Scene 1 – Morning Farewell
The morning sunlight filtered into the house through the lace curtains, casting soft patterns on the living room floor. The Islamabad air was crisp with the faint scent of wet grass; someone in the neighborhood had watered their lawn. Inside, Maryam, still weak but walking slowly now, was arranging folded clothes into a small cabinet. She wore a light-colored shalwar kameez and a shawl loosely draped around her shoulders.
On the bed, baby Irfan slept peacefully, his small fists curled against his cheeks. Ubaid, restless as always, ran in and out of the room with his toy car, occasionally glancing at his mother to see if she would scold him for making noise around the baby.
Rimsha, dressed neatly with a light pink dupatta around her head, stood in the doorway with her travel bags. Her face held mixed emotions — the excitement of returning to the familiar walls of her parents' home, and the sadness of leaving behind the warmth of Maryam and the children.
Maryam turned and smiled faintly, though her eyes glistened. "Bas ja rahi ho, Rimsha?"
"Jee Aapi," Rimsha replied, her voice soft. "Haroon bhai is dropping me. Ab ghar mein sab theek hai, aap bhi chal phir sakti ho… mujhe laga thoda din apne ghar mein bhi reh loon."
Maryam walked slowly towards her, holding her hand for support. "Apna khayal rakhna, Rimsha. Tumhari wahan bhi yaad aaegi."
Rimsha hugged her sister tightly. "Aapi, don't worry. I'm just a phone call away. Aur main aksar aati rahungi. Waise bhi… Amana Superstore hum dono ka hai. Uski zimmedari bhi hai mujhe."
From the lounge, Haroon's voice called out, "Rimsha, tayar ho? Car nikalta hoon."
She picked up her bags, adjusted her dupatta, and walked with Maryam towards the front door. Ubaid followed them, tugging at Rimsha's dress.
"Khala, will you come tomorrow again?" he asked innocently.
Rimsha bent down and kissed his cheek. "Jaldi hi aaungi, meri jaan. Tum bas Mama ka khayal rakhna."
Maryam stood at the door, waving faintly as Rimsha stepped outside. Haroon came from the garage, opened the backseat, and helped place her bags inside. Rimsha looked back one last time at her sister.
"Take care, Aapi. Allah Hafiz."
Maryam raised her hand in farewell, her voice breaking slightly. "Allah Hafiz, Rimsha."
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Scene 2 – The Drive
The Corolla rolled onto the main road, its tires crunching over gravel as Haroon steered carefully. The city was already alive — motorbikes weaving between cars, school vans packed with children, and the occasional street vendor pushing a cart of fruit.
Inside the car, a thoughtful silence lingered. Rimsha leaned against the window, watching the passing trees, her mind full of memories. This road had been traveled countless times with her parents — trips to school, to the market, to family gatherings. Now, she was going alone.
Haroon cleared his throat. "Rimsha… why don't you just stay with us? The house feels complete when you're there. Maryam needs you, and Ubaid too."
Rimsha smiled faintly but shook her head. "Haroon bhai, I know. Lekin… ghar khaali nahi rehna chahiye. Our parents' home deserves to be lived in. Har kona unki yaad se bhara hai."
Haroon frowned slightly, keeping his eyes on the road. "Yaad tou yahan bhi rehti hai. But practically speaking, it's not safe for a young girl to live alone. If you want, we can give that house on rent. At least koi hoga wahan."
Rimsha turned her head from the window and looked at him with steady eyes. "Woh sirf mera ghar nahi hai, bhai. It belongs to me and Aapi both. Aisi koi bhi decision main akeli nahi le sakti. Agar rent pe dena hai, tou Aapi ke saath baat karni hogi."
Haroon nodded, respecting her firmness. "Theek hai. Tumhari baat bhi sahi hai. Bas… I don't want you to feel lonely."
Rimsha gave a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "Lonely? Aray, Amana Superstore sambhalte hue mujhe akela rehne ka time kaha milega?"
Both chuckled softly, the tension easing a little. The car drove past the busy Jinnah Super Market, then turned towards a quieter road leading into a modest housing society.
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Scene 3 – Parents' House
The car slowed and stopped in front of a double-storey house in a middle-class lane. The walls were slightly weathered, the paint faded, but it carried a dignity — the dignity of a home that had been lived in with love. A guava tree stood tall in the small front yard, its branches heavy with green leaves.
Rimsha's eyes softened as she gazed at the house. Memories flooded back: her father watering the plants in the morning, her mother calling them inside for breakfast, laughter echoing in the veranda during rainy evenings.
Haroon got out and opened the trunk. "Here, let me take your bags."
Rimsha quickly shook her head. "Nahi bhai, I can manage." She lifted the two bags herself, determination written on her face. She walked to the front gate, pulled out the small silver key from her purse, and unlocked the gate. The metallic click echoed in the still air.
As she pushed the gate open, the creak of rusted hinges sounded almost like a welcome. She stepped inside, her sandals crunching against the gravel path leading to the main door. Turning once more, she smiled at Haroon.
"Allah Hafiz, bhai. Drive safe. Office ke liye late na ho jaiye ga."
Haroon nodded. "Allah Hafiz, Rimsha. And remember, call me if you need anything."
She gave a grateful nod, then pushed open the wooden door of the house. A cool musty air escaped — the kind that settles in closed houses. Rimsha stepped inside, setting her bags down in the lounge. Dust motes floated lazily in the sunlight that streamed through the windows.
For a moment, she simply stood there, letting the silence of the house wrap around her. The ticking of the old wall clock was the only sound. Tears pricked her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away.
"This is home," she whispered to herself. "And I will keep it alive."
Outside, Haroon started the car again. He sat for a moment, looking at the gate Rimsha had just closed behind her. A part of him felt uneasy leaving her alone, but another part respected her strength. He adjusted his cap, straightened his uniform collar, and drove away towards his police station.
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Scene 4 – At the Station
By the time Haroon reached his office, the bustle of Islamabad traffic had grown louder. He parked his car near the Inspector's reserved area and walked inside, his leather file tucked under his arm. His junior constables greeted him with salutes.
"Salam, Sir," one said.
"Waalikum Salam," Haroon replied, his voice firm again — the softness of a family man tucked away as he stepped into his professional skin.
He sat at his desk, opened the morning reports, and skimmed through case updates. But his mind wandered for a moment to Rimsha — unlocking that old gate, entering the quiet house. He prayed silently: Ya Allah, protect her. Protect my family.
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Scene 5 – Rimsha's Resolve
Back at the parents' house, Rimsha had opened the windows wide, letting in fresh air. Dust swirled and sunlight filled the lounge. She dusted the sofas, wiped the dining table, and arranged her bags neatly in the corner room she had once shared with Maryam.
By afternoon, the house no longer felt as silent. The kettle whistled in the kitchen as Rimsha made herself tea. She carried the cup into the veranda and sat under the guava tree, sipping slowly. A bird chirped on the branches above her, and she smiled faintly.
The loneliness she had feared was still there, but so was a quiet strength. This house carried her parents' memories, and keeping it alive was her way of honoring them.
"Main akeli nahi hoon," she murmured softly. "Unki duaen mere saath hain."
End of Chapter