I WAS NOT AT FAULT

I keep in mind the days strikingly when I was a seven-year-old young lady, going to school with my cousin, Fiaz. We were near back at that point, sharing classes and childhood privileged insights. In any case, life took us to totally different headings when Fiaz's family moved to the city. We saw each other amid summer get-aways at my fatherly grandmother's house.

As we developed more seasoned, things changed. Fiaz had gotten to be a strikingly nice looking youthful man, and I found myself dodging him out of an interesting blend of bashfulness and reverence. In spite of my endeavors to separate myself, I couldn't offer assistance but regard him. Fiaz's family owned a little plot of land within the town, where his father would work at whatever point they went by from the city. Fiaz frequently made a difference with his father with the cultivation, and after the eighth review, he dropped out of school due to troublesome family circumstances. He started working in a plant within the city, moving from put to put with the work.

After around a year without seeing him, Fiaz returned to our town for a visit. My mother invited him warmly, and I felt a surge of bliss that I hadn't felt in ages. Whereas my mother arranged supper, she started examining with him the troubles of finding a great coordinate for me, communicating her concern around my future. I took note how mindfully Fiaz tuned in, understanding the message she was subtly passing on to him. It was not something one would anticipate a mother to talk about so transparently, however there was something within the way he tuned in that made me feel he comprehended her eagerly profoundly.

Fiaz, upon returning to his home, educated his mother of the discussion, communicating his wish to wed me. But his mother, strongly contradicting the thought, demanded that Fiaz ought to wed his cousin, Gohar, instep. She expelled any plausibility of a marriage between Fiaz and me, expressing it was a squander of time to indeed consider it.

When my mother went by Fiaz's family to propose the marriage formally, Fizz's mother rejected the thought outright. My mother returned home, grief stricken and baffled by the refusal. She rapidly started looking for another suitor for me, and decided not to let the dismissal influence our lives any longer. Before long, she found a reasonable coordinate, and the marriage was orchestrated without delay.

The day of my wedding was filled with fear and tears. I was overpowered by the suddenness of it all, feeling like I was being pushed into a life I hadn't chosen. My mother dressed me as a bride and sent me off with my unused spouse, Ashir, without any respect for my wishes. It wasn't until afterward that I learned Ashir was the chief of the production line where Fiaz worked.

One day, while riding with my spouse close to the plant, I spotted Fiaz. He looked astounded to see me, and when Ashir took note of my look, I clarified that he was my cousin. Ashir, inquisitive, chose to meet him, and before long after, welcomed him to our home. My spouse treated Fiaz with incredible regard, and I couldn't offer assistance but feel both upbeat and unsettled by this get-together.

That evening, as Fiaz and Ashir talked, I unobtrusively served supper, my feelings in turmoil. Fiaz guaranteed to visit once more, but his visits got to be progressively strained as Ashir started to take note of the waiting looks between us. Ashir's doubts developed, and he started to address me around my past, charging me of harboring sentiments for Fiaz. His tireless cross examination and hints began to drive me to the edge of rational soundness.

One day, Ashir returned home in a seethe, having persuaded himself that I was in love with Fiaz. He viciously beat me and stormed out of the house. Fiaz arrived in no time after, concerned and confused by my tear-streaked confrontation. When I attempted to clarify my trouble, he encouraged me to take off Ashir, demanding that I merited way better than this life of hopelessness.

But I knew I was superior. I asked Fiaz to remain absent, dreading that his nearness would as it were make things more awful. I had as of now endured sufficient since of the implicit bond between us, and I didn't need to lose what small steadiness I had cleared out. In spite of my supplications, Fiaz proceeded to visit, and each time, Ashir's anger developed.

The ultimate showdown came one day when Ashir caught Fiaz at our home whereas he was gathered to be at work. In a fit of seethe, Ashir assaulted me, charging me of disloyalty. Fiaz attempted to intervene, but Ashir, blinded by wrath, got a cut. Within the following battle, Fiaz inadvertently cut Ashir, and he fell to the ground, dormant.

The frightfulness of that minute is something I can never disregard. Fiaz was captured and sentenced to life in jail for the wrongdoing. I was cleared out alone, pregnant and widowed, to raise my child beneath the weight of disgrace and distress.

A long time passed, and Fiaz was in the long run discharged from jail. He proposed to me, but I refused. I didn't need to bring more outrage upon myself or my child, who had developed up accepting that I was mindful of his father's passing. The world might see me as blameworthy, but I needed my child to see me as his mother, not as a killer.

I made my penances, living with the torment of misplaced cherish and the burden of blame. But in conclusion, I did it all for my child. When he calls me "mother," it's as if it were comfort I have left—an update that, in spite of everything, I still have a reason to live.