When everything else was falling apart, Shehryar gave Laila the job as his assistant. Now here they are months later in a very symbiotic and platonic relationship until Shehryar's past comes face to face and he swears to destroy everything from his...
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ہمتوسمجھےتھےکہاکزخمہےبھرجائےگا" "کیاخبرتھیکہرگجاںمیںاترجائےگا ❝Hum To Samjhe The Ke Ik Zakham Hai Bhar Jayega Kya Khabar Thi K Rag-e-Jaan Mai Utar Jayega❞
Grief
it fell on her like a thick dark fog, wrapping around her, making her still, suffocating her. Her breaths came slow and in increments. All she could see was the black hole closing in on her. There were no words. There was nothing within her, nothing that could make her absorb that. It was a lie. There was no way she'd lose Mother Margaret like that. No. She will not drown like this in the black fog. No.
"I need to finish the research for the project. Please take me back to the office." Her words were bland, devoid of emotions.
"Laila," He whispered as if she was too fragile and he was scared she might just shatter.
"I need to be in office." Her breath was uneven. She was gasping for air as if the oxygen wasn't reaching her lungs. "I... I..." She was picking the journal, but her hands were shaking, it fell again. "ne... need to go." She frantically piled everything in her lap.
"I'll take you home." She was about to protest. "No arguments, Miss Laila."
She pushed through the white gate. Mess. Everything was a mess. Why didn't Inaaya and Malka fix the rest of the house? Oh God, there was clutter. She needed to clean all of it. She threw her stuff on the couch, along with her duppatta. Boxes. Boxes. Why were there so many boxes? She tackled the first box she saw. They were Malka's sewing supplies. She took the boxes moving it to her room. Laila put the things in right order into the drawers. By the end of it, she was expecting to find the comfort, the sigh of relief, but there was none of it. The clean organized drawers didn't remove the suffocation. She curled her hand, beating her chest lightly, trying to dislodge the pain that wouldn't let her breathe.
"Laila," She heard him when she walked into the living room. Why hasn't he left? She didn't care if he was there. There must be something that could stop the ache in her heart. She rummaged through more boxes, putting things in their spaces. But nothing could stop her aching heart and trembling hands.
"Laila!" He turned around as he heard another voice. The elder lady came out of the washroom, worried as she watched Laila. He recognized her from the photo. Her mother. "kya hua Laila?" He furrowed his eyebrows, the voice was huskier than a woman's voice. As if it belonged to someone else, but he didn't have the time to figure out.
"Itni boxes. Maine bola tha kal sab set kar detein hai pr tum to sirf Niya ki sunti ho? Ab itna mess hai. Itna time lagega." There was tremble in Laila's voice as she refused to look up from the boxes.
