When Anabiya finally pulled away, Miss Zoya's sharp eyes immediately noticed the way her daughter was limping slightly. Concern flickered across her face.
"What happened, Biya? Why are you walking like that? What's wrong with your foot?"
Anabiya waved it off quickly.
"Oh, nothing, Mama. I was just running... twisted my ankle a little, that's all."
Miss Zoya stepped closer, guiding her to the sofa. She made her sit down gently, lifting her foot with care. Her brows knitted as she examined it.
"Kitni la-parwa ho tum, Biya. I've told you so many times to take care of yourself. If you don't want to worry about yourself, then at least think of me. Do it for my sake."
Something in her voice—soft yet full of motherly scolding—made every ache inside Anabiya vanish in an instant. She caught her mother's hand, pulled her to sit beside her, and without another word, rested her head on her lap.
"Fine, Mama. Just keep scolding me like this, and I'll keep listening forever. Ok?"
Miss Zoya's lips curved into a smile as she lightly tapped her daughter's cheek.
"My mischievous little kitten..."
The warmth in that moment was overwhelming. Safe in her mother's lap, with gentle fingers running through her hair, Anabiya's eyelids grew heavy until she drifted off into sleep.
Two hours later, she stirred awake. The sofa was empty, but the sound of pots and pans came from the kitchen. Curious, Anabiya walked over, rubbing her eyes. There she saw Miss Zoya, humming softly to herself while cooking.
"Go change your clothes quickly," her mother said without even looking up, as if she could sense her there. "Dinner will be ready soon."
Anabiya smiled, obeyed, and soon returned in fresh clothes. The table was already set. She sat down, and Miss Zoya joined her, filling her plate. They ate together, laughter and little stories filling the space between bites.
Afterward, Anabiya insisted on making tea. Both mother and daughter sat back with warm cups, their conversation flowing endlessly—about school, life, and everything in between. For Anabiya, every second felt like stolen treasure.
At one point, Miss Zoya leaned closer, her eyes sparkling.
"Tomorrow, let's go shopping. Just the two of us. How does that sound?"
Anabiya's face lit up instantly.
"I love that idea!"
Later, when she returned to her room, she picked up her phone. Her group chat was flooded with messages—memes, updates, questions. She scrolled past them all, her smile widening. Without reading further, she typed one short message:
"Mama is back, guys. No plans for the weekend. Don't disturb me. I'm in the air right now, so bye-bye!"
With that, she tossed the phone aside and curled into her blanket, her heart lighter than it had been in a very long time.
The next day, while shopping with her mother, Anabiya felt light for the first time in months. She clung to Miss Zoya's arm, smiling at dresses, perfumes, and random little trinkets. But the happy rhythm broke when a familiar voice called out behind them.
"Miss Zoya, Anabiya!"
It was Sir Hashim, their school sports instructor. He greeted warmly, but soon his eyes fell on Anabiya's foot.
"How are you feeling now? I heard about what happened yesterday during games..."
Anabiya stiffened instantly. Her eyes darted to her mother. Miss Zoya's face hardened as realization sank in.
"Yesterday? Games? What exactly happened, Sir?" she asked, her voice clipped.
Sir Hashim explained casually—how some girls had been fooling around with the ball, how Anabiya got hit and fainted, how she was taken to the school clinic.
By the time he walked away, Miss Zoya's smile had vanished completely. Her grip on the shopping bags tightened as she looked at her daughter with anger and disappointment.
Back home, the silence was heavy. Finally, Miss Zoya broke it.
"Seriously, Biya? You even lie to me now? From the moment I saw you limping, I knew you were hiding something. How many times have I told you to take care of yourself? Not to get involved in useless trouble? But no—you never listen."
Her voice shook, not just with anger, but with fear.
"And now you expect me to leave you like this tomorrow? How can I go back knowing my daughter isn't honest even with me?"
Anabiya froze, her chest tightening.
"Tomorrow? You're leaving tomorrow, Mama?" Her voice cracked. "But you just came... it's only been one day."
Miss Zoya sighed deeply, running a hand across her forehead.
"Biya, I only got this leave with great difficulty. I can't extend it further. You know how the medical field is—patients can't wait. I wish I could stay, but I can't."
Anabiya swallowed hard, her eyes welling up.
"Do you even hear yourself, Mom? You're angry that I didn't tell you the truth... but the truth is, I didn't want to waste even a single second talking about someone else when I finally had you. I just wanted to be in your arms, pretending nothing else mattered. Because a part of me... a part of me is always afraid you'll leave me again. But I didn't know it would be this soon."
Miss Zoya's lips trembled. She reached out, but Anabiya stepped back, tears streaming down her face.
"You don't understand, Biya. Everything I do, I do for you. This is the life of a doctor—sacrifices, duty, service—"
"That's why I hate the medical field!" Anabiya burst out, her voice breaking. "It stole my father from me, and it's stealing you too. That's why I chose engineering—I don't ever want to become like you. I don't want to belong to a world where work always comes before family!"
Her words hung in the air like shattered glass. Before Miss Zoya could say anything else, Anabiya turned and rushed into her room, slamming the door shut.
For minutes, her mother knocked gently, calling her name, asking her to open up. But Anabiya pressed her forehead to her knees and stayed silent, her sobs muffled. Eventually, the knocking stopped.
The next morning when she opened the door, the house was quiet. The dining table was set with food, neatly covered. Beside the plates lay a folded note.
With trembling fingers, Anabiya opened it.
"I have to go Beta, this is all for you. I love you, meri jaan. Please try to understand your mother."
Her vision blurred with tears. She clutched the note tightly against her chest, as though it were her mother herself, and sat down at the table. She began to eat slowly, silently, swallowing not just the food but every ounce of hurt that had settled inside her.