Abraar's life was indeed a lonely one, consumed by his work and responsibilities. Day and night, he dedicated himself to the affairs of the panchayat, tirelessly resolving the problems of the people in his community. He had earned the respect of those around him for his dedication and fairness, and he treated everyone with kindness and compassion.

One particular aspect of Abraar's routine was his visits to his servant's home. Whenever she cooked for him, he would make it a point to sit down and share a meal with her family. It was a gesture born out of respect for their service and a genuine appreciation for their kindness. During one of these visits, the servant's young daughter, barely a teenager, handed him a love letter she had written.

Abraar's eyes widened in surprise as he read the contents of the letter. He couldn't believe that such a young girl would be expressing her feelings in such a manner. Filled with a mix of anger and concern, he scolded her, emphasizing the importance of education and how writing love letters instead of focusing on her studies would not lead to a prosperous future.

"Ye khat aapki Ammi ne padh liya toh samajh rahi hai kya hoga? (Do you realize what will happen if your mother reads this letter?)" he said, his voice tinged with anger. He felt a sense of disappointment that this young girl was diverting her attention towards infatuations instead of nurturing her mind through education. "Aapko bura laga? (Are you upse)" she asked, her guilt evident in her voice. Abraar nodded solemnly, his disappointment evident. "Bohot bura laga, aur khat mein kya likha hai padhkar sharmindgi mehsoos hui. Tum choti ho isliye jaane de raha hu, magar aisi harkat phirse ki toh sab tumhari Ammi ko sab pata chal gaya. Chalo jao padho (I felt really bad, and reading the contents of the letter made me feel embarrassed for even coming to your house. You're young, so I'm letting it go this time. But if you repeat such behavior, your mother will find out. Now go and study)" he scolded her, urging her to prioritize her studies.

Bakhtu, who had been observing Abraar's interactions with the servant and her family for a few years, couldn't help but voice his concerns. "Aap aise hi sabko bhaga denge toh humari Khaani kaise aayegi? (If you keep driving everyone away like this, how will our Khaani ever come?)" he asked, referring to the possibility of a love story unfolding in Abraar's life.

"Aapka zamaana alag tha Bakhtu, tab shayad koi ladki hogi jo insaan ko unke shaan o shauqat ke bina unse mohabbat karein. Agar mai Khan nahi hota toh ye inki mohabbat nahi hoti," Abraar replied, his voice tinged with a sense of nostalgia and resignation. He acknowledged that times had changed, and perhaps there was a time when someone would love another person purely for their character and virtues, without being influenced by societal expectations. However, he believed that his status as a Khan, a figure of authority and responsibility, had inadvertently influenced the servant's daughter's affection towards him. (Bakhtu, your time was different. Perhaps back then, there might have been a girl who could love a person for their character and virtues, without being influenced by their status or wealth. If I were not Khan, her love might not have blossomed).

Bakhtu persisted, questioning Abraar's pride when it came to girls. "Khan aap itne bade gumaan kyun hai ladkiyon ko lekar?" Bakhtu asked, seeking to understand his perspective.

"Ladkiyon ko lekar nahi, mohabbat ko lekar hu. Mohabbat insaan ko kamzor kar deti hai, kahi ka nahi chod ti," Abraar explained to Bakhtu, expressing his reservations about love itself. He understood the power of love and how it could weaken a person, compromising their ability to fulfill their duties and responsibilities. Abraar had made a conscious choice to prioritize his obligations over personal desires, even if it meant living a solitary life. (It's not about girls, but love itself. Love has the power to weaken a person, to make them vulnerable. It doesn't spare anyone, regardless of their background or position).

Abraar's heart was heavy as he continued his work, striving to bring justice and happiness to the people around him. Despite the loneliness that sometimes enveloped him, he found solace in the knowledge that his efforts were making a positive impact on the lives of others. Love, it seemed, was a luxury he couldn't afford, as it would distract him from his purpose and potentially disrupt the delicate balance of his responsibilities.

***

At night, Miraal found refuge in a small dargah. Tears streamed down her face as she prostrated herself before the divine presence, her heart heavy with the weight of her trials. In the depths of her despair, a memory resurfaced, her father's words echoing in her mind like a guiding light.

"Miraal beta, aaj toh mai hu tumharey saath aagey jaakar agar khuda ne mujhe bula liya, toh tum Abraar ke paas chaley jaana," her father's voice whispered within her, his words a gentle reminder of the promise she had made to herself.

As she wept in the dargah, a kind-hearted woman noticed her sorrow and approached her, offering food and comfort. In her weathered eyes, Miraal sensed a wisdom and compassion that resonated with her own pain. The woman gestured towards her palm, offering to read it.

Miraal hesitated, aware of her destitute state and lack of funds. "Mere paas koi paise nahi hai," she murmured, her voice tinged with resignation.

The woman shrugged, unaffected by Miraal's predicament. "Paise ki zaroorat nahi hai mere bete," she replied. "Dil ki baat suno, dil me koi bhi khayal aise nahi aata, khuda daalta hai."

With a glimmer of hope in her eyes, Miraal extended her palm to the woman. The woman studied the lines etched on her hand and spoke with a calm certainty. "Ye lo kuch paise, chale jaana waha jaha dil bata raha," she said, pressing a small amount of money into Miraal's hand.

Abraar found himself captivated by the woman he had seen in the graveyard once again, this time in the realm of dreams. Grateful for the woman's kindness, Miraal offered a heartfelt prayer, raising her hands in supplication. In that moment, as her palms faced the heavens, Abraar found himself in a dream, witnessing a woman fervently praying and softly whispering his name.

In his dream, Abraar felt a strong connection, an inexplicable pull toward the woman who invoked his name with such devotion. His heart stirred with a mix of curiosity and yearning, as if the universe was conspiring to guide him towards her.

The dream left Abraar with a lingering sense of purpose and urgency. Awakening from his slumber, he couldn't shake off the profound impact of the dream. Something within him urged him to act, to search for the woman who had appeared in his dream, whispering his name in prayer.

Miraal reached the village, her presence catching the attention of the curious onlookers. Unbeknownst to her, Abraar had instructed the villagers not to allow anyone to enter the haveli. Ignorant of this restriction, Miraal's hopes of finding assistance and refuge were swiftly shattered as she was forcefully thrown out.

Struggling to regain her composure, Miraal caught attention of Bakhtu. His eyes softened with sympathy as he recognized her and took notice of the bruises adorning her face. Offering her a chair, he handed her a bottle of water.

"Bibi kya masla hai? Kisse milna hai aapko?" Bakhtu inquired, concern evident in his voice. Miraal gratefully accepted the seat, taking a moment to hydrate herself before speaking. (What is the matter, Bibi? Whom do you want to meet?)

"Abraar Khan se," she replied, her voice filled with a mix of hope and desperation.

Bakhtu's eyebrows furrowed, understanding the gravity of the situation. Without hesitation, he reached for his phone and quickly dialed Abraar's number.

"Unki mangetar hu mai, marhum Mukhtar Khan ne mujhe ye anghoti pehnayi thi," Miraal declared, revealing the ring on her finger. A look of shock briefly flashed across Bakhtu's face, which he quickly concealed, realizing the implications of her words. (I am his fiancée, this ring was given to me by the late Mukhtar Khan)

"Ek minute aap ruk ye yahan," he said hurriedly, his mind racing as he dashed off to a nearby spot where he could make the call. It seemed that nobody was picking up on the other end, intensifying his sense of urgency.(Please wait here for a moment)

Bakhtu was determined to connect Miraal with Abraar, knowing that their reunion held the potential to change the course of her life. As he persistently dialed the number, he hoped against hope that her words carried truth.

"Miraal bibi aayi hain," Bakhtu informed him on the call. It was early morning, and Abraar couldn't help ask groggily, "Kon Miraal?"

"Khan jinke ghar aapne paise bhijwaney bola tha (The one you asked me to send money to)", Bakhtu added, and then her face flashed in his mind, waking him up. In his dreamy haze, Abraar had wished to meet her again. He had met her only once, so how was it possible for her to appear in his dream? His dreams were often fleeting, usually involving his father or forgotten upon waking.

Only if Khan knew the power of last wishes, his father's will had dragged the two of them to the graveyard. Their meeting was predestined, already planned ahead.

"Unko hall mai baithaye, mai aata hu (Ask her to wait in the hall, I'll be there)", he replied, getting up and draping his father's shawl around his shoulders. It was a chilly winter morning. He ordered the maid to serve her tea while he quickly freshened up and made his way to the hall.

There, he saw the young woman sitting on the sofa, her legs dangling slightly due to her short height. Her headscarf covered her head, casting a shadow on the rest of her face, concealing it from his view.

He stood at the door for a moment, still in a sleepy daze. Suddenly, her eyes met his, and he noticed the red marks marring her face. Her entire countenance was covered in bruises. In that instant, something shifted within him. His protective instincts surged forward, and he cast a questioning glance towards Bakhtu, who shook his head in confusion, unaware of the situation.

The emotions on Abraar's face were a mixture of anger and concern as he walked towards her. He tentatively asked, "Aap theek hai? (Are you okay?)" his tone was gentle, as if addressing a delicate doll. Her hand, which had been clutching the dupatta to her face, loosened, revealing the extent of her injuries.

She shook her head, a single tear cascading down her face. "Mujhe Khan se madad chahiye thi (I needed Khan's help)" she said firmly. Unlike her broken state, her spirit shone through. She didn't break down completely. As Abraar nodded and took a seat infront of her, her gratitude for his help began to pour forth.

"Sach kahu toh mai yaha nahi aati, agar aapne woh madad ke paise nahi bheje hote. Kal kabristan mein aapse milne aayi thi (To be honest, I wouldn't have come here if you hadn't sent that money for help. I came to meet you at the graveyard yesterday)," she started, her voice filled with gratitude. In the graveyard, she had no idea that the man who comforted her was Abraar. He had helped her as a stranger, and this deepened her respect and admiration for him.

"Baba ne aapke baarey me mujhe kai baar bataya tha. Logon ke messiah hai aap, humesha se aapse milna chahti thi, magar kabhi mauka nahi mila. Aaj khuda ne mujhe mauka de diya..." she said with a smile. Her words could melt anyone's heart, and the intensity with which she spoke evoked a flustered reaction from Abraar. He noticed how she skillfully avoided discussing the bruises that marred her face. It seemed that her self-respect prevented her from revealing her vulnerability. (Baba has told me about you many times. You are people's messiah, and I have always wanted to meet you, but never got the chance. Today, God has given me that opportunity...)

"Mai koi messiah nahi hu, magar aap apni takleef bata sakti hain mujhe. Mai aapki madad kar sakta hu..." he spoke hesitantly, meeting her gaze. She quickly replied, her eyes locked with his.(I am not a messiah, but you can tell me about your troubles. I can help you...)

"Maine is mangni ko serious nahi liya tha, Baba ke inteqaal tak. Mai aap par koi zor zabardasti nahi karungi, na koi gila shikwa karne aayi hu aapse. Bas mai chahti hu aap meri madad karein," she replied, swallowing her pride. He wasn't talking about the engagement, but she had to acknowledge it. She needed his help. (I didn't take this engagement seriously until Baba's death. I won't force anything on you, nor do I have any complaints against you. I just want your help)

"Mai aapki baat nahi samajh raha?" he asked, not fully comprehending what she meant by the word mangni. He glanced at Bakhtu, who explained, "Miraal bibi keh rahi hain ki ye aapki mangetar hai, marhum Mukhtar Khan ne unhe aapke naam ki angoothi pehnai thi." Abraar stood up, feeling skeptical. It sounded like a lie. If there had been any form of engagement, his father would have mentioned it. (Miraal bibi is saying that she is your fiancée. The late Mukhtar Khan had put a ring on her finger in your name).

He wanted to question her, but the expression of absolute betrayal on her face stopped him. "Aap iss mangni ke baarey mein nahi jaantey they? (You didn't know about this engagement?)" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Confusion clouded his mind as he shook his head. "Toh aapke Baba ne mere haath m ye angoothi kyun pehnai? Aisa waada kiya hi kyun jab unko pura nahi karna tha? (Then why did your father put this ring on my finger? Why make such a promise if he didn't intend to fulfill it?")" she said, her voice breaking with a hysterical tone. Her scarf fell, revealing the swelling and cuts on her face, evidence of someone who had worn a heavy jewelry striking her. Miraal was no longer concerned about revealing her vulnerability; it seemed as if she had lost her last hope as well.

"Woh paise aapne khairat mein diye they? (Those funds you sent were charity?)" she asked, her eyes filled with self-hatred. She realized that he had pitied her, and the money was given out of pity rather than respect.

Abraar's heart sank as he listened to Miraal's words. The weight of her pain and disillusionment pressed upon him like a heavy burden. He struggled to find the right words, wanting to offer solace and understanding.

"Nahi Miraal, aisa nahi hai (No, Miraal, it's not like that)," he finally managed to say, his voice filled with earnestness. "Abba ne kabhi mujhe iss mangni ke baare mein bataya hi nahi...(My father never told me anything about such an engagement...)"

He gently asked her to show him the ring she was wearing, which bore a striking resemblance to his mother's ring. "Kya main isse testing ke liye bhej sakta hu? (Can I send this for testing?)" he asked her in a soft voice she nodded, and handed the ring to him. As he held the ring in his hand, he couldn't help but notice that something was not right with Miraal.

"Aapne kal se kuch khaya hai?(Have you eaten anything since yesterday?)" he asked, his voice filled with worry. She nodded her head, indicating that she had eaten but she didn't seem willing to respond or talk.

"Mai ko bolna khaana laaye aur aap Miraal bibi ko guest room mein shift karde (Tell the maid to bring food, and Bakhtu, please shift Miraal bibi to the guest room)," he instructed Bakhtu. "Mai apne ghar wapas ja rahi hu (I am going back to my house)" she denied, refusing his kindness or any kind of help.

"Aap apni marzi se yaha aayi thi, jis maqsad se aayi thi woh pura hona chahiye (You came here on your own will, and you should fulfill the purpose you came for)," he said firmly. And if her words carried truth then he couldn't let her go, he had to fulfill his father's last wish.

"Madad apno se li jaati hai, aap toh mere kuch nahi lagte (Help is sought from loved ones, and you are not one)," she couldn't help but say, her voice filled with bitterness and self-doubt.

"Anguthi ko dekhkar aisa nahi lagta (It doesn't feel that way when I see this ring)," he said, his words laced with a hint of tenderness.

As night fell, the mystery behind the ring unravelled. It was indeed confirmed that the ring belonged to Abraar's mother, and it was a part of a pair. Abraar's mother had always wished to have a daughter, but fate had never granted her one. His mother had planned to give one of the rings to her future daughter-in-law, but she never got the chance as Abraar was merely a baby when she passed away.