What Remains after goodbye

The Day She Grew Up

After that incident, Ayat had gone completely silent. She stopped speaking, eating, and even responding to anyone. Both Dadi and Wali tried their best to bring back her smile, but nothing worked. She would just sit quietly, lost in thought. If anyone tried to speak to her, she’d simply stare blankly in return.

Wali started spending most of his time with her after school, trying in every way to get her to speak again. He brought her new toys and books, hoping to see some spark in her eyes, but Ayat remained unmoved.

Shaheyar had left for Karachi the very next day, and it was soon known that he had divorced Rabia. Everyone in the haveli knew, but no one dared to speak of it in front of Ayat. Even the village was now whispering about the incident.

Initially, Wali wanted to get Ayat enrolled in a school nearby, but given her mental state, how could he do that now? And anyway, she had been raised in Canada—adjusting to a rural school would be difficult.

In the midst of all this, Ayat fell sick. Her fever soared and refused to come down.

“Dadi, please call Chacha,” Wali said, visibly distressed. “Look at her condition.”

“If he cared even a little for his child, he wouldn’t have done this in the first place,” Dadi said bitterly. She was heartbroken by her son’s actions.

It took a week for Ayat’s fever to break. And even before she fully recovered, she insisted on going to Karachi.

“Dadi, please ask Wali Bhai to take me to Karachi. I want to meet Abba.”

There was something haunting her—an unknown fear. Since that terrible day, Ayat had become hollow inside, as if her emotions had been erased and replaced with an eerie silence. But now, she wanted to return. She wanted to look her father in the eye and ask why he left her behind.

“Please, Dadi,” she pleaded with tear-filled eyes.

“Okay, Wali, take her,” Dadi finally agreed, “but be careful. Leave early in the morning and come back before dark. Take the driver and guard with you.”

She didn’t inform Shaheyar—they all knew he’d never agree.

The journey to Karachi was quiet.

“Ayat, say something. How can we go through such a long trip in silence?” Wali finally broke the silence.

“What should I say, Wali Bhai?”

“Just tell me how you like the road or if you need something,” he said gently.

His efforts eventually got her talking—just a little. And soon, they reached Karachi.

“Wali Bhai, Abba will be home, right?” Ayat asked hopefully.

“It’s Sunday. He should be,” Wali nodded.

They arrived at the house. Wali stepped out first and came to her side. She looked hesitant.

“Come on, Ayat. Let’s go inside,” he said.

As they approached the door, a woman in fancy clothes blocked their way.

“Stop! Where do you think you’re going? Who are you people?” she yelled. “Who let you in? Sabir! How did they get in?”

She kept shouting while Wali and Ayat stood frozen. Wali’s worst fear was coming true. Before things got worse, he whispered to Ayat, “Let’s go. We’ll come back another time.”

Shaheyar and Rabia had been living in Canada, but when they visited Pakistan, they spent some time in the village and more in Karachi. Rabia had always felt suffocated in the village. Their marriage had been a love marriage. Initially, Dadi and Wali’s father had opposed it, but gave in due to Shaheyar’s stubbornness. They wanted him to stay and manage the family business and lands, but he preferred life in Canada. Ayat had been born and raised there, and the family tension began right after her birth.

“Ayat, come,” Wali tried to pull her away from the scene, but she snapped out of her trance and asked firmly, “Who are you? And what are you doing in my house? Where is my Abba?”

“Ayat, stop!” Wali tried to hold her back, realizing now exactly who this woman was.

“Look, girl, that’s enough! This is my husband’s house. You need to leave now and take your drama with you!” the woman shouted, pushing Ayat, who nearly fell.

“Please speak, don’t touch her!” Wali said angrily, stepping in. “We were leaving.”

“I won’t go until I see Abba. Wali Bhai, call him!” Ayat’s voice grew louder.

“What’s all this noise? Sabir, what’s happening?” came Shaheyar’s voice as he stepped out of his room.

“Ayat? You’re here? Why did you come?” He looked shocked.

“Wali, why did you bring her here?” he demanded.

“Abba, it’s not Wali Bhai’s fault. I insisted on coming,” Ayat spoke up.

“Well, now that you’re here, meet your mom. This is Sophia, my new wife.”

Ayat felt like the ground had crumbled beneath her. Until now, she had only blamed her mother. But now, she saw the truth—everyone had betrayed her.

“Please, Shaheyar,” Sophia said with clear disgust, “I’m not this girl’s mother. Tell her to leave. I don’t want kids yelling in my house.”

“Darling, don’t panic. They’re just leaving,” he said casually.

Ayat kept staring at her father, trying to find a trace of the man she once adored. But today, he felt like a stranger.

“Abba, you’re asking me to leave my own home?” her voice trembled.

“This is not your home. Understand that,” Sophia snapped.

“She’s just a kid, Sophia. Calm down. She’s leaving,” Shaheyar tried to soothe her.

Ayat’s last hope died right there.

“Wali, let’s go. And Abba,” she turned to him, “please book my ticket to Canada. I want to go back.”

It felt like a bomb had been dropped on both Wali and Shaheyar.

“How will you stay alone in Canada?” he asked, stunned.

“I’ll live in a hostel, just like everyone else. I’ve already missed so much school. Please book my ticket this week. I’m not staying here anymore,” she said firmly.

“Let me know once you’ve booked it,” she added and walked away without waiting for a reply, throwing a cold, hateful glance at Sophia.

The drive back was heavy with silence. Wali felt like something very precious had slipped through his fingers. He had hoped Ayat would stay with them and that he could help her heal. But now, it felt like he was returning empty-handed.

Ayat, on the other hand, felt like she was leaving something invaluable behind.

And maybe—just maybe—neither of them truly understood what they had meant to each other.