The case Haseena had been handling was one of the most dangerous and mentally draining of her career. Her body bore the bruises of a near-fatal encounter, but she never let it break her spirit. Her uniform, smeared with blood and dirt, was a silent testament to her bravery — yet at home, she was never seen as a protector, never respected. Just a burden.

She stepped into the dimly lit house that night, limping slightly. The moment her foot touched the floor, her mami’s voice pierced the silence.

“Aa gayi maharani… Samay dekh rahi ho? Har roz itni raat ko aane ka kya matlab hai? Kahin galat kaam toh nahi shuru kar diye tune?”

The words were drenched in disgust — not concern.

Haseena’s eyes, still lowered, absorbed the humiliation in silence. Her exhaustion screamed from every inch of her body, yet she said nothing. This wasn’t new. Every night, after fighting for justice outside, she came home only to be accused, insulted, and blamed inside.

But tonight, mami crossed a line — she questioned her dignity.

Something shifted.

Haseena lifted her gaze slowly — eyes swollen with pain, but now burning with restrained fire. She didn’t shout. She didn’t argue. But in that single look, her mami saw something she hadn’t before — resistance. That Haseena, if she wanted, could roar back. And that silent defiance it was enough to make her scared.

But Haseena closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, summoning the memory of her Ammi and Baba, their gentle words, their warmth — the only anchors holding her together.

“Nahi mami ji… Aap galat samajh rahi hain. Hum ek case par kaam kar rahe the kai dino se. Aaj woh criminals pakde gaye… isliye der ho gayi,” she explained softly, her voice composed despite everything.

Mami, slightly unsettled, snapped back into her usual indifference.

“ haan haa theek hai hume koi shauk nahi teri zindagi mai kya chalra hai janne ka— wo toh bass sabhi mehman abhi thodi der pehle gaye toh hum abhi tak jage howe hai toh bass aise hi puch liya itni der se kyu aayi hai warna hume koi lena dena nahi hai tujhse. aur haan kitchen mai jhute bartan hai saaf krdena..”

“Aa… Mami ji, kya hum subah kar sakte hain? Hum jaldi uth kar kar denge… Pakka…” Haseena requested, barely holding herself upright. Her injuries throbbed beneath her clothes, and her energy was all gone. And as from many days she didn't relaxed because of the case and house chores... so she wanted to relax just for some time...

But mercy wasn’t something her mami knew.

mami sternly : “ humne tujhse pehle bhi kaha hai na raat ko jhute bartan nahi rakhte— aur roz toh bartan saaf krkr soti hai na toh aj kyu tamashe kr rahi hai. seede bartan saaf krkr sojana samjhi.”

hm : “ ji theek hai mami ji.”

Not once did she ask how Haseena was, whether she had eaten, or what happened to her clearly wounded arm. She simply ignored her weak and tired fatigue and ordered her work— turned her back and walked away.

Later, after taking a shower to calm her nerves and soothe her aching body, Haseena stood in the kitchen — scrubbing piles of dirty dishes. By the time she was done, the faint light of dawn had begun to creep in.

Exhausted to the bone, she tiptoed into the room, spread a thin bedsheet and pillow on the cold hard floor, careful not to disturb Ishita Chauhan, who was sprawled comfortably on the bed, sleeping like royalty.

Haseena lay down quietly, wrapping another sheet around her and surrendering to sleep — not because she was comfortable, but because she was utterly depleted.

Ishita, the ever-pampered daughter of the house, woke up surprisingly early that day — only because Haseena had barely slept. And unlike Haseena, she didn’t care who she disturbed. She turned on the lights, banged drawers, talked loudly — completely ignoring Haseena who lay nearby, clearly unwell.

The harsh lights jerked Haseena from her fragile rest. Her eyelids fluttered open — body aching, soul weary. But she didn’t utter a word. She couldn’t. Because saying anything to Ishita meant upsetting mama and mami. And that… was something she had learned never to do.

Flashback…

Haseena was just a little girl when it happened.

Ishita had broken a vase, but when questioned, she pointed her finger at Haseena — a cowardly lie.

“Mama, Mami… Humne nahi kiya. Ishita ne kiya tha… Hum sach keh—”

Before she could even finish, mami’s hand struck her face with such force that the corner of her lip bleeded.

“Chup kar! Hamari beti pe ilzaam lagayegi tu? Teri himmat kaise hui?” Mami said harshly.

mama sternly  :

“ haseena tum ishita ke bare mai ya ussey kuch nahi bologi samjhi tum ye pehli aur akhri baar tha ainda khyal rakhna— aur tumhe kitne baar kaha hai tum hume naraz karogi toh tumhare ammi baba bhi tumse naraz hojayenge phir bhi dekho tumne aj apne mama mami ko naraz krdiya.”

That was all it took. The mention of her ammi and baba’s disappointment shattered her. The little girl stood, tears rolling, lips trembling.

“Sorry mama mami… Humse naraz mat hoiye…”

“Pehle meri beti se maafi maang,” mami demanded.

“Sorry Ishita… Humein maaf kar do please…”

Ishita, smug and victorious, gave a casual nod.

Only then did mama-mami “forgive” her.

And then came the final order — “Ab jaake ghar ki safai karo.”

The flashback faded… but its imprint on Haseena remained forever.

That was the first and last time Haseena tried to defend herself. Since then, no matter how harsh the words, how unfair the scoldings, how unjust the blame — she endured it all silently.

Ishita, the spoiled princess, never lifted a finger — not in childhood, not now. She grew up entitled, manipulative, always blaming Haseena for her own faults. And even though Haseena had every reason to hate her… she didn’t.

She still helped her. Supported her. Cared for her — like a sister.

Because no matter how cruel the world had been to her, Haseena Malik chose not to become like it.

She chose kindness.

Even when it broke her.