The bright Islamabad sun stood mellow in the sky, and the breeze of early afternoon rustled lightly through the trees as the black Corolla pulled out of the hospital's parking lot. It had been three days since the cries of new life had echoed in the labor room. Now, Maryam, her body still fragile but her heart full of new warmth, was finally going home.
Inside the car, Haroon drove carefully, his usual police officer's firmness softened by the tenderness of a husband. Beside him, Maryam sat quietly, leaning slightly into the seat, her shawl wrapped around her and the baby bundle resting safely in her lap. Every few seconds she would lower her head, glance at Irfan, and smile faintly at his little twitching lips.
In the back seat, Rimsha had taken charge of all the hospital bags and Ubaid. She held the boy's tiny hand firmly while also trying to keep the bags steady. Ubaid, restless with excitement, kept peeking forward to catch a glimpse of his little brother in his mother's arms.
"Baji, don't worry about anything. I've kept the baby bag, medicines, and all the prescriptions safe. Doctor sahib said you must take complete rest for at least two weeks," Rimsha reminded softly.
Maryam turned her tired face toward her sister and smiled gratefully. "Allah tumhein khush rakhe, Rimsha. Tum na hoti to main… I don't know how I would've managed."
Haroon added with a firm voice, glancing at them through the rear mirror, "She's right. Rimsha, you've handled everything. Bill payment, luggage, Ubaid—sab kuch. I'll never forget this."
Rimsha laughed lightly, brushing off the praise. "Bhai, yeh mera farz hai. Aur waise bhi, it feels good to be busy. Ab ghar mein sab normal lagay ga."
The car rolled into the familiar streets of F-7. Their neighborhood was peaceful, lined with green trees, the sound of schoolchildren returning home echoing faintly in the air. As the vehicle stopped at the front gate of their double-storey house, Ubaid clapped his little hands.
"We are home!" he announced happily.
Haroon stepped out, quickly opened the front gate, and parked the car inside. He then hurried to Maryam's side, gently supporting her as she stepped out with the baby. Rimsha carried the bags, balancing them on her arms, while also holding onto Ubaid's hand to keep him from running around too much.
As soon as they entered, the familiar scent of home wrapped around them — a mixture of wood polish, the faint trace of Rimsha's morning cleaning, and the cool air from the living room's air conditioner. Maryam's heart fluttered softly; there was no place like one's own home.
She moved slowly towards the bedroom, her steps careful, and Haroon's arm steady under hers. Reaching the room, she lowered herself onto the bed, sighing in relief. The baby remained asleep, his tiny breaths rising and falling against her chest.
Rimsha placed the bags neatly beside the bed, adjusted the pillows for her sister, and pulled the curtains slightly to let in a soft light. Ubaid, meanwhile, skipped towards his own room, already imagining the stories he would tell his toys about becoming a big brother.
By 4 PM, the quiet house filled with the soft sounds of Rimsha in the kitchen. She had rolled up her sleeves, tied her dupatta behind her shoulders, and stood chopping onions and tomatoes. The clinking of utensils mixed with the warm aroma of simmering lentils. For Maryam, she carefully prepared a lighter meal — boiled vegetables with a bit of chicken broth. For the rest, she made dal chawal — the comfort food that always seemed to taste better at home than anywhere else.
From the bedroom, Maryam could hear the faint rhythm of her sister's cooking and felt a strange peace. Her body ached, but the thought that life was resuming its familiar flow comforted her. She leaned against the pillow, watching baby Irfan sleep, his tiny fists curled. Occasionally, Ubaid peeked into her room, whispering in his small voice, "Mama, can I look at him again?" and she would nod, smiling.
Hours passed quietly. Around 7 PM, Haroon returned from the hospital. He had gone back to settle the final paperwork and collect some leftover medicines from the pharmacy. As he entered the house, he loosened his tie, washed his hands, and came straight into the bedroom.
"How are you feeling now?" he asked Maryam gently, placing the medicine packets on the side table.
Maryam smiled faintly. "Better, Alhamdulillah. Just a little weak."
Haroon leaned down, kissed her forehead, and then bent to look at Irfan. The baby stirred slightly in his sleep, letting out a tiny sigh. Haroon's heart melted. For a moment, the weight of his duties as Inspector, the files, the cases—all disappeared. Here, he was not Inspector Haroon, but simply a father.
By 9 PM, Rimsha had laid the dinner table in the dining room. The fragrance of dal chawal spread through the house, mixing with the faint sound of television news in the background. Ubaid rushed to sit first, impatiently waiting.
"Papa, can I have extra rice today?" he asked eagerly.
Haroon chuckled, settling down at the head of the table. "Of course, my brave big boy."
Rimsha placed a smaller tray for Maryam in her bedroom with a warm smile. "Baji, tumhein yahan khilati hoon. You shouldn't walk much right now." She then returned to the dining table to join Haroon and Ubaid.
The clinking of spoons and the light laughter of Ubaid filled the room. Haroon, eating slowly, occasionally asked Rimsha about the Superstore updates.
"Store chal raha hai mashallah. Customers are happy, aur stock bhi manage ho gaya. Don't worry, bhai, sab theek hai," she assured.
By 9:45 PM, the family shifted back into the living room with cups of warm green tea. The soothing aroma filled the air, and everyone leaned into the comfort of home. Ubaid snuggled beside Haroon, watching his father sip tea while Rimsha teased, "Bhai, aaj aap thak gaye lagtay ho."
Haroon smiled faintly. "Thak gaya hoon… but in a good way. My family is complete now."
Maryam, holding Irfan in her arms, looked at him with teary eyes. Her lips whispered softly, almost to herself, "Ya Allah, shukriya."
At 10:30, Haroon carried Irfan carefully and walked into the bedroom with Maryam. He placed the baby in the small wooden crib Rimsha had decorated earlier with soft blue sheets. Maryam lay down, exhausted, while Haroon dimmed the lights.
Meanwhile, Rimsha remained in the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes. She moved with quiet efficiency, her thoughts wandering between the responsibilities of home and the joy of seeing her sister happy. She dried her hands, checked the locks, and finally switched off the lights.
By 11 PM, she stepped into her own bedroom. A faint smile crossed her lips as she lay down, whispering a short dua before closing her eyes. The house, now wrapped in silence, seemed to breathe with them.
A new rhythm had begun — one where every night carried the soft sighs of a newborn, the innocent laughter of a child, the strength of a father, and the unwavering love of a younger sister.
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