my enemy send a doctor for me

4

Wedding preparations were at their peak. The entire Malik mansion was decorated like a bride. She sat in her room, waiting for Zaroon’s call. Zaroon had said he would call her once he reached home and rested.

“Hey Najma, why are you sitting alone in your room? Come outside to the garden— all the guests have arrived!” Mrs. Aroosa smiled as she saw her daughter sitting all dressed up yet all alone.

“Mom… I really need to talk to you about something important.” Najma still hadn’t found a chance to talk to her mother about Zaroon and the marriage. Ever since she arrived, she’d seen her mother working like a servant— something that bothered her deeply.

She rushed toward her, holding her hand tightly.

“My dear, I have so much work to do right now. Once this wedding is over, we’ll sit together and talk peacefully,” Aroosa replied lovingly.

“Mom, please stop being so stubborn and come with me to America—forever. I’ll work hard, I promise. I’ll get you a home of your own where you can live peacefully, where you won’t have to work like a maid. I…” She was on the verge of tears when Aroosa interrupted softly,

“No, my child. I don’t want to become a burden on you. I know how hard you already work to pay for your studies and your apartment. And besides, I’m very happy here.”

“I know exactly how happy you are here,” Najma said sharply.

“Mom… just a few more years. Once I finish my studies, I’ll definitely get a good job in some company. Once I can stand on my own feet, I’ll never let you suffer again. I’ll take you far away from here, I promise. You’ll see—just like Grandma, you’ll sit in an air-conditioned room on a comfy sofa, holding the remote and watching your favorite Islamic channel. No one will dare snatch the remote from you. No one will boss you around or insult you. You won’t have to wash anyone’s dirty clothes or endure hateful glances ever again. Just a few more years, Mom… everything will change. Your daughter will become the son you always deserved— a son you’ll be proud of.” She kissed her mother’s hands with deep love and respect, speaking with firm resolve.

“May God bless you with great success, my child. But I’ve lived my life somehow. Now, I only worry about you. Once Jazaya’s wedding celebrations are over, I’ll talk to your grandmother and uncle about finding a good match for you. I want to see you settled before I die peacefully,” she said with quiet contentment.

Najma kept staring at her mother’s face. When a person starts to see death as peace, you know their life has been filled with unbearable pain. Najma knew all her mother’s sorrows— but she was helpless.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she hugged her mother tightly. A wave of hatred surged through her for everyone in that Malik mansion who had treated her mother worse than a servant. Servants at least get paid—what had her mother received after all these years? Her eyeliner was now smudged from crying.

“Now stop crying, my dear. You’ve ruined all your makeup. Come on, good girl, wipe your tears,” Aroosa said lovingly as she cupped Najma’s face and wiped her tears away. Najma was stunned by the gentle smile still resting on her mother’s face.

Why doesn’t she ever get angry like me?

Why doesn’t she ever curse those who hurt her?

Why does she always wear that smile, pretending everything’s fine?

Why doesn’t she ever share her pain?

Najma’s heart ached as she looked at her...

Her only goal in life was to give her mother a better life. She often wondered—was it really her mother’s fault that she was born in a brothel?

People only saw that her mother once danced and sang there—but no one saw that she was willing to die to protect her dignity.

It was this very purity that had made a man like Abdul Rehman Malik respect her.

“Oh, so here you are, Madam! And I’ve been searching the whole house for you like a fool!” a sharp, angry voice came from behind. Aroosa turned immediately.

“I was just bringing Najma out,” she said nervously.

“Najma’s absence won’t stop the function outside. Leave your daughter and go serve juice to the guests,” Mrs. Mubashira ordered arrogantly before turning away and walking off with her usual air of pride.

Her arrogance was unmatched—just like her son Muheeb’s.

“I’ll teach that woman a lesson one day,” Najma muttered through gritted teeth.

“Lower your voice—she might hear you,” Aroosa warned fearfully.

“Let her hear! I’m not afraid of her,” Najma replied boldly.

------*

“Because of you, we were humiliated in front of everyone today!”Mrs, Mubashira angry shout made Najma rush out of her room into the lounge.

“He was touching me!” Aroosa cried in her defense. She was a breathtakingly beautiful woman, and even simple clothes made her beauty shine brighter. She could endure anything—but not a man’s filthy gaze or unwanted touch. That was beyond her tolerance.

“Oh, of course! You must be some kind of Miss Universe that every man wants to touch!” Mubashira’s eyes scanned her body with scorn as she spat out the words. Aroosa felt each one like a sting to her soul.

“sister in law” Aroosa tried to control her anger.

“Don’t raise your voice! Do you even know who that man was? A top businessman! And you dared slap him?” Mubashira fumed. She wanted nothing more than to drag Aroosa out of the house by her hair.

“I don’t care how powerful he is. My dignity comes first,” Aroosa said firmly, meeting her eyes without fear. For the first time, Najma saw her mother stand up for herself—and it made her proud.

“Dignity? Women who were born in brothels have dignity now?” Mubashira sneered, her words dripping with poison.

Her sentence was like a dagger. Najma felt the pain deep in her bones.

“Oh wait—have you seen this video, aunty?” Najma suddenly pulled out her phone and played a video, smiling coldly as she approached them.

“What’s in it?” they both asked, confused by her sudden move.

“It’s your soon-to-be daughter-in-law, Sobia! Wow, look at those dance moves—what a performance! Five thousand likes already! And look—every single one of her videos is the same—dancing away in fancy settings! Much better lighting than any brothel, honestly! Your daughter-in-law is entertaining the whole world now,” Najma said with a mocking smile.

She had hit back, hard—showing them a mirror they refused to see.

“The so-called dancers from brothels have been replaced by the ‘dignified women’ of your noble families,” she added triumphantly.

“How dare you compare my future daughter-in-law to those filthy women!” Mubashira screamed in rage.

“It’s not my mother’s fault that she was born in a brothel. She danced only to survive—but your future daughter-in-law dances for likes and comments. So tell me, who’s really respectable here?”

She hadn’t even finished when Mubashira’s patience snapped. A loud slap landed on Najma’s face.

Mubashira grabbed her by the hair and dragged her toward the main door. “Your tongue’s grown too long! Let me show you your place today!” she hissed.

“Let me go! Leave me!” Najma cried, struggling to free herself. Mubashira’s grip only tightened, yanking her by the roots. Tears streamed down Najma’s face from pain.

“What’s my crime? Telling the truth?” she thought in disbelief, glancing at her mother, grandmother, and the servants—all of whom stood silently, watching her humiliation.

“sister in law, please stop! She’s just a child,” Aroosa pleaded helplessly.

“This is your true place! A few years abroad and you’ve forgotten your class!” Mubashira shouted and shoved her out the main door. Najma fell onto the dirt road outside—the dust kissing her tear-streaked face.

As she tried to stand up, her blurred vision caught a glimpse of someone’s black shoes. Wiping her tears, she looked up—and froze.

“For a moment, I thought someone had come to help me. But when I saw my worst enemy standing there, I laughed bitterly at my own foolishness. I looked into his eyes—there was anger, but also a faint hope inside me that maybe he’d defend me this time, speak against his mother’s cruelty.”

Her eyes flickered with a fragile spark of hope as she looked at Muheeb.

“Mother, what are you doing?” he said through clenched teeth, barely controlling his rage.

“I’m showing this girl her place! A few years abroad and she thinks she can challenge me—her elder, the mistress of this house!” Mubashira shouted.

“Mother, you don’t need to argue with filth like this,” he interrupted sharply. “She’ll always show her true colors. Drama and shamelessness are in her blood. Her mother created a scene at the function; the daughter’s doing it at home. Leave her—come inside.”

His words were like daggers tearing through her heart.

“Pick her up,” he ordered coldly to his secretary, who stood behind him glaring at Najma with contempt.

His secretary stepped forward to help her up.

“Oh right—how could I forget? This is Muheeb Ijlal Malik. Expecting kindness from him is pure stupidity,” Najma muttered bitterly.

“I can get up myself. I don’t need help.” Her knee was bleeding; her hand was bruised. Gathering what strength she had left, she stood up on her own. She wouldn’t let her enemy see her weakness—not through tears, not through pain.

“Still proud, even after being thrown out,” Muheeb muttered, shaking his head as he started to walk past her—then stopped when he saw the blood on the road. His eyes instinctively moved to her injured knee. For a moment, he froze—just watching her in silence.

She limped past him, heading back inside. He clenched his jaw and followed quietly behind her.

“What now?” Najma snapped, sensing him following her.

He didn’t reply—just walked ahead silently.

-----**

“Thank you,” she said with a faint smile as Jazay entered her room. She was lying on the bed, her knee bandaged.

“For what?” he asked, puzzled, sitting on the sofa across from her.

“For sending the doctor. Who else here cares for me but you?” she smiled gratefully. He looked startled for a second, then smiled back, nodding slightly. Najma didn’t notice the strange look in his eyes.

“By the way, I’m sorry for using harsh words against Sobia , but it was necessary at that time. I can’t keep tolerating humiliation for myself or my mother. I’ll attend your wedding tomorrow, then leave the next morning. I can’t breathe in this house anymore. It’s suffocating me.”

She was only staying because of Jazay—she owed him too much.

“Hmm… okay. You should rest; I have lots to do,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

As he reached the door, he turned back, his tone soft and heavy. “Najma…”

“Yes?” she looked up. His eyes seemed sad—almost aching.

“If it’s really suffocating you here, then go tonight. Who knows what tomorrow holds,” he said with a bittersweet smile.

“No way! I’m not giving you a lifelong excuse to taunt me that I didn’t attend your wedding. And besides, your mother already broke my knee. The doctor said I should rest for at least two days. Even if I wanted to, I can’t run away!” she said playfully.

“Hmm,” he nodded, smiling faintly, taking in her beautiful face before quietly leaving the room.

He left—but his eyes, full of longing, stayed behind, leaving Najma restless.

“Why was there such sadness… such yearning in Jazay bro's eyes?” she wondered, lost in thought for a long time.

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