His breath hitched. It was difficult to swallow his hurt. The room spun on its axis, and so did his reality. He rubbed his throat, trying to pry the choking hand away but to his absolute horror that hand belonged to no one but him.

A strangled cry. He pushed the piano away but it only disgruntled him some more. Helplessness gnawed at him, along with frustration. Loss. So much. Everything.

The urge to maul his own face was overpowering. Him. It was all his doing. He bunched his hair, clenching his jaw, and the next thing he knew, his fist came in contact with the hard surface of the piano.

He struck his hands against it.

Again and again.

"Aahil!"

Faran held his hand, barring him from invoking any more damage. He tried to break free, but Faran's grip was firm. He wasted no time in cradling his head against his front.

"Breathe!" Faran said, caressing his back. A sob broke through Aahil's lips. He hid himself in Faran's embrace and let his tears fall.

"It's okay. I've got you."

Faran whispered, protecting him in his hold like a child. His one hand was still enclosed around Aahil's blooded one—the warm liquid smeared on his palm.

It would take some time for Faran to come to terms with the scene he walked on to, but for now, he needed to be there for Aahil.

His subconscious was correct. Coming here, heeding Aahil's demand, and leaving him be, wasn't a good idea.

At all.

𝄞

Pacing the driveway of the Jahangir residence wasn't how Adan anticipated her night to be. She was supposed to be at home, in bed after a long tiring day at work. But all other thoughts flew out of her system when she got that call from Faran.

She clenched and unclenched her fists, her fraying nerves jabbing at her. Faseeh and Sabah had just called it a night. Normally, they'd not be as relaxed, especially after Aahil's accident. The consolation that Aahil was with Faran, out for fresh air and to see the city life he was once a part of, had made them happier than Adan had seen them in months.

Only, if they'd heard Faran on the phone.

Adan willed the patience and courage she absolutely lacked. Not again. They couldn't lose Aahil to the same darkness. Not this time.

The sound of Faran's car and the guards opening the gate pulled her out of her troubled thoughts. She watched, as Faran stopped in the parking shed and got out. She immediately reached his side.

"What happened?"

Faran didn't meet her eye and lowered the ramp. Adan frantically looked inside and found Aahil in his wheelchair.

That should've put her at ease. But she barely muffled her scream.

His pale face, devoid of any emotion, empty eyes staring at his hands and those bloody knuckles. Adan rounded at Faran.

"What—"

"Panic attack."

Faran muttered remorsefully. Adan looked at Aahil and then at Faran.

"You shouldn't have taken him there, Faran. "

"I know, Adan...I shouldn't have..."

He was quick to accept his mistake but Adan couldn't entirely blame him. Aahil had years of expertise to turn things his way, especially when it concerned Sabah and Faran, the two people who could never say no to him. Aahil's distress must've compelled him but Aahil's sense of self-preservation was akin to a moth. Hadn't they all had years to understand that?

"Did he—"

Adan had just opened her mouth when Aahil pressed the button on his wheelchair. Faran was by his side and so was Adan. He stopped outside his room and tried to push the door open but his blooded hands were shaking uncontrollably.

"Stop!"

Adan said sternly and opened the door wide. She held his wheelchair and guided him inside, stopping by his bed.

"Stay put, " she said in the same tone and rushed to get the first aid kit and the nurse. Faran crouched before him, put his arms around his neck, and helped him to his bed.

He tucked Aahil in the duvet while the nurse cleaned his wounds and bandaged them up. All through this, Aahil remained detached, lost in his thoughts.

"This is extremely irresponsible! What were you even thinking? Who told you it was a good idea to go there?" Adan seethed as soon as the nurse was out of the room. She then turned to Faran.

"And why would you agree to something so dangerous? Your inability to refuse this imbecile anything shouldn't be at the expense of his health, Faran! Can't believe I have to school you, of all the people you! God forbid—"

"Bhai."

Aahil's voice was barely above a whisper. Both Faran and Adan were immediately attentive toward him. He looked up, his eyes had never been so sad.

"The...piano. It was your gift...remember?"

For a while, his siblings were dumbfounded. For a while, they didn't know if they had heard him right. Faran was taken aback by the unexpected question. Aahil didn't wait for his shock to subside and continued.

"And you got me the...drums..."

He said to Adan. She fared better than Faran, getting over her shock with a dejected smile. She nodded, proudly so. "You gave me shit for that, though. You hated them."

"I lied." He chuckled, his eyes teary. "Those were the best I ever had."

Faran held his bandage-covered hand. "You were back for the winter break and Mama was upset that you were moving out." He reminisced softly.

"She was." Aahil smiled, the melancholy behind it both comforting and heartwrenching. "And being Mama's boy, I was already second-guessing my decision. That's when I saw it there. You kept it in mind that I wanted that room as..."

He gulped and broke off his sentence. But the people sitting before him didn't need his coherent words to know what he meant.

"Best homecoming gift ever." He completed, his voice breaking.

The silence in the room pierced the air. So much unsaid. So much that could never be translated into words. So much loss. So much heartache.

"You should get some rest, Aahil."

Faran told him and got up, gesturing for Adan to do the same. She followed through, albeit unconvincingly. The topic Aahil had broached was unexpected but equally welcoming. When was the last time he even alluded to music being a vital part of his life and his being, much less talking about it?

But she could see where Faran was coming from. His reservations were valid. Aahil had had a panic attack tonight. Pushing him further, even if he didn't look perturbed by the idea would be too much.

"Faran is right. I need to go back home. Misam and Hanah will be waiting for me. I'm already late."

She said, trying a shoddy job of appearing casual. If Aahil picked up on it, he didn't call out her bluff.

"And I need to call Sila," Faran announced, taking out his phone. "I did leave her a message on the way home, but I know she'll still be worried."

He was about to make the call when his eyes fell on Aahil. He was already looking at Faran and when he raised an eyebrow, Aahil nodded.

"I'll call her."

His tone left no room for discussion. It was fitting as well. No other reassurance from someone else would put her at ease like Aahil.

Faran patted his shoulder, and Adan caressed his hair. Both of them left him alone, but he knew that after the state they had seen him in, Faran would check up on him throughout the night, and Adan would stay in touch with Faran throughout the night.

But Sila had no such accessibility. So, it would be just his word to put her out of her state of worry.

And he had already caused her enough of that.

No more.

𝄞

The rug beneath her feet protected her skin. Her shawl and sweater were discarded on the couch as she massaged her temple. If Ammi saw her disregard for the cold weather, she'd be in so much trouble. But Ammi was fast asleep in her room and so was Abu. The whole house was submerged in the silence and was dimly lit.

Sans her room where all the lights were on and her frantic movements were enough noise.

She glanced at her phone where Faran's text was opened. She had read it more times than was normal but the fear held her heart mercilessly.

It wasn't the first time she'd encountered Aahil on the verge of a panic attack. It happened during ACHC. He was about to lose it when she first asked him about his music and then right after he returned from the USA, he found her in his music room.

Sila might not know what had exactly happened in his past but she was well aware of its implications.

And keeping that in mind, she knew he wasn't fine. He wouldn't be. Sila had quite an experience to decipher that.

He hadn't been to his apartment all these days—not after that night. That bit of news was a shocker to Sila. She didn't know what she was expecting, but his avoiding that place had broken her heart and sewed it right back.

And his words had proved to her how emotionally overwhelming it was for him to go there. It was a monumental step for him as if seeing the debris of the destruction you caused with bare hands.

And that debris had brought him to his knees. Sila closed her eyes, trying to block out his words from her system but those earnest proclamations were burned into her soul.

After that fateful night and everything that followed, she had convinced herself time and again that the implications of this fallout were graver for her than they had been for him. That he was so entrenched in his past mess that he wouldn't have realized the enormity of their plight but his efforts had put an end to her assumptions and this phone call trumped everything else.

If she was banished from her haven, he had also been condemned to his hell.

Sila looked at the time on her phone. Faran must've taken him back to Jahangir Residence. It was her hunch or her deep understanding of how the family worked. Listening to Aahil, she knew his family wouldn't have left him alone. Not for something like this. Visiting his apartment, which was once their sanctuary, they wouldn't just let him walk on glass shard bare feet. Their love and care for him would never allow them.

She sat on the edge of her bed and was about to call Faran when her phone screen lit up with the one name that had occupied her mind and heart for months.

And it was probably after months that she had picked up his call on the first ring itself.

She heard his even breathing. He was yet to utter a word but she didn't let him.

"Are you okay?"

She asked, her words laced with uncertainty.

"Yeah, I'm okay now."

Sila heaved a sigh. "Where...were you when...?"

Aahil rested his head against the pillow. "In the music room when I got the panic attack."

His honesty had stumped her. Sila was at a loss for words. There was no aversion, no deflection.

"Don't ... don't go there." She finally found her voice. "Not when it's affecting your mental health. And take some rest. Make sure someone's with you. You don't sleep well after a...panic attack."

She said softly. Her care put a smile on Aahil's face. And the pain resurfaced.

This is what he had lost. This. She was looking out for him, forgetting her hurt. She remembered his patterns when she should've forgotten even his name.

No pain could come close to this. No heartache could match its intensity. Everything else faded.

"You should take some rest now." She added, in the same soft tone.

"Sila..."

"Good night, Aahil."

Aahil closed his eyes, regretfully. Sila braced her heart, cautiously.

The call ended.

But Aahil's misery didn't.

Neither did the war inside Sila.

𝄞

"Did you understand what I just said?"

Rameen raised an eyebrow but was met with Rafay's sheepish smile. She groaned, turning toward Najia.

"What has he been doing the whole term?"

"Tafreeh, " Ramna said, not waiting for her mother to say anything. Rafay raised his hand in protest.

"The pot calling the kettle black, eh, Aapi? It's you who is free-mongering your degree. Every day you're at a new place with your friends. Gizri, Defense, Hyderi, Johar, Gulshan, Saddar! What is left? Nashta at Mazar-e-Quaid?"

Ramna narrowed her eyes. "I suddenly do not remember promising you any 2k. Put your sharp wit to use and earn that money!"

"Mama!"

He whined loudly. Rameen glared at the both of them. "Can you two give it a rest?"

"She started it!" Rafay made a face.

"I stated a fact! He is out on his bike all day with that Dareer behind him."

Rameen stole the raw peas from the bowl Najia was peeling those in. She shook her head disapprovingly.

"What about Dareer? If you're flunking this class, I'm certain he isn't better."

Rafay grinned as if it were a badge of honor she had given him. "We're in the same boat, but don't worry. Danish Bhai has agreed to help us prepare for the exam."

Rameen snorted. "This was Danish's weakest subject."

"At least he's willing to make an effort, unlike you both. You're just expressing your disappointment and this one," He pointed toward Ramna. "Is here just for shits and giggles."

That made Ramna laugh boisterously, further proving his point.

Rameen ruffled his hair. "Don't be so harsh. I'll help you out with the exam preparations. Both you and Dareer. Don't rely on Danish for this subject. Rest, he'll manage pretty well."

"You're the best, Aapi!" Dareer hugged her sideways and walked towards the door. "This calls for Uncle Mehboob's special Shawarma. My treat. One for you, one for Mama, and 2 for me. None for the stinkers."

He stuck his tongue out for Ramna who was immediately after him. Mehboob's Shawarma point was her favorite thing in her neighborhood and if it was for free, even better.

"When will these two grow up?" Rameen asked, looking at Ramna and Rafay's retreating backs.

"I hope they never do. They are literally the life of this house." Najia said fondly. Rameen scowled at her. "And I thought I was your favorite child."

"You're. Just don't let them know."

Both laughed. Rameen took the vegetable basket from her hand and began peeling the peas. Her father was going to be a happy man. Mattar Pulao was his favorite.

"You still haven't told me why you wanted me here today? It wasn't just for Rafay's study woes, was it?"

"Do I need a reason to see my daughter?"

Rameen rested her palm on her chin and raised an eyebrow in her mother's way. Najia made a face. Trust her daughter to know something was up.

"Aapa Kulsoom visited the other day. You know she can't pass by our house without greeting your grandmother."

"Ahan?"

"Yes. I was also there. We talked for a while and then the conversation shifted to the topic of marriage."

Rameen's hand stopped. She whipped her head in her mother's direction.

"Whose marriage?"

Najia scowled. "Yours, of course. After Farmaan, it's your turn."

Alarms blared around her. She gave her mother an uneasy smile. "Mama, why, all of a sudden?"

Najia patted her shoulder. "Reen, why do you look alarmed? I haven't fixed your rishta. It's just a thought, a good one if I'm being honest. Your father and I will not do anything without your approval but we think it's time to start looking at this prospect. What do you say?"

Rameen was tongue-tied. Logically, she had no excuses to give to her mother. She had never shown any reluctance toward the topic of marriage, neither was she averse to the institution of it. She had some good examples of matrimonial bliss around her. Her family might be more forthcoming than many out there but at the end of the day, theirs was a desi clan, and one way or the other, the marriage talks would emerge.

She hadn't expected this to happen so early. Or was she hoping for it to stall? Subconsciously? Waiting for something without even realizing it?

Someone?

She gulped. No!

"Reen?"

Najia's voice broke the reverie of her troubled thoughts. She sighed, giving her a bright smile, or tried to.

"I will think about it, Mama. Just give me some time."

She held Najia's hand reassuringly who was already looking at her, her gaze searching. Rameen wished she could reassure herself too.

𝄞

"Chachi?"

Bakhtawar looked up from the book and found Abgina in the door. Her disheveled state announced her reason for coming to her before Abgina could even voice it.

Bakhtawar smiled. "Are you done?"

Abgina nodded. "Almost. The koftay are coming along fine. All solid! " She informed with a big smile that Bakhtawar couldn't help reciprocating.

Experimenting with complicated recipes was Abgina's weekly routine. Her culinary skills were never up to the mark and she took it as a challenge. The results were promising. She was slowly mastering both Pakistani and foreign cuisines, much to Mahad's delight who had a list ready whenever he visited.

It was also a relief for Bakhtawar, Agha Murtaza Lashari, and Mehrab who wanted Abgina to live her life on her terms and choose her happiness. Along with her interior designing assignments, these hobbies were enough to keep her mind occupied.

Bakhtawar went back to reading when she heard the door opening once again. She had half expected Abgina to be there with a bowl for tasting but straightened up when she found Sukaina.

"Bhabhi, why are you still here? Didn't you have dinner plans with your friends?"

Sukaina made a face and Bakhtawar knew, a rant was on its way.

"I did have plans, that was before I came to know that it's Tehmina Saifullah's treat."

"Oh..." Bakhtawar nodded thoughtfully. Even after years of moving in the same social circle and having mutual friends, Tehmina and Sukaina couldn't see eye to eye. The subtle yet glaring competition both ladies had always going between each other was no news.

"What's the occasion?" Bakhtawar asked and seeing the shift in Sukaina's demeanor, immediately knew she had made a grave mistake.

"She's going to be a grandmother."

Sukaina almost spat as if the words physically hurt her. Bakhtawar closed her eyes regretfully and opening those, shifted closer to Sukaina.

"Bhabhi..."

"Don't, Bakhtawar! You have no idea what it's like to be in this place." She shook her head and looked at nothing in particular.

"I've made my peace with the fact that life's small joys are not for me. I wanted a beautiful retired life with Mubashir but fate had other plans. I wanted to see my only son having a fulfilling life but he's also hell bent upon ruining it. What more can I say?"

Bakhtawar held her by her shoulder reassuringly, hoping against hope that this was it. She wouldn't go any further.

"Mubashir's demise, I had to accept. Jo Allah ki marzi. But Rony...my son has ruined himself and what for? Whenever I look at the abnormality in his life, Bakhtawar, I want to fight everyone responsible for this! It's not fair!"

She wiped her tears and rounded at her. "In this whole world, he found only that girl to marry? Even after her history? Even after the baggage she came with?"

"Sukaina Bhabhi! You're being unreasonably harsh!" Bakhtawar tried but Sukaina chuckled humorlessly. "Easier for you to say. If it comes to Mahad and he has to accept someone like Abgina in his life, then I'll see how you'd not fight every person in your way! Your efforts will be more earnest than mine ever were, Bakhtawar."

"Marrying Abgina was Armaghan's choice." Bakhtawar reminded her.

"Obligation, than anything. He did what he had always done when it came to that girl. He didn't even realize what an injustice he was doing to himself. Didn't he have any aspirations in life? Any idea for a life partner? I can assure you he wouldn't have hoped for whatever the hell his married life is."

She would've said more, she had that in her but seeing an enraged Agha Murtaza Lashari standing in the doorway of the lounge, she pursed her lips.

But it was not Baba Jaan Bakhtawar was attentive to. Abgina's retreating form, slumped shoulders, and hurried steps to get away from there had squeezed her heart.

𝄞

Following her nighttime skincare routine, Sukaina had forgotten all about what happened just a few hours back. She loved having the last say and what that did to the other person wasn't her concern. She had vented her frustration which was comforting to her, rest didn't matter.

But it was going to.

She had to admit when her phone started ringing and the screen lit up with her son's name. Sukaina sighed. How could she expect a better outcome or no outcome at all?

"Mama."

Armaghan's greeting was curt. Normally he'd ask about her day, inquire about her health, and then give the reins in her hand to steer the conversation further.

But his monosyllable beginning hinted at a lot.

But still, Sukaina wanted to act oblivious.

"Rony! How are you? And how was the conference? I saw the pictures and—"

"What did you say about Abgina today?"

Sukaina pursed her lips and then chuckled mockingly. "Who was it? Your beloved Chachi or your grandfather."

"Does it matter?' He asked, his voice sharp but still not losing the respect it entailed for his mother.

"Must be Baba Jaan. Only he dares to try to turn my son against me!"

There was a loud sigh on the other end. Her son had never been much of a talker, a fact she always spun in her favor.

"I said nothing wrong, Rony. I'm your mother and the the way of your life has panned out, breaks my heart. Like every mother I want my child to have his share of happiness. I want you to live your life on your terms, without any regrets or anything pulling you back. What's wrong with that? Can you blame me here?"

The silence on the other side made her believe that her point had resonated with him.

Almost.

"No, there's nothing wrong with that. But everything's wrong with the way you go about it."

Sukaina's frown deepened. She opened her mouth to say more when he beat her to it.

"I've made my life choices, Mama. I'm not proud of all of them but I take full accountability for my actions and their consequences and I won't allow you to blame my wife for it. Abgina is nowhere responsible for anything you're accusing her of. I don't want to hear you repeating these words. Or hurling the baseless blame her way. No. Aap uss se abh aisa kuch bhi nahi kahay gi."

There he was, going out of his way to protect that girl once again. His frugality with his words was never up for use when it was about Abgina.

"Are we clear, Mama?"

His tone left no room for argument, and he wasn't in the mood to have one. Not about this. Never about this. His obedience would leave him in a jiffy and Sukaina would encounter the rebellious Armaghan once again whenever the topic of his and Abgina's relationship was brought up. He had given no one, not even his mother the right to comment on it.

Begrudgingly, Sukaina showed her affirmation. Armaghan wasn't a fool not to realize it but he let it slide.

One battle at a time.

𝄞

Bakhtawar watched her fiddling with her sweater. Her defeated countenance was a sad sight. She reached out and held her by the shoulder reassuringly.

"The Koftay were delicious. I remember when I first tried that recipe, I mashed them all. Not one piece was in its solid state. It was such a laugh at the dinner table. But Lala relished whatever it was and gifted me a beautiful shawl from Hunza."

She smiled and that elicited a meek one from Abgina.

"I don't have any shawl from Hunza but we can go shopping tomorrow and get you something. And no! Don't be silly, Abgina. Clothes don't need occasions. If you want one, get one."

Bakhtawar had already sensed what she'd say next. Abgina couldn't help this time. A smile full of gratitude reached her lips as she hugged her tight.

"Don't take Bhabhi's words to the heart," Bakhtawar mumbled as she caressed her hair. "She's going to feel bad about it once her anger and frustration has subsided and it's not like she hadn't been told off. Don't think Baba Jaan will let this slide. He also has had a word with his grandson. If there's one person Sukaina Bhabhi can't afford to be angry with, is Armaghan. He must've taken care of it."

Abgina remained silent. Bakhtawar stayed for some time and then left for her room.

Abgina heard the clicking of the door and leaned against the headboard. Her gaze was fixed at nothing in particular. Slowly, she reached her hand and took her phone. Opening the Instagram app, she scrolled to the picture.

It was from a business party from last week, featuring faces she had known at some point in her life but that was not why she had saved it.

It would be the two people standing in the background, talking like old pals.

There were many things in her life Abgina Saleem could ignore but Armaghan Lashari and Parishay Yusufzai in one frame weren't it.

Her phone screen went blank. She placed it back on the table and rested her head against the pillow. Tears threatened to slip but how many times would she cry over the same thing?

𝄞

His empty hands and his mindless gaze fixed on them. It had been the only thing he seemed to do since yesterday.

His family was concerned, his siblings were feeling responsible for something they hadn't even done. He didn't know what they'd told his parents about the bruised knuckles. He hadn't been mentally present to focus on anything else.

Just his empty hands. His trembling fingers. As if wanting to reach out to something. He'd have to bunch them by his side, smothering the urge, gulping the pain, enduring the sting.

His therapists and caregivers were more fed up with his attitude than ever. He hadn't said a word the whole day, holing up in his room, trying to shut out the whole world.

His phone also had been silent. After the last night, Sila hadn't tried to contact him. He had already caused enough trouble to her. He didn't want to pileit some more.

Then what he really wanted?

The answer had taken him off guard for a split second but the next moment, it made absolute sense.

But not to Faran Bhai when he asked for it.

"No."

He said without any flexibility. "Last night was enough, Aahil. I curse myself when I remember the state you were in. It is not happening again, no matter what you say. Don't ask me again because my answer won't change."

His easygoing and doting brother had also drawn up the walls and taken out the strict singling armor. Faran wasn't going to relent this time around. Aahil had no doubts.

But he had to go. He couldn't care for anything else, his health, the demons that chased him. Nothing.

Asking Adan was out of the question and his parents would lose their remaining sanity if they saw him collapsing once again.

But if he stayed here one minute more, the walls would close around him and lock him in his personal hell, throwing the key into the abyss that glared at him pointedly.

"This is going to get us in so much trouble."

Mahad's grumble from the driver's seat put him out of his thoughts. He looked up and Mahad raised an eyebrow at him from the rearview mirror.

Yeah. That was his only resort. The one contact he could trust with his life to get him where he wanted to.

Osama would never go against the decorum. But Mahad? Aahil didn't think twice before ringing him up and staying true to his reputation, he was at the Jagangir Residence to get him, without informing his family where they were going, of course.

"Don't look at me like that. You will get out of it unscathed. It's me who's going to get the burnt of it."

"Then why did you agree to do it in the first place?"

"Good question." Mahad bobbed his head. "Only that I've got no fucking idea, Jahangir."

He chewed his lower lip, the only sign that he wasn't sure about this. Otherwise, his body language would fool everyone.

"It's not done, man. If your family doesn't want you there, why do you keep testing them? Faran Bhai has aged a decade since your accident. Adan Aapi is...I've never seen her so distraught. And don't get me started on your parents, Dado, Nawar Bhabhi, Misam Bhai, and the kids. Everyone's life has turned upside down and you are still taking liberties with your recovery. This is dangerous. You know, I have half the heart to turn around and take you back. It's not—"

"I'm not having the time of my life here!" Aahil seethed. He didn't wait for Mahad's response. "Why are you making it sound like I'm happy to cause trouble to everyone? You don't know what it is like." He shook his head. His voice cracked. "It's hell, Mahad. I'm just trying to find a way out of it."

A heavy silence followed his words. Mahad's gaze on him was unwavering but Aahil had gone back to staring at his hands.

Before Mahad could say anything, his phone rang with Adan's call. He didn't look perturbed, his face remained impassive, and stoic even when he touched his earbud.

"Yes, Aapi?"

Aahil was fully attuned to the one-sided conversation, his eyes fixed on Mahad.

"Easy there. I haven't kidnapped your brother. You can ask Sabah Auntie. She was there the whole time.""

What she said made him chuckle slightly. "Don't be like this. We're just out for Aahil to get some fresh air."

There must be another concern voiced if the thoughtful frown on his face was to go by. "He's wearing his gear." Mahad snorted. Aahil settled his snapback but not before sending a death glare his way.

"And I'm using the car approved by my company's head of security. So, hide your claws. Your brother isn't at any risk of being sighted by anyone."

If that was enough to satisfy Adan, Aahil wouldn't know. Mahad ended the call and nodded in his direction.

Satisfied or not, she had to relent before Mahad.

They were going to Aahil's home.

No questions asked. No doubts were raised.

𝄞

When Mahad unlocked the door for him, Aahil's trepidation wasn't as bad as yesterday. But still, coming here had lost the calm and ease it used to bring him. Especially when nothing about this place had been normal.

His normal.

Their normal.

Mahad didn't question him when he directed his wheelchair toward the music room. He just stood there, uncertain.

Something told him that from hereon, he should leave Aahil alone with his thoughts. This wasn't his place. Aahil needed the privacy and the dignity to contemplate whatever he'd lost in here.

Mahad sat on the couch in the lawn,Aahil's well-being adding to the list of worries he had going on for him.

Inside the room, Aahil followed his pattern to the t and stopped by the piano. He didn't even look at anywhere else.

It was ironic how the one room he never fully opened for Sila, he used to miss her the most in the same place. Their bedroom, the lounge, the kitchen, the whole space—where they had made countless memories weren't able to bring him to his knees the way this room would. It was visceral, gnawing at him, sucking his sanity, and leaving him breathless.

Her memories and the heartache associated with this place. Too much. Together they were his undoing. Devastation. His disaster.

Aahil reached out a trembling hand to the hard surface of the piano. His bruised knuckles shone under the sunlight coming from the window.

He flinched it back. No. He wouldn't be welcomed. He shouldn't be hailed. The door should stay closed. The hallway was empty.

He deserved deserted hallways leading to nowhere.

After all, he had always pushed what he loved away.

He didn't deserve to be loved back.

His empty hands were once again in his direct view. Empty. Bereft. These hands had caused their destruction. Dug up a grave and buried their happiness.

Aahil turned away, ready to leave, ready to get away. Too much. This was too much.

But...

His phone. Sila's name of it.

He took a shuddering breath, trying his best to control his breathing.

He couldn't let this be a norm. Not again.

"Aahil?"

He held the phone as if his life depended on it. "Sila..."

Her sigh of relief was loud. "How...are you?"

She was checking up on him. Was there any end to his misery? Why was she making sure the one who broke her heart was doing alright? Why this music room hadn't pushed him out, slamming the door on his face?

"I'm...good? Are you at work?"

"No. I didn't go today."

His chest felt constricted. He rubbed it to regulate his breathing. "...Why? Is there something...wrong? Are they...giving you a hard time? Sila I'll—"

"Wait." She said quickly. "Why do you sound breathless? Are you really okay?"

He dropped his face in his palm. "No. I'm not."

"Where are you?"

He hesitated. She waited.

"I'm home..."

A frustrated voice left her lips. "I told you not to go there! It's messing with your mental health! Do you hear yourself? You're once again on the verge of a panic attack! You...."

She stopped abruptly as if trying to stop herself from saying more.

"Aahil! What do I do with you?" She almost pleaded.

For a while, both of them said nothing. Sila grappled with his self-destruction and he wallowed in self-repulsion.

"Sila?"

"Hun?"

"Isn't it difficult?"

"What?"

"Not being able to hate me? When you definitely should."

He tried to trace an invisible line on the surface of his piano but then bunched his hand by his side.

"I always ruin what I love. Push it away. Close the door. Lock it and then hurl the key into the sea. And then I dare to hope that I won't be discarded by love. The same love I smashed with my bare hands. What a fucking loser! I'm supposed to make amends with you and here I'm, telling you my sob story on every Goddamn call!. Hate me, Sila. The fact that you don't, despite everything, it kills me some more."

"And if I end up hating you, that wouldn't?" She asked softly.

He shook his head as if she were here to see him. "I deserve that."

"You do, perhaps but I can't. I can't hate you, Aahil."

She sighed, an attempt to gather her thoughts or to keep her tears at bay, who knew? "I've tried. Told myself that it's what you deserve from me. Mind you, I had the right to despise you. Curse you and hate you till eternity. You broke my heart but there's this thing about you, Aahil. After loving you to bits, it's practically impossible to hate you. I can't. I won't. That's just how it is. I guess that's the catch when Love and Aahil Jahangir come together. Your love is a force to be reckoned with and some battles are not worth it. When the defeat is always going to be the fate. ... and I hope it will always be the fate."

Despite her best efforts, she did end up sobbing.

The call ended.

Sila was gone.

But was she?

Your love is a force to be reckoned with.

His love, that still proudly resided in her heart. She had chosen defeat over and over again. Just so she wouldn't lose this love.

On their own accord, his hands rested atop the piano lid.

Your love is a force to be reckoned with.

He pulled it up.

I can't hate you, Aahil.

The keyboard panel. His uncertain fingers.

I guess that's the catch when Love and Aahil Jahangir come together.

They hovered over it. Tentative. Scared.

Some battles are not worth it. When the defeat is always going to be the fate. ... and I hope it will always be the fate.

He closed his eyes.

The first note.

A spat in the middle of the road.

Another.

Slow dancing. Hands that held onto each other.

One more.

Whispered proclamations. Gentlest of the touches.

His fingers moved as if they'd never forgotten the way home. The notes mingled into each other. Lined up happily.

A laugh.

A melody.

She was there. Around him. Arms encircling him. Head on his shoulder.

Then she was in the lounge, calling him for dinner, the lights in his dark apartment switched on wherever she went. They surrounded her. So did his music notes. A halo. She was the focal point. The reason. The conclusion.

Another melody followed, joined by some more notes.

She rested her head on his chest as he played with her hair. Stars in her eyes.

His fingers didn't stop, even when the sweet ache on his knuckles turned into discomfort.

Sila.

Music.

Around him. With him. By his side.

Agony. Her tears. The disbelief on her face, That night.

The sweet notes bent their head and expressed their sorrow. One after another.

More.

Some more.

Earnest. Compelling. His ruin. His salvation.

And then...silence.

He opened his eyes and found a visibly shaken Mahad before him. He was saying something. His hand was cupping his face. He was smiling. He had tears in his eyes.

Aahil couldn't make sense of it. He could make sense of nothing.

A laugh.

A melody.

His love had defeated Sila in a battle.

But hers had made him win a war.

Fair and square.

It was on her. Her doing. Him. His wins.

All hers.

𝄞