*****

How dare he!

How bloody dare he!

What the hell was he thinking smiling at her like that? Hell, he never smiled at him! Stupid psycho psychologist!

Was he flirting with her? Was he passing a few inappropriate comments? Suggestions? The Jerk! He knew since his college days that it was the silent ones to watch out for. The nerdy ones who pretended to be serious and smart. The ones who seemed to have all the answers.

But then why was Mayra smiling at him?

Aamir got up from the chair and paced frantically across the room. Not being able to eavesdrop on the conversation was becoming pure torture for him! To top it all he just couldn't understand what on earth was going on. Mayra was nervous at first, then she spoke rapidly and then she started to cry so much that Aamir was about to call the session off. Gaurav's gesture stopped him from intervening or else they'd be home by now. Then they seemed to be having a normal conversation.

And now they were smiling at each other.

She never smiled at him like that, thought Aamir as he sulked in his chair and fought the extremely childish and immature urge to pout like a baby.

At least he wasn't throwing his fits of rage around, randomly punching people in the face. Considerable improvement, he thought to himself, that he was able to hold back. Improvement - that even now he wasn't resorting to murder and was able to keep his cool.

At least superficially.

Internally, he wanted to pull Mayra out of the room and drag her home. And then return here to do something really really nasty to Gaurav.

Stupid psycho psychologist.

He sat down again and massaged his temples thinking of all the reasons why he couldn't murder Gaurav. First of all, it would freak Mayra out. She'd run away screaming. Secondly, she would lose all faith in him when he said that he was able to control his temper now. Thirdly, Zaheer would be mad at him if he asked him to bail him out of murder.

Lastly, oh yeah, he thought dryly, it was illegal.

Suddenly, he started to laugh. Ya, it was funny alright. Funny how love could change you so very completely. He hadn't lied when he told Mayra that he would remain a lovesick puppy for her. Her lovesick puppy. In the hospital he was being driven to heights of hormonal adolescent madness, as intense desire raged through him at a simple touch from her, that sigh of pleasure and the heavy lidded gaze. He'd been horrified to think that he was acting like a teenager on his first crush.

Now a simple smile of her's directed at another man was driving him crazy as envy erupted in his chest. He wanted her to smile at him, and only him, like that. He would give himself to her completely, surrender himself to her wilfully but his heart desired for her to do the same.

The vibration of his phone broke his thought as he pulled it out to see his father calling him. It still felt strange to speak to the man. For two years he had been estranged from his father who could never forgive him for his atrocities. He kept away from Aamir, and Aamir knew that even now his father was speaking to him only out of concern for Mayra.

"Salam Papa."

"Salam," came the gruff reply. "How's it going?"

"I don't know," Aamir answered truthfully. "They're still inside."

"Is she okay? Is she freaking out? Don't let it get too much for her! Bring her home as soon as its done, do you hear me?"

"Yes, Papa."

Abruptly the line went dead. Aamir sighed and tucked the phone back into his pocket. Obviously his father was still furious with him. Aamir couldn't bring himself to forgive him, he couldn't imagine how long it would take his father to let go of the past.

It all boiled down to Mayra. She was at the heart of all of this. The one who suffered the most. The one who lost the most. The one who was hurt the most. Everyone else were bystanders witnessing her misery as the monster called Aamir struck. What mattered now was to bring her out of this so that she could herself see the beauty of life, experience love and happiness and wipe out the horrors of the past with fragrant promises of the future.

God she's so beautiful.

He felt even more unsettled by the level of comfort between Mayra and Gaurav because the male in him knew how other males thought. And how their minds wandered lecherously when a particularly beautiful woman was in front of them. And boy was Mayra pretty.

He looked at her through the glass panel and observed each and every of her features. That flawless complexion, the high cheekbones, the full lips. That cute little nose. And those big, round, innocent eyes. Her eyes were the first thing you saw. They captivated you, pulled you in and you would drown in the brown warmth of those deeps pools of chocolate. And when she spoke, her voice was melodious. When she moved, her movements were graceful. She was like an aristocratic woman from the eras gone by - rich, powerful, beautiful, graceful, brought up with manners and etiquette ingrained in her brain. And yet she was humble, kind, caring and so damn forgiving.

He couldn't believe it himself how things had changed when he had been paralysed. He'd been forced to see that side of Mayra that he had been adamantly refusing to acknowledge. That had been the hardest thing on him. The constant pointers that something was wrong, something was missing when he saw her selflessly serve him.

Honestly, he'd thought, which successful, rich and elite woman would clean after her paralysed, abusive husband had soiled himself?

Mayra had done it. Not once but numerous times. Whenever he needed to feel like a man again, perform his own basic needs, Mayra was always there to make him feel less miserable. And that was saying something. For a man who had lost the will to live, for a CEO who had overnight become a liability to his entire family, a little bit of peace meant the world.

That lone ray of warmth could be enough to banish suicidal thoughts from one's mind.

And it had. It gave him the strength to fight.

He remembered how one night Mayra had worked over him all day. Tirelessly. Embarrassingly enough, that night he'd had diarrhoea. Nobody had come to see him. His father had come into the room, glared at his motionless form and asked Mayra if she was okay. Mayra had replied that Aamir was doing much better.

She'd changed his adult diaper eighteen times and each time she got up, her hand would automatically rest against her lower back. The intense back pain caused from the effort brought her to her knees and it brought tears to his eyes. Yet, she never complained, not once did she ask for help.

That night when she sat down to have dinner in their room he watched her as she took two bites of her meal and the sheer exhaustion of it pushed her into a deathlike sleep. She was on the floor, her hands on the centre table next to the food tray, and her head over her hands, her face to him.

She was sleeping on an empty stomach - exhausted, drained and fatigued - because she cared for him.

She cared for him.

How could a woman who cared for him so deeply wish to elope with someone else? And if she did want to go away with Jaffar, why would she care for Aamir like her life depended on it? Had he done the right thing by trusting Jaffar? Had he done the right thing by not giving her a chance to explain herself? Was there any single way by which he could now justify the abhorrent crimes he had committed against her?

Could he deny the truth any longer now that it was staring him in the face?

He felt his heart stop.

Mayra hadn't done anything wrong. She was pure, innocent. She was his and his only. His wife. But he'd failed to be her husband. Anger surged through his veins when he thought of how he'd pushed her from their marriage bed and called her a whore. Fury gripped his chest when he thought of how he'd burned her hand with his hot coffee to 'teach her a lesson'. Outrage marred his brain when he thought of how he'd mocked her in public and humiliated her in private. Rage shook his form when he thought of how he'd lashed her for trying to help him. And self disgust poured like acid in his veins when he thought of how he'd reacted when she first confessed her love to him.

He needed to apologise. He needed to hold her close and heal her wounds. He needed to take care of her now. To pamper her, to cherish her, to love her.

He had to get well, not for himself but for her.

For Mayra.

He squeezed his eyes shut and willed his hands to move, but they remained motionless. He forced his legs to move, they too lay limp, lifeless. He exerted more and more force, he commanded his body to react but his physical form remained as dead. He pushed himself to move, he opened his eyes and saw Mayra's sleeping form. He had to go to her. He had to comfort her, apologise to her.

He refused to accept his paralysis. He refused to compromise with his disability. He refused to sympathize with himself anymore. If there was someone who had truly suffered, it was the remarkable young woman sleeping like an angel in his room, where she was treated like the lowest slave.

He tried to move his limbs but none would concede to his authority. He tried and tried and tried. Nothing happened. Frustration and misery blocked his mind but anger, for once not misdirected, burst forth and he resumed his effort.

The lack of submission from his own physical form drove him crazy and before he knew it an agitated scream escaped his mouth.

Mayra sprang up from her sleep and the sight that he greeted her was Aamir thrashing in bed. Fearing that his condition had probably deteriorated from diarrhoea to something much more serious, she shouted for her family.

Within a few minutes he was being driven to the hospital, a hopelessly worried Mayra desperately clutching his hand.

And that was how his journey to recovery had begun. That night had changed everything, but never had he once thought that it would lead them here.

"Mr Hassan? Mr Hassan?"

Aamir snapped his head towards Gaurav's receptionist who was eyeing him warily. He realised she'd been calling his name to get his attention while he was lost.

"Yes?"

"Mr Singh and Mrs Hassan are waiting for you outside."

Aamir turned to find the other side of the panel empty. Quickly he picked himself up and walked out to find Mayra and Gaurav looking at him.

"You were in the washroom for too long. Everything okay, Mr Hassan?" Gaurav commented before Aamir could open his mouth.

Aamir caught on quickly. "Yes. Yes, of course I'm fine." He looked at Gaurav and as much as he wanted to soothe his jealous heart by landing a punch on Gaurav's nose, he was instantly bombarded with memories of Mayra when she nursed him back to health. In a second, his jealousy and anger evaporated. "How was it, sweetheart? You ok?"

Mayra nodded, avoiding his gaze while Gaurav said, "I think we'll make good progress in the coming weeks. But Mayra, you'll have to do as I instructed and think about what I said, okay?"

Mayra nodded again and waited as the two men shook hands and Aamir booked future appointments.

Aamir insisted on lunch but Mayra wanted to head home. Only when she'd confessed that the session had been exhausting did Aamir relent. As soon as they reached home, Aamir guided her straight to the room, put her into bed and forced her to drink some juice.

He went downstairs to inform his family of the session and to instruct them not to disturb her when Gaurav called him.

"How was it, Gaurav? Honestly?" Aamir opened skipping the pleasantries.

"Much much harder than I had expected Mr Hassan," Gaurav said, his tone serious. "I hadn't expected her to be this deeply depressed. Her's is a pretty advanced case if you ask me. Some of the answers she gave to my questions were so shocking!"

Aamir's heart sunk with every sentence. "Like what?"

"I'm sorry to say this Mr Hassan but when I asked her to describe you, as in her husband, in one word she said 'master'."

"What?" Aamir asked, shocked and heartbroken. "Is that what she thinks of me?"

"Yes," Gaurav sighed. "And its an honest answer. I know you wanted to make progress, I know you want some semblance of normalcy back in your life, but trust me Mr Hassan, its going to be much harder than we can expect. And frankly its good that she's not suicidal but I wouldn't put it past her to be having those thoughts."

*****