Months had passed since Zayan had left his home.
Months since he had run away without looking back.
And now… his parents finally knew.
The moment the truth hit them — that he hadn't just gone somewhere, that he had run away — panic swallowed them whole. Desperation took over. Fear turned into frantic action.
So they called Aryan.
The phone rang.
Aryan answered.
Before he could even say anything properly, Farhan's voice rushed through the line, sharp and desperate, barely holding together.
"Do you know anything about Zayan?"
"Where is he now?"
Aryan stayed silent for a moment.
He already knew Zayan had run away.
And deep down… he believed it was the best thing Zayan could have done.
Because if Zayan had stayed there any longer, he wouldn't have survived it. He would have fallen apart completely.
Not that he hadn't already.
Aryan finally spoke, his voice calm but cold.
"Who are you?"
Farhan answered without hesitation.
"I am Zayan's father."
That was it.
That was the moment something inside Aryan snapped.
His grip tightened around the phone, his jaw clenched, and all the anger he had buried for years exploded.
"Don't call yourself his father," Aryan said, his voice shaking with rage.
"You don't deserve to be called that."
Farhan froze.
Aryan didn't stop.
"You left him when he needed you the most — in his childhood. And when Nani Rahima died… you still didn't come back. You didn't even look back."
His words poured out, sharp and unforgiving.
"And now that you know Zayan ran away… now you suddenly care?"
"Now you want to pity him?"
"Huh?"
His voice rose, breaking with anger he could no longer control.
"Are you even human?"
"You don't deserve to be called humans. You're evil beings."
He laughed bitterly.
"You can't even be called animals. Even animals don't abandon their children."
Farhan couldn't speak.
Aryan continued, every word burning.
"If you wanted to come back like this, you should've taken him with you back then."
"Why did you leave him behind?"
Then his voice lowered — colder, deadlier.
"Don't come back now calling him your son."
"Because he is not the Zayan you left."
"He's not hopeless anymore. He's not waiting for your return. He doesn't care about you at all."
There was a pause.
Then Aryan said the last words slowly, deliberately.
"Forgive him."
"And leave him alone."
"Let him be at peace."
"Let him be alone."
"And don't ever call me again."
The call ended.
Aryan cut it.
On the other side, Farhan slowly lowered the phone.
The house felt suffocating.
He didn't move.
He didn't speak.
He just stood there, lost in thoughts darker than the night itself.
Outside, Amna was playing with the twins. She noticed his stillness immediately.
So did the twins.
Something was wrong.
Amna walked inside, worry written all over her face.
"What happened, Farhan?" she asked carefully.
No response.
"Farhan?" she tried again.
"Tell me… where is my son?"
"Is he okay?"
"Can we bring him back?"
Her voice cracked.
That was when Farhan finally spoke.
And when he did, his voice was filled with anger, desperation, and bitterness.
"What right do you have to call him your child?" he snapped.
Amna froze.
"You abandoned him," Farhan continued.
"It's all because of you."
His eyes burned with pain.
"He won't call me his father anymore," he said quietly.
"I lost my only son."
Then louder.
"And it's all because of you."
Outside the door, the twins stood still.
They heard everything.
Finally… the truth.
The reason their brother never talked to them.
The reason he only looked at them silently.
The first twin whispered, his voice breaking,
"This is why our brother never talks to us…"
"He just looks at us…"
"We're worth hating."
The second twin shook his head slowly, tears in his eyes.
"He doesn't even hate us…"
"And that hurts so much more."
💔
Inside, Amna finally spoke again, her voice trembling but defensive.
"It's not only my fault," she said.
"It's both of us."
They argued.
They shouted.
They blamed.
For almost half an hour, the house echoed with everything they had refused to say for years.
And then…
Silence.
A heavy, unbearable silence.
Because no matter how much they fought, nothing could change the truth.
Their son was gone.
And for the first time in a long time…
He was finally at peace.
The silence after the fight was worse than
the shouting.
Farhan sat alone in the dim room, his body still, his hands trembling slightly. The words Aryan had said kept replaying in his head — each sentence carving deeper than the last.
You don't deserve to be called his father.
He doesn't care about you at all.
Let him be at peace.
His chest tightened.
For the first time, the truth settled in — not as anger, not as denial, but as loss.
His breath grew uneven.
"I lost him…" he whispered to no one.
His voice cracked, and suddenly, the strength he had worn for years collapsed.
He covered his face with his hands.
A broken sound escaped his throat — something between a sob and a gasp. His shoulders shook violently as everything he had buried came rushing back.
The nights he chose work over his child.
The calls he never answered.
The birthdays he missed.
The funeral he didn't return for.
"Nani Rahima…" he choked.
"You protected him when I didn't."
Tears soaked his palms.
"I left him alone," he whispered again and again.
"I left my own son alone."
His body folded forward, his forehead touching the floor like a defeated man begging for forgiveness that would never come.
"He was just a child…"
"And I abandoned him."
For the first time in years, Farhan cried — not quietly, not controlled — but completely shattered.
And no one came to comfort him.
The twins stood outside for a long time after everything went silent.
Their hearts felt heavy, like something precious had been ripped away from them before they even had the chance to hold it.
Finally, they walked inside.
Their footsteps were small, hesitant.
Farhan looked up. Amna turned toward them.
The first twin spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"So… that's why bhai never talks to us?"
No answer.
The second twin swallowed hard.
"That's why he looks at us like we don't belong to him…"
Their voices weren't angry.
They were broken.
"We thought he hated us," the first twin said.
"We thought we did something wrong."
The second twin's eyes filled with tears.
"But now we know…"
"He was just tired."
Amna tried to speak.
"We never meant—"
The first twin cut her off.
"You left him."
The room went still.
"You both left him," he continued.
"And then you brought us into his place."
The second twin stepped forward.
"He didn't hate us," he said quietly.
"He just didn't have anything left."
His fists clenched.
"You took his parents away."
"You took his home."
"And then you expected him to smile for us."
Farhan looked away, unable to meet their eyes.
The first twin whispered, voice shaking,
"Do you know what hurts the most?"
Neither parent spoke.
"He didn't even fight back."
"He just disappeared."
The twins turned and walked away together.
Not angry.
Just empty.
Miles away, in a quiet house, Zayan slept.
The night wrapped around him gently.
No nightmares.
No sudden fear.
No pain crawling through his head.
His breathing was slow, steady — something it hadn't been in years.
Professor Farooq's house held a strange warmth. It didn't ask questions. It didn't demand explanations. It didn't hurt him.
For the first time, Zayan didn't feel like he had to survive.
He just existed.
His face was calm — not happy, not sad — just… still.
Back home, guilt ate everything alive.
Farhan sat awake until morning, staring at nothing, knowing his son was sleeping peacefully somewhere far away — without him.
Amna lay on the bed, tears silently soaking her pillow, realizing too late that love delayed becomes regret.
The twins stayed awake together, whispering promises to someone who couldn't hear them.
"We won't replace you."
"We won't forget you."
"We'll wait… even if you never come back."
And Zayan?
Zayan slept on.
Unaware of the guilt.
Unaware of the regret.
Unaware of the pain he left behind.
For the first time in his life…
He was free.