— "Kabhi-kabhi rishton ke naam se zyada unki timing important hoti hai."

Mitti ki khushboo hawa mein thi, lekin dil mein sirf udaasi, khali silence, aur ek aisa gham jo lafzon se bahar tha.

Ghar ke aangan mein chaarpayein bichi thi. Har taraf safed kapdon mein log. Aur beech mein, ek chhoti si kursi pe baithi thi Afiya Khan — ek 26 saal ki aurat jiske chehre pe na aansu the, na shikwa. Sirf ek sookha sa sukoon, ya shayad thakan.

Woh abbujaan ki beti thi—sabse badi. Aur aaj, sab usse hi dekh rahe the, jaise kisi ki maut ke baad ghar ki zimmedari uske kandhon pe aa gayi ho.

Phir ek awaaz aayi.

“Salam, Afiya baji.”

Usne dheere se apna sir uthaya. Nazar uss chehre pe padhi jo saalon se kahin gum tha. Zayaan.

Chhota tha jab gaya tha—ab jawaan ho gaya tha.

Lamba, lean, aankhon mein gussa, ya shayad chhupa dard. Safed kurta pehna tha, lekin collar thoda uljha hua tha, jaise jaldi mein aaya ho. Baalon mein baarish ki nami thi.

Afiya: “Tum yahan? Kis haq se?”

Zayaan: “Abbujaan the mere bhi kuch. Unke liye aaya hoon. Tere liye nahi.”

Sabke samne. Aankhon mein seeda jawab.

Afiya ki aankhon ka rang badal gaya.

Afiya (thandi awaaz mein): “Yeh ghar tumhara nahi raha. Tum jaante ho kyun.”

Zayaan ke chehre pe hansi aayi. Kadwi si. Toot gayi si.

Zayaan: “Mujhe nikaala gaya tha. Main toh sirf uss faisle ka bakra tha. Tum logon ne suna bhi nahi mujhe.”

Afiya khamosh rahi. Phir ek kadam aage badhaya.

Afiya: “Tumhari harkatein sunne layak nahi thi.”

Zayaan: “Aur tumhari soch sirf faisla dene layak thi?”

Uski aankhon mein ek chingari si thi. Afiya ne ek second ke liye uski aankhon mein dekha—woh ladka ab woh nahi raha tha. Jo pehle daant khakar chup ho jaata tha, ab sawaal pooch raha tha.

Phir—sabke samne—ek thappad. Afiya ne uske gaal pe thappad maara.

Sab shock mein the. Zayaan bhi.

Usne haath se gaal chhua. Phir uska haath Afiya ke haath par gaya—lekin pyaar se nahi. Aankhon se.

Zayaan (dheere se): “Main ab bhi tumse darta hoon. Par sirf isliye nahi ki tum mujhe maar do, balki isliye ki tum mujhe barbaad kar do.”

Afiya ne kuch nahi kaha.

Usne sirf ek sanket kiya. Do log aaye aur Zayaan ke saamne khade ho gaye.

Afiya: “Isse nikaalo yahaan se. Abbu ki rooh bhi bechain ho gayi hogi iske chehre se.”

Zayaan: “Main chala jaunga. Par ek din... tum khud bulaogi mujhe. Aur tab main aunga, par tumhare rules pe nahi.”

Aankhon mein tha ek challenge.

Woh chala gaya. Bina piche dekhe.

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Raat ko...

Sab so gaye the. Afiya abbu ki tasveer ke samne baithi thi. Usne tasveer ke paas ek chhoti si diary rakhi—unki likhi huyi. Uska chehra pehli baar pighla.

Afiya (softly): “Main strong hoon, Abbu. Jaise aap chahte the. Par kabhi kabhi... dil to ro padta hai na?”

Tasveer khamosh thi.

Tabhi ek purani tasveer diary ke beech se girti hai—Afiya aur Zayaan ki.

Dono bachpan mein ek jhule pe. Haste hue. Us waqt koi daant nahi, koi doori nahi thi.

Afiya ne tasveer uthakar dekha. Phir se aankhon mein pathar aa gaya.

Afiya: “Woh Zayaan mar gaya. Jo bacha hai... usse main kabhi dobara apne ghar mein nahi aane dungi.”

Lekin uske dil ke kisi kone mein... ek halki si thapthapahat thi. Jo uske thappad se nahi, Zayaan ki aankhon se chali aayi thi.

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Agle din—Afiya ka chhota bhai, Faizan:

Faizan: “Baji, aapne Zayaan bhai ko kyun nikala? Woh toh sirf ro rahe the abbu ke liye…”

Afiya (kathor): “Kyunki woh yaadon ka dard hai. Aur main kamzor nahi pad sakti.”

Faizan: “Par kabhi kabhi yaad rakhna zaroori hota hai.”

Afiya ne usse dekha. Chhota tha, par baat sahi thi.

Phir usn

e diary uthayi.

Aur likha:

"Agar waqt phir se lautta... kya main usse samajh pati?"

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