Chapter 7: Shards of Broken Dreams
The journey back from the grand wedding reception was shrouded in a heavy silence—the kind that often precedes a storm. In the backseat of the car, Jannat Bibi's eyes were shadowed with sadness, but the restlessness on Hammad Sahib's face was even more evident. The same Hammad Sahib, known to the world as a pillar of strength, felt crushed today by the weight of his own decision. A gnawing realization was eating him from within: had he bartered his daughter's future for Arslan's family's glittering exterior? As the car pulled into the porch, he walked straight to his room without a word, lost in a whirlpool of agonizing thoughts. Jannat Bibi and Hammad Sahib's mother felt the weight of his sudden withdrawal intensely.
Raeesa Begum, Hammad Sahib's mother, knew her son's temperament well. When she went to check on him, the sight through the doorway broke her heart. Hammad Sahib sat in his revolving chair, clutching a photograph of his late wife, Fouzia, talking to her as if she were standing right there. He was saying, "Fouzia, today our daughter stands at a crossroad from which there is no return. Amma Ji and I raised her with such care, gave her the best education and values, but today my heart is sinking. Have I sent my flower-like daughter into a scorching desert with no shade? I have full faith in the upbringing of Amma Ji and Jannat Bibi, but the behavior of Arslan's family is giving me no peace."
In the corner of that room, the hidden pain in his voice turned into sobs. Addressing the photo again, he said, "I miss you more than ever today, because no matter how strong a father is, at the time of his daughter's departure, he needs a partner to share his fears." He recalled how he had guided Shanze, more like a friend than a father, explaining that this new chapter of life could be as harsh as it is beautiful. He had emphasized that self-respect is a treasure that must never be compromised. "If circumstances ever turn people into monsters, you must protect yourself," he had warned. These words were now hammering in his mind as he eventually drifted into a restless sleep.
On the other side, Shanze's new home was beginning to look less like a dream house and more like a torture cell. As she sat on the sofa, exhausted, the true faces of her in-laws began to reveal themselves. The heated argument between Jamila and her mother, Shama Begum, over the distribution of wedding gifts and money (Salami), felt like molten lead in Shanze's ears. Shama Begum's voice, which had been as sweet as honey before the Nikah, was now laced with venom. Turning to Shanze, she snapped, "Listen, girl! There's no need to sit here like a queen. Go to the kitchen and make tea for everyone." Jamila, asserting her dominance over Arslan, demanded all the gift money, claiming the marriage happened because of her, so the wealth belonged to her first.
For Shanze, this was nothing short of a nightmare. She felt like a total stranger among the people who, just hours ago, were calling her their "life." Meanwhile, Arfa entered the room and, without any regard, began pulling the expensive jewelry from Shanze's neck that she had been wearing for the event. The physical pain of her hair being pulled was nothing compared to the heartache of this behavior, but Shanze silently handed everything over. Before she could process the shock, Arslan entered the room. His eyes were shining with greed rather than love. He demanded the Salami money from Shanze, and when he found the amount was less than he expected, his rage hit the roof.
Arslan began using derogatory language about Shanze's father. He mocked, "Such a big factory owner, yet he didn't even give a car to his only daughter, knowing his son-in-law has to struggle on a motorcycle." He pulled Shanze's expensive dresses—the ones Jannat Bibi had prepared with such love—out of the wardrobe and threw them on the floor, muttering that her father's property would eventually be theirs anyway. Shanze sat frozen on the bed, feeling as if the walls were closing in on her. She remembered her father's words: "Never compromise on dignity," but here, she was being humiliated at every step.
Finally, when Shama Begum returned to the room and scolded her for not changing her clothes and going to the kitchen, Shanze's courage gave way. When she mentioned a maid, she was bluntly told that there was no maid in this house now because they couldn't afford a servant's salary. As Shanze stood up, her feet got tangled in the same silken clothes her grandmother had made for her with so much affection. Gathering the shards of her broken dreams, she went into the bathroom, where her stifled sobs finally echoed against the walls. The tears falling from her eyes marked the harsh reality: her "Hisar" (fortress) had now become her prison.
To be Continued....
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright Notice: © 2026 Ishrat Zahid (Ishrat Khanum). All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.