Husn-e-Khaam - 6

Sara's POV:

The next few days slipped by in a blur of shopping sprees and errands. Yesterday night, Raza and Taimur had left for Lahore for some work.

I was out with Mama, trudging through the crowded fabric shops, helping her with some urgent unstitched cloth shopping she needed to get done. It wasn’t the kind of outing that left room for much excitement, but Mama was determined to get everything she needed. I, on the other hand, was settled on a bench, mindlessly scrolling through my phone, trying to kill time until she finished her endless decisions.

Lately, my in-laws had been wrapped up in their own world, busy with packing and making preparations for their move to Canada. It wasn’t just the move that was weighing on me, though. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of them leaving. When Raza would be away for duty, I’d be left in the house alone, surrounded by the empty space that would echo with silence. The thought of coming back to that... emptiness... unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the quiet hum of the marketplace around me. The world was bustling, but I felt a little too far from it all. A little too disconnected.

But not for long.

"Mrs. Raza."

That voice. That godforsaken, smug, slithery drawl. My spine stiffened. I didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

Still, I lifted my gaze, slow and cold, like dragging steel across ice. And there he stood — Rizwan. Raza’s ex-best friend. The walking red flag. Hair slicked back, shirt too tight, ego bigger than his IQ.

"Mr. Rizwan," I replied, voice laced with ice. No warmth. No smile. Just enough civility to not claw his eyes out in public.

His lips curved into a cocky smirk. "So you do know my name."

I tilted my head, blinking slowly. “Unfortunately. It tends to stick when it's attached to so many bad decisions.”

His smirk widened, smug and poisonous. "Feisty. Raza's first wife wasn’t like this. She was... well-mannered."

The words hit like a slap, but I didn’t flinch. Not an inch.

I straightened slowly, meeting his gaze with ice in mine. “Play these games with someone else, Mr. Rizwan,” I said, voice calm but laced with quiet fire. “I’m not the type who gets shaken by men with too much time and too little class.”

His eyes flickered, just for a second. My smile was sharp. “And for the record,” I added, leaning in just enough for him to hear, “Raza’s first love still sleeps beside him every night. Me.”

Raza…
Sitting beside a woman.

He wore a dress shirt, sleeves rolled, hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hand through it a hundred times.
She… she was in a bridal dress. Heavy makeup. A red dupatta slipping from her head.
They were on a bed.

And they were smiling.

Grinning.

Like the world had stopped for them and only them.

My fingers curled around the edge of the bench, knuckles turning white. My chest tightened, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something far more painful.

He looked happy.

Not the calm, quiet joy he had with me—this was wild. Free. Loud.

And not for a second did he look like a man forced into anything.