RAHIM

Another three months passed.

They came on Friday after Jummah, when the air still carried the peaceful scent of prayer from the mosque near the lake. My mother, Priya, and the aunt who knew every family secret arrived with boxes of fresh mishti — rosogolla, sandesh, and cham cham — and those sharp, sympathetic smiles that cut deeper than any blade. Sana served tea with her small hospital smile, the one that never reached her eyes anymore. She sat quietly on the sofa, holding a cushion tightly against her empty belly as if it could still protect her. I stared at the floor the entire time, counting the patterns in the marble.

My mother patted Sana's knee gently, her gold bangles clinking.

"Beti... time is passing. A man needs a child. The family line..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. The silence that followed said everything.

After everyone else left, my mother stayed behind. She cornered me in the kitchen while Sana was in the bathroom. The smell of chai and mishti still hung heavy in the air.

"Rahim," she whispered, voice full of practised pity, "there is a girl. Her name is Nadia. Nineteen years old. Blind since birth. Poor thing lost her father recently. Her family is struggling in Mirpur. She needs security... and you need an heir."

I slammed the glass down so hard it cracked, water spilling across the counter.

"Ma, enough! Sana is my wife. I will not do this. We will adopt."

But my mother only looked at me with that braided pity and stepped closer, lowering her voice like she was sharing a sacred secret.

"But will an adopted child ever truly be yours? When people ask whose nose he has, whose eyes, whose smile... what will you say? Will you never wonder what a child of your own blood would look like? Your father's chin... your sister's curly hair... my eyes?"

I stayed silent. The words hit harder than I wanted to admit. They dug into the hollow place inside me that had grown bigger with every loss.

"Every time you go to the park and see a father lifting his own son on his shoulders... won't your heart ache? Won't you regret this for the rest of your life, beta?"

She lowered her voice even more, eyes pleading, tears glistening.

"Rahim... just meet her once. Take pity on her. She is blind. She has no one. Marrying her would be a pious act — a sawab. You would be saving her from this harsh society that treats girls like her as burdens. She will never be a threat to Sana. She will stay in her place. She is quiet, respectful, and grateful. This could be perfect for everyone. Sana will still be the bari bou. Think about the empty rooms in this house. Think about your father's legacy."

I refused again. Loudly. Angrily. My voice echoed through the kitchen.

Yet the next evening, I found myself sitting in the living room when the doorbell rang.

Sana had gone to her parents' house that afternoon. She had no idea what was happening in her own home.

Nadia's mother and aunt entered first, dressed in simple but neat sarees. Then Nadia.

She was smaller than I expected. Her white cane tapped lightly against the marble floor as she walked, guided by her mother's hand on her elbow. She moved with careful, practiced steps — listening to the sound of the room, tilting her head slightly to catch every voice and breath. Her pale blue salwar kameez was simple but neat, dupatta draped carefully over her shoulders. She sat on the sofa with perfect posture, cane folded neatly across her lap, face turned toward the sound of my breathing.

Her mother spoke gently but directly.

"Nadia understands the situation completely. She is willing to be a second wife. She can give you children. She needs a secure home."

Nadia spoke very little at first. When she did, her voice was soft but steady, calm despite the tension thick in the air.

"I know what this arrangement means," she said quietly, fingers tightening slightly on her cane. "I want children too. And I can't imagine what you and Apa have been through."

She didn't look in my direction — she couldn't — but her face turned toward me whenever I spoke, as if she was trying to read me through sound alone. There was a quiet dignity in the way she held herself, even as her mother gently guided her hand to the teacup. The faint scent of coconut oil in her hair mixed with the sandalwood in the room.

The meeting ended in less than thirty minutes. After they left, my mother squeezed my shoulder.

"Think about it, beta. Think about the empty rooms. Think about your legacy."

I stood at the window long after they were gone, heart hammering against my ribs.

My mother's words kept echoing — about blood, about legacy, about watching other fathers with their sons in the park near Gulshan lake. The want inside me had grown teeth. It had claws now.

But what stayed with me most was Nadia.

The way her cane had tapped softly on the floor. The way she listened so intently to every voice. The quiet strength in her posture even when she was being offered as a solution to someone else's broken dream. She wasn't just a girl — she was a person who had already faced a harsh world, and now she was being placed in the middle of ours.

That night, when Sana returned, I told her everything.

SANA

The words arrived underwater.

Blind. Nineteen. Second wife.

They sank straight into my chest and settled like lead.

I was still sitting on the edge of our bed, hands folded tightly in my lap, when Rahim's mother came the next afternoon. The apartment smelled of the mishti she had brought earlier.

She didn't waste time.

"Sana, beta... come sit with me," she said softly, patting the sofa. Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were sharp like a hawk's.

She took my hand in both of hers.

"I know this is painful. But you have to understand... Rahim is the only son. The firm his father built with so much struggle... it needs a future. Islam allows a man to take a second wife when the first cannot give children. It is not betrayal. It is a solution from Allah Himself."

She squeezed my hand tighter, tears filling her eyes.

"Nadia is a good girl. Blind, yes, but respectful and quiet. She will never try to take your place. You will still be the bari bou. Think about it, beta. For Rahim's sake. For the family's sake. For the legacy your Abbu-in-law left behind."

Her tears fell on my hand, warm and heavy.

"I am begging you as a mother... don't make my son choose between his wife and his legacy. Please."

I sat there, frozen.

Rahim stood in the doorway, pale and silent.

That night, after she left, I called my family.

Less than an hour later, the apartment door burst open.

My father stormed in first, eyes blazing with fury. My mother followed, already crying. My elder brother looked ready to fight someone.

"Sana!" My father pulled me into a tight hug, his voice shaking with rage. "Is this true?! They brought a girl into your house while you were at our place? They want to marry Rahim to another woman?!"

My mother cupped my face, tears streaming down her cheeks. "My poor child... after everything you have suffered — losing three babies, carrying those terrible scars — they want to bring another woman into your home? Have they no shame?!"

My brother paced angrily, fists clenched. "That family has gone mad! I always knew they were like this. Rahim's mother has no heart. How dare she sit in front of you and beg you to accept a second wife?!"

My father turned to Rahim, who was standing silently in the corner.

"Rahim, I respected you like my own son. But if you let this happen... if you even think about bringing another woman into my daughter's life after all she has endured... then you will lose her. And you will lose us too."

The room filled with loud, emotional voices. My mother was sobbing, my brother was shouting, my father was issuing threats. The ceiling fan spun uselessly above us, pushing the heavy humid air around.

I sat in the middle of the storm, feeling both protected and completely shattered.

Because deep down, I knew the truth.

Rahim had already started considering it.

And no matter how loudly my family shouted tonight, the decision was slowly slipping out of my hands... and out of my heart.

Author's Note 

This chapter was heavy... the family pressure has officially reached Sana, and Rahim is cracking.

Tell me in the comments:

How are you feeling about Rahim after this? 

Do you think he will be able to resist his mother? 

Is Sana's fear justified?

Vote if this chapter hit you emotionally. 

Comment your thoughts — I read every single one. Next chapter tomorrow at 8:30 PM BDT.

Thank you for staying with this painful journey 🖤