I look out the window as my sleek sedan whizzes past that familiar hair pin bend.

I've grown quite accustomed to the jerk that results when the car veers towards the left, so as to avoid skidding off the road.

I've been traversing this exact path almost everyday, for nearly three months and counting. However, the view of the breathtaking landscape ceases to ooze even an ounce of monotony to this day.

The moonlight just about grazes the clump of conifers in the distance, making it appear as if it were an ethereal mansion of sorts- a heavenly abode, if you will.

I smile to myself as I remember my erstwhile hatred for the moonlight, and the moon's deception in general.

Her edifying words echo in my head once again.

"Nazariye ki baat hai, Sir. Hum daag mein bhi khoobsoorti dekh rahe hai, aur aap khoobsoorti mein daag."

Because what is life sans a collection of opposing perspectives?

One man's happiness is another's misery.

My outlook towards life was much like the aftertaste Zeenat's betrayal had left on my palate.

Bitter.

So bitter that it'd turned me into an insensitive, morose and materialistic individual, that everyone feared and respected, but no one loved.

That's until she came along, of course.

Arzoo.

From our childish squabbles, to sharing our troubles with each other, I failed to realise when she'd carved out an irrevocable place in my heart.

I continued to hurt her, but she didn't give up on me. She found it in herself to forgive me despite my misdeeds.

She felt my pain and loved me even when I detested myself.

She accepted the burden of my previous relationship with a kind of astounding maturity, way beyond her years.

And now, a year after our wedding day, I'm so grateful to have her by my side. Our marriage might not have taken place under the happiest of circumstances, but the kind of joy and tranquility it's provided me is immeasurable.

Arzoo's been my strength in these tough few months.

After signing over 'Saiyaara' to Zaki, it's safe to say that we've been pretty pressed for money in the past year.

Initially, I thought it'd be quite a challenge to let go of the luxuries that I'd grown used to as the CEO of Saiyaara. But oddly enough, letting go of them has been quite freeing.

I feel elated that I'm not constantly chasing after the next big cash cow, desperately aching to prove my worth to someone who had no respect or value for me in the first place.

Consequently, I've found my creative roots once more. I've begun designing clothes and jewellery again, as I once did.

In my pursuit of becoming a successful businessman, I'd suppressed my artistic skills long enough. I decided it was the best time to fuse both aspects of myself and start a new fashion label.

Arzoo was, of course, adamant about naming it Saaz, after I chose her as a co-partner. Once I got over the initial bashfulness at the title's connotation, I had to admit, it did have a nice ring to it. So, I agreed to oblige her fancy and register the name.

It was the least I could do to make her happy, amidst those troubling times.

Despite my contacts in the industry, I still took a prolonged period to re-establish myself.

Over the last year, we spent many months in a congested one-bedroom apartment in Mumbai with hardly the kind of space or amenities at Niyamat House.

But never did a single word of complaint escape Arzoo's lips.

When I finally gathered sufficient funds, I decided to purchase a small bungalow in Panchgani, away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

Arzoo and I like the peace and quiet in the atmosphere, here. We're two artistic souls living our lives to the fullest without being bogged down by the monetary rat-race that city-dwellers so often indulge in, forgetting themselves in the process.

I visit our office in Mumbai roughly once every two weeks. Arzoo does accompany me on most days but for some reason, she was a bit under the weather today morning.

I look at the watch on my wrist and realise that it's two past midnight.

Our Anniversary.

My eyes flit towards the gift wrapped box on the car seat.

I've barely been able to present her with anything over the course of our marriage. But I know what she cherishes the most.

Memories.

And I hope I give her an unforgettable one, today.

~*~

Dear Arzoo Sahir Chaudhary,

When I received word from you two weeks earlier, I didn't know how to react at first. The contents of your letter stirred up some painful memories I'd wished to eliminate from my mind, many years ago.

I was a mere child when I conceived. The father offered to marry me in order to save me from societal alienation. However, I wished to terminate the pregnancy immediately so as to focus on my career.

My mother didn't allow me to do so. She convinced me to give the child up for adoption instead because no member of our family could partake in such a sin. I was sent away during my pregnancy so as to keep the whole ordeal under wraps, and surrendered the infant to an orphanage in the city's outskirts once I delivered.

I do not regret my decision. I spent the next few years building my reputation as a professional, and achieved much success.

I am now a happily married woman with two children. My husband has no knowledge of the puerile blunder I made in my youth, and I'd like to keep it that way. I do not wish to engage in any contact with Sahir, for it will disturb my domestic and work life balance, entirely.

I would instruct you not to send any such letters to this address again, and keep the knowledge of the truth away from the media's prying eyes.

I wish you two the best.

Your's Truly,

Nazneen Siddique.

----

As I read the last few lines of the letter, my eyes grow moist and the lump in my throat thickens.

I've failed.

I wanted to make this day memorable for Sahir, but all my efforts seem to have gone in vain.

Ever since we left Niyamat house last year, our lives have been sober and blissful. We've grown inseparable and our bond of love is even stronger now than it was before, in spite of the unending trials that we've faced.

However, there's one thing that has bothered me quite a bit, in the past year.

I just can't seem to shake the feeling that I am partially the reason Sahir has lost his family.

They might have all been related to Zeenat, but it was Sahir who truly kept them knit together and made their house a home. They were his family for nearly ten years...it's unrealistic to expect that the pain of separating from them doesn't bother him.

He's never mentioned it, of course. But I can still see a sliver of longing in his eyes every time he speaks of Alvira aunty or Zaki.

I wanted him to feel whole again. I wanted him to get the love of a family, as he's entitled to. Especially since Alvira aunty had betrayed his trust, and let him down in the worst way possible.

That's the reason I reached out to the orphanage he'd grown up at and made an attempt to discover information about his biological parents.

Although Sahir tries his best to be as open as possible with me, I can sense that his childhood is still a relatively sensitive topic that he brushes aside ever too often.

I know he wonders about them.

Where are they?

What's their nature like?

Do his mannerisms bear resemblance to them in any way?

But most important and frightening of all, what circumstances forced them to part with him several years ago?

Fortunately or unfortunately, the letter in my hand holds the answer to all these questions.

After badgering the authorities at the orphanage for several days, they'd finally revealed some sparing details about the woman who'd handed Sahir over as an infant.

A firstname and an address in South Mumbai.

Her last name had been purposely kept off record....and now I understand why, since I've finally received a response to the letter I mailed to the designated address.

Nazneen was not just any commoner. The only child of reputed retail magnate, Shaheer Siddique, she had been credited with expanding the family business and allowing it to gain global recognition. She was one of the wealthiest women in the city and her deals made front page headlines every now and then.

I imagined many scenarios when I sent the letter across, but this was definitely not among them. I never suspected that Sahir's biological mother would be an individual of such a high profile and stature.

The fact that she chose to abandon Sahir even when she had the means to hold onto him breaks my heart in the most awful way possible.

But even if I do for a second condone this choice of hers...her callous attitude towards Sahir's entire existence is utterly unforgivable.

Not only does she want nothing to do with him, the tone of her letter is a clear indication of the fact that the only reason she's written back is to ensure that her pristine image is preserved in the eyes of the media.

Put in mild terms, the woman seems selfish and egotistical, through and through.

My mind swirls with a dozen questions as I crumple the piece of paper in my hand.

Should I come clean to Sahir about what I've been up to?

Since he knows me in and out, is it even possible to keep this from him?

Will the truth hurt him irreparably or give him closure?

"Arzoo? Arzoo, kahaan ho tum?"

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear Sahir's voice in the distance.

He's home early.

For a second, my hands feel immobilized. His unexpectedly premature arrival handicaps my thoughts.

I gain control of myself in a bit and act as quickly as possible, placing the crumpled sheet in the cabinet nearby and snapping it shut soon after.

I wipe my tears and try to fix my disheveled appearance before he finds me in the study.

I can't tell him the truth right now.

Not today. Not on our anniversary.

Maybe not ever.

I make my decision in haste, but vow to stand by it.

Allah knows, it's the right one.

~*~