One Shot: Wounds

Disclaimer: I haven't written a fanfic in almost 15 years so this is bit rough but I do hope you enjoy it.

OS: Wounds

"Theworst wounds, the deadliest of them, aren't the ones people see on theoutside." — Sherrilyn Kenyon

It’s been 10years since that fateful day, talaq day. I would like to think we are older,wiser but life is a constant work in progress. We have grown, moved on yet somuch of the night that broke our world apart remains unspoken.

I left Lucknowfor almost 8 years to complete my higher education. The news of his engagementwas too much to bear. I turned my pain into my power and focused on becoming adoctor. I needed to be far away from everyone and everything that reminded meof him.

For the firsttime in over 7 years, I came back to Lucknow. My Ammi and Barkhat Phufi’s handicraftbusiness was opening a new location. As I aimlessly roamed the streets of myformer home; I ran into a familiar face.

The shockedlook on his face told me he wasn’t expecting to see me again let alone in thiscity.

“Bhabhijaan!?”he barely croaked out shock still visible on his face.

“I am not youBhabhijaan anymore. I haven’t been in that in a long time” I replied.

“Someone elseholds that title now” I murmured under my breath. The ache and the hurt I hadburied so deep came back so suddenly with the utterance of that one title.

The nextthing I knew I was climbing the steps to reach the top of the minar; the firstplace I had seen him on the day I came to Lucknow.

That was alittle over a year ago. I can’t help but think back on the day at the minar.Today, my dream will be complete, my mother’s dream will be complete. Today I willreceive my white coat. Today I become Dr. Seher but not as Dr. Seher Baig as I haddreamed of growing up but as Dr. Seher Niyazi.

I look downat the head resting in my lap. He looks so carefree, so at peace almostchildlike. I stroke his hair with one hand while the other traces the scars onhis back.

I gently ask,“Why?” I can feel his eyes open and his body stiffen at my question.

“Does itstill hurt?”, I continue to probe as my fingers continue to trace the scars.

What was hethinking? I have asked myself that question many times even though I know theanswer. Nothing is above his principles, not even him. It’s hard not to admirethat even though sometimes you want to shake him senseless; especially when hebecomes his own judge, jury and executioner.

If TahirBhaijaan hadn’t run into me and told me everything that day, who knows where wemight be today.

He told mewhat happened after I left the house. The state he found Mahid in and theirconversation. Every special moment we shared became his crime. He believed hecommitted a crime. An underage girl, who couldn’t understand; and he keptpushing the boundaries of our relationship. I never felt any of that, neverfelt forced or pressured about anything after our nikkah. I was always thesafest with him. I wish I could go back and tell him that, so he didn’t carrythe guilt. I also found out the truth of Nazima’s scheme; and how he used thatto make her help him in pushing me away.

Tahir bhaijaansaid, “It was all an act, a show he put on.”

“There was nochildhood love from Mahid’s side. As soon as he heard I had left town, Nazimawas promptly married off. He shut down, worse than before I entered his life.”Bhaijaan stated.

He continued,“The anger got worst but not as violent as before as something always pulledhim back from the edge.”

I also nevertruly thank Tahir Bhaijaan for staying by Mahid’s side throughout theseturbulent years. He is a true friend.

Once I heardthe truth; if I wasn’t driven by my anger to that minar; I probably would neverhave confronted Mahid.

My eyes werealways his weakness; he couldn’t deny any of it. After that we mourned the time,we had lost; the pain we caused each other. Today we are together because it’sour choice, because of our love. Still, I will ask why he gave himself such aharsh punishment. He still will not answer and there are days I can still seethe guilt wash over him. It’s less frequent as time passes but it’s still thereif you know how to read him.

The us “we”are still a work in progress. The wounds heal but the scars remain. They arethe lessons from the battles we have fought to be here today.