Maa Begum confronted her son, the matriarch who had unknowingly played a role in shaping the man he had become. Her stern voice pierced the air, questioning the very essence of his upbringing.

"Was this what I taught you?" she exclaimed, her disappointment echoing through the walls. "Ye tarbiyat thi meri?"

Murtasim, tears streaming down his face, felt the weight of his mother's rebuke. "Murtasim, ye kya kardiya tumne!" she cried hysterically, unable to fathom the depths of her son's transgressions. "Aaj ke baad apni shakal na dikhana mujhe."

With bowed head, Murtasim left the room, the weight of his actions heavy on his shoulders. He recognized the magnitude of his wrongdoing, the betrayal of values instilled by his mother.

As he sat outside, seeking solace in the rain-soaked darkness, an unexpected presence approached. Haya, with misguided empathy, attempted to console him with a hug, igniting a spark of anger within him.

"Ye kya badtameezi hai?" he questioned, pushing her away. Haya stumbled, but her defiance remained. "Tum udaas hona, isliye tumse humdardi karne aagayi," she explained, her intentions misguided.

Murtasim's anger flared as he recalled her actions from that fateful night. "Haya, ek baat kaan kholkar sunlo, mai tumhe bilkul pasand nahi karta."

Attempting to justify herself, Haya stopped him. "Tumhe bas uska andaaza nahi abhi. Tum sachme mujhse mohabbat karte ho Murtasim, agar nahi karte toh har baar meri galtiyon ko nazar andaaz kaise kardete ho, mai jab paas aati hu toh tum kuch nahi kehte. Ye mohabbat nahi toh kya hai?"

Murtasim's disgust was palpable. "Bas. Bohot hogaya abhi issi wakt mere ghar se niklo."

Haya, stunned by his decision, questioned where she would go. Murtasim, resolute, replied, "Tum jahanam jao, mujhe farak nahi padhta. Bakhtu."

Summoning Bakhtu, he instructed him to escort Haya out and inform his mother that she wouldn't be allowed back for the next ten years.

"Murtasim!" she screamed in protest. "Ye sab us Meerab ki wajeh se hua hai."

The night wore on, the rain outside a mournful symphony to the shattered pieces of relationships within the house. Meanwhile, Waqas Ahmad's call to Meerab marked the beginning of a legal battle, setting the stage for a tumultuous journey ahead.

Later that night, Meerab found herself summoned into Maa Begum's room, a room that had always held an air of mystery, but tonight it seemed to bear the weight of an impending storm. Maa Begum, usually draped in a veil, now sat with her dupatta on her shoulders, an unusual sight that added to the gravity of the moment.

The room felt heavy with silent tension as Meerab cautiously approached. Maa Begum's eyes, usually stern and commanding, now held a mix of sorrow and something Meerab couldn't quite decipher.

"Meerab," Maa Begum spoke with a depth that sent shivers down Meerab's spine. "Sit, my child."

Meerab took a seat, her eyes never leaving Maa Begum's face. The sound of raindrops tapping against the windowpane created a sombre backdrop for the conversation that was about to unfold.

"Maa Begum, aap ne mujhe bulaya?" Meerab inquired, her voice a mere whisper in the silence of the room.

Maa Begum sighed, her gaze fixed on some distant point. "Meerab, I have witnessed the unravelling of this family, and I cannot ignore the role I played in it."

Confusion clouded Meerab's eyes as she waited for Maa Begum to continue.

"When I was young," Maa Begum began, her voice a melancholic melody, "I made choices that set a precedent for the generations that followed. Choices that perpetuated a cycle of pain and silence."

Meerab sensed a profound sadness in Maa Begum's words as if the weight of generations rested on her shoulders.

"The decisions I made were rooted in societal expectations and a misguided sense of preserving the honor," Maa Begum confessed. "But today, as I see the pain in your eyes, I realize the cost of those choices."

Raindrops continued their relentless descent outside, mirroring the tears Meerab had shed in solitude.

"I failed to protect you," Maa Begum admitted, her eyes finally meeting Meerab's. "And for that, I am deeply sorry."

The room resonated with the heaviness of regret and the echoes of a confession that transcended generations.

Meerab, in a mixture of disbelief and acceptance, found her voice. "Maa Begum, I never sought to challenge traditions or bring disgrace to this family. I only wanted to live with dignity and love."

Maa Begum nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's a tragedy when traditions become chains, and love is sacrificed at their altar."

"Maa Begum please I won't press any charges, ask Murtasim to set me free..."

The plea hung in the air like a haunting melody, the echoes of Meerab's heartache reverberating through the room. Maa Begum, her memories stirred by the desperation in Meerab's voice, felt a chilling resonance with the past. The plea was similar to Maryam's, she remembered her daughter's tears and her heart ached.

"Set you free?" Maa Begum whispered, her mind flashing back to the distant echoes of her own daughter's voice, the pain etched in her pleas.

Meerab, now a reflection of that anguish, continued, "Maa Begum, I can't live here anymore." The vulnerability in her admission was palpable, the tears that welled in her eyes mirrored the storms within her soul. "I can't anymore. Maybe I am going crazy. Please, Maa Begum, I beg you, ask Murtasim to divorce me."

Maa Begum, torn between familial traditions and the anguished pleas of a broken soul, felt her own eyes welling up with tears. The weight of generational expectations bore down on her, and for the first time, she questioned the shackles she had inadvertently placed on her family.

"This has never happened in our family, beta," she choked on her words, the weight of societal norms pressing on her chest. "Bohot badnaami hogi khaandaan ki. Abhi toh nikkah hua tha, log kitni baatein banayenge."

Meerab's gaze remained fixed on Maa Begum, an unspoken plea for understanding. "Khuda k liye, Meerab, Murtasim ko maaf kardo," Maa Begum implored, desperation lining her voice. "Mai tumhare saamne haath jodti hu, mere bete se galti hogayi."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the weight of choices that had far-reaching consequences. Maa Begum, once the enforcer of tradition, found herself at a crossroads – torn between upholding the family's honour and acknowledging the pain etched across Meerab's face.

In the hushed aftermath of Meerab's revelation, the room held an unspoken heaviness, the air laden with the weight of untold secrets and shattered trust. Maa Begum, torn between the echoes of tradition and the cries of a tormented soul, looked into Meerab's eyes, searching for answers.

"I would die slowly if I didn't run away," Meerab confessed, her words carrying the haunting echo of delusion born from the trauma that threatened to consume her. She felt the impending doom, the fear that if she didn't break free, Murtasim would destroy her.

Her eyes dropped tears as her heart bled, the pain etched in the lines of her face. "Maa Begum, mai chali jaongi yaha se."

Maa Begum, with a tenderness that transcended generational norms, asked softly, "Tumne khaana khaya?" Meerab shook her head, her appetite stolen by the storm raging within her.

Maa Begum summoned a servant, directing them to bring food for Meerab. She fed her like a mother nursing a wounded child, and as exhaustion weighed heavy on Meerab's eyelids, Maa Begum embraced her, cradling her like a fragile petal in the storm.

The night unfolded in silent contemplation, Maa Begum wrestling with the choices that had led them to this precipice. As dawn tiptoed in, she summoned Anwar, Meerab's real father, to her room. The gravity of Meerab's ordeal unfolded like a tragic play, and Anwar's eyes sparked with a fire that mirrored Maa Begum's silent fury.

"Uski jurrat kaise hui?" Anwar cried out, his anger reaching a crescendo. He rushed to his room, grasping a gun, his eyes crazed with a father's rage. Maa Begum, desperate to prevent a tragedy, pleaded with him, "Anwar, tum..."

He cut her off, "Beta samajhkar paala tha maine usse, taakey woh meri beti ke saath aisa sulook karein?"

Anwar barged into the room, finding Murtasim sitting on the bed, a shadow of the man he thought he knew. Anwar pointed the gun at him, tears streaming down his face, "Kyun kiya uske saath aisa? Mohabbat khatam hogayi thi toh talaq dedete, mai toh tha na uska baap. Aisa sulook kyun kiya uske saath?"

Maa Begum pleaded desperately, "Anwar, tum thoda sabar se kam lo, goli chal jayegi." Anwar's hands trembled, but he dropped the gun, choosing another form of retribution. He unleashed his fury, hitting and slapping Murtasim, the force of his anger unleashed like a tempest.

"How could you?" Anwar's voice thundered each word a whip of frustration and despair. "Kaise mard ho tum? Aurat par haath uthaaney waale uske saath zabardasti karne waale? Ya khudaya!"

Murtasim, absorbing the blows, felt the weight of his sins, the physical punishment a mere reflection of the turmoil within. Anwar's voice sliced through the air, demanding answers. "Kyun kiya?"

Murtasim closed his eyes, the admission heavy on his conscience, "Dimaag kharab hogaya tha mera, gusse se andha hogya tha."

Anwar, fueled by a father's fury and the betrayal of trust, demanded, "Kis baat ka gussa?" The memories of Meerab's words echoed, triggering the rage that had spiralled out of control that fateful night.

She had taunted his self-control, his love, and his entire being. His patience shattered, and he turned into an animal, a creature stripped of reason. He had no excuse, no justification. He was a man who had always been in control, and for the first time, he had lost it all.