Chapter 21

“بين الأرقام ضعتُ، فوجدتُ هدايتي في عينيك،

وبين برود كلماتك، كان الدفء يكفيني.”

“Lost among numbers, I found my guidance in your eyes,

And within the coldness of your words, the warmth was enough for me.”

____________________

The warehouse smelled of rust and gunpowder. Broken glass crunched under Zamil’s boots as he stepped inside, the sound of dripping water echoing from the ceiling. His men surrounded the building, rifles ready, but Zamil walked straight through the center, his eyes locked on the man tied to the chair …. Victor.

Blood already stained Victor’s face, his lip split open, but he still smirked through the pain.

Zamil’s cold voice cut through the silence.

He said, “You thought you could outsmart me?”

Victor spat blood on the floor and laughed hoarsely.

He replied, “You think I’m the master? No… I was only the dog they let off the leash.”

Zamil’s jaw tightened. He grabbed Victor by the collar, slamming his head back against the chair.

He said, “Then who holds the chain? Give me a name.”

Victor’s eyes flickered, fear crawling into them for the first time. His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.

He said, “I was feeding you information… about the attack. You think it was all by chance? No. I was forced… they wanted me close to you.”

Zamil narrowed his eyes, sensing the weight of truth in his words. For the first time, the puzzle pieces shifted. He pressed harder.

He said, “Tell me. Who?”

Victor opened his mouth….

And then the world shook.

A deafening blast ripped through the building, the shockwave throwing men off their feet. Glass shattered, concrete cracked, and fire licked the walls in a violent burst. Zamil’s instincts saved him…he ducked behind a metal beam, coughing through the dust.

When the smoke began to settle, screams and groans filled the air. Victor’s chair was empty. Only blood splatters and broken ropes remained. Whoever had planted the explosives wanted him silenced before the truth could slip.

Zamil’s men scrambled, calling out, dragging injured bodies away from the flames. Zamil’s sharp eyes scanned the chaos, searching for one person.

He shouted, “Yousef!”

No answer.

He pushed through the debris, his gun still firm in his grip, and then…..

A loud clang echoed from the corner. An iron dustbin toppled, rolling across the floor. From behind it, a figure crawled out, covered in ash, hair sticking up like a scared cat.

It was Yousef.

He stumbled forward, wiping soot from his face, and saw Zamil staring at him with that deadly glare.

Yousef raised his hands and grinned weakly.

He said, “I know, I know… even covered in ashes, I’m still charming. Stop staring, bro, you’re making me blush.”

Zamil’s glare could have cut steel. He stepped closer, brushing ash off his suit jacket.

He said, “You hid behind a trash bin during a blast?”

Yousef coughed, trying to stand but slipping again, dust all over his face.

He replied quickly, “Iron dustbin, not just any dustbin. It saved my life. See? Even trash respects me!”

Despite the chaos, Zamil almost smirked…but his eyes hardened again, scanning the wreckage. Victor was gone, and so were the answers he needed. Whoever was pulling the strings had just made their move.

Zamil adjusted his cufflinks, his voice dropping colder than the fire around them.

He said, “This isn’t over. Find the trail. Tonight, we hunt again.”

Yousef muttered under his breath while dusting himself off.

He said, “Yeah, sure, but next time I’m hiding behind a car… at least cars don’t stink like garbage.”

Zamil shot him a sharp look.

He said, “Move before I bury you in one.”

Yousef raised his hands quickly, stumbling after him as the night outside filled with sirens.

_________

The meeting room was silent, except for the furious thud of Zamil’s palm slamming against the long mahogany table. The glow of multiple screens flickered across his face … Japan, Pakistan, Russia, France, Turkey …all his top men were connected. Their faces looked shaken, some even pale.

Zamil stood tall, his jaw clenched, eyes burning like fire.

He said, “Victor was not the master. We wasted time, blood, and bullets …and still, the real snake hides in the dark.”

No one dared to speak. The air was thick with tension, the weight of his voice pressing over them like chains.

He continued, his tone low but sharp enough to cut steel.

He said, “From today, I want every informant dragged out of their holes. Whoever is playing this game with me will regret being born. From Tokyo to Karachi, from Moscow to Paris …..search every shadow. Tear apart their networks. No mercy.”

The men on the screens nodded in unison, voices overlapping with, “Yes, boss.”

Zamil’s gaze moved across the screens, cold and commanding.

He said, “I want updates every twelve hours. If one of you fails me…..”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. The silence that followed was deadlier than words.

With a sharp motion, he ended the conference call. The screens went black.

Zamil stood there, chest rising with controlled breaths, his mind storming with fury. He poured himself a glass of water, his hand tightening around the glass. Just as he raised it to his lips….

His phone rang.

Ayat.

For a second, he almost ignored it. But then, against his own instincts, he picked it up.

He said in a cold voice, “What is it, Ayat?”

Her voice was nervous, almost too quick. She said, “Do you think pasta tastes better if it’s boiled for eleven minutes instead of ten?”

Zamil closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. “You called me… to ask about pasta?”

She replied in a small voice, “I just thought… you might know.”

His lips twitched faintly, almost…..almost …. a smirk. But his tone stayed firm. He said, “Ayat, you don’t need excuses to call.”

There was a pause on the line, the quiet stretching between them. Then, softly, she asked, “When are you coming back?”

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the city lights of Italy through the window. He said, “I don’t know.”

She murmured, “hmm…Okay… stay safe.”

For the first time that night, his expression eased, if only slightly. He said, “Go to sleep, Ayat.”

And the line went dead.

_________

Ayat lowered the phone slowly, staring at the darkened screen. The room felt even quieter now, the soft hum of the ceiling fan the only sound.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile. She whispered to herself, almost amused, “Pasta… really, Ayat?”

She sank back onto her bed, hugging her pillow close to her chest. A warmth spread in her chest, but she quickly shook her head, trying to dismiss it.

“He probably thought I was silly. Why did I even say that?” she mumbled, hiding her face against the pillow.

But no matter how much she scolded herself, she couldn’t ignore the relief she felt hearing his voice. Even if he was cold… even if he didn’t give her the answer she wanted.

Her heart beat faster as she replayed his words in her mind.

“You don’t need excuses to call.”

The words looped in her head, and before she realized it, a soft blush had crept to her cheeks.

Ayat whispered softly, almost like a secret she couldn’t admit to anyone else, “Why does it feel so different when it’s him…?”

She closed her eyes, pillow still hugged tightly, trying to sleep …. but the emptiness of the house only reminded her of him more.

__________

It had been a week since their last call.

The silence of the house had grown heavier each day, until Ayat found herself counting down hours instead of days. When she learned he was returning tonight, her heart raced in a way she couldn’t explain.

The kitchen was filled with warmth and delicious aromas … the table set neatly, dishes lined up with care. She had cooked all his favorites: tender lamb curry, saffron rice, roasted vegetables, and even a small dessert she wasn’t sure he liked but made anyway.

Every few minutes, she glanced at the clock.

And then… she heard it. The sound of the front door unlocking.

Ayat’s breath caught. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron and rushed to the hallway.

Zamil stepped inside, tall and sharp even after travel, his presence filling the quiet house. He carried his bag in one hand, his expression unreadable.

Before he could even take another step, Ayat ran to him and stopped right in front of him. Her voice was soft but filled with warmth.

She said, “Welcome home.”

For a moment, Zamil simply stared at her……a flicker of surprise in his otherwise cold eyes. He hadn’t expected… this.

Ayat reached forward gently and took the bag from his hand.

She said quickly, “Please, freshen up. Dinner is ready.”

Zamil gave a small nod, watching her with a glance he didn’t explain, and then walked toward his room.

_______________

Later, the two sat across from each other. The golden light of the dining room reflected softly on the dishes. Ayat’s hands were folded neatly on her lap as she waited for him to take the first bite.

Zamil ate quietly at first, his usual silence filling the air. Ayat kept stealing glances at him …. her eyes soft, almost shy, but filled with something she didn’t have words for.

Finally, Zamil lifted his gaze, catching her stare.

He said in his cold tone, “Don’t stare like that. Eat.”

Ayat blinked, flustered, her cheeks warming.

She said softly, “I wasn’t staring…”

He raised a brow faintly but said nothing, continuing his meal.

Ayat lowered her eyes, hiding her small smile, and picked up her spoon. Yet deep inside, she felt a quiet joy …. not because of the food, not because of the silence, but simply because he was here… sitting across from her.

For the first time in days, the house didn’t feel empty.

__________________

The room was quiet, except for the rhythmic tapping of Zamil’s laptop keys. His jaw was sharp in focus, his eyes cold on the screen.

Across the room, Ayat sat hunched over her accounting notebook, her pencil chewing marks proof of her struggle. The balance sheet mocked her with numbers that refused to align. After erasing for the hundredth time, she glanced at him.

Finally, she stood, notebook in hand, and walked over with hesitant steps.

“Zamil…” her voice was soft, almost careful.

“Yes?” he replied, not looking up.

“I think my balance sheet hates me.” She placed the notebook near his laptop. “It’s… it just doesn’t want to balance.”

This made him pause. Slowly, he turned his head, one brow lifting. “Your balance sheet doesn’t hate you. You misplaced your numbers.”

He took the pen from her hand and scanned through her work. “Here,” he circled a figure. “This belongs under equity, not liabilities. That’s why your totals are fighting you.”

Ayat leaned closer, nodding quickly, eyes wide with focus. “Ohhh… I thought equity was just liabilities wearing makeup.”

For the first time, the corner of Zamil’s lip twitched, but he masked it fast. “Liabilities in makeup?” he repeated, his tone flat. “That’s not how accounting works.”

She gave a small, guilty laugh. “Well… it looked prettier there.”

“Accounting is not about looks,” he said in his cold, professional voice, pushing the notebook back to her. “It’s about precision. One mistake, and the entire balance collapses.”

Ayat hugged the notebook, nodding seriously, but her smile betrayed her amusement. “Hmm… you explained it better than my professor. Though less funny.”

Zamil returned to his laptop without a word, but his eyes flicked to her once …. unreadable, cold as always ….. before he typed again.

Still standing there, Ayat whispered, “But… thank you.”

He finally looked at her, his voice low and firm. “You don’t need to thank me for learning.”

Her lips curved in a small smile. “Then what should I thank you for?”

For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on her ….. the softness in her expression, the way she held the notebook like a child guarding secrets. His voice came colder than his eyes.

“For not making mistakes next time.”

Ayat let out a light laugh. “Cold teacher, hmm? If I pass this course, I’ll give you credit.”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes narrowing just a touch. “If you pass, it will be because of your work, not me.”

But Ayat tilted her head, her tone quiet, carrying something unspoken. “Still… it matters that you’re here.”

For the first time that evening, silence filled the space ….not heavy, not cold, but something she couldn’t name.

Zamil broke it, turning back to his screen. “Go finish your assignment.”

She smiled softly, walking back to her desk, but her heart felt lighter.

Chapter 22

في صمته كان العتاب، وفي عناقه كان السلام.

وفي همسه الخافت، وجدت قلبي مقام.

In his silence was reproach, in his embrace was peace.

In his quiet whisper, my heart found its place.

________________________________________________________

The morning at the university unfolded like any other. Ayat slipped into her classroom, sat with Emily, and they whispered through half the lecture, exchanging smiles and notes. But today felt a little different … Emily’s phone buzzed, and she jumped up excitedly.

Emily said, “Guess what? My dad’s here to pick us up!”

Ayat blinked. “Your dad?”

Emily grinned. “Yeah, Ray Carter. He’s a detective. Come with us! We’ve got an hour free before the next lecture. Coffee time, my treat.”

Ayat hesitated for a moment, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. A detective? The word itself made her pulse quicken. But Emily’s insistence was impossible to resist.

Ayat replied softly, “Alright, just for a while.”

______

The little café smelled of roasted beans and warm pastries. Students sat scattered, laptops open, headphones on, the low hum of chatter filling the air.

Emily bounced to the counter, waving her hand. “I’ll grab our orders. You two talk!”

Ayat sat across from Ray Carter, who looked nothing like the stiff detectives she’d seen in movies. He wore a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled up, a watch glinting under the light. His eyes, though … sharp, searching, as if they could peel back layers without permission.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table.

Ray said, “So, Ayat… You’re new in the city, right?”

Ayat nodded politely. “Yes, I recently joined the university.”

Ray gave a half-smile. “It must be hard, adjusting. Especially… living with someone like Zamil Al Mansur.”

Her heart skipped. The name dropped so casually, but her throat tightened instantly. She clasped her hands together under the table.

Ayat whispered, “Why would you say that?”

Ray’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because I know who he really is. Dangerous man. Illegal trades, violence, blood money. And I know you’re not with him by choice.”

For a brief second, Ayat felt like the floor had disappeared under her. Every muscle in her body froze, her lips pressed tight. She couldn’t deny… but she couldn’t speak either.

Ray softened his tone, lowering his voice. “You don’t deserve this, Ayat. If you help me catch him… I can make sure you’re free. Safe. Away from all this.”

Her eyes darted to the café window, the street beyond … escape, safety, a life outside Zamil’s shadow. The thought pressed on her chest, heavy and terrifying.

Ayat stammered, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before Ray could press further, Emily returned with a tray, smiling brightly.

Emily said, “Here we go! Lattes, hot chocolate for Ayat, and muffins. Don’t say I’m not the best friend ever.”

Ayat forced a faint smile, but her hands shook as she picked up her cup. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t risk it. Standing quickly, she muttered, “Emily… I’m sorry, something just came up. I need to go.”

Emily blinked, surprised. “Now? But…”

Ayat cut her off softly, “I’ll explain later.”

She grabbed her bag and hurried out of the café, her heart racing, leaving behind Emily’s puzzled frown and Ray Carter’s unreadable stare.

______________

The study was dim, lit only by the warm glow of the desk lamp. Papers were spread out, his laptop open, and Zamil sat in silence, a glass untouched at his side. His mind was buried in numbers, routes, and names … until a knock broke the quiet.

One of his men entered, bowing slightly before speaking.

The man said, “Boss… Detective Ray Carter. He met with your wife today.”

The silence stretched. Zamil’s pen froze mid-air, his jaw tightening. Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing.

He said in a low voice, “So… Ray thinks he can play with me through her.”

The man shifted uncomfortably.

Zamil’s lips curved into something between a smile and a sneer.

He muttered coldly, “I always knew… one day she’d be tested. Let’s see if my little wife is like the others… or different.”

For a moment, anger flickered in his eyes, sharp and deadly. He hated the idea of Ayat sitting across from that man … hated even more that he couldn’t predict her response.

Another knock at the door. This time, a different guard entered, his tone tense.

The guard said, “Boss… the man you asked for. He’s waiting. In the basement.”

The room stilled. Everyone knew what that meant. When Zamil’s fury burned this quietly, the outcome was already decided.

Zamil stood, adjusting the cuffs of his black shirt, his movements precise, calm ….the kind of calm that made his men more afraid than shouting ever could.

He said coldly, “Good. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

The guards exchanged quick, uneasy glances. Tonight, the basement would echo with screams …. because when Zamil Al Mansur was betrayed or provoked, mercy was never part of the story.

______________

At the mansion, Ayat’s mind kept replaying the detective’s words. She couldn’t sit still. Finally, she turned to Lady Nova and asked softly, “Lady Nova… where is he?”

Lady Nova glanced up, her hands stilling for a moment before she replied, “He went upstairs.”

Ayat nodded, though her curiosity deepened. The east wing of the mansion was a place she had been warned about … whispered as forbidden, a world not meant for her eyes. But tonight, her steps carried her there.

At the end of the corridor, she caught sight of him. Zamil. His broad shoulders moving with deliberate calm as he stepped into an elevator hidden behind iron doors. Without thinking, Ayat followed.

The elevator descended. Her breath grew shallow, her heart racing with every passing second. When the doors opened, the air changed. It was colder, heavier, carrying the metallic sting of blood and steel.

She stepped out, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The walls lined with weapons, crates, and shelves filled with ammunition. It was nothing like the world she belonged to. Fear gripped her chest.

Her mind whispered: Was Detective Ray right?

From deeper inside, voices echoed. She followed quietly, until she reached a door left slightly ajar.

Through the gap, her world shattered.

A man sat tied to a chair, his face swollen, blood dripping down his chin. His muffled groans filled the room. And standing before him …. Zamil. His expression unreadable, his hand gripping a glowing iron rod, its tip red with heat.

Zamil’s voice cut like a blade, low and deadly.

He said, “How dare you do such a shameful work behind my back? ”

The man whimpered, pleading incoherently.

Zamil raised the rod, bringing it dangerously close to the man’s eye. His fury was silent but absolute, and the air itself seemed to burn.

Ayat’s heart stopped. The terror, the shock, the unbearable weight of what she was seeing …. it broke her. Before she could stop herself, the word tore from her lips.

She screamed, “Stop!”

The sound sliced through the room.

Zamil froze, his hand halting inches from the man’s face. His head turned sharply, his dark eyes widening in surprise , and then narrowing with a fury more dangerous than fire.

“Ayat…” he breathed, his tone cold as ice.

Her body trembled, her face pale. The iron rod slipped from his hand with a hiss against the floor. But before Zamil could say another word, her knees buckled. The world spun around her, and she collapsed.

In an instant, his anger vanished. Zamil moved faster than any of his men, catching her limp form in his arms. His jaw clenched, his voice dangerously low.

He said, “Kill him.”

The guards obeyed, dragging the screaming, broken man away.

But Zamil didn’t look back. His eyes remained fixed on the fragile girl in his arms, unconscious, her presence in his world both a curse and a wound.

He carried her out of the darkness, the weight of her trembling body against his chest igniting something he could neither control nor extinguish.

____________________

The room was dim, the silence thick except for the faint ticking of the clock. Zamil sat in a leather chair at the far end, his posture rigid, eyes burning with unspoken fury. His shirt sleeves were still rolled up, veins prominent on his forearms, his jaw locked as though any word might ignite fire.

Dr. Adam’s voice echoed in his memory: “She will wake up in an hour.”

And now that hour had passed.

Ayat stirred. A soft groan escaped her lips as she adjusted herself on the bed. Slowly, her lashes fluttered open, only to find him … a shadowed figure sitting across the room, watching her.

Fear struck her chest. She tried to push herself upright, her voice trembling, “Za—Zamil…”

But before she could go further, his deep voice cut through the air, harsh and cold.

“Explain yourself.”

Her heart pounded. She clasped the blanket to her chest, searching for words.

“I… I wanted to hear it from you. I don’t believe anyone else.”

His brows furrowed, his stare unyielding.

Ayat swallowed hard, her voice fragile yet determined.

“I met my friend’s father… he’s a detective. He told me things about you… and I—I had to know the truth.”

At her confession, Zamil’s jaw tightened. His anger twisted, not because she fainted, but because she dared to bring that man’s words into his home, into their fragile space. A muscle flickered in his cheek.

He rose from the chair slowly, the weight of his presence pressing down on her.

“And what did he fill your head with? That I’m a killer? That your husband lives in shadows?”

Ayat’s throat dried. Her voice broke.

“I saw the basement, Zamil… I saw you with that man. Is it true? Are you… that bad?”

His footsteps echoed as he came closer, stopping just inches away. His face leaned down, shadows cutting across his sharp features, his eyes blazing into hers.

“I’m worse. I’m the devil you were warned about.”

Her lips trembled, yet courage flickered in her eyes. She whispered,

“Astagfirullah… how can you be a devil? Devils are made from fire. You’re flesh and blood.”

The words struck him like a blade. His breath faltered. For the first time, he stepped back, as though her innocence had drawn a line he couldn’t cross.

Ayat, her voice trembling but firm, went on,

“Yes, you drink. Yes, you don’t pray. But that doesn’t make you a devil.”

Zamil’s eyes narrowed. His voice dropped low, dangerous yet heavy with something he couldn’t name.

“Don’t mistake your mercy for truth, Ayat. You see only what your heart wants to see. You know nothing of the world I rule.”

Tears welled in her eyes. Still, she pushed, fragile but stubborn.

“That man… was he innocent? Do you kill innocent people, Zamil? I saw….”

Her voice cracked under her own fear, her hands shaking.

The question pierced his last thread of control. His chest heaved as his voice thundered,

“He doesn’t deserve to live!”

Ayat flinched, but whispered desperately,

“Everyone has a right to live.”

That broke him. Rage surged. His hand slammed against the table beside her, the wood groaning under the force. His voice roared, raw and trembling with a pain only he carried.

“That man raped a ten-year-old girl. He sold dozens of little girls and women like animals. Tell me, Ayat…do they deserve to live?”

Her breath stopped. The room spun. The world she thought she knew cracked open, revealing something far darker, far heavier than she had imagined.

Zamil’s chest rose and fell violently. For a heartbeat, he looked at her … at her innocence, her shock, her fragile tears … and something inside him threatened to break.

But he turned away. Without another word, he strode out of the room, the door slamming behind him, leaving Ayat with the silence… and the truth.

And drove off to somewhere in silence.

_____________

The club was alive with music, neon lights flashing against the walls, laughter spilling from every corner. At one end, Yousef leaned lazily on the bar, a glass in hand, whispering something into a woman’s ear that made her giggle.

Zamil’s voice cut through the noise, cold as steel.

“She’s not here for you. She’s here to spy.”

Yousef turned, his brows shooting up. Then, with a sly grin, he said, “You know, sometimes I think you have a crush on me, habibi. You just don’t want anyone near me.”

Zamil’s glare could’ve burned through stone.

“Shut up.” He snatched the glass from the counter, lifting it to his lips.

But just as the rim touched, her voice came unbidden … soft, trembling, yet unshakable in his memory: “Yes, you drink. Yes, you don’t pray. But that doesn’t make you a devil.”

The glass shattered in his hand. Crimson liquid splashed across the counter as shards cut his skin, but Zamil didn’t even flinch. He stood abruptly, chest heaving.

Yousef shot up beside him. “Zamil?”

Zamil’s voice was low, guttural, laced with something darker than anger.

“Why is that woman… my problem?” He dragged a hand through his hair, dripping frustration. “She told me everything, Yousef. She told me the detective asked her to spy on me. She confessed it all. And still…” His fist slammed against the counter. “Still I thought of betrayal. How could she be that innocent? That pure?”

Yousef’s smirk faded. His voice softened, steady.

“She told you because she trusts you, Zamil. Innocence isn’t betrayal. It’s her way of saying she’s not against you.”

Zamil’s breathing was heavy, uneven, every muscle taut with unspoken weight.

Outside, thunder cracked. Rain began to hammer against the windows, drowning the laughter and music. A phone buzzed in Yousef’s pocket. He glanced at it, then back at Zamil.

“Something urgent at the base. I need to go.”

Zamil gave a curt nod, but his expression stayed locked in storm.

Minutes later, he stepped out of the club into the downpour. Rain plastered his hair against his forehead, his clothes clinging to his skin, but he didn’t care. He just stood there, head tilted slightly back, letting the cold drops crash against his burning chest.

Finally, he moved, sliding into his car and driving back through the storm to the mansion.

__________

The lights inside were dim when he entered. He pushed open the bedroom door quietly … and froze.

Ayat was still awake, seated at the small desk, books and notes spread across it. Her brows furrowed in concentration as she scribbled numbers, her lips moving in silent calculation. At the sound of the door, she looked up.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him, drenched, water dripping onto the polished floor. She stood instantly.

“You’re soaked… why didn’t you..?” She caught herself and swallowed, her voice softer. “Go change before you get sick.”

Zamil said nothing. He disappeared into the wardrobe, emerging minutes later in dry clothes, but his face was pale, his breaths heavier.

Ayat hurried forward, placing a glass of water in his hand. “Here… drink.”

He downed it silently, then moved to the bed, lying down on his side without a single word.

Ayat lingered, uncertain, before finally turning off the lamp and slipping beneath the blanket. She turned her back to him, eyes open in the dark.

After a moment, her voice broke the silence.

“Should I turn the AC lower? You might catch a cold.”

No reply. She thought he had already drifted to sleep…until she suddenly felt the mattress shift. Strong arms slid around her waist from behind, pulling her firmly against his chest.

She gasped softly, her body stiffening, heart racing.

“Za…”

“Shh.” His breath was warm against her ear, ragged, almost desperate. “Just for tonight… stay like this.”

Ayat’s lips parted, but no words came. She let the silence answer, her body still as stone in his embrace.

She whispered, “Zamil…”

His low hum vibrated against her back. “Hmm.”

She hesitated, then added softly, “I’m sorry. For earlier.”

Another hum … deeper this time. He shifted slightly closer, his breath brushing her skin. Without thinking, he nudged his nose against her shoulder, almost like a restless habit, a quiet reassurance that words couldn’t carry.

Ayat froze at the gesture, her heart thundering. She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loud, afraid he might let go.

His grip around her waist tightened, and in the darkness, his voice came rough, almost breaking:

“Just stay… like this.”

Chapter 23

“بين الخوف والشوق، قلبي احترق،

وهمٌ أم حقيقة… في حضن العشق انعناق.”

“Between fear and longing, my heart burned,

Illusion or truth… in love’s embrace it turned.”

________________________________________________________

The morning sunlight crept across the curtains, chasing away the dimness of the room. Ayat stirred, her hand brushing the cool sheets beside her. Empty. Zamil, as always, was gone before dawn.

After offering her prayer and dressing for university, she tied her hijab neatly, glancing at the mirror. Her reflection looked calm, but her heart wasn’t. Last night’s memory wouldn’t let her go….the quiet desperation in his voice, the warmth of his sudden closeness.

Stepping out of the mansion, she found not two but four men waiting. Two by the black car, two near the gate, eyes sharp and posture rigid.

One of the guards stepped forward, bowing his head respectfully. “Mrs. Al Mansur, Mr. Zamil has increased your security detail. From now on, we’ll be stationed closer at all times.”

Ayat’s brows furrowed. “Increased? But… it’s already too much. People will notice.”

“It’s his order,” the guard replied firmly, though not unkindly.

She sighed, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Then at least grant me one request. Don’t drop me right at the university gate. Please. I don’t want unnecessary attention.”

The guard exchanged a glance with his partner, uncertain. “Ma’am, our responsibility is your safety. We can’t risk…..”

“I know whose responsibility you carry,” she cut in softly, her voice steady. “But I’m asking you. Just leave me a little distance away. I’ll walk the rest. I need… a little space.”

He hesitated, then pulled out his phone and made a short call. After a moment, he nodded. “Permission granted. Mr. Zamil said as long as you remain in our sight, we may follow your request.”

Ayat lowered her gaze, a faint, almost unintentional smile tugging at her lips at his name. “Thank you.”

Sliding into the car, she leaned her head against the cool window as the city rolled past. Outside, the world looked the same…busy streets, rushing people….but inside her chest, nothing felt the same anymore.

As Ayat stepped into campus, Emily rushed up to her, arms crossed.

“Ayat! You left the café without saying a word, and you didn’t even pick my calls. What’s going on?”

Ayat adjusted her bag nervously. “I’m sorry, Emily. I… wasn’t feeling well.”

Emily raised a brow. “Not feeling well, or hiding something from me?”

Ayat forced a small smile. “Nothing like that. I just needed to leave. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Emily sighed but softened. “Fine, but next time at least text me. I was worried.”

Ayat nodded quietly. “I will, promise.”

___________________

The convoy of black cars sliced through the New York streets, headlights glaring against the drizzle. Zamil sat back in the leather seat, one hand resting on his knee, eyes fixed ahead. Suddenly, his voice cut through the silence.

“Take the next turn.”

Yousef looked up from his phone. “Zak? That’s not the way to the docks.”

Zamil’s gaze was cold, unreadable. “We’re visiting the detective.”

The air inside the car shifted. Within minutes, the vehicles rolled up outside Ray Carter’s precinct. As Zamil stepped out, flanked by his men, the atmosphere inside the building thickened. Officers stiffened, whispers rippled, and the hum of typewriters stilled as eyes followed the notorious man walking through their walls like he owned the place.

Detective Ray leaned casually against the doorframe of his office, arms folded, that trademark smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, well. To what do I owe the honor? Usually, devils don’t come knocking on church doors.”

Zamil’s lips curved in a mocking smile. “Careful, detective. You’re mixing your metaphors. And your enemies.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough for the others to hear. “You should’ve known better than to drag my wife into your games.”

Ray straightened, pushing off the frame, his tone smooth but edged. “Your wife? Interesting. I thought prisoners didn’t count as spouses.”

The men standing nearby stiffened at the insult. Yousef took a half step forward, but Zamil lifted a hand, stopping him, his smile never faltering.

“Funny. I was thinking the same about your badge. Looks like a shield, but I see the chains it hides behind.”

Ray chuckled darkly and opened the door, motioning him inside. “Then come in, Mansur. Let’s see how long your little empire holds when truth walks in.”

Zamil walked past him without hesitation, the weight of his presence pressing against the walls, his voice calm but poisonous.

“Truth? Detective… truth doesn’t walk in New York. It bleeds.”

The precinct air was thick with unease. Ray Carter led them into his office, his smirk never leaving, while officers outside exchanged uneasy glances. Zamil settled into the chair opposite Ray’s desk, his posture commanding, Yousef slouched lazily beside him like the troublemaker he was.

Ray poured himself a cup of black coffee, deliberately slow, his gaze never leaving Zamil.

“Quite the visit. Thought kings like you didn’t lower themselves to dirty offices like mine.”

Zamil leaned back, voice smooth but heavy with warning.

“Kings don’t. But devils? We walk anywhere we please.”

Yousef chuckled, throwing his legs over the armrest of his chair.

“Careful, detective. My boss doesn’t drink coffee unless it’s spiked with blood. You wouldn’t want to tempt him.”

Ray’s jaw twitched, but he smiled thinly.

“Blood or not, sooner or later, every empire chokes on its own secrets. Even yours.”

Zamil’s expression didn’t waver. He set his glass of water down with a soft thud, eyes locking onto Ray’s.

“Be very careful with your words, Carter. My wife isn’t part of your little crusade. Keep her name out of your mouth.”

Ray leaned forward, elbows on the desk, smirk widening.

“Your wife looked me in the eyes. She’s scared of you. She should be.”

For the first time, Zamil’s stare hardened into steel, his voice low and lethal.

“She may fear me, but you… you’ll learn what fear tastes like.”

The room thickened with tension. Ray leaned closer, elbows pressing against the desk, his voice dropping.

“Ten years… and still you couldn’t stop it.”

For a second, the words hung in the air like gunpowder smoke. Zamil’s eyes narrowed.

“What did you just say?”

Ray smiled, sipping as though nothing had slipped.

“Nothing. Just history. It has a cruel way of repeating itself.”

Yousef waved a hand dramatically, breaking the silence.

“Great. Now he’s doing riddles. Can we get out before this turns into a poetry contest?”

Zamil rose from his chair, adjusting his cuffs with deliberate calm. His gaze swept briefly over Ray’s hand as he reached for his cup …. a silver ring glinting under the office light, engraved with a symbol.

Something about it tugged at the edge of Zamil’s memory. A shape he’d seen before…somewhere buried deep in the bloodied past. But his anger was too sharp to place it now.

He leaned forward, his shadow falling over Ray’s desk.

“Pray, detective. Pray very hard. Because if she sheds a single tear because of you… neither your badge nor your games will save you.”

And with that, Zamil turned, coat brushing the floor as he strode out. Yousef followed with a smirk and a lazy whistle, tossing.

________________

Week later

The sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet. Ayat sat in the garden, her books left aside as she watched the little boy of one of the guards running around, chasing a ball. His innocent laughter filled the air.

Ayat smiled, kneeling down to roll the ball back to him. Soon enough, she was tossing it with him, her soft chuckles blending with his giggles.

At the entrance of the mansion, Yousef walked in, loosening the buttons of his shirt after a long day. He stopped when he saw the scene….Ayat, in her hijab, playing with the boy as though she belonged in that moment of peace.

The guard quickly rushed forward, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, sir… my son….he was restless, so I brought him here. It won’t happen again.”

Yousef lifted a brow but shook his head.

“No need to apologize. He’s a child, not a soldier.”

The guard nodded, relieved, and picked up his son, bowing slightly before leaving.

Yousef walked closer to Ayat, his hands in his pockets. His tone was casual, but his eyes sharp.

“So, what are you doing here?”

But instead of English, he said it in Arabic:

(Maadha taf‘aleen huna?)”What are you doing here?”

Ayat blinked, surprised. Her lips parted slightly. She answered in the same tongue, hesitant at first:

(Al‘ab ma‘a al-ṭifl… lam atawaqqa‘ annaka tataḥaddath al-‘arabiyya.)” I was playing with the child… I didn’t expect you speak Arabic.”

Yousef smirked faintly, lowering his voice.”I’m Arab, Ayat. I just chose to speak English.”

Her eyes softened with curiosity.(Ḥaqan? Min ayna? )”Really? From where?”

He leaned slightly, his smirk widening.(Saudi Arabia. Wa ṣaddi‘eeni… al-‘Arab la yatrukoon ‘uroobatahum abadan.)

“Saudi Arabia.And believe me… Arabs never leave their Arabness.”

Ayat smiled at him and then said, ” wow. I’m also from there.”

Yousef chuckled and said,”I know that.”

Ayat smiled faintly, then hesitated before asking, “Shall we go inside?”

But Yousef shook his head.

“There’s a coffee shop in the estate. Let’s go. You need a change of air.”

She frowned softly.

“And if Zamil finds out?”

Yousef shrugged with a careless grin.

“He won’t. And even if he does… I’ll take the blame.”

The café within the vast estate was buzzing with quiet elegance. Men in sharp suits greeted Yousef with deep respect, nodding as he passed. Their whispers filled the corners:

“That’s the Sir Yousef .”

“And that… that’s boss wife…”

Ayat lowered her gaze, cheeks warming at the attention, but Yousef walked with the ease of someone born to command respect. He guided her to a table near the window.

They ordered coffee, and once the cups arrived, Ayat stirred hers slowly, her thoughts heavy.

Finally, she asked softly, “(akhi) brother Yousef… why is Zamil like this? I mean… so cold, with everyone. Was he always this way?”

Yousef’s playful eyes dimmed. He leaned back.His tone dropped, serious now.

(Min al-sahl an taḥkimee ya Ayat, lakinaki la ta‘rifeen al-jaḥeem allathee ‘aashahu.) “It’s easy to judge, Ayat, but you don’t know the hell he lived through.”

Ayat frowned softly. “Tell me… what happened?”

Yousef shift back to his position,his tone was low.

(Mundhu kana ‘umruhu sab‘ sanawaat… faqada kull shay’. ‘Aailatahu, baytahu, amaanahu. ‘Aasha bayna al-dam wa al-ruṣaṣ. La aḥad yakhruj min dhalik saalim. )”Since he was seven… he lost everything. His family, his home, his safety. He lived between blood and bullets. No one comes out of that unharmed.”

Ayat’s fingers tightened around her cup. She whispered, almost to herself, “Seven years old…”

Yousef’s eyes softened as he watched her. For once, his smirk was gone, replaced by a shadow of sadness.

(Huwa la yaḥtāj ilá kurhuki ya Ayat… bal ilá ṣabrik. )” He doesn’t need your hate, Ayat… he needs your patience.”

The words had barely left Yousef’s lips when a shadow stretched across the marble floor. A tall figure stepped into the light, his presence heavier than silence itself.

Zamil.

His sharp gaze lingered on Yousef first, his tone clipped, the accent of Egypt thick in his words.

(Mādhā aḥtāj?) ” What do I need?”

Yousef nearly choked on his cigarette smoke, coughing once before forcing a crooked grin.

“You… you need a coffee, brother. Definitely a coffee.” He looked at Ayat quickly, his eyes widening like help me out here! “Right, Ayat? The master needs a coffee.”

Ayat, caught like a rabbit between hunters, stammered, “Y-yes… yes, Brother Yousef is right. Coffee. You need coffee.”

Zamil’s eyes shifted from one to the other, unreadable. He pulled out a chair slowly, the scrape against the floor loud enough to tighten Ayat’s chest. He sat down.

“Good. Then let me join.”

Yousef’s grin froze, his mind scrambling for a lifeline. He slapped his thigh suddenly, pretending to remember.

“Actually… I just remembered….I left… uh….my car running outside. Yes. Running. You know these New York thieves.” He jumped to his feet, patting Ayat’s shoulder. “Enjoy, enjoy. Lovely company. Don’t kill each other, ha-ha.”

His laugh died in his throat under Zamil’s cold stare. With a nervous bow, he made a dramatic exit, nearly tripping over a waiter.

Ayat followed his retreat with wide eyes, silently screaming at him: I will kill you if I see you again.

Zamil, however, leaned back in his chair, his expression carved from stone. His eyes locked on her trembling hands clutching the coffee cup.

“Play time is over, Ayat. Let’s go.”

She blinked rapidly, looking down at her untouched cup.

“But… my coffee…..” She bit her lip, instantly regretting the protest. “Never mind. Never mind. Let’s go.”

He started walking toward the exit without looking back. Ayat hurried to follow, her heart thundering louder than her footsteps.

_________________

The mansion was unusually still that evening, its vast corridors echoing only the distant ticking of the grand clock in the hall. The golden chandeliers glowed softly, casting shadows across the marble floor. Everything looked perfect, polished, silent…except the man who had just entered.

Zamil was seated on the long leather sofa in the main lounge, shoulders tense, his face unreadable. He leaned back as if resting, but the restless tapping of his fingers against the armrest betrayed the storm beneath his calm exterior.

From the doorway, Ayat appeared, her steps hesitant. She carried a tray with a glass of chilled water, the condensation beading along its surface. She walked carefully, her heart pounding at the sight of him…he looked heavier than usual, as though the world had followed him back home.

Placing the glass gently on the side table beside him, she said softly, almost testing his mood:

“Water…”

He reached for it without a word, his large hand brushing past hers for just a second before he lifted the glass and took a long sip. She sat down on the edge of the sofa, close enough to notice the sharp line of his jaw, the slight crease between his brows.

“When did you come home?” she asked, her voice careful, almost apologetic.

Zamil set the glass down, his gaze fixed on the muted television across from them. His reply was curt.

“Few minutes ago.”

But the silence that followed was heavier than the words.

Flashback:

The office had drained him that evening. Deals, threats, betrayals…..everything piled like smoke choking him. His jaw had been tight the entire drive back.

The moment he entered the mansion, his first words were as they always were:

“Where is she?”

Lady Nova’s answer came smoothly.

“She was in the garden earlier, near the entrance.”

But he had just crossed the entrance. No sign of her. His brows furrowed, irritation curling in his chest.

He called the entrance guard.

“Where is she?”

The man hesitated before answering.

“She left with Sir Yousef, master. They might have gone toward the café… the route.”

Something sharp twisted inside him. He couldn’t explain it…not anger, not jealousy, but a fire he didn’t want to name. Without thinking, he turned the car again.

And there she was. Through the glass of the café, he saw her…..laughing, cheeks flushed, her eyes bright in conversation with Yousef.

It wasn’t the laughter that burned him….it was that she had never laughed like that near him.

Before he realized, he had stepped inside, his shadow falling over their table.

Present:

Ayat glanced at him now, noticing the way he kept changing the channels with the remote, not settling on anything. His face was carved with silence, his mood unreadable.

She tried carefully, her voice gentle.

“You… speak Arabic.”

“Yes,” he answered shortly, still clicking the remote, his eyes fixed on the screen but seeing nothing.

Encouraged, she tilted her head slightly.

“Your accent… it’s like my mother’s. Did you… ever go to Egypt?”

Finally, his dark eyes flicked toward her, then back to the TV. His voice was calm, cold.

“I’m from Egypt.”

Her lips parted in surprise.

“But… on Wikipedia, it says you’re from Pakistan. Because your company’s headquarters are there.”

This time, he turned his head fully, his gaze sharp and steady on her.

“Not all information on the internet is correct, Ayat.”

The weight of his stare made her throat tighten. She quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the screen. But he didn’t stop…he kept switching channels restlessly, his jaw tense, his whole posture radiating a storm he wasn’t willing to name.

The remote finally stilled in his hand, landing on a channel where a woman performed a belly dance. Her hips swayed with practiced grace, her hands flowing like silk in the air.

Zamil leaned back, his expression unreadable, but his eyes didn’t move from the screen.

Ayat followed his gaze, her heart tightening in her chest. Something hot and bitter rose inside her….a feeling she hadn’t recognized before. Jealousy.

“So… you like this kind of dance?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

He didn’t answer, his eyes still fixed on the dancer.

Ayat folded her arms, tilting her head. “She’s not even doing it right. Look at her arms… too stiff. And her hips? Completely wrong.”

Zamil’s brow twitched slightly, but he said nothing.

She leaned closer, trying to catch his expression. “Even her expression is flat… no emotion at all.”

He finally turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing at her. But before he could speak, Ayat snatched the remote from his hand and turned the TV off.

“She’s not doing good,” she declared, her voice stubborn, her chin lifted.

Zamil stared at her, his jaw tightening. “Ayat…” His voice carried warning, but also confusion.

She ignored it, her eyes sparkling now with something daring. “Let me show you. My mother taught me the real way.”

His hand froze mid-air, the remote still in his grip, though the TV was already off. His gaze followed her as she glanced around nervously, then…almost rebelliously…stood up.

In one swift motion, Ayat pulled off her hijab and tied it around her slim waist. The soft fabric clung, accentuating her small frame. Zamil’s eyes sharpened, every trace of his cold composure cracking.

Then, with trembling fingers, she let down her hair. Dark waves spilled over her shoulders, glinting under the soft golden light of the chandeliers.

For the first time that night, Zamil didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He simply stared….frozen…as the usually modest girl before him stood transformed.

His hand, still gripping the remote, went slack against the sofa. His lips parted ever so slightly, and the storm in his eyes deepened into something else entirely.

Ayat took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the fabric tied at her waist. The silence between them was thick….so thick she almost turned back. But then, a stubborn spark in her pushed her forward.

She reached for her phone, tapped the music app, and soft Egyptian beats filled the lounge.

Her hips swayed slowly, unsure at first, but then the rhythm carried her. She lifted her arms gracefully, her wrists twisting in fluid circles just like her mother had shown her.

Zamil leaned forward slightly on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes locked on her every movement. He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. His usual mask of stone had cracked….his gaze was raw, intense.

Ayat’s cheeks warmed under that stare, but she kept moving. Her steps were small, hesitant, but her waist moved with surprising grace.

“Like this,” she whispered, almost to herself, tilting her head as she twirled her hair back. “Not the way she was doing.”

Zamil’s jaw clenched so hard a vein ticked in his temple. His fingers curled into fists on his knees. He wasn’t watching the dance anymore. He was watching her. The hijab tied at her slim waist, her loosened hair brushing against her flushed face….it wasn’t the dance that caught him. It was Ayat herself, bare of her usual walls.

When she spun lightly and stopped, her chest rising and falling, she finally looked at him. “See? This is the real way.”

The music still played softly, but the silence between them roared louder.

Zamil rose from the sofa slowly, like a predator stalking prey. His shadow stretched over her as he came closer, his eyes fixed on hers.

Ayat’s confidence faltered. She swallowed, stepping back slightly. “W-what? Did I… do it wrong?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes lingered on the hijab tied at her waist, then the curve of her hair falling free. He stepped closer, so close she felt his chest brush her arm.

Ayat’s breath caught. She froze, her fingers gripping the fabric at her side.

Then, without a word, Zamil dipped his head. His nose grazed along the soft line of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin…barely a kiss, but enough to send fire racing through her veins.

Her body trembled.

His mouth hovered at her ear as he whispered, voice husky, dangerous:

“Run, my wife… run, before I lose control on you.”

Ayat’s eyes flew wide, her cheeks burning crimson. She clutched her hijab, stumbled back a step, then bolted up the stairs, her heart pounding like a drum.

Behind her, Zamil stayed frozen for a moment, staring at the empty space where she’d stood. Then a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “God… what was that…”

But the moment shattered as his phone lit up on the table. The screen flashed with an encrypted call. His face hardened instantly. Without hesitation, he grabbed his jacket, silenced the music, and walked out of the mansion….his laughter gone, replaced by the shadow of the man the world feared.

---

Dear Zamil Al Mansur, I also feel the same way after re reading this last scene…. And I was also like … God … What was that, it’s kinda hot 😭😭🫂😂…

I’m also feeling shy yk

Chapter 24

نمشي في دروبٍ ملطخةٍ بالدماء،

لكن صداقتنا كانت ضوءًا في الظلام.

We walked on roads stained with blood,

But our friendship was the light in the darkness.”

______________________________________________________

The Al Mansur mansion stood like a silent fortress in the heart of New York. Its tall windows glowed faintly against the night, the marble floors gleamed under the chandeliers, and every corner whispered wealth and power. Yet inside, beyond the grand staircases and endless hallways, the silence wasn’t peaceful…it was heavy, charged, as if the walls themselves had witnessed something they could not speak of.

Ayat’s hurried footsteps broke that silence. Her slippers barely touched the polished floor as she carried a glass of water up the curved staircase, her hands trembling more than the glass itself. She didn’t dare look back…not at the man who had just unraveled her calm with a single whisper, not at the living room where his presence lingered like a storm.

By the time she reached her bedroom, the water was untouched. She set the glass down on the dresser, then pressed her back against the door she had just locked behind her. Her breath came uneven, her heart still racing. Her hand instinctively rose to her neck, to the very spot where his lips had brushed, where his voice had melted into her ear….

“Run, my wife… run, before I lose control.”

Her eyes flew open at the memory, her cheeks burning red. She whispered Astaghfirullah under her breath, but the prayer trembled, caught between guilt and something she couldn’t name.

In the mirror before her, she barely recognized herself …eyes wide, lips parted, a girl undone by a moment that should never have been. And yet, instead of fear, instead of resistance, a dangerous warmth curled inside her chest.

______________

The office was dimly lit, shadows spilling across the mahogany desk. The air smelled faintly of cigars and leather, heavy with silence. Zamil sat back in the high-backed chair, his jaw sharp under the glow of the desk lamp, a glass of untouched whiskey beside him.

A man in a dark suit stood in front of him, stiff and careful, holding a thick file. His voice carried a respectful edge.

“Here’s the information you wanted, boss.”

Zamil leaned forward, his fingers brushing the cover before pulling it open. His eyes, sharp and unblinking, scanned each page with the patience of a hunter reading tracks in the dirt. Numbers, names, coded messages …..he didn’t miss a single detail.

His tone was low, commanding.

“Give me everything. The deals he made, the routes he used, the people who stood with him… and the ones who betrayed him.”

The man swallowed and nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. We traced back several of his contracts …. drugs, weapons, offshore accounts. But some connections… they’re hidden. Buried deep. Whoever he is working with now, they know how to erase their tracks.”

Zamil’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile, though his eyes stayed cold. He closed the file with a snap and tapped it against the desk.

“No one stays hidden forever. Shadows move… and I follow.”

The man shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his words. Zamil stood, buttoning his suit jacket with deliberate calm, his aura filling the room.

“Keep digging. I want the list of every man who shook his hand. Every lie, every deal. I want to know who’s keeping him alive.”

The man bowed his head slightly. “Yes, boss.”

Zamil picked up the file again, his thumb resting on the edge, as though the paper itself might burn in his grip. His expression was unreadable, but his silence spoke louder than orders

_____________

The mansion was quiet when Zamil came home, the kind of silence that pressed against the walls like it belonged there. His shoes barely made a sound on the polished marble as he walked through the corridor, loosening his tie with one hand. The weight of business still sat on his shoulders, the file he’d studied earlier replaying in the back of his mind, but another memory cut through the noise.. Ayat, standing in front of him, her scarf knotted at her waist, her hair spilling free as she ran upstairs with flushed cheeks.

A low chuckle slipped out before he even realized it.

“What the hell was that…” he murmured to himself, shaking his head.

When he pushed open the bedroom door, the lights were dim. She was already asleep, curled on her side of the bed, her hair scattered across the pillow like spilled ink. One hand rested beneath her cheek, the other loosely gripping the blanket as if she’d fallen asleep mid-thought.

Zamil leaned against the doorframe for a moment, watching her. There was something strangely disarming about the sight,his girl, untouched by the storms that followed him, breathing softly in his world of chaos.

He walked closer, his steps quiet, and sat on the edge of the bed. For a man who thrived on control, the memory of her running from him earlier still tugged at his mouth, pulling another faint smile.

“Run, my wife,” he whispered under his breath, almost amused. “You have no idea what you’ve started.”

He slipped off his jacket, tossing it carelessly over the chair, and lay down on his side of the bed. But sleep didn’t come. His eyes kept drifting back to her, tracing the way her lashes brushed against her cheeks, the steady rhythm of her breathing. For a long while, he just watched, silent, caught between the shadows of his life and the warmth she carried without knowing.

__________________

A full month had slipped by since that night in the lounge, and Ayat’s world had narrowed into books, papers, and sleepless hours. Her final exams loomed ahead, the last step before graduation, and though excitement simmered inside her, fear and exhaustion weighed heavier.

That night, the mansion was hushed when Zamil returned. He pushed the door open to their room, expecting the usual silence, maybe her already asleep. Instead, his steps slowed.

Ayat sat at the desk by the window, head bowed, shoulders trembling. Papers were scattered across the table, scribbled numbers and rough notes filling every inch. The dim lamp lit the streaks of tears on her cheeks.

For a rare second, Zamil froze. A hard knot coiled in his chest. Had he done something? Did someone dare upset her? His jaw clenched as he stepped closer.

She looked up, eyes red and wet, and whispered his name.

“Zamil…”

Before he could ask, she pushed back from the chair and stumbled toward him, clutching the paper in her hand. Her voice cracked, desperate.

“I tried… I tried to balance it, solve the amount, but it’s been two hours! It’s not coming, and tomorrow……tomorrow is the exam…”

He stared at her, speechless for a moment, almost dumbfounded. Of all the reasons to cry, she was breaking down over a stubborn equation.

A corner of his mouth twitched, but his voice came low and steady.

“Wait. Let me change first.”

Minutes later, he was beside her, sleeves rolled up, the cold edge in him replaced by a strange patience. He leaned over the desk, scanning her messy calculations, and began to explain. His voice was calm, firm, methodical…numbers that once looked like enemies to her started making sense under his guidance.

One topic bled into another, and soon Ayat found herself nodding along, her pen moving quickly. The clock crept past midnight, her tears long dried, replaced by determination.

Finally, she leaned back with a sigh of relief. “I think I get it now…” Her stomach growled softly, betraying her, and she laughed under her breath, cheeks warming.

It was then she blinked at him and asked, almost guiltily, “Did you… eat dinner?”

“No,” he said simply, eyes still on the notes. “I didn’t feel like eating.”

Her brows knit. “Zamil… I haven’t eaten either. I was so busy with this…”

He studied her for a second, then pushed up from the chair without a word. Pulling out his phone, his voice turned sharp again, the tone he used when commanding his men.

“Bring dinner to the room.”

Ayat watched him, her heart strangely at ease. This man so ruthless outside, so feared….was sitting at her desk teaching her algebra at midnight and ordering food because she forgot to eat.

___________

The morning sun broke through the tall curtains of the mansion, spilling gold across the room. Ayat stirred awake, her books still piled at the corner of the desk, a reminder of the night before. Her stomach twisted with nerves….the day of her final exam had arrived.

She rushed through her routine, hijab pinned neatly, bag slung over her shoulder. As she came into the lounge, she nearly stopped in her tracks.

Zamil was there, already dressed for his day, sipping black coffee. He set the cup down when his eyes caught hers. For a moment, he just studied her face, the faint worry still in her eyes.

“Don’t overthink,” he said simply, his tone calm but carrying weight. “You know everything you need.”

Ayat blinked, surprised at his words. “What if I forget in the exam hall? Sometimes it just… slips.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “You won’t forget. You’ve worked for this. Trust yourself.”

The steadiness in his voice eased something inside her. She smiled, just a little, whispering, “Thank you…”

As she headed toward the door, he added, almost too casually, “Ayat.”

She turned, waiting.

“Pass this exam,” he said, picking his coffee back up. “I don’t like failure under my roof.”

Her lips parted in shock, then curved into a half-smile. Typical Zamil…encouragement wrapped in iron. Still, her heart felt lighter as she left, her steps quicker, her mind clearer.

_______________

The office was quiet except for the sound of papers sliding across polished wood. Zamil leaned back in his chair, cigarette burning low between his fingers. One of his men placed a file on the desk with both hands, almost as if afraid to breathe too loud.

“Here’s the information you wanted, boss,” the man said.

Zamil flipped the file open, eyes narrowing as he scanned the documents. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“So,” he murmured, voice low, dangerous, “let’s see how he takes something that doesn’t belong to him.”

Before the man could respond, the door creaked open and in strolled Yousef, grinning like he owned the place. He flopped down on the couch opposite Zamil, stretching his arms dramatically.

“You don’t have any meetings today,” Yousef announced, pointing a finger at him. “So why not do something useful for once?”

Zamil didn’t even glance up. “Like what?”

“Like a race.”

That made Zamil finally look at him, one brow lifting. “A race?”

“Yes, boss,” Yousef said, smirking. “You, me, the cars. Unless, of course, you’re scared of losing to me.”

Zamil let out a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “You think I’d waste fuel proving a point to you?”

Yousef leaned forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on, it’s not about wasting fuel. It’s about pride, speed, and… watching your face when I leave you behind.”

Zamil stubbed out his cigarette, finally standing. His expression was unreadable, but there was the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.

“You talk too much,” he said, grabbing his keys. “Let’s go.”

Yousef laughed out loud, clapping his hands. “That’s what I’m talking about! Watch out, New York, the kings are hitting the road.”

They both headed toward the garage to change. Zamil shrugged out of his shirt, pulling on the leather jacket meant for the ride. His back was turned when Yousef’s eyes caught the scar …. a deep mark carved across his skin, faintly raised but permanent.

For a moment, Yousef froze, the banter dying in his throat. In a low voice, almost as if speaking to himself, he said, “This mark… it’s still here.”

Zamil paused mid-movement but didn’t look back. The silence stretched, heavy with an unspoken memory.

Yousef’s mind flashed back to Turkey. The chaos. The explosion. Smoke, fire, people screaming, scrambling to live. And then…..that split second when the iron rod came crashing down, aimed for him. Zamil had shoved him aside, taking the blow himself. The blood. The burn. The pain. Yet he hadn’t stopped, hadn’t faltered, dragging Yousef through the smoke toward the docks where the dark water waited to carry them away.

They had escaped like ghosts, hidden in the belly of a ship that smuggled them across the sea, until Pakistan’s shores swallowed them whole.

Yousef shook his head softly, forcing a grin to mask the heaviness in his chest. “Still saving my life, even years later,” he muttered, louder this time, his tone back to light.

Zamil finally turned, meeting his eyes for a second before pulling the jacket fully on. He said nothing, but that faint glint in his gaze …. the one that flickered only when Yousef was around….spoke enough.

Zamil came closer without a word, snatching the helmet from Yousef’s hand. Before Yousef could react, Zamil pushed it down onto his head, tightening the strap firmly under his chin.

“Ow….easy, man!” Yousef protested, half-laughing, half-choking. “I still need my jaw for the ladies.”

Zamil ignored him completely, pulling up his zipper like he was dressing a kid for school. His face didn’t change, but Yousef swore he saw the corner of his lips twitch.

“You think I’m five?” Yousef grumbled, smirking.

“Four,” Zamil replied flatly, stepping back and pulling on his own gloves.

Yousef burst out laughing, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

The garage echoed as both engines came alive, thunder rumbling outside as the first drops of rain began to fall. The wet concrete glistened under the dim lights, the perfect stage for a reckless race.

They took off together, wheels screeching against the slick road, cutting through the city like streaks of black lightning. The rain poured heavier, cold against their faces, but the thrill drowned everything else.

For once, Yousef managed to stay ahead, leaning low, grinning behind his helmet. He turned his head just enough to shout through the storm, “Not so invincible now, huh, boss?”

Zamil’s bike stayed steady behind him, his posture calm, collected, like a predator waiting for the right moment. But before Zamil could close the gap, Yousef’s tires skidded against the wet road.

In a heartbeat, the bike spun, sliding out from under him. The world blurred, metal crashing against asphalt, sparks flying in the rain.

Zamil’s chest tightened. His hand slammed the brake, tires screeching as he skidded to a stop. For a second, everything around him blurred….the rain, the thunder, the empty street.

Zamil dropped his bike on the side of the road and ran to him, the rain soaking through his clothes as his boots splashed against the water. He dropped to his knees beside Yousef, grabbing his shoulder.

“Why do you always give me a heart attack with your silliness?” His voice was tight, sharp with anger but trembling underneath.

Yousef groaned, rolling slightly but managing a crooked grin despite the pain. “Relax, boss… just a little scratch.” He let out a laugh, then winced and added, “Say it, come on… Habibi, you love me.”

Zamil’s jaw clenched. “Shut up,” he muttered, already pulling him up carefully. But Yousef kept laughing through his growls of pain, leaning against him.

“Just admit it once, bro, the world won’t end.”

Zamil didn’t answer. He hooked Yousef’s arm over his shoulder and half-dragged him to the bike. The rain was still pouring, but he managed to get him onto the back seat like he was strapping a child in.

“Hospital. Now.”

“Hospital?” Yousef groaned. “For what? My pride?”

“Your brain, if you have one left,” Zamil shot back, revving the engine.

Minutes later, they walked into the familiar sterile hallway, their boots leaving wet tracks. Doctor Adam lifted his eyes from a clipboard, sighed, and shook his head with a smile as soon as he saw them.

“I don’t even need to ask. I already know,” he said, walking closer. His eyes landed on Yousef. “What did you do this time?”

“Won the race,” Yousef replied proudly, though Zamil’s glare instantly betrayed the truth.

Doctor Adam chuckled, checking his arm quickly. “Just scratches. Nothing serious. But maybe I should put you in a cage instead of prescribing medicine.”

Yousef grinned wide. “At least make it a golden cage.”

Zamil exhaled, finally relaxing, though he didn’t let go of his stern expression.

The rain still tapped against the windows when they settled inside Yousef’s house. Zamil made sure he was stretched out on the sofa, blanket thrown over him despite his grumbling.

“You’re staying here tonight,” Zamil said simply.

Yousef smirked through the sting in his arm. “So protective. Careful, Zamil, people might think you actually care.”

Zamil didn’t bother answering. He just pulled out his phone, stepped into the hall, and dialed home.

Ayat picked up after a ring, her voice soft. “Zamil?”

“I won’t be home tonight,” he said, tone even. “Something came up.”

There was a pause, then a quiet, “Alright.”

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, walked back into the living room, and dropped into the armchair across from Yousef.

“Sleep,” Zamil ordered.

Yousef chuckled, eyes already heavy. “Habibi, you really are staying… Just admit it, you’d miss me too much.”

Zamil leaned back, cold as ever. “Sleep, before I change my mind.”

And with that, the house fell into silence, the only sound the rain and Yousef’s soft laughter fading into sleep.

---

Guys tell me which character is your favorite?

For me Yousef is my favorite Character… Tho he’s a trouble maker but he’s life line of our Zamil.. 😭❣️

What about you guys??? 🧐

Chapter 25

قلبي مثل السيف لا يلين،

ومن خان العهد لا ينجو من العين.

My heart is like a sword, it does not soften,

And whoever betrays the oath will not escape the eyes “

_______________________________________________________

Finally the day come and today is the night before graduation, Ayat’s room was lit with a warm golden glow, her wardrobe wide open and half the bed covered with dresses she had pulled out one by one. She held up a pale blue one, then shook her head, tossing it aside with a sigh. Her excitement was real, but so was the nervous flutter in her chest.

When the door opened behind her, she turned, the fabric still in her hands. Zamil was there, standing quiet, watching her with that unreadable expression.

“You’re home,” she said softly, setting the dress back. Then, almost childlike, she asked, “Will you come tomorrow? On my graduation day?”

Zamil stepped further inside, his voice steady. “Yes.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, but her eyes were shining in a way she couldn’t hide. She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting in her lap. “It’s just… I always thought my parents would be there. My mother would be fussing over what I wear, my father would be waiting with flowers… but they’re not.” Her voice broke at the end, barely a whisper.

For a long moment, the room was silent. Then Zamil moved closer, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. He didn’t speak empty comforts….he wasn’t that man. Instead, he rested his hand on her shoulder, firm and grounding.

“They would have been proud,” he said quietly. “And tomorrow, you’ll walk that stage, not alone… but with their pride.”

Ayat blinked rapidly, trying to swallow back the tears. She gave a small nod, and then, almost instinctively, leaned just slightly toward him.

For the first time that night, her excitement pushed through the ache. She glanced back at the dresses with a weak laugh. “Then you’d better be ready to sit through a very long ceremony… and help me decide what to wear.”

Zamil exhaled through his nose, something close to a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’ll look fine in anything, Ayat.”

Her heart caught at that…simple words, but from him, they meant everything.

_________

The graduation hall was alive with the weight of dreams. Families filled the seats, the air buzzing with laughter, applause, and the faint rustle of gowns. Among the crowd, Zamil walked in with Yousef by his side, both drawing eyes as if they didn’t belong to this place but owned it nonetheless. Zamil in his dark suit, silent and commanding, Yousef with his careless grin and easy charm.

Ayat’s heart leapt the moment she spotted them. She quickly turned away, afraid her smile would give too much away.

When her name was finally called, she walked to the stage, her steps trembling but her back straight. The degree was handed to her, the applause rose, but her eyes sought only one figure.

Before leaving the stage, she leaned to the microphone. Her voice shook at first but steadied with each word. “I want to thank everyone who believed in me… and especially the one who stood by me when I thought I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t be here without that support.”

She didn’t name him. She didn’t have to.

Zamil’s jaw tightened, a flicker passing over his face before he quickly masked it. Yousef nudged him with his elbow, whispering with a grin, “That’s you, Zak. Try not to blush.”

When the ceremony ended, Ayat rushed down the steps like a child running to him. She held out her degree with both hands, her eyes sparkling through tears. “Zamil! Look, I did it!”

For the briefest second, he let himself smile. “I can see that.”

Yousef clapped her on the back dramatically, almost knocking the degree from her hand. “Mabrook, (congratulations )You did it! Tonight, we party.”

Zamil ignored his theatrics and reached into his coat, pulling out a sleek black file. He handed it to Ayat. “Your gift.”

She blinked, confused. “What… what is this?”

“Open it,” he said simply.

Her hands shook as she flipped it open. Her eyes darted over the official seals, the signatures, the company letterhead. Recognition hit her like a wave, her breath catching in her throat. “This… this is my father’s company.”

Zamil’s gaze was steady, unflinching. “It belongs to you. It always has. This is your right, Ayat.”

The noise of the hall seemed to fade. Her lips parted, but no words came. She clutched the file to her chest, her tears spilling freely now…not of grief this time, but of pride, of belonging, of being seen.

For once, Ayat couldn’t find the words, so she did the only thing her heart knew….she threw her arms around him, her degree still clutched in one hand, burying her face against the man who had given her back a piece of her lost world.

Even Zamil, cold and guarded, couldn’t stop his hand from resting lightly against her back.

And Yousef, watching the moment, let out a loud whistle. “Ya Allah, what a scene! If I don’t cry too, I’ll be cursed.”

Ayat laughed through her tears, Zamil shook his head, and for a moment, the hall felt like it belonged only to them.

__________

The morning after graduation, the entire city was buzzing. Screens in cafés, on the streets, and in offices all lit up with the breaking news banner.

“Breaking: Khalil International Stock Exchange sees a shocking turn of events. CEO Mr. Khalid Al Wahab has been arrested on charges of illegally taking over the company, fraud, and his alleged involvement in the suspicious death of former CEO, Mr. Khalil Al Wahab, as well as the kidnapping of his daughter, Miss Ayat Al Khalil. Sources confirm that Mr. Khalid has been sentenced to life imprisonment. Effective immediately, the rightful heir, Ayat Al Khalil, assumes ownership of Khalil International.”

Ayat sat frozen on the couch in the mansion’s lounge, her eyes glued to the television. Her hands trembled as the news anchor’s words replayed in her head. Kidnapping of his daughter… rightful heir… Khalil International now belongs to her.

Her throat tightened. The weight of her father’s legacy, of everything she thought was lost, now sat in her lap as heavy as the degree she had just earned.

She whispered, almost to herself, “Baba… it’s mine again…”

Behind her, Zamil leaned against the doorframe, silent. His expression unreadable, but his eyes never left her. He had seen this moment coming, planned it, paved the way for it…but watching her live it, watching her shoulders shake with tears that mixed grief and pride, it struck deeper than he cared to admit.

Ayat finally turned, tears streaking her cheeks. Her gaze met his, full of questions, gratitude, and disbelief. “You… you knew?”

Zamil’s face remained calm, his tone even. “I don’t deal in half measures, Ayat. What’s stolen must be taken back. Khalil International was never theirs. It was always yours.”

Her lips trembled. She wanted to say a thousand things…thank you, why, how…but all that came out was a broken whisper. “This… this changes everything.”

Zamil walked past her, his presence steady as a shadow, and sat down on the opposite couch. He poured himself a glass of water, his eyes finally flicking back to hers.

“No,” he said, voice cold but edged with something softer beneath. “It just puts everything back where it belongs.”

Ayat was still holding the file to her chest as if it were too heavy to set down. She looked at Zamil with wide, trembling eyes.

“Zamil… I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never run a business in my life. I don’t even know where to start.”

Her voice cracked, and she sank onto the couch opposite him, her degree certificate forgotten on the table between them.

He studied her for a long moment, his gaze sharp but not unkind. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You don’t have to know everything now,” he said, his tone calm, decisive. “You’ll work with me. You’ll learn step by step, the same way I learned…by doing. Until then, I’ll handle the company myself. Nothing will slip through.”

Her eyes searched his face, unsure if she could trust herself to carry her father’s legacy. But his certainty, the weight of his voice, settled something inside her.

“You’ll… take charge?” she asked quietly.

He gave a single nod. “It’s the only way to keep Khalil International secure. But remember….this is yours, Ayat. Not mine. One day you’ll run it without me. Until then, you stand beside me.”

Something inside her steadied at those words. She exhaled slowly, nodding back. “Alright… I’ll learn. From you.”

For the first time that night, Zamil’s expression softened, almost a shadow of approval flickering across his face. He leaned back in his chair, watching her with a quiet intensity.

“Good,” he said simply. “Then tomorrow, your real education begins.”

Ayat lowered her gaze, hiding the small smile tugging at her lips. For the first time, the thought of stepping into her father’s world didn’t feel impossible. Not with Zamil standing there like an unmovable wall beside her.

_________

The glass walls of Zamil’s office framed the skyline of New York, heavy clouds gathering as if to mirror the storm inside him. Papers were spread across the long mahogany desk, but his attention wasn’t on them.

Across the hall, through the transparent divider, Ayat sat at her own desk. Her head was bent, her pen gliding quickly over notes, lips moving faintly as she whispered through business terms he had drilled into her earlier. She had pushed her sleeves neatly back, her hijab pinned perfectly in place, and the determination on her face was something that drew him in despite himself.

Zamil leaned against the window, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her like she was both his strength and his weakness.

The door clicked open and Yousef slipped inside, his presence lighter than usual but his eyes sharp. He followed Zamil’s gaze and smirked faintly. “So that’s what’s been keeping you locked up in this tower.”

Zamil didn’t respond immediately, only exhaled slowly, his jaw tight.

Yousef came closer, lowering his voice. “You’ve been spending every hour with her. Don’t tell me this is just… teaching.”

Finally, Zamil spoke, his voice low, steady, but carrying weight like steel. “She saved my life once. This is my way of returning it.”

Yousef frowned. “Returning it? You make it sound like a debt.”

“It is a debt,” Zamil cut in, his gaze never leaving Ayat through the glass. “And once it’s paid… once she can stand on her own feet… I’ll divorce her.”

Yousef blinked, stunned. “What?”

Zamil finally turned, his eyes cold but flickering with something he couldn’t hide. “She doesn’t belong in my world. With me, she’ll never be safe. The longer she stays by my side, the closer danger will come for her. I won’t let that happen.”

A silence fell between them, broken only by the faint tapping of Ayat’s pen against her notebook.

Yousef swallowed hard, searching his friend’s face. “And you think letting her go will be easy? You’re lying to yourself, Zamil. The way you look at her…” he nodded toward the window, toward the girl still lost in her work, “…it’s not the look of a man ready to walk away.”

For a moment, Zamil’s mask slipped. His eyes softened, his lips parting as if to speak, but he forced the emotion down, hiding it behind the same iron wall he had lived behind for years.

“She deserves a life untouched by blood and shadows,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Even if it means she lives it without me.”

Through the glass, Ayat lifted her head just then, catching sight of him. She smiled…a small, bright smile and gave him a little wave before diving back into her notes.

And in that second, Zamil’s entire resolve cracked, though he said nothing.

The silence between Zamil and Yousef hung like smoke in the glass office, heavy and unspoken. Zamil stood at the wide window, his hands resting behind his back, eyes fixed on the city skyline that stretched out beneath him. Yousef leaned against the desk, arms crossed, trying to process the words he had just heard.

Before he could open his mouth, his phone buzzed sharply, breaking the thick quiet. He glanced at the screen, and his face shifted.

“It’s Uncle,” Yousef muttered, his tone tense. He quickly answered.

“Yousef, kahan ho? Zamil kahan hai?”(Yousef where are you? And where’s Zamil?)

The man’s voice thundered down the line, urgent and breathless. “Headquarters mein masla ho gaya hai. Kisi ne hamari latest weapon ka formula chura liya hai.”

(There’s a problem in the headquarters.Someone has stolen our latest weapon formula.)

Yousef froze for a heartbeat, his knuckles whitening around the phone. He darted a look at Zamil, whose expression had already turned into stone the moment he heard the word formula.

“Uncle… formula?” Yousef repeated slowly, as if hoping he’d misheard.

“Yes!” the man’s voice cracked under strain. “It’s been stolen. We don’t know how far it’s gone. Zamil ko foran bhejo…abhi!”

(Send Zamil…Now!)

Zamil finally turned, eyes sharp, jaw clenched. He didn’t need to hear the rest. That single word had already shifted him into another state of mind.

“Give me the phone,” he said, his voice low but commanding.

Yousef handed it over without hesitation, watching the way Zamil’s presence seemed to fill the entire room, as if the empire itself had just been threatened.

The call ended as abruptly as it began, and Zamil tossed the phone back to Yousef. His expression was unreadable, but the fire in his eyes told enough….this wasn’t just business, this was war.

At that exact moment, the office door creaked open. Ayat stepped inside, holding a file close to her chest. She had that quiet excitement about her, like she was proud of herself for finishing something on her own.

But when she met Zamil’s gaze, her smile faltered. There was something in his face she had never seen before….a storm brewing, silent but dangerous.

“Zamil… I finished these reports,” she said softly, placing the file on his desk.

He didn’t look at the file. He didn’t even move toward it. Instead, he closed the distance between them in a few steps. His voice was calm, but too calm, and it carried the weight of command.

“Pack your things,” he said.

Ayat blinked. “Pack? Why?”

“Because you’re leaving for Pakistan,” he replied, tone clipped, decisive. “And not just you…me as well. It’s no longer safe for you here. The driver will take you back to the mansion. Be quick, Ayat.”

Her brows furrowed, confusion flashing in her eyes, but before she could ask, he had already turned. His hand swept the car keys from the table, and without another glance, he left the room with Yousef at his side.

Ayat stood frozen, the words echoing in her mind. Pakistan? Safe? None of it made sense. She clutched the file tighter, her heart racing. Something told her this wasn’t just about business anymore.

---

Guys are you ready to land in Pakistan 😂🙂 pray guys Zamil will find out whose behind his parents death..

And yeah there journey to Pakistan will be The great memory…

Chapter 26

“أحببتك بلا منطق،

كأن قلبي تآمر على عقلي…

وتركهُ خاسرًا أمامك.”

“I loved you without logic,

As if my heart conspired against my mind…

And left it defeated before you.”

_______________________________________________________

The private jet touches down at Jinnah International Airport, night sky heavy with clouds, Karachi’s neon lights flickering in the distance. The air smells of salt and dust, thick with the noise of horns and endless movement.

As the jet doors opened, Zamil stepped out first, his black suit cutting sharp against the floodlights. Yousef followed, grinning despite the tension, and Ayat trailed close behind, her hijab fluttering gently in the warm breeze.

At the bottom of the stairs, an old man stood waiting with authority written in every wrinkle of his face. Khwaja Farooq Hussain a name that carried weight in Pakistan’s top businessman. His eyes softened the moment they fell on Zamil and Yousef.

“Ahh, my boys,” he said, voice thick with age and affection. He pulled Yousef into a tight embrace, patting his back like a son long lost. Then he clasped Zamil by the shoulders, staring into his cold eyes before wrapping him in the kind of hug only family could give.

“And this…” Farooq turned, his face breaking into a wide smile as he looked at Ayat. “My daughter-in-law. Finally, I meet you.”

Ayat blinked, surprised, her lips parting before she managed a shy smile. He raised his hands in prayer over her head, whispering blessings, then motioned for one of the guards.

“She goes home,” Farooq ordered gently. “Make sure she is safe.”

Ayat hesitated, glancing at Zamil. His eyes met hers for a brief second, unreadable, before he gave the smallest nod. She followed the guard into a waiting black SUV, her heart twisting as she watched Zamil and Yousef remain behind.

Once she was gone, Farooq’s expression shifted…warmth melting into sharp steel. He looked at the two men, lowering his voice.

“There is no time to rest. Straight to headquarters. We’ve been hit where it hurts, and I need you both to see it with your own eyes.”

Zamil slid into the lead SUV without a word, Yousef following, his grin gone now.

_______________

The convoy cut through Karachi’s midnight traffic like a blade, headlights carving the humid air until they stopped at a towering black-glass building fortified with guards and steel gates. This was the heart of Zamil’s empire in Pakistan, the Al Mansur headquarters.

Inside, the air reeked of smoke and stress. Men in suits moved like shadows, voices low, eyes sharp. Maps, files, and screens littered the long conference table. The moment Zamil stepped in, the room fell into a brittle silence.

Farooq Hussain followed with Yousef, his cane tapping the marble floor, but his presence carried the authority of someone who had been here long before any of them. A man in his forties rushed forward, sweat beading on his forehead. He dropped the file on the table like it burned him.

“Boss… this is the file. They breached our system. The formula for the new weapon… gone.” His hands shook as he pushed the papers across.

Zamil pulled out a chair and sat, his calm a dangerous thing. He scanned the pages with the patience of a predator reading tracks. His jaw flexed once, twice.

“In whose hands?” His voice was low, dangerous, like a blade being drawn.

“We’re tracing,” the man answered, but his certainty was thin. “They knew exactly what to take. No prints. No trails.”

A murmur ran through the room. Yousef leaned against the table, eyes narrowing. “This isn’t a random job. This is an inside hand. Someone close.”

Zamil’s face went still and then went colder. He stood up so fast the chair scraped. One of the security captains, a stocky man who’d been head of the night shifts, stepped forward, words stumbling. Before anyone could process what was happening, he dropped to his knees in front of Zamil.

“Boss… One man is missing, who was in charge that night…please…let us find him. We’ll find him. I swear on my life…” The captain’s voice cracked, desperation spilling into the marble hall.

Zamil didn’t speak. He moved to the nearest drawer, pulled out a pistol with the casual efficiency of a man who had never needed to ask permission, and pressed it to the captain’s temple. The room exhaled in terror. Men froze, some with hands half-raised, others with faces going pale.

“Tell me where he is,” Zamil said, each word a slow stone. “Tell me the name and I’ll decide whether you live to give it to me.”

The captain’s knees scraped the floor as he tried to raise his face. “We…we’re tracking, boss. We have leads , Pakistan, Dubai, Italy…everyone’s on it. Please….please don’t….”

The pistol trembled in Zamil’s hand. He could see the man’s breath stutter. He could feel the whole damn room focused on the tip of that gun. For a heartbeat he considered the clean, final answer the world would accept and the noise that would follow.

“Zak, no.” Yousef’s voice cut through like a blade of a different kind. He sprang forward and took Zamil’s arm, trying to wrench the weapon away. Farooq moved faster than anyone expected, stepping between them and gripping Zamil’s shoulder with the steady force of an old anchor.

“Zamil,” Farooq said quietly, but his voice carried. “Not here. Not like this. We get them …we get them, but not on the knees of our men.”

For a long second Zamil’s fingers clasped the pistol so tight his knuckles whitened. The fight in him roared; the calculated cruelty he could unleash pressed at the edges of his restraint. Then, as if something older and harder inside him decided, he let the pistol lower. He didn’t hand it over. He didn’t look away from the kneeling captain. He only stepped back, shoulders rigid.

“I give you twenty-four hours,” he said, voice cold enough to burn. “Find him, or the next time I come, I won’t be speaking.”

Without another word, he turned and left the room. The sound of his coat sliding through the doorway was the only punctuation they got.

Yousef sank back against the table, anger and relief warring across his face. Farooq’s hand lingered on Zamil’s retreating figure like a benediction and a warning both.

__________________

The rain tapped against the warehouse roof, shadows stretching long across the dim light. A man sat at the head of the table, face hidden beneath the brim of his cap.

A guard entered quickly. “Boss… Zamil has closed all sea routes. No shipments can leave. We’re stuck here.”

For a moment, silence. Then the man’s voice…low, controlled, dangerous.

“Then we don’t take the sea. Prepare the jet. Tonight… we go to Karachi.”

The guard hesitated only a second before hurrying out. The boss stood, his coat falling into place, and glanced at the map on the table. A thin smile touched his lips.

“Seal one door, another opens. Let Zamil wait…I’ll meet him on his own soil.”

With that, he disappeared into the night, bound for Pakistan.

________________

The car eased to a halt at the gates of the Hussain Mansion, and Ayat stepped out, clutching her bag nervously. To her surprise, four or five women and children were already waiting at the entrance, their faces bright with anticipation.

An elderly lady stepped forward, her dupatta neatly draped, and immediately pulled Ayat into a motherly hug. She began speaking rapidly in Urdu, her tone affectionate, almost tearful.

Ayat froze, blinking, not understanding a single word.

From behind, a girl about her age stepped in, smiling reassuringly. “Hi,” she said in fluent English, her tone warm and playful. “I’m Laila Farooq. And this is my mother, Fatima.” She gestured toward the older lady, who was still holding Ayat’s hands tenderly.

Ayat exhaled in relief. “Oh… hello. Nice to meet you.”

Laila grinned, translating quickly, “She says she’s so happy to see you, and she already considers you her daughter.”

Ayat’s heart softened at that, though she still felt shy under all the sudden affection.

Then Laila pointed toward another woman standing a little further back, balancing two kids at her side. “That’s my sister-in-law, Hooria. She’s sweet but don’t let her silence fool you….she notices everything.”

The children peeked at Ayat shyly from behind their mother’s dupatta, whispering to each other.

Ayat smiled at them awkwardly and repeated softly, “Nice to meet you all.”

The older lady said something again in Urdu, and Laila laughed before translating. “Mother says you’re even more beautiful than she imagined, but she wants to know why Zamil doesn’t bring you here until now.”

Ayat’s cheeks heated. She bit her lip, muttering, “I… I don’t know…”

The whole group chuckled lightly at her flustered expression, while Ayat secretly thought, So this is his family? Then why did he tell me he has no one?

Laila guided Ayat inside the mansion, the air filled with chatter and warmth. The marble floors gleamed, and the hall smelled faintly of rosewater. Just as Ayat was about to sit, two little ones…a boy with mischievous eyes and a girl with two tiny braids came running forward.

“Assalamu Alaikum!” the boy said proudly, shaking her hand with all the seriousness he could muster. “My name is Ayaan.”

The girl followed quickly, her small hand slipping into Ayat’s. “I’m Mahnoor. You’re very beautiful.”

Ayat couldn’t help but smile, her heart softening. “Thank you, sweetheart. You both are beautiful too.”

Then, as if remembering something urgent, Ayaan looked up eagerly. “Did Yousef chacho(uncle )come too?”

Ayat nodded. “Yes, he did.”

Both kids squealed in delight, hopping in circles. Mahnoor tugged at Laila’s arm, babbling excitedly in Urdu about how they wanted to see him. Laila laughed and translated, “They absolutely adore Yousef. To them, he’s more fun than a magician.”

Ayat chuckled softly, thinking, Of course they do… I can imagine.

Later, when she was finally shown to a room upstairs, Ayat placed her bag down and turned curiously toward Laila. “But… Zamil told me his parents were dead. And now, there’s all of you? A whole family?”

Laila gave a knowing chuckle as she sat on the edge of the bed. “He wasn’t lying. His parents really did pass away when he was very young. But he spent most of his time here. My father was his father’s closest friend. After the tragedy, my father brought Zamil bahi ( brother )and Yousef here and told us, ‘From now on, they are my sons.’”

Ayat froze, her lips parting slightly. “So… that’s why…”

Laila nodded gently. “Exactly. To us, Zamil bahi isn’t an outsider. He’s family. That’s why my mother called you daughter today. Because if he is a son to my father, then you are their daughter.”

Ayat lowered her eyes, warmth and confusion tangling inside her chest. For so long she had believed Zamil was completely alone, a man carved out of his own shadows. But here, in this house, she saw pieces of belonging stitched quietly around his name.

Ayat was still sitting on the bed, turning Laila’s words over in her head when the door creaked open. Zamil stepped inside, tall and composed as always, his presence filling the room without effort. Before Ayat could even process, Laila jumped up with a grin.

“Bhai!” ( brother)she exclaimed, rushing to him.

Zamil’s cold features softened slightly as he lifted a hand and rested it gently on her head in affection. “Laila,” he said simply, acknowledging her with the kind of calm warmth Ayat had never seen in him before.

But Laila wasn’t about to let him get away with his usual silence. She crossed her arms dramatically. “AP Ayat ko phele kue nahi laye ? Kya AP jantii hai ye kitni khubsurat aur pyari hai? Hume to ye pasand hain.”

“Why didn’t you bring Ayat earlier? Do you have any idea how beautiful and sweet she is? We love her already!”

Zamil glanced at Ayat then, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment before sliding back to Laila. His lips curved in the faintest shadow of a smirk, though he didn’t answer the complaint. Instead, he just gave Laila’s head another pat, as if that was his way of dismissing her protest.

Ayat, sitting quietly, caught the exchange. A strange warmth spread in her chest watching this softer side of him, so different from the man who ruled boardrooms and silenced entire rooms with a single look.

Laila leaned closer to Ayat and whispered in English with a cheeky grin, “See? He pretends to be all stone-hearted. But here, he’s just our bhai.”

Ayat smiled faintly.

As Laila stand up to leave Zamil stopped her said calml

“Yousef ko sar dard hai. Woh apni dawai mang raha tha.”

“Yousef has a headache. He was asking for his medicine.”

Her eyes widened, her smile fading.

She said with concerned,“Allah! Apne pehle kyun nahin bataya? Main usay dawai deti hoon.”

“Allah! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I’m going to give him medicine.”

Without another word, she rushed down the corridor, her dupatta flying behind her.

Zamil exhaled quietly, stepping into the room where Ayat was waiting. He opened the wardrobe, pulling clothes out with steady hands, his silence weighing heavily in the space.

Ayat, still puzzled from the exchange, tilted her head and said,“What was she saying?”

Zamil glanced at her briefly before turning back to the wardrobe, and answered ,“She said… she liked you.”

Ayat blinked, surprised, but before she could respond, he added in a deeper, steadier tone and said,“It was urgent. There was a problem in the office . You’ll have to adjust… until I finish my work.”

His words left her unsettled. She leaned forward, her voice low with concern,“What happened?”

For the first time, his movements slowed. He gripped the wardrobe door, his back still facing her. His voice dropped, weighted and raw, “Something bad happened… pray that I find them.”

With that, he picked up his clothes and walked toward the washroom. The door clicked shut, and soon the muffled sound of water filled the silence.

Ayat sat quietly, her heart heavy. She folded her hands in her lap and whispered under her breath, a prayer for Zamil, for Yousef, for whatever darkness lingered around them.

________________

The hallway was quiet when Laila reached Yousef’s room, holding the small bottle of medicine in her hand. Without knocking, she pushed the door open….

And froze.

Water trickled down Yousef’s chest as he stood near the dresser, towel around his shoulders, droplets sliding over his bare skin. The sudden intrusion made both of them shout.

She screamed and said, “Ya Allah! Yeh kya hai?!”

“Oh God! What is this?!”

He equally startled and said,“Laila! Tum pagal ho? Darwaza knock karna nahi aata?”

“Laila! Are you crazy? Don’t you know how to knock?”

Her face turned crimson as she whipped around, staring at the floor. Behind her, Yousef scrambled, tugging his shirt over his head in a rush.

At that very moment, Hooria appeared at the doorway, her brows furrowed, she was curious an said,” Sab theek hai, Yousef bhai?”

“Is everything okay, Yousef brother?”

Yousef’s eyes flicked nervously toward Laila before forcing a calm smile and said,“Haan… kuch nahi. Bas hair dryer se current lag gaya tha.”

“Yes… nothing serious. Just got a shock from the hair dryer.”

Hooria eyed them for a second, then left. Silence fell heavy again.

Laila turned back, her expression sharp, almost dangerous.

She said, “Bina shirt ke kya kar rahe the aap?”

“What were you doing without a shirt?”

Yousef blinked at her, half annoyed, half amused and said,“Yeh mera kamra hai. Tum bina knock kiye andar aa gayi.”

“This is my room. You walked in without knocking.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she held out the medicine and said, “Main dawai dene aayi thi. Zamil bhai ne kaha aapko sar dard hai.”

“I came to give you medicine. Zamil bhai said you have a headache.”

Yousef extended his hand and said ,“Toh do na.”

“Then give it to me.”

But something shifted in her eyes. She looked at him for a long second, then pulled the medicine back. A small, mischievous smile curved on her lips.

She said, “Lagta hai dard toh theek ho gaya hai. Ab aapko dawai ki zaroorat nahi.”

“Looks like your pain is already gone. You don’t need this medicine anymore.”

Before he could protest, she turned on her heel and walked out, the bottle still in her hand.

Yousef stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway. His hand slowly dropped to his side, his chest tightening with something unusual.

He muttered under his breath, almost to himself, “Ya Khuda… yeh ladki toh sirf dard nahi… dil ki dharkan bhi ban rahi hai.”

“Oh God… this girl is not just a headache… she’s becoming the beat of my heart.”

---

Guys finally we found someone as stubborn as Yousef congratulations 👏 🎉 😂😂😭😭

Chapter 27

لَمْ يَكُنْ حُبًّا، بَلْ قَدَرًا كَتَبَتْهُ السَّمَاءُ،

فَكُلَّمَا هَرَبَا، أَعَادَهُمَا الْحَنِينُ إِلَى نَفْسِ الطَّرِيقِ.

It wasn’t love, it was fate written by the sky,

Each time they ran, longing led them back to the same road.

❤️😌✨

______________________________________________________

The night had turned cold, the kind of chill that crawled under the skin.

It was late Octobe, Karachi’s sky was cloaked in restless clouds, and the wind whispered against the walls of the Al Mansur Headquarters, a fortress hidden on the outskirts of the city.

From the outside, it looked like a simple industrial estate, steel walls, cargo trucks, motion sensors.

But beneath it, a world breathed that few men survived.

Down the narrow staircase, past the metal doors and biometric locks, lay the basement , Zamil’s personal chamber of truth.

Dim amber lights flickered against concrete walls stained by time and screams.

The air was thick with gun oil, smoke, and something heavier… fear.

A man sat there …. shirtless, chained to a steel chair bolted to the floor.

Heavy links cut into his wrists; his chest bore raw burn marks, fresh and deep, as if fire itself had fed on him.

Sweat trickled down his neck; the floor beneath him was wet with blood and tears.

A clock ticked somewhere in the distance.

Every sound in that silence felt like a blade scraping against nerves.

And then the door opened.

Bootsteps echoed down the corridor. Slow. Controlled.

The kind that made even the guards standing near the wall straighten in silent dread.

Zamil Al Mansur walked in.

Black suit. No tie. Sleeves rolled to his forearms.

Every movement held precision, every breath, power.

The shadows themselves seemed to shift out of his way.

Behind him came Yousef and Khwaja Farooq Hussain.

The calm, strategic Yousef, but tonight, that calm had vanished. His eyes were sharp, unreadable, his silence colder than the winter air creeping in from above.

And Khwaja, broad, dangerous, carrying that heavy aura of a man who had seen death too often and never flinched from it.

The prisoner tried to speak, but fear tangled his tongue.

His voice cracked as he whispered, “M-Mercy… please, I didn’t mean….”

Zamil stepped closer, and the chains rattled.

His shadow fell over the man’s trembling body.

“Does betrayal,” he said softly, voice steady and cold,

“also ask for mercy?”

The words hung in the air like a verdict.

He turned slightly. “He’s too noisy.”

A man from the corner moved forward ,one of Zamil’s soldiers.

No words, just obedience.

Steel flashed and silence followed, broken only by a muffled scream.

Zamil’s eyes didn’t blink.

He picked up the gun from the table beside him, weighed it in his hand, and looked at the man once more.

“Still too noisy,” he murmured and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot tore through the air, echoing off the stone walls.

When the smoke cleared, the room fell into utter silence , the kind that only death can create.

Zamil turned and walked away, boots clicking against the blood-stained floor.

Outside, in the control room, Ahmed waited.

“The original formula is safe, boss.”

A faint smirk curved Zamil’s lips. “I know.”

Flashback.

He had expected this long before it happened.

That weapon formula, the most valuable creation of his empire , was worth billions and could collapse nations if it fell into the wrong hands.

And Zamil knew greed better than anyone.

So, he hid the real one, sealed in a vault only his fingerprint could open, and left a flawless fake in its place.

When it was stolen, he didn’t stop it ,he let it happen.

He wanted to see who would dare.

He wanted them to feel like they had won.

But in Zamil’s world, every victory his enemies celebrated was just another step into his trap.

Flashback ends.

The sound of his phone vibrating broke the silence.

An unknown number flashed on the screen, but his lips curved into a knowing smirk.

He answered, his tone calm… almost amused.

“I was waiting for this… Detective Ray.”

A pause.

Then a voice on the other end, low and taunting, replied,

“Just like your father. I see the game runs in the bloodline. Now it’s more fun to play with you.”

Zamil’s expression didn’t change.

His voice dropped to a whisper that carried weight.

“I’m in.”

The line went dead.

But the war had just begun.

_________________

A dim hotel room overlooking the empty streets of Clifton, Detective Ray Carter sat frozen, the phone still in his hand.

The call had ended minutes ago, but Zamil’s words kept echoing in his head…

“I was waiting for this… Detective Ray.”

His jaw clenched. He stared at the phone screen, at the call log that now felt like a curse.

“How the hell did he find me?” he muttered under his breath.

Ray rose from his chair, pacing across the small room lit only by the orange glow of a desk lamp.

Files and photographs were scattered across the bed , satellite images of Karachi, a blueprint of a weapons plant, surveillance captures of Al Mansur Headquarters from miles away.

“Damn it…” he whispered, running a hand through his hair.

His phone buzzed again …. a message.

He grabbed it instantly.

Unknown Number: You should go back, detective. Karachi isn’t kind to strangers.

A cold chill crawled up his spine.

He looked out the window instinctively, scanning the street.

Cars moved slowly through puddles, people passed… but something felt wrong.

Too quiet. Too still.

He backed away from the window, heart pounding but face calm.

Then he laughed , a low, tired laugh that sounded more like anger.

“So this is how you play, huh, Al Mansur?”

He poured a glass of whiskey, hand steady this time.

“You’re good. But you’re not untouchable.”

On the bed, a file lay open ,Zamil’s photo, staring back at him.

Those same dark eyes that could freeze fire itself.

The caption beneath it read: Zamil Al Mansur – international arms trafficker. Status: Untraceable.

Ray raised the glass toward the photo like a toast.

“Well, congratulations, ghost,” he murmured. “You just found me first.”

_____________________

The convoy rolled through the iron gates of Hussain mansion,headlights slicing through the mist before vanishing into the courtyard.

Zamil stepped out first, his coat moving with the wind, the sharp scent of gunpowder still clinging faintly to him.

Behind him, Yousef and Khwaja Farooq followed , both men quiet, their expressions carved with fatigue and calculation.

The air inside the mansion was warm and calm, a stark contrast to the chaos they had left behind.

Amber lights glowed softly against the dark wood, and the faint echo of footsteps carried through the hall.

As they entered the main lounge, a deep, familiar voice came from behind the fireplace.

“Aj tum late aye ho, Zamil.”( “You came late tonight, Zamil.”)

Zamil paused mid-step.

He turned, and his expression changed ,not much, but enough to reveal something close to surprise.

Umar Farooq, Khwaja’s eldest son, stood there … tall, broad-shouldered, his salt-and-pepper beard trimmed neatly.

He had the calm of a businessman, the weight of experience in his posture, and eyes that held both intelligence and quiet dominance.

Zamil stepped forward, offering a faint nod.

“Expect nahi kyia tha ke aap atni juldi Dubai se ao gay.”

“Didn’t expect you back from Dubai this soon.”

Umar gave a short, restrained smile. “And miss the storm brewing in Karachi? Not a chance.”

They all settled around the long oak table , the heart of the mansion, where deals were discussed and family matters were decided.

Servants moved silently, pouring hot tea into crystal cups, the aroma of cardamom and mint filling the air.

“So…” Umar began after a sip, his tone casual but probing, “I heard something about the formula problem. What exactly happened?”

Before Zamil could answer, Yousef spoke.“Hum ne admi ko paker leyia hai, bahi.” “We caught the man behind it. Brother.”

Umar raised an eyebrow. “Efficient, as always.”

Zamil said nothing , his silence deliberate, his mind elsewhere.

No one in that room knew the full truth.

That the real mastermind ..Detective Ray .. was still out there, moving in the same city, closer than they imagined.

And Zamil had chosen to keep that secret, even from Yousef.

Khwaja Farooq cleared his throat, changing the tone of the room.

“Since everyone’s here,” he began, “I wanted to discuss something personal.”

Umar leaned back slightly, while Zamil looked up from his cup.

Khwaja continued, voice calm but firm.“It’s about Laila. There’s a proposal from a family in Lahore … the Sadaqi family. Successful businessmen, well-known in the textile sector. Decent people, I’ve met them personally.”

A pause followed , the kind that stretches between business and family.

“Of course, Laila’s opinion matters,” Khwaja added after a moment. “But before I speak to her, I wanted to know your thoughts too.”

Umar nodded slowly. “The Sadaqis are respectable. It’s a decent family, Father. If Laila’s comfortable, I’d say it’s a good match.”

Zamil sat quietly for a few seconds, then spoke his tone steady, but eyes thoughtful.

“I only want to know what Laila’s opinion is. Nothing should move forward without her word.”

The room went quiet.

Yousef stayed still, his eyes fixed on the cup in his hand , saying nothing, though his silence said enough.

Khwaja nodded, satisfied with the calm agreement around the table.

“Then it’s settled. Zamil you should speak to Laila tomorrow.”

Zamil give a short nod.

The clinking of cups filled the silence again.

Outside, the rain fell harder against the windows, as if echoing the quiet storm inside the hearts of those sitting there.

And among them only Zamil noticed how Yousef’s grip tightened on his teacup, the faintest tremor betraying the emotions he kept buried deep.

_____________

The ticking of the clock echoed faintly as Zamil pushed open his bedroom door. The faint scent of jasmine hung in the air ,soft and calming, like the peace he’d been chasing all night.

Ayat was there.

Curled under the blanket, breathing softly, the moonlight catching the loose strands of her hair.

Zamil exhaled .. a long, tired breath.

It had been a long night … blood, betrayal, and fire still burned in his mind. Yet here, in this quiet room, the chaos outside felt far away.

He unbuttoned the first three button of his shirt , unbuttoned his sleeves, and sank into the chair beside her bed. For a while, he said nothing just watched her.

There was something strange about watching someone sleep , especially someone who had unknowingly become the calm in his storm.

A faint smile touched his lips.

Once she learns everything… she won’t have to suffer with me anymore.

His hand moved unconsciously, brushing away the strands of hair that fell across her face soft, delicate, peaceful.

And right at that moment…

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Her phone alarm blared. Ayat stirred immediately, eyes blinking open.

Zamil froze, hand halfway between her and the phone, caught like a thief in his own room.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “You… when did you come?”

He straightened, clearing his throat.

“Just now.”

Ayat looked at the clock, eyes widening. “It’s almost prayer time.”

She stretched, stood up, and folded her arms. “Then what are you doing just standing there? You should also perform Salah, Mr. Al Mansur.”

Before he could say a word, she disappeared into the washroom, mumbling something about men needing reminders.

He shook his head slightly half amused, half stunned , then turned away, reaching for his phone when…

THUD!

Followed by a sharp scream.

“Ahhh…… my foot!”

Zamil’s head snapped toward the washroom door. “Ayat? What happened?”

“Water….. there’s…. I slipped!”

Without a second thought, Zamil pushed the door open. The sight made him freeze for a second . Ayat sitting on the floor, drenched from the water, one foot twisted slightly, her expression half in pain, half embarrassed.

She looked up. “Don’t just stand there like it’s a crime scene!”

He immediately knelt beside her, his voice low but firm.

“Can you walk?”

“I can’t even move, Zamil,” she hissed, glaring up at him.

And before she could say another word he scooped her up.

Just like that.

Her eyes went wide. “Hey…what are you doing…put me down! I’m not dying!”

“You talk too much,” he muttered, carrying her out of the washroom.

“It’s called communication.” she shot back, gripping his shirt.

He ignored her words but the corner of his lips curved into the faintest smirk.

He laid her gently on the bed, careful not to touch her injured foot.

“Stop moving,” he said quietly. “You’ll make it worse.”

Ayat crossed her arms, still flustered. “You could’ve at least warned me before turning into a hero.”

He looked up from her foot, his voice calm and soft now.

“If I waited for permission, you’d still be lying on the floor.”

That made her go silent for a second … then she muttered under her breath,

“Cold as always.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“What did you say?”

She gave him that innocent smile “Nothing….”

Zamil crouched beside the bed, rolling up the sleeve of his black shirt. His face was unreadable …the same cold, calm expression he used in meetings before destroying someone’s empire.

She gulped.

“Uh… you do know what you’re doing, right?”

“Better than you do,” he replied, checking her ankle carefully.

Ayat hissed as his fingers brushed her skin. “Oww.. okay, okay ..gentle, I said gentle!”

“You fell like a soldier, not a feather,” he said dryly. “I’m surprised nothing’s broken.”

She shot him a glare. “Maybe because someone scared me like thunder himself.”

He ignored her complaint and held her foot firmly. “Stay still.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait… what are you….”

Before she could finish, he twisted her ankle slightly just enough to make her yelp.

“Zamil! Are you trying to break it!?”

He looked up at her, one brow raised. “If I wanted to break it, you’d know.”

“Not funny!” she snapped, clutching the pillow like a weapon.

He adjusted her foot one last time and suddenly, the pain eased. Ayat blinked, testing it carefully.

“Wait… it doesn’t hurt anymore?”

Zamil leaned back, his lips curving faintly.

“It was dislocated.”

She stared at him, half in awe, half in disbelief. “So you twisted my foot to fix it? Are you some secret doctor now?”

“No. Just a man who knows how to fix what’s broken.”

Ayat paused , the words hit differently. Her breath hitched for a moment before she quickly broke the silence.

“Well, next time, warn me before performing surgery on my bones.”

He gave a faint smirk. “You’d have screamed before I started.”

“I screamed after! Doesn’t make it better!”

Zamil stood up, walking to the dresser and grabbing a small towel. He tossed it toward her.

“Dry your face.”

She caught it, glaring at him.

He turned back toward her after drying his hands too.

“You’re not walking anywhere. Stay in bed.”

Ayat frowned. “And what about prayer?”

“Do it while sitting,” he said simply, checking his watch.

She squinted at him. “I wasn’t talking about me. I was talking about you.”

Zamil looked at her with that usual calm expression that said don’t push it.

“I’ll pray.”

She raised a brow, arms crossed. “Oh really? Or you don’t know how to?”

That made him stop mid-step. His eyes met hers …dark, sharp, and a little dangerous.

“Careful with your words, Ayat.”

She grinned. “So you do know how?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he moved to the corner of the room, rolled out the prayer mat, and began the Wudu quietly. The sound of water and then his voice reciting softly filled the room …calm, deep, grounding.

Ayat sat still, watching him.

He wasn’t the same man who had walked into the mansion a few hours ago, covered in someone else’s blood. Now, his face looked peaceful focused, controlled, like the fire inside him had finally found stillness.

When he finished, he folded the prayer mat neatly and turned only to find her still staring at him.

“Stop staring,” he said, his tone even. “I know I’m handsome.”

Ayat’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me!? Handsome? You’re an old man.”

He blinked slowly. “Old?”

She nodded seriously. “You’re what… thirty?”

Zamil crossed his arms. “Thirty is not old.”

“It is when you say it like you’re a grandpa,” she teased.

He stepped closer. “You’re just a child.”

“I’m not!” she protested.

He leaned slightly, smirking. “Then stop acting like one.”

“I’m just saying the truth! Thirty is ancient.”

Zamil came closer, his shadow falling over her as she sank slightly into the pillow. “Ancient?”

Ayat swallowed, realizing how close he was. “…Y-Yes.”

He leaned in a little more, just enough that she forgot how to breathe.

Her heart stuttered, her lashes fluttered closed and for a second, the world was still.

Then his voice, low and teasing:

“This old man,” he murmured, voice deep and teasing, “can still make you scream so loud, Habibti.”(My love).

Ayat froze, her face turning crimson. Her pulse kicked hard against her ribs as he straightened, walking toward the door like nothing happened.

Before leaving, he added over his shoulder, calm and composed,

“Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Ayat sat there, speechless, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Ya Allah… why is my heart beating so fast?”

She groaned, burying her face into the pillow with a laugh and whispered,

“He doesn’t look old at all…”

---

Sorry guys … But you know Monday isn’t over yet 😭😭🫂🫂😂😂

Chapter 28 and 29

نامت على صدرٍ قاسٍ فصارَ دافئًا،

وبكت فذابت قسوتهُ معها،

لم يَعِدها بحبٍّ،

لكنَّهُ خافَ أنْ يُكسِر قلبَها.

She slept on a heart once made of stone, and it turned warm.

She cried, and his hardness melted with her tears.

He never promised her love,

Yet he feared breaking her heart.

_______________________________________________________

The house was filled with a warm, homely glow,the faint aroma of spices lingering from the kitchen, laughter drifting softly from the lounge. Fatima Ami sat comfortably on the couch, her dupatta loosely draped over her head, while Laila and Ayat were chatting and watching TV. Their conversation was light ,filled with small giggles and teasing remarks that made the place feel alive.

The front door opened with the quiet sound of keys, and both Zamil and Yousef stepped inside. The air shifted instantly. Yousef’s expression was dull, eyes distant, as though his mind was still somewhere else. Zamil’s face remained calm, but there was a quiet tension in his posture like he’d seen more than he said.

Laila’s face brightened when she saw them.

“You both are back! Finally,” she said, standing up. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Her gaze moved to Yousef, noticing how he didn’t respond. He offered her a faint smile, almost forced, and without a word, began heading upstairs.

“Yousef!” Laila called after him, taking a few steps forward. “Are you okay?”

But he didn’t stop just gave a small nod and disappeared up the staircase, leaving her frowning slightly, confusion flickering across her face.

She turned toward Zamil, who had been silently taking off his coat near the hallway.

“What happened to him?” she asked quietly, almost concerned.

Zamil’s deep eyes lifted to her for a second before he replied in his usual composed tone,

“Nothing serious. He’s just… tired.”

There was a finality in his tone that told her not to ask further.

At that moment, Ayat stood up from the couch. Her soft steps echoed lightly on the marble floor as she approached Zamil.

“Freshen up,” she said gently, “Dinner’s ready.”

Zamil didn’t move right away. His gaze fell briefly to her foot , remembering the morning’s chaos.

“How’s your foot?” he asked, voice low, calm but edged with that quiet care she’d begun to recognize.

Ayat looked a little startled, then smiled, brushing it off.

“It’s fine now,” she said. “Not hurting anymore.”

He gave a small nod, his expression unreadable, and without another word, began walking upstairs.

Ayat’s eyes followed him for a second ,the faintest curve of a smile tugging at her lips before she turned back toward the dining area, trying to hide the warmth that had bloomed in her chest.

The long dining table gleamed under the soft golden lights of the chandelier. The sound of dishes clinking and quiet laughter filled the air. The evening carried that rare sense of calm ,the kind that came after days of chaos.

Khwaja Farooq sat at the head of the table, his deep voice steady as he spoke with his wife Fatima, who was busily chatting in Urdu, her words warm and motherly. Across from her sat Umar, dignified as always, occasionally glancing toward Zamil and Yousef both unusually silent.

Ayat sat beside Fatima Ami, trying her best to follow the conversation. Every few seconds, she glanced at Zamil, who sat across from her, translating whenever Fatima Ami directed something toward her.

“Zamil beta,”(Son)Fatima Ami said, smiling at Ayat, “isko kehna ke mujhe bohot khushi hoti hai jab yeh sab ke saath baithi hoti hai.”

Zamil leaned slightly forward, eyes softening as he translated.

“She says she feels really happy when you sit with everyone like this.”

Ayat smiled shyly, lowering her gaze.

“Tell her I feel the same,” she said quietly.

Before Zamil could respond, Khwaja Farooq chuckled.

“Ayat beti,(daughter ) have you start learning Urdu ?”

Ayat’s eyes lit up a little. “Thora bohot… Laila teach me,” she said in her soft accent.

“Oh really?” Khwaja leaned forward with amusement. “Then show us what you’ve learned!”

Everyone’s eyes turned toward her. Ayat’s cheeks turned pink, but she smiled nervously and said, “Ap Kase hai?”

(How are you?)

The room broke into laughter, not mocking, but genuinely delighted.

Khwaja grinned. “Main theek hoon, beti,” ( I’m fine daughter.) he replied proudly. “Very good!”

Fatima Ami clapped her hands together softly. “Mashallah,” she said warmly. “She’s learning fast.”

Just then, little Ayan, sitting beside Hooria, piped up in his tiny voice, “Chachi! do you know now to make Choco milkshake?”

Ayat blinked, confused. “Chachi?” she repeated, looking at Laila in surprise.

Laila chuckled, trying to hold back laughter. “He means ‘aunty,’ Ayat. Don’t worry, he’s calling you that with love.”

Ayat smiled, bending slightly toward Ayan. “Okay, Ayan… Chachi will make it for you,” she said softly. “In fact, I can make many flavors of milkshake for you.”

Ayan’s face lit up instantly. “Yay!” he cheered, clapping his hands, and little Mahnoor joined in, giggling beside him.

The table filled with warm laughter again. Everyone smiled the atmosphere light and tender.

Zamil sat still, eyes occasionally flicking toward Ayat but otherwise calm and withdrawn. His jawline was tight, expression unreadable. And beside him, Yousef’s usual lightness had faded, his gaze distant, lost somewhere only he knew.

Laila noticed both of them, the tension they carried but she said nothing. She just looked down at her plate, forcing a faint smile, trying to ignore the uneasy silence that followed the laughter.

The family dinner went on ,laughter, stories, and Urdu words mixing with English,but underneath it all, something unspoken brewed quietly at the table the secrets, and emotions that no one else could see.

____________

The afternoon sun spilled gently over the marble floor of the Hussain mansion, its golden light touching the tall glass doors that opened toward the balcony. A soft breeze fluttered through the sheer curtains, carrying the faint scent of roses from the garden below.

Zamil stood there, one hand in his pocket, staring out at the horizon. His mind wasn’t calm today ,, it was a rare thing for him to hesitate before speaking, but this moment was different.

He heard footsteps behind him, soft and unsure. Laila appeared at the doorway, her dupatta brushing against her arm as she stepped into the light.

“You called me, bhai?” she asked softly, her tone polite but curious.

Zamil turned slowly, his eyes studying her for a second before he spoke, voice steady but calm.

“Yes. I needed to talk to you about something important.”

She nodded, waiting.

“Uncle received a proposal for you,” Zamil said finally. “It’s a good family…Sadaqi family from Lahore.”

For a moment, Laila froze. The warmth in her face faded, replaced by a faint shock. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Zamil noticed it ,the hesitation in her eyes, the way her fingers twisted the edge of her sleeve. He took a quiet step forward.

“If you don’t want to marry,” he said gently, “you can say no. No one will force you, Laila.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, bhai, it’s not that…” Her voice was low, trembling slightly.

Zamil’s gaze softened. “Then what is it?”

Laila looked down, her heart beating fast. The silence between them stretched, broken only by the wind brushing through the balcony plants.

Zamil’s tone turned patient, almost protective. “Laila… do you like someone?”

Her breath caught. For a few seconds, she couldn’t speak. Then she whispered, “Ye…Yes.”

The word was barely audiblebut it was enough.

Something inside Zamil stilled. His chest tightened; his mind immediately went to one person. Yousef.

He asked quietly, “Who is it?”

Laila’s voice trembled again, her eyes glistening with the fear of being judged. “I… I like Yousef, bhai.”

She took a deep breath, her words fragile but honest. “I know it’s wrong, but… I can’t help it.”

Zamil looked at her for a long moment and then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. A faint smile appeared on his face, almost hidden, but real.

He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair as if releasing the weight of days of worry. Then he stepped closer, placing his hand gently on her head.

“Nothing’s wrong in what you feel,” he said quietly. “You have a good heart, Laila. And Yousef… he’s a good man.”

Her eyes lifted to him, a glimmer of hope shining through the nervousness.

Zamil’s voice softened even more. “I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong, okay? That’s my promise.”

She nodded slowly, relief spreading across her face.

Zamil turned toward the view again, the breeze brushing his face. This time, when he exhaled, there was peace in his breath and a faint smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in a long while, he was genuinely happy , happy for his friend, and for the feeling that something good might finally find its way into their broken world.

______________

Evening descended softly over the mansion. The chandeliers glowed warmly against the marble walls, and the air carried that faint scent of oud that always lingered after Maghrib. The entire household had been called to the lounge , no one knew why.

The long sitting area, with its deep couches and elegant decor, was filled with quiet curiosity. Ayan sat beside Mahnoor, playing with a toy car, while the adults exchanged questioning glances.

“ Sonia, Ayan aur Mahnoor ko andar le jao,” Hooria said gently to the maid.

(Take Ayan and Mahnoor inside.)

The maid nodded, guiding the children upstairs. As their little footsteps faded, the room grew heavier.

Khwaja Farooq sat in his usual chair, his presence commanding even in silence. Beside him sat Fatima Ami, her shawl neatly wrapped, eyes filled with calm confusion. Umar sat next to Hooria, while Ayat, Zamil, Laila, and Yousef completed the circle.

Khwaja Farooq cleared his throat, breaking the silence first.

“Zamil beta,” he said, his voice steady, “kya baat hai? Sab ko kue bulaya hai, koi khaas wajah hai?”

(What’s the matter? Why you call everyone, is there something important?)

Zamil sat straight, his hands clasped loosely, face unreadable yet firm.

“Yes, uncle,” he said quietly. “It’s something important.”

Everyone leaned in slightly.

He took a breath. “I’ve always spoken to you as your son,” he began, his tone respectful yet strong. “But tonight… I’m speaking as Yousef’s elder brother , as his family.”

Yousef’s brows furrowed, already uneasy. Laila looked down, her fingers tightening around her dupatta.

Zamil’s gaze moved to Khwaja Farooq. “Uncle mein Laila ka haat apne bahi yousef ke laye mangna chata hun. “

(Uncle, I want to ask for Laila’s hand… for my brother, Yousef.”)

The words dropped like thunder in the quiet room.

For a moment, no one moved.

The ticking of the clock on the wall suddenly sounded louder, the faint rustle of Fatima’s shawl breaking the stillness.

Khwaja Farooq blinked, taken aback. He looked from Zamil to Yousef, then to Laila , whose eyes were fixed on the floor, cheeks flushed with nerves.

Fatima Ami’s eyes widened slightly, her gaze darting between her husband and daughter, confusion and realization dawning all at once.

Yousef looked at Zamil in disbelief his throat tight, emotions swirling. He really did it.

Ayat, sitting quietly between Hooria and Zamil, couldn’t understand everything , the conversation flowed entirely in Urdu. But she could feel it the heaviness, the silence, the way everyone’s eyes held tension.

Hooria glanced at her husband, Umar, her eyes asking a silent question. Umar looked back at her, then at his father, sensing the weight of what Zamil had just said.

The silence stretched.

Then Khwaja Farooq finally spoke, his deep voice calm but layered with emotion.

“Zamil beta…” he said slowly, “tum ye ek baat dil se ki hai.”

( You said this with all your heart.)

He paused, taking a breath. “Sach kehun toh… main bhi yeh soch raha tha. Yousef hamare ghar ka hissa hai, aur insaan bhi behtareen hai.”

(Let me tell the truth…I was also thinking the same. Yousef is the. Part of our family and he’s a amazing guy.)

Fatima Ami looked at her husband, a gentle smile beginning to appear on her lips.

Khwaja Farooq continued, looking toward Laila, who still hadn’t lifted her eyes. “Laila ke liye Yousef se behtar koi ho hi nahi sakta.”

(For Laila there’s no one better than Yousef.)

The room exhaled collectively the silence breaking into soft murmurs of relief.

Yousef looked down, fighting the rush of emotions in his chest. He glanced once at Zamil ,the man who had stood for him like a brother, like a wall and the gratitude in his eyes said what words could not.

Zamil gave him a small, knowing smile before leaning back against the couch, finally letting himself relax.

And across the room, Ayat, though she didn’t understand a word, found herself smiling softly too. Something beautiful had just happened she could feel it in the warmth that filled the room.

The silence that had wrapped the room just moments ago melted into warmth and relief. A faint smile spread across Khwaja Farooq’s face, and Fatima Ami wiped the corner of her eyes, overwhelmed by emotion.

Then, with a cheerful clap of her hands, Fatima Ami said, “Aray, koi mithai lao! Yeh toh khushi ki baat hai!”

(Heyyy, Someone bring the Mitha ! It’s a happy news..)

The maid quickly disappeared toward the kitchen. Laila sat still, cheeks flushed red, her eyes low but shining softly. Fatima Ami stood and went to her, cupping her face gently before pulling her into a motherly hug.

“Allah tum dono ko khush rakhe,” (. May Allah bless you two.) she whispered, then turned to Yousef, placing her hand on his head with affection. “Take care of my daughter, beta. She’s a little stubborn, but her heart is pure.”

Yousef lowered his head slightly, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “I will, Ami. Always.”(mother)

The room filled with soft laughter and murmurs of congratulations.

Across the couch, Zamil leaned slightly toward Ayat, who was sitting with a puzzled look, still trying to catch the words flying in Urdu.

He whispered near her ear, voice calm and low, “I told Uncle that Yousef wants to marry Laila. He agreed.”

Ayat’s eyes widened as the meaning sank in. “So… they’re getting married?” she asked in awe.

Zamil nodded, his lips tugging into a faint smile. “Yes. Finally.”

The realization lit up Ayat’s face. In an instant, she jumped up from the sofa, she hurried toward Laila.

“Laila!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her. “Congratulations!”

Laila laughed softly, surprised but happy, hugging her back.

Then Ayat turned toward Yousef, her energy still bubbling. “And congratulations to you too!” she said, clasping her hands together.

Yousef looked completely caught off guard his face turned red as everyone around chuckled at the sight.

Fatima Ami smiled warmly, coming forward to hug Ayat too. “Mashallah, you’re such a sweet girl,” she said, gently patting her cheek.

Meanwhile, Umar walked over to Yousef, pulling him into a firm hug before saying in a mock-serious tone,

“Take care of my sister, samjhy? Agar ye tumarei wajhha se royi toh main tumhari haddiyan tor dunga.”

(. Take care of my kids sister, okay? If she cry because I of you then I will break your bones.)

The room erupted into laughter even Khwaja Farooq chuckled, walking forward to pat Yousef’s back and rest his hand over Laila’s head. “Mubarak ho, beta,”(congratulations son ) he said kindly. “May Allah bless this bond.”

Zamil stood then, hands in his pockets, his eyes on Yousef. For a second, their gazes met unspoken emotions passing between them. Pride. Relief. Brotherhood.

Yousef stepped forward and hugged him tightly, his voice rough with emotion. “Thank you… for everything.”

Zamil gave a small smile, patting his back. “Always, brother.”

Just then, Hooria walked in carrying a silver tray. “Here comes the mithai!” she announced with a grin.

Everyone laughed again as she handed the sweets around. Fatima Ami fed the first piece to Laila, then another to Yousef, and Hooria offered one to Zamil who, for once, didn’t refuse.

The room filled with laughter, chatter, and the sweet scent of rose-flavored mithai.

After all the hugs and laughter, everyone slowly sat back down. The joy in the room hadn’t settled yet smiles were everywhere, and even Khwaja Sahib’s serious face had softened into one of peace.

Zamil leaned forward slightly, clearing his throat.

“Uncle,” he said, his voice calm but filled with warmth, “since Umar has to return soon, I was thinking we shouldn’t delay too long.”

Hooria nodded in agreement, glancing at her husband.

“Yes, it would be beautiful if the whole family could be together for the wedding.”

Khwaja Sahib thought for a moment, then looked at Fatima. “What do you say?”

Fatima’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Why wait? We can do it within a month. Everything can be arranged by then, in shaa Allah.”

Umar smiled. “That’s perfect. I’ll be here to attend everything before I leave.”

Ayat clapped her hands lightly, her excitement impossible to hide. “A month! That’s so soon!” she said, turning toward Laila, who blushed instantly.

Laila lowered her gaze, shy but unable to hide the tiny smile tugging at her lips. Yousef sat beside her, still quiet, his heart heavy with emotions disbelief, happiness, and gratitude.

Zamil looked at both of them his brother and the girl who had always been like a little sister to him and felt a strange kind of peace in his chest.

“Then it’s decided,” Khwaja Sahib announced. “The wedding will be in one month.”

The room filled with cheerful murmurs again, Fatima called Sonia to bring more tea, and Hooria started talking about shopping plans already.

_____________

The night breeze carried a soft chill. The sky was silver with stars, and the house behind them had gone quiet after the evening’s celebration.

Laila stood by the railing, her heart still fluttering. Suddenly, she heard his voice.

“Laila…”

She turned , her eyes met his, and for a moment, the world stopped moving, and then she said out of curiosity,”Aap soye nahi abhi tak?”

(You haven’t slept yet?)

Yousef walk little closer to her and said,”Neend kaha aye gi… jab dil chain mein na ho.”

(How could I sleep… when my heart isn’t calm?)

She looked down shyly, smiling to herself.

“Aaj jab Zamil ne sab ke saamne kaha ke mujhe tumhari khushi chahiye… main sirf tumhara chehra dekh raha tha.”

(When Zamil bhai said he wanted my happiness… all I could see was your face.)

Laila blushed. And said,”Aap bohot ajeeb baatein karte hain.”

(You say the strangest things.)

He leaned little closer to her and said,”Nahi… sach keh raha hoon. Main tumse bohot pehle se pyaar karta hoon, Laila. Hamesha sapna dekha tha… ke ek din tum meri zindagi ka hissa banogi.”

(No… I’m telling the truth. I’ve loved you for a long time, Laila. I always dreamt that one day you’d be part of my life.)

Her breath caught, her eyes widened, then softened and then she said,”Aap toh serious ho gaye.”

(You’ve turned so serious now.)

He smiled, taking a small velvet box from his pocket. The soft click of it opening echoed in the silence.

“Toh batao, Laila… kya tum mujhse shaadi karogi?”

(So tell me, Laila… will you marry me?)

Laila blinked, then broke into a nervous laugh.”Bas ek shart pe.”

(Only on one condition.)

He raised his left eyebrow and asked,”Kaisi shart?”

(What condition?)

“Aapko mujhe roz ice cream deni paregi.”her voice was low but clear.

(You have to buy me ice cream every day.)

He laughed quietly, lowering his head.”Roz toh de dunga… lekin sardiyon mein nahi. Tum beemar ho jaogi.”

(I’ll give you every day… but not in winter. You’ll get sick.)

Laila: “Deal accepted.”

(Deal accepted.)

He smiled and took her hand …slowly, gently, sliding the ring onto her finger.”Ab ap officially meri ho gayi hai,Laila Farooq.”

(Now you’re officially mine, Laila Farooq.)

She smiled softly, “Yeh ring bohot khubsurat hai… lekin yeh batao, aapne kab khareedi?”

(This ring is beautiful… but tell me, when did you buy it?)

“Kaafi pehle. Mujhe nahi pata tha kab mauka milega… isliye hamesha saath rakhta tha.” He said adjusting his suite.

(A long time ago. I didn’t know when I’d get the chance… so I always carried it with me.)

Laila laughed, covering her mouth and said “Matlab aap har waqt pocket mein ring leke ghoomte the?”

(You mean you walked around with this ring in your pocket all the time?)

He replied to her in a soft voice.”Haan. Kya pata kab tum haan keh do.”

(Yes. Who knows when you might have said yes.)

“Aap unbelievable hain, Yousef.”

(You’re unbelievable, Yousef.)

They both laughed softly the stars gleaming above, their hearts lighter than ever.

Just then, a playful voice interrupted.

Ayat was standing in the door way and said ,”Ahem, I was just passing by… but seems like I picked the wrong moment.”

Laila flushed crimson while Yousef immediately stepped back, hiding his grin.

“I’ll go.”

He slipped away quickly, leaving the two girls laughing.

Ayat came closer, smiling.”So this is your engagement ring?”

“Yes… look, isn’t it beautiful?” Laila said while showing Ayat her finger.

Ayat smiled genuinely. “It’s very beautiful.”

Then Laila asked softly, curious and innocent. “Ayat… how did Zamil bhai propose to you? What gift did he give you?”

Ayat froze ,her lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes flickered down, the smile fading slowly.

She hesitate,”He… actually…”

Her heart clenched , she remembered there had been no proposal, no gift, no ring. Just a quiet, unexpected marriage that began without promises.

Before she could say more, her phone rang the screen lighting up with Zamil’s name. She quickly grabbed it.

“I have to take this… we’ll talk later.”

She walked away , her smile gone, leaving behind a quiet ache in the air.

Laila looked after her, the glow of her ring reflecting in her eyes , happiness and a strange sadness mixed in one.

The clock ticked softly, breaking the heavy silence that hung in the room.

Zamil stood near the study table, looking through some papers, his expression slightly tense.

And then ayat walked in.

He looked at her and said in a low ,calm tone, “Ayat, where did you keep that file? I can’t find it.”

Ayat immediately went to the drawer, picking up a brown folder.

And quietly said,”Here, you left it here.”

Zamil took it from her hand with a short nod.

He turned and left the room just like always, silent, composed, and unreadable.

The door clicked shut.

And with that small sound, the quiet grew heavier.

Ayat walked to the window slowly. The night outside was dark , the sky clouded, the wind sharp and cold. The streetlights shimmered faintly against the glass.

She stood there, arms folded against her chest, her eyes lost somewhere between the clouds and her thoughts.

Everything from the evening replayed in her mind, Yousef’s smile, Laila’s glowing face, the way she showed her ring with pride and joy.

A small ache grew in her chest ….heavy, unfamiliar, but real.

She whisper to herself,”Why… why does my heart feel so heavy…?”

She blinked rapidly, trying to push the thought away but tears filled her eyes anyway.

She knew Zamil didn’t love her. He only cared for her because it was his duty because he was a man of word and responsibility. He made sure she was safe, fed, clothed, and protected… but never loved.

Her gaze slowly fell to her hands. Her fingers were bare , no ring, no symbol of belonging.

She lifted her hand closer, whispering to herself in a voice that trembled.

“At least… he could’ve given me a wedding ring…”

The words broke something inside her. A single tear slipped down her cheek, falling onto her palm.

Then….

The door opened behind her with a quiet creak.

Zamil’s voice:

“Ayat?”

His tone was firm but low the same calmness, but there was a hint of concern this time.

Ayat quickly wiped her face and turned around, trying to hide the traces of tears. But her eyes they betrayed her.

Zamil stood at the doorway, holding the file in his hand, looking at her with a faint frown.

He stepped closer, his eyes searching her face silently.

“Were you crying?”

Ayat tried to smile but her lips trembled instead. And before she could answer, the tears she had held back returned, spilling down her cheeks silently.

She didn’t even know why anymore ,it was just everything.

Everything she felt but could never say.

Zamil froze for a moment , startled. His fingers tightened slightly around the file.

He didn’t know what broke inside her tonight. And she didn’t know why his voice …just his voice was enough to make her fall apart.

The silence lingered for a few seconds after Zamil’s words.

Ayat stood there, her head lowered, tears still tracing down her cheeks.

Zamil took a slow step forward. The sound of his shoes against the carpet was soft, measured. He stopped in front of her, close enough to notice the trembling of her hands.

He sighed quietly, setting the file on the table.

Then, with that same calm authority, he said, “Sit down.”

Ayat hesitated but obeyed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Zamil sat beside her not too close, but close enough that she could feel his presence.

For a moment, neither spoke. The silence was heavy, the only sound being Ayat’s shaky breaths.

And then suddenly Ayat turned toward him and buried her face into his chest.

Zamil stiffened. The suddenness of her hug made him lose balance, and both of them fell backward onto the bed.

He blinked, startled, Ayat was still pressed against him, her tears soaking through his shirt.

Her body trembled as she cried harder, clutching him tightly as if she didn’t want to let go.

“Ayat….” Zamil started, his voice caught somewhere between confusion and concern.

But then she spoke muffled against his shoulder, voice breaking like glass.

“Ana a‘rif… innak ma tuhibbni… wallah a‘rif,” (I know… you don’t love me… I swear, I know,) she whispered in Arabic ,words trembling. “Bas… hal yumkin… ta‘ṭīni khātim… law kan ṣaghīr… bas minni lak…” (But… could you give me a ring… even if it’s small… just from you to me…)

Zamil froze.

Something inside him that wall of iron he had built for years cracked quietly.

Her words weren’t demands. They were soft, helpless, aching.

She wasn’t asking for luxury, affection, or promises.

She was begging for a symbol a sign that she meant something.

He didn’t know what to say. So instead, he exhaled slowly and placed one hand on her back.

“don’t crying, Habibti.” he murmured, but his voice had lost its usual coldness.

Ayat said nothing, she just kept crying, face hidden in his shoulder.

Time passed. The clock ticked, the wind brushed the curtains, and the room filled with a kind of quiet sadness.

Half an hour later, her sobs had grown faint, her breathing steady.

Zamil called her name softly.

“Ayat?”

No answer.

He looked down she had fallen asleep on his shoulder, her tear-stained lashes still wet, her hand loosely gripping his shirt.

Zamil sighed… deep, quiet and gently lifted her off him.

He carried her to the other side of the bed and laid her down carefully, pulling the blanket over her.

For a long second, he just stood there ,watching her face.

Her eyes were swollen, her nose slightly red from crying.

A small, unguarded chuckle left his lips. “You’re a mess,” he muttered under his breath.

Then his gaze drifted to his shoulder still damp with her tears. He shook his head softly, that rare, barely-there smile touching his face.

As he turned to leave, his eyes caught her hand , small, resting by her side.

He reached out and gently took it in his palm, his thumb brushing over her ring finger.

He held it there for a moment, as if measuring something only he could see.

And then, with an unreadable look in his eyes, he whispered under his breath,

“Maybe you deserve more than just a ring. Zawajati” ( my wife)

He released her hand slowly, stood up, and went to change his clothes but that faint warmth in his chest refused to fade.

---

Idk what to say, I’m just broken as much as Ayat was….like I feel her today , her emotions all come from my heart and that’s the main reason I didn’t uploaded these chapters yesterday . Cuz whenever I read this last scene a memory of someone comes across my mind. 🙂😶‍🌫️

Well have a good day and night to all of you. 💗🙌🫂

Chapter 30

لم أفهم قلبي حتى رأيتك،

فصار الهدوء في حضورك ضجيجًا جميلاً،

أحببتك بلا وعدٍ ولا سبب،

كأن روحي عرفت روحك منذ زمن بعيد.

I never understood my heart until I saw you,

and the silence in your presence became a beautiful noise.

I loved you with no promise and no reason,

as if my soul had known yours long ago.

________________________________________________________

The morning light slipped gently through the curtains, brushing against Ayat’s face with a golden calm. She blinked, her eyes still heavy from the night before. For a moment, she didn’t remember until her gaze caught the faint crease beside her on the bed, the scent of his cologne still lingering in the air.

And then it hit her.

She had cried… on his shoulder.Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Ya Allah, she whispered, pressing her palms over her face, her heart pounding fast.

The soft sound of the door opening made her freeze.

Zamil stepped in, already dressed in his usual black shirt and watch, looking composed as always. Their eyes met briefly before Ayat looked away, her fingers fidgeting with the blanket.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly.

“Yes…” she murmured. “I…I just woke up.”

He nodded, adjusting his sleeve. “Good. I’ll be back at noon,” he said calmly. “ Ami wants us to join Yousef and Laila for shopping.”

Ayat looked up at him, blinking. “Shopping?”

“Yes,” he replied, his tone steady, careful. “She insisted we all go together. So, get ready by then.”

She nodded quickly, grateful … grateful that he hadn’t mentioned last night, not a single word about her tears or what she said.

He knew… he knew she’d be embarrassed. And he spared her that.

“Alright,” she said softly. “I’ll be ready.”

He gave a short nod, slipping on his watch, and turned toward the door.

Just before leaving, he glanced back ,only once … his eyes calm, unreadable, yet strangely gentle.

“You should eat something before you start your day,” he said.

“I will,” she whispered.

And then he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

Ayat sat still for a moment, her heart fluttering with relief and something else she couldn’t quite name. She was glad he didn’t bring up yesterday… yet a small part of her wished he had.

_______

The house was filled with soft chatter and the faint aroma of breakfast tea. Laila tugged on Ayat’s hand after everyone finished eating, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Come on, Ayat! Ami got something special for you,” she said, leading her upstairs.

Ayat blinked in confusion. “For me?”

“Yes, for you,” Laila grinned, pushing open the door to Ayat’s room. On the bed lay a beautifully wrapped box , soft pastel tissue folded around a long, elegant kameez dress, its embroidery fine and graceful.

Laila helped her with it, carefully fixing the sleeves and smoothing the fabric around her waist.

When she turned to the mirror, Ayat didn’t recognize herself for a second. She looked… different… softer, more mature, like the woman she was becoming.

“See?” Laila said proudly, standing behind her. “Told you it would look perfect.”

Ayat smiled shyly. “It’s beautiful… Ami has such good taste.”

“Wait till he sees,” Laila teased, raising an eyebrow.

Ayat frowned. “Who?”

Laila only laughed, refusing to answer, as she began brushing Ayat’s long dark hair.

Downstairs, the front door opened.

Zamil and Yousef stepped in, the air shifting with their presence. Hooria looked up from where she sat with little Ayan.

“They’re upstairs,” she said, smiling. “Getting ready.”

Yousef exchanged a grin with Zamil and headed up the stairs. When they reached the room, Yousef knocked lightly.

Laila opened the door, glowing in a soft pink outfit. The moment she saw Yousef, her smile widened.

“Let’s go,” she said quickly, grabbing his arm before Zamil could speak. She threw a playful wink at Zamil and disappeared with Yousef down the hall.

Zamil frowned slightly, puzzled then stepped into the room.

Ayat stood in front of the dressing table, combing through her silky hair. The window light spilled across her face, the faint breeze swaying the ends of her scarf. She reached for it and wrapped it gracefully around her head, securing it beneath her chin.

When she turned, she found Zamil standing there, quiet and still , his gaze fixed on her.

Her breath hitched. “You came,” she said softly.

He didn’t move at first, just watching her as if words had suddenly become unnecessary.

Ayat hesitated, her fingers brushing over her dupatta. “How do I look?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Zamil’s lips curved faintly. “Bohat Zayada khubsurat,” (extremely beautiful) he said under his breath.

Ayat blinked, confused. “What does that mean?”

He chuckled lowly, looking down for a moment before meeting her eyes again.

“It means… you look good.”

Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, her eyes lowering shyly.

For a heartbeat, the room felt still the quiet hum of the air conditioning, the rustle of her scarf, the rhythm of two hearts that had started to move in the same direction without realizing it.

“Let’s go,” he said finally, his tone returning to calm authority.

“They’re waiting downstairs.”

Ayat nodded.

___________

The sunlight spilled through the tinted glass as their cars rolled out of the mansion gates. The convoy moved smoothly down the road,Yousef and Laila in the first car, their laughter faintly visible through the back window, while behind them followed Zamil’s sleek black SUV, flanked by two security vehicles.

Inside, Ayat sat by the window, her scarf pinned neatly in place, eyes wide with awe as the city unfolded before her.

The streets of Karachi were alive , vibrant and loud in the best way. Hawkers calling out their prices, and women walking gracefully in bright colors of shalwar kameez. The scent of roadside food drifted in through the half-open window …spices, sweetness, and warmth mingled with the afternoon breeze.

Ayat leaned closer to the glass, her reflection soft in it.

“Wow…” she breathed, a smile forming on her lips. “This is so beautiful.”

Zamil glanced up from his phone, his gaze shifting briefly to her. She looked like a child seeing a world for the first time full of light and wonder.

She turned to him, eyes gleaming. “Pakistan is an amazing country,” she said, her tone filled with awe and sincerity.

Zamil set his phone down on his lap, nodding slightly.

“Yes,” he said quietly, looking out through his side of the window. “It is.”

Ayat’s smile grew as she looked back outside, watching the streets blur past, the rhythm of a city she was learning to love.

For a moment, Zamil’s gaze lingered on her again. The way she looked at the world …with purity, curiosity, and light, it reminded him of everything he’d lost long ago.

He turned his eyes away before she could notice.

The driver’s voice broke the silence. “Sir, should we take the Clifton route? Traffic is lighter.”

Zamil nodded absently. “Yes. Go ahead.”

Ayat, still gazing out, whispered softly as if to herself,

“It feels… alive. Every street, every color, it feels alive.”

Zamil’s lips curved slightly. “That’s Karachi for you,” he said, his voice low and calm.

She smiled, resting her chin lightly on her hand, and continued watching.

The black convoy pulled up in front of the most luxurious mall in Karachi.

Two SUVs rolled to a stop, and the doors opened almost in sync …Yousef and Laila stepped out from the first car, Zamil and Ayat from the second. Security spread out wordlessly, scanning every corner before letting them move forward.

Inside, the marble floors gleamed under chandeliers. Every shop on the third floor was open, yet strangely empty no crowds, no sound but their footsteps and the soft hum of air conditioning.

Ayat’s brows knitted. “Why isn’t there anyone here?” she whispered to Laila as they walked side by side.

Laila smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Zamil bhai always books the entire floor when we go shopping. He doesn’t like risks. It’s safer this way.”

Ayat blinked, surprised. “He booked… the whole floor?” She glanced over her shoulder at Zamil, who was walking calmly behind them in his black shirt and tailored jacket, Yousef beside him, both of them talking quietly.

So he’s really that rich… and powerful too, she thought, half in awe, half in disbelief.

Meanwhile, Yousef leaned a little closer to Zamil, smirking.

“Bro, you do realize you just turned a mall into your private boutique again?”

Zamil gave him a sideways look. “You say that every time, Yousef.”

Yousef chuckled. “And you never deny it.”

Up ahead, Laila stopped near a perfume store and turned to Yousef. “I want to check perfumes first.”

He raised a brow. “Now?”

She gave him that teasing, side-eyed look. “Now.”

And just like that, she looped her arm through his and pulled him away before he could protest.

Ayat took a step forward. “Laila….”

But Zamil stopped her gently. “Let them go,” he said quietly. “Give them some space.”

Ayat nodded slowly, feeling a little shy under his calm gaze, and followed him toward the clothing stores.

The boutique was lavish ,soft golden lighting, rows of silk, chiffon, and embroidered dresses glimmering like gems. The staff immediately bowed their heads slightly when Zamil entered.

“Sir,” one of the ladies said, smiling politely.

Zamil’s tone was quiet but commanding. “Give her whatever she wants.”

Ayat blinked, looking between him and the staff. “I… actually wanted something traditional,” she said softly. “For Yousef’s wedding. But I don’t know what’s best to wear for the ceremonies…”

Zamil turned to the woman beside him. “Help her choose.”

The saleswoman nodded eagerly and led Ayat toward the racks. Zamil moved to the sofa, sitting with one arm resting over the backrest, silently watching her.

One by one, Ayat came out of the fitting room in different dresses ,soft pastels, deep reds, emerald green, midnight blue. Every time, he said nothing, only gave a small nod, eyes dark but calm.

Finally, she stepped out wearing a golden-beige long kameez that shimmered under the light. For the first time, Zamil spoke.

“That one,” he said simply.

The saleswoman smiled, taking note but Zamil added, “Pack them all.”

Everyone froze for a second even Ayat.

“What?” she said, eyes wide. “All of them? No, that’s too much…”

But he had already pulled out his card.

He said in his low voice. “Next, sandals.”

Before she could protest, he lightly took her hand to lead her out. It was brief, but Ayat’s heart skipped ,butterflies fluttering uncontrollably in her chest.

*****

At the next store, Zamil repeated the same routine. Every pair she even glanced at was added to the counter.

Ayat finally snapped, laughing nervously. “No, no, not all of them! I’ll just take these three pairs, that’s enough.”

Zamil gave a short look at the cashier. “You heard her.”

He said nothing more, but the faintest smirk touched his lips ,he liked that she stood her ground.

*****

The jewelry shop glowed with soft amber lights and the sparkle of diamonds. The moment they entered, everyone stood straight even the manager bowed slightly, recognizing the name Al Mansur.

Ayat trailed behind Zamil as he started picking out sets with his usual, unreadable calm. Necklaces, bangles, rings ,everything.

But this time, Ayat’s patience ran out. She stepped in front of him, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“Mr. Zamil Al Mansur,” she said firmly.

Everyone in the store froze even the cashier lowered her gaze.

Ayat crossed her arms. “I don’t want everything. Just this one…” she pointed at a delicate set, “and these earrings. That’s enough.”

Zamil looked at her, silent.

Then his gaze slid toward a small ring on display … a limited edition piece. He nodded toward it. “What about that ring?”

Ayat shook her head, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want it.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other ,her eyes soft but stubborn, his calm and steady.

Finally, she turned and walked out of the store. Zamil waited a beat, then said to the manager quietly,

“Pack the ring too.”

******

By the time they walked out, the guards were carrying mountains of bags.

Ayat looked up at him as they headed for the elevator.

“You didn’t buy anything for yourself.”

He glanced down at her, hands in pockets. “Today’s your day,” he said simply. “I’ll buy another time.”

Her lips curled into a small smile.

Outside, the sun was setting over Karachi golden light spilling through the glass walls, making the moment feel strangely peaceful.

she said suddenly, hand over her tummy. “I’m hungry.”

Zamil chuckled softly. “Then let’s go for dinner.”

He gestured for the guards to take the bags to the cars, and as they disappeared down the escalator, Ayat asked,

“What about Yousef and Laila?”

“They’ll join us,” he replied, short and calm.

The restaurant was on the top floor of the mall,an elegant place with soft golden lights and a view of Karachi’s skyline glowing beneath the evening haze.

Ayat’s eyes widened the moment they stepped in. “This looks so fancy…” she whispered, clutching the edge of her dupatta nervously.

Zamil glanced down at her, trying not to smile. “It’s just dinner, not a royal meeting.”

“For you maybe,” she muttered under her breath.

Zamil chuckled quietly. “Maybe.”

Just then, Laila and Yousef appeared from the elevator, Laila all smiles, dragging Yousef behind her like a stubborn cat.

“Sorry we’re late!” Laila said, her voice as lively as ever. “Someone here spent twenty minutes deciding which watch matches his personality.”

Yousef rolled his eyes. “Because someone bought three perfumes, and I lost half my brain smelling all of them.”

Zamil smirked. “Seems like shopping went well.”

Laila leaned close to Ayat and whispered dramatically, “Your husband is a walking credit card, Ayat. You’re so lucky!”

Ayat’s cheeks turned pink. “He didn’t let me even refuse…”

“Of course he didn’t,” Laila winked. “Men like him don’t do half measures.”

Zamil, overhearing, raised an eyebrow. “I can hear you, Laila.”

Laila grinned. “Good, then don’t pretend you’re not a softie underneath all that cold glare.”

Yousef laughed while Zamil gave him a cold side look that instantly silenced him. Ayat, trying not to giggle, hid her smile behind her hand.

They took their seats. Zamil sat beside Ayat, while Yousef and Laila sat across. The waiter brought menus made of dark leather. Ayat opened it and froze.

She leaned toward Zamil and whispered, “Why are there no prices here?”

Zamil didn’t even look up. “If you need to ask the price, you’re in the wrong restaurant.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

Yousef snorted so hard that Laila had to kick him under the table. “Zamil, you sound like a mafia movie.”

Zamil finally looked at Ayat, eyes glinting with amusement. “Don’t worry. Order whatever you like.”

Ayat pouted, flipping through the pages. “I just hope I don’t accidentally sell your car by ordering dessert.”

That made even Zamil chuckled that made her heart skip. It was rare to see him like this.

Throughout dinner, Laila and Yousef kept teasing each other while Ayat quietly observed them, sometimes joining their laughter.

Zamil barely ate, spending more time refilling Ayat’s water glass, passing her dishes before she even asked, and removing a small piece of coriander when he saw she didn’t like it.

At one point, Laila noticed and whispered to Ayat, “See? He does love you.”

Ayat looked at Zamil, who was busy cutting her steak before handing her the fork. “He’s just… responsible,” she said softly, but her eyes betrayed the warmth in her chest.

By the end of dinner, Yousef suggested dessert, but Laila and Ayat had already decided they wanted kulfi instead of some fancy foreign dish.

And so, the four of them ended up laughing over melting kulfi and teasing each other, while the Karachi skyline shimmered in the distance…

for once, even Zamil Al Mansur didn’t look like a man feared by half the city, but simply a man quietly falling into something he never thought he could feel.