LAGAN NOVEL IN ENGLISH ( PART 5) THAT FIRST MORNING

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For a while, Falakhi’s mind and body went completely numb...

She couldn’t think, couldn’t hear, couldn’t even move!

She sat frozen, as if she had turned to ice.

Her entire body felt so paralyzed that she forgot she was a living, breathing human made of flesh and blood.

Afaq picked up a pillow and walked out...

Sometimes it happens, doesn't it? When a mountain of shock collapses upon a person…
They become blind, deaf, and mute—if only for a while.

Sometimes, one wants to die out of their own disbelief.

Sometimes, the shame is so deep that one feels—
"A handful of water would be enough to drown in!"

Sometimes, self-respect is crushed so badly that a person is left wondering—
"Did I ever have any dignity to begin with?"

"Or have I always been humiliated this way?"

Tonight was a night of ‘shock’ and ‘trials’ for Falakhi…
Every step revealed a new surprise,
But this final incident was the most heartbreaking and painful one of her life!

“She who used to soar in the skies…”
“Whose life was made of flowers and rainbows…”

She always got whatever she wanted.
Her whims defined her.

“Not once had ‘Daddy’...
looked at her sternly or even glared at her. Rocked in cradles of gold and silver, she had forgotten the meaning of denial. Even her youth was magnificent—whoever saw her, surrendered their hearts. She enjoyed rejecting hearts. Mocking emotions was her habit. Playing with people’s weaknesses was her nature. And above all, she believed men to be foolish creatures. She thought women and mercy were men’s weaknesses, and using that weakness, they could be twisted and turned however one pleased. After all, wasn’t a man’s life only about worshipping beauty? Beautiful women were meant to be desired, to be adored. She had read the tales of moonlight beauties who destroyed kingdoms with their allure. She had watched ‘Cleopatra’ countless times. Eventually, her friends began calling her ‘Cleopatra’. She believed that if a woman was financially independent, she would never have to be enslaved by a man. That’s what hurt men the most—that they weren’t the guardians anymore. Her father’s entire fortune was in her name. She had a sufficient monthly income. Her jewelry and clothes were beyond count. There was no desire left in her heart unfulfilled. She always got what she wanted before she could even yearn for it.”

Yes, anger was a part of her temperament.
If she didn’t get something, she’d rage. She’d break things, and sometimes she’d destroy something even after getting it—just out of anger.
When all desires are fulfilled, even pointless rage feels justified.

Had Afaq not been drawn toward her, who knows what she might have done. That storm of fury could have wrecked everything.

But Afaq had pretended to like her, only to fool her.
She had been wounded by her own weapon.
An arrow from her own quiver had struck her at the temple.
Her own ways had humiliated her. For the first time in life, everything had gone wrong.
No matter how much she raged now, it would never be enough.

Tonight, she should have torn the house down.
Blown the roof apart.
Smashed the dressing table mirror into pieces.
Grabbed her jewelry and shattered it into bits.
Ripped her wedding dress to shreds.
Torn apart the bridal flowers.
Screamed her lungs out and raised the whole house.

Everything was expected of her. She was capable of doing anything unexpected. But… once she escaped the grip of shock, sorrow and grief wrapped around her like dark clouds.

Alas! What had happened to her?

She cried so bitterly, so uncontrollably, that even Afaq—had he seen her like that—might have felt pity.
After all, she was just a fragile woman, wasn’t she?

Face-down on the bed, she cried in a prayer of devastation.
Clutching every wrinkle of the bedsheet, she soaked it with tears.
The buds of jasmine clung to her face.
At times, she buried her face in her hands. At times, she whispered her pain to the flowers.

She cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.
Sometimes, there’s no option left but to cry.
When the heart overflows with countless emotions, one doesn’t know what to do—endure the pain or complain?
Was it good or bad? Was it fate or her own doing?

Was it punishment for her deeds, or a test from destiny?
Did she deserve this punishment or not?

Should she protest or be patient?

When the answers aren't clear, a person cries.
Tears are the final sign of helplessness.

When one surrenders and can no longer bear the pain of their emotions,
When they can’t scream or express their grief anymore,
Then they cry with all their heart.

People say crying is a weakness.
Then what is bravery?

How can one stop the storm of rebellious emotions crashing inside?

When one can’t destroy the other,
And can’t stab themselves in the chest,
What else can they do?

Crying, then, becomes the only relief.

In those moments, crying feels like the greatest comfort.

For the first time, Falakhi—who had always thrown tantrums over petty matters and cried for trivial reasons—learned what real tears meant.
What real pain was.
What it felt like to be truly wounded.
The agony of loneliness.

What is the name of a bird that has no voice?

And in the face of such moments, wealth, status, power, beauty—all become slaves.
They surrender.

The strongest creature is a human—who goes through all kinds of circumstances.

Who knows where all those tears came from—they just wouldn’t stop.
What happened to the jewelry?

She had spent the entire afternoon getting ready.

What became of the bridal outfit?

She was walking the razor’s edge now. And all she had left were tears—of regret, of longing.
Her tears were turning into a vast, endless ocean, and she was drowning in them.

Eventually, even crying exhausts you.
One gets tired of themselves.

Who knows when her sobs became softer.
Who knows when sleep began to rock her.

Humans are strange creatures.
They seek deception.

And sleep? It’s as innocent as it is cruel.
It arrives even during punishment. Even on beds of thorns.
It imposes its undeniable reality everywhere.

It must have been around 4 a.m.,
When she fell asleep, still sobbing.

How comforting sleep is.
It puts a veil over everything for a while.
Hides the wounds.
Detaches one from pain.
Takes you to a world where there’s no noise, no disgrace, no torment.

Where one is lost. Disappears. Becomes a stranger to themselves.

When she woke up in the morning, her eyes first landed on the clock—it was 10 a.m.
Oh no! She had slept so late.
Then her eyes moved to her bed, to the jewelry scattered all around.
Then, in disbelief, she looked at her Banarasi saree—which she was still wearing.
And suddenly, she remembered...

Last night was her wedding night.

And it had passed…

How it had passed!

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One by one, everything began to come back to her. She tried to turn over, but she couldn't. As if her body had stiffened while sleeping. Her arm was tucked under her face, and her cheek ached. Yes, the pillow had been pressing into her cheek all night, and she hadn't even realized it. Now, every sensation was slowly waking up.

She felt like looking at her face in the mirror—wanted to see what had become of her face. She got up slowly... but when she let her feet hang off the bed, she froze. She rubbed her eyes and looked again.

Mercy...

Indeed, Afaaq was sitting on the sofa in front of her.

Completely neat, fresh from a shower. He was still wearing a dressing gown. He had shaved. A pipe was in his mouth, and he was deeply engrossed in reading the English newspaper placed before him.

Seeing him, Falak's blood began to boil. The way he had behaved last night with such disrespect, and now he sat there looking so civilized! Her heart wanted to spit on his face and go back to her home. What reason was there to stay now? What had to happen had already happened.

She suddenly stood up, full of rage. Afaaq lifted his head and looked at her—as if memories only deserved a fleeting glance.

Then he removed the pipe from his mouth and said, “Good morning, madam!”

Falak didn’t think it was necessary to respond. He put the pipe back in his mouth and resumed reading the newspaper.

As Falak began walking heavily, a piece of jewelry slipped and fell onto her foot. A flower dropped from somewhere. Her dupatta got tangled. Her gharara got stuck...

“Oh Allah...!”

Nothing seemed to be in her control today, she thought.

Shaking everything off, she quickly went into the dressing room.

These clothes were suffocating her.

In the dressing room, her beautiful and expensive pink nighty was hanging.

“Oh fate!”

She never even got the chance to wear it.

So many dreams were tied to that nighty. She felt like burning it.

But she didn’t.

She took off the heavy bridal outfit and wore the nighty. It felt so light and soft!

Then she went into the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror, she saw her eyes were horribly swollen from crying. Where the bangle had dug into her wrist, there was a strange, ugly mark—like someone had scratched her with nails.

She began rubbing that mark furiously with her hands, but how quickly do scars on the body really fade?

She splashed cold water on her eyes, and it brought a bit of relief.

She didn’t want to leave the bathroom.

She thought, "I should take a bath. Maybe I’ll feel better. This heaviness in my head might go away. And some time will pass too."

"Yes, that would be good."

She quickly turned on the shower, adjusted the hot and cold water, and sat under the stream. The soft droplets felt so good. When they touched her cheeks, she felt like crying even more.

Her heart longed to run to her mother, to bury her face in her chest and cry endlessly and tell her everything that had happened. Then she wanted to go to her friends, scream, cry, and say—

"Your Falak is broken today. She fell from the skies to the earth."

A cunning man had crushed her underfoot.

“God! I just want to go home!”

This house and everything in it felt poisonous to her.

Outside, that wretched man was sitting. She didn’t even want to look at him. What greater insult could there be to a woman than this? She wouldn’t spend even a moment more with him.

She kept bathing for a long time, trying to wash away the burning in her heart with the water.

When she came out, she didn’t know what clothes to wear, because everything was still locked in the trunk. So, she wore the same nighty and threw on a thick dressing gown. For some reason, she felt scared of Afaaq.

She dried her hair with a towel and came back to the bedroom.

A tray was placed in front of Afaaq, and a waiter stood nearby.

Silently, she stood in front of the dressing table. She applied a bit of cold cream to her face, picked up the silver-handled comb, and started brushing her hair.

“Bring breakfast for Begum Sahiba,”
Afaaq ordered the waiter, and she heard it too, but didn’t turn around.

She had no desire to drink tea. She only wanted to go to her mother.

She didn’t want to speak to Afaaq without reason.

After combing her hair, she turned around. Afaaq was sipping his tea and staring at the bed.

Looking at the bed brought tears to her eyes again.

All her jewelry was scattered over it.

Those flower buds, which were meant to behold the beauty of her enchanting body, now lay wilted in fear.

And the faint creases on the bedsheet were narrating the entire story of Afaaq’s indifference.

“I think, before the waiter comes, you should remove your valuable jewelry from the bed,”
Afaaq said in a flat tone.

She didn’t want to obey that command. But she had to.

Slowly, she walked over and gathered all the jewelry. She also swept the flowers off the bed. Folded the quilt. Put a cover over the bedsheet.

She made the bed.

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She didn’t know why she did that… Was it out of fear of Afaaq?
No…

There was something in her own heart.

She felt as if this bed would narrate the events of the night to anyone who came and went.
And that story was full of her disgrace.

That’s why she covered up the bed.

She picked up the jewelry and placed it in the drawer of the dressing table.

Just then, the waiter entered with another trolley.

“Make tea for Begum Sahiba,”
Afaaq gave the order again.

The waiter, like a machine, made the tea and handed it to her. There was another sofa right across from Afaaq, and she was forced to sit on it.

Her legs felt heavy. She knew she couldn’t refuse at this moment.

So, unwillingly, she picked up the cup and began sipping the tea.

The waiter stood nearby like an angel hovering over her head.

As soon as the tea was finished, he began offering the rest of the breakfast items as well.

She didn’t feel like it, but she took a fried egg and began eating it with toast.

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Her mind was boiling with anger.

"How fake these men are!" she thought.

"He deliberately kept the waiter here so that we wouldn’t have to talk and I’d be forced to eat something."

"Oh no..."

"Why don’t you just say no, Falak?"

Her heart questioned her.

"I don’t know what kind of compulsion this is," she replied to herself.

She didn’t know how to deal with this situation.

Still, unwillingly, she kept swallowing every bite like poison.

She glanced at the clock—it was 10:30.

"Wow! Is this even breakfast time...?"

Then again, even in her own home, she always got up around ten or eleven. But in this house, she hadn’t heard a single sound of anyone else being awake until now.

Who knows when Afaaq had gotten up…

Where had he even slept last night?

And why had he come into this room...?

"There’s definitely something off about this man!"

Even now, he was eating breakfast with the newspaper in front of him, as if the newspaper was the only important thing in the room.

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"Oh God, such indifference!"

She felt like slapping him so hard that he’d snap out of it!

Her blood was boiling with anger when suddenly there was noise from outside. Then a whole group of people entered.

“Oh! It was all her friends!”

And at the very end—her mother arrived.

As soon as she saw her mother, she stood up. Her heart overflowed.

For the first time in her life, she felt like hugging her mother and crying her heart out.

And she did exactly that—she ran into her mother’s arms and began sobbing uncontrollably.

She had always thought that a mother and daughter crying together was overly dramatic—but today, for the first time, she understood why a mother even exists…
Why you feel like crying in her arms…
And what peace you find in crying like that…

She clung to her mother, crying, while her mother gently stroked her wet hair.

All her friends glanced back and forth between Afaaq, Falak, and the entire room.

Then their eyes landed on the bed—it was an incredibly beautiful and romantic setting.

They couldn’t quite understand Falak’s behavior.

“Alright, enough of the crying now. Let your mother sit down!”

Afaaq stood up and grabbed her arm with a rough jerk, as if he had full rights over it.