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Dear Diary,

I have never done this before. I do not know and I do not understand how people manage to pen their feelings and emotions down. It has taken me literally a walk to death and back to be able to come to terms with my feelings at all and so, being able to write about them is quite satisfying because I now know how far I've come.

Honestly, I have no idea why I'm doing this at all. May be because all that has been known about me is how horrible I've been and I want to document now that I can be a good person. May be because all this book has ever contained is painful accounts of someone undergoing torture and now I want to end that ache. But may be the real reason is that I want to bring closure to this story of Mayra's suffering. The last page of this book was the torn death wish of my wife, written in her own blood no less, and now I want to end this diary once and for all with the beautiful reality that our life has now become.

Its time to narrate what our future has become.

This story started with the utter decimation and collapse of my marriage. It was a point where my anger had destroyed Mayra's life in every single way that a soul can be destroyed. Even after my return from paralysis and the wake-up call of Mayra's innocence that had hit me so hard in the face, it eventually was Mayra's accident that changed me to the bone.

Those are some of my worst memories. That day, returning from work and finding the main door of the house open and unmanned was alarming and then knowing from my sister that Zaheer's assistant had met Mayra - that struck absolute panic in my chest. I ran out the house, raced after her. I knew she couldn't have gone to her parents but then I had no idea where she could have gone. I ran as fast as my legs could take me but even then I couldn't reach her in time.

She stood there frozen on the ground as a truck approached her in full speed. She wouldn't move. I wanted to scream, but my voice was stuck in my throat in pure terror. I did the only thing I was capable of doing, I ran towards her. I bumped past cars and drivers shouting obscenities at me but my eyes were locked on to that beautiful, idiotic woman who was about to get herself killed. Five feet away from her, a bike ran into me and I fell to the ground, clutching my side in pain.

There I was, lying down in the middle of the street, with the bike rider hovering above me, my eyes glued to the scene where the truck was fast approaching and Mayra was making no effort to get out of the way. I tried to scramble to my feet, I fell yet again, the whole scene playing out in front of me in slow, agonizing seconds.

I saw her turn slightly towards the truck, a little sense of relief came over me thinking that she'd probably move when she saw the truck but I couldn't see her face and she wouldn't move. She just would not move!

Move!

Move!

For God's sake, move!

And then it happened. The truck hit her full on. She was right in the middle of it. And there I was on the road, unable to get up, unable to move.

I watched, helplessly as she flew in the air, sideways as the truck didnt stop. I watched in horror as she landed on the pavement head first. I watched her body grow still instantaneously.

I watched it all.

Something kicked within me at that moment. I finally managed to stand up and run to her. She was lying there on her back, leg twisted, eyes half closed and a pool of blood around her head. A gaping wound on her head, still bleeding.

I could not believe this had happened. I drew her carefully in my arms, her blood staining my hands and shirt the minute I touched her, so profusely was she bleeding. I tried to wake her. I beggged of her to wake. I whimpered, I cried, I pleaded, I shouted. I did everything from shaking her softly to screaming my head off. Nothing would wake her.

I was losing her.

A huddle of on-lookers formed around us and my rage got redirected at them. I screamed at them to call an ambulance and some lady did. When the ambulance came and Mayra was being wheeled away on the stretcher, I followed behind helplessly, climbing in after the paramedics, listening to their assessment of her condition and hoping they'd say something on the lines of her not being as bad as my mind was telling me she was.

The ride to the hospital was the worst in my life. The whole episode of Mayra's stay at the hospital was the worst. I died a thousand deaths everyday and every night. Whenever I would return home to our room I could see her lying on the floor bleeding in her wedding dress, I could see her huddled in the corner with hands up facing me after being lashed, I could see her clutching her blistered hand after being stuffed into the mug of hot coffee. Everyday I would see the horror of my actions. I would see what I had done to her, the enormity of my crimes.

Everyday, I lost more and more of my sanity. Till my Angel came back.

The road to recovery wasn't an easy one. It was hard and painful and one that made everyone in this family realise that there was something fundamentally wrong with all of us with our indifference to Mayra's pain or selfish preference of a family member over another, it was unacceptable. Everyone realised this, and everyone knew that a lot had to change.

And it did.

A part of me still can't believe that it was so many years ago. So much has happened since then, so much has changed and how beautiful it has become!

Mayra and I eventually breached the ground that was lying in between us. It happened slowly, I was taking it slowly to not scare her. I knew in my mind and heart that emotional stability of our relationship would be the bedrock over which the foundations of everything else would be laid. I knew it. And so we treaded carefully.

After Faiza's daughter was born, Irfan and I eventually overcame our differences. Faiza was horrified to know of Irfan's reaction that day at the hospital and she even offered to confess everything to him but Mayra and I sat down with her and swore her to secrecy. There was no need, absolutely none whatsoever to scrape old wounds raw again. Whatever had happened was the past between all of us, and her perfectly healthy relationship with her husband need not be tainted with the past. She swore to us never to speak of it all ever again.

It brought peace to my heart when Mayra and Faiza hugged and cried together, resolving all of their issues in silence and coming together as family. Eventually Fariha and Aunty Rizwana came around too. Now our family gatherings are full of pure joy and happiness, no underlying awkwardness or hidden hatred corrupts them.

Jaffar has settled down in South Africa. He runs a local business in Pretoria. The last I had spoken to him was when he called me to ask me for a loan to start his company up, about two years ago. I readily agreed. The man has really changed. He paid back the amount in full later on and never tried to contact me again. I've kept my eye on him and so far he's been doing well for himself and genuinely seems to be happy in his life.

The doctor who treated Mayra, whose sister had been murdered by her husband, eventually got his justice. With a little help from Zaheer, we sought the help of the best criminal lawyer who ensured that the animal was locked away in prison for life. I was pushing for death penalty but the poor brother had had enough with the legal battle and wanted closure. He loves in peace now with his family, but still mourns his sister.

Gaurav got his due share of fame and fortune. He's now the most sought after psychologist in the country. He hasn't changed his wacky self and I admire that about him. Money hasn't changed or corrupted him. He has actually gotten much better at his job. We hang out as friends now - him, Mayra and me, occasionally doing lunch or dinner. It is a lot of fun to speak to him. And to tease him.

Zaheer, the hawk he is, is quite successful. There's nothing much to say about him. He's still the same though. I know I can count on him no matter what.

Zara is almost done with college. She is exactly the same annoying little sister. Daddy's little girl. Still.

Khalid has joined the business now in full capacity. He works alongside me now and he's getting better too. I've seen him handle clients these days and he sometimes does it better than me. That is such a relief. Not so great for him though. This means my parents will start hounding him for marriage soon enough.

My parents. My father.

It took years but I think I've managed to regain my father's trust and forgiveness completely. His eyes don't glaze over in pain anymore when he looks at me or Mayra. He's happy for us and I can see it in his eyes. I've never felt such peace in my life as I do when he smiles at me. He's my heart and soul. I need him. I will always need him.

Mayra's parents are good too. Her father has recovered well and we visit them often. It took a while for them to open up to me but they eventually did. Mayra deserves the credit for that, she really worked hard for us to get to that stage.

Mayra's old friend Sameera had gotten divorced, last I heard. Mayra felt bad for her but I firmly told Mayra to keep her distance from that woman. She was poisonous and I wouldn't expose Mayra to her ever again. We don't know what is happening in her life anymore. We didn't bother finding out.

Finally, me and my Angel.

Three months after Faiza's delivery, and aftet countless dates and tiny romantic moments, of patience that hurt when I tried to keep my hands off of her, I finally took Mayra on our honeymoon. I surprised her, on her birthday. We were having dinner by a secluded lake when I drew her into my arms and whispered in her ear that we were off to France the next day. I'll never forget the look of happiness and excitement on her face.

What I hadn't told her that it wasn't a tour of France alone. We spent a month in Europe. Toured many countries at leisure. It was wonderful to be removed from the pressures of work and other commitments.

The time we spent together brought us closer than we had ever been. Everyday I saw her faith in me increase till I knew the time had come when we had reached the stage where our trust in each other was complete. It was by the coast in Positano, at sunset, that Mayra broke our hug, looked up at my face and whispered, "I love you, Aamir."

Three weeks after we had returned, she had given me the happiest news of my life.

Nine months brought that incredible gift into our life. Our son, Hamza Aamir Hassan.

The pride I felt when I first held my child was so overwhelming that I had to remind myself that I had a job to do. I may have failed many times in my life, as a husband, a son, a brother, a friend, but I would not fail as a father. My son would not repeat his father's mistakes.

I would teach him how to restrain his anger, I would teach him to trust me with his secrets, I would teach him to respect women, I would teach him to value all the good things in life.

I would be his best friend for life.

Wow. So much has happened. But it was only today that I wanted to write this down. I know why. Because today I feel that everything is over. No harm, no negativity will hit my life again. My world is complete.

It was complete an hour ago when my wife, while stroking our sleeping son's head whispered to me, "Ready for another one?"

I hope its a daughter. I want a mini-Mayra. My mum says Hamza is a spitting image of me. It actually makes me more proud. But a daughter, a doll, would be so nice.

Mayra has completed my world in ways I never thought possible. She's filled it with colors I had never seen, filled it with scents I had never smelled.

She's sleeping beside Hamza, a hand over her flat belly already. I look at my world, my life, my everything and I swear to myself and to God and to all things good in this world.

I'll lover her forever, cherish her forever, protect her forever. I will live my life for her. For as long as I draw in a breathe, for as long as my heart beats, for as long as I can.

As long as I live.

The End.

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