Ep.4 | Izzat: The Name of My Cage | A Thriller, A Tragedy, A Family Horror | By Bint-e-Azhar

Recap:

"Wait." I gasped. "Is this a real fight?"

"Yes."

His chest heaved. Hair clung to his sweat-soaked brow. Fury coiled in his eyes like serpents. 

There was no trace of the boy who used to bandage my knees after our lathi duels.

He hissed, "I want to kill you, Ramal."

For a second, I couldn't breathe. 

| Episode 4 |

• C/W : Slight mention of abuse in Ramal's past • 

 "Why?" I whispered. "Why do you hate me so much, Adn?

The loathing in his face crushed my heart into pulp.

"You ran away. Left us. You tainted our izzat. Our ghairat."

His fists clenched—then he threw the lathi aside. Advanced with bare hands.

"You betrayed me."

I raised a trembling hand as I pushed myself up. "I didn’t."

"You did!" he yelled.

"I used to be proud of you. Of your intelligence. Your modesty. Your haya. I used to boast: my sister is the most pakdaman in the village. And you... you became a wh—"

"Shut up!"

I threw a punch. "Don’t finish it!"

Adn staggered back, eyes wide.

But I wasn’t done.

I hit him again.

"I didn’t run away with any lover. I am still pakdaman!"

A curled fist at his ribs. "I never ruined my haya. I never tainted your izzat!"

Another punch to his gut.

"Ours is not a love marriage. No. No. NO!"

My knuckles were bloody. My breath short.

Adn whispered, "You’re not lying?"

"Hell no!"

I yanked my hair. "You don’t know the truth, fool. You were never allowed to!"

"What’s the truth, then?"

For a moment, I just stood there—wind howling in my ears.

Adn crouched on the ground, his lips split, his eyes like shattered glass.

And then I broke. My knees buckled.

"I was harassed by Naail Bhai."

"Ramal..." Adn winced.

He wiped my tears, shaking his head. "Tell me—tell me you’re joking. Tell me it’s not true."

I wrenched his hands away.

"No. I’m not joking. You wanted the truth? Then Burn with it."

"I didn’t betray you. You all failed me. Where was your ghairat, your izzat, your naak when Naail tried to snatch my dupatta?"

"Naail Bhai?"

The vein in his forehead throbbed. His dragon tattoo seemed to flare alive.

"He’s like an elder brother to us. The guy's nine years older than you."

The confusion in his eyes mirrored what I'd felt when it happened.

Rimless specs. Golden mustache. Brotherly warmth. That’s all I’d seen in Naail Chaudhary.

The way he’d call me gurhya. Chandni. I’d practically melt having an elder brother.

"Na-mehram kabhi bhai nahi hota, Adn."

That’s when I realized.

Wish I’d followed our deen more closely. Practiced full parda.

Maybe then I’d never have seen this day.

"An abuser never sees your age."

"That’s why you ran?" His voice cracked. "Taya said you ran because—"

"—because I had a lover? No."

I shook my head. A tear slipped down my lip.

"Would Taya ever blame his own son for something so shameful?"

Then I laughed. Bitter. Twisted.

"In our family, izzat has a gender, Adn. Even when a man makes the mistake..."

I heaved. "A woman pays the price."

My fingers trembled. My whole body shook.

I still remembered the night.

How I, a ba-parda girl, had slapped Naail when he tried to break into my room. Snatching my dupatta.

Adn stood and draped his jacket over me.

"Ramal. You don't have to say more. If it's this ugly—"

"Ah, Adn. Does the ugliness of truth upset you? Does it smash your izzat in your face? Show you how beghairat you all are?"

I shoved him back.

"What a monster your leader—your Jirga Sardar, your Taya—is!"

"When 19-year-old me went to him about his son’s attempt to abuse me, he warned me. Said I would be tainted if a single word left my mouth. That I’d be killed if Abba found out. Buried alive if my brother caught a hint!"

In telling the truth, I didn’t realize what I had done to Adn.

He collapsed.

On his knees. Jaw slack. Whites of his eyes tinged crimson.

Head in his hands. Biting his lip till it bled.

I didn’t care.

"Ramal." He rose and gripped my shoulders. "I’m a terrible brother. I’m an awful brother. I hate myself!"

I sniffed. Looked away.

Eyes raw. Heart torn. Soul laid bare.

He took my face in his palms. Fixed my dupatta.

"Cry on my shoulder, Rami. Let me at least wipe your pain away, if I couldn’t stop it from being inflicted. Let me carry your scars. Wreck me. Punish me with your words."

I hid my face in my brother’s chest and cried.

And I hated how badly every inch of me needed that hug.

I nearly broke away. Shoved him off.

But his hold grew firm.

Just like when I was little. When he’d broken my doll and I hurled a lathi at him, ran here in this garden.

He didn’t say sorry.

Just came tiptoeing. Hugged me. Gave me a new doll.

I bit my lip.

Why the hell was I crying in the arms of this monster?

"I’m not a monster, Ramal," he whispered as if he'd heard me. "I’m just a product of this rotten system."

"Bibi ji," a maid, Pari, called out from behind. "Your husband is calling you."

I wrenched Adn’s hands away. Smoothed my kameez. Walked toward the maid.

"Ramal," he called behind me.

"What?" I didn’t look back. Still stunned by my own stupid hug.

"You punch like hell. Where did you learn that?"

I turned.

He smiled with his torn, bloody lip—like the younger Adn after our childhood fights.

A small smile crept across my face. "You underestimate my husband."

"Iman?"

His brows shot up. "But he’s a—"

"Sweet, sweet chef?"

I folded my arms and smirked. "No. That’s just a cover. Iman Ali is a bloody boxer."

Adn’s lips formed a perfect ‘O’.

"And the first thing he told me after marriage? That I better learn to protect myself—rather than rely on fake ambassadors of izzat."

---

I walked into Iman, carrying a bucket of mangoes.

The moment his eyes met mine, his grip on the bucket loosened.

He stepped closer. Studied my face.

"You’re angry. You’ve cried."

His gaze lowered. "And your knuckles are bloody."

"Who’s the victim, wifey?" His blinked.

I bit back a smile. "Adn."

"You punched him?"

His mouth formed a semi-circle.

"Yeah." I shrugged. "And had a lathi fight too."

"Where is the poor guy now?"

I looked down. Suddenly realizing what I’d done.

"Nursing his torn lips."

Iman shook his head. Then smiled.

"Where can I get some dressing for my angry, wounded sherni?"

"Amma’s room. But it’s in the zanana area."

"Can you bring it here?"

I flashed a grin. "Let’s play spies?"

Before he could reply, I was tiptoeing toward Amma’s room.

"You’re going to get me killed." He whispered as we took a turn. 

"Your killer will first have to survive your sherni’s claws."

"That dangerous?" he whispered.

"That dangerous," I whispered back.

Thankfully, no one saw us. It was already dark. Amma was softly snoring.

I kissed her forehead and rummaged through her shelves for the first aid kit, trying to make as little sound as possible.

It was placed on another box—wrapped in glittery gift paper.

What could it be?

Could I open it? Would Amma allow me?

Every bit of the box screamed : I am mysterious.

Curiosity always brought the worst out of me.

I stole a glance at Iman—busy on his phone, maybe checking emails—

and opened the box with a soft click.

The world around me stilled.

And my lungs locked mid-breath.

~~~•••~~~

To be continued...

Written by:

© Bint-e-Azhar ✒️

Favorite line? 💭

How's the story progressing for you?🗣️

And - "Na Mehram kabhi bhai nahi hota" do you agree with Ramal? 🚫

DM 🌹