The Silence of Sahiba

PROLOGUE
“MY SON WANTS A SECOND WIFE”

Imran sat across from his mother at the dining table and said it like he was telling her the time.

“I’ve decided. I’m going to marry her.”

Sana kept her hands still on the table. The tea in front of her had gone cold an hour ago.

“Her name is Noor,” he continued. “She’s nineteen. I’ve thought about it carefully. I can take care of her. The house is big enough. Everything is already in place. She’ll understand. Girls that age don’t have fixed ideas of their own yet. She’ll adjust to whatever life I give her.”

He spoke with the calm of someone who believed the decision had already been made. Sana recognised the tone.

“Have you asked her what she wants?” Sana said.

Imran frowned. “She knows how I feel. She’s not a child. And honestly, at nineteen she doesn’t need to have big opinions about everything. My wife will understand what is best. That’s how it works.”

“She’s nineteen.”

“And I’m thirty-five. I know what I want. She’ll learn what she needs to know from me.”

The words hit like a physical blow. For a moment her face stayed completely still. Then her eyes filled. She looked down at the cold tea so Imran would not see. One tear fell onto the table before she could stop it. She wiped it away with her thumb, slow and careful, and when she looked up again her voice was quiet but steady.

“You sound exactly like him,” she said.

Imran frowned. “Like who?”

“Your father.”

She drew a short breath.

“I raised you. I watched you grow. And still you sit here and talk about a nineteen-year-old girl as if she has no mind of her own. As if your wanting something is enough. Do you know how that feels to hear from my own son? I did not raise you properly”

Imran opened his mouth. She did not let him speak.

“I am not angry the way I used to get angry. I am sad. That is worse.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then at Aunt sitting silently by the window.

“Have you asked yourself,” she said, “what you are deciding for her?”

Imran’s jaw tightened. “I’m not deciding for her. I’m offering her a life. A good life. Stability. Respect. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Sana answered, “if she chooses it freely. Everything, if you believe your wanting it is enough.”

He leaned back, defensive now. “You’re making it sound like I’m forcing her. I’m not. I love her. I can afford this. You raised me to be responsible. This is me being responsible.”

Across the room, near the window, Sahiba sat with her hands folded in her lap. She had not moved since Imran began speaking. Her eyes stayed on him. The soft afternoon light caught the lines around her mouth. Something shifted in her face—fright first, then a deep, quiet sadness that made her look older than her years.

Imran noticed.

“Aunt?” he said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Sahiba did not answer. She never did. She lifted one hand slightly, as if she meant to reach toward him, then let it fall back. Her fingers made a small, uncertain gesture in the air—something between a warning and a plea. Imran watched, confused.

“What is it?” he asked again.

She only shook her head once, slow, and looked away.

Sana’s voice stayed even. “Your Aunt knows something about your father that you don’t.”

Imran turned to her. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Sana said, “before you marry that girl, you need to know what happened to him.”

Sahiba stood up at once. The chair scraped softly against the floor. She did not look at either of them. She walked out of the room with the same quiet steps she had used for thirty years, the ones that never asked for attention. The door to the kitchen closed behind her.

Imran stared after her. “What is she talking about? What do you mean, what happened to him?”

Sana met his eyes.

“Sit down,” she said. “I’ll tell you.”

---

Thirty years earlier.

Sameer came home just after nine. The house was quiet. Sana was waiting in the living room with a thin folder on the table in front of her. She did not stand when he walked in. She simply looked at him, and in that look he understood that the life he had been building in secret had already begun to come apart.