Hazel's POV - Lucknow
Ahmed House. 2:45 AM.
The house was completely still.
Lucknow nights had their own particular silence - thicker than London's, warmer than Birmingham's - carrying the scent of jasmine from the neighbour's wall and the distant sound of a dog somewhere down the lane.
The kind of silence that felt like home.
And yet -
Woh so nahi pa rahi thi.
She turned on her side.
Then the other.
Then back again.
Haris ke bina neend nahi aati thi.
She hadn't said that out loud to anyone.
Not to Ammi. Not to herself - not properly.
But her body knew.
Uske baazu nahi the.
His arm that always found her in sleep - loose, certain, completely there - was an ocean away in a London house that was probably too quiet without her too.
Shayad.
She closed her eyes tighter.
And found him anyway -
In the darkness behind her eyelids -
The airport.
His arms around her - completely - the way he always held her - like she was something that needed to be held carefully and completely at the same time.
Her face against his chest.
His oud.
The bangle marks still faintly visible on her wrist from wearing them all night -
Nishaan.
His nishaan.
She opened her eyes.
The pale yellow ceiling of her childhood room stared back at her.
Ya Allah.
She sat up slowly.
That restless feeling - the kind that sits in the chest and won't be reasoned with -
Woh jaanti thi kya karna hai.
She always had.
The bathroom was cold at 2:45 AM.
She made wuzu carefully -
Cold water -
Familiar motions -
The kind of ritual that grounds you when nothing else does -
Then unrolled her prayer mat.
Stood.
Two rakaat Tahajjud.
Unhurried.
Like a woman who had nowhere else to be and nothing more important to do.
Then she sat -
Hands raised -
Eyes closed -
And made dua.
The raw kind.
The 2:45 AM kind.
Ya Allah -
Mere abba ko -
Her throat tightened.
Unhe jannat ul firdaus mein jagah dena. Unke qabr ko noor se bhar dena. Unhe maaf farmana.
A tear slipped down.
She let it.
Aur Ammi -
She exhaled slowly.
Ya Allah - unhe sehat dena. Unhe khush rakhna. Unhe lambi umar dena. Unhe meri wajah se kabhi takleef mat dena.
Another tear.
Aur -
She paused.
Aur Haris.
Haris Aziz Khan.
Ya Allah -
Something moved through her chest -
Overwhelming -
Completely -
Shukriya.
Itna shukriya ke alfaaz nahi hain.
Ke tumne yeh banda mere naseeb mein likha.
Ke tumne mujhe yeh diya -
Yeh quiet, certain, completely overwhelming thing -
Yeh banda jo mere bina baat ke samajh jaata hai -
Jo mere dard ko pehle feel karta hai -
Jo mere liye drawer mein chocolates rakhta hai -
Jo keh deta hai - main hoon - aur matlab bhi hota hai -
Ya Allah -
Uski hifazat karna.
Har takleef se.
Har burai se.
Har nazar se.
Hamari shaadi mein barakah dalna.
Hamari mohabbat ko aur mazboot karna.
Hamesha
She sat in that silence for a long time after.
Then blew softly -
Ayatul Kursi -
Into the Lucknow night air -
In the direction of London.
Because it was all she could do.
And because Allah carries what hands cannot reach.
She folded her prayer mat carefully.
Looked at the suitcase in the corner.
Uska hoodie.
She found it without looking -
Black. Worn soft from use. Folded neatly -
She pulled it over her cream coord set.
His oud.
Faint. Warm. Unmistakably him.
"Main hoon," it said without saying anything.
She climbed back into bed.
Pulled the blanket up.
Closed her eyes.
Luckily - this time - sleep was gentle on her.
Haris's POV - London
The same night.
He was packing.
Not anxiously - Haris Aziz Khan did not pack anxiously - but with that particular focused efficiency that applied to everything he did.
Shirts. Folded precisely.
Blueprints. Rolled carefully.
His watch. Placed on top.
Birmingham kal tha.
Hazel already knew - they had discussed it before she left for Lucknow. Khan Architecture Birmingham was ready. The work was waiting.
Aur Birmingham mein -
Woh bhi hogi.
His phone buzzed.
Mark Evans - PA:
"Sir - apologies for the late message. Birmingham office fully ready. Your trip is confirmed. Also - interview request from Architectural Today approved. Youngest architect heading an independent firm.
Shall I confirm?"
He typed back without hesitation.
"Confirm it."
He set the phone down.
Looked around the London house.
Woh yahan thi.
Three weeks ago she had stood in this kitchen -
Cream coord set -
Strawberry halfway to her lips -
Sunlight turning her brown eyes gold -
Completely unaware he was watching -
Completely herself.
He opened his gallery.
My Jaan e Haris.
Scrolled past work photos. Site visits. Architecture references.
Until -
Her.
Hazel laughing at something off camera -
Head thrown back -
Completely unguarded -
Woh itni thi.
He looked at it for a long moment.
Nine months.
Plus a few weeks.
Almost ten months of marriage -
And still -
Woh uske bina ghar nahi lagta tha.
He set it as his lock screen.
Put the phone face down.
He zipped the bag.
Stood back.
Theek tha.
He turned toward the door -
And stopped.
Dressing table.
Her side.
He walked toward it slowly.
Her things still exactly where she had left them -
Her moisturizer.
Her small jewellery dish.
Her lip balm - vanilla - sitting slightly uncapped -
Woh bhool gayi thi.
And there -
Between her moisturizer and a small notebook -
Lavender.
Her perfume.
That small glass bottle -
The one that had filled every room she walked into -
The one that had made the London house feel like home -
He picked it up.
Held it for a moment.
Walked to her pillow on the bed.
Pressed the bottle once -
A soft mist -
Lavender settling into the fabric -
"Ab theek hai," he said quietly. To no one.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
Then -
Without fully deciding to -
Pressed the bottle once more -
Against his own collar.
Lavender.
Woh.
Woh hamesha woh.
He stood there for a moment -
Pagal ho gaya hoon.
Bilkul pagal ho gaya hoon.
He placed the lavender bottle carefully in his travel bag.
Picked up her pillow.
Woh bhi.
Packed it.
Bilkul pagal.
Last look at the room -
Her side of the dressing table.
Her vanilla lip balm - still slightly uncapped.
The faint lavender in the air.
Woh aa jaayegi.
Woh hamesha wapas aati thi.
He walked out.
Closed the door softly.
Lavender on his collar.
Her pillow in his bag.
Her in his chest.
Hamesha woh.
The First Dream
London - 3:22 AM
He had finally slept.
And found her.
The kitchen was warm.
Morning light - that particular golden kind that only existed in their home -
And she was there.
Woh thi.
Hazel.
Kitchen counter.
His old white shirt.
Hair slightly loose.
A strawberry held between her fingers -
Halfway to her lips.
"Haris," she said.
"Hm."
"Agar main ek fruit hoti-" she tilted her head slightly. "Toh kaun sa hoti?"
He looked at her.
At the strawberry in her hand.
At her lips.
At her waiting eyes.
"Strawberry," he said.
Without thinking.
Without pausing.
Strawberry.
She blinked.
"Kyun?"
He crossed the kitchen -
Slowly -
Until he was standing right in front of her -
And reached forward -
Took the strawberry -
The half eaten one -
From her fingers -
And bit into it.
The exact side her lips had touched.
Deliberately.
Completely.
"Meethi hai," he said simply.
"Woh-" she pointed at it. "Main kha rahi thi-"
"Haan," he agreed.
He leaned forward -
And kissed her cheek.
Warm. Soft. Right there.
"Meri strawberry," he murmured.
"HARIS AZIZ KHAN-"
He almost smiled -
The Second Dream
London - 4:47 AM
He had slept again.
Deeper.
Darker.
Birmingham streets.
Golden light.
Her walking ahead of him
Navy dress
Bangles catching the light
Chhun chhun chhun
She turned to look at him
That smile
Woh hamesha wali smile
"Haris-"
And then -
Screech.
Impact.
Silence.
"HAZEL-"
He ran -
But his legs wouldn't move -
"HAZEL-"
She was on the ground -
Still -
Too still -
"JAAN-"
He reached her -
His hands on her face -
"Hazel - aankhein kholo - HAZEL-"
Her eyes -
Closed.
"NAHI-"
London - 4:52 AM
He sat up.
Completely.
Instantly.
Sweat.
His shirt - damp.
His breathing - uneven.
His heart -
Dhak. Dhak. Dhak.
Loud. Frantic.
He looked around.
London ceiling.
Her side of the bed -
Empty.
Woh Lucknow mein thi.
Woh theek thi.
Woh theek thi.
He pressed his hand to his chest.
His hands were slightly shaking.
He picked up his phone.
4:52 AM London time.
Lucknow mein - 9:22 AM.
He pressed call before he fully decided to.
One ring.
Two -
"Wa alaikum assalam-"
Her voice.
Woh thi.
Woh bilkul theek thi.
Something in his chest -
Released.
Completely.
"Jaan." His voice came out quieter than intended. Slightly rough at the edges.
"Haris?" Immediately alert. "Sab theek hai? Itni subh-"
"Tum theek ho?" he said.
"Main? Haan - main bilkul-"
"Hazel." His voice dropped. "Theek ho na. Sach mein batao."
A pause.
"Haris - kya hua?" Softer now. She had heard something in his voice.
She always heard.
"Kuch nahi," he said.
"Haris."
"Bas-" he exhaled slowly. "Bas tumhari awaaz sunni thi."
Just wanted to hear your voice.
Silence on the line.
"Bura khwaab tha?" she asked softly.
He said nothing.
"Tha na," she said gently. Not a question.
"Tum theek nahi thi," he said quietly. "Khwaab mein."
"Lekin yeh khwaab tha," she said gently.
"Haan."
"Aur main yahan hoon," she said. "Bilkul theek. Ammi ke ghar mein. Chai pi rahi thi."
He exhaled.
Long. Slow.
"Haris," she said softly.
"Hm."
"Phone seedha rakhna."
He blinked.
"Kya-"
"Bas rakhna," she said. "Seedha."
He held the phone properly.
And then -
He heard it.
Her breath.
Slow. Deliberate.
"Allahu la ilaha illa Huwal Hayyul Qayyum-"
Her voice -
Low and soft -
Ayatul Kursi -
Through the phone -
From Lucknow -
To London -
"La ta'khudhuhu sinatun wa la nawm-"
He lay completely still.
Woh yeh kar rahi thi.
Uske liye.
"Wasi'a kursiyyuhus samawati wal ard-"
"Wa la ya'ooduhu hifzuhuma-"
"Wa Huwal Aliyyul Azeem."
Silence.
Then -
A soft sound on her end.
"Hazel-" he said slowly.
"Kuch nahi," she said immediately.
"Woh sound-"
"Kuch nahi tha."
"Hazel."
Silence.
Then -
Very quietly -
"Phone ko-" she started. Stopped.
"Hm?"
"Phone ko-" she tried again. Her voice slightly softer. Almost shy. "Kiss kiya."
"Kya?"
"Tumhara chehra nahi chhoo sakti na," she said quietly. "Toh-"
She stopped herself.
"Toh?" he said. Very quietly.
"Kuch nahi," she said quickly. "Waise - Birmingham mein mausam kaisa hai? Mark ne bataya tha ke-"
"Hazel."
"-apparently November mein bohot-"
"Jaan."
"-thanda hota hai Birmingham mein toh-"
"HAZEL."
She stopped.
"Hm?" Completely innocent.
"Tum ne phone kiss kiya," he said.
"Main nahi jaanti tum kis baat ki-"
"Mera chehra nahi chhoo sakti thi," he said quietly. "Toh phone kiss kiya."
Silence.
"Birmingham ka mausam," she said firmly. "Bohot important topic hai-"
"Hazel."
"-November mein apparently-"
"Meri jaan."
She stopped.
"Hm," she said. Very small.
"Shukriya," he said quietly.
"Kis liye-"
"Ayatul Kursi ke liye," he said. "Phone ke liye."
A pause.
"Aur is liye ke tum ho."
Silence.
"Birmingham mein-" she started weakly.
"Hazel."
"Haan."
"So jao."
"Tum bhi."
"Haan."
A beat.
"Haris."
"Hm."
"Agli baar-" very quietly. "Jab main wahan hoongi-"
"Haan?"
"Chehra available hoga," she said softly.
"Haan," he said.
"Toh phone nahi kissing karni padegi," she added.
"Nahi."
"Theek hai."
"Theek hai."
The line stayed open.
Neither hanging up.
Just -
Her breathing.
Lucknow.
Him breathing.
London.
Same night.
Same moment.
Together.
Until his eyes closed -
And this time -
Sleep came gently.
No more dreams.
Just her voice.
Just - her.
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