Reconnecting
When I arrived at the beach, Faraz was already there, staring out at the waves. It was surprising to see him early—back when we were dating, punctuality was never his strength. He’d always be late, sometimes by 10 minutes, sometimes by half an hour, and it had been the cause of countless arguments. But today, he was early. A glance at my watch confirmed there were still 10 minutes left until 5 o’clock.
I approached him and said, “Hello.” He turned to face me, a faint smile on his lips. “Hi.”
After that, silence fell between us, heavy and awkward.
Finally, he broke it. “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. They glistened with unshed tears.
“Wh…why?” I stammered, my voice trembling.
He took a deep breath. “Three years ago, when you told me you were going abroad, my answer should have been, ‘Let’s go together.’ Instead, I told you I was going to marry someone else.” His words faltered, his voice weighed down by regret. “It was a mistake. Life has a way of punishing you for wrong decisions—it strips away your peace and happiness.”
I felt a lump in my throat. “I’m sorry too,” I said quietly.
“Why?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“When you said you were marrying someone else, I should have fought for us, for our relationship. I should have communicated better, convinced you to give us another chance. But I gave up too easily. I’m sorry,” I said, my voice breaking.
Tears filled both our eyes. Slowly, he reached out and held my hand. “Can we start over?” he asked softly.
I nodded, a smile breaking through my tears.
“Let’s date again,” he said, his tone lighter.
“Yes,” I whispered, still nodding.
“I never thought we’d get another chance,” I admitted, my heart swelling with disbelief.
“Me neither. It feels like a miracle,” he replied.
“Two years ago, I read something about destiny,” I said. “It said there’s a hidden script in all our lives, and no matter how far things drift apart, they eventually reconnect when the time is right. Maybe this is part of that script.”
He nodded, his expression soft. “I think I believe that now too.”
Just then, his phone rang. He answered it, saying, “She’s with me now,” instead of the usual hello. Then he handed the phone to me.
“Hello,” said a woman’s voice on the other end. “You don’t know me, but I know you. When we were married, he used to tell me so many stories about you.”
I hesitated, unsure how to respond. “How are you?” I asked politely.
“I’m good,” she said warmly. “So, when’s the wedding?”
I laughed nervously. “We haven’t decided anything yet.”
“Very soon,” Faraz called out playfully, leaning toward me.
She chuckled and hung up after a brief chat.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I finally asked, “What happened between you two? Was I the reason for your divorce?”
“Fifty percent, yes,” he admitted. “The other 50% was her boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” I asked, pretending ignorance.
He nodded. “She was deeply in love with someone before we got married. But when his mom passed away, he spiraled into depression and moved to the UK. Her family pressured her into marrying me, so she did. But her heart was always with him, and mine was with you. We eventually decided to just be friends while staying married. Tonight, she’s planning to call him and tell him she wants to give their relationship another chance. Let’s hope it works out for her.”
I smiled. “Let’s hope for the best.”
We stayed there for hours, talking. Three years’ worth of words spilled out, and by the time we finally parted, the weight of the past had lifted. We were starting over, and it felt like a new chapter had begun.
The key lesson from the above part is that open communication and second chances can heal broken relationships.
Both Hala and Faraz reflect on their past mistakes, recognizing that lack of proper communication and impulsive decisions led to their separation. By addressing their regrets honestly and being vulnerable with each other, they pave the way for reconciliation and a fresh start. The story also highlights the importance of timing and destiny, suggesting that when the time is right, life has a way of reconnecting people meant to be together.
Final Courage
When I got home, the atmosphere was charged. Dad looked furious, while I could barely contain my excitement. I plopped down on the couch, my happiness practically glowing. The contrast was stark—me beaming, Dad fuming, and Mom sitting there, calm but observant.
“Who takes leave on their very first day of work?” Dad asked, addressing Mom but clearly aiming the question at me.
Mom turned to me, her expression silently asking for an explanation.
“I needed to meet Faraz at 5 PM,” I admitted, deciding to tell the truth.
And just like that, the mood shifted. Dad’s anger morphed into curiosity, and Mom straightened up, suddenly interested. She moved closer to me on the couch, her eyes full of questions. Trying to steady myself, I grabbed the remote and switched on the TV, pretending the story ended there.
But their faces said otherwise—two giant question marks staring at me.
“Then?” Mom asked, breaking the silence.
“We’re together now,” I said casually, flipping through channels to ease my nerves. The act of holding the remote gave me a semblance of control.
Dad, however, wasn’t having it. He marched over and turned off the TV.
Now their full attention was on me. The weight of their stares pressed down as I fumbled for words.
“Together… means?” Mom asked cautiously.
“We’re getting married soon,” I said, my voice firm despite the butterflies in my stomach.
“He was already married,” Dad pointed out sharply.
“They were never truly in a relationship. He was always in love with me, and I’ve always loved him,” I explained.
“We were already looking at proposals for you,” Mom said, her voice tinged with concern. “Your dad even spoke to a few brokers.”
“I will only marry Faraz,” I declared, unwavering.
Dad walked out of the room, his silence heavier than his earlier anger.
Mom stayed, her worry now evident. After a moment, she spoke. “You must think a thousand times before deciding to marry someone,” she said, her tone soft but serious.
“I’ve thought about it a million times, Mom,” I replied.
She sighed, then gave me a heartfelt speech. “Once you marry, you’re building a new family. As the wife, you’ll be the root of that family. It’s your nurturing that strengthens everyone else. But if your relationship with your husband isn’t strong and fulfilling, the root weakens, and the whole family suffers—especially the children. That’s why so many families fall apart. So, choose wisely.”
Her words hit deep, but I stood by my feelings. “I love him, Mom,” I said.
She gave me a small smile and kissed my forehead. “As you wish. We’ll support you no matter what decision you make.”
As she spoke, I noticed Dad’s feet just visible near the doorway. He was clearly eavesdropping. A faint sense of relief washed over me—I knew my parents would eventually come around.
This part of the story teaches us that following your heart takes courage, but wisdom and family support are just as important.
Hala’s love for Faraz shows the power of standing firm in your choices, while her mother’s advice reminds us that marriage shapes a family’s foundation. Love matters, but so do the responsibilities it brings.
It also highlights how open communication can turn disagreement into understanding, proving that family support can make all the difference.
Unexpected Face
It had been five days since our relationship felt renewed, like the first spark of our love. Faraz and I were more connected than ever.
Yesterday, he mentioned something unexpected: we were invited to lunch with his ex-wife and her fiancé, as their wedding was scheduled for next month. It was all so sudden. I didn’t even know her name, but I was genuinely happy for them—it was their second chance at happiness.
This morning, I found myself stressing over what to wear. I finally decided on a blue dress—Faraz’s favorite color. Moments later, he sent me a picture of himself wearing a brown shirt, my favorite color, captioned: “I’m in your favorite color.” I clicked a picture of myself and sent it back with the caption: “I’m in your favorite color too.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” he texted. “On my way.”
I rushed to get ready, running around to put on my shoes and add the finishing touches. Mom helped as usual, while Dad, pretending to read the newspaper, stole glances at me. He had been vocal about finding me a “good proposal,” struggling to accept Faraz, who was divorced.
Standing in front of Dad, I asked, “How do I look?”
“Not bad,” he replied in his serious tone.
“Tell her she looks like a princess,” Mom prodded.
“She doesn’t look like a princess—she is one, always,” Dad finally said, though his tone remained firm.
I searched for my bag, pointing toward the couch near him. “Where’s my bag? I left it here!”
“Where did you hide it?” Mom asked Dad, knowing his habit of stashing things to delay us when he didn’t approve of our plans.
Caught, Dad stammered, “It’s in the bedroom, on the bed.” His expression was priceless like a guilty thief caught red-handed. Mom gave him a pointed look, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
The doorbell rang. It was Faraz. He greeted my parents warmly, and after a tense silence, he addressed my dad.
“Uncle, I know it’s hard for you to accept us,” he began, his voice steady and sincere. “But I can’t live without her. I tried, but it’s impossible. My mom says she sees me smiling again, and that’s because of your daughter. I love her as much as you do.”
His words melted the tension. Mom stood beside me with a tray of juice, tears glistening in her eyes. Mine followed suit.
Dad walked over and placed a hand on my shoulder. “She’s my everything,” he said. “I can bear anything but her tears. The last time, you hurt her deeply. She hid it well, but I could see her pain. Promise me you won’t hurt her again.”
Faraz made the promise, his voice unwavering.
Dad’s next words struck me deeply. “As parents, we want only one thing: our daughter’s happiness—both before marriage and after. Her joy is our joy, her pain is our pain. So you see, our happiness is forever tied to hers.”
We left the house and arrived at the hotel. As we walked in, I casually asked, “What’s her name?”
“Whose?” Faraz looked puzzled.
“Your ex-wife.”
“Shabana,” he replied.
When we reached the table, my heart skipped a beat. Sitting there, alongside Shabana, was an unexpected face—Sultan. His shock mirrored mine.
Faraz introduced them formally. “This is Shabana, and her fiancé, Sultan.”
“We’ve met before,” I said, recalling our chance encounter on a flight.
Sultan nodded, his expression showed how shock he was.
So, Sultan was Shabana’s fiancé. In that moment, it all clicked—the threads of our lives were already intertwined. It was as if destiny had written a script I wasn’t meant to understand until now.
Once again, I marveled at life’s strange way of connecting people. It’s all part of God’s plan, I thought. We’re just players in a divine game, moving as the script unfolds.
[The End]