*****

"You know son, your life is about to change. A once-in-a-lifetime change. It'll never happen again. How crazily it changes now is not in your hands but let me tell you something my son, it is only up to you whether you wish to change it for better or for worse. Mayra is a lovely girl and I'm very sure that she'll keep you very happy, but always remember son, you must do everything within your power to make her happy too. She's leaving her whole life behind to be a part of yours. Don't ever forget that. Cherish her always.

"I'm sure you will, son. Tonight is the most important night of your life - a brand new beginning - and I just want to say that I'm proud of you son! I couldn't be happier! I'm really proud of you and I wish you, and Mayra, all the happiness in the world. Love you, son!"

Life has a funny way of turning around. When one starts to feel settled in a routine, starts to feel comfortable in his place and accepts his life and aspirations, it does a dangerous spin. What is a joyous occasion of heartfelt celebration for one, becomes a sad and tragic story of helpless suffering of another. One man's pain can be another's pleasure. One man's anger can be a woman's abused body and broken mind.

But what was amazing is that even before he landed that first slap on Mayra's cheek on their wedding night, something within him had been abused. Something within him had suffered and had been broken. Something within him had died a miserable death. His compassion.

How else could he have done something so depraved to have hit his bride on their wedding night, and then every night since? How could his conscience allow him to do such a thing? Now he realised that it had been possible for him because his conscience had died. No, it had been brutally murdered at the hands of his anger.

But his compassion and conscience weren't the only things that died that night.

"I'm proud of you son."

Aamir was so sure he would never hear those words from his father, ever again. His father's trust in him, his pride at having Aamir as his son was dead too. And that caused a massive pain in his chest every time his father so much as looked at him.

Aamir wondered if he would ever get to see his father's beaming face just as it had been when he came to give that particular piece of fatherly advice right before the Nikah ceremony. Mayra's parents had been detached, uncaring that night, but Aamir's family had been truly in the mood for celebration. Aamir himself had been in the mood for celebration when his father had reminded him that from the moment he accepted Mayra's hand in Nikah, her happiness would be his priority. His highest priority.

And what had he done?

He destroyed her. Shattered her in the worst way a human being could be shattered because now she had accepted enslavement. She called him "master".

The pain that one word evoked in his heart was unbearable. He called her his 'princess' and she thought of him as his master? He treated her as his 'princess' and she still thought of herself as his slave?

Why?

Where was he lacking in his show of affection and care? Why was it becoming so difficult for her accept the change in him? Was he not demonstrating it enough? Was he not showering her with enough attention? Should he do more? Should he double his effort? Triple it?

Had Gaurav not forbidden it in absolute terms, Aamir would've asked Mayra directly why she thought of him as such and what change she wished to see in him. Gaurav had warned him that he was only relating that information to tell Aamir to tread carefully with Mayra and to have tremendous patience with her. If she knew that Gaurav was leaking her answers to her once-abusive husband, she would probably stop talking at all.

Then there was no chance in hell to make any progress.

Frustrated, Aamir got up from the bed and walked to the window. The night was as dark as his mind but the night was quiet while his mind was in turmoil.

No moon, no stars and no cool breeze.

The night was empty. His life was not.

He turned away from the window to the beautiful and innocent woman who was sleeping in his bed, curled tightly, hugging her knees fiercely even in sleep as though expecting a midnight assault. Even sleep failed to pacify her, to comfort her.

He walked over to her and sat down beside her. Brushing the errant strands of hair from her face he recalled the first time she ever slept in his bed and how much he had to persuade her to do so.

He limped all the way to his room, with each step his excitement and fear growing. How would she react to seeing him like this? Last she saw him was when he was being wheeled away towards the check-in counter at the airport. Last he remembered of her was her her tear stained face looking at him with infinite worry in her eyes.

After showing the unexpected signs of movement that night when he realised that Mayra had been innocent, a week of multiple consultations and MRIs had established that his paralysis was curable. He had been flown to New York for the crucial and dangerous surgery. She had been unable to accompany him, courtesy of his aunt who called her a "bad omen", a fact against which Farhan fought hard and bitterly, but could not convince his agitated wife in an already charged atmosphere. She had been dumped behind while all that Aamir wanted to do was cling on to her forever and never let go.

Till the moment they reached the airport, she held his hand in her own, frantically trying to explain all the details of his hitherto treatment to anyone who would listen. She had even written down every bit of it in the book which kept a daily record of his health and progress. The book was packed with all of Aamir's reports to be shown to his surgeons. All of whom appreciated Mayra's efforts and praised her for the meticulous detailing she had done.

One had gone on to ask if she were a doctor herself!

Before the surgery when he thought he would die, and after the surgery when he realised he'd been given a miraculous second chance at a normal life - all he could think of was her face. Her voice. Her concern. Her care. The softness of her hands when she touched him. The radiance of her smile.

All that remained between them was a door, and a thousand misdeeds of the past that stained his conscience.

Scared out of his mind, he opened the door.

There she was, the woman of his dreams. The reason for his struggle back to health. The epicentre of his love and passion. His everything.

She was combing her hair, seated at the dressing table, facing the mirror, in a simple white and pink salwar suit. Her eyes were lowered and her back was to him. He wanted to call out to her but suddenly his throat dried out and what came out was a garbled inaudible sound.

He then cleared his throat.

Her gaze snapped up in the mirror where the man who she feared she'd never see again was standing there looking at her with uncertainty. He was standing! On his own two feet!

On unsteady legs she slowly stood up never taking her eyes off the reflection of him. Her hand rose to her chest and pressed against her heart as she looked at him, top to bottom.

Disbelief!

Slowly she turned around, squeezing her eyes shut just in case he was a hallucination that would vanish, leaving her heart and her hopes shattered. But when she opened her eyes after turning to face him completely, he was still there. Not a hallucination. Not a ghost.

Her husband.

Shock paralysed her body while disbelief propelled her forward. In that one moment everything between them remained forgotten. The pain, the abuse, the hurt. All that remained was love. It flowed from her eyes, it made him want to fall down to his knees.

She was all that remained of his world. When he had nothing left, he had her. And now when all that was his returned to him, he wanted nothing more than her. And so slowly, deliberately he opened his arms to her and whispered, "Mayra."

That one word, said with a wealth of emotion, pulled her to him and in an instant she was in his arms. Crying and rejoicing at the same time.

"Th.. Thank God! Thank G..God!" she kept whimpering over and over again.

He crushed her to him wanting in that moment to convey everything to her that he wanted to in his state of paralysis. But even now, he seemed incapable of speech for he couldn't find the right words. 'Sorry' just simply wasn't enough.

She leaned back in his arms and gazed tearfully up at his face and he swore he'd never seen a more beautiful sight. The face of angel with sadness pouring out her deep brown eyes as happiness replaced the sorrows there. Hesitantly she raised her hand to his face and pressed her fingers to his jaw brushing it down to his chest and over his heart, reassuring herself once more that her beloved was here, in her arms, "y..you're okay."

"Yes I am, darling. All because of you'" he said, tenderly.

A knock sounded at their door and broke that moment. Mayra remembered where she was, in the arms of the man who hated her sight. She jumped back in fright, so what if he just came out of paralysis, he was still her abusive husband and still had enough strength to hurt her.

Aamir swore under his breath at her reaction and turned to the door. Zara sheepishly said, "Everybody is downstairs waiting for you. They are calling you and Bhabhi."

"We'll be there in a minute," sighed Aamir and Zara quickly shut the door and left.

Aamir turned to his wife who was shaking like a leaf. He would surely punish her now. For all the times during his paralysis when she touched him, for when she spoke to him directly, for the times she looked him in the eye. He would punish her for all of that now. So what if she had done it all to help him, to check if he was doing okay. His instructions had been clear and she violated them. She cleaned him up and bathed him for crying out loud, when she wasn't allowed to touch him. That definitely warranted some punishment and she waited for the blow and curse that she knew was just moments away.

He just wanted to pull her in his arms and beg her forgiveness. He wanted to kiss the tears off her face and promise her that he'd make sure they never stained her face again. He wanted to fall at her feet and thank her for taking care of him the way she did. For cleaning up after him, for bathing him, for feeding him. For speaking to him directly when his own family wouldn't, for looking at him straight in the eye when his own family couldn't do it. There was so much to say to her, to apologise for, to promise her but nothing came out.

"Mayra?" he said.

She jumped at his voice, her trembling worsened and her heart was about to crash out of her chest. Unaware of what her mind was going through Aamir stepped forward and whispered, "shall we go?"

"I... I'll just be a minute," she replied looking at the floor.

Thinking that she probably wanted to do her hair he said, "sure, take your time," and left.

She steadied herself and looked at herself in the mirror not knowing whether to be happy or sad.

Her abusive husband was back.

Dinner that night, after a very long time, had been animated and joyful. People were laughing and joking, celebrating Aamir's recovery and return but Aamir was busy eyeing his wife, who like a dutiful daughter-in-law was busy serving the food and dessert. It wasn't lost on anyone that the main factor behind Aamir's miraculous recovery was Mayra. Her daily reports, the details had been so helpful that Aamir's mother and Aamir too couldn't stop talking about it, while a red-faced and embarrassed Mayra tried to busy herself with work.

Suddenly Zara spoke up, "Bhabhi, Bhai and Mom are both so impressed with you! This is the best time! Ask for any present you want, I'm sure they'll get you the moon if you ask for it!"

Farhan, Khalid, Faiza, Irfan and Azhar, all laughed at Zara's childish suggestion but Aamir - looking straight at Mayra - said, "no."

Mayra's eyes filled with tears as he thought that her husband was about to humiliate her, in front of Irfan and Azhar no less, she was about to turn away and hide in the kitchen when Aamir said, "Even if she asked for the sun and the moon, and even if I laid the whole universe at her feet, I'd never be able to repay her for what she's done for me."

Mayra was stunned as she saw his face. His eyes were locked with hers in a steady gaze and he tried to convey to her, through his eyes alone, the gratitude he felt and that words couldn't possibly encompass.

Not allowing herself to dream and hope, she turned away and headed upstairs, away from the celebration. she went back to their room and prepared for bed. Pulling out the mattress and pillow from her cupboard, she was about to make her bed on the floor when Aamir walked into the room.

"What are you doing, Mayra?" he asked.

"Going to.. uhm.. sleep?" she said hesitantly, almost asking for permission in that statement.

"You will not sleep there," said Aamir, sternly. Mayra lowered her head in humiliation. If Aamir didn't even want her in the floor in his room, where else could she possibly sleep without her whole family knowing of her position in Aamir's life?

Aamir walked over to her and pulled the sheets away from her and dumped them away. Turning back to her he said, "that is not your place Mayra."

He took her by the hand and led her to the bed. Mayra shook her head wildly but Aamir ignored it and gently pushed her till she sat down and pushed some more till she lay down flat. He pulled the comforter over her and tucked her in. Sitting beside her hip he said, "this is your place Mayra, beside me. This is where you'll sleep from now on, okay?"

Confused, and scared, she just nodded her head. He smiled at her and got up. Limping, he went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When he returned, she was turned to the side an he got in with her, but kept o his side.

Three hours later, with jet-lag still keeping him up, he looked at Mayra's peaceful face. He leaned forward with the intention of kissing her lips - the thing he wanted to do since he arrived - but he held back. That was not how their first kiss was going to be. He would make it special, the most special day for Mayra.

For now he had to regain his strength. A hectic day lay ahead, he had to call Zaheer the first thing in the morning, asking him to send the documents and papers to him, all awaiting his perusal.

Since then up till now, a lot had changed. Mayra had almost died and had been brought back, yet their relationship was just as complicated as that night. That night he had held himself back from kissing her tonight he had to do the same. Nevertheless, he pressed a kiss to her cheek and went around the bed to get in beside her. He pulled her into his arms and swore, they would never revisit that history again. Whatever happened was in the past and in this journey to recovery Aamir vowed to be the rock that Mayra had been when he was in bed.

In the same darkness of the night Faiza too remained awake as the past that haunted Aamir had a dangerous mystery that haunted her too. Something that was known only to her and to Mayra. Not even to her beloved husband.

Guilt tore at her viciously as she raised her head from her husband's chest and stared at his sleeping face. Tears pooled in her eyes as she thought of the love that she held in her heart for him and the love that he showered over her.

They were going to have a baby together. Faiza knew that if it hadn't been for Mayra, she wouldn't have been here, in the arms of the man she had fallen so hopelessly in love with. Yet it was the same man who she had kept ignorant of the secret.

How long was she going to be able to keep it from him? How long was she going to live in this guilt that was eating her alive?

She had begun to have nightmares. Irfan always soothed her by saying that may be it was an effect of pregnancy and the hormones but she knew that it was just that the past had come back to haunt her.

Each night her nightmares started with the same face, the same laughter, the same boyish smile that could fool even the best out there.

"Hi, I'm Jaffar."

How foolish she had been to smile back, shake his hand and give him her name.

*****