The sun rose, and morning light crept through the curtains.
Haya sat on the edge of her bed, her legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Her phone lay shattered near the wall... just like her.
She hadn't slept. The tears had dried, but the pain in her chest hadn't gone away.
She stood slowly, like someone twice her age, and walked to the mirror.
Her reflection startled her. Puffy eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, lips pressed into a line that once smiled so easily.
"I don't even recognize you anymore," she whispered.
A Few Years Ago... (When Haya was 17)
"Your nikkah's date is fixed, Haya!" Zoya entered the room excitedly. She was barely fifteen, with eyes too wide for the cruel world and a smile that bloomed without reason. Her beauty was soft and untouched, the kind that came with youth and a belief that everything good would last forever.
The moment she heard about the nikkah, she glowed with joy. To her, love was a fairytale, and marriage was the happy ending. The idea of her favorite person marrying her brother felt like magic... like a dream coming true.
She didn't notice the silence in the room, the uneasy glances, or the heavy air. Her heart was too light to feel the weight around her. In her world, everything was still beautiful.
Haya looked up at her. She couldn't believe it.
"Haya! Haya! Haya! I can't believe it! I'm so happy!" Zoya's happiness was overflowing.
"Did he say yes...?" Haya finally spoke, trying to hide her own smile. She was more than happy, but a part of her was scared.
"Haider?" Zoya asked, and Haya nodded, her cheeks turning slightly pink.
"Yes. He said yes. He'll come back next Sunday. And you know what Baba said? He said your nikkah will happen as soon as he returns!" Zoya beamed.
---
Back in the present...
Haya was lost in her thoughts when a soft knock startled her.
"Haya... it's me," her grandmother's gentle voice called.
Haya looked at the door, then turned back to the mirror. "Please... not right now," she said, her voice rough. She knew she needed her, but she didn't want to break down again.
"Please eat something... you haven't eaten since yesterday," her grandmother said.
"I won't die, Granny... just let me be for a while." She says, without opening the door.
A pause. Then the sound of footsteps slowly walking away.
Haya walked to the bathroom, and after a few minutes, she came back. She reached for a scarf and wrapped it tightly around herself like armor—as if it could protect her from the pain inside.
She didn't want anyone to see her like this... fragile, broken, still hurting from words that weren't even shouted.
She picked up her prayer mat and started performing namaz.
---
Somewhere across the city...
He sat alone in his apartment, staring at the phone on the table. Her name still showed in the call history.
Haya.
She had answered. He hadn't expected that.
He had practiced the words a hundred times, told himself they were the right thing to say. But when he heard her voice, something inside him broke.
He closed his eyes. Her silence had been louder than any scream.
He wanted to scream, wanted to destroy everything. But he didn't even move.
You should say yes.
He's better than me.
Lies. All of it. But he thought they were necessary.
He had left a deep wound... and now, too late, he was trying to cover it.
He picked up a photo frame from the table—a picture of her smiling on a winter day, snowflakes caught in her hair. He touched the glass, his fingers shaking.
"She deserves better," he whispered. "Better than a man who ruins everything he touches."
His eyes burned, but no tears came. Not anymore.
"Why doesn't she hate me...?" he asked himself. "Why? Why does she still care?"
There were too many questions in his mind.
He had made a choice. And now, he had to live with it.
Even if it meant losing the only person who had ever truly loved him.
"It's all my fault..." he said, his voice breaking.
---
Back in Haya's room...
She sat by the window, knees pulled close, chin resting on them. Her eyes were fixed on the dull, gray sky.
"Ya Allah... what is happening to me? Why is this happening? Please tell me this is a nightmare and I'll wake up... please..." she whispered through tears.
The silence in the room felt heavy. Almost too much to bear.
She wanted answers. She wanted to believe he meant what he said.
But deep down, she knew he didn't.
Because when someone doesn't care, they don't sound like they're hurting too.
And he was hurting. She could feel it.
So why was he pushing her away?