The next morning didn't feel normal.
Everything looked the same.
The same house.
The same walls.
The same silence.
But Hena knew—
Something had changed.
Her father didn't speak to her during breakfast.
He didn't look at her either.
That silence was worse than anger.
It felt like distance.
Permanent distance.
Her mother placed a cup of tea beside her.
"Hena," she said softly, "your father is very disappointed."
Hena lowered her eyes.
Her fingers trembled around the cup.
She wanted to explain.
She wanted to say—
Arif was not a mistake.
He was her truth.
But the words stayed trapped inside her chest.
Because in this house—
Love was not considered a reason.
Only reputation mattered.
That afternoon, her phone vibrated under her pillow.
Arif.
She stared at his name on the screen.
Her heart reacted before her mind could stop it.
She answered.
"Hena?"
His voice sounded warm.
Familiar.
Safe.
"I miss you today," he said.
Her throat tightened.
She wanted to say she missed him too.
More than anything.
But fear stood between them now.
"Arif…" she whispered.
"Yes?"
She stayed silent.
Because how do you tell someone—
That your world is being taken away from you?
"I think something is wrong," Arif said softly.
"Your voice… feels far."
Tears gathered in her eyes.
"I'm here," she lied.
But she didn't feel here anymore.
She felt lost.
That night, her father called her into his room.
She stood at the door.
Afraid.
He didn't shout.
He didn't insult her.
He simply said—
"You will stop talking to him."
Not a request.
A decision.
Hena's heart cracked.
She tried to speak.
"Baba, I—"
He raised his hand.
"Enough."
His voice was calm.
But final.
"You don't understand the world yet."
"He cannot give you the life you deserve."
"He will only hold you back."
Every word felt like a blade.
Because she didn't care about comfort.
She cared about Arif.
But she also cared about her father.
And that was the cruelest part.
She was being forced to choose between love—
And family.
That night, she stared at her phone for hours.
Arif's name was there.
Waiting.
Trusting.
Believing.
Her fingers trembled as she typed.
"I'm sorry."
She stopped.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
"I can't talk to you anymore."
Her vision blurred.
Deleted again.
Because every version of goodbye felt like death.
Finally, she turned off her phone.
Without sending anything.
Without explaining anything.
Without saying goodbye.
Because sometimes—
Silence is the most painful goodbye of all.
Across the city, Arif waited for her reply.
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
He checked his phone again and again.
Nothing.
He smiled weakly.
"She's probably busy," he told himself.
But deep inside—
He felt something breaking.
Something he couldn't stop.
Something he wasn't ready to lose.
He leaned back against the cold wall of his room.
For the first time, he felt helpless.
Not because he didn't love her enough.
But because love alone wasn't enough to fight reality.
He whispered softly,
"Hena…"
But she didn't answer.
Meanwhile, in her dark room, Hena sat on the floor, hugging her knees tightly.
Her phone lay beside her.
Turned off.
As if shutting it down could also shut down her feelings.
But it didn't.
Because no matter how hard she tried—
Her heart still belonged to him.
A single tear fell.
Then another.
And another.
She didn't make a sound.
Because this was the choice she had made.
And now—
She had to live with it.