Abraar sat there, a bewildered soul adrift in a sea of confusion. The memory that had once housed Miraal's vibrant spirit now seemed like an empty shell, devoid of her presence. His heart ached for her, but she eluded his grasp, slipping through the crevices of his understanding.

Days passed, each one a jagged stone in the river of his uncertainty. He had not comprehended the magnitude of his betrayal until whispers reached him, carrying the weight of his actions like a relentless storm. Miraal, the queen who had once captivated his heart, had come to know of his deceit. Her discovery had shattered her, leaving behind a mosaic of guilt, sadness, and sorrow in her wake.

In a solemn village meeting, Abraar faced the villagers, his heart heavy with remorse. Rabia, who had always been a source of wisdom, implored, "Beta, Rano milna chahti thi tumse, woh kaafi bimaar hai. Mil lena jaakar usse." Abraar, consumed by guilt, vowed to fulfill this request.

The next day brought a news-the Mirs had returned to Saira Mahal. The haunted palace was now occupied once more. Miraal, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, contemplated the countless places she had left behind after her father's death, the multitude of identities she had assumed. It left her reeling, her fingers trembling as they clutched a strand of prayer beads.

She lay on the sofa, the room shrouded in darkness, gazing out into the night. Her eyes were lifeless, teary, as she contemplated the chaos within her. She couldn't fathom why she had allowed herself to become such a mess. Her eyes drifted closed, and in the darkness, the power abruptly went out.

Miraal remained still as the door to her room opened, and a man entered. She didn't react, didn't care, as she continued gazing into the abyss outside. Her hair was disheveled, her appearance a reflection of her inner turmoil. The man retrieved a lighter and cast its flickering glow upon her face. Her face, marked by weariness and betrayal, drew his concern.

"Miraal," he called her name, and she sighed at the sound, forgetting her pain, her anguish, for a fleeting moment. In the darkness of the night, her eyes fluttered as they met his.

He came closer, sitting beside her, his presence a familiar anchor in her turbulent sea. Her eyes scanned his face, tracing every contour, every feature. Her gaze lowered to his arm, and she reached out, her fingers trailing along his skin. Her voice, a fragile whisper, barely audible, broke the silence. "Goli kidhar lagi thi?" she asked, her breath carrying the weight of concern.

Abraar gently guided her hand to his stomach, and she closed her eyes briefly, envisioning the pain he must have endured. "Recovery mein kitna time laga tha?" she inquired, her voice softening. A bullet wound to the stomach was no trivial matter.

"Bas do hafte," he replied, his voice tinged with gratitude for her concern.

Her raised eyebrows betrayed her surprise. "Do hafte? Aaram kiya tha na aapne?" she chided out of habit, her hand resting gently on his chest as she studied him.

He felt an ache in his chest, not from his wound, but from the pain he had inflicted on her. She was the woman he had hurt, the woman he had betrayed, and yet, here she was, caring for him. He took her hands in his and kissed them, a silent acknowledgment of the pain he had caused.

Wrapping his arms around her, he cleared his throat, "Tumhare bina kaise rehta? Jab hosh aaya, toh Bakhtu ne khabar di ke tum gayab ho gayi ho."

Miraal, who had been lost in her thoughts, snatched her hands away from his as she stood up. Her trembling fingers clutched the prayer beads, and she recited the kalma under her breath. He saw how she retreated into a dark place, away from him, unwilling to confront him.

"Miraal," he called her name, but she didn't respond. He followed her, calling her name again, "I know for what I did... Mai kitni bhi maafi maangu woh kam hai. Mai tumhara mujrim hu, maine tumhe dhoka diya. Please mujhe saza do, mujhpar gussa karo, cheekho chillao."

She took a deep breath but didn't reply to his question. A smile played on her lips as she turned to him, "Tumhe pata hai, Abraar, mujhe andhere se dar lagta tha. Mai kaanp jaati thi, aisa lagta tha koi mere peeche hai mujhe maarne aaraha hai. Mujhe aag se dar lagta tha, darr lagta tha ki koi mujhe usme dakkha na dede. Mujhe akele pan se darr lagta tha, tanhai se. Magar woh sab darr ab ye naye darr ke samne kuch nahi, mujhe ab apne aap se darr lagta hai."

Abraar whispered her name as the ache returned, tears welling up in his eyes. He reached out for her arm, but she snatched it away, her expression filled with bitterness. She didn't let him go, though; her trembling fingers clung to his touch, a lifeline she couldn't relinquish. She wanted to hug him, to cry in his arms, but the echoes of his betrayal reverberated in her mind.

"Miraal meri galti ki saza mujhe dona, khudko kyun de rahi ho," he implored.

"Kaisi saza?" Miraal's voice held a hollow quality. "Abraar, ye saza nahi meri zindagi hai," she said, her laughter tinged with bitterness. "Sab jhoot tha, sab tamasha tha. Mere bas meri zindagi kabhi thi hi nahi, mere Baba ne tumhare Baba ne sab ne mera ek gudiya ke taur pe istemal kiya. Ek na jaan gudiya ki tarha, taake jab unka beta bada ho, woh iss gudiya ke zariye unka maqsad pura karsakey. Ye khel nahi toh kya tha?"

The lights flickered on, revealing Miraal's desolation, and Abraar watched helplessly as she plunged into the abyss of her own torment. He had hurt her deeply, and her pain was etched in every line of her face.

"Miraal kya hogya hai tumhe," he whispered, his voice filled with remorse.

"Nahi," she corrected him with a mocking tone, "Sa-ei-ra".

Abraar closed his eyes, his heart heavy with regret. This was not the woman he had fallen in love with, the woman he had married. She had become a stranger, a reflection of the pain he had caused.

"Miraal, I... I never..." he faltered, struggling to find the words to express his remorse.

Abraar stood there, drenched by the rain, the water seeping into his clothes, but he cared little for it. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, feeling utterly helpless.

"I... I never intended to hurt you, Miraal," he admitted, his voice laced with regret. "I love you."

She interrupted him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What do you want from me, Abraar?"

"Forgive me," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation.

She chuckled, a bitter sound that sent shivers down his spine. "You want me to accept your apology, right?"

"Yes," he replied, nodding vigorously.

She reached for a drawer and retrieved a golden box, placing it in front of him. "Open it," she said.

He did as she instructed, finding papers inside. They were divorce papers, dated two months ago, with her name and his name on them.

"Sign it," she said, passing him a pen.

Abraar's eyes widened, and he snatched the papers away from her. "Never!" he declared, his voice resolute.

Miraal sighed, "You know, Abraar, you won't need to use me as bait anymore, because I've brought the Mirs to you."

He shook his head, fear and concern etched on his face. "You've brought yourself into grave danger by accepting their conditions. They can freely enter this Mahal and kill you."

"Khan, do you think I care about my life anymore?" she said with a smile that sent chills down his spine.

"Miraal, what has happened to you?" he whispered, unable to comprehend the changes he was witnessing in her.

"Nahi," she shook her head, correcting him. "Sa-ei-ra," she mocked once more.

"Yaar, aasan toh hai," she mocked, "Ruko meri awaaz se samajhna mushkil ho raha toh khudki awaaz se seekhlo."

She retrieved a tape from the drawer and played it. Abraar recognized his own voice, the voice that had unwittingly become a tool of her torment. He listened as his own words condemned him.

"Today, Saira bound this around my wrist, a symbol of her trust. She remains oblivious. Consider this a warning: should any of you dare to attack the village again, the consequences will fall upon your dear Saira."

Abraar felt the weight of his actions, the gravity of his betrayal. The consequences of his deceit had come full circle. Miraal's voice mocked him, "How sweet... The consequences." Her lips curled in a bitter smile. "I am facing the consequences, I guess. Your voice, it had helped me fall asleep. Kuch jaadu tha tumhari awaaz mein. I could fall asleep and feel peace, listening to you singing me a song. But this damned tape has snatched away my sleep and my peace. I can hear it every day, every second, even without switching it on, as it plays here in my mind. And every time, it hurts. Here, in the heart."

Abraar walked away, leaving her to her thoughts.

She whispered into the dead of the night, "Unse mohabbat badi kamal ki hoti hai, jinka milna muqaddar mein nahi hota."