*****

"And one more thing, just review the papers of that land deal before sending them to me, Zaheer, I need you to tell me if the changes I asked for in the third clause are there. Ok then, bye."

Aamir cut the call and leaned back against the wall watching Mayra as she read a book. Or tried to read the book. Her eyes were vacant, she was staring at the pages, not registering a single word. He knew that she was trying to behave like everything was normal, yet her heart that was shattered into a million pieces was, in all likelihood, never going to be normal again.

How could one go back to being whole again when they have slowly and painfully been stripped of their self-worth and self-esteem? How could you wake up one day and and the days of torture be magically erased from memory? How can inhumanity be forgotten and injustice go unpunished? How brutally was this world going to favour the man with power to hurt and look down upon the woman who bore the pain?

He knew he deserved to be punished, and until his beloved punished him, he knew his guilt would eat him up. He wanted to go to Mayra and beg her to retract the statement that she had given the police. She had every right to have him thrown behind bars, and as his woman, proud and strong, he wanted her to do it.

How hypocritical were men in the society, he thought. The daughters and sisters of others didn't matter even if the most heinous of crimes were being perpetrated against them, but when one's own daughter or sister was hurt or violated, then the perpetrator deserved nothing short of a painful death.

"Mayra?" He whispered.

She turned her head in his direction, yet did not look at him as she whispered, "yes?"

"Shouldn't those who do wrong deserve to be punished?" Aamir asked, his voice choking up with unshed tears.

Mayra looked away. She knew to what and to whom he was referring, but she couldn't answer. Her heart wanted justice, she needed it, but she had learned the hard way that wanting something wasn't necessarily enough for one to get it. She had wanted to be treated with dignity, if not love, she had wanted her family to give her respect, if not her right. Yet here she was, being treated in the best hospital, in the best possible way, at the mercy of her once abusive husband.

How miserable did that make her?

"I..I don't know." She replied.

A tear ran down Aamir's face, unheeded, as he thought of how low Mayra's self-confidence had sunk, or how low her opinion of him had sunk, that she couldn't truthfully reply. The silence in the room was screaming the untold truth that lay between them like an unbridged cliff, separating them both, tearing them apart.

He was an abusive husband, and she was a victim of physical, mental and emotional brutality.

You think it will be easy. You think you will develop self-control and restraint in the blink of an eye. You are mistaken, gravely mistaken, for you are about to undertake the most difficult challenge of your life. And the hardest thing to do would be to try to forgive yourself.

He'd never thought that he would agree with that crazy counsellor, but more than anything else, Aamir started to realize that man had been hitting the bull's eye. He really did think it was going to be easy, or at least not as hard as it turned out to be.

Aamir plumped up his pillow and lied down, thinking of the lessons he had learnt from the psychologist. He had ensured that Mayra's parents would be here with her while he was gone, for he knew it could take him a while before he got back. And he was glad that he had taken that measure. With a kiss on her cheek, and a whispered "Love you, sweetheart", he had left.

He had reached the office sharp at 12 noon and was shown to the room of his psychologist by a middle-aged woman who was obviously the receptionist. He entered the room and found himself staring from the decor, which was shocking red everywhere, to the man seated on a red leather seat. He was wearing acceptable clothes today, Aamir thought, black trousers with a button-down white shirt. The weird glasses were still there and the man was smiling at Aamir as though he was his long lost brother.

"Welcome. I'm Gaurav, I'll be your counsellor. You must be Aamir Hassan?"

"Yeah," Aamir confirmed hesitantly, suddenly unsure of his decision of coming here.

"Please sit down. So before we go into the problems, tell me something about yourself."

"Umm. I'm thirty years old, work as the CEO of our company that was started by my father, I'm a compulsive workaholic..."

"Your family?" Gaurav interrupted.

"Ya, my parents, a brother and a sister, both younger to me. My aunt - my mother's sister - live with us. And my wife. That's it."

"Children?"

"No, not yet."

Gaurav looked at Aamir quietly for a minute and then asked, "hobbies?"

"I don't get much time."

"You seem to have a nearly perfect life, Mr Hassan. Why would you need my help?" Gaurav asked in the most condescending tone Aamir had ever heard in his life. Trying not to snap at the man, he replied, "I have anger issues."

"Oh really!" The man gloated, his tone chafing dangerously against Aamir's already thinning patience. "What kind of anger issues?"

"I lose my temper very fast. Sometimes it happens so fast that I just don't seem to have any control over it." Aamir confessed.

"Rrrriiiggggghhhhhhtttttt," Gaurav drawled.

All of Aamir's carefully erected restraint snapped as he got up and glared at the man and said, "you know what, you irritating jerk, I don't need the likes of you. Go to hell!"

He turned and was almost at the door when the other man spoke, "that's it?"

"What?" Aamir glared at the man who was smiling smugly.

Gaurav picked up a piece of paper and replied nonchalantly, "You wrote on the interview form on my webpage, and I read, 'my anger problem has caused a lot of pain to those whom I love. They deserve to have a member of the family who isn't a crazed monster. For them, I'm doing this.' So, let me guess, you don't love them enough."

"Listen here you!" Aamir stepped forward angrily, "you have no idea..."

"Oh I have an idea Mr Hassan. You, however, have no idea how difficult this is going to be. I'm not going to sugar-coat it for you. You seem like a fairly intelligent man. Think about it, when you cannot tolerate the slightest provocation from me, how on earth will you change your very mentality? Just think about it Mr Hassan, ever since you walked into this room you have been looking down at everything, from the decor to even me. You are strongly opinionated. I can't say if it's a bad thing, but it surely is going to be a hurdle if you want to change your attitude."

Aamir looked at him stunned and guilty. And suddenly very uncomfortable. The man relentlessly pushed ahead, "the only thing in your favor at this point of time is the person or persons for whom you are willing to change. But if your love for them isn't strong enough, you will not be able to endure it. And trust me when I tell you this, it is going to be very very difficult."

His head hung in shame Aamir returned to his seat, sat down and muttered, "sorry."

Smiling victoriously, Gaurav said, "shall we continue?"

They had only got around to discussing Aamir's younger days, as a hard headed teen and a rebellious adolescent. He was a smart kid, brilliant even, but a very stubborn child. His mother had quite often jokingly recalled and commented on his temper tantrums as a young boy. Obviously, his temper issues didn't suddenly materialize over his marriage to Mayra.

Mayra shut the book she was pretending to read and looked at Aamir as he turned on his side to face the wall. She knew he was in deep thought, especially since he had gone for that 'important appointment' during which her parents were here.

Soon enough, his breathing deepened and she knew he had fallen asleep. She was so attuned to him that she could read him quite easily, like an open book. Half of it was because she had served him as his personal slave, one who couldn't afford to make mistakes, and other half because she had served him as his nurse.

And soft knock sounded at the door as a young woman's head peeked in, "Bhabhi, may I come in?"

Mayra looked at the door and smiled, "of course, Faizah. Come in."

****