My Dad, You Are Great by Husny Kanwal

love, Madness,Happy Ending 😍

Story: My Dad, You’re Great ❤

Writer: Husny Kanwal ❤

Part_2

One day, I accidentally left my cellphone at the tuition center. When I reached the shop, I realized it — “Oh no!” I dragged my feet back to tuition. As soon as I stepped inside the courtyard, I heard Samira crying. Since I was outside, I leaned closer to the door and peeked inside with curiosity to know what was going on.

Our tuition teacher, Miss Tahreem, who was a kind-hearted woman, was asking Samira why she always seemed so worried. That was the very same question that always stayed in my mind. At first, Samira just kept crying. But when Miss Tahreem insisted, she finally broke her silence.

She revealed that her father had passed away when she was very young. Her mother raised her and her elder sister ( Ashmal) by working in people’s houses. They lived in a rented home. Later, her mother married a rich man — her second husband. He too was previously married, but he gave Samira’s mother a separate house to live in comfortably.

Samira confessed, with tears in her eyes, that her stepfather looked at her with bad intentions. Not only that, but one night he even entered her room. Hearing this made my blood boil. Thankfully, at that moment her mother came into the room, and that vile man suddenly changed his tone, two-faced as ever, saying he had only come to check if Samira, my daughter, was asleep well or not.

After that incident, Samira stayed at her sister Ashmal’s home. When Miss Tahreem offered to talk to her mother, Samira refused. She said her mother had finally gotten a roof over her head in this old age and no longer had to work door to door. If her mother found out, she would leave her husband to protect Samira’s honor, and then she would be forced back into grueling labor, though her bones had grown fragile with age.

Samira continued to cry bitterly. She also revealed that her sister’s husband was jobless, always demanded money from her mother, and often threatened her sister with divorce. Hearing all this, I realized that the pride I had always tried to break in Samira was not arrogance — it was her dignity. Her tears cut me to the core. I felt ashamed of myself. My conscience tormented me, making me feel like I was no better than her stepfather.

That night, for the first time in years, I spread a prayer mat and prayed. I begged Allah for forgiveness. I had troubled Samira for four years. But in my heart, a thought arose — I could protect her. Why not marry her and bring her into my home, so I could safeguard her honor?

This decision was not easy, but my stubborn nature had already made up its mind.

When I told my parents, my mother was furious. She yelled:

“In our family, marriages don’t happen outside the community! What will people say? You’re too young, still studying, and that girl trapped my innocent son. Poor girls are always cunning! Her mother is remarried too — do you really think she’s suitable?”

She kept throwing such words at me daily. My father, however, stayed silent.

My first attempt failed.

The second step was to propose to Samira. Honestly, I thought it was impossible. Would she ever marry a flirt boy like me? I sent a message through her friend. I had less than 5% hope.

Days later, I was at tuition again and overheard Samira crying to Miss Tahreem. She said her brother-in-law was now forcing her out of the house. Her mother wanted her back, but she was terrified of her stepfather. She couldn’t face that danger again. Her tears pierced my heart once more.

That evening, I received a message. When I saw her name on my phone, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was real. Her message was short:

“I am ready to marry you.”

I was stunned. She trusted me?

I rushed home and told my parents again. My mother screamed as always, but my father remained silent. I couldn’t tell them the full truth — if I did, my mother’s stubbornness would grow even stronger.

So, I planned to elope with Samira. When I asked her via message, she shocked me again by saying yes.

At midnight, I went to pick her up. Her sister Ashmal secretly helped her leave, telling me with tears in her eyes to take care of her. Samira came out, stood in front of me, and said firmly: “I am not a girl of such character, Amaan

Abbasi.”

Even at that tense moment, she was reminding me of her dignity.

I smiled nervously and replied, “We’re going for nikah, aren’t we? Then trust me.”

We reached my friend’s house, where I had arranged a cleric and witnesses. But when I stepped inside, I froze — my father was standing there. I thought I was done for. My bag dropped from my hands.

But instead of anger, my father softly handed me the car keys I had forgotten at home. Then he said with a smile:

“Won’t you introduce me to my future daughter-in-law?”

Tears welled up in my eyes. He gently placed his hand on Samira’s head and said to her:

“I am the father of this foolish son of mine. If you wish, you can marry tonight. I will be your witness. But if you wait just one week, I promise to bring a full wedding procession to your home and marry you with honor. Think not just of yourself, but of your future children too. Society can be cruel — they may brand your daughter as the child of a runaway mother. Don’t give the world that chance.”

Samira burst into tears. I finally understood why people called my father “different.” He didn’t care about society, only about what was right.

I hugged him tightly and said the words that came straight from my heart:

“My Dad, you’re great!”

Samira chose to wait. And exactly one week later, despite all opposition from our community, my father kept his word. He bore all the wedding expenses himself, stood against critics, and brought my bride home with respect.

When Samira sat beside me on stage after nikah, for the first time in four years, her eyes no longer showed hate — they were filled with love.

From then on, we grew closer. She quickly won my parents’ hearts. To my surprise, she was very talkative — sometimes so much that I had to jokingly call her a parrot and cover my ears with a pillow, telling her, “Save the rest for tomorrow, Simi.”

Later, my father asked her if she wanted to continue studying. She immediately said yes, and we both enrolled in university together. People often mistook us for friends rather than husband and wife, because of how close and young we looked.

One day, I asked my father:

“Would you really have allowed me to marry that night, if Simi had agreed?”

He smiled and said, “Yes.”

At that moment, I wanted to take my hat off to him.

My father was a true man — marrying a poor girl for his son, standing against the entire community, refusing dowry, bearing the wedding expenses, giving importance to his son’s choice, and giving his daughter-in-law the chance to study further.

If society calls that madness… then one day, I too want to be called mad.

Happy Ending ❤