Every morning, when I sit at the dining table with my tea, I see her — Hiba, walking around with that face of hers. Quiet, obedient on the surface, but I know the truth. She thinks too much of herself. Always has.
She is the thorn in my side. Maarya never was. Maarya listened, nodded, did as she was told. Even Farooq respected Maarya’s silence. But Hiba… she has this way of staring at me when she doesn’t agree. Her mouth doesn’t always open, but her eyes speak. And when things get too much, she speaks too — carefully, with points that sting. Points that leave me with no words.
And that, I cannot stand.
Because if I admit she is right even once, it means I am wrong. And in this house, I will never be wrong.
I sip my tea and let the bitterness sit on my tongue. It matches the bitterness I carry inside for that spoiled girl.
My only goal now is simple: marry her off. Quickly, quietly. To a man she’ll regret staying with, one who won’t let her opinions matter, who will crush the little fire in her. That will teach her. That will free me.
Once Hiba is gone, this house will be mine to command. Imran will listen to me — he already does. He is young, impressionable, and I am the one who scolds and guides him daily. Farooq? Farooq is too tired, too quiet. He lets things happen. He let me happen. He will let me rule, too. Which in the end will be at my hands to give this property to my own blood my son -Jameel ,yeah i know he's just 14 now but i can't let farooq give a single rupee to any of them.
I watch him across the table sometimes. He still looks at Hiba differently, softer. I hate it. That softness reminds me that she is not mine, not my blood. It reminds me of the woman who came before me. A shadow I can never erase.
So I do what I can. I drop hints. Marriage talk, whispered into Farooq's ears. “She’s twenty-two now,” I say. “Girls her age already have children.” Or, “People ask why your daughter is still studying, still at home.”
He sighs, rubs his forehead, but he doesn’t say no. That is enough for me. Silence is permission.
One day, soon, I will win. I will have this house the way I want it — quiet, orderly, under my control and for my son. And Hiba, wherever she ends up, will finally learn that fighting me was useless.
Until then, I watch her, waiting for the next chance to tighten the rope.
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