14-05-2025, 12:45 AM
CHAPTER – 51
Back in Mumbai, the atmosphere between Kavya and Danish had shifted. The bright excitement they once carried with them — the laughter, the plans, the dreams of a shared future — now felt muted under the weight of disappointment. The train ride home had been mostly silent, both lost in thought, glancing at each other but saying little.
Once they stepped into the apartment, Kavya walked into the bedroom without saying a word. Danish dropped the bags near the sofa and followed her. She stood at the window, arms folded, eyes watching the cityscape, but her mind was still in Hyderabad — still replaying the moment Feroz Khan’s expression had turned cold the night she confessed everything.
“I really thought we could change his mind,” she whispered, her voice brittle.
Danish came closer but didn’t touch her. “I did too,” he said. “But I should’ve known better. My father… he’s a man of conviction. His beliefs… they run deep.”
Kavya turned to face him, tears beginning to form. “He didn’t even ask me why. Or how it happened. Just heard ‘married’ and ‘*****’ and closed the door.”
Danish lowered his head. “I should’ve prepared him more. I shouldn’t have let you face him like that alone.”
Kavya placed a hand on his chest. “You didn’t let me. I chose to. Because I believed in us.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of a car horn from the street below. Danish pulled her into his arms, and for the first time since they returned, she let herself cry freely — not just from sadness, but from the overwhelming uncertainty.
They both knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. But what hurt most wasn’t rejection — it was the limbo they found themselves in. Kavya had risked everything to be with Danish. Now, she wondered if that love would be strong enough to stand without acceptance from the one man whose blessing they needed most.
In the days that followed their return to Mumbai, Kavya and Danish tried to fall back into their routine — gym in the mornings, work during the day, shared meals in the evening. But everything felt… off. The rhythm was broken. Conversations were shorter, smiles were thinner, and the silence that once felt comfortable had become heavy with things unsaid.
One evening, Danish returned home to find Kavya sitting on the balcony, wrapped in a shawl despite the warm breeze. Her laptop sat closed beside her, untouched for hours. She was staring at the distant skyline, her expression distant.
He quietly pulled a chair beside her.
"You haven't spoken much since we got back," he said gently.
She looked at him, then turned away. "I'm trying to figure out what's next, Danish. I left everything behind for this… for us. And now, I don’t know if we’re stuck or moving backward."
Danish leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re not alone in this. I’m thinking about it too — every hour.”
“Then tell me,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “What are we doing? Are we waiting for your father to magically change his mind? Or are we going to make a life without his approval?”
Danish sighed. “It’s not easy for me to go against him. You know what he means to me. After Mom died, he was everything.”
Kavya reached for his hand. “And what about me? I’ve burned bridges, Danish. I’m hanging by one thread — you. Don’t make me feel like I chose wrong.”
He looked at her, eyes softening. “You didn’t choose wrong. You chose love. And so did I.”
She breathed in shakily. “Then maybe it’s time we stop waiting.”
Danish paused, then nodded slowly. “You’re right. If we keep hoping someone else will shape our future, we’ll never live it.”
There was a long silence between them — but this time, it was different. It was the calm that comes after a storm. A quiet decision being made.
After few days, Kavya was sitting on the edge of the bed, still shaken by the reality that stood in front of them like a wall—high, heavy, and cold. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked at the hem of her kurti, lost in her thoughts. Danish paced quietly in front of her, running a hand through his hair, then finally stopped and turned toward her with resolve in his eyes.
“Kavya,” he said gently, “I’ve been thinking… Let me try talking to my father one last time.”
She looked up at him, surprised.
“I know it’s not going to be easy,” he continued, sitting next to her. “But I’m his only son. He loves me. Deep down, I believe he just needs time to understand. I owe it to both of us to try one more time.”
Kavya's lips parted, unsure if it was hope or anxiety rising in her chest. “You think he’ll even listen?”
Danish nodded. “He’s angry now—shocked, maybe. But I’ll talk to him when things are calmer. Not about religion. Not about the past. Just about us. About what I feel. What you mean to me.”
Kavya felt a small flicker of hope light up inside her.
“But,” Danish added, turning to face her squarely, “I can’t be the only one fighting, Kavya. You need to talk to Rahul. And your parents.”
Her breath caught.
“I know it scares you,” he said gently, “but you can’t keep hiding. Every day you wait, it becomes harder. It’s not just about being with me—it’s about being honest with yourself, too.”
Kavya lowered her eyes, her thoughts spiraling.
“I... I’ll try,” she said quietly. “But you know my parents. And Rahul—he’s in a different world right now, thinking everything is fine.”
“I’ll be with you through all of it,” Danish promised. “But we can’t build anything lasting on a lie, Kavya. If we want a future, it has to start with truth.”
After a week Danish went to Hyderabad to talk to his father one last time.
The train rolled into Hyderabad late in the evening. Danish stepped out with a sense of heaviness he couldn’t shake. The familiar air of the city didn’t feel like home anymore—it felt like a battlefield where he was about to fight for the woman he loved.
He reached the house around 8 PM. Danish sat in the living room of their Hyderabad home, sipping tea silently. The clock ticked past 9 PM. His father, Feroz Khan, had just returned from a neighborhood gathering and was settling into his usual spot on the veranda, a newspaper tucked under his arm.
Danish (nervously):
"Abbu, thodi der baat kar sakte hain?"
(Dad, can we talk for a bit?)
Feroz (looking at him calmly):
"Haan, bolo. Sab theek hai?"
(Yes, tell me. Everything okay?)
Danish hesitated for a moment, then sat forward.
Danish:
"Main Kavya ke baare mein baat karna chahta hoon... poori sachchai ke saath."
(I want to talk to you about Kavya... with complete honesty.)
Feroz raised an eyebrow, giving a small nod. Danish continued.
Danish:
"Abbu, main Kavya se pyaar karta hoon. Hum Mumbai mein kaafi waqt se saath reh rahe hain. Lekin baat itni seedhi nahi hai..."
(Dad, I’m in love with Kavya. We’ve been living together in Mumbai for a while. But it’s not that simple...)
Feroz now looked more alert. He sat upright, his tone steady.
Feroz:
"Seedhi nahi hai matlab?"
(What do you mean it’s not simple?)
Danish (lowering his voice):
"Woh pehle se shaadi-shuda hai... Rahul naam hai uske pati ka. Lekin unka rishta bas naam ka hai. Woh dono emotionally alag ho chuke hain. Kavya ab divorce lena chahti hai."
(She’s already married… her husband’s name is Rahul. But their relationship is only in name now. They’ve grown apart emotionally, and she wants a divorce.)
Feroz’s face remained unreadable, but his silence grew heavier.
Feroz:
"Danish… tum samajhte ho na yeh kitna mushkil hai? Tum ek '. ladke ho. Woh ***** ***** hai… aur shaadi-shuda bhi."
(Danish… you do realize how difficult this is? You’re a '. man. She’s a ***** *****… and already married.)
Danish:
"Main samajhta hoon, Abbu. Har angle se mushkil hai. Par main jhoot bolkar ya chhupakar nahi chalna chahta. Kavya ke saath rehna chahta hoon, lekin aapke bina nahi."
(I do understand, Dad. It’s complicated from every angle. But I don’t want to lie or hide things. I want to be with Kavya, but not without your support.)
Feroz sighed, placing the newspaper beside him.
Feroz:
"Uske maa-baap kya jaante hain? Uska pati jaanta hai tum dono ke baare mein?"
(Do her parents know? Does her husband know about the two of you?)
Danish:
"Nahi... abhi tak nahi. Woh bhi dar rahi hai batane se. Main usse keh raha hoon ki sabko sach bataye. Aur ab main aapse keh raha hoon."
(No… not yet. She’s also scared to say anything. I’ve told her she should tell the truth. And now, I’m being honest with you.)
Feroz (quietly):
"Beta, main tumhara dard samajhta hoon. Par mujhe waqt chahiye. Is faisle ke peeche sirf pyaar nahi, zimmedari bhi hoti hai."
(Son, I understand your feelings. But I need time. This decision isn’t just about love—it's about responsibility too.)
Danish nodded, visibly emotional but respectful.
Danish:
"Main samajhta hoon, Abbu. Main sirf yeh chahta hoon ki aap ek baar Kavya ko bina kisi bias ke dekhein. Sirf ek insaan ke roop mein."
(I understand, Dad. I just want you to see Kavya once—without any bias. Just as a person.)
Feroz looked at him for a long moment. Then, with a softer tone:
Feroz:
"Main sochunga, Danish. Tumhara beta hone ka matlab yeh nahi ki main har baat se sehmat ho jaun. Par main tumse pyar karta hoon, aur yeh baat main bhool nahi sakta."
(I’ll think about it, Danish. Being your father doesn’t mean I’ll agree with everything. But I love you, and I can’t forget that.)
Danish had stayed in Hyderabad for nearly a week now. Every day, he found himself in quiet moments with his father, trying to gently nudge the conversation toward Kavya. Feroz Khan remained distant on the topic—cordial, but unreadable.
On the final evening before his return to Mumbai, Danish finally gathered the courage to have the conversation again.
They were sitting in the backyard, under the soft yellow light of the veranda. The sky was dusky, birds returning to their nests, and the sound of evening prayers echoing faintly from the mosque nearby.
Danish exhaled and began, this time without holding back.
Danish:
“Main Kavya se mohabbat karta hoon. Ye koi aaj ya kal ka nahi hai, maine waqt ke saath is rishte ko samjha hai, mehsoos kiya hai. Main usse shaadi karna chahta hoon.”
(I love Kavya. This isn’t something recent—over time I’ve understood and felt this relationship deeply. I want to marry her.)
Feroz didn’t react at first. He stared ahead, then slowly turned to face his son.
There was a long silence. Feroz Khan, a man of composure and few words, stood up and paced slowly.
Feroz:
“Tum jaante ho main tumse kitni mohabbat karta hoon, Danish. Tum mere akhri sahare ho. Par main kisi bhi haal mein apne usoolon ko nahi tod sakta.”
(You know how much I love you, Danish. You are my last support. But I cannot break my principles under any circumstance.)
Danish lowered his head, his chest heavy.
Danish:
“Toh kya meri khushi bhi aapke usoolon se kam hai?”
(Then is my happiness less important than your principles?)
Feroz looked into his son’s eyes. There was pain in both.
Feroz (after a pause):
“Main tumhari khushi ke khilaf nahi hoon. Par agar tum chahte ho ke main iss rishte ko apni dua doon… toh ek shart hai.”
(I’m not against your happiness. But if you want me to give my blessings to this relationship… then there is one condition.)
Danish straightened, his eyes searching his father’s.
Feroz:
“Kavya ko ., qubool karna hoga. Usse hamare deen, hamare riwazon ko apnana hoga. Sirf tab main iss rishte ko qabool kar sakta hoon.”
(Kavya must accept .,. She must embrace our faith, our traditions. Only then can I accept this relationship.)
The words hit Danish hard. He didn’t reply immediately. He stood still, thinking about what this meant for Kavya, for them both. He knew Kavya would not take such a decision lightly, but he also understood his father’s world.
Feroz (softening his tone):
“Main tumse tumhari mohabbat cheenne nahi chahata. Par agar woh ladki tumse sach mein mohabbat karti hai, toh woh samjhegi is faisle ki ahmiyat.”
(I don’t want to take your love away from you. But if that girl truly loves you, she will understand the importance of this decision.)
Danish nodded slowly, the weight of his father’s words pressing on his shoulders.
Back in Mumbai, the atmosphere between Kavya and Danish had shifted. The bright excitement they once carried with them — the laughter, the plans, the dreams of a shared future — now felt muted under the weight of disappointment. The train ride home had been mostly silent, both lost in thought, glancing at each other but saying little.
Once they stepped into the apartment, Kavya walked into the bedroom without saying a word. Danish dropped the bags near the sofa and followed her. She stood at the window, arms folded, eyes watching the cityscape, but her mind was still in Hyderabad — still replaying the moment Feroz Khan’s expression had turned cold the night she confessed everything.
“I really thought we could change his mind,” she whispered, her voice brittle.
Danish came closer but didn’t touch her. “I did too,” he said. “But I should’ve known better. My father… he’s a man of conviction. His beliefs… they run deep.”
Kavya turned to face him, tears beginning to form. “He didn’t even ask me why. Or how it happened. Just heard ‘married’ and ‘*****’ and closed the door.”
Danish lowered his head. “I should’ve prepared him more. I shouldn’t have let you face him like that alone.”
Kavya placed a hand on his chest. “You didn’t let me. I chose to. Because I believed in us.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of a car horn from the street below. Danish pulled her into his arms, and for the first time since they returned, she let herself cry freely — not just from sadness, but from the overwhelming uncertainty.
They both knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. But what hurt most wasn’t rejection — it was the limbo they found themselves in. Kavya had risked everything to be with Danish. Now, she wondered if that love would be strong enough to stand without acceptance from the one man whose blessing they needed most.
In the days that followed their return to Mumbai, Kavya and Danish tried to fall back into their routine — gym in the mornings, work during the day, shared meals in the evening. But everything felt… off. The rhythm was broken. Conversations were shorter, smiles were thinner, and the silence that once felt comfortable had become heavy with things unsaid.
One evening, Danish returned home to find Kavya sitting on the balcony, wrapped in a shawl despite the warm breeze. Her laptop sat closed beside her, untouched for hours. She was staring at the distant skyline, her expression distant.
He quietly pulled a chair beside her.
"You haven't spoken much since we got back," he said gently.
She looked at him, then turned away. "I'm trying to figure out what's next, Danish. I left everything behind for this… for us. And now, I don’t know if we’re stuck or moving backward."
Danish leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re not alone in this. I’m thinking about it too — every hour.”
“Then tell me,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “What are we doing? Are we waiting for your father to magically change his mind? Or are we going to make a life without his approval?”
Danish sighed. “It’s not easy for me to go against him. You know what he means to me. After Mom died, he was everything.”
Kavya reached for his hand. “And what about me? I’ve burned bridges, Danish. I’m hanging by one thread — you. Don’t make me feel like I chose wrong.”
He looked at her, eyes softening. “You didn’t choose wrong. You chose love. And so did I.”
She breathed in shakily. “Then maybe it’s time we stop waiting.”
Danish paused, then nodded slowly. “You’re right. If we keep hoping someone else will shape our future, we’ll never live it.”
There was a long silence between them — but this time, it was different. It was the calm that comes after a storm. A quiet decision being made.
After few days, Kavya was sitting on the edge of the bed, still shaken by the reality that stood in front of them like a wall—high, heavy, and cold. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked at the hem of her kurti, lost in her thoughts. Danish paced quietly in front of her, running a hand through his hair, then finally stopped and turned toward her with resolve in his eyes.
“Kavya,” he said gently, “I’ve been thinking… Let me try talking to my father one last time.”
She looked up at him, surprised.
“I know it’s not going to be easy,” he continued, sitting next to her. “But I’m his only son. He loves me. Deep down, I believe he just needs time to understand. I owe it to both of us to try one more time.”
Kavya's lips parted, unsure if it was hope or anxiety rising in her chest. “You think he’ll even listen?”
Danish nodded. “He’s angry now—shocked, maybe. But I’ll talk to him when things are calmer. Not about religion. Not about the past. Just about us. About what I feel. What you mean to me.”
Kavya felt a small flicker of hope light up inside her.
“But,” Danish added, turning to face her squarely, “I can’t be the only one fighting, Kavya. You need to talk to Rahul. And your parents.”
Her breath caught.
“I know it scares you,” he said gently, “but you can’t keep hiding. Every day you wait, it becomes harder. It’s not just about being with me—it’s about being honest with yourself, too.”
Kavya lowered her eyes, her thoughts spiraling.
“I... I’ll try,” she said quietly. “But you know my parents. And Rahul—he’s in a different world right now, thinking everything is fine.”
“I’ll be with you through all of it,” Danish promised. “But we can’t build anything lasting on a lie, Kavya. If we want a future, it has to start with truth.”
After a week Danish went to Hyderabad to talk to his father one last time.
The train rolled into Hyderabad late in the evening. Danish stepped out with a sense of heaviness he couldn’t shake. The familiar air of the city didn’t feel like home anymore—it felt like a battlefield where he was about to fight for the woman he loved.
He reached the house around 8 PM. Danish sat in the living room of their Hyderabad home, sipping tea silently. The clock ticked past 9 PM. His father, Feroz Khan, had just returned from a neighborhood gathering and was settling into his usual spot on the veranda, a newspaper tucked under his arm.
Danish (nervously):
"Abbu, thodi der baat kar sakte hain?"
(Dad, can we talk for a bit?)
Feroz (looking at him calmly):
"Haan, bolo. Sab theek hai?"
(Yes, tell me. Everything okay?)
Danish hesitated for a moment, then sat forward.
Danish:
"Main Kavya ke baare mein baat karna chahta hoon... poori sachchai ke saath."
(I want to talk to you about Kavya... with complete honesty.)
Feroz raised an eyebrow, giving a small nod. Danish continued.
Danish:
"Abbu, main Kavya se pyaar karta hoon. Hum Mumbai mein kaafi waqt se saath reh rahe hain. Lekin baat itni seedhi nahi hai..."
(Dad, I’m in love with Kavya. We’ve been living together in Mumbai for a while. But it’s not that simple...)
Feroz now looked more alert. He sat upright, his tone steady.
Feroz:
"Seedhi nahi hai matlab?"
(What do you mean it’s not simple?)
Danish (lowering his voice):
"Woh pehle se shaadi-shuda hai... Rahul naam hai uske pati ka. Lekin unka rishta bas naam ka hai. Woh dono emotionally alag ho chuke hain. Kavya ab divorce lena chahti hai."
(She’s already married… her husband’s name is Rahul. But their relationship is only in name now. They’ve grown apart emotionally, and she wants a divorce.)
Feroz’s face remained unreadable, but his silence grew heavier.
Feroz:
"Danish… tum samajhte ho na yeh kitna mushkil hai? Tum ek '. ladke ho. Woh ***** ***** hai… aur shaadi-shuda bhi."
(Danish… you do realize how difficult this is? You’re a '. man. She’s a ***** *****… and already married.)
Danish:
"Main samajhta hoon, Abbu. Har angle se mushkil hai. Par main jhoot bolkar ya chhupakar nahi chalna chahta. Kavya ke saath rehna chahta hoon, lekin aapke bina nahi."
(I do understand, Dad. It’s complicated from every angle. But I don’t want to lie or hide things. I want to be with Kavya, but not without your support.)
Feroz sighed, placing the newspaper beside him.
Feroz:
"Uske maa-baap kya jaante hain? Uska pati jaanta hai tum dono ke baare mein?"
(Do her parents know? Does her husband know about the two of you?)
Danish:
"Nahi... abhi tak nahi. Woh bhi dar rahi hai batane se. Main usse keh raha hoon ki sabko sach bataye. Aur ab main aapse keh raha hoon."
(No… not yet. She’s also scared to say anything. I’ve told her she should tell the truth. And now, I’m being honest with you.)
Feroz (quietly):
"Beta, main tumhara dard samajhta hoon. Par mujhe waqt chahiye. Is faisle ke peeche sirf pyaar nahi, zimmedari bhi hoti hai."
(Son, I understand your feelings. But I need time. This decision isn’t just about love—it's about responsibility too.)
Danish nodded, visibly emotional but respectful.
Danish:
"Main samajhta hoon, Abbu. Main sirf yeh chahta hoon ki aap ek baar Kavya ko bina kisi bias ke dekhein. Sirf ek insaan ke roop mein."
(I understand, Dad. I just want you to see Kavya once—without any bias. Just as a person.)
Feroz looked at him for a long moment. Then, with a softer tone:
Feroz:
"Main sochunga, Danish. Tumhara beta hone ka matlab yeh nahi ki main har baat se sehmat ho jaun. Par main tumse pyar karta hoon, aur yeh baat main bhool nahi sakta."
(I’ll think about it, Danish. Being your father doesn’t mean I’ll agree with everything. But I love you, and I can’t forget that.)
Danish had stayed in Hyderabad for nearly a week now. Every day, he found himself in quiet moments with his father, trying to gently nudge the conversation toward Kavya. Feroz Khan remained distant on the topic—cordial, but unreadable.
On the final evening before his return to Mumbai, Danish finally gathered the courage to have the conversation again.
They were sitting in the backyard, under the soft yellow light of the veranda. The sky was dusky, birds returning to their nests, and the sound of evening prayers echoing faintly from the mosque nearby.
Danish exhaled and began, this time without holding back.
Danish:
“Main Kavya se mohabbat karta hoon. Ye koi aaj ya kal ka nahi hai, maine waqt ke saath is rishte ko samjha hai, mehsoos kiya hai. Main usse shaadi karna chahta hoon.”
(I love Kavya. This isn’t something recent—over time I’ve understood and felt this relationship deeply. I want to marry her.)
Feroz didn’t react at first. He stared ahead, then slowly turned to face his son.
There was a long silence. Feroz Khan, a man of composure and few words, stood up and paced slowly.
Feroz:
“Tum jaante ho main tumse kitni mohabbat karta hoon, Danish. Tum mere akhri sahare ho. Par main kisi bhi haal mein apne usoolon ko nahi tod sakta.”
(You know how much I love you, Danish. You are my last support. But I cannot break my principles under any circumstance.)
Danish lowered his head, his chest heavy.
Danish:
“Toh kya meri khushi bhi aapke usoolon se kam hai?”
(Then is my happiness less important than your principles?)
Feroz looked into his son’s eyes. There was pain in both.
Feroz (after a pause):
“Main tumhari khushi ke khilaf nahi hoon. Par agar tum chahte ho ke main iss rishte ko apni dua doon… toh ek shart hai.”
(I’m not against your happiness. But if you want me to give my blessings to this relationship… then there is one condition.)
Danish straightened, his eyes searching his father’s.
Feroz:
“Kavya ko ., qubool karna hoga. Usse hamare deen, hamare riwazon ko apnana hoga. Sirf tab main iss rishte ko qabool kar sakta hoon.”
(Kavya must accept .,. She must embrace our faith, our traditions. Only then can I accept this relationship.)
The words hit Danish hard. He didn’t reply immediately. He stood still, thinking about what this meant for Kavya, for them both. He knew Kavya would not take such a decision lightly, but he also understood his father’s world.
Feroz (softening his tone):
“Main tumse tumhari mohabbat cheenne nahi chahata. Par agar woh ladki tumse sach mein mohabbat karti hai, toh woh samjhegi is faisle ki ahmiyat.”
(I don’t want to take your love away from you. But if that girl truly loves you, she will understand the importance of this decision.)
Danish nodded slowly, the weight of his father’s words pressing on his shoulders.
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