Chapter 15 - Building a Home - I
1592 Words
Part I : Welcome Home
It is often said that weddings change lives.
For Burhan, it was not the wedding.
It was what came after.
The marriage hall, the photographs, the laughter, the ceremonies—those belonged to memories.
The real story began when everyone went home.
Karachi's Last Sunsets
After the wedding, Burhan stayed in Karachi for a few more days.
His parents returned to India after two days.
His father's leave had ended, and duty was waiting for him.
At the airport, his father hugged him tightly.
"Take care of your wife."
Burhan smiled.
"I will."
Then his father looked at him for a long moment.
For the first time in his life, Burhan saw something different in his eyes.
Pride.
The kind that made a son stand a little taller.
After they left, Karachi suddenly became quiet.
But not lonely.
Because Zehra was there.
Those remaining days became some of the sweetest memories of their lives.
They visited the Mazar of the Father of the Nation, Mazar-e-Quaid.
They walked slowly around the marble structure while the evening light softened the sky.
They visited Port Grand and stood overlooking the water.
Families laughed around them.
Children ran past them.
Street musicians played softly.
Neither of them spoke much.
They did not need to.
Sometimes happiness becomes too full for words.
They wandered through Hyperstar Mall.
Bought things they did not need.
Argued over snacks.
Shared ice cream.
Laughed over nothing.
One day the entire family went to a water park.
Burhan could not remember the last time he had laughed so much.
For a few hours, nobody was anybody's son-in-law.
Nobody was anybody's daughter.
They were simply a family having fun.
And every now and then, Burhan would look at Zehra.
Then look around him.
And think:
This happened.
This impossible thing actually happened.
A Promise Across the Sea
When Burhan returned to Abu Dhabi, the city looked exactly the same.
The same roads.
The same towers.
The same traffic.
The same scorching heat.
Yet something had changed.
He was married.
At Lasalas Club, everyone surrounded him.
"Arrey, Pakistan se shaadi karke aa gaya!"
"You actually did it!"
"You got married!"
Congratulations came from every direction.
Someone brought sweets.
Someone wanted photographs.
Someone wanted the whole story.
Burhan laughed.
For the first time in many years, he was not returning from vacation.
He was returning with responsibility.
Every evening after office, he began searching for an apartment.
And every evening ended the same way.
Too expensive.
Too small.
Too far.
Too impossible.
The rent of some apartments was higher than his monthly salary.
He stopped his car one evening and simply sat there.
How was he going to do this?
He had promised Rizwana Aunty.
"I will bring Zehra to Abu Dhabi as soon as possible."
Promises were easy when spoken.
Keeping them required courage.
That night he prayed in the mosque longer than usual.
Ya Allah.
You brought us this far.
You won't leave us here.
He never told Zehra about the rent.
Never told her about his worries.
Every phone call ended the same.
"Everything is fine."
Because love sometimes means carrying the fear alone.
One evening he returned to Lasalas Club exhausted.
"I can't cook today."
Abdul Husain looked up.
"Then I will cook."
While preparing dinner, he asked casually,
"So, when is bhabhi coming?"
Burhan became quiet.
"I still haven't found a place."
Abdul Husain stopped stirring the food.
"That's all?"
Burhan smiled sadly.
"That's all."
Abdul Husain laughed.
"You are worrying about the wrong thing."
Burhan looked at him.
"I know someone. He is leaving his sharing apartment."
The word sharing immediately worried him.
Still, he took the number.
The next day he went.
Mr. Fakhruddin welcomed him warmly.
The apartment surprised him.
It was spacious.
Beautifully painted.
Bright.
There was a clean kitchen.
A private entrance.
A gallery overlooking the street.
It did not feel like a sharing apartment.
It felt like a home.
And then he discovered something even better.
Yusuf Bhai was living in another section with his family.
Good people.
Family environment.
Safety.
He walked slowly through the rooms.
Then stopped in the hall.
Suddenly he could see things.
Zehra's prayer mat.
Her books.
Curtains on the windows.
Her clothes in the cupboard.
Two cups of tea in the gallery.
Her laughter.
He smiled.
For weeks he had been searching for a house.
Today he had found a beginning.
The rent was within his budget.
He immediately agreed.
That evening he stood alone in the apartment.
Then looked upward.
"Thank you."
The words escaped softly.
Because sometimes prayers arrive wearing ordinary clothes.
Now came the next challenge.
The visa.
He applied.
Then received another shock.
His contract did not qualify for a family visa.
He could either wait until renewal.
Or change the contract and bear all expenses.
He felt the ground disappear beneath him.
Again.
But he had crossed borders for this woman.
He could certainly survive paperwork.
He changed the contract.
Paid the expenses.
Waited.
Weeks became months.
One month.
Two months.
Three months.
Nearly four months passed.
In Karachi, questions had started.
"When are you leaving?"
"Why are you still here?"
"Has the visa not come?"
People asked casually.
But questions have weight.
Rizwana became nervous.
Sometimes she would sit quietly.
Sometimes she worried.
Had they made the right decision?
Would Burhan really take Zehra?
Zehra understood her mother's fears.
One evening she told Burhan.
"Everyone keeps asking."
He became silent.
Then said softly,
"Tell Ammi not to worry."
She waited.
"If I make a commitment, I fulfill it."
His voice was calm.
Steady.
Certain.
And somehow she believed every word.
Because he had never broken a promise.
The Call That Changed Everything
One ordinary afternoon, his phone rang.
It was his PRO.
"Burhan bhai."
"Yes?"
"Your wife's visa has been approved."
Silence.
He forgot how to breathe.
He sat down slowly.
Then smiled.
Then laughed.
Then covered his face with both hands.
Four months of worry.
Four months of prayers.
Four months of pretending everything was fine.
Finished.
He looked upward.
"Alhamdulillah."
Immediately he called Karachi.
Zehra answered.
"Hello?"
"Your visa is approved."
Silence.
Then—
"What?"
"Your visa is approved."
He could hear her laughing.
Then crying.
Then laughing again.
At that moment, her sister was expecting her second child and was in the last stage of pregnancy.
"I cannot leave right now."
"Why?"
She laughed.
"You forgot? My sister."
He smiled.
Of course.
"Then we wait."
He informed Mr. Fakhruddin.
The older man smiled.
"No problem. Good things are worth waiting for."
Burhan thanked him.
Another month passed.
And during that month he prepared.
Microwave.
Fridge.
Double bed.
Curtains.
Bedsheets.
Pillows.
Little things.
Beautiful things.
He wanted everything ready.
A surprise.
Not luxury.
Just love.
Finally the day arrived.
Zehra's sister gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.
Tickets were booked.
Zehra applied mehndi on her hands.
Went to the parlour.
Packed her luggage.
And Burhan called every hour.
"Passport?"
"Yes."
"Tickets?"
"Yes."
"Don't bring too many bags."
"I know."
"Keep your phone charged."
"I know."
She laughed.
"You sound more nervous than me."
Because he was.
That night he did not sleep.
Not even for a minute.
He looked at the clock.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow she would be here.
Welcome Home
The arrival doors opened.
Passengers came out.
Families reunited.
Children ran.
Drivers waved.
And then—
He saw her.
Red rida.
Small handbag.
Mehndi still dark on her hands.
Looking around.
Searching for him.
Burhan forgot everything else.
For two years she had existed through screens.
Through messages.
Through late-night calls.
Through imagination.
And now—
She was here.
In Abu Dhabi.
For him.
For their life.
She saw him.
Her face lit up.
And suddenly both were smiling like children.
Neither remembered who moved first.
Only that somehow they were standing together.
Forty minutes later they reached the apartment.
The city was still waking up.
The sky was pale blue.
Birds were beginning to sing.
Burhan looked nervous.
"I need to tell you something."
"What?"
"This is sharing."
She looked around.
Then looked at him.
"I don't care."
He blinked.
She smiled softly.
"I need you."
Silence.
"Wherever you keep me, I will live happily."
Something inside him broke.
The months of worry.
The fear.
The stress.
Everything.
He pulled her gently into his arms.
She hugged him back.
And for several moments neither spoke.
Because some sentences are too beautiful to answer.
He introduced her to Mr. Fakhruddin and his family.
Then Yusuf Bhai and his family.
Everyone welcomed her warmly.
Later, when she unpacked her clothes, she opened the curtains.
Arranged the shelves.
Placed her prayer mat in one corner.
The room changed.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
By evening there was warm food.
Curtains by the windows.
Tea on the table.
And somehow the apartment felt different.
Like a home.
A few days later, Burhan returned from work exhausted.
He opened the door.
And stopped.
Zehra was waiting.
Smiling.
"Tea?"
He smiled back.
"Please."
He suddenly realised something.
The roads were the same.
The office was the same.
The traffic was the same.
Abu Dhabi was the same.
Yet nothing felt lonely anymore.
Because someone was waiting.
And that changed everything.
Years later, when people asked him when his married life truly began, he never mentioned the wedding hall.
He remembered a shared apartment in Abu Dhabi.
A girl in a red rida.
Two cups of tea.
And the quiet miracle of finally coming home to someone.
- Writer
