Mohabbat Ka Safar

The Flight Out

"Woh jo mohabbat mein haar jaaye... usse log kamzor nahi, asli aashiq kehte hain."

The cabin lights dimmed as the plane began its slow ascent, and outside the window, Karachi's coastline faded into a blur of city lights and sea shadows. Ayat blinked, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening to fall since she stepped through the departure gate. She hated crying in public. She hated being seen — especially like this.

But how do you stay composed when you're leaving behind the very pieces that made you... you?

Karachi ki woh subah... woh samaandar ke kinare uska ikraar... aur uska inkaar — sab kuch uske dil ke kisi kone mein rehta tha, chubhta tha, aur phir se zinda ho jaata tha har dafa jab usse yaad aata tha woh din.

"Tum abhi bachpan mein ho, Ayat... tumhe sirf ek khwab lag raha hai yeh sab. Aur main us khwab ka hissa nahi ho sakta."

Talha's voice echoed like a cruel echo through her mind. The finality of his rejection wasn't in the words — it was in the way he looked away when he said them. Like she was a child dreaming too big. Like love was a currency she hadn't earned yet.

Us waqt uska dil sirf toota nahi tha... kuch aur bhi hua tha. Shayyad khud pe se bharosa chala gaya tha.

She pressed her hand to the airplane window, the cold biting at her palm. The seat beside her was empty — her parents had insisted she'd be fine alone. "Tum strong ho, Ayat," Ammi had said, hugging her tightly at the airport. But being strong wasn't the problem. It was being alone with her thoughts that scared her.

The sky outside turned darker as they flew into the night. She reached into her bag, pulling out a small velvet box. Inside it lay the engagement ring she was supposed to wear forever. She didn't even remember taking it off. All she remembered was Talha's silence after her confession — and the sound of waves crashing when she walked away.

And now here she was.

London.

Naya sheher. Naye log. Nayi zindagi. Magar dil purana hi tha.

⸻

The city welcomed her with a strange stillness — cloudy skies and rain that never fully stopped. Her uncle, Mamoon Junaid, had picked her up from Heathrow. He was warm, kind, and full of awkward dad jokes she used to love as a child. But now, she just smiled politely, nodded, and stared out of the car window.

Alina — her cousin — tried harder.

"Chalo bhai, London aa gayi Madam Ayat! Kal se university, aur uske baad internship. Mazay mazay!" she said with a grin, elbowing Ayat playfully.

But Ayat was quiet. Too quiet.

She had once been the girl who filled a room with her laugh — now she barely spoke at dinner. She would sit on the edge of her bed every night, scrolling through old photos until her eyes blurred. Sometimes, she'd play the voice notes Mohid used to send her, his little-boy laughter reminding her of what she left behind.

Talha ka toh naam lena bhi gunah ban gaya tha. Lekin sochna? Woh toh ab bhi roz hota tha.

⸻

She started university two weeks later — a media and communications program her father had helped her apply to. Her professors liked her. Her classmates found her intelligent but mysterious.

Aur unhi mein se ek tha Rehan.

Rehan — the boy with deep eyes and a deeper silence. He didn't talk much, but when he did, it was poetry. Faiz, Rumi, Ghalib... woh un lafzon se baatein karta tha jo seedha dil mein utarti thi.

"Tum khud ko chhupa kyun rahi ho?" he asked one day, handing her a second cup of chai during a rainy evening.

"Kuch log chupte nahi... bas dikhte nahi," she replied, her gaze fixed on the wet glass of the window.

Rehan never pressed again. And maybe that was what made her feel safe around him.

⸻

Back in Karachi, Talha Ahmed was unraveling.

It had been months since she left. But it felt like just yesterday when he opened his office door and didn't find her sitting at her desk, flipping her diary with those chipped, coral-pink nails. She always had a playlist playing. After she left, even the office felt quieter.

He checked her social media — deactivated.

Called her number — switched off.

Visited her house — they had moved abroad.

Mohid's drawings were still stuck on his fridge, and every time he passed them, guilt gripped him like a noose. His father — Baba — had asked him once: "Kya Ayat se sab kuch khatam ho gaya, beta?"

He didn't reply.

He didn't know how to.

⸻

One year passed.

Ayat became a name people didn't mention around Talha anymore. And Talha became a name Ayat only said in her nightmares.

But feelings?

Woh toh jaane se kabhi pehle nahi jaate.

Rehan noticed the way her eyes would dim at certain Urdu quotes. The way she'd flinch at phone calls from Pakistani numbers. And the way she still wore that broken look, carefully stitched under her bright lipstick and neat blazers.

And then one day, Rehan asked the question Ayat had been avoiding all year:

"Is there someone else still living in that silence of yours?"

Ayat looked up, her fingers trembling slightly around her coffee mug. She paused... and finally said, "There was. Maybe there still is."

"And if he comes back?"

"He won't."

"And if he does?"

Ayat's voice was steady now. Cold. Calm.

"Then he'll have to fight... for every broken piece he left behind."

Author's Note

Hi everyone,
This is my very first time writing a novel like this, and honestly, it's been such an emotional and personal journey. I started this story because I couldn't stop thinking about Meem Se Mohabbat — especially Talha and Ayat, aka Talrosh (yes, I'm a huge Talrosh fan and proud of it!).

There was something so unfinished about their story, so many feelings left unsaid. I wanted to explore the "what if" — what if Ayat really left? What if Talha realized what he lost too late? What if fate gave them a second chance... but made them work for it?

This novel is my love letter to all the slow-burn, emotional, aching romances we carry in our hearts long after the credits roll. If you're reading this, thank you. Whether you're here for the heartbreak, the healing, or just the Talrosh moments — I hope this story gives you all of that and more.

Lots of love,
🤍
#TeamTalroshForever

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