Chapter 1
(TO BE LOVED)
MAIN CHARACTERS
HOORIA (FEMALE LEAD)
ASAD KHAN (MALE LEAD)
MIRAY (FEMALE LEAD'S MOTHER)
ALYHAN(MAFIA MALE LEAD OF MIRAY)
I love daydreaming about the future I can have,
About the person I could be,
About everything because the reality scares me.
The reality I see in my life is scary.
Everything is scary.
Living, dying, and existing.
Loving is scary, not being loved is scary.
Working is scary, not working is scary.
Meeting people is scary, being alone is scary.
The voice inside me is scary, the silence inside me is scary.
This world is scary, People in it are scary. Everything is scary…
Hooria, known for her warmth and generosity, was as strikingly beautiful as her mother, Miray. With long, curly brown hair cascading down her back and vivid brown eyes sparkling with life, Hooria often heard people say she resembled Miray, whom they compared to the beauty of the moon. Miray, with her own long, straight, silky hair and eyes reflecting the depth and kindness mirrored in Hooria's gaze, was a beacon of grace despite her troubled past.
Miray's parents had passed away, leaving her to navigate life without their guidance. She led a simple, cautious existence, her dreams long buried under the weight of responsibility. Her only solace came from her brother, who was happily married with a son the same age as Hooria.
Miray's life took a tragic turn with her arranged marriage to Emir. At first, she found happiness in their union, but Emir's insecurity and indecision soon surfaced, imposing countless restrictions on Miray. Always compliant, she never refused his demands, hoping to maintain peace. However, Emir's increasing demands and eventual desire to remarry shattered any semblance of happiness. Their divorce left Miray emotionally shattered, confined to the solitude of her home for three agonizing years.
---
Miray often found herself lost in thought, reflecting on her past. "How did things go so wrong?" she wondered, staring out the window. "I loved Emir, and I tried so hard to make him happy. But no matter what I did, it was never enough."
She remembered the early days of their marriage, the joy she felt at the simplest moments, like when they shared meals or took walks together. "We were so happy," she thought, a sad smile playing on her lips. "I miss those times, but I can't go back."
Miray sighed, running a hand through her silky hair. "I wish I had stood up for myself more," she admitted to herself. "I let him control everything, and now I'm paying the price."
Her thoughts drifted to her daughter, Hooria. "I need to be strong for her," Miray resolved. "She deserves a better life, a mother who is happy and fulfilled."
In the quiet of the night, when Hooria was asleep, Miray often whispered her hopes and fears into the darkness. "I don't want Hooria to make the same mistakes I did," she murmured. "I want her to be strong, to follow her dreams and never let anyone dim her light."
Miray's eyes filled with determination. "I will rebuild our lives," she vowed silently. "For Hooria, and for myself. We deserve happiness."
---
Meanwhile, Hooria, with her vivid brown eyes and curly hair, sensed her mother's silent struggles. She admired her mother's strength and kindness, even in the face of adversity. "Mom is so strong," she thought. "I want to be just like her, kind and resilient."
Hooria often found herself deep in thought, pondering her family's situation. "Why did Dad have to leave?" she wondered, a pang of sadness in her heart. "I wish things were different, but I can't change the past."
Determined not to let her parents' separation define her, Hooria promised herself, "I will be strong for Mom. I won't let anyone see how much it hurts. We will get through this together."
Her resolve strengthened with each passing day. "I have Mom, and that's all I need," she reminded herself. "We will build a better future, one day at a time."
As Hooria and Miray faced their challenges, their bond grew stronger, a testament to their resilience and love. They were determined to create a life filled with hope and happiness, supporting each other through every obstacle.
Hooria wanted to be loved by her father. She and her mother, Miray, live together at Miray's brother home. Hooria's father left her mother when she was just two years old. He divorced her mother and remarried another woman. Her mother brought her up alone. Miray is a teacher. Her father wanted to take Hooria, but the court decided that Hooria would live with her mother and that her father should provide financial support.
Hooria and Miray lived together in Mehmet's home, where Mehmet, her kind-hearted brother, provided them refuge. However, Mehmet's wife, secretly harboring resentment towards Miray's presence, masked her displeasure with false smiles. Hooria, accompanied by her cousin Ahmad, had been inseparable since childhood, their bond akin to siblings. Despite Gul, Ahmad's mother, discouraging their closeness due to gender differences, they grew up together, their friendship deepening with time.
One evening, Ahmad visited Miray's home and sat quietly on a chair while Miray prepared tea. Hooria joined him, their conversation flowing naturally as they always did, akin to two close friends. Ahmad appeared troubled, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by sadness. Sensing his mood, Hooria gently probed, asking what weighed on his mind.
"I'm just tired of my father," Ahmad confessed, his voice tinged with frustration. "He constantly compares me to others, including you. I'm exhausted."
Hooria was taken aback. She knew Ahmad's relationship with his father was strained, but his words revealed a deeper turmoil. She tried to console him, emphasizing his father's care and the sacrifices made for his upbringing.
"He's your father, Ahmad. He cares deeply for you. Remember all the things he's provided—your bike when you were ten, the motorbike later, and even your laptop and phone. He works hard for you and your mother," Hooria reasoned, her voice filled with empathy.
Ahmad shook his head, his frustration evident. "You don't understand, Hooria. It's not just about material things. I feel suffocated by his expectations. It's like I can never measure up."
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Hooria listened, her heart aching for Ahmad's struggle. She knew their situations were different, her own father having been absent and uncaring. Yet, she tried to offer him perspective, urging him to find clarity amidst his turmoil.
As Miray returned with tea, she sensed the tension and exchanged a knowing glance with Hooria. Ahmad's turmoil resonated deeply with both women, each silently grappling with their own familial complexities.
Hooria sat by the window, watching the rain pour down. She could hear her mother's soft humming from the kitchen. Her thoughts wandered back to her father. She had vague memories of him—flashes of laughter and a warm, strong hand holding hers. She often wondered what it would have been like if he had stayed.
"Why didn't he love us enough to stay?" she thought, a pang of sadness tugging at her heart. "Wasn't I worth it?"
She knew her mother did everything to make up for his absence, working tirelessly as a teacher to provide for them. Hooria admired her mother's strength, but the longing for her father's love was a shadow she couldn't escape.
"Maybe if I had been different, he would have wanted to stay," she mused, biting her lip. "But Mom says it's not my fault. She says he made his choice."
Still, the questions lingered, unanswered and heavy. Hooria closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "One day, I'll be strong like Mom," she vowed silently. "And I'll make sure no one ever leaves me again."
When Hooria was three years old, she began to go to school. Earlier, she was told that her father was dead. But later on, she came to know that her father was alive. She started to hate him and wished he was truly dead. When she was 13 years old, her father petitioned the court to meet her and take her with him for a few days during vacations. Hooria didn't want to go, but her mother convinced her, so she agreed.
---
Hooria sat on her bed, clutching her pillow tightly. The news of her father's request had stirred a storm of emotions within her. She couldn't understand why he wanted to see her now, after all these years.
"Why now?" she wondered, anger bubbling up inside her. "Why does he suddenly care?"
She remembered the day she found out he was alive. The shock, the betrayal, the feeling of being lied to by everyone she trusted. It was easier to hate him when she thought he was dead. Knowing he was out there, living his life without her, made her heart ache with a mix of resentment and sorrow.
"I hate him," she thought fiercely. "I hate him for leaving us, for making Mom struggle alone."
Yet, as she looked at her mother's face, filled with gentle encouragement, she felt a pang of guilt. Her mother always told her that hatred was a heavy burden to carry. "He is your father," her mother had said softly. "Give him a chance."
"Why should I give him a chance?" Hooria argued in her mind. "He never gave us one."
But deep down, a small voice whispered, "What if he has changed? What if he truly wants to make amends?"
She sighed, her resolve wavering. "Fine," she thought reluctantly. "I'll go. But I'm not doing this for him. I'm doing it for Mom."
With that, she set her pillow aside and tried to push away the turmoil inside her. "I'll be strong," she told herself. "Just like Mom. And if he disappoints me again, I'll never have to see him again."
For the first time, Hooria went to visit her father. Her mother had reminded her not to be rude. Her father, Emir, took her shopping along with her uncle. While browsing, Emir picked up a lipstick and asked, "Do you want one?" She didn’t want to say yes, but ended up nodding. Her father took the lipstick to her uncle and asked, "Should I buy this for Hooria?" Her uncle replied, "What's the need? It's not necessary." Instead of arguing for her, her father put the lipstick back and said, "We'll buy something else another time." Hooria felt strange and regretted her decision.
---
As they walked through the mall, Hooria's mind was a whirlpool of confusion and disappointment. Her father's question about the lipstick had been unexpected, and she had reluctantly said yes. She didn't even want it. She just wanted to avoid any awkward confrontation.
"Why did I say yes?" she wondered, frustration bubbling inside her. "I should've just said no."
Watching her father put the lipstick back without a second thought stung. She had hoped, maybe foolishly, that he would stand up for her, argue with her uncle, show some sign that he cared about her desires, however small.
"Is this what it's going to be like?" she thought bitterly. "Him giving in to everyone else and never thinking about what I want?"
She glanced at her father, who now seemed engrossed in some conversation with her uncle. "We'll buy something else another time," he had said. But his words felt hollow, like an empty promise that would never be fulfilled.
"I regret coming here," she thought, her heart sinking. "I don't belong in his world."
Hooria tried to push the disappointment away, but it lingered, gnawing at her. She remembered her mother's words about giving him a chance, but it felt so much harder than she had imagined.
"Maybe he doesn't care about me after all," she thought sadly. "Maybe I'm just a burden, an obligation he has to fulfill."
As they continued shopping, Hooria decided to build a wall around her heart, to protect herself from the inevitable hurt. "I won't let him get to me," she resolved silently. "I won't let him see how much this affects me."
She straightened her shoulders, putting on a mask of indifference. "I can do this," she told herself. "I don't need him to care. I have Mom, and that's enough."
When she was in elementry school, Hooria sat on the school steps, watching the happy chaos of children being picked up by their parents. Fathers swung their kids into the air, laughter echoing through the courtyard. She hugged her knees to her chest, a pang of longing tightening her chest.
"Why can't that be me?" she thought, her eyes following a classmate who was giggling on her father's shoulders. "Why can't I have that moment, just once?"
She tried to imagine it—her father showing up, smiling and calling her name, lifting her up like she was the most precious thing in the world. But the image felt hollow, distant, like a dream that would never come true.
"I used to wish for that," she thought, a sad smile playing on her lips. "I used to hope he would come, that he would care."
But over the years, she had learned the painful truth. Her father was not like the other dads. He didn’t make decisions or show love; he was always in the background, relying on others to tell him what to do.
"Mom is enough," she reminded herself, thinking of her mother's constant love and support. "She’s always been enough."
Yet, as she watched another father-daughter duo walk by, the longing resurfaced. "I just wanted to be loved by both of them," she admitted to herself. "But I have to accept what I have."
She sighed, standing up and brushing off her skirt. "Mom will be here soon," she thought, trying to shake off the sadness. "And that's what matters."
Still, as she walked towards the school gate, she couldn't help but glance back at the fathers, a tiny part of her heart still wishing for the impossible. "Maybe one day," she mused, "I’ll find someone who loves me like that."
But for now, she had her mother, and that had to be enough. She straightened her shoulders and walked out, her heart heavy but her resolve firm. "I’ll be strong," she told herself. "I’ll be strong for Mom and for me."
She reached her father's home and felt a wave of nervousness wash over her. A woman opened the door—her stepmother. Hooria was also surprised to discover she had younger stepbrother and stepsister. She greeted everyone politely. Her stepmother hugged her warmly, which surprised Hooria. In movies, stepmothers were often portrayed as evil, but this woman was kind.
---
Hooria sat quietly in the corner of the living room, watching as her father played with her stepbrother and stepsister. They laughed and squealed, their faces glowing with happiness. She forced a smile, trying to ignore the ache in her chest.
"Why can't he be like that with me?" she wondered, her eyes fixed on the joyful scene. "Why do they get all his love and attention?"
Her stepmother had been nothing but kind to her, and Hooria was grateful for that. But seeing her father's affection for his other children stirred up feelings she couldn't easily dismiss.
"Am I not good enough?" she thought, bitterness creeping into her heart. "Why doesn't he care about me like he cares about them?"
She tried to push the jealousy away, reminding herself that she had her mother's love. "Mom has always been there for me," she thought. "I should be grateful for that."
But as she watched her father lift her stepsister into the air, her heart ached with longing. "I wish he would look at me like that, just once," she admitted to herself. "I wish he would show me that he loves me too."
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to maintain her composure. "It doesn't matter," she told herself firmly. "I don't need his love. I have Mom, and that's enough."
Yet, the jealousy lingered, a silent shadow she couldn't completely shake off. "I'll never let them see how much this hurts," she resolved. "I'll be strong, just like Mom taught me."
Hooria stood up and walked over to her stepmother, who smiled warmly at her. "Do you need anything, dear?" her stepmother asked gently.
"No, thank you," Hooria replied, her voice steady. "I'm fine."
As she turned away, she whispered to herself, "I can do this. I don't need his love. I just need to be strong." But deep down, she knew that the longing for her father's affection would always be a part of her, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. After few days, she goes back to her home.
Hooria walked into her home, the familiar scent and warmth enveloping her. She sighed in relief, feeling the tension of the past few days melt away. Hugging her mother tightly, she felt a sense of calm she had missed so much.
"Everything will be alright, sweetheart," her mother whispered, stroking her hair. Hooria nodded, feeling the comfort of her mother's words.
As she settled back into her routine, the anxiety of the school introductions loomed over her. Sitting in class, she dreaded the moment when the teacher would ask about her parents.
"Please don't ask," she thought desperately, her heart pounding.
But the inevitable question came. "Hooria, can you tell us about your father and his work?"
She swallowed hard, feeling a lump in her throat. "My parents are separated," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady. "My father... he lives with his new family."
A murmur of sympathy rippled through the classroom. Hooria felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She hated this moment, hated feeling so exposed.
"I wish I didn't have to explain this," she thought, fighting back tears. "I wish things were different."
But she took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay composed. "I won't let this make me sad," she vowed. "I won't let anyone see how much it hurts."
As the day went on, she kept her head high, refusing to let the awkwardness get to her. "I'm stronger than this," she reminded herself. "I have Mom, and that's all I need."
When her friends asked why she seemed quieter than usual, she shrugged it off with a smile. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Just a bit tired."
Deep down, though, the pain lingered. She longed for a time when she wouldn't have to explain her family situation, when she could just be like everyone else.
"But until then," she thought, "I'll keep moving forward. I'll be strong for Mom, and for myself."
Hooria left school that day with a renewed sense of determination. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but she was determined not to let her circumstances define her. "I can handle this," she told herself. "I won't let anything hold me back."