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Maybe in another life...

Part - 1

Disclaimer: This is a purely fictional work inspired by the electrifying performances of the actors on screen. It has absolutely nothing to do with real-life terrorists or such individuals.

Ulfat × Rehman as a memory

Kaga sab tan kahiyo

Ke chun chun ke mans kahyio

Do naina mat kahyio

Mohe piya miln ki aas

The graveyard did not feel like a place of rest. It felt like a battlefield where the white flags had been raised too late. The sky was a bruised purple, heavy with clouds that refused to rain, as if even the heavens were holding their breath, waiting for Ulfat to finally break.

The men carried the charpai. The rhythm of their footsteps was a dull thud against the earth, a sound that lodged somewhere between her ribs.

Every step they took toward the open grave felt like a subtraction not from the world, but from her.

As they lowered Rehman into the soil, the poetry of their youth rose uninvited.

Do nain tere, do nain mere… jab mile to milke chaar hue.

Two eyes and two eyes made four.

For twenty years, they had seen the world as one.Ab phir se do, she did not whisper it, did not move her lips.

The sentence stayed trapped behind her teeth, burning.

The first shovelful of dirt struck the wood.

Someone held her arm. Someone told her to be strong. Someone said the word sabr.The voices blurred.

Inside her, something else spoke:

Ishq jab had se guzar jaye toh bimari ban jata hai.

Love, when it crosses its limit, becomes a sickness.

She stood still while the soil rose, inch by inch, covering the last visible trace of him. To the others, she looked composed pale, hollow, quiet. A grieving widow holding herself together.

But inside, the mathematics had collapsed. Four eyes had become two, and those two no longer recognized the world.

The crows circled the skeletal trees. She watched them without blinking.

Kaga… sab tan khaiyo… par ye do naina mat khaiyo…

The prayer echoed in her mind like an old song played on a broken instrument.She did not kneel, did not wail, did not tear her clothes.

She simply stared.

When the men began to leave, when condolences turned into footsteps, the “business” of death dissolved into evening she remained.

Faisal touched her shoulder and Uzair waited.

She did not react.Eventually, even they stepped back. A few yards away, then farther.

The graveyard grew quieter, the sun sank fully, the air turned blue-grey.Only then did her knees give way.

She did not scream his name. She crawled.Her white dupatta dragged through the damp soil as she reached the fresh mound.Her fingers dug into the loose earth not violently, not dramatically but slowly, like someone searching for something they had just misplaced.

She presses her against the mud but nothing changes, the silence still pricking her soul.

She pressed harder, as if pressure might force a heartbeat through the soil but still nothing.

Her hands trembled.

She began gathering the dirt into her palms and letting it fall again, over and over, as though undoing and redoing the burial with useless devotion.A sound escaped her then not a cry, not a word just a broken breath that refused to become language.She lay beside the grave, cheek against the cold ground.

Her eyes stayed open.If anyone had been there to see her, they would not have heard accusations, or curses, or questions to the sky.

They would have seen something far worse:

A woman who had stopped negotiating with God.

The crows shifted on the branches.

Her thoughts flickered one last time, soft and delirious:

Jism le lo… mitti bana do… par in aankhon ko rehne do…

Take the body... Turn it to dust...but leave the eyes

Because the eyes were all she had left, her heart has shattered and her soul is deep buried along with her world. Night settled fully but Ulfat did not move.

Near his grave, in the raw silence after everyone had gone, she finally broke not in sound, but in stillness and that stillness was more brutal than any scream.

_________

MAIN ROWAN TINU YAAD KARKE

The car ride back from the graveyard was a funeral in itself.

Ulfat sat pressed against the window, her forehead resting on the glass, feeling every vibration of the road as if it were a needle stitching her skin to the cold air.

Beside her, Faisal was a statue of unexpressed agony, and across from them, Uzair looked like a man who had forgotten how to breathe.

As they stepped into the foyer, the house exhaled. It smelled of stale rosewater and the lingering, suffocating presence of too many people.

The mourners were still there huddled in the lounge, tea cups in handnwaiting to offer more of that hollow sympathy that felt like salt in a gaping wound.

Ulfat didn’t look at them, she couldn't.

"Sab chale jao," she said, her voice a low, terrifying rasp that cut through the murmurs of the room.

"Sab ke sab... abhi. Mujhe kisi ki hamdardi nahi chahiye."

(Everyone leave... right now. I don't want anyone's sympathy.)

She turned to Uzair, her eyes bloodshot and wide, looking like a woman who had seen the sun go out.

"Uzair... Faisal ko bahar le jao. Kahin bhi. Use ice cream dilao, ya bas gadi mein ghumao. Use yahan mat rehne do."

"Bhabhi, aap akeli—" Uzair started, his voice trembling.

"Maine kaha use le jao!" she erupted, a sudden, jagged spark of hysteria lighting her eyes.

"Main nahi chahti mera beta apni maa ko is tarah bikharta hua dekhe. Use nahi pata hona chahiye ke uski maa aaj mar chuki hai. Le jao use!"

(I said take him! I don't want my son to see his mother shatter like this. He shouldn't know that his mother has died today. Take him!)

Uzair nodded, his eyes brimming with tears, and led a silent, shell-shocked Faisal out of the house.

As the front door clicked shut, the silence of the house rushed in to claim her.

Ulfat didn’t walk to their room; she dragged herself.

Each step up the stairs felt like she was pulling her heart behind her on a chain. When she reached the door of the master suite the "wing" where every inch of wallpaper held the echo of Rehman’s laughter she paused.She opened the door and the scent of him hit her like a physical blow. It was his cologne, his skin, the smell of his life.

She slammed the door behind her and locked it, the metallic click sounding like a final curtain.The house was finally quiet, but it was a "quiet" that had teeth.

It was the silence that follows a storm, where the only thing left is the sound of wreckage settling. The guests had trickled out, their faces heavy with a pity that felt like a secondary assault on Ulfat’s skin. They had offered her tea she couldn't taste and prayers she didn't believe in.

Now, it was just the four walls, the scent of rosewater and incense clinging to the curtains, and the crushing absence of the man who had built this sanctuary.

Ulfat sat on the edge of their bed. The bed that was too large now. The bed where the right side felt like a cold, empty continent.She looked at the mirror. Her own face was a stranger’s.

She remembered a time was it only days ago : when her laughter was easy, triggered by a look from him, a joke shared over a morning cup of tea.

“Since the day you turned your face away, Rehman,” she whispered to the empty air, “laughter has turned its face away from me too.”

It wasn't just that she was sad. It was that the very concept of joy felt like a foreign language she had forgotten how to speak. The flowers of their love the dreams they had planted for Faisal’s college, for Uzair’s wedding, for their own quiet old age hadn’t just wilted.They had died before they could even bloom.

A premature autumn had settled into the marrow of her bones.Her eyes burned.

Not just from crying, but from a grit that felt like sand. “This grief isn’t a soft thing,” she thought, clutching her knees to her chest.

“It’s a splinter. It’s like a boil that refuses to burst, throbbing with a heat that makes my whole head ache." She closed her eyes, but that was worse.

In the darkness of her eyelids, she saw his smile, then the hospital sheet, then the way the earth had hit the wood of his coffin.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The rhythm of her new life. Every time she blinked, it felt like a fresh wound.The tears weren't just water; they were salt on an open heart. She thought of how he used to tease her about being a "crybaby."

“Save these tears for a real problem, Ulfat,” he’d say, wiping them with his rough thumb.

“Well, Rehman,” she choked out into the dark, “is this real enough for you? Or are you going to come back and tell me I’m overreacting?"

The clock on the wall ticked a rhythmic, heartless reminder that time didn't care about her devastation.

Outside, the neighborhood was settling. The lights in the houses across the street went out one by one. The world was going to sleep.

This was the greatest insult of all. How could the world sleep when her sun had been extinguished?

“I swear by the God who took you,” she muttered, her voice thick with bile, “my eyes haven't seen the shadow of sleep. While the whole of humanity drifts into sweet dreams, I am the only one awake, keeping watch over a life that no longer exists.”

Every shadow in the corner of the room took his shape. For a fleeting, cruel second, she would see his silhouette hanging his coat on the chair. She would hear the ghost of his footsteps in the hallway.

“Mainu tere bhulekhe painde ne,” she sobbed, burying her face in his pillow, which still held the faint, fading scent of his cologne.

“I see your ghost in every corner, and when I reach out, the air just mocks me.” She knew what the people whispered. She had seen the way the aunts looked at her when she started talking to the empty air at the cemetery. They thought she was losing her mind. “Let them call me mad,” she thought.

“A sane person couldn't survive this. Only a madwoman can carry the weight of a dead son and a dead husband and still find the strength to breathe.” Her tears didn't feel cold. They felt like molten lead.

“People say tears are just water, but mine are fire. They burn a path down my cheeks. They are like coals, glowing with the memory of your touch.” She remembered the way they used to talk late into the night. Now, those memories didn't offer comfort; they were thieves.

They stole her peace. They made the present unbearable.

“Where did you go, you who gave me these tears as a parting gift? You left me with nights that never end. You left me with a heart that is a graveyard.”

She looked at her hands, they were shaking.

“You made me trust you,” she whispered, her voice turning sharp with that mutation of rage again.

“You made me believe that as long as you were here, the world was a safe place. You were a thief, Rehman. You stole my independence by making yourself my only world, and then you took that world away.”

She dragged herself to the window and looked up. The stars were bright, indifferent diamonds.

“Even the stars look like they’re suffering,” she imagined. “Or maybe they’re just mocking me.”

She thought of Uzair somewhere, likely staring at the same stars, trying to figure out how to be the "man of the house" when he still felt like a boy.

She thought of Faisal, whose silence was a wall she didn't know how to climb.

She felt a bitter laugh bubble up in her chest.

“Everyone is looking to me for strength. They want the 'Bhabhi' to be the anchor. They want the 'Mother' to be the shield. But I am just a woman whose husband left her to become a joke for the world to pity.”

The mockery of the neighbors, the "mehnay" of the relatives who would eventually start asking about the inheritance, about her future, about how a "young widow" should behave it was already starting.

“I have become the talk of the town, Rehman. A tragic story for them to tell over dinner. I trusted you like a fool, and you turned me into a spectacle.”

She slumped to the floor, the cold tiles pressing against her skin.

“Listen to me,” she whispered, her forehead resting against the bed frame.

“The fire of your absence is burning in my eyes. It feels like I’m standing over a pyre, waiting for the wood to turn to ash. But the wood is my heart, and it refuses to finish burning.”

“The night is heavy. The stars are drowning in my tears. And I am here, Rehman. I am here, surviving because I have no other choice. But don't you dare think I’ve forgiven you. Not yet. Not while the bed is still cold. Not while Faisal's eyes are still empty.”

“I will cry for you until my tears run dry, and then I will cry with the blood of my soul. But I will not sleep. I will stay awake until the sun realizes it has no right to rise without you.”

She stayed there, a broken silhouette against the moonlight, a woman who had lost her anchor but was forced to become the shore for everyone else.

I literally didn't mean to throw this brick on you guys but this is one of my close to heart scraps of mine and I just can't stop myself from sharing it with u all. There's one more , I'll share that tomorrow - I promise I'll share only one more of this type.

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#akshaye khanna #dhurandhar #fanfic #rehman dakait #rehman x ulfat #saumya tandon #ulfat baloch #fanfiction #aditya dhar #cute #sad thoughts #it was traumatizing

obsessed with how the 3rd life rules is “being nice” lol uh do we remember last time we utilized only the 3rd life rules

#it was traumatizing #/joke #trafficblr #mcytblr #nice life #life series