Yusuf took the glass of water from Areeba's hand and passed it to Mehr.
"Mehr, my daughter, she might be occupied with something," he said gently.
Mehr shook her head in quiet disappointment.
"Shall I serve you some food?" Yusuf asked, standing up.
"Yes," she replied softly. "I'll come after washing my hands and face."
Mehr walked to her room. As Yusuf watched her retreating figure, a pang of sorrow passed through him.
"The girl who survived… May Allah have mercy on her," he whispered.
Once in her room, Mehr tried calling Fateh again. As before, the call didn't connect—his phone was still switched off.
She stared at her screen. "Come on, I'll show you something," she mumbled to herself, placing the phone on her bed. After washing up, she went out to have dinner.
Mehr ate silently. Areeba tried several times to engage her, but Mehr only responded with faint smiles. After finishing, she returned to her room.
Meanwhile, the lawyer who had visited Mehr's house appeared to be searching for something.
"Hakim, stop pursuing Mehr Sultan," he said firmly. "Our relationship was with Sultan Sahib, not his daughter."
But Hakim was unmoved. "The deaths of Sultan Sahib and Khanum Sahib weren't accidents," he said. "How can we say we have nothing to do with his daughter? Sultan Sahib trusted us. We handled all his matters. Now that she's alone, how can we turn away?"
The lawyer sighed. "Fine, Hakim. But tell me one thing." Nawaf stepped forward. "That day—you were standing at Mehr's gate accusing her of murder."
Hakim placed a hand on his chest, startled. "When did I do that?"
Nawaf narrowed his eyes. "Stop acting. Just turn around."
Hakim ran his hand through his hair. "I was only confirming something."
"Confirming what, Sherlock?" Nawaf said with a smirk. "If she had really killed her uncle, she'd have reacted to your words. But she didn't. You were wrong."
Nawaf chuckled. "Hakim, stop watching crime dramas. You're losing it."
Hakim's face turned serious. "Write it down, Nawaf. This wasn't an accident. Someone close was behind it."
But Nawaf had already turned and walked away.
Mehr had been trying to reach Fateh for two days. Her calls and messages went unanswered—his phone remained off. Finally, she grabbed her car keys and headed out.
Seeing her leave, Yusuf approached quickly.
"Where are you going, Mehr?"
"To Fateh's house," she said, tying up her hair.
"I'll go with you," he offered.
"No, Uncle. I'll go myself—and this time, I'll make sure to get answers," she said, walking away.
Mehr called Fateh all along the way. Still nothing. When she arrived at his house, a car was parked outside.
She asked the guard to open the gate. He walked up to her car.
"There's no one home, miss."
"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.
"They've all gone abroad. Mr. Fateh and his parents."
Mehr's head began to spin. "What did you say? Say that again."
"They've all gone abroad. No one's home," the guard repeated.
Mehr began mumbling to herself. "Fateh left… and didn't even tell me? But why?"
Resting her head on the steering wheel, she let her tears fall.
"Fateh… how could you leave me like this?"
Night had fallen, and Mehr still hadn't returned.
Yusuf, worried, called the number Fateh had given him.
"Hello, Fateh?" he said when someone picked up.
"Yes, Yusuf, is everything alright?"
"Mehr left for your place this morning. It's night now and she's still not back."
"I'll call the guard," Fateh said before hanging up.
He quickly rang the guard.
"She's still here?"
"Yes, sir. She's been sitting in her car all day."
Fateh closed his eyes, leaning forward, forehead resting on the wheel. He understood.
He told the guard, "Ask her to leave. No one's coming."
The guard went over. "Baji, please go home. There's no one here."
Mehr wiped her tears and started the engine. She kept wiping her face the whole way, holding back sobs.
Yusuf was still outside when he saw her car. He exhaled in relief.
As the car stopped, Mehr stepped out.
"My daughter, are you okay?" he asked gently.
She said nothing. Her silence was like a scream.
She walked inside like a shadow of herself. Yusuf followed, expecting her to break down.
But she didn't.
She quietly entered the room that once belonged to her uncle.
No sound came from within. Mehr Sultan was silent, withdrawn. She sat by the wall, tears silently trailing down her face.
Mehr, who had been trying so hard to be strong, had broken again.
Her heart had died that day.
And what does it mean for a heart to die?
It's when your reason for living is ripped away.
When your dreams shatter.
When you are so alone that grief consumes you.
Elsewhere, Hakim arrived home to find Nawaf standing, arms crossed, eyes blazing.
Hakim glanced at him and quipped, "Why are you staring like a jilted lover?"
Nawaf's voice was sharp. "What did you say, Hakim?"
"Why do you look like my wife? Say something," Hakim teased.
"Enough!" Nawaf snapped. "What were you doing outside Mehr Sultan's house?"
Hakim stood up. "Stop spying on me, or I'll deal with you and your little spy."
"Good," Nawaf drawled. "Then tell me why you went there again."
Hakim walked to the kitchen, grabbed a water bottle, and returned to the lounge.
"I'm talking to you!" Nawaf yelled.
Hakim took a long sip and finally said, "What happened to Mehr?"
Nawaf narrowed his eyes. "Mehr? What do you mean, Mehr? Stay out of their matters!"
Hakim raised his hands. "Okay, okay. I won't go again."
Nawaf knew Hakim too well, but he let it slide.
"Want dinner?" Nawaf asked.
"Yes, Begum," Hakim grinned.
Nawaf walked off but suddenly stopped. Realizing what Hakim had said, he spun back around and smacked him with the edge of the sofa cushion.