After a few minutes, when she's about to sleep, her mobile screen lights up with a notification.
"Haya… wanna meet?"
Her heart skips a beat. Fingers hover over the screen.
"I don't know if we should," Haya replies.
"Come on. It's been two years since we even talked properly… I'll send my driver to pick you up at 7."
Haya exhales slowly as she reads the message. She knows she'll end up going, no matter how much she tries to avoid it — because deep down, she needs this.
She gets up and walks into the bathroom to take a bath.
---
The café was quiet now, the mid-afternoon rush softened into a golden stillness. Haya had barely touched her tea, but her fingers wrapped tightly around the cup, as if she needed something solid to hold on to.
Mannat didn't press her. She just waited, sensing there was more — something deeper still buried inside.
"I don't even know what happened," Haya said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "One day we were fine. The next… everything was over. And I wasn't even there to see it."
Mannat's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
Haya looked down. "They told me Haider stood up and disowned me in front of everyone. Said we were never married. Like I never existed. But I wasn't there… I don't know what he really said. Or why."
A pause. A quiet ache.
"I just remember the way he used to look at me," Haya murmured. "Like I was the only person in the world who made sense to him."
---
Flashback — Two Years Ago
The small garden behind the house was bathed in the soft light of dusk. The scent of freshly watered grass drifted in the air, mingling with the faint sound of crickets waking for the night.
Haya sat on the worn wooden bench, a light pink dupatta draped over her head. She looked nervous, her fingers playing with the silver edge of her sleeve.
Haider appeared, holding two paper cups of tea.
He handed one to her without a word and sat down beside her — close enough that their shoulders brushed, but not enough to draw attention from anyone watching through the windows.
"I told Ammi I was just getting fresh air," he whispered, smiling slightly.
Haya giggled softly, taking the cup from his hand. "And I said I was checking the plants."
They both laughed — the secret kind of laughter only two people deeply in love could share.
Their nikkah had been only a few days earlier — quiet, hidden, sealed behind locked doors. A secret protected by love… and pressure.
Haider's smile softened into something more serious. "You're not scared, are you?"
Haya shook her head. "Not of you."
He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "I'll protect you. Always."
Those were the words that stayed with her — the way he said them, like he meant them with every part of his soul.
"I trust you," she whispered.
And in that moment, she truly had.
---
Back to Present
"I trusted him," Haya said aloud, her eyes distant. "He told me he'd protect me. That nothing would happen without him standing in front of it."
Mannat's voice was gentle. "And then he disappeared."
"Worse," Haya replied. "He broke everything. And I don't know why." Her voice cracked as she looked at Mannat. "I keep wondering… what did I do wrong? What changed his heart? Was it me?"
Mannat took her hand, squeezing it firmly. "Don't you dare say that. He was a coward. He couldn't protect you. He couldn't take a stand for you… You had nothing to do with it."
Haya blinked back tears. She didn't respond, but her mind was a storm of questions she couldn't quiet.
Mannat sighed softly. "I don't want to make you sad, but tell me what happened in these two years. What actually happened?" She wanted to comfort her, to promise that everything would be okay — but she knew she couldn't. Still, the least she could do was share the weight of her friend's burden.