Third person's POV.

Quiet footsteps echoed against the cold floor.
Barefoot and cautious, they moved toward the stairs, their breaths shallow with fear. Each woman held tightly to her shawl, the silence around them heavier than ever. The house slept, but danger still lingered.

Reaching the bend near the forbidden door, they hid behind the wall, peeking around the corner.

“Two guards, Badi Ammi,” Zohra whispered, her eyes sharp.

“Now what?” Urooj murmured, voice trembling.

“Shh. Let me handle this.”
Rakhshanda, Wafa’s cousin, slipped off a ring from her finger and flung it toward the courtyard. The metallic clang echoed loudly — enough. Both guards turned and rushed to investigate.

“Now!” Rakhshanda urged.

The women dashed forward, unlocking the door quickly. As the others hurried inside, Rakhshanda stayed back to keep watch.

“Wafa!” her mother called, stepping into the pitch-dark room.

There was no response.

“Ama… g…” came a faint voice from the right.

Zohra turned on her phone's torch. The beam of light swept across the floor — and froze.
In the corner, on the cold cement, lay Wafa. Bruised. Bleeding. Barely conscious.

They rushed to her.

“Wafa, meri bachi,” her mother whispered, lifting her into her lap. Her face was swollen, lips cracked, and her delicate body was covered in bruises — a silent testament to her brothers’ cruelty.

Tears spilled freely as her mother gently touched her cheek.

“Here, drink some water,” she whispered, bringing the glass to her daughter’s lips.

Wafa took small, painful sips. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she whispered, “Ama g… Sh… Shams…”

Even in pain — even in this broken state — she remembered only love.

“Shhh… first eat something,” her mother said softly.

Urooj handed over the food and her mother tried to feed Wafa, whose shivering hands couldn’t hold anything.
She forced down a few bites before vomiting. The weakness was unbearable.

“Wafa, are you okay?” her mother asked, panicked.

Wafa leaned into her mother, clutching her belly. Her voice was barely audible.
“Ama… My… Shams…”

“What? What are you saying?” her mother asked, eyes wide.

“Our…” Wafa’s lips trembled. Her mother’s heart dropped.

“Wafa, look at me,” she said, shaking her gently. “Are you… are you pregnant?”

Wafa opened her eyes, tears slipping silently as she gave a slight nod.
“I’m… carrying… Shams’s child…” she stammered, holding her stomach.

Her mother broke into sobs, hugging her tightly.

“I won’t… let anything happen… to our baby,” Wafa whispered, voice fragile, breath shallow.

Her mother wiped her tears and steadied herself.
“Listen to me, bacha. Don’t let Baba Saiyen find out about this. Whatever happens, keep it a secret. I’m leaving this food here — hide it if you hear anyone coming. Eat, regain your strength. I’ll do something… I’ll find a way.”

She kissed Wafa’s forehead, spread her shawl over her frail body, and carefully helped her lie down again. With one last look, they all turned to leave.

But just as they exited the room, a loud voice stopped them.

“What are you doing here?”
It was Jabar Malik. His voice thundered across the corridor as he scolded the guards.

The women fled, quickly locking the door behind them. Jabar marched toward the room, but seeing it locked, he didn’t bother to enter.

“Stay here. Don’t move,” he ordered the guards coldly, then turned and walked away.

He didn’t even glance at the door behind which his daughter — bruised, bleeding, broken — was fighting for her life. The love once in his heart had turned to stone. All that remained now… was hatred. A hatred rooted deep — for Shah Bakht, and now, for his own blood.

---------
His eyes fluttered open—barely.
A sharp throb pulsed through his skull. Groaning, he shut them again, trying to steady the swirl of nausea and pain. A few moments passed. With all the strength he could gather, he opened them once more, blinking rapidly to focus on the dim surroundings.

It took him a moment to recognize it.

The same room. The same prison.
Two weeks of darkness, injections, silence, and chains of helplessness.

He tried to rise, placing one trembling foot on the ground—but a sharp, shooting pain in his head forced him back down.

"I have to get up... I have to get out of here," he whispered through gritted teeth, trying again to lift himself. But his body betrayed him—too weak, too worn.

“Wafa…”
Her name escaped his lips in a broken breath, and tears welled in his eyes.

“Wafa…”
He whispered again, as though the very sound of her name could ease the ache in his chest. His shoulders shook as the tears fell freely now, a helpless cry of a heart shackled by love and grief.

"Where have we ended up...?" he said through his sobs. Her face — soft, pained, beautiful — flashed before his blurred vision.

Then came the voice.
So soft… so familiar… so real.

“Shams…”

His eyes snapped up.

“Wafa?”
He looked around, desperate, frantic.
But the room remained still — empty.

“Shams, come soon…”

Her voice rang in his ears again, not through sound, but through the invisible string that tied their souls together.

His heart pounded. He knew it. She was calling him.
She was in pain.
She needed him.

“I’m coming, Wafa…”
Mustering what little strength he had left, he pushed himself up, trembling, staggering—
Only to fall forward.

“Ahh!”
He gasped as he hit the hard ground, pain exploding through his head.

His vision darkened. His limbs gave out. And the world faded once again.
---------

"So, did you prepare the papers, Zulfiqar?"
Shah Bakht’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. Zohaib Ali Bakht, seated quietly a few feet away, turned his head slightly—just enough to listen, but not be noticed.

“They’ll be ready in a week, Baba Saiyen,” Zulfiqar replied, bowing his head with mock respect.

"Good. Do it quickly. I want them separated as soon as possible. And what about Shams?" Shah Bakht’s tone sharpened.

Zohaib’s heart skipped a beat. Finally—news about his younger brother. He strained to hear every word.

“I’m going there now. As per your orders, we’ve been giving him injections—enough to weaken both his body and his mind. It’s been two weeks. He hardly moves. I doubt he’ll be in any state to resist signing the divorce papers.”

Zohaib’s eyes widened. His stomach churned with disgust and fear.

“Good,” Shah Bakht sneered. “Now start feeding him. I don’t want him dead—not yet. I need him alive to humiliate Jabar Malik. I’ll disgrace his daughter just like he once disgraced my sister.”

Zohaib froze. He had heard enough.

"I have to do something," he thought, rising from his seat.

Later, in his room, he called out, “Iraj.”

His wife turned to him, surprised by the urgency in his voice.

“I have to go out. Be ready tonight—we’re going somewhere.”
She frowned. “Where? What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later. Just trust me,” he said, gently kissing her forehead.
“Ya Allah, khair,” she whispered, watching him walk out with his gun.

Zohaib quickly drove off, hiding his car near the trees close to their estate. He waited, eyes fixed on the gate.
“Hold on, Shams. I’m coming, choty,” he whispered.

Soon, Zulfiqar’s jeep appeared. Zohaib started his engine and followed at a distance.

His heart pounded with every turn. Finally, the jeep stopped outside an old servant quarter built on the edge of the property. Zohaib parked at a safe distance behind the bushes.

From inside, Deen Muhammad greeted Zulfiqar.

“Did he wake up?” Zulfiqar asked as he stepped out.

“Yes, Saiyen. But the medicine made him collapse again. He’s too weak,” Deen Muhammad replied.

Zohaib silently followed, slipping inside the outer door without being noticed. The place was massive and eerily empty. The sound of footsteps and hushed voices echoed through the corridors, guiding him.

Hiding behind a wall, Zohaib peeked out just in time to see Deen Muhammad remove a carpet and open a hidden trapdoor.

“Here, Saiyen,” Deen Muhammad said, revealing the basement stairs.

“Is the injection ready?” Zulfiqar asked.

Zohaib’s fists clenched at the cruelty.
“Hold on, little brother. I'm here now.”

He slipped out as silently as he had entered, his blood boiling. Driving back, his eyes blurred with unshed tears.

Back at home, as he entered the room, Iraj rushed to him.

“Where were you? I was so worried.”
He didn’t answer. He shut the door and leaned against it, his mind reeling with what he’d seen.

“Zohaib, what happened?” she asked gently, stepping closer.

He looked at her with tearful eyes and pulled her into a hug.

“You’re scaring me…” she whispered.

“I found him, Iraj,” he finally said, pulling back. “I found Shams.”

Her eyes widened in joy. “Really?!”

“Don’t tell anyone. Not even Maa g. I need to go see him again tonight—alone. Then we’ll plan everything.”
She nodded with a soft smile.

“But what about Wafa?” she asked, concerned.

“We’ll get her too. First Shams… then we’ll bring his Wafa back too,” he said firmly.

She embraced him again, and this time, Zohaib didn’t cry.

He had a mission.
And this time—he wouldn’t fail.

Shams's POV.

Blinking my eyes, I tried to stay conscious, but I was failing. My head throbbed painfully, heavy as a rock, and every breath felt like a burden. My lips were parched.

"Wa...ter," I barely managed to whisper.

I heard the door creak open and turned my head slightly, struggling to see who had entered through my blurred vision.

"How are you, choty?"
It was him—Zulfiqar bhai.

He stood in front of me with that same cold, victorious smirk.

"Wake up."
Splash.

He threw cold water on my face. My heart clenched—not from the chill, but from the pain of his betrayal.
He was my brother… my own blood.
And still, he could watch me suffer like this?

"Sign the divorce papers and this punishment ends," he said casually, as if he was offering me mercy.

I let out a broken, bitter laugh.

"I’d rather die," I croaked, forcing my eyes wide open despite the dizziness.
"Do what you want. But you can't stop me from going to her. Neither of you can separate us."

I summoned all the strength I had and sat up, meeting his gaze. He looked at me—not like a brother, but like a rival.

"Why, bhai jaan? Why so much hate?" I asked, my breath shaky, lungs burning for air.

He narrowed his eyes.

"I won’t let you both be together," he growled.

"Why?" I pressed again. I needed to know. I deserved to know.

He stared at me with fire in his eyes.

"Because I couldn't get my love... so how can you live with yours, my stepbrother!"

My world spun again.

Stepbrother?
The word echoed in my ears like thunder.

"Stepbrother?" I whispered, in disbelief.

But before I could say more, he punched me hard across the face, knocking me back. Pain flared, but I didn’t let myself pass out. Not now. Not until I knew everything.

He leaned down, face twisted with hatred.

"You'll die if you don't leave her. And I swear—I'll kill her myself."

That broke something inside me.

"You dare touch her...!"
With every last ounce of strength, I grabbed his collar and punched him back.
But my body gave in, and I collapsed again, breathless.

"Take care of yourself first," he spat.
"Because now, I’ll finish her story."

He turned and stormed out of the room.

I lay there, tears sliding down my cheeks. Helpless. Broken. Weak.

"Ya Allah... help. Please, Allah Pak, help me..."
My lips barely moved, but my soul screamed.

"Wafa…"
Her name was the last thing on my tongue…
before everything turned to black.

Wafa's POV.

Blinking slowly, I tried to pull myself out of the darkness. My body felt heavy, broken… but I fought to sit up, gathering all the strength left inside me.

"Water…"
My dry lips barely formed the word as my eyes searched the room.
I saw the glass Ama g had left earlier. With trembling hands, I reached for it and took a few sips.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my lower belly, and I froze.
Clutching my stomach gently, I whispered:

"Please be strong, okay?"
I rested my palm over the small life growing inside me.
"Papa will come… he will come, I promise."

Tears streamed down my face, unstoppable now. I didn’t know how many days had passed—but it felt like centuries since I last saw Shams. My heart was drowning in pain, longing, and fear. But I had to survive.
For him. For us. For our baby.

My eyes turned to the plate of food left nearby. I reached for it slowly, my arm aching with every movement. I wasn't hungry. My body screamed with pain. But my baby needed this.
I had to eat, no matter what.

"Shams… come soon. Please. I'm scared," I whispered between silent sobs as I forced each bite down.

Every part of me hurt—my arms, my face, my soul. But one thing burned brighter than the pain:
I had to escape.
I had to find Shams.
For our child… for the love that kept me alive.

"I have to go," I whispered to myself, leaning against the wall as I wrapped the shawl tighter around me.
"I have to... for our baby."

I closed my eyes, clutching my belly protectively, and let myself drift into the only place I found peace—
the memory of Shams.
---
Author's note

Assalam-o-Alaikum dear readers,

How are you all?
Were you happy to see the update today?

I’ve been re-reading this story myself, and as I go through it again, I’m realizing just how deeply and beautifully it’s been written. Honestly, I didn’t expect it to carry such power — but now I see it more clearly. As we get closer to the ending, I find myself wondering: How should it end? What path should I take next?

I truly hope I can give you a beautiful and meaningful conclusion. But right now… I feel a heavy sadness for both Shams and Wafa. The cruelty of their fathers — the way pride can grow larger than love — it hurts, because it’s real. People like that do exist.

I hope you're all still with me, ready to see what happens next.
Thank you for reading and feeling this journey with me.

See you in the next chapter.
With love,
— your Author.