"You didn't eat again."

Hadi said it gently, but she still flinched.

She didn’t answer. She just stood by the window, her fingers tightening around the edge of the curtain. The shadows of the streetlight outlined her delicate frame. So still… so silent.

He stepped closer. "Maira... I brought dinner. At least have a few bites."

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Why? So I can stay strong enough to keep pretending?"

That hit him harder than he expected.

"You’re not pretending," He said defensively, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, her or himself.

She turned slowly, her eyes hollow but calm. "Aren’t I? I sleep in this room like a stranger. Even though I am your wife. I exist in your world, Hadi... but can I ever exist in your heart?"

"I married you because I—"

"—felt guilty," she interrupted, her tone raw. "You hit me with your car. My life shattered. And you had to save me to get rid of your guilt."

He had no words. Just silence.

Her gaze dropped to the floor, and her next words felt like a knife.

"At least Lubna has your love. Your son has your name. Me? What do I have?"

He stood frozen, unable to bridge the distance between them.

And yet, despite the quiet, her pain screamed louder than any argument they could’ve had.

He never meant to marry her.

But he did.

And now he stood in the same house with two wives, one who holds his past… and one whose future he ruined.

---

Maira Ali. Just 24. No identity beyond that. No one to call hers. No place she could truly belong. Except in one nikahnama… where her name sat beside his.

Hadi Ansari. 30, successful, respected. A loving husband. A doting father. A man who believes in doing the right thing, even when his heart isn’t in it. A man who took responsibility for a mistake… by marrying a girl to save her.

But guilt makes a poor foundation for love.

And silence? Even worse.