chaen mann yeh kese paye

yaad dil se kese jaye

aas dil ki aese tooti

dil se dharkhan jese roothi

dharkan bin kiya dil rakhna

iss se loon mein jaan chura

"...Kiya aapko yeh nikkah qubool hai?"

(TRANSLATION:

"...Do you accept this marriage?")

The qazi's voice echoed in the quiet room, firm yet patient. For the third time, he repeated the question, but the silence that followed was louder than his words.

The guests murmured in hushed whispers, their eyes darting toward the figure seated before the qazi. The qazi adjusted his glasses and looked directly at the individual in question, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

"Beta, mein phir se poochta hoon... Kya aapko yeh nikkah qubool hai?"

(TRANSLATION:

"Child, I'll ask again... Do you accept this marriage?")

The sound of a pin dropping could have been heard in the silence that followed. All eyes were on the figure who sat motionless, head slightly lowered, their expression unreadable.

The anticipation was suffocating. Somewhere in the back of the room, a child whimpered, quickly hushed by their mother.

The qazi's gaze sharpened. "Yeh nikkah tabhi mukammal hoga jab aap ka jawab milega."

(TRANSLATION:

"This marriage will only be complete once we receive your response.")

Still, there was no answer.

And then, just as the tension reached its breaking point, a faint noise came from the figure, their lips parting slightly-

My mind feels like it's been split into two. On one side, there's guilt-gnawing, relentless guilt for what happened with Sara. I know she was trying to help. I know her intentions came from a place of love and concern. But I can't let her see the truth.

Not my diary. Not my thoughts. Not the parts of me that even I'm terrified to face.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, my arms hugging my knees as my head rests against the wall. Sara hasn't spoken to me since that night. She's hurt, and she has every right to be. But what choice do I have?

With a heavy sigh, I pick up my phone and dial a number that I know by heart now. It rings twice before a familiar voice answers.

"Hello, Abeer. It's good to hear from you," Dr. Farah Jahangir says, her voice calm and reassuring as always.

"Dr. Jahangir, I... I need an earlier appointment," I blurt out, my words rushed and shaky.

There's a brief pause on the other end, and then her voice softens. "Of course. Is everything alright? You sound distressed."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "Something happened... with my sister. It's complicated. I just... I really need to talk to you."

"Alright, let me check my schedule." There's a rustling sound as she flips through her planner. "How about tomorrow morning? Can you come in at 10 a.m.?"

"Yes," I reply quickly, relief flooding through me. "Thank you, Dr. Jahangir."

"Take care of yourself, Abeer. I'll see you tomorrow."

The call ends, and I sit there for a moment, clutching my phone tightly.

---

I sit across from Dr. Jahangir, the soft hum of the air conditioning filling the small, warmly lit room. She watches me with her usual calm, her pen poised over her notepad.

"So, tell me what happened," she prompts gently.

I fidget with the hem of my shirt, my gaze fixed on the floor. "Sara tried to read my diary," I say quietly.

Dr. Jahangir tilts her head slightly, her expression neutral but attentive. "And how did that make you feel?"

"Angry," I admit, my voice trembling. "And scared. I know she means well, but she doesn't understand. If she reads my diary, she'll know everything. She'll ask questions I don't have answers to."

Dr. Jahangir nods, jotting something down. "Why don't you want her to know? And this time be more honest, no more excuses."

I hesitate, struggling to put my thoughts into words. "I don't want to worry her," I finally say. "Or anyone else. They'll just see me as a burden."

Her pen pauses, and she looks up at me, her gaze steady but kind. "Abeer, keeping your health a secret doesn't make you less of a burden. If anything, it isolates you. Your family loves you. They want to help you."

"I'm not ready to deal with their reaction," I whisper, my throat tightening.

Dr. Jahangir leans forward slightly, her tone gentle. "And what about Rehman, why can't you share about him with your sister. I understand why you can't share it with your parents, but why not with your sister, especially when she is always persistent in helping you."

"Because it hurts," I say, my voice breaking. "It hurts too much."

She places her notepad down, folding her hands in her lap. "I understand. But bottling up that pain won't make it go away, Abeer. It will only fester and grow until it consumes you. I'm not saying you have to tell her everything at once, but letting her in, even just a little, could ease some of the weight you're carrying."

I look away, my chest tightening. I know she's right, but the thought of opening up feels impossible.

"I'll think about it," I say quietly, though I'm not sure I mean it.

"That's all I ask," she replies with a small, encouraging smile.

(A few weeks after Abeer's engagement ended)

It started with a text. Just one, at first.

"Abeer, I'm sorry. Please, can we talk?"

Then another.

"I don't understand why you're doing this. What did I do wrong?"

And then another.

"Is there someone else? Did you end things because you like someone else?"

I stared at my phone, my chest tightening with every word. Farzan's texts were relentless, each one cutting deeper than the last. He swung between apologies and accusations, and no matter how much I tried to ignore him, his words clung to me like thorns.

That night, as I lay in bed, the weight of it all finally broke me. Tears streamed down my face, unstoppable and unending. His words echoed in my mind, twisting and warping until they became my own voice, accusing me, blaming me.

I tried to calm myself, forcing slow breaths like Sara had taught me. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

But it wasn't enough. My chest felt tight, like a vice was squeezing the air out of my lungs. Panic clawed at me, and I pressed my hands to my face, trying to ground myself.

And then I felt it-a warm trickle down my nose.

I touched it hesitantly, my fingers coming away smeared with red. My breath hitched as I stared at the blood, fear flooding through me.

The next morning, I woke up feeling the weight of everything pressing down on my chest, suffocating me. I couldn't let it continue. I needed answers. I needed relief. Without telling anyone-not Sara, not my parents-I picked up my phone and searched for a nearby clinic. The fear of questions, of judgment, kept me from involving them. This was my burden to bear.

At the clinic, I sat in the waiting room, my hands trembling as I clutched the clipboard with my information. My name, age, and reason for visit stared back at me like a cruel taunt. Nosebleeds. Insomnia. Fatigue. Uncontrollable crying. It was all there in black and white, stark and undeniable.

When the nurse called my name, I followed her into a bright room where the doctor greeted me with a warm but professional smile. "Abeer, please have a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

As I sat down, he leaned forward slightly, his tone calm and reassuring. "So, tell me what's been going on. What brought you here today?"

I hesitated, my fingers knotting together in my lap. "I've... I've been feeling off for a while now," I began, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't sleep. Even when I do, I have these nightmares that wake me up. And... last night, I had a nosebleed while I was crying. I was hyperventilating. I thought I was calming down, but..."

My words trailed off as my throat tightened. I looked away, embarrassed by how weak I sounded.

The doctor's expression remained composed, his voice gentle. "It's okay, Abeer. Take your time. How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?"

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "A few years now," I admitted. "It started with sleepless nights and then nightmares. I'd feel exhausted all the time. My sister helped-she spoke to some psychiatrists on my behalf and gave me the medicines they suggested. But eventually, the medicines stopped working. And... I stopped taking them."

The doctor frowned slightly. "Stopped taking them completely?"

I nodded, guilt creeping into my voice. "I told my sister I was taking them, but I wasn't. I didn't want to depend on pills forever."

He nodded thoughtfully, jotting something down in his notes. "Abeer, are you dealing with any ongoing stress or trauma? Something that might have triggered this?"

I froze, my mind flashing back to Maan. His absence, the way he disappeared from my life like a shadow fading into the night, haunted me. And everything else that happened with Farzan and my parents in the past few weeks, making it hard for me to breathe. But I couldn't bring myself to say it.

"Just... life," I said vaguely, hoping he wouldn't press further.

He gave a slight nod, understanding that I wasn't ready to open up. "Alright. Based on what you've told me, I'd like to run a few tests. This will help us rule out any underlying medical issues. Once we have the results, we can discuss the next steps."

I nodded, feeling a flicker of hope. At least I was doing something.

A week later, I was back at the clinic, sitting in the same chair. The doctor's expression was calm but serious as he looked at the papers in front of him.

"Abeer," he began, "your test results don't show any significant physical health issues. However, your symptoms point to something more psychological. You're dealing with a nervous breakdown."

His words felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of me. "A nervous breakdown?" I repeated, my voice shaky.

He nodded. "Yes. The stress and anxiety you've been carrying have reached a tipping point. It's affecting your physical health as well as your mental well-being."

I swallowed hard, my hands gripping the armrests of the chair. "Is it... serious?"

"It's serious, but it's also treatable," he reassured me. "With the right care, we can help you recover. I'm going to recommend you to a psychiatrist, Dr. Farah Jahangir. She specializes in cases like yours and will be able to guide you through therapy."

I nodded slowly, my mind racing. Therapy. The word sounded daunting, but I didn't have a choice. "What about medications?"

"We'll leave that decision to Dr. Jahangir, but for now, it's important to focus on taking the first step-meeting her and discussing your situation."

When I met Dr. Farah Jahangir for the first time, I was a bundle of nerves. Her office was warm and inviting, with soft lighting and shelves lined with books and plants. She greeted me with a kind smile, her demeanor instantly putting me at ease.

"Abeer, it's nice to meet you," she said, gesturing for me to sit on the couch. "Why don't we start with you telling me a bit about what's been going on?"

I hesitated, my fingers twisting the fabric of my dress. "I... I haven't been okay for a long time," I admitted. "I don't sleep. I have nightmares. I feel like I'm falling apart, and I don't know how to stop it."

Her gaze was steady, her tone calm. "Nightmares, sleeplessness, feeling overwhelmed-these are all signs of deeper stress. Abeer, have you experienced anything in your life that might be contributing to this? Any unresolved pain or trauma?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. My mind screamed, but I couldn't say anything. I wasn't ready.

"I don't know," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

Dr. Jahangir didn't press further. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully. "That's okay. We'll take this one step at a time. For now, I'd like to start with weekly therapy sessions. This will give us a chance to explore what you're feeling and why. I'm also going to prescribe some medication to help with your insomnia and anxiety."

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. "I just want to feel normal again," I whispered.

"And you will," she said with a reassuring smile. "One step at a time, Abeer. You're not alone in this."

For the first time in years, I felt a glimmer of hope. It was small and fragile, but it was there, waiting to be nurtured.

As I leave Dr. Jahangir's office, her words echo in my mind. Letting them in, even just a little, could ease some of the weight you're carrying.

I shake my head, pulling my coat tighter around me. I'm not ready. Not yet.

But how much longer can I carry this alone?

saamne nahi par dil mein raho na

baatein hein dil ki dil se suno na

sanse dil ko ab na ae

yeh judai raas na ae

dharkan bin kiya dil rakhna

iss se loon mein jaan chura

Do let me know what you guys think about this chapter. Also, check out my pinterest (@wordswitch) and instagram (@_wordswitch) to know more about Abeer and Rehman. With lots of love <3

P.S. The lyrics at the beginning and the end of the chapter are from the song: 'Alvida', by Shafqat Amanat Ali. Sorry for not providing the translation to any of the song lyrics I used throughout the story, as I feel the translation won't do them justice, but in case any of you want the translation you can easily look it up as I've mentioned the song and singer's name.

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