Nafiz entered the house in silence, his expression distant and unreadable. The moment she saw him, Jahanara Begum hurried forward, her voice laced with motherly concern. "How was the exam, son?"
"It was fine," Nafiz replied dryly, his mind clearly elsewhere.
His exhausted face sent a ripple of unease through Jahanara's heart. She gently instructed him to shower, pray, and have his meal. Though she knew in her heart that Nafiz often stood on the prayer mat only to honor her wishes, rather than out of true devotion. He had even faced his father's wrath in the past for this very indifference toward his faith.
A mother's heart, however, never tires of hope. She whispered a silent prayer: "O Lord of the Worlds, please guide my son back to Your path. As a mother, I can no longer bear to see this aimless, drifted life he leads."
It is believed that a mother's prayer never goes unanswered. Today, Jahanara's faith felt heavier and more certain than ever.
As Nafiz headed toward his room, he crossed paths with his sister, Meghla. Always the mischievous one, she couldn't resist a jab.
"Well, well, Mr. Blackie! Why is your face all scrunched up like a grumpy monkey today?"
Nafiz didn't even bother to respond. In a fit of sheer irritation, he slammed his door shut, instantly isolating himself from the noise of the outside world.
He collapsed onto his bed, but his mind was a storm of restlessness. Outside, Meghla stood puzzled. "What's wrong with you? Did a white cat bite you today? Why won't you talk?" After calling out to him a few more times with no response, she huffed and walked away.
Lying in the dark, his mother's words echoed in his ears: "Go, son, offer your prayers."
A sudden, stinging thought pierced his mind: Am I actually praying? Or am I just a puppet standing on a mat to keep Mom happy? A wave of self-loathing washed over him. He whispered to the empty room, "Am I becoming a hypocrite? I'm only standing there for show."
A while later, Afaj Saheb returned home. He immediately went to Meghla. "Did you pray, princess?"
"Yes, Abbu," Meghla replied politely.
Afaj Saheb smiled warmly. "That's why I love my girl so much. Did you like the gift, dear?"
"I loved it, Abbu! But... Mom doesn't really like me using makeup."
He stroked her head gently. "That's true. But if you dress up inside the house, she won't mind. Just don't go out looking like that. I wouldn't want any evil eyes falling on my moon. As your father, I want you to remain as pure as the flower you were when you came into this world."
Meghla nodded solemnly. "Yes, Abbu. I will always try to stay pure."
Then, his tone shifted as he asked about Nafiz. When Meghla informed him that he was sulking behind a locked door, Afaj Saheb's face hardened. "Did you see him pray?"
Meghla shook her head.
Afaj Saheb marched to Nafiz's door and knocked firmly. "Nafiz! Haven't you prayed yet? Come out this instant!"
Inside, Nafiz's heart skipped a beat at the stern authority in his father's voice. Out of fear, he hurried to open the door, but he couldn't hide the gloom on his face or the guilt eating at him. After a sharp lecture on his spiritual negligence, his father concluded, "Finish your prayers and come to the table. We are waiting."
Unwillingly, Nafiz went through the motions of prayer and finally took his seat at the dinner table. The atmosphere was stifling. While his father and sister ate, Nafiz's plate remained untouched. He sat there, tracing patterns in the rice with his fingers, his eyes lost in a distant void.
Jahanara Begum watched him from the next chair, her heart aching. "Nafiz? Why aren't you eating, son?"
She could sense something was gnawing at him from the inside. But as a mother, what could she offer besides prayers and a gentle touch?
"Mom, please! I'm not hungry. You guys eat, I'm going," Nafiz said in a strained voice. To escape the questioning eyes and the suffocating silence of the table, he retreated back to his room.
Jahanara sat frozen, wondering what kind of magical fire was burning her beloved Nafiz Arham to ashes today.
In the sanctuary of his room, Nafiz picked up his favorite guitar. He desperately wanted to lose himself in a melody, but his fingers felt clumsy, disobedient. No matter how he tried, the strings refused to sing the tune he wanted. "Come on, Nafiz!" he hissed at himself. "Nafiz Arham doesn't act this pathetic."
But a rebellious heart knows no discipline. The image of that 'Dusky Maiden' kept flickering before his eyes. Why did he crave another glimpse of her? Why couldn't he find his balance?
A deep doubt took root in his mind—Is falling in love really this easy? Or is it a beautiful poison? A fire that will slowly turn Nafiz Arham into dust?
That brief moment, that soft gaze, had trapped him in an invisible web. What was the magic in her eyes that made him feel like a stranger to himself? He realized the truth: he was utterly, hopelessly captivated.
Perhaps love is defined differently in every heart. It doesn't care for chains of religion, caste, or race. Some love with a fierce desire to possess, while others love selflessly, knowing they may never truly belong to each other. Nafiz Arham was caught in that painful toss-up of 'never having.'
With her image still burned into his mind, he began to hum softly, though his guitar remained out of tune:
"When the memory of you strikes me,
Who is there to hold me back?
People call it madness...
So I stay stubborn, I stay proud,
Lost or won—I no longer know how much"
Every word of the song felt like a confession of his defeat. Just then, a soft knock came at the door. It was Jahanara. Nafiz called out from inside, "Mom, I'm not eating now. Please... just leave me alone for a bit."
The haunting quality of his voice sent a shiver of fear through her. "Nafiz, honey, open the door just once."
"Mom, please! I'm going to sleep. Just go," he shouted, his voice thick with irritation and hidden pain.
Sensing his desperate need for solitude, she sighed and walked away in silence. In the dark room, Nafiz Arham sat alone—beside him lay his silent guitar and a heart full of unspoken words.
~ To be continued ~