Words Can Kill
“A story that reminds us that a woman is not just a body, but a soul—deserving love, kindness, and respect.”
Usuf Mir
“By the time he understood the weight of his words, she was gone — and all that remained was the unbearable truth: love had been answered with cruelty.”
It was Friday morning. Rasik, the husband of Neelofer, woke up and went straight to the washroom for a shower.
As he looked into the mirror, he was surprised to see colorful lines and playful scribbles all over his face. Irritation rushed through him, and he immediately assumed that his wife had done it.
Yes, it was Neelofer—his loving wife—who had drawn those lines while he was asleep the previous night.
She had done it with a heart full of affection, hoping that when he saw it in the morning, he would laugh, chase her playfully, hold her close, kiss her cheeks, and say, “I love you.”
Neelofer had imagined that the two of them would spend the entire day laughing over this small act of love.
But things didn’t go as she had hoped.
The husband silently washed his face, but anger began to rise within him.
He went to the kitchen for his morning tea, but it wasn’t ready. Neelofer had intentionally not prepared it, thinking that after a little playful argument, some romance would blossom—just like in the movies and stories she had seen.
Instead, his anger grew stronger.
He walked up to her. She greeted him with a smile, her eyes full of love and expectation. She thought he would laugh, perhaps pretend to be upset, and then lovingly pull her close.
But in the very next moment, he shouted at her and slapped her so hard that she fell to the ground.
Rasik yelled,
“I did not marry you for games! I am not a child—I am a man. I married to build a home, to have children, and to live responsibly—not to act out movie scenes!”
His words pierced her heart like arrows.
He stormed out of the house, leaving her shattered.
Neelofer sat on the floor, crying so intensely that she struggled to breathe. She was already unwell, and the crying only worsened her condition.
Yet despite her pain, she got up and began preparing food, her tears flowing continuously.
Meanwhile, the husband sat with his friends, laughing as he narrated the incident.
One of his friends interrupted him and said,
“What kind of man are you? Is this what manhood looks like? Don’t you remember that women are like delicate glass—handle them with care?”
These words struck his conscience.
He immediately called his wife, wanting to make things right—to tell her he would not invite his friends and would instead dine with her.
But she did not answer. He assumed she must be busy in the kitchen.
When he reached home, the door was closed. He knocked, but there was no response.
Suddenly, he received a call from his wife’s brother:
“We are at the hospital. Come immediately.”
Fear gripped his heart.
He rushed to the hospital, where he found the entire family standing with grief-stricken faces. He thought perhaps she had complained about him—but it was something far worse.
After a while, the doctor came out and said with deep regret,
“We did our best, but it was God’s will. Her heart was very weak, and she could not survive the shock.”
The husband felt as if the world had collapsed upon him.
His wife was gone.
After the burial, he returned home in silence.
As he entered, he saw the dining table filled with a variety of delicious dishes she had prepared.
On the refrigerator door, there was a note.
With trembling hands, he opened it and read her final message:
“My dear, forgive me for expecting too much from you. I only wanted to see you step out of the harsh ways of the world. I wished for you to speak to me with love, to hold me, and to tell me that you love me. I just wanted you to smile at those silly drawings and show me that you didn’t care about what others think. If I asked for too much in love, I am sorry. I promise, from today onwards, I will never upset or trouble you again.”
As he finished reading, everything inside him broke.
He collapsed to the floor, crying uncontrollably, screaming:
“I have killed you with my own hands.”
Comments are closed.