There were decorations everywhere. The city was lit up while the groom stood at the cemetry, in his sherwani, looking at a grave.

Dawood Hasan (1948-2000)

"Father... this is the second time I came to your grave. I couldn’t face you then, couldn't bring in the will to forgive you for never reaching out to me after you sent me to the boarding school".

The younger Zayn would wait hours for a call, watching all of his friends talking to their parents while he got no calls. Alone, and at the end he would pick up the telephone and call random numbers. Acting like he was talking to his father.

One day he dialled the wrong number, a young girl spoke, and she listened to him, as he pretended.

"I miss father."

On the other end the girl replied, "Did you call him?"

"No, what's your name?"

"Farah,... I don't know where is he. What's the issue with yours?"

Zayn leaned on the table, "He doesn't talk to me."

"Aww, why don't you call him?"

He cried out, "He never picks up the call."

She hummed, "It's okay. You can call me whenever you feel sad."

That's how they started talking, the phone calls became frequent enough to fill in the void.

When his father died, Zayn started drinking, and since the brothel provided alcohol he was there every other day. Drowning his sorrows, lonliness and sadness by drinking.

Now Zayn felt he was healed enough to face his father, "I miss you father ", he whispered picking up the brush to clean the grave, he prayed some duas and left. 

When he reached home, he his phone rung, "Zayn... how are you?"

She asked her voice sounding heartbroken, "Why wouldn't you talk to me? Do you think I am shameless and disgusting just because I live in a brothel? Why her? I have loved you for twelve years".

Zayn didn't answer, realising she was drunk, "I am getting married in an hour."

On the end she laughed with sadness. Her tears falling down her cheeks, "So you are betraying me? If you had for once really looked at me, you would have realized why I am so upset, so much in love with you. You would have known why I waited for you, because you are my world while I am just a part of yours."

Her mother died when she was young, that's when she started receiving calls from Zayn and she would wait for his calls. Then his visit.

"I won’t call you again, I wish you a happily married life..."

Zayn couldn't hear anymore. His heart was aching, he saw Laila’s cousin brother calling him, "Zayn Bhai, qazi sahib aagaye hai".

Zayn replied softly, "Aaraha hu".

His eyes were teary, after listening to her confession, that woman- she had never confessed her feelings to him. But now she opened up her heart to him.

She had a much worse life compared to him, but all of this was helping neither of them. They were getting worse, Zayn wanted to change, have a happy marriage, happy family. And he couldn't have that if he spent half his life in the brothel. So he swallowed the guilt and sat beside on the sofa.

He saw her beautiful smile as she sat beside him, adorned in a red lehenga with her ghungat delicately draped over her face. Her lips curved into a shy smile, radiant and full of promise. But in that moment, Zayn’s mind drifted to another smile - a teary, broken smile etched in his memory.

"I won’t wait for you then,"  words echoed in his mind, her voice trembling yet resolute.

The contrast was stark, and it weighed heavily on him. One smile held hope for a new beginning, while the other spoke of an ending, of love unspoken for too long.

When Laila glanced at him her eyes shone, his breath hitched as he saw her eyes change to that woman's.

His mind playing tricks on him.

In the wedding chamber, he greeted his bride, giving her the wedding gift.

"You are finally my wife...", Zayn uttered with happiness, his eyes meeting her shy ones.

He held her hand, bringing it to his lip, kissing it softly.

"You look like a fairy," she did with the pastel pink lehenga and light makeup. His wife was light feminine beauty, who wore soft colours unlike the woman from the brothel.

She wasn’t seductive like that woman but Zayn felt an attachment to her.

Why was he comparing his wife to prostitute? He wondered.

She was just a prostitute... whose name he couldn't remember. And he named her after the woman he loved- Laila. Laila the woman he had desired, now sat infront of him.

His one true love.

He had her in front of him yet he couldn't shake off the guilt.

His chest felt tight as he sat across from his bride, her delicate hands folded neatly in her lap. She was everything he had dreamed of - calm, composed, the perfect partner for a man wanting to rebuild himself. But as her soft voice filled the silence between them, Zayn found his mind drifting to the woman he had left behind.

The nameless woman who had waited twelve years for him.

He closed his eyes, her words ringing in his ears, “You are my world while I am just a part of yours.” The weight of it was unbearable. He had built a life where she was only a shadow, lingering in the background while he moved forward. Yet now, with every passing moment, it felt as if that shadow was becoming all-consuming.

“Are you okay?” his wife asked, her voice tentative, breaking his thoughts.

“Yes,” he said too quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just a little overwhelmed.”

She nodded, her face radiant with kindness. She didn’t press him, didn’t ask for more, and somehow that made the guilt gnaw at him even harder.

Later that night, as she slept, Zayn sat by the window, his thoughts unrelenting. The city lights flickered outside, but all he could see was her - the woman who had answered a stranger’s call and become a lifeline to a lonely boy.

He wondered if she was still crying. If she was drinking herself numb to forget the man who had walked away from her without even looking back.

He reached for his phone instinctively, his thumb hovering over the screen. He wanted to call her, to hear her voice one last time, but he hesitated. What could he possibly say? That he was sorry? That he didn’t deserve her forgiveness?

No, he thought bitterly. It would be cruel to call now, to tear open wounds that were already raw. She had said goodbye, and he owed her the dignity of leaving her in peace.

But peace was a foreign concept to him now.

When the first light of dawn broke through the curtains, Zayn turned to see his wife sleeping soundly. Her face was serene, untouched by the chaos that raged inside him. She was his new beginning, and he wanted to love her, to give her the life she deserved. But love wasn’t a switch he could turn on or off. It was messy, tangled, and far too complicated for someone like him.

He leaned back against the wall, exhaustion settling into his bones. The weight of his choices pressed down on him, and for the first time in years, Zayn felt like that little boy again - clutching the phone, waiting for a call that would never come.

And somewhere, in the quiet corners of the city, he imagined her sitting alone, whispering his name like a prayer he would never hear.