21-09-2025, 10:01 AM
The door clicked shut behind me, the sound swallowed by the cacophony of the Mumbai evening. For a moment, I just stood there, the city’s roar a deafening contrast to the ringing silence left by the fight. The humid air felt like my first breath of free air. Adnan whimpered against my shoulder, his small body trembling, and the reality of what I had just done crashed down.
With the heavy duffel bag slung over one shoulder and my son with me, I left the apartment that I had started hating much and went out onto the bustling street. The world was a blur of neon lights, honking horns, and a river of people that seemed to flow around us as if we were invisible. My cheek throbbed with a fiery, humiliating pain, a physical brand of my broken marriage.
“Mumma, where are we going?” Adnan whispered, his voice muffled against my neck.
“To Nani’s house, baba,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’re going to have a sleepover. It’s an adventure.”
A sob caught in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I must not fall apart. Not now. I hugged him tighter, stroking his hair. The journey felt both impossibly long and terrifyingly short until we finally arrived at Ammi’s building, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
What would she say? Would I get a lecture? An "I told you so"? The woman who had grilled me about Ranjeet just the night before was the last person I wanted to face in my moment of utter defeat. But she was also my only refuge.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and pressed the doorbell.
Door opened a moment later. Ammi stood there, her expression shifting instantly as she took in the scene. Her eyes saw the duffel bag, my son’s sleepy, tear-stained face, and then lifted it to mine. The irritation on her face vanished, replaced by a sharp, horrified intake of breath. She didn't see a defiant daughter with a secret lover. She saw the angry, red handprint that was blooming violently on my cheek.
“Nabila,” she breathed, her voice a ghost of a sound.
Without another word, she pulled us inside, slamming the door shut. Her hands came up to frame my face, her thumb gently tracing the edge of the mark left by Asif’s hand. Her critical eyes were now filled with a fierce, protective fire.
“That animal,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a cold rage. “He did this to you?”
The dam inside me finally broke. A raw, guttural sob tore from my throat, and I collapsed into her arms as the full weight of my shattered life came crashing down. She held me tightly, rocking me gently as I cried, just as she had when I was a child. Adnan clung to us both, his own quiet sobs joining mine.
“Shhh, my dear,” Ammi murmured, her voice a steel blade wrapped in velvet.
I narrated the whole incident after I gathered myself wiping the tears from my cheeks. She listened to me sympathetically and said,
“You are home. You did the right thing. I swear on my life, he will never touch you or Bittu again.”
Then she offered us the food. I had no interest in food nor I felt hungry so I gently denied.
After she had settled a sleeping Adnan into bed with warm milk, Ammi led me to the living room. She sat me down and gently began to press a cold compress against my swollen cheek. She then returned from the kitchen with two steaming cups of chai.
“You are not going back, Nabila,” she said. It wasn't a question. It was a declaration.
I shook my head, my throat too tight to speak.
“This is our home. His power ends at that door,” she continued, her voice filled with a cold fury. “Tomorrow, we will find a lawyer. We will handle this the right way. You will not be weak. You will be a lioness for your son.”
Just as she spoke, a harsh buzz shattered the quiet. My phone, lying on the sofa, lit up with a name that made my blood run cold: Asif.
“Do not answer,” Ammi commanded, her eyes like flint. “He has lost that privilege.”
With a trembling hand, I silenced the call and turned the phone off. The silence that returned felt heavier, but also safer. A while later, needing to feel connected to a world beyond these four walls, I switched it back on, keeping it on silent. The screen lit up with a dozen missed calls from Asif and vicious texts I refused to open. And then, at the very top, a WhatsApp message from Ranjeet.
Ranjeet: Can’t stop thinking about that picture, my wildfire. Are you thinking of me? I hope Asif’s return didn’t dim your glow. Let me know you’re okay.
His words, meant to be flirty, landed like a punch to my gut. Glow. The woman in that picture was a stranger to me now. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Nabila: Ranjeet, something’s happened. It’s bad. I can’t talk right now.
The reply was almost instantaneous, his tone shifting from playful to deeply concerned.
Ranjeet: Nabila? What is it? What happened? Are you hurt? Are you and Adnan safe? Tell me where you are.
Before I could reply, my phone vibrated with his call. On pure, unthinking instinct, I answered and walked to the small, enclosed balcony, shielding the conversation from my mother.
“Hello?” My voice was a reedy, broken thing.
“Nabila? Thank God,” his voice flooded the line, raw with fear. “Talk to me. What happened? Is everything alright?”
His panic was so genuine it pierced through my own shock. A sob escaped my lips. “Yes,” I choked out. “We had a fight. He hit me. I took Adnan and I left.”
There was a dead silence. Then I heard him take a sharp, ragged breath. When he spoke again, his voice was a low, terrifying growl. “That bastard. I’m going to kill him. Where are you? Nabila, tell me where you are. I’m coming to you right now.”
“No!” The word was out before I could stop it, sharp and panicked. “No, Ranjeet, you can’t. I’m safe. We’re safe. I’m at my mother’s house.”
“Your mother’s? Okay. I can be there in twenty minutes—”
“Ranjeet, please,” I begged, cutting him off. My world was already an inferno; adding him to the mix would be like adding gasoline. “It’s too much. It’s too complicated. My mother is here. I can’t explain it to you right now. I just can’t.”
He was silent for another long moment. “Okay,” he finally said, his voice strained. “Okay, Jaan. I won’t come. Not tonight. But you have to promise me something. You are not alone in this. Do you understand me? This doesn’t change us, Nabila. It just… makes us happen faster. I love you.”
The raw sincerity of his words was a comfort so profound it almost brought me to my knees. “I love you, too,” I whispered back.
“Get some rest,” he said softly. “We’ll face tomorrow together.”
We hung up. Emotionally drained, I walked back into the living room. Ammi was watching me, her expression sharp and probing.
“That was not Asif,” she stated. “Who was that, Nabila? Who is the man you call in the middle of your life’s worst crisis?”
I took a shaky breath. “ Ranjeet,” I said, my voice low but clear.
Ammi’s expression tightened. “Ohhho.”
“He’s more than a friend, Ammi,” I confessed. “He’s… he’s the reason I found the strength to stand up to Asif tonight. He reminded me of what it felt like to be respected.” I saw the fear and cultural disapproval flash in her eyes.
“You have just run from a burning house,” she said, her voice strained. “Are you telling me you are running straight into another fire?”
“No,” I said, pleading with her to understand. “He’s not a fire, Ammi. He’s the water. He just found out, on that call. He wanted to come here, right now. I told him no. I told him I had to handle this with my family first.”
That made her pause. Her sharp gaze searched my face, not for lies, but for the truth of my character. Finally, she let out a long, weary sigh.
“Your life is a mess, beta,” she said, her voice softer now. “First things first. We deal with Asif. That is our only battle right now.” She gave my hand a firm squeeze. “This… Ranjeet… I don’t want to hear about him right now. We will talk about him later. One battle at a time.”
It wasn’t an approval, but it wasn’t a rejection either. It was a truce.
“Now,” she said, her tone all practical command. “You and Adnan will sleep in your old room. It is safe there.” She took the phone from my hand. “And this stays with me tonight, switched off. No calls from Asif. No calls from… anyone. Tonight, you just rest.”
I nodded, surrendering completely to her care. I was bruised and heartbroken, but for the first time in a long, long time, I wasn’t alone.
The first light of next day morning was a clean slate. I woke slowly, the dull throb on my cheek a grim reminder that this new life had been born from violence. After quietly getting dressed, I faced my reflection. An ugly, purplish bruise was blooming on my cheek. Staring at it, I felt a cold, hard rage solidify in my gut. This was the proof. This was the end.
Ammi was a fortress of calm, and we ate breakfast in a quiet solidarity. Just as we were finishing, the shrill ring of the landline cut through the quiet. Ammi’s back went rigid. She walked over and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” she said. There was a pause. Her expression hardened. “Your son is not my concern right now. Nabila and Bittu are with me. They are safe.” She listened, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line. I could hear the tinny, agitated voice of Asif’s mother.
“Shame?” Ammi’s voice was dangerously low. “You want to speak of shame? Let us speak of the shame of a man who raises his hand against his wife. My daughter did not ‘run away.’ She fled for her life, and she came home.”
Another pause. I held my breath.
“No,” Ammi said, her voice like ice. “The time for discussion in your house is over. Now you will listen to me. If your son wants his wife back, he will come to this door. He will stand before us and apologize. He will promise me that he will never lay a hand on her again. Those are my terms.”
She held the phone away from her ear, and I could hear my mother-in-law’s shrieking replaced by Asif’s arrogant, booming voice. Ammi listened for a moment longer, her face impassive.
“I see,” she said finally. She hung up the phone, the definitive click echoing in the silent room. She turned to me, her eyes blazing. “He refuses. He says you left willingly, so you must come back by yourself. That coward.”
A wave of dizzying relief washed over me. He had been given a chance to show an ounce of remorse, and he had spat on it.
“I’m not going back, Ammi,” I said, my own voice surprisingly strong. “Not ever.”
A slow, proud smile spread across Ammi’s face, and she pulled me into a fierce hug. “It's alright."
She released me and sat beside me on the sofa, her gesture one of alliance. “I was awake all night,” she began, her voice low and serious. “I was thinking and thinking. Nabila, if we are to fight this war, I cannot be blind. I need you to tell me everything. No more secrets.”
I knew what she was asking.
“This Ranjeet,” she continued. “It is serious, isn't it?”
I could only nod.
“How serious?” she pressed gently. “I am your mother. I am on your side. But I need the whole truth, Nabila. Be honest please.”
Finally the moment of truth had come.There could be no more secrets.
“It’s… very serious, Ammi,” I whispered, my cheeks burning.
“How far have you gone?” She asked.
“We have done everything” I replied to her shyly.
The silence that followed was absolute. I risked a glance at her. Ammi had closed her eyes, her face a mask of profound pain. When she opened them, they were swimming with tears.
“Oh, Nabila… what have you done?” her voice was a ragged whisper.
“Do you understand what this means? Do you understand the weapon you have just handed them?” Her voice grew stronger, fueled by a rising, terrified anger. “He will call you an adulteress! An unfit mother! He will use this to take Adnan away from you, Nabila! Are you stupid ?!”
Her voice felt like it was choking me. “No one knows, Ammi,” I said desperately.
“It's not gonna be hidden forever. What will people say? ” she countered.
She looked at me, her daughter, the source of her deepest love and her greatest fears. The disappointment was still etched on her face.
“He loves me and I love him. I don't care about people. Let them talk whatever they like” I shot back.
“Whatever it is. It's not good. I'm not happy.” She replied firmly.
“Ammi,I'm happy. Won't you be happy if I'm happy ?” I tried to calm her down.
“ It's not like that,” She said.
“ Then ?” I asked.
“Leave it for now.What is done is done,” she said, her voice heavy but firm.
“ But Nabila, do think about your son before doing anything stupid” she added standing up. She then went to her bedroom, leaving me alone sitting on the couch, confused, guilty and thinking what to do.
With the heavy duffel bag slung over one shoulder and my son with me, I left the apartment that I had started hating much and went out onto the bustling street. The world was a blur of neon lights, honking horns, and a river of people that seemed to flow around us as if we were invisible. My cheek throbbed with a fiery, humiliating pain, a physical brand of my broken marriage.
“Mumma, where are we going?” Adnan whispered, his voice muffled against my neck.
“To Nani’s house, baba,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’re going to have a sleepover. It’s an adventure.”
A sob caught in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I must not fall apart. Not now. I hugged him tighter, stroking his hair. The journey felt both impossibly long and terrifyingly short until we finally arrived at Ammi’s building, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
What would she say? Would I get a lecture? An "I told you so"? The woman who had grilled me about Ranjeet just the night before was the last person I wanted to face in my moment of utter defeat. But she was also my only refuge.
I took a deep, shuddering breath and pressed the doorbell.
Door opened a moment later. Ammi stood there, her expression shifting instantly as she took in the scene. Her eyes saw the duffel bag, my son’s sleepy, tear-stained face, and then lifted it to mine. The irritation on her face vanished, replaced by a sharp, horrified intake of breath. She didn't see a defiant daughter with a secret lover. She saw the angry, red handprint that was blooming violently on my cheek.
“Nabila,” she breathed, her voice a ghost of a sound.
Without another word, she pulled us inside, slamming the door shut. Her hands came up to frame my face, her thumb gently tracing the edge of the mark left by Asif’s hand. Her critical eyes were now filled with a fierce, protective fire.
“That animal,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a cold rage. “He did this to you?”
The dam inside me finally broke. A raw, guttural sob tore from my throat, and I collapsed into her arms as the full weight of my shattered life came crashing down. She held me tightly, rocking me gently as I cried, just as she had when I was a child. Adnan clung to us both, his own quiet sobs joining mine.
“Shhh, my dear,” Ammi murmured, her voice a steel blade wrapped in velvet.
I narrated the whole incident after I gathered myself wiping the tears from my cheeks. She listened to me sympathetically and said,
“You are home. You did the right thing. I swear on my life, he will never touch you or Bittu again.”
Then she offered us the food. I had no interest in food nor I felt hungry so I gently denied.
After she had settled a sleeping Adnan into bed with warm milk, Ammi led me to the living room. She sat me down and gently began to press a cold compress against my swollen cheek. She then returned from the kitchen with two steaming cups of chai.
“You are not going back, Nabila,” she said. It wasn't a question. It was a declaration.
I shook my head, my throat too tight to speak.
“This is our home. His power ends at that door,” she continued, her voice filled with a cold fury. “Tomorrow, we will find a lawyer. We will handle this the right way. You will not be weak. You will be a lioness for your son.”
Just as she spoke, a harsh buzz shattered the quiet. My phone, lying on the sofa, lit up with a name that made my blood run cold: Asif.
“Do not answer,” Ammi commanded, her eyes like flint. “He has lost that privilege.”
With a trembling hand, I silenced the call and turned the phone off. The silence that returned felt heavier, but also safer. A while later, needing to feel connected to a world beyond these four walls, I switched it back on, keeping it on silent. The screen lit up with a dozen missed calls from Asif and vicious texts I refused to open. And then, at the very top, a WhatsApp message from Ranjeet.
Ranjeet: Can’t stop thinking about that picture, my wildfire. Are you thinking of me? I hope Asif’s return didn’t dim your glow. Let me know you’re okay.
His words, meant to be flirty, landed like a punch to my gut. Glow. The woman in that picture was a stranger to me now. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Nabila: Ranjeet, something’s happened. It’s bad. I can’t talk right now.
The reply was almost instantaneous, his tone shifting from playful to deeply concerned.
Ranjeet: Nabila? What is it? What happened? Are you hurt? Are you and Adnan safe? Tell me where you are.
Before I could reply, my phone vibrated with his call. On pure, unthinking instinct, I answered and walked to the small, enclosed balcony, shielding the conversation from my mother.
“Hello?” My voice was a reedy, broken thing.
“Nabila? Thank God,” his voice flooded the line, raw with fear. “Talk to me. What happened? Is everything alright?”
His panic was so genuine it pierced through my own shock. A sob escaped my lips. “Yes,” I choked out. “We had a fight. He hit me. I took Adnan and I left.”
There was a dead silence. Then I heard him take a sharp, ragged breath. When he spoke again, his voice was a low, terrifying growl. “That bastard. I’m going to kill him. Where are you? Nabila, tell me where you are. I’m coming to you right now.”
“No!” The word was out before I could stop it, sharp and panicked. “No, Ranjeet, you can’t. I’m safe. We’re safe. I’m at my mother’s house.”
“Your mother’s? Okay. I can be there in twenty minutes—”
“Ranjeet, please,” I begged, cutting him off. My world was already an inferno; adding him to the mix would be like adding gasoline. “It’s too much. It’s too complicated. My mother is here. I can’t explain it to you right now. I just can’t.”
He was silent for another long moment. “Okay,” he finally said, his voice strained. “Okay, Jaan. I won’t come. Not tonight. But you have to promise me something. You are not alone in this. Do you understand me? This doesn’t change us, Nabila. It just… makes us happen faster. I love you.”
The raw sincerity of his words was a comfort so profound it almost brought me to my knees. “I love you, too,” I whispered back.
“Get some rest,” he said softly. “We’ll face tomorrow together.”
We hung up. Emotionally drained, I walked back into the living room. Ammi was watching me, her expression sharp and probing.
“That was not Asif,” she stated. “Who was that, Nabila? Who is the man you call in the middle of your life’s worst crisis?”
I took a shaky breath. “ Ranjeet,” I said, my voice low but clear.
Ammi’s expression tightened. “Ohhho.”
“He’s more than a friend, Ammi,” I confessed. “He’s… he’s the reason I found the strength to stand up to Asif tonight. He reminded me of what it felt like to be respected.” I saw the fear and cultural disapproval flash in her eyes.
“You have just run from a burning house,” she said, her voice strained. “Are you telling me you are running straight into another fire?”
“No,” I said, pleading with her to understand. “He’s not a fire, Ammi. He’s the water. He just found out, on that call. He wanted to come here, right now. I told him no. I told him I had to handle this with my family first.”
That made her pause. Her sharp gaze searched my face, not for lies, but for the truth of my character. Finally, she let out a long, weary sigh.
“Your life is a mess, beta,” she said, her voice softer now. “First things first. We deal with Asif. That is our only battle right now.” She gave my hand a firm squeeze. “This… Ranjeet… I don’t want to hear about him right now. We will talk about him later. One battle at a time.”
It wasn’t an approval, but it wasn’t a rejection either. It was a truce.
“Now,” she said, her tone all practical command. “You and Adnan will sleep in your old room. It is safe there.” She took the phone from my hand. “And this stays with me tonight, switched off. No calls from Asif. No calls from… anyone. Tonight, you just rest.”
I nodded, surrendering completely to her care. I was bruised and heartbroken, but for the first time in a long, long time, I wasn’t alone.
The first light of next day morning was a clean slate. I woke slowly, the dull throb on my cheek a grim reminder that this new life had been born from violence. After quietly getting dressed, I faced my reflection. An ugly, purplish bruise was blooming on my cheek. Staring at it, I felt a cold, hard rage solidify in my gut. This was the proof. This was the end.
Ammi was a fortress of calm, and we ate breakfast in a quiet solidarity. Just as we were finishing, the shrill ring of the landline cut through the quiet. Ammi’s back went rigid. She walked over and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” she said. There was a pause. Her expression hardened. “Your son is not my concern right now. Nabila and Bittu are with me. They are safe.” She listened, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line. I could hear the tinny, agitated voice of Asif’s mother.
“Shame?” Ammi’s voice was dangerously low. “You want to speak of shame? Let us speak of the shame of a man who raises his hand against his wife. My daughter did not ‘run away.’ She fled for her life, and she came home.”
Another pause. I held my breath.
“No,” Ammi said, her voice like ice. “The time for discussion in your house is over. Now you will listen to me. If your son wants his wife back, he will come to this door. He will stand before us and apologize. He will promise me that he will never lay a hand on her again. Those are my terms.”
She held the phone away from her ear, and I could hear my mother-in-law’s shrieking replaced by Asif’s arrogant, booming voice. Ammi listened for a moment longer, her face impassive.
“I see,” she said finally. She hung up the phone, the definitive click echoing in the silent room. She turned to me, her eyes blazing. “He refuses. He says you left willingly, so you must come back by yourself. That coward.”
A wave of dizzying relief washed over me. He had been given a chance to show an ounce of remorse, and he had spat on it.
“I’m not going back, Ammi,” I said, my own voice surprisingly strong. “Not ever.”
A slow, proud smile spread across Ammi’s face, and she pulled me into a fierce hug. “It's alright."
She released me and sat beside me on the sofa, her gesture one of alliance. “I was awake all night,” she began, her voice low and serious. “I was thinking and thinking. Nabila, if we are to fight this war, I cannot be blind. I need you to tell me everything. No more secrets.”
I knew what she was asking.
“This Ranjeet,” she continued. “It is serious, isn't it?”
I could only nod.
“How serious?” she pressed gently. “I am your mother. I am on your side. But I need the whole truth, Nabila. Be honest please.”
Finally the moment of truth had come.There could be no more secrets.
“It’s… very serious, Ammi,” I whispered, my cheeks burning.
“How far have you gone?” She asked.
“We have done everything” I replied to her shyly.
The silence that followed was absolute. I risked a glance at her. Ammi had closed her eyes, her face a mask of profound pain. When she opened them, they were swimming with tears.
“Oh, Nabila… what have you done?” her voice was a ragged whisper.
“Do you understand what this means? Do you understand the weapon you have just handed them?” Her voice grew stronger, fueled by a rising, terrified anger. “He will call you an adulteress! An unfit mother! He will use this to take Adnan away from you, Nabila! Are you stupid ?!”
Her voice felt like it was choking me. “No one knows, Ammi,” I said desperately.
“It's not gonna be hidden forever. What will people say? ” she countered.
She looked at me, her daughter, the source of her deepest love and her greatest fears. The disappointment was still etched on her face.
“He loves me and I love him. I don't care about people. Let them talk whatever they like” I shot back.
“Whatever it is. It's not good. I'm not happy.” She replied firmly.
“Ammi,I'm happy. Won't you be happy if I'm happy ?” I tried to calm her down.
“ It's not like that,” She said.
“ Then ?” I asked.
“Leave it for now.What is done is done,” she said, her voice heavy but firm.
“ But Nabila, do think about your son before doing anything stupid” she added standing up. She then went to her bedroom, leaving me alone sitting on the couch, confused, guilty and thinking what to do.
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