As Anabiya stepped into her apartment, silence greeted her like always.
She dropped her bag onto the sofa, went straight to her room, took a long shower, changed into her comfortable clothes, and lay down on her bed. She began scrolling through the pictures taken earlier that day, a small smile dancing on her lips — until her phone rang.
"Mom calling…"
She hesitated for a second before picking up.
The moment she answered, a sharp, angry voice burst through the speaker.
"Anabiya! Do you even realize your sir called me today? How irresponsible have you become? Is this what I taught you?"
Anabiya stared at the ceiling and replied quietly, almost coldly, "Mom… when did you ever teach me anything? How am I supposed to know what's right and wrong?"
"Don't speak nonsense, Anabiya!" her mother snapped. "Everything I do is for you! Do you think it's easy for me to live away from you?"
Tears began to pool in Anabiya's eyes. She whispered, "You moved away from me. You left me, Mama. For what? For work? You could've worked here too."
Her mother's voice wavered. "Do you even understand how hard it is to be a single mom? I did all this so you can have a good future — proper education, a better lifestyle! That's why I work so hard, day and night."
Anabiya's voice cracked, "And what about me? Did you ever ask what I wanted? Or if I even wanted this 'better life' without you?"
Just then, a voice called out to her mother in the background. Her tone shifted quickly, as if switching roles in an instant.
"We'll talk later, Anabiya."
Click.
The call disconnected.
Anabiya sat staring at the screen, the silence pressing in heavier than before.
Mahir stepped into the house, where his grandparents were sitting on the sofa watching TV. As soon as he entered, his grandmother stood up immediately.
"Beta, should I have dinner served for you?" she asked warmly. Mahir shook his head silently. "No, I'm not hungry," he said quietly, then walked straight to his room.
He shut the door behind him, tossed his bag aside, and pulled out his phone. His fingers trembled slightly as he dialed his father's number. The call barely rang twice before it was answered.
"Baba… I want to come back. Right now. I can't stay here anymore. What kind of punishment is this?" Mahir's voice cracked with frustration. On the other end, a calm, deep voice replied gently,
"This isn't punishment, son. It's for your own good. I couldn't bear to watch you breaking like that. I know it feels like everything's falling apart, but it's not the end. It's the beginning. I truly believe that in Pakistan—with your grandparents, in that school—you'll meet people who remind you what it means to live again. Who show you that life… hasn't ended. It's just started.
There was a pause, filled only by Mahir's silent breathing.
"Now get some rest," his father continued softly. "And try to be kind. Especially to yourself." With that, the call ended.
Mahir stared at the screen for a long moment. His jaw clenched. His shoulders dropped. He sank onto the edge of the bed.
And just like that…the past returned—uninvited, unwelcome, but impossible to ignore.
The world had felt colder ever since that day.
He remembered the arguments. The slammed doors. That day, when Mahir stepped into the drawing room, his world collapsed in a single glance. His mother… in the arms of another man. The room was scattered, disheveled — but nothing was as broken as his heart in that moment.
His voice trembled with rage and disbelief, 'What is going on here?'
Saba quickly tore herself away from the man and tried to reach for her son, but Mahir flinched, pushing her back with his hand. His chest tightened, his breath unsteady. For several seconds, he stood frozen, unable to grasp what his eyes had just seen.
Finally, his voice cracked, drenched in hurt, 'You should be ashamed… cheating on Baba like this.' His gaze shifted to the man, filled with disgust. 'I can't believe this… I can't believe you.'
And before his tears could fall, Mahir stormed out of the house.
Behind him, Saba's desperate cries echoed, her voice pleading, calling his name, trying to hold him back. But for Mahir… those calls meant nothing anymore. Everything had already shattered." The next day, Mahir found Saba packing. She tried to explain, 'It's not what you think…'
Mahir turned away, his voice sharp, 'How can what I saw be a lie? Just go.'
Tears in her eyes, Saba clutched her bag and walked out. His sister wept as their mother left, but Mahir, though younger, didn't shed a single tear. He didn't scream. He just stood there, staring at the door, wondering why silence felt heavier than heartbreak.After that, his father tried everything. Therapy. Trips. Tutors. But Mahir had shut down. Cut off.
His grades dropped. His anger rose. He lost friends. Lost sleep. Lost himself. That's when his father made the decision.
Send him away. To the only place that still had pieces of who he used to be.
Pakistan.
Early morning
Zaki had just returned home after dropping Mishal off. As he stepped through the front door, his father was already waiting in the living room.
"Why are you coming home this late every day? What kind of company have you gotten yourself into these days?" his father asked sternly.
Zaki, already exhausted, sighed. "Dad, please. Can we talk tomorrow? I'm not in the mood for arguments right now."
From behind, his mother's sharp voice cut through:
"You're never in the mood. God knows when we'll finally get rid of that girl. Why doesn't she just disappear? My poor son…
Zaki heard everything. But he stayed silent and ignored everything.
He walked to his room, shut the door behind him, and let out a deep breath. He wanted to answer back. But what was the point? He knew arguing with them would only make things worse. They wouldn't understand.
When it came to Mishal, Zaki had to think with both his heart and his head. And he had to stay smart—because if he acted on emotion alone, things could spiral. And that, he didn't want.
His obsession with studies and early interest in his father's business weren't random. He wanted to become independent—fast. He had taken on responsibilities way beyond his age.
After a short nap, he got ready and left for school.