsi).

Is she really confessing her love for me? Is my prayer really being answered? Has Allah truly forgiven me?

Kya sachme, Sahaara mere samne hai?

"Khush nahi ho tum?" Sahara asked hesitantly.

(Aren’t you happy?)

Khush? Meri toh saanse bhi abhi tak thami hui hai.

(Happy? I can barely breathe right now).

"I just can’t believe it," I said with a helpless smile.

"Forgive me, Samir—"

"I was the one at fault, Sahara. I didn’t value you, so I should be the one asking for forgiveness," I said, kneeling down in front of her.

"Your knees will hurt, Samir. Stand up," she teased with a smile.

"I’m still young!" I defended myself, and then we both started laughing together.

“Are you accepting the flower now or not?” she asked, hiding her shyness as she held the rose out toward me.

I was on my knee, and she was offering me the flower. This was the first proposal I’d ever received that felt so strange yet so beautiful. I took the flower and kissed it.

“Lekin meri har baat maan ni padegi, tumhe Farsi?” Mohtarma started to make her demands.

(But you’ll have to agree to all my conditions, Farsi).

“Aapka har hukum sar aankhon par, Mohtarma,” I replied, bowing my head in front of her.

(Your wish is my command, miss)

She blushed, and I smiled.

She laughed, and I just kept looking at her.

“You’re not going to stop me from shopping, right?” she said, making her first demand. I knelt and listened, and once she was done, I held out my black credit card to her.

“Take as much as you want. It’s all yours,” I said, extending the card to her.

“And if the card gets maxed out?” Sahara raised her eyebrows with a mischievous smile on her face.

“Then the same amount will be back on it the next day,” I replied with a smile.

“Itni kimti hoon mai, Samir?” she asked, surprised.

(Am I that valuable, Samir?)

“Yeh toh bas tumhari muskurahat ki 0.001 percent kimat hai, Mohtarma. Aur rahi baat tumhari toh tum itni kimti ho, ki tumhe khuda seh maanga jaa sakta, kharida nahi!” I confessed, looking deep into her eyes.

(This is only 0.001% of the value of your smile. And as for your worth, you’re so precious that you can only be asked from God, not bought!)

“But I don’t need the card,” Sahara said, smiling.

“Why not?” I asked, puzzled.

“Because after the Nikkah, it will be mine anyway,” she replied, leaving me speechless. I laughed at her remark.

“You’re pretty smart,” I complimented.

“Tumse hein sikha hai, Mr Farsi,” she teased back.

(I learned from you only, Mr Farsi).

“You’re not going to stop me from eating chocolates?” she asked.

“I’ll eat with you, too” I replied.

“I really like vases,” she said, with a slight laugh.

“So do I,” I smiled.

“Meri har baat maan rahe ho, iraade kya tumhare, Farsi? Mohtarma asked sternly.

(You’re agreeing to everything I say. What are your intentions, Farsi?)

“Iraade toh bas tumhse Nikkah karne ke hai, Mohtarma,” I expressed my feelings, and she blushed, looking flustered.

(My only intention is to marry you, my love).

“You’re shameless, Samir,” she taunted, walking toward the tower.

And there I was, still kneeling, watching her. Slowly, I stood up with restraint.

“I told you, you’re getting old,” she teased me, turning back with a playful smirk.

“Sahara,” I said, being amused.

“Yes, Samir?” she said with a laugh and then looked back at the tower.

I walked over and stood beside her, gazing at the beautiful scenery.

We sat down on the ground there and talked about everything under the moon. I listened to her complaints, her laughter, her smile; I smelled the fragrance of her hair. It was already too overwhelming for my heart to handle. She came being dressed in red! Now how was I supposed to control my heart?

She’s surely going to be the end of me, someday.

Aur Sahara ki awaaz sunke mujhe mera rab yaad aaya, usne meri tahajud kharis hone nahi di, meri dua qubool karli usne, mujhe Sahara seh nawaz hein diya usne.

(Hearing Sahara’s voice reminded me of my prayers, and I realized Allah had answered them. He hadn’t let my late-night prayers go in vain; He had blessed me with Sahara).

“Let me drop you home,” I said, glancing at my watch. It was already midnight.

Half an hour later, we were standing in front of her apartment.

“What’s your plan for tomorrow?” I asked her.

“Nothing special, just meeting some colleagues and friends. And what about you?” she replied, sharing her schedule and asking about mine.

“I’m going to see my parents and then meet you in the evening,” I said, thinking out loud.

“Are you going to talk about us with them?” Sahara asked hesitantly.

“Of course, Jaan. I can’t wait any longer, now” I replied eagerly.

“Will they agree?” she asked.

“Mujhpe barosa rakho, Sahara. Pure izzat aur maan seh tumse Nikkah karunga,” I assured her.

(Trust me. I’ll marry you with full honor and respect).

“But what if my dad doesn’t agree, Samir? Will you fight with him?” she was afraid.

“Ladna kise hai meri Jaan, CEO, bas naam ke liye toh nahi bana mai?” I said with pride.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Hum bas dimaag chalainge, kaam apne aap hoga,” I smiled as an idea sparked in my mind.

(We’ll just use our minds, and things will work out).

“Leave everything to me and sleep peacefully,” I reassured her.

“Agar sab tum karoge toh mai kya karu, Samir?” My Mohtarma asked innocently.

(If you’re going to do everything, what will I do, Samir?)

“Tum bas saanse lo, Mohtarma,” I said, looking at her seriously. As I finished speaking, her cheeks turned red.

(Just breathe, Mohtarma).

“If you blush like that, I won’t be able to leave now,” I teased.

“This is your fault!” Sahara said, looking away as her cheeks flushed even more.

“Mine or yours? Who told you to be so beautiful that I’d go crazy?” I defended myself.

“You are already crazy, Samir,” she laughed.

“Just wait until the wedding, Jaan. I’ll show you how crazy this Farsi is for you,” I said with a mischievous smile, then got into my car and drove home. After so many years, I felt at peace because my peace had finally come to me and I still can't believe that she came all the way Paris just to confess her love for me.

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Thank you so much for reading! ♥️

I hope you enjoyed this chapter—it's been such a pleasure to share it with you all! I’d love to know your thoughts, especially on Mr. Farsi’s letters. What did you feel as you read them?

And, of course, our beloved Mirsha! How did you like their confession? Were you surprised?

I can’t wait to hear your predictions on what might happen next! Share your favorite lines, scenes, or moments—anything that struck a chord with you. I’m eager to hear every single thought from all of you!🌼

And here’s a little challenge: no new updates until we hit our goals from this and the previous chapter. I’m asking for 1099+ votes and 899+ comments on this one! But don’t worry—there’s so much more in store for Mirsha.🌸

Until the next update, stay safe and happy reading. Thank you all for making this journey so unforgettable!🌼

With all my love,

Author Almas ♥️

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