Chapter 48
Author's POV:
The city lights blurred against the car window as Aayat leaned her head back, eyes half-closed.
The drive home felt longer tonight — every red light, every sigh, every thought a reminder of the chaos she’d tried to bury.
Rayyan’s face flashed before her — the flowers, the crushed petals, his trembling voice.
He’d spent the whole day outside her office, sending her favorite things.
And every time, she insulted him .
Publicly. Coldly.
Still, he hadn’t left.
It was infuriating… and exhausting.
By the time she reached home, her body felt like lead. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she entered Khan Mansion — silent, dark except for the dim lamps glowing in the corridor.
She wanted nothing more than her bed. But just as she turned toward her room, voices echoed faintly from Ayaan’s room.
She stopped.
The door was slightly ajar, light spilling through the crack.
Inside, she heard low murmurs — familiar ones.
Sonia Khan and Sameer Khan.
Her brows furrowed. She pushed the door open.
Ayaan stood inside, folding clothes into a suitcase. Sonia and Sameer sat nearby, quiet, their expressions drawn with sadness.
At the sound of the door, Ayaan froze.
He didn’t turn.
Didn’t move.
But Sonia and Sameer immediately stood up.
Both approached Aayat slowly — Sonia’s hand rose and rested gently over Aayat’s head, Sameer’s followed.
Neither spoke a word.
Then, without explanation, they walked out.
The silence they left behind was deafening.
Aayat turned and quietly closed the door behind them.
When she faced Ayaan, he was still at the dresser, folding another shirt, deliberately avoiding her gaze.
For the first time — he didn’t look at her.
And that hurt more than she could admit.
“Ayaan…” she called softly.
No answer.
She took a step forward. “Ayaan, mein tumse baat kar rahi hoon.”
He didn’t turn. His hands kept folding clothes with mechanical calm.
Something in her snapped.
She moved closer and grabbed the neatly folded pile — flinging it out of the suitcase. The shirts hit the floor.
Still, he said nothing. He just bent down silently, picking them up again.
Folding. Packing.
She threw them out again.
And again.
Each time, he said nothing — his quiet like a mirror to her own guilt.
Finally, when she grabbed the bag itself, he snatched it from her, his patience breaking as he flung it down hard on the floor.
“Kya masla hai tumhara?” he shouted, voice cracking.
Aayat’s eyes filled instantly, her anger bursting through exhaustion.
“Tum ho mera masla! Damagh kharab kar diya hai tumne! Chahte kya ho tum?”
Ayaan looked at her then — truly looked.
His eyes were tired, not of her… but of the ache inside him.
“Kuch nahi chahta mein tumse,” he said quietly. “Mein bas ek cheez chahta hoon — tum khush raho. Jahan bhi raho, jis ke saath bhi raho.”
Aayat’s lips trembled.
“Toh phir tum yahan se ja kyun rahe ho?”
He smiled bitterly, looking down.
“Kyun ke mein nahi chahta meri feelings tumhare liye ek naya imtihaan khada kare.”
He turned, kneeling again to gather the scattered shirts.
Aayat’s eyes glistened. She walked to him, grabbed his arm to stop him.
“Tumne kyun kiya aisa, Ayaan? Kyun khud ke liye taqleef chuni… mujhse mohabbat karke? Tum toh jaante the mere baare mein sab kuch.”
Ayaan didn’t look up.
“Janta hoon,” he whispered.
She took a shaky breath.
“Mein mohabbat nahi kar sakti phir se. Mein mohabbat ke naam se bhi darti hoon ab… kyun ke mohabbat ne mujhe sirf dard aur tanhai di hai.”
Ayaan finally met her eyes. His voice came out hoarse.
“Janta hoon… tum mohabbat nahi kar sakti. Kyun ke tum aaj bhi Rayyan se mohabbat karti ho.”
His smile was faint — but it carried enough pain to break her all over again.
“Is liye mein ne apni mohabbat ko apne dil mein chhupa kar rakha tha aaj tak.”
Aayat stared at him, disbelief flickering.
Then she laughed softly — not with humor, but heartbreak.
“Tumhe lagta hai mein Rayyan se aaj bhi mohabbat karti hoon?”
Ayaan’s eyes didn’t waver.
“Lagta nahi… dikhta hai. Tumhari aankhon mei...”
For a long moment, silence swallowed the room.
Aayat’s eyes shimmered.
“Mujhe laga tha tum mujhe jaante ho…” she whispered.
And before he could answer, she turned and walked out.
The sound of the door closing echoed through him.
Ayaan stood there for a while, breathing slowly, then looked at the half-packed suitcase.
“Kash… tum mujhe bhi samajh sakti,” he murmured, voice barely audible.
And then he quietly began to pack again.
~
Next Morning
By sunrise, Ayaan was gone.
He hadn’t said goodbye.
Hadn’t left a note.
Just a folded scarf on the sofa — the one she had once lent him in winter.
When Aayat entered the living room later, the silence hit her like a wave.
Something inside her cracked quietly — the kind of ache that doesn’t scream, it just lingers.
At the office, her mind refused to focus. Files blurred before her eyes.
Ayaan’s quiet voice echoed in every corner.
She tried to distract herself — meetings, reports, schedules — but her thoughts always circled back to him.
She opened the drawer beside her desk and found a few papers left behind by Ayaan — neatly stacked, labeled.
Then she closed the drawer, grabbed her coat, and stood up.
Arjun, her PA, noticed. “Ma’am, kahin ja rahi hain ap?”
“Haan… zaroori kaam hai. Tum yaha sambhal laina sab...” she said softly.
He and Hayaat followed her out, but when she reached the car, she turned back.
“Andar jao tum dono. Mein aa jaungi.”
They hesitated — but obeyed.
~
The car stopped outside a towering glass building.
She stepped out, her heels striking the pavement like thunder.
Inside, every head turned. People recognized her instantly — Aayat Malik. The name still carried weight, even after everything.
At the reception, she spoke firmly.
“Mujhe Mr. Rayyan Malik se milna hai. Foran.”
The receptionist blinked, startled, but before she could respond, Rayyan’s PA appeared.
“Aayat ma’am? Ap yaha .... Chaliye mein le chalta hoon apko.”
She followed him silently through the corridor until they reached the large oak door at the end.
The PA gestured nervously. “Sir ka cabin yeh hai… aap ja sakti hain.”
He stepped away.
Aayat took a deep breath — and pushed open the door.
Rayyan was behind his desk, eyes on his laptop, frustration etched across his face.
Without looking up, he began,
“Tumhara dimaagh—”
But then he looked up.
And stopped mid-sentence.
For a heartbeat, the world stilled.
His eyes softened. A rare, fragile smile touched his lips.
He stood. “Aayat…”
She walked straight toward him, her steps calm, deliberate.
He took a step forward too, hope flickering — until she placed a file firmly on his desk.
“Sign karo is par.”
Rayyan blinked. “Yeh kya hai?”
Her voice was cold.
“Sign karo.”
He opened the file slowly — his eyes widening.
“Phir se?”
“Janti hoon,” she said, emotionless.
“Tumne pehle waale papers phaad diye honge. Is liye naye banwaye hain. Ab in par sign karo. Isi waqt.”
Rayyan’s hands trembled slightly.
“Main tumhari har baat maan lunga, Aayat… par yeh nahi.”
She smiled faintly — bitterly.
“Tumhe lagta hai mein tumhe maaf karungi?”
He shook his head.
“Main apni aakhri saans tak maafi maangta rahunga.”
Her composure finally cracked — tears shimmered in her eyes.
“8 saal…” she whispered.
“8 saal mujhe tumhari zarurat thi, aur tum nahi thai.. mein kis taqleef m thi, tum jante ho kya? koi nahi tha mere paas waha… koi be nahi...”
Her voice broke.
“Siwaye ek shakhs ke…
AYAAN...”
The name hit Rayyan like a blow.
Aayat’s tears fell.
“Par maine uska dil bhi tod diya. Us k sath k badle mein ne usse sirf takleef di. Aur us takleef kay zimmedar tum ho.”
“Aayat Main —” he began, but she cut him off.
“Na tum wo shadi karte, na main wahan jaati, na Ayaan se milti. Tum soch bhi kaise sakte ho ke main tumhe maaf karungi? Balkay Tum sab ko?”
Her voice rose with every word, breaking under the weight of years.
“Tumhare maa baap mere saas-sasur hone se pehle mere taya jaan aur tai ami thai. Unho ne mujhe pala tha ... Mere ami-abu ke barabar thai wo mere liye. Unhone be mujh par bharosa nahi kiya. Mere apne maa baap ne bhi nahi kiyA. Mujhe takleef mere sabse kareebi logon ne di hai, Rayyan… to main kaise maaf karu? Agar meri shadi kahi bahir hui hoti , tum mere cousin na hote ... Toh mein tumhein ankhein band kr k maaf kar deti ... But tum toh bachpan se mere saath thai, bachpan se chahte thai mujhe , phir kaise tumne.....??? ”
Her tears wouldn’t stop now.
“Mujhe azad kar do… please.”
Rayyan stared at her — the woman he had destroyed, the woman he still loved beyond reason.
He reached out, voice trembling.
“Main jaanta hoon, bohot bada gunahgar hoon main tumhara… par please Aayat, ye mat karo…”
He folded his hands before her, tears spilling freely.
“Please, haath jodta hoon mein tumhare agay...”
Aayat stared at him — face cold, voice steady.
“Main kisi aur se pyar karti hoon.”
The words hit him like a blade.
His hands fell.
He stood there frozen — disbelief clouding his face.
His knees gave way slightly as he stumbled back, his chest heaving.
Tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.
Aayat watched — her own eyes wet, but her expression distant. She lifted the papers toward him.
“Sign karo, Rayyan. Please.”
Rayyan stared blankly, then took the papers with shaking hands.
He picked up the pen — but his fingers refused to grip it. His hand trembled, his tears falling onto the page, smudging the ink.
His thoughts blurred — Eight years. Her voice. Her laughter. Her silence.
All gone.
He signed.
A single tear dropped onto the last page.
He placed the pen down, his voice breaking.
“Kar diya azad..”
Aayat turned away, hiding her tears.
Rayyan stepped closer, voice barely a whisper.
“Ye mat samajhna ke maine tumhari baat par bharosa kar liya, aur is liye sign kiya .... Main jaanta hoon… tum kisi se mohabbat nahi karti.”
He smiled bitterly through the tears.
“ Par Sign is liye kiya… kyun ke tum mujhse alag hone ke liye itna bada jhoot bol gayi. Tumhe mere saath rehna itna mushkil ho gaya … kay....”
He took another step forward, his voice breaking with every word.
“…ke tumne itna bada jhoot keh diya mujse...”
Then he whispered,
“Tumhare liye tumhe azad kar diya.”
He reached out, cupped her face in his trembling hands.
Leaning forward, he pressed his lips gently to her forehead.
The moment lingered — soft, heartbreaking.
When he pulled back, tears streamed freely down his face.
He wrapped his arms around her, sobbing quietly against her shoulder.
She didn’t hug him back. Didn’t push him away either.
Just stood there — motionless, silent.
He stepped back, wiping his face.
“Khush rehna, Aayat… aur ho sake toh mujhe maaf kar dena.”
He paused, voice shaking.
“I love you meri jaan.”
And then he turned — and walked out.
Aayat stood there, breathing shallow, before she finally gathered the signed papers and walked out too.
~
By the time he reached home, the mansion was full — laughter, clatter, lunch chatter.
He ignored it all.
His mother, Nafeesa, called after him — but he didn’t stop.
He went straight to his room, closed the door, and locked it.
The silence crushed him.
He sank to the floor, tears spilling freely, his chest heaving.
It felt like breathing had become impossible.
He stood abruptly, went to the bathroom, and began to make wudu.
The cool water touched his skin — but couldn’t cool the fire inside.
He spread the prayer mat, began to pray.
Each word trembled on his lips.
By the time he finished, his tears had soaked the mat.
He turned his face to the side for salaam, but instead of rising — he fell forward again, back into sajda.
His sobs echoed in the empty room.
“Ya Allah…” his voice broke, raw and desperate.
“Mujhe maaf kar do… main gunahgar hoon tera. Par please mujhe aise saza mat do… main bardasht nahi kar pa raha. Ye dard mujhse bardasht nahi ho raha . Mein apni mangi Hui dua ko aj apne haathon se janay diya... meri aayat mere saath nahi rehna chahti...”
He wept harder.
“Mujhe sabr de, Ya Rab… aur Aayat… usey uski zindagi ki har khushi naseeb kar. Jo chahe, wo mil jaye. Agar meri ye duri hi mere gunahon ki saza hai, toh mujhe manzoor hai.”
His voice fell to a whisper.
“Bas usey khush rakhna… please.”
And Rayyan stayed there — head on the prayer mat, heart breaking quietly, as the night around him grew still.
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