Turmoils- A Muslim Love Story

Chapter 15

The sun rose high up in the sky. I stood with a mug of hot tea in my hands, just staring at it. Farhan's house was at such a peaceful and beautiful place that sometimes, I thought about those noisy roads back in Multan and couldn't help but make a contrast between the two.

Life after my adoptive father passed away had been very difficult. Authorities didn't bother trying to figure out whether I had anymore relatives and he had been an only child, his parents dead.

The siblings and cousins of his dead wife refused to take in a girl they had no idea existed and I was referred to a place where all the homeless children go. Of course, I was so angry and it felt so unfair to me at the time. As someone whose protector, her father, had been well and alive, I still got sent to an orphanage. Not just that, but I had to be adopted by a man who didn't have the energy nor the time to build a relationship with me.

The only two things I got from him was his name and a roof over my head.

I don't hate him. My step-father.

When he adopted me, he'd promised me a life of comfort until he'd stay alive in exchange for me inheriting and protecting the house he loved and cherished so much. The house with the memories of his wife whom he loved so much.

His love made me envious. He never forgot her and never ill-treated me. His butlers and maids were directed to taking care of me whenever and however possible. But after he passed away, the court decided it was too risky for me to live on my own.

At the orphanage I met Asmara, who broke me out of my shell. She taught me to socialize, to love people around me. I broke my rule of never speaking to a living human being again but I was unable to forgive that person and Zain. Too difficult for me.

I was broken out of my thoughts when Ayan came in jingling his keys.

"Hey I'm about to go out for some work. Want me to drop you off at mom's?"

Without even contemplating, I said yes in a heartbeat.

It had been half an hour since I'd come here when the bell rang. Since Nisha was making lunch, I answered the door.

It was my husband.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I glanced at the clock. He wasn't supposed to be here at this hour. He stepped inside after murmuring a small greeting to me. Without questioning him though, I let him in.

I let him go into Aunty's room and went in the kitchen instead to help Nisha set up lunch.

After I was done setting up Aunty's tray I picked it up and asked Nisha to eat in the kitchen since Farhan was in the room too. She nodded and I walked inside.

"You must do as I say Farhan," Aunty was saying as I placed the tray on the table.

She seemed visibly upset about something Farhan had said or was saying because he opened his mouth to argue again.

"But mom. What is she going to do there anyway? It's my friend's house she'll be bored. Please let her stay here till I come back."

"You can't do that! Haven't you thought how-" she couldn't complete her sentence because she started coughing.

"Okay, okay it's okay!" I started frantically and handed her a glass of water.

I could tell her wound hurt because she tried to minimise her body's jerks. Nisha rushed inside.

"Hold her wound please!" I shouted, tearing up.

Aunty didn't seem good because her eyes had turned red and water was flowing down her cheeks. In between, she kept groaning slightly because of pain.