A Short Story by Faraz Parvez (Pen Name of Dr. Arshad Afzal)
Characters:
- Bibi Gul – The matriarch of the house, burdened by the past.
- Mehreen – Her eldest granddaughter, ambitious but tethered.
- Saeed Bhai – Mehreen’s father, absent-minded yet well-meaning.
- Tahir – Mehreen’s cousin, restless and defiant.
- Sadia – Mehreen’s mother, lost in memories.
- Master Yusuf – A retired schoolteacher, full of old wisdom.
- Azra Apa – The nosy neighbor, always watching.
- Bilal – Mehreen’s childhood friend, carrying unspoken feelings.
- Junaid Chacha – The storyteller, who knows everyone’s secrets.
The Silences Between Us
The winter in Rawalpindi arrived quietly that year, creeping into the old house with its cracked ceilings and peeling walls. Bibi Gul sat in the verandah, wrapped in a heavy shawl, her eyes fixed on the barren guava tree in the courtyard. It had stopped bearing fruit years ago, much like the house itself, where laughter had long been replaced by sighs and quiet arguments behind closed doors.
Mehreen sat on the steps, a book in her lap, though she wasn’t reading. She was waiting—waiting for something to change, for a moment that would allow her to breathe outside the constraints of this house. She had been offered a scholarship to study in Karachi, but no one had acknowledged the letter that had arrived last week.
Saeed Bhai, her father, shuffled past with his usual distracted air. “Mehreen, fetch me my tea, will you?”
Mehreen hesitated, but before she could rise, Bibi Gul spoke. “She’s not a servant, Saeed. Get it yourself.”
Saeed paused, blinking as if suddenly aware of his own presence in the house. “Of course, Ammi,” he muttered before heading inside.
Tahir smirked from the other side of the courtyard. “Scholarship or no scholarship, you’ll be married off before summer.”
Mehreen shot him a look. “And you’ll still be here, wasting away in this house.”
Tahir laughed, but there was something sharp in his voice. “At least I don’t pretend to dream.”
Memories That Linger
Sadia, Mehreen’s mother, was inside the kitchen, staring at a pot of boiling lentils. She had once dreamed too. She had once wanted to leave Rawalpindi, to be something more than someone’s wife. But now, her life was measured in cups of tea and the number of rotis she made each day.
Azra Apa peeked through the window, her curiosity never-ending. “Have they decided about Mehreen yet?”
Sadia didn’t answer.
Master Yusuf, who sat outside his little shop at the corner of the street, had once told Mehreen, “Some houses are like cages, but the door is always open—you just have to find the courage to step through.”
But courage was a tricky thing.
A Quiet Rebellion
That evening, Junaid Chacha, the old storyteller, sat outside in the street, sipping tea. “You know,” he said, looking at Mehreen, “when your grandmother was your age, she once ran away to Lahore for a day.”
Mehreen’s eyes widened. Bibi Gul, the unshakable matriarch, had once rebelled?
“She came back, of course,” Junaid Chacha continued. “But not before she saw the world outside.”
Later that night, when the house was quiet, Mehreen crept into Bibi Gul’s room. “Did you really run away?” she whispered.
Bibi Gul’s eyes, clouded with age but still sharp, met hers. “I did.”
“Why did you come back?”
Bibi Gul smiled faintly. “Because I had nowhere else to go.”
Mehreen thought about Karachi, about the life waiting beyond these walls. She thought about Bilal, who had once said, “If you leave, never look back.”
Bibi Gul reached out and took Mehreen’s hand. “You, my child, have a place to go.”
And in that moment, Mehreen knew she would leave.
Epilogue
The next morning, as the first rays of sun touched the old house, Mehreen stepped out of the gate with a single bag in her hand. The street was silent, except for Bilal, who stood waiting near the rickshaw.
As she climbed in, she caught a glimpse of Bibi Gul standing by the window, watching.
And for the first time, the guava tree outside seemed alive again.
Author’s Note
“The Silences Between Us” is a story of quiet resistance, of dreams that survive within the walls of tradition.
Faraz Parvez (Pen Name of Dr. Arshad Afzal)
