Mahir sat at his study desk, books spread open, pen moving restlessly across the page. He was trying to drown himself in work, to push back the memories that always returned when the world grew too quiet.
The sharp trill of his phone broke the silence. He glanced at the screen.
Baba.
He picked up.
"Hello?"
"Mahir," his father's voice carried a mix of patience and pleading. "Your mom has been calling you for quite a few days. Why don't you pick up the phone?"
Mahir's grip on the phone tightened. "Baba, I told you… I don't want to talk to her."
Before he could respond , another voice slipped into the call—soft, trembling.
"Beta…It's been a year, you haven't even spoken to her. She's your mother — she misses you…"
Mahir froze. His jaw locked as a storm gathered in his chest.
"She is not my mother," he snapped. "And I don't understand, Baba… how can you forgive her so easily? After what she did to you—what she did to us—you still… you're not even angry? Your heart may be big enough to forgive her, but mine isn't. Never."
And he ended the call.
⸻
That same evening, Anabiya, Urhaan, Zaki, and Mishal had planned a movie night at Urhaan's house. On impulse, Anabiya decided Mahir should come too. Maybe it would ease the shadows she often saw in his eyes. She thought some seconds then quickly texted him:
We're all going to Urhaan's for a movie. Want to join us?
On other side when Mahir gets the massage . After few minutes he thinks then reply her. His reply came short.
Ok.
Anabiya smiled faintly, correct her hair, pick lip balm and apply on lips and checks then slipped out of her apartment. As she crossed the lobby, she saw a graceful, well-dressed Lady step out of the lift and walk toward Mahir's apartment. Curious, she slowed her pace. The woman rang the bell. Moments later, Miss Momina opened the door, and they disappeared inside.
Her phone buzzed again.
I'm coming in 10 minutes.
She waited outside, but when time stretched, she moved toward his apartment door. It was ajar.
A voice thundered from inside.
"How many times do I have to say it? I don't want to see your face! Why are you here?"
Anabiya froze in the doorway. Mahir's back was to her, shoulders trembling. Across from him, that elegant lady stood with tearful eyes.
"Mahir," the woman whispered, her voice breaking. "I am your mother… how did you become so distant from me? Just listen to me once…"
"For God's sake!" Mahir's voice cracked like shattered glass. "Stop this drama. You lost the right to be my mother the day you betrayed Baba. The day you chose your lover over your family. Did you think about us when you were in his arms? You think I can ever forget that?"I am surprised you have dignity to face us after what you have done.
The slap came suddenly—sharp, echoing.
Anabiya gasped softly. The woman's palm still hovered in the air, her face streaked with pain.
Mahir's cheek burned red, but his voice grew deathly calm. "That's the last time you ever raise a hand on me. From this moment… you're dead to me. Don't ever come near me again."
He grabbed his jacket, turned—and stopped short when his eyes collided with Anabiya's. For a fleeting moment, guilt, rage, and helplessness flashed in his gaze. Then he brushed past her.
"Mahir—" she whispered, but he didn't slow.
She followed him into the lift, heart racing. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched.
"Don't," he said hoarsely, without turning. "Don't ask me anything right now."
But before he could push her away, Anabiya's arms wrapped around him from behind.
Mahir froze. For a second, he forgot how to breathe. His world—always fractured, always sharp edges—suddenly softened in that hug.
"I don't know what she did but how much I listened You did the right thing," she whispered against his shoulder. "Someone who caused that much pain… she deserves distance."
His throat worked silently. He wanted to believe her.
The lift dinged. Anabiya stepped back quickly as the doors opened, wiping her eyes. They walked out together, the night air heavy around them.
After a few silent steps, Mahir muttered, almost to himself, "Everyone keeps saying I should forgive her… talk to her… give her another chance."
Anabiya looked at him, her voice steady.
"Do you think forgiveness is that easy? No. It's the hardest thing in the world. But…" she paused, her own memories stinging, "when you truly forgive someone, the peace is yours—not theirs. Every time you see them, the pain might return. But at least your heart will stop burning."
Mahir stopped walking. Her words sank into him like rain on parched earth.
"She's still your mother," Anabiya added gently. "Maybe not the mother you wanted… maybe not the one you deserved. But one day, when you see another mom hug her son, your heart will ache. You'll remember this night. You'll regret it if you never even asked her why. Anger feels powerful now… but regret will crush you later." Just one time listen to her side of story What you're thinking may not be right.
Mahir turned his face away, but his eyes glistened.
Anabiya lowered her gaze, whispering more to herself than him, "I lost my father too soon. Parents is a blessing.Don't throw away your blessings Mahir."
He didn't have an answer. He want to speak but he don't have words. He said to himself how can someone is so mature and dumb at a same time.
Anabiya's voice trembled as she stared down at her hands.
"You know… I loved my Baba more than anything in the world. But the day of his accident… I was angry with him. He had promised to take me to the park, but instead, he went to the hospital for work again. I was upset, and on the call, I told him I wouldn't talk to him anymore. He tried to calm me, saying, 'Don't do this, meri jaan. If you stop talking to me, I will die.'"
Her lips quivered as she swallowed hard, fighting back tears.
"And I—" she let out a shaky breath, "—I told him, 'Then go die.' The very next second, I heard the crash through his phone. And everything changed. He never spoke to me again. He left me… just like that."
Her voice broke, and she pressed her palms together tightly.
"Sometimes I think it's my fault he left. He suddenly said but it's not your fault.But i think it's mine. If I hadn't been angry… maybe he would still be here. After that day, everything inside me changed. I get scared of being upset with people, Mahir. I fear that if I'm angry, they'll leave me too. Even when I want to walk away… I can't. It's strange, isn't it?"
The room went quiet. Mahir was watching her intently, his dark eyes softening in a way he couldn't control. There was something raw in the way she confessed, something that pulled at the guarded walls inside him.
His gaze lingered, studying the tremble in her lashes, the way her shoulders shook with unshed tears. She didn't notice at first—until the silence stretched and she finally looked up. Their eyes locked.
For a brief moment, it was as if the world outside didn't exist. Her pain had become his, and he had no idea why. He had built his life on shutting people out, yet here she was—forcing her way in without even trying.
But then her phone rang, breaking the fragile moment. Mishal's name flashed on the screen. Anabiya quickly answered, her voice snapping back into its usual brightness.
"Babzzz, open the door. We're here."
She cut the call and glanced at Mahir with a soft smile.
"When we're with friends, forget your worries for a while, okay? At least for tonight."
Her smile was fragile but brave, like a candle still burning despite the wind. Mahir found himself staring again, unable to look away—until she noticed. When she tilted her head questioningly, he quickly looked elsewhere.
Just then, Mishal opened the door, and the spell broke.
The living room was already set up for a perfect evening—popcorn bowls, cold drinks, and pizza scattered on the table. Laughter filled the air as Zaki, Urhaan, and Mishal dragged them inside.
Soon, the movie started. Then came the noisy chaos of Ludo, where everyone argued over dice rolls and teased each other shamelessly.
In that laughter, that warmth, it was hard to believe that every single one of them carried broken pieces inside. For those few hours, they weren't kids with burdens too heavy for their age. They were just friends, together, whole.