It is not the dreams we see that hurt us, but the hope of turning them into reality. We both had dreamed of us. Yet, despite sitting side by side at the airport, despite tending to her wounded feet with first aid, we were as distant as we had been on the very first day.
My sin was unpardonable. I had committed an act that deserved no forgiveness. Love never compromises on oneness—and I had allowed someone else to come between us.
Ashamed of my deeds, I kept my eyes lowered; she did the same. Not a single word passed between us. Two hours later, we boarded a Fly Jinnah flight to Karachi. I could not bring myself to look anywhere, so I closed my eyes, surrendering to the pain. After a flight of one hour and forty-five minutes, we landed at Jinnah International Airport.
I was to leave for home; she had five hours before her flight back to the United Kingdom. We walked slowly through the luggage area, and I finally gathered the courage to speak.
“There’s a restaurant—Café De Jinnah—on the seventh floor. Let’s eat something. It will help pass the time.”
“You should go home,” she said softly. “You’ve already done so much for me.”
“It’s alright,” I replied. “I live alone. No one is waiting for me.”
Soon, we were seated at Café De Jinnah.
The atmosphere was cozy and pleasant. Soft music floated in the air, cutlery sang gently against porcelain, and the waiters’ smiles added warmth to the space. It all felt painfully beautiful.
Between sips of coffee and bites of donuts, our eyes met twice. Her gaze held countless questions. I stood convicted—guilty beyond defense. There was nothing I could say in my favor. All I could offer was complete surrender, something I had already done before Sanvi.
We sat there for an hour and a half. As check-in time approached, she spoke again.
“It’s time. We should leave now.”
I agreed and called the waiter for the bill.
“I’ll pay,” Sanvi said bluntly.
“How can you pay in my city?” I protested.
“We’ve barely known each other for seven days. Why would I let someone pay for me?” she said.
“No,” I insisted gently. “You are my guest. Please don’t deprive me of my right to host you.”
She didn’t argue further. I paid the bill, and together we walked down to the first floor toward international departures.
“Someone is calling you from behind,” she said.
We stopped. Before I could turn around, I heard it again.
“Hello, Sir Musavir!”
“Ahan, Faria! How are you?” I smiled. “Meet our guest and mentor, Sanvi Sinha, from the UK.”
Turning to Sanvi, I added, “She’s Faria, my student. She recently joined the Airport Security Force.”
They shook hands warmly.
Faria offered us coffee, but Sanvi declined politely—it was time to depart.
“No worries, madam. Leave it to me,” Faria replied.
She arranged for priority check-in and boarding passes. Soon, all three of us were in the special lounge. Faria served us delicious club sandwiches and lattes. Then she received a call and excused herself, promising to return shortly.
After she left, silence settled between us. Minutes passed. Then suddenly, Sanvi began to cry.
My heart stumbled. I wanted to reach for her hands, but I didn’t dare.
“Wh… wh… what happened?” I asked, barely able to form the words.
She laughed through her tears. “You always get confused around me. First ‘Musavir,’ now ‘wh-wh-what.’”
I smiled faintly. She wiped her tears and then took my hands in hers.
What was that feeling?
Ownership. Or perhaps conquest.
Everything else faded—the announcements, the chatter, the clinking cutlery. Only we remained in focus. My heart raced like a warhorse, my hands trembled uncontrollably. The world blurred.
Before I could understand what was happening, her hand was wiping my tears. We were both crying.
Ah—that feeling. One wounded, the other guilty. At least, she had broken the ice.
“Musavir,” she said softly, “I am not brave enough to forgive. I never imagined you could do this to me. No one has ever touched me in thirty-one years of my life, nor did I ever think of anyone else that way—except you. I fell for your innocence. But what you did… it is unforgivable in my world.”
She paused, then continued, “Let’s end this unanswered, unresolved, and unattained. If we dig deeper, it will only worsen.”
I felt like a loser—small and broken.
“I know we both dreamed of a better tomorrow,” she said again, “but this is how it ends.”
I was dying inside.
“It’s okay not to give this relationship a name,” she went on. “Let’s return to our lives. Let’s forget.”
I was guilty. I couldn’t beg for forgiveness. We both cried silently.
Boarding announcements began.
“Listen, Musavir,” she said gently. “Don’t overthink. Everything that happens, happens for a reason. Let’s move on.”
I wasn’t ready—but the plane was. I managed to whisper “okay,” my heart unbearably heavy. My entire body shivered; it felt like fever overtaking me.
She lifted my hands to her lips, kissed my fingers, and rested her head against my chest.
What a moment.
Perfect. Eternal.
She stayed like that for thirty seconds.
“Ms. Sanvi Sinha, Mr. Aqeel Aslam, Mr. Murtaza Sagar—this is the final call. Please proceed to Gate 25.”
She stepped back, picked up her handbag, and moved forward. Faria had witnessed everything, watching us with a quiet smile.
Sanvi and Faria hugged. Faria escorted her toward the plane. I stood there, watching her walk away. Every step she took felt like a step away from my life.
I collapsed onto the floor, burying my face in my hands.
I remained there until I heard the roar of the aircraft taking off. I glanced at the flight board—Heathrow departed. My heart departed with Sanvi.
I tried to stand. I failed.
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up, hoping—foolishly—that it was Sanvi.
It was Faria.
She was crying too. “Sir, let’s go,” she said gently, helping me up.
The exit felt like an exit from a beautiful love story.
As we walked, memories replayed relentlessly—every smile, every moment. Those days with her were beautiful. Unforgettable.
Faria put me into a cab and saw me off. I thanked her silently as the car pulled away.
During the ride home, my mind stayed with us.
When I reached home, the housemaid greeted me and asked if I needed anything. I refused and told her I was going to sleep—no disturbances, please. She nodded.
I lay on the bed like a dead man.
My thoughts wandered. If I were in her place, I wouldn’t have forgiven either. Whatever she gave me was far more than I deserved. At least we parted on a good note.
Sanvi.
A chapter that can never be forgotten.
A chapter to cherish.
A chapter to live.
A chapter to ache over.
These thoughts carried me into deep sleep—holding onto the fragile hope that someday, somewhere, a ray of light might still appear.