The clock struck midnight, and the shaikh household was wrapped in a deep stillness. The sprawling home, usually alive with the chatter of its many members, now rested under the blanket of the night. Yet, in one corner of the house, Mahenoor was wide awake.

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the soft glow of the lamp on her nightstand. A small breeze drifted through the partially open window, making the curtains sway gently. The faint scent of jasmine from the garden below lingered in the air, but mahenoor barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying memories of conversations and promises from years ago.

Four years had passed since Asjad had gone silent. Four years since she had last heard his voice or seen his words flashed on her phone screen. Their long-distance relationship had been her anchor during a time of uncertainty, a source of joy and strength. Despite never meeting in person, she had fallen deeply in love with him. His kindness, his wit, his dreams–they had all become intertwined with her own.

But then, without warning he disappeared.

Her love for him hadn't faded. If anything, it had deepened, tethering her to a hope that felt both comforting and suffocating. Tonight as the weight of her emotions pressed down on her, she felt the need to release it all. She glanced at the folded prayer mat in the corner of her room. It called to her, offering solace she hadn't allowed herself to seek in weeks.

Taking a deep breath, she unfolded the mat and knelt down, her movements slow and deliberate. The soft fabric pressed against her knees as she raised her hands in Dua. Her fingers trembled as she whispered. "Ya Allah."

The words echoed in the quiet room, and tears pricked her eyes.

"Ya Allah," she repeated, her voice cracking, "I feel so lost. I don't even know where to begin. My heart is heavy, and I don't know how to carry this burden anymore. It's been four years, Ya Allah. Four years of waiting, praying and hoping for Asjad to come back. But he hasn't. Why, ya Allah? Why did you put this love in my heart if it wasn't meant to last?"

Her voice wavered as memories surfaced of the late-night conversations that used to bring her comfort, of the dreams they had built together, and if the silent promises that now felt like broken shards in her chest.

"I thought I was strong enough to wait, that my patience would mean something. But now, I feel like I've lost myself. I am not that Mahenoor I used to be. I can't teach with the same passion. I can't laugh like I used to. My family looks at me with so much worry, but I don't know how to tell them that I don't even recognize myself anymore."

Her sobs broke the stillness of the room as she pressed her hands to her face. The tears flowed freely, a release of the pain she had held inside for so long.

"Ya Allah," she continued, her voice soft now, "I love him, I love him so much that it hurts. But if he's not meant for me, then please, ya Allah, take this love out of my heart. Free me from this endless waiting, from this ache that doesn't let me breath. And if he is meant for me, then bring him back, I leave everything in your hands because I don't know what else to do."

She lowered her head to the prayer mat, her forehead pressing against the soft fabric. The room was silent except for her muffled sobs and the faint rustle of the curtains. Time seemed to stand still as she poured her heart out to the one who never turned away from those in pain.

Finally, her tears slowed, and she sat back on her heels. The heaviness in her chest remained, but there was a small flicker of something else–a glimmer of relief, a faint hope that perhaps, one day, she would find peace.

✨

Across the city, in the Ahmed Ali household, a similar stillness enveloped the home. But in one corner, Omar was wide awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room. His guitar leaned against the wall, untouched. For hours, he had tried to compose a new song, but the words refused to come.

Instead his thoughts had been consumed by Mahenoor. She had been in his mind for as long as he could remember, a constant presence in his life. He had loved her in silence, knowing her heart belonged to someone else.

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. The ache in his chest was familiar by now, a companion he had learned to live with. Standing up, he walked to the corner of his room where his prayer mat lay folded. He picked it up and spread it out carefully, the quiet ritual bringing him a sense of calm.

Kneeling on the mat, he raised his hand,his eyes closing as he whispered, "Ya Allah."

The words came easily, through his heart ached with the weight of them.

"Ya Allah, you know what is in my heart. You know that I've loved mahenoor for as long as I can remember. But you also know why I've kept that love to myself. Her belongs to someone else, Ya Allah. She's still waiting for Asjad, even after all these years. How can I tell her how I feel when I know her heart is not mine to claim?"

His voice wavered, and he paused, his hands trembling slightly.

"I've tried to be there for her as a friend, to support her in every way I can. But it's so hard, Ya Allah. It hurts to see her in pain, to know that I can't take that pain away. She's been suffering for so long, and I feel helpless. What can I do, Ya Allah. How can I ease her pain without adding to it?"

Omar closed his eyes tighter, memories of Mahenoor flashing before him. He thought of the girl who used to light up a room with her laughter, who would lose herself in the stories she loved to tell. That girl seemed so far away now, replaced by someone who carried the weight of unspoken grief.

"I don't want to burden her with my feelings." He whispered. " She doesn't need that right now. But Ya Allah, if it's written in my destiny to be with her, then please show me a way. And if it's not, then give me the strength to let go, to keep loving her from a distance without expecting anything in return."

The room was silent as he lowered his hands, his chest feeling both light and heavier at the same time. Whispering 𝐴𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑛, he remained seated on the prayer mat, his thoughts swirling like a storm.

Omar sat there for a long time, the quiet of the night wrapping around him. He didn't have all the answers, but he felt a sense of reassurance. He had placed his trust in Allah, and that was enough for now.

The night stretched on, and the city remained cloaked in darkness. In their separate homes, Mahenoor and Omar grappled with their emotions, pouring their hearts out to Allah. Though their prayers were different, they shared a common thread–a longing for peace, for clarity, for a way forward.

For Mahenoor, her conversation with Allah(SWT) brought her a small but significant sense of clarity. She realized that she couldn't keep living in the past, clinging to a love that might never return. She didn't have all the answers, but she felt a flicker of hope that perhaps, one day, she would find the strength to move forward.

For Omar, his prayers reaffirmed his commitment to being there for Mahenoor, even if it means keeping his feelings locked away. He knew his love for her was selfless, and he found solace in the belief that Allah's plan was always for the best.

As the first rays of sunlight crept into the sky, a new day began. And though neither of them knew what the future held, they both found comfort in the knowledge that they were not alone. Their prayers had been heard, and in time, they trusted that Allah(SWT) would guide them to the paths they were meant to walk.

The days that followed were quiet yet heavy, each passing hour stretching longer then the one before. Mahenoor tried to immerse herself in her teaching, but the emptiness within her refused to be ignored. The weight of her unspoken pain pressed harder on her chest, leaving her breathless at times. She would pause mid-lesson, distracted by the ache she couldn't name aloud, forcing herself to smile for the students who looked up to her.

It was on one such evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, that Mahenoor felt the walls closing in on her. Alone in her room, she sat by the window, staring at nothing in particular. Her breathing grew shallow, her chest rising and falling too quickly. A sudden dizziness washed over her, and her vision blurred.

The noise in her head grew louder—memories of Asjad's laughter mixed with the silence he had left behind. "𝑾𝒉𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓? 𝑾𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒆? 𝑫𝒊𝒅 𝑰 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎?" The thoughts clawed at her mind, merciless and sharp.

Her hands began to trembled, her heartbeat pounding loudly in her ears. She pressed her palm against her chest, trying to calm herself, but it only worsened. The room felt smaller, the air thinner. She gasped for breath, a choked sob escaping her lips.

Meanwhile, at the Ahmed Ali household, Omar had been restless all day. Something in his heart tugged at him, an unease he couldn't shake. He paced his room, thinking of Mahenoor. She had been quieter than usual lately. He had noticed the shadows beneath her eyes growing darker, her smiles more forced.

His thoughts drifted to their childhood—The days when Mahenoor was the loudest, more carefree soul in any room.

Omar leaned back against his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips as memories surfaced.

He remembered the first day they met at school. Mahenoor had been the new student in class, her long ponytail swishing as she hurried to the front desk with her books. She had looked lost and nervous until Omar, even the troublemaker back then, had whispered something funny about the teacher's oversized glasses.

Her laughter had filled the room, bright and uninhibited. It was the first time he saw her smile, a smile that, even now he could never forget. From that day, they became inseparable, sharing lunchboxes, competing in class debates, and spending hours under the old banyan tree outside school, swapping dreams and secrets.

"You're my best friend Omar," She'd often say, her eyes gleaming. "We'll always have each other, right?"

Even then, Omar knew she was special. He just didn't realize how deeply she would root herself in his heart.

The memory had faded, and a heavy sigh escaped Omar's lips. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆? 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒍𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐 𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒚, 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔?

✨

The quiet of the night was shattered by the muffled sounds of sobbing coming from Mahenoor's room.

Nazia stood outside the door, her hand hovering near the handle as her heart twisted in her chest. She had heard her daughter cry before, but this—this was different. The cries were frantic, broken, as if Mahenoor couldn't catch her breath.

"Mahenoor beta," Nazia called softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "Open the door, please let me in."

There was no response except for the sound of gasping sobs, quick and Shallow. Nazia turned to sameer, who stood by her side, his brow furrowed in worry.

"She's not answering me," Nazia whispered, tears gathering in her eyes, "Sameer, what do we do? She's never locked herself away like this."

Sameer placed a firm hand on her shoulder, though his face betrayed his own unease. "Give her a minute. Maybe she needs time to calm down."

"No," Nazia said, shaking her head. "This isn't just crying. It sounds like...like she can't breath properly."

Sameer knocked on the door, his voice firm but gentle. "Mahenoor beta, open the door. It's Abba, we just want to talk."

From the other side of the door, Mahenoor's shaky voice came through, laced with panic. "Don't come in. Please don't come in. I'm fine."

"Beta, you're not fine." Nazia said, desperation creepe into her voice. "Let us help you. Just open the door, Mahenoor."

"I don't want to see anyone!" Mahenoor cried out, her voice breaking. "Just leave me alone!"

The room fell silent again except for the faint, jagged sounds of Mahenoor trying to control her breathing.

Nazia leaned against Sameer, her sobs muffled against his shoulder. "What is happening to her Sameer? She's been slipping away from us for so long. We don't even know how to help her anymore."

Sameer's face was lined with helplessness. "I know, Nazia. She's not our Mahenoor anymore. We need to do something before it's too late."

Zikra, who had been standing a few steps away, suddenly stepped forward, clutching her phone tightly. "Ammi, Abba—Omar bhai. I'll call Omar Bhai. He'll know what to do."

Nazia looked at her with a mix of hesitation and hope. "Zikra, it's midnight, We can't..."

"Ammi please," Zikra interrupted, her voice resolute. "Omar Bhai always help her, he's the only one she's talking to properly. He'll come. I know he will."

Before Nazia could argue, zikra had already turned her back and dialed Omar's number.

At the Ahmed Ali household, Omar had barely drifted off when his phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand. His brows furrowed as he blinked at the caller ID. Zikra.

A pit formed in his stomach as he quickly answered. "Zikra? Is everything okay?"

"Omar Bhai." Zikra's voice trembled on the other end. "It's Mahenoor appi. She's—she's not okay. She's locked herself in her room, and she's not letting anyone in. She's crying so much, Omar Bhai. We don't know what to do, please come."

Omar didn't hesitate. "I'm on my way. Tell Ammi and Abba I'm coming."

Fifteen minutes later, Omar arrived at the Shaikh home. Zikra rushed to open the door, her face pale and streaked with tears. "Omar Bhai, she's still inside, she's not saying anything anymore. We're scared."

Omar places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. " It's okay, I'll talk to her."

Nazia and Sameer stood in the hallway, their faces etched with worry. Sameer gave Omar a tight nod. "She's not letting anyone in."

Omar didn't say anything. He simply walked up to Mahenoor's door and knocked softly. "Mah," He called, his voice steady and calm, "it's me, open the door, please."

From the other side, there was silence, Then. Finally, a faint, shaky whisper. "Go away, Omar."

He rested his forehead against the door for a moment before speaking. "I'm not going anywhere, Mah. I'll sit outside this door all night if I have to, but I need to know you're okay."

"I'm not okay," she whispered her voice breaking. " I'm—"

Omar closed his eyes, his heart twisting at the sound of her pain. "Mah, please open the door. I promise, I won't say anything. I'll just sit with you. You don't have to be alone right now."

There was a long pause, and then finally, the faint click of the lock turning. Omar exhaled deeply as he pushed the door open.

The sight before him nearly broke him.

Mahenoor sat on the floor in the corner of the room, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her face buried as her body trembled with silent sobs. Her hair was disheveled, her Breathing uneven, and her eyes—red, swollen, hollow.

Omar moved slowy, kneeling a few feet in front of her. "Mah," he said softly, "look at me."

She shook her head, her voice barely audible. "I don't want you too see me like this."

"I don't care how you look," Omar said firmly, his voice low and steady. "I'm here for you. just look at me."

After what felt like an eternity, Mahenoor finally lifted her tear-streaked face. The sheer grief in her eyes nearly undid him.

"Omar," she whispered brokenly, "I can't do this anymore."

Omar reached out, carefully placing his hand over hers. "You don't have to do it alone."

Her sobs broke free again, wracking her entire body as Omar shifted closer, sitting beside her. He didn't say anything else—he just sat there, his presence a quiet reassurance.

Slowly, Mahenoor's breathing began to even out, the weight of her grief no longer pressing solely on her chest. For the first time in a long time, she let herself lean on someone else.

Outside the room, Nazia, Sameer, Zikra and Sanober waited in a hallway, their worry palpable. Nazia leaned against Sameer, tears streaming down her face. "Thank God Omar came, I don't know how we would have calmed her down."

Sameer nodded, his face tense. "He's always been there for her, he's like a son to us, Nazia. I don't know how he understands her so well. But right now, all I care about is Mahenoor feeling better."

Sanober sighed, looking toward the close door. "She's been holding all this pain inside for so long. It's no wonder she's breaking like this."

Zikra wiped her tears, her voice small. "She'll be okay, right? Omar Bhai will help her."

Sameer placed a comforting hand on zikra's head. "Inshallah, beta. She'll be okay."

As the night stretched on, Omar stayed by Mahenoor's side, his presence a quiet balm to her raw, frayed nerves. She didn't speak much, but she didn't need to.

Eventually, as exhaustion pulled under her, Mahenoor fell into a deep, Dreamless sleep. Omar stayed there, watching over her, silently thanking Allah(SWT) for giving him the strength to be there when she needed him the most.

Looking at her peaceful face, Omar whispered into stillness, "Ya Allah, give her the strength to heal. And if it's written, let me be the one to help her find herself again."

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Author_Mahenoor.