The rain showed no sign of stopping. Today, even the heavens seemed to be in full force—thundering since morning as if expressing boundless joy. Yet, people weighed this gift of nature on the scales of their own judgments, labelling it as good or bad based on their circumstances.
Cold winds brushed against my eyelids, and raindrops splashed onto my face, sending a shiver through my body. Seated by the window in her room, Rehmat absorbed the mesmerizing sight of the rain, etching every moment into her diary, preserving it forever.
"Rehmat, sweetheart, your tea is getting cold," her mother said as she walked into the room and took a seat next to her.
"Mom, when did you come? I didn’t even notice. Tea can be made again, but this rain won’t return the same. Sit with me and enjoy it," Rehmat replied.
"Come on, child, you don’t have much left."
"Mom, please… don’t bring up sad things. I don’t want to ruin today with yesterday’s regrets," Rehmat said softly.
"Rehmat, Pargat isn’t just your past—he’s part of your present too. I don’t know what you hold in your heart for him, but your father keeps asking every day if you’ve spoken to him. How long will I keep reassuring him that she’ll go today, tomorrow?"
"Mom, I won’t talk to him. You tell Dad—it doesn’t matter whether Pargat is mine or not," Rehmat said, tying her loose hair back.
"Both of you are so stubborn, Rehmat. Relationships don’t work like this."
"The relationship is over. Why should I stop you, Mom? He only thinks of himself. There are plenty of others who can take care of him," Rehmat retorted.
"It’s been a whole year since you came back. The neighbours, relatives—everyone keeps asking about you. How long will you keep hiding?"
"If it’s so difficult for you, then tell Dad to file for divorce."
Furious, Rehmat’s mother stood to leave, but Rehmat caught her arm. "Mom, what should I do? Think about it. I’ve tried talking to Pargat—it never worked. Fine, if you insist, I’ll speak to him again."
"Do as you wish, but answer your father yourself," her mother said before walking out.
Rehmat knew what her parents wanted, but the pain of separation from Pargat weighed heavily on her. The same questions, the same answers.
Setting everything aside, she called her brother-in-law, Jajbir, to arrange a meeting with Pargat. Being the youngest, Jajbir was more like a brother to her, and he had always tried to mend things between them.
After the call, Jajbir rushed to Pargat with renewed hope.
"Bro, I need to tell you something," Jajbir said hesitantly.
"What is it?" Pargat replied.
"Bhabhi called. She wants to meet you."
At the mention of Rehmat, Pargat’s expression hardened. "I have no intention of meeting her. Focus on your studies instead."
But Jajbir persisted, and eventually, Pargat agreed. He sent Rehmat a WhatsApp message, setting a time and place for the next day.
That night, both lay awake, wondering what was left to say. Family ties had forced them to meet, yet their hearts remained unyielding.
Pargat believed Rehmat never understood his love, while Rehmat felt Pargat never truly valued her, always siding with others.
Misunderstandings had driven them apart—small issues magnified by outside interference.
The next morning, clouds still lingered as Rehmat dressed carefully.
"Where are you going all dressed up?" her mother asked.
"To meet Pargat. I might stop by the market too—let me know if you need anything," Rehmat replied.
"Think carefully before you speak. May God set things right," her mother said, patting her head.
"Don’t get your hopes up. You’ll only raise your blood pressure. Where are the car keys?"
"Ask your father," her mother snapped.
Just then, Rehmat’s father appeared, keys in hand. "Why must you two argue every morning?"
"I didn’t say anything. Just give me the keys—Pargat must be waiting."
As she left, her father reassured her mother, "No matter what, she still cares for him. Don’t take her words to heart—our daughter is wise."
At the café, Pargat waited, watching the rain intensify. He glanced at the clock, then out the window—until Rehmat’s car pulled up.
She entered, and they exchanged stiff greetings before sitting across from each other.
"How is everyone at home? Your parents? Jajbir?" Rehmat asked.
"Fine. They miss you. Jajbir must’ve told you everything."
"If he had, why would I ask? I called him yesterday after six months."
"Why did you call me here? There’s nothing left to discuss," Pargat said coldly.
"I never argued before, Pargat. My parents wanted us to meet—to decide the future of this relationship."
"You decided that a year ago, Rehmat." He signaled the waiter for coffee.
"I didn’t decide anything. You were the one who told me to leave."
"Yes, for a few days—not forever." His gaze locked onto hers.
"You gave me no reason to return."
The coffee arrived. Pargat passed her the sugar.
"We always have answers for each other, but nothing changes. You refuse to adjust to that house. As for my parents—I can’t change them. You’ve blamed me countless times, and I’ve explained myself just as often."
"Nothing has changed in a year—not your faults, not mine."
Silence fell. The rain poured harder, but resolution remained elusive.
Rehmat finished her coffee, stood, and picked up her purse. "Thank you for meeting me. Maybe our journey ends here."
"What? I don’t understand."
"You never do. I’ll tell Dad to file for divorce." She turned to leave.
"You always decide for me without knowing anything. Fine. I’ve given you everything you asked—I won’t disappoint you now."
Outside, Rehmat called her friend Raman, heading to his house.
Raman was well-acquainted with everything about Pargat and Rehmat. Since their college days, Rehmat and Raman had shared every joy and sorrow with each other.
"You came in this rain? Must be important," Raman said, hugging her.
"Sometimes, you do things even your best friend wouldn’t expect. Something smells amazing."
"My sister visits after so long—of course, I’ve cooked!"
"Liar," Rehmat laughed.
"You met Pargat, didn’t you?" Raman handed her water.
"How’d you know? Did he tell you?"
"Your face did. So?"
"We’re divorcing."
Raman’s smile faded. "You’re making a mistake, Rehmat. You won’t find another like him."
"What else can I do? He only sees my faults. I hoped today would be different, but it was the same. He barely calls—just twice a year!"
"You forget the hundred times you hung up on him. Why cling to stubbornness?"
"It’s not stubbornness. I can’t forget how he always sided with his family. Even today, he said he can’t change them."
"He can’t force them to understand, just as you refuse to. Yes, your mother-in-law was wrong, but Pargat didn’t humiliate you—he tried to manage the situation."
Their debate changed nothing. Rehmat returned home, firm in her decision and requested her dad that they initiate divorce proceedings. Her mother resisted, but maybe the timing was finally right.
As the legal process began, days turned into months. Rehmat took a teaching job; Pargat buried himself in work.
These days, Rehmat often finds herself lost in memories of the time she shared with Pargat, each recollection leaving her heart heavy. Since that day, Pargat has not spoken to her. Though they occasionally exchange emotional messages, neither responds—their silence only deepening the divide between them.
Raman tried her best to reason with Rehmat, but her words brought her no solace.
Amidst all the unsolicited advice and assumptions, the unspoken love between them remained unseen. No one paused to ask what they truly desired—what kept their hearts entwined, even in silence.
A year later, the final court date arrived.
"Rehmat, Pargat’s parents may come. Meet them with respect. Let there be no bitterness," her father advised.
Tears welled in her eyes. "I’m sorry I couldn’t make you and Mom happy."
"Relationships aren’t about blame. Don’t lose heart."
The next day, their court hearing was scheduled for 12:30 pm. Rehmat arrived at 12 sharp, accompanied by her parents, her eyes restless with anticipation for a glimpse of Pargat. She had chosen to wear his favorite mustard colour suit—a silent tribute to what once was.
Pargat entered the courtroom with his family—his parents and brother by his side. With deep respect, he greeted Rehmat’s parents, even bowing to touch their feet. Rehmat, in turn, paid her respects to his family. Though Pargat’s mother still harbored resentment, she softened just enough to place a hesitant hand on Rehmat’s head, offering a reluctant blessing.
The judge was expected any moment now. The two families sat in tense silence, facing each other but avoiding conversation. Pargat wore the same shirt Rehmat had gifted him on his birthday—a silent reminder of happier times.
Their eyes met briefly, but both Rehmat and Pargat quickly looked away, pretending not to notice each other.
Soon, the judge summoned them inside. With a firm yet weary tone, he asked the inevitable question: ‘Have you reached your final decision?
With mutual agreement, the final step of their divorce was completed. The judge informed them that their divorce certificate would be ready in two months. After signing the necessary documents, they stepped outside the courtroom.
Tears glistened in their eyes as they exchanged a quiet ‘Best of luck’—their smiles bittersweet with unspoken memories. Then, without another word, they turned and walked away, each carrying a piece of the past they once shared.
After a quiet goodbye, Rehmat's parents departed, leaving her in Raman's comforting presence.
Later, at the café with Raman, a melancholic song played: "Je tu akhian de samne ni rehna, ta biba Saada dil mod de (If you won’t stay before my eyes, then at least turn our hearts away)."
Rehmat broke down.
"I’ve never seen a couple cry so much after divorcing. If you can’t live apart, why end it?"Raman teased.
"He’s free now."
"Stop it. Pargat sent me fifty messages this morning."
"What did he say?"
"How did you live with her so long? I haven’t lasted a day."
Rehmat laughed through tears. "Typical."
"Rehmat, why focus on his flaws? You know he loves you—"
"Let’s talk about something else."
And so, another relationship slipped away—lost in unspoken words.
Months later, Raman married and moved to Canada, losing touch.
Then, one day, Rehmat called.
"Raman! You forgot me after marriage!"
"Blame yourself! You didn’t even meet me before I left."
"Forgive me later. I have news!"
"What?"
"I got married."
"What?! Without telling me? Who is he?"
"Handsome. From this city."
"Name? Photo now!"
"Come to Punjab first."
"Tell me!"
"Pargat."
"YourPargat?!"
"Yes. My Pargat."
That night after court, Raman had forwarded Pargat’s messages—pleading to save their marriage. Sleepless, Rehmat returned to the judge, who explained the divorce could be undone if both agreed within 18 months.
The next day, Rehmat met Pargat. Together, they withdrew the case—binding their hearts forever.
Relationships are fragile—built over lifetimes, shattered in moments. There are no good or bad ones—only circumstances.
Perhaps today, we too can mend what was broken.
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