A week seemed to pass as slow as a year. Everything Zoya had read in fictional novels was starting to become a reality; it never dawned upon her how painful it would be to hurt someone you love. She felt so pathetic and disturbed; her head was full of him, and she couldn't do anything.

That day, Zoya had sent the cab driver away, paying half the fare. There was no way she could leave for her mother's place. She messed up: she deserved to be left alone. She didn't deserve her parent's care or kindness. She should be left alone with an agonisingly empty house right before her.

The first night she spent wide awake. How could she sleep with traces of that appalled look on his face stuck in her head? She found it hard to breathe, so she stepped outside, gazing at the empty sky, her eyes swollen and red with grief.

The next morning, she found the chocolates he had bought over the day they had fought. Looking at the chocolate truffles, she wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him, begging for forgiveness; however, she couldn't do that.

Zaib wanted his space. He wanted to be left alone, and quite honestly, he deserved that liberty. He warranted time to think and remain angry with her. No matter how gut-wrenching this distance made her feel, she needed to stay put, waiting for him.

By the third day, her emotions were hurling. She didn't attend her lectures and couldn't find the will to finish her assignment. Every time she picked up her pen, she imagined Zaib would open the door and walk in with a plate of sandwiches lined for her; then he would kiss her cheek and leave to bring her some coffee as he always did. And just like that, Zoya's tears drenched the sheet of paper, and she was sobbing.

Desperate to hear his voice, she called him. He didn't pick up any of her calls. She reached a point of insanity and miserably called his mother as a last resort.

His mother was oblivious to the argument, so Zoya had to pretend everything was fine. She didn't want to cause any more problems for her husband; if he wanted to share with his mother, he would've told her himself.

She precariously questioned about her husband, to which his mother answered, "He seems tired and doesn't eat much either. I'm guessing you guys argued?" She evaluated, and Zoya felt her heart tug, her eyes immediately flooding. She hated this so much.

"Mama..." she whispered breathily, tears pouring out. "I've made a mistake. Please stay with him," she rasped.

"You're crying? Zoya, was it a huge issue? Is it about Zain?" His mother asked worriedly. Zoya quickly wiped away the tears and sighed.

"No, it's not about Zain. If he doesn't tell you, I don't have a right to either," she muttered. "Mama is Zain doing fine?" she remembered the incident and asked.

"He's fine. I haven't said anything about it to Zaib. He already seems so drained. I can't break this to him yet," she had explained.

Zoya just wished she could stop hiding behind all the lies and tell him she did horrible things, but her intentions were pure. She loves him so much, enough to hide things from him.

Just like that, it was a dull Sunday morning, and Zoya was busy drawing a model for a new presentation. Even after hours of trial and error, she kept messing up the dimensions, so she lethargically threw herself onto the bed, her head hurting.

She was making mistakes a high schooler makes in their senior year. Her professor had even called to express their concerns regarding her sudden absences and dimwitted behaviour; in response, she could only apologise and promise to do better.

It was like the entire world was falling apart, except it was only her world crashing and everything around her was fully functional.

She missed him so much. Without him, the bed was cold, dinner was unappetising, and the sky was colourless; she never understood how this house could ever seem ugly, but without his presence, it was a foreign two-story house with nothing uniquely different about it.

She remembered the first time he brought her to their new place and that very first glance she took towards this house: it was so beautiful, she thought she'd never seen anything like it. At that moment, it was the most sublime place she'd laid eyes upon; now, it was just bricks and walls, and the appeal seemed long gone.

Had the house changed in some way? No. Then why did everything seem so unfamiliar?

Everything was the same, except Zaib.

Now it dawned upon her why she loved this place so much despite its ordinary architecture and nothing too memorable about it: she never thought of this four-walled, two-story house as her home; she subconsciously believed him to be her home.

Zaib will always be her only home.

Her eyes screwed shut in agony as she withheld the tears; it was getting so unbearable that she felt suffocated in her own house. Zoya nearly burst into sobs when her phone suddenly rang. She immediately sat up, her heart thudding with the possibility of it being Zaib. She rushed to the side table and quickly answered the call.

"Zaib?" Her brittle voice blabbered.

"It's Mariah." A high-pitched voice ran through the speaker, and Zoya confusedly looked at her phone, an unknown number displaying on the screen.

She frowned as she sat down on the couch with the phone in hand. Searching through her memory, she remembered a brunette girl wearing flashy jewellery on their wedding day; it was Zaib's cousin, the one who disliked Zoya.

Zoya calmed down and spoke up, "How are you doing, Mariah?" She attempted to make small talk.

"I'm great! Though I've heard you're not doing so great these days," she chirped sneakily. Zoya nervously contemplated what she was going on about; Zaib hadn't even told his mother, so why would he, from all people, tell her?

"What are you talking about?" Zoya tested the waters.

Zoya cringed as she heard a short laugh from the other end. "Come on, Zoya. Zaib told me everything," she condescendingly gloated, and Zoya felt her heart plummet to the ground, her eyes widening in disbelief.

Zaib told Mariah?

There was momentary tension accompanied by silence. Zoya was speechless and mortified. Her heart- it felt heavier as every second passed. Zaib voluntarily told Mariah, his crafty cousin, about their marriage problems, which he didn't even share with his mother. What kind of relationship did these cousins have?

"You know Zoya, he trusted you. Zaib never deserved your filthy lies," she continued, and it was like rubbing salt into her wounds; Zoya was visibly shaking by the time Mariah finished her sentence.

Mariah, on the other hand, was loving every bit of this call. She had always loved and respected Zaib, more than Zoya could and now that she had the chance to get rid of this obstacle, why would she hesitate?

After all, it was Zaib who chose to confide in her. The fact that he did that was a sign to Mariah that she had a chance.

"Mariah, may I ask what gives you the right to interfere in our business?" Zoya tried to constrain her voice, but the bitterness appeared itself.

"Oh, Zaib gave me enough rights ever since he confined in me with his 'business,' so please quit destroying his life and leave back to yours." Zoya had never felt such a wave of ferocity and anguish flood her as she clenched the phone tight within her fingers.

The fact that Mariah was even a bystander to the couple's relationship problems, really irked Zoya. No matter what happens between a married couple, no outsider has the right to interfere.

"I don't care what you have to say about us. Nothing matters to me except Zaib. I'll leave when he tells me to leave. Thanks for your concern."

Consumed with anger, she threw the phone across the sofa and dropped her head into her hands.

;:;:;:;:;:;:;

Zaib's mother couldn't stand the sight of her son moping around their house anymore. He had been living like a shell for the past couple of weeks- unwilling to disclose anything. So when she got the opportunity to talk to him, she took it. However, he was still resistant.

"Zaib, If you don't tell me now, I will call Zoya's mother here to sort stuff out!" His mother yelled impatiently.

Zaib groaned; his head already felt strangely heavy; his mother's aggressive shouts were making him feel like someone was drilling a hole into his skull. He glanced away from the file and eyed his mother annoyedly.

"Please let me work. I haven't prepared anything for days, and there's an important meeting on Wednesday," he rasped.

His mother gloomily stared at him with a sad frown. "Zaib, go back and sort your problems out. This situation worries me. You've been staying for almost two weeks, and I haven't heard a word from Zoya either." Zaib's heartbeat escalated, and he shut the file abruptly.

Two weeks passed by painfully slow. Zaib hadn't turned on his phone, afraid he'd lose his grip and accept Zoya's calls. He'd been using only his new work number that Zoya did not know.

As childish as it seemed, he didn't know how to face her. At first, it was pure anger controlling his actions, but as the first week rolled by, his anger dissipated, and all that was left was fear.

Fear of loving someone so much, you can't think straight; fear of believing someone so much, you can't escape, even when their words have lied while looking you in the eyes.

Despite his seething emotions, Zaib missed her so much. He thought of her sitting next to him, sipping her coffee or studying and highlighting her entire book while arguing with him over some fictional character she loves.

He spent nights in prayers because he couldn't sleep; Zaib convinced himself it was because of the different bed sheets and not a certain someone missing from his arms.

One night, he got so bored, he decided to read one of her fictional novel recommendations. Zoya enjoyed reading romance, so the books were not his cup of tea, but he pulled through, and on the fifth day he finally finished the six hundred and forty-two pages.

"I've to go for a meeting," he quickly hurried out the door with his file in hand.

He didn't have any meetings today; he just wanted to get away from his mother's questioning.

As if his feet had a mind of their own, he wandered around and soon found himself standing before Zoya's house. He wondered how she was doing, and if her family's financial condition was stable.

From where he stood, the distance towards her was minimal. All he had to do was walk up and ring the doorbell; then he could finally see her after two resentful weeks. However, the few steps towards her was a way larger psychological pathway.

Did she miss him? His thoughts wreaked.

Suddenly the door pushed open, and before Zaib could hide, the person had already noticed his presence; Zaib looked up at Bilal whose lips turned into a smile as he walked up to him.

"Salam man! What're you doing here?" Bilal warmly greeted him-almost as if everything was normal. Zaib contemplated whether Zoya had said anything to her family or are they oblivious just like his family?

"I was just going for a meeting and thought I'd drop by," he muttered, his eyes wandering back to the house as he scanned it for any signs of her; he wanted to see her so bad.

Bilal followed his gaze. "Are you looking for mom and dad? Well, they're gone for a friend's wedding, so do you wanna come in?" He asked, and Zaib internally thanked God for their absence; he didn't want to lie to them about his visit.

"No, I'm running late anyways," Zaib muttered, his eyes lingering at her room's window.

"Zaib, you should come over and bring Zoya along. It's been a long time since we hung out."

What?

Zaib shifted his weight on the other foot and turned to face Bilal. He was confused at Bilal's words; Zoya was already staying over.

"I haven't heard from Zoya in a while either. Are things okay between you two?"

Zaib froze, literally. "She didn't come home!" His voice pierced through the open sky, so harsh Bilal almost jumped at the intensity.

"Zoya..." he said to himself, and suddenly Zaib was turning on his heel.

Alarmed, Bilal dashed forward questioning his sudden reaction. Zaib just looked back replying, "I'm late for the meeting. I'll be back to visit," and Zaib rushed to the main road.

He impatiently waited at the bus stop but unable to stand his curiosity longer, he hailed a cab and breathlessly directed the man to his house address. He was bewildered, his heart uncomfortably thudding against his chest. He vividly remembered asking her to leave back to her home that day on the phone call.

Where had she gone if not back home? Did she even leave at all?

Zaib's head began to pound, the agony worsening with all the possibilities. He quickly pulled out his phone from his pocket and switched it on with shaking hands.

At last, the phone's screen lit on. Zaib's heart ached at sight.

-.

I am so sorry

(Two weeks ago; 12:45 pm)

I know I messed up again. Like I always do, and you have the right to stay angry.

(Two weeks ago; 4:08 am)

You can be upset. But can you be upset with me at home?

(Thirteen days ago; 6:00 pm)

Zaib, I never wanted to hurt you. I didn't want to hold you responsible for my family. I am yours, but that doesn't mean you have to earn for my parents.

(A week ago; 3:20 am)

It was painful to lie to you. It was. I kept asking Allah for forgiveness, but soon I realised you deserved to know the truth.

(A week ago; 3:22 am)

I'll wait here for you. Till you want to come back to me, I'll stay here Zaib.

(Four days ago; 9:01 am)

I miss you.

(Today; thirty-minutes-ago)

His eyes flooded with tears, Zaib wanted to immediately call her back and tell her he would be home. He would be with her- he would take her in his arms and never let go.

He was about to press the call button when suddenly, a new voice message was delivered- sent from Zain.

Zaib curiously tapped the recording and put the phone up to his ear.

"I don't know how to say this to your face, so I'm leaving you a voice message. Mom lied about my whereabouts. Zaib, what I'm about to say will devastate you, but please hear me out," the voice was raspy and dull as if Zain was too sick with a dry throat.

"I got into drugs a while ago," Zain's voice choked up with tears.

Zaib's heart seized.

"I- I don't know what to say in my defence. There's nothing to say except that I'm sorry. I'm sorry to our mother because she had to deal with it and to you for breaking it to you in this pathetic way.

"It started as a fun way to rebel and look cool, but soon I was taking more and more until I couldn't go a day without it. My head would start to hurt—and I would hear strange noises. My heart would beat abnormally—I don't know, I felt sick all the time.

"Zaib I'm better now. Not entirely, God no, but I'm doing way better. I've agreed to go to rehab. Mom never left my side in the hospital and...

"Zoya, I owe your wife a huge debt. She knew for a while and kept it from you because mom asked. She tried to help me and I— I treated her horribly. I-I told her such pathetic things. Even after that, she saved my life. I don't know why she never told you.

"I'm sorry to her and you."

😭❤️