Then Salar briefly instructed Zaheer regarding the arrangements for the nikah and left without saying anything further.
On the other side, Aizal expressed her gratitude to Imam Rehmat and his wife, Zeenat, with great respect and sincerity. With a slight hesitation, she informed the Imam that her cousin had arrived to take her, and that she now wished to leave. As she said this, an unfamiliar ache stirred within her heart, for she knew this was a lie spoken out of compulsion. The kindness and sincerity of those gentle people had filled her with deep remorse, yet the harshness of circumstances had forced her into silence.
Meanwhile, Salar had reached the location Aizal had sent him. Simple streets, modest houses, and an environment devoid of worldly luxuries… all of it was new and somewhat unfamiliar to him. It was the first time he had come to a place so entirely different from his habits and standard of living, and within moments, an involuntary restlessness appeared on his face. He continued to glance around absentmindedly when suddenly his gaze lifted in a certain direction… and then froze.
It was the same face… the one that had often, against his will, made him lose awareness of the world around him. But today, that gaze lacked the usual carefreeness.
Aizal stood near the door, looking off to one side, as though the shadows of the coming time were brushing against her heart.
When Salar saw her, he remained still for a few moments, then stepped out of the car and gestured briefly for her to come.
Aizal's steps were heavy; a stranger, an unknown direction… yet the chains of compulsion led her to that car. She sat in the back seat, while Salar cast an indifferent glance at her and then, with a faint smile, thought to himself, "Interesting…" as if all of this were merely a temporary game to him.
The car moved on silently.
There was silence inside, yet within that silence, two entirely different stories were breathing—one heart moving toward a bond out of compulsion, and the other treating it merely as a phase.
Salar kept looking at Aizal through the rearview mirror, sensing the quiet charm hidden in her simplicity, while Aizal tried to appear strong outwardly, though inside, an unknown fear and the echo of a long, difficult union kept unsettling her.
She knew this journey would not be easy; it was not just a nikah, but the beginning of trials.
After some time, they reached the flat where all the arrangements had been completed. The cleric was present, and Zaheer was there as well. After formal greetings, the nikah proceedings began.
Words were being spoken, but behind those words lay two different intentions—for one, this relationship was merely a demand of circumstances, and for the other, perhaps an intriguing turn, a game whose outcome even he could not foresee.
When the words "Qubool hai" were uttered, a subtle tremor passed through the atmosphere, as if fate had opened a new chapter.
But after this bond, there was no peace awaiting them—only a long distance, a difficult union.
For some relationships do not begin with love, but with trials… and then time decides whether they remain a compulsion or become destiny.
The words of the nikah had barely dissolved into the air when an old ache stirred within Aizal's heart. She lowered her gaze, and for a moment, it felt as though time had turned back…
To the day when her father had placed his hand on her head with a faint smile and said,
"Aizal… my daughter, whatever decision you make in life, make it in a way that your head never bows, and your Lord is never displeased with you."
Back then, she had nodded innocently in agreement, but today… today he was no longer in this world to hold her hand, to stand beside her in her decision.
For a moment, her heart felt intensely that if he had been here, this moment would not have been so lonely.
But now, circumstances had brought her to a point where she was her own protector and the keeper of her own promises.
She knew that this nikah was both her compulsion and something written in her destiny… her father's absence had forced her onto a path she had never even imagined.
Aizal quietly closed her eyes, as if speaking to her father within her heart,
"Abba… you are not here, so I had to make this decision on my own. But believe me, I have never let your head bow… and I never will."
A strange mixture of peace and pain settled within her heart, as though this bond was both her compulsion and perhaps held some hidden wisdom of her fate.
Zaheer left with a friend to drop the cleric at his home, while Aizal felt as though she was suffocating. Somehow, she had to reach Lahore and free herself from this unwanted relationship, and meet Mustafa.
Salar told her to stay in the room.
When Salar knocked on the door, Aizal felt a moment of panic, then composed herself and opened it. On the other side, Salar felt a slight irritation—that the girl he had helped, who was now bound to him in nikah, was ignoring him like this.
After a few moments, Aizal asked softly,
"Where is the prayer mat? I want to offer prayer."
Salar was momentarily taken aback.
He had not prayed in years. When he was eight years old, he used to pray with his mother, but after she passed away, he had drifted far—not only from prayer but from religion itself. His life had been filled with everything that distances a person from faith.
As Salar looked around uncertainly, Aizal understood that he was unfamiliar with both prayer and the prayer mat. After searching, they finally found one.
"Where can I perform wudu?" Aizal asked again softly.
She needed to perform ablution, but there was no water in the washroom. Salar immediately went outside and returned with a jug filled with water.
"This flat belongs to a friend of Zaheer's; it mostly remains closed, so there was no water," he explained.
Aizal took the jug from his hand in slight surprise, sat near the tap, and began performing wudu slowly. With every drop of water, the restlessness in her heart began to ease.
Watching her, Salar himself was surprised—why was he doing so much for a stranger?
And Aizal, too, wondered why this man was making things so easy for her.
When she faced difficulty during wudu, Salar stepped forward and held the jug.
"I'll help."
Aizal silently completed her ablution. While doing wudu, she removed her locket and placed it aside, and during masah, a few strands of her hair fell across her face.
For a moment, Salar's gaze lingered on her, but he quickly pulled himself back.
Once she finished, he stepped out into the lawn, and Aizal returned to the room and stood for prayer.
As she said the takbir, it was as if the atmosphere changed. There was conviction on her lips and the light of faith in her heart. She felt as though Allah alone was her only support.
A verse echoed within her heart:
"Indeed, in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find peace."
As she went into prostration, silent tears began to flow from her eyes.
"O Allah… if this path is written for me, then do not let my faith weaken."
With every prostration, Aizal's faith grew stronger, while outside, Salar was unknowingly being tied to a thread that would, after years, pull him back toward faith.
On one side was Aizal's unwavering belief, and on the other, Salar's lost faith… and perhaps these two paths were moving toward the same destiny.
Is this merely a relationship born out of compulsion…
or is fate about to bring them both onto the same path?
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