Written by: Ishrat Zahid
Chapter 12:
The clinical white lights stretching across the corridors of the cardiac ward and the lingering scent of disinfectants in the air instilled a peculiar sense of dread in the heart. The silence of the late-night hours was broken only by the rhythmic beeping of a machine or the distant, muffled sound of a nurse's footsteps. Mr. Hammad had been shifted from the ICU to a private room. He was still in a deep sleep, but the pallor of his face revealed the heavy burden his heart was carrying. In the corner of the room, Shanze had insisted Janat Bi lie down on the small attendant's bed, as she had refused to go home under any circumstances. Shanze herself sat on a hard wooden chair, sleep miles away from her weary eyes. Arsalan's bitter words and that "slap" still echoed in her ears—a blow that hadn't just marked her face but had left a permanent scar on her soul.
At the sound of the Fajar Adhan (dawn call to prayer), Shanze took a deep breath and lifted her heavy frame from the chair. She stepped out of the room quietly so as not to disturb anyone. After asking for directions to the prayer area at the reception, she performed her ablutions and sat on the prayer mat. In that moment, the dam of her patience broke. She fell into prostration, weeping bitterly, pouring her heart out to her Creator. "Oh Allah! You know the secrets of every heart. Where did I go wrong that this test of life became so grueling? I have always followed Your commands upheld my father's honor. Why, then, do I stand at this crossroad today?" Amidst her tears, she prayed for her father's shadow to remain over her, for he was her only true Hisaar—her only fortress.
When she returned to the room, Janat Bi was awake, and Dadi (grandmother) was calling. A short while later, Dadi arrived at the hospital with her nephew, Hamza. Unfamiliar with the routes of Lahore, Hamza had tracked the location to get there. Upon arriving, he found Shanze collapsed in a chair, exhausted. Hamza approached her with two cups of tea, offering one as he introduced himself. "I am Hamza, Dadi's brother's grandson. You look exhausted; please, have some tea." Shanze accepted the cup with a nod of thanks. Looking around, Hamza asked, "I don't see your husband, Arsalan Sahab. Where is he?" Shanze averted her eyes for a moment and took refuge in a lie. "He... he is actually out of the city for work. He hasn't been informed yet." Hamza watched her closely, sensing that the tremor in her voice wasn't just due to fatigue.
Meanwhile, Arsalan was jolted awake by Shamea Begum's screaming. "Arsalan! Wake up! Look, your wife ran away in the middle of the night. She has humiliated us and left us to face the world in shame!" Arsalan's head was throbbing with pain. Looking at the disarray of the room, he realized that Shanze's departure hadn't just left the room messy—his entire life had unraveled. He left the house and went to his friend Farhan. As they sat down for breakfast at a local dhaba, Farhan asked seriously, "Arsalan, tell me the truth. What happened? Why are you so restless?"
Arsalan let out a long sigh. "Farhan, I don't understand what I've done. Perhaps I acted too hastily after listening to Areefa. I raised my hand against Shanze, and she left the house."
Farhan looked at him in shock. "What? You hit her? Arsalan, you know your home has already broken once before, and yet you didn't show patience? Areefa wants exactly this—for your marriage to fail. She is a manipulative woman; how could you fall for her words?"
"I couldn't think straight at that moment, Farhan. I thought she was truly in the wrong." Arsalan lowered his head in shame.
Farhan advised him, "Look, Arsalan, a husband is a woman's pride and trust, and you broke that trust. Now, instead of wallowing in regret, take practical steps. I will take you to my cousin, who is a marriage counselor. She will help clear the misunderstandings between you two. The solution to these problems isn't anger; it's counseling." Arsalan stood up silently with Farhan, feeling a flicker of hope that perhaps something could still be saved.
On the other side, a different storm was brewing in Jamila Begum's house. She hadn't slept all night, fearing that her son, Mohsin, was slipping away from her control. She wanted to bring a daughter-in-law of her own choice to maintain her rule over the household, but Mohsin was now adamant about making his own decisions. At the breakfast table, Afzal Sahab spoke sternly, "Jamila! Tell Mohsin to drop this pampered attitude. From today, he will come to the factory with me. Let him learn how money is actually earned."
"Yes... he will go. I will tell him," Jamila Begum replied nervously.
Afzal Sahab slammed his teacup down. "You have spoiled him. Until he starts earning, no one will give him their daughter. Tell him to stop wandering aimlessly." Jamila's heart sank. She knew that if Afzal ever found out about Mohsin's preference, her reputation would be dragged through the mud. She took out her frustration on the maid in the kitchen, but her mind was fixed on one goal: how to stop Mohsin and keep him away from that girl.
They were all under the illusion that they were making their own life decisions, but the Hisaar of Destiny—the Fortress of Fate—was slowly tightening its circle around them all.
(To be continued...)
What will happen next? Will Arsalan realize the gravity of his mistake? Stay tuned for the next episode of 'Mera Hisaar,' publishing tomorrow.
Author: Ishrat Zahid
Disclaimer & Copyrights
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, 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. The opinions expressed in this novel are those of the characters and do not necessarily reflect the views of the author.
Copyright Notice: © 2026 Ishrat Zahid. 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, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.