29-09-2025, 10:08 PM
The morning sun filtered through the curtains of our bedroom, casting soft golden stripes across the living room floor. It was a Sunday, a holiday with no work to pull me away, and I woke up feeling lighter despite the faint ache in my body-a delicious reminder of Ranjeet’s touch from yesterday. His last WhatsApp message still brought a secret smile to my lips as I stretched, the thrill of our flirty banter warming me.
I looked at the clock. It was already 9 am. I never woke up that late. I felt a little guilty in my mind also realizing Adnan was awake before me. I went to the kitchen. Ammi was preparing breakfast.
“I'm so sorry Ammi. I overslept today.” I said.
She was too busy and replied without looking at me- “ It's alright, dear. I too didn't want to disturb you. You deserve it ,at least on Holidays”
Adnan’s giggle snapped me back to the living room. He was sprawled on the rug, building a lopsided tower of colorful blocks. “Mummy, look! It’s a rocket!” he announced, his eyes bright with pride as he added another block, only for it to wobble and crash.
“Wow, champ, that’s an epic rocket,” I said, kneeling beside him and helping him gather the pieces. “Let’s make it taller this time, okay?” His enthusiasm was infectious, and I sank into the moment, my heart swelling with love for my little boy.
Ammi was in the kitchen, the clatter of pots and the aroma of aloo parathas filling the air. “Nabila, come help with breakfast,” she called, her voice a mix of command and affection. I ruffled Adnan’s hair and joined her, rolling dough balls while she stirred a pot of chai.
We worked in comfortable silence, the rhythm of cooking grounding me. Adnan darted in, sneaking a piece of paratha, and I laughed, swatting his hand playfully. “You little thief, wait for breakfast!” I teased, and he grinned, scampering back to his blocks.
At the breakfast table, Adnan munched happily on his paratha, butter smeared on his lips, while Maa’s expression turned serious. She set her chai down, her eyes locking onto mine with that piercing look that always saw too much. “Nabila,” she said quietly, so Adnan wouldn’t hear, “I need to ask you one last time. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to Asif? He’s been calling, saying he’s changed. Maybe for Adnan’s sake…”
My stomach tightened, memories of Asif’s temper-his shouting, his cruel words, the times his hands left bruises-flooded back. I set my paratha down, meeting her gaze firmly. “Ammi, no. I’m done with him. He was abusive, manipulative, and his temper made our lives hell. I’m happier without him-Adnan and I both are. I don’t need him to be a good mother, and Adnan doesn’t need a father who hurts us.”
Ammi’s eyes softened, but there was a flicker of something else-suspicion, maybe, about the late nights and flushed cheeks I’d come home with lately. She didn’t mention it, though, just nodded slowly. “You’re right, beta. I’ve seen how strong you are, how you light up for Adnan. If you’re sure, then I’m with you. We should end this properly-get the divorce finalized.”
I nodded, a weight lifting off my chest. “It’s time. I want to be free, for me and Adnan.” The words felt like a vow, and Ammi’s small smile told me she understood, even if her silence hid questions about my life she wasn’t ready to ask.
After breakfast, while Adnan played, Ammi stepped onto the balcony to call my elder brother, Sameer, in Delhi. I could hear her voice, steady but emotional, explaining Asif’s abuse, my decision, the need for a divorce. I busied myself cleaning up, but caught Sameer’s supportive tone through the phone. When Ammi returned, her face was resolute. “Sameer agrees,” she said. “He said you’re doing the right thing, and he’ll support whatever you need. He’s proud of you, Nabila.”
My throat tightened, and I blinked back tears. “Thanks, Maa,” I whispered, pulling her into a quick hug. Adnan looked up, curious, but I just smiled at him, keeping his world light.
That afternoon, after Adnan’s nap, we left him with a trusted neighbor and headed to a divorce lawyer’s office in Dadar. Ms. Sharma, a no-nonsense woman with sharp eyes, welcomed us into her small, tidy office, stacks of files neatly arranged. I explained everything-Asif’s abuse, our separation, my desire to finalize the divorce.
Ms. Sharma listened intently, jotting notes. “As '.s, your marriage is governed by the '. Personal Law (Shariat) Application Act, 1937, and for divorce, we’ll proceed under the Dissolution of '. Marriages Act, 1939,” she said, her voice steady. “Given the history of abuse, you have grounds for faskh (judicial dissolution) on the basis of cruelty. Since you’ve been separated now, and you’re the primary caregiver for Adnan, custody should be straightforward under ---c law, which prioritizes the mother for a young child. We’ll need evidence of the abuse-texts, witnesses, or medical records-to strengthen the case. If Asif contests, we may need to present this in court, but we can start the process immediately.”
I nodded, my resolve hardening. “I just want it done. I don’t want him near us again.” Ammi squeezed my hand under the table, her support unwavering, for which I was really grateful too.
Ms. Sharma outlined the process-filing the petition, serving Asif notice, and preparing for potential court hearings. “It could take a few months, depending on whether he contests,” she said. “Gather any evidence you have, and I’ll draft the petition this week.”
We left her office with a plan, the decision feeling like a step toward freedom. Ammi and I stopped at a café nearby, sipping cold coffee while Adnan’s absence tugged at my heart. “You’re doing the right thing, Nabila,” Ammi said, her voice firm but soft. “You deserve a life free of him. And Adnan deserves a happy mother.” Her eyes focussed on me, and I wondered if she suspected Ranjeet’s role in my recent glow. She didn’t ask, though, and I was grateful for her silence.
I smiled, thinking of Adnan’s giggle, the ice cream smear on his face last night. “I know, Ammi. I’m ready to close that chapter.” My phone buzzed in my purse, and I glanced at it-a new message from Ranjeet: “Missed you today, firecracker. Hope you’re surviving the domestic life. Still thinking about you… all of you. ?”
My cheeks warmed, and I slipped the phone back, aware of Ammi’s gaze but choosing not to meet it. Ranjeet’s teasing was a spark in my veins, but today was for Adnan, Ammi, and this new path forward. Tomorrow, I’d see him again, and the thought sent a thrill through me. For now, I sipped my coffee, feeling the strength of my family’s support and the promise of a life where I could be Nabila-mother, daughter, lover, and finally, fully myself.
I looked at the clock. It was already 9 am. I never woke up that late. I felt a little guilty in my mind also realizing Adnan was awake before me. I went to the kitchen. Ammi was preparing breakfast.
“I'm so sorry Ammi. I overslept today.” I said.
She was too busy and replied without looking at me- “ It's alright, dear. I too didn't want to disturb you. You deserve it ,at least on Holidays”
Adnan’s giggle snapped me back to the living room. He was sprawled on the rug, building a lopsided tower of colorful blocks. “Mummy, look! It’s a rocket!” he announced, his eyes bright with pride as he added another block, only for it to wobble and crash.
“Wow, champ, that’s an epic rocket,” I said, kneeling beside him and helping him gather the pieces. “Let’s make it taller this time, okay?” His enthusiasm was infectious, and I sank into the moment, my heart swelling with love for my little boy.
Ammi was in the kitchen, the clatter of pots and the aroma of aloo parathas filling the air. “Nabila, come help with breakfast,” she called, her voice a mix of command and affection. I ruffled Adnan’s hair and joined her, rolling dough balls while she stirred a pot of chai.
We worked in comfortable silence, the rhythm of cooking grounding me. Adnan darted in, sneaking a piece of paratha, and I laughed, swatting his hand playfully. “You little thief, wait for breakfast!” I teased, and he grinned, scampering back to his blocks.
At the breakfast table, Adnan munched happily on his paratha, butter smeared on his lips, while Maa’s expression turned serious. She set her chai down, her eyes locking onto mine with that piercing look that always saw too much. “Nabila,” she said quietly, so Adnan wouldn’t hear, “I need to ask you one last time. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to Asif? He’s been calling, saying he’s changed. Maybe for Adnan’s sake…”
My stomach tightened, memories of Asif’s temper-his shouting, his cruel words, the times his hands left bruises-flooded back. I set my paratha down, meeting her gaze firmly. “Ammi, no. I’m done with him. He was abusive, manipulative, and his temper made our lives hell. I’m happier without him-Adnan and I both are. I don’t need him to be a good mother, and Adnan doesn’t need a father who hurts us.”
Ammi’s eyes softened, but there was a flicker of something else-suspicion, maybe, about the late nights and flushed cheeks I’d come home with lately. She didn’t mention it, though, just nodded slowly. “You’re right, beta. I’ve seen how strong you are, how you light up for Adnan. If you’re sure, then I’m with you. We should end this properly-get the divorce finalized.”
I nodded, a weight lifting off my chest. “It’s time. I want to be free, for me and Adnan.” The words felt like a vow, and Ammi’s small smile told me she understood, even if her silence hid questions about my life she wasn’t ready to ask.
After breakfast, while Adnan played, Ammi stepped onto the balcony to call my elder brother, Sameer, in Delhi. I could hear her voice, steady but emotional, explaining Asif’s abuse, my decision, the need for a divorce. I busied myself cleaning up, but caught Sameer’s supportive tone through the phone. When Ammi returned, her face was resolute. “Sameer agrees,” she said. “He said you’re doing the right thing, and he’ll support whatever you need. He’s proud of you, Nabila.”
My throat tightened, and I blinked back tears. “Thanks, Maa,” I whispered, pulling her into a quick hug. Adnan looked up, curious, but I just smiled at him, keeping his world light.
That afternoon, after Adnan’s nap, we left him with a trusted neighbor and headed to a divorce lawyer’s office in Dadar. Ms. Sharma, a no-nonsense woman with sharp eyes, welcomed us into her small, tidy office, stacks of files neatly arranged. I explained everything-Asif’s abuse, our separation, my desire to finalize the divorce.
Ms. Sharma listened intently, jotting notes. “As '.s, your marriage is governed by the '. Personal Law (Shariat) Application Act, 1937, and for divorce, we’ll proceed under the Dissolution of '. Marriages Act, 1939,” she said, her voice steady. “Given the history of abuse, you have grounds for faskh (judicial dissolution) on the basis of cruelty. Since you’ve been separated now, and you’re the primary caregiver for Adnan, custody should be straightforward under ---c law, which prioritizes the mother for a young child. We’ll need evidence of the abuse-texts, witnesses, or medical records-to strengthen the case. If Asif contests, we may need to present this in court, but we can start the process immediately.”
I nodded, my resolve hardening. “I just want it done. I don’t want him near us again.” Ammi squeezed my hand under the table, her support unwavering, for which I was really grateful too.
Ms. Sharma outlined the process-filing the petition, serving Asif notice, and preparing for potential court hearings. “It could take a few months, depending on whether he contests,” she said. “Gather any evidence you have, and I’ll draft the petition this week.”
We left her office with a plan, the decision feeling like a step toward freedom. Ammi and I stopped at a café nearby, sipping cold coffee while Adnan’s absence tugged at my heart. “You’re doing the right thing, Nabila,” Ammi said, her voice firm but soft. “You deserve a life free of him. And Adnan deserves a happy mother.” Her eyes focussed on me, and I wondered if she suspected Ranjeet’s role in my recent glow. She didn’t ask, though, and I was grateful for her silence.
I smiled, thinking of Adnan’s giggle, the ice cream smear on his face last night. “I know, Ammi. I’m ready to close that chapter.” My phone buzzed in my purse, and I glanced at it-a new message from Ranjeet: “Missed you today, firecracker. Hope you’re surviving the domestic life. Still thinking about you… all of you. ?”
My cheeks warmed, and I slipped the phone back, aware of Ammi’s gaze but choosing not to meet it. Ranjeet’s teasing was a spark in my veins, but today was for Adnan, Ammi, and this new path forward. Tomorrow, I’d see him again, and the thought sent a thrill through me. For now, I sipped my coffee, feeling the strength of my family’s support and the promise of a life where I could be Nabila-mother, daughter, lover, and finally, fully myself.
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