Shattered Dreams enduring pain

Chapter 12

Safiya's Pov:

"If my tears fall, Down in my universe
Turns into a new world, Time to find my way back home"

I applied makeup, brushed my hair, and adorned myself in an anarkali dress—both pretty and comfortable, a choice Khushi always appreciated. Since it was my day off, there was no need to head to the office today.

Entering the kitchen, I found my mother immersed in preparing something. Curious, I inquired, "Ammi, what are you making?" While scanning the fridge, I couldn't resist grabbing a piece of chocolate.

"Every winter, your Abbu loved to eat Chamsur ka halwa. I was missing him, so I thought to make what he liked," she replied, her voice heavy with nostalgia, tears welling up. I walked over and embraced her, whispering, "Ammi, don't cry."

I held my mother in a comforting embrace, knowing that the pain of missing Abbu lingered heavily during these moments. "Ammi, I miss him too," I admitted softly, my words a gentle acknowledgment of the shared grief. "But making his favorite halwa is a beautiful way to remember him. Let's enjoy it together, just like we used to."

She nodded, with gratitude and sadness in her eyes. As we continued to share the embrace, the fragrance of the halwa cooking on the stove filled the air, a poignant reminder of the winter rituals we once celebrated as a complete family. our shared grief became a bond, and the warmth of the halwa seemed to hold a touch of Abbu's presence.

Every winter, as he indulged in the sweet treat, he'd playfully claim, "I can make a better halwa than your Ammi," a statement that never failed to elicit laughter and mock protests from my mother.

We shared a smile, reminiscing about his culinary bravado. "He used to tease me every time," my mother chuckled, wiping away a tear. "Saying he had a secret ingredient that made his halwa unbeatable."

"He loved to create a playful competition between you two," I added, savoring the bittersweet recollections. "Even though he never actually made the halwa, the banter between you two was priceless."

As the halwa simmered on the stove, it carried not only the rich fragrance of winter spices but also the warmth of cherished memories of my Abbu.

After enjoying the halwa with my mother, Phuppo, and Puppha, my Shazma phuppo suggested, "Safiya, go give this to Fahad also; he will like it too." Considering the idea for a moment, I decided to take a portion to Fahad's room. Knocking on his door, it swung open surprisingly fast.

"Suniye, I—" I paused, my words catching in my throat as I took in the unexpected sight. I had anticipated Fahad in casual attire, but there he stood in a suit, seemingly ready for the office on a Sunday morning. Who goes to work on a Sunday? Well, Fahad Abbasi evidently does.

"Aap ke liye Phuppo ne halwa bheja hai (Aunt has sent a sweet dish for you)," I stammered, trying to peer past him into the room. Fahad, with a sardonic tone, asked, "Should I move so you have a clearer view of my room?"

Embarrassment heated my cheeks, and in a desperate attempt to cover up my curiosity, I blurted out, "I don't know what you're talking about. Your room isn't that interesting, dark colors that suck, though. Try some pastel colors. I would change it, if I had a chance to do." Stop me now. "You can shift those couch a bit too." I cringed internally. Did I really just say that?

Fahad's lips pressed together, and if he were anyone else, I could've sworn he was trying not to laugh. "I see. I think you already planned after marrying me, you will change everything in my room, right?" he remarked, a wry smile playing on his lips.

A tiny smirk played on Fahad's lips as he responded, "Who told you I only think about you?" I stammered, feeling a mixture of surprise and awkwardness, even though he was only half-right.