Arman sat by the river for hours, hoping Amaya would come back.
But she never did.
Days passed.
He stopped visiting the river.
The place that once held laughter and whispered now felt like a wound that refused to heal. He wandered through the village with hollow eyes, avoiding people, avoiding questions.
When someone asked softly,
"Where is Amaya?"
He would look away.
Because the truth hurt too much.
The village buzzed with forced celebration.
Drums played. Lights were hung. People dressed in bright colors.
But Arman stayed inside his small room.
He couldn't bear to see her dressed for someone else.
He couldn't hear vows that weren't meant for love.
At dawn, before the sun fully rose, he packed his bag.
No goodbyes.
No explanations.
Just silence.
As he walked away from the village, dust clinging to his feet, every step felt heavier than the last.
Amaya's smile followed him.
Her quiet laughter echoed in his ears.
He whispered to himself again and again, like a prayer, like a punishment:
"If she's safe… if her family is safe… that's enough.
Even if it breaks me."
Time moved forward, but Arman stayed trapped in the past.
He traveled from village to village, becoming a wandering poet. He wrote verses soaked in longing and loss, words that made strangers cry without knowing why.
They called him the man who writes like he's already dead.
At night, he stared at the stars and wondered if Amaya was looking at the same sky.
One day, Arman decided to write a letter to Amaya. And soon they both started to write each other. Arif didn't knew about that.
One day, Amaya was sleeping and a letter arrived.
The guard gave it to Arif. When he opened it he saw that it was from Arman and it was written that,
"Come and meet me in the bazaar.
Tonight we will escape."
Arif face got red with anger. He went to his room and start searching for more letters.
He found all of them.
When Amaya woke up, Arif start shouting at her.
"Tell me, what is this? You are cheating on me!"
Before she spoke a single word, Arif locked her in the room.
Everyday, Arif torture her, didn't gave her to eat or to drink.
The news spread wildfire across the village.
Arif didn't let Amaya to meet her parents.
Everytime, when Arif came to her she said
"Is this your love for me?" and everytime he replied
"The one who doesn't value my love ends up facing the same fate."
One evening, in a distant village, Arman sat outside a tea stall, listening to people talk.
"Did you hear?" someone said.
"Qadeer Khan's son treats his wife terribly."
"They say she's wasting away in that big house."
Arman's cup slipped from his hand.
His heart clenched painfully.
He stood up slowly, his voice barely audible.
"…What's her name?"
The man shrugged.
"Some village girl. Quiet. Pretty once."
Arman didn't need to hear more.
"Amaya", he whispered.
His fists tightened.
"I can't let this be her story."
That night, he turned back—toward the village he had sworn never to return to.
Arman arrived at Amaya's village at dawn, breathless, dust-covered, heart pounding.
He went straight to her parents' small wooden house.
When her mother opened the door and saw him, her face crumbled.
"Arman…" she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
"Please," Arman said softly but firmly,
"tell me the truth. How is she?"
Her mother broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.
"She's… she's not well. She's so thin. She doesn't speak anymore."
Her voice shook.
"He… he hurts her, Arman. But what could we do? He threatened us again. We were so scared."
Arman's jaw tightened, pain and fury mixing inside him.
"You sold her for your safety," he said bitterly.
Her father appeared behind her, eyes lowered in shame.
"We thought it would save her," he whispered.
"We were wrong."
Arman closed his eyes, fighting back tears.
Then he looked up—determined, fearless.
"I'm going to get her out," he said quietly.
"Even if it kills me."
Her mother grabbed his sleeve desperately.
"Please… save our Amaya."
Arman nodded once.
"I will."