Chapter 31
“لا سببَ واضح،
لكنّ قلبي يُنصت حين تتكلم،
كأنّه يعرفكَ من زمنٍ لم أعشه بعد.”
“There’s no reason,
But my heart listens when you speak,
As if it’s known you from a time I haven’t lived yet.”
________________________________________________________
The day had finally arrived.
The mansion glowed under strings of golden lights, laughter filling every corner, the scent of fresh flowers dancing in the air. For an entire week, the house had been alive with celebrations and tonight was the most awaited night of all.
Inside their room, Ayat stood in front of the mirror, fixing the last pin of her dupatta. Her green and gold dress shimmered under the soft light. Just then, the door behind her clicked and Zamil stepped out of the washroom, adjusting his cufflinks, dressed in a dark black suit that fit him too perfectly.
For a moment, Ayat forgot to breathe.
Her lips parted slightly before she smiled and whispered,
“Maa shaa Allah… it suits you….”
Zamil looked at her with quiet curiosity, his usual calm eyes softening for a second.
Before he could say anything, Ayat, gathering her courage, asked in her broken Urdu,
“Main… kaise lag rahi hoon?” ( How I’m looking?)
He paused.
His gaze swept over her ,the soft scarf, the glow on her face, the sparkle in her nervous eyes.
And then he said simply,
“Pyari lag rahi ho.”
(You’re looking beautiful.)
Ayat’s cheeks turned crimson. She understood that one line too well.
When she turned to leave, his voice stopped her.
“Wait,” he said quietly.
Zamil walked to his table, opened a small velvet box, and returned.
Inside it was the ring, the same one she had refused that day at the jewelry store.
Her eyes widened.
“You… bought it?” she asked softly.
He nodded.“Yes.”
And then, extending his hand slightly,
“Give me your hand.”
Her fingers trembled as she placed her hand in his. The air between them slowed. Zamil gently slid the ring onto her finger, his touch firm yet careful. Their eyes met in silence, yet full of a thousand unspoken things.
Just then, the door opened.
Yousef’s voice broke the spell.
“Zak, come quick… everyone’s waiting.”
Zamil looked at him, then at Ayat who instantly stepped back, flustered.
“Sorry,” Yousef murmured, sensing the tension.
Ayat lowered her gaze and hurried out, her heart racing like a drum.
When she left, Yousef leaned against the doorframe and smirked faintly.
“You should throw that divorce idea out of your head, brother.”
Zamil’s eyes stayed on the door Ayat had just left through.
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he said quietly.
“Her happiness matters.”
Yousef placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled.
“Then let’s go make her part of this happiness.”
They both walked out.
The courtyard glittered like a sea of golden lights. The music was soft now Laughter echoing between the dhol beats and the hum of happy voices.
Laila sat glowing in her yellow dress, her hands covered in intricate henna designs. Beside her, Ayat sat cross-legged, her face glowing under the fairy lights as the Mehndi(henna) artist carefully drew patterns across her palms.
“You know,” Laila said teasingly, watching Ayat’s nervous expression,
“If the color turns dark, it means your husband loves you deeply.”
Ayat blinked, her cheeks heating as she looked at the swirling lines forming on her hands.
“Really?” she whispered shyly.
“Yes,” Laila chuckled. “So pray that it darkens fast!”
They both laughed, and for a moment, Ayat felt light like a part of this family, like a part of something warm and beautiful.
Hours passed in laughter, songs, and teasing. The men had long joined the celebration, and even Zamil, usually quiet, was seen smiling faintly from a corner as he watched the joy spread around.
By midnight, the music had slowed, the lights dimmed softer. One by one, everyone left for their rooms the house still alive with the faint echo of the Mehndi songs.
Later That Night Ayat stepped into their room, careful not to smudge the designs on her hands. The scent of henna still fresh in the air. She went to the washroom to rinse off the extra paste, and when she came back out, the door clicked open Zamil had entered.
He was unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, removing his watch, his hair slightly tousled, calm and tired from the long night.
Ayat, unable to hold her excitement, called softly,
“Zamil…”
He looked up, surprised by her tone. She lifted her hands toward him, the deep maroon Mehndi glowing against her skin.
“Look!” she said, her eyes bright.“It’s dark… it came out so dark!”
Zamil’s lips curved into a rare smile as he stepped closer, his gaze lowering to her hands.
“It’s beautiful,” he said quietly, his voice warm.
Ayat grinned, “Laila said… if the color comes dark, that means your husband loves you very much.”
For a second, silence filled the space… soft, heavy, and fragile.
Zamil’s eyes lingered on her face, then her hands. Something flickered in them a feeling he didn’t want to name.
Ayat caught herself, her words almost slipping into the air. She hesitated, lowering her gaze.
“It’s… it’s beautiful,” she said softly, trying to sound casual.
She turned and began walking toward the dressing table, her heart racing, the echo of his faint smile still lingering behind her.
Zamil watched her go a small smirk tugging at his lips, his eyes following the woman who didn’t know how much her words had already started to mean.
________________
The evening of the nikah and barat had arrived, and the house glowed with warm lights and restless excitement.
Laila was almost ready, her friends gathered around teasing her between laughter and giggles, while the beautician worked her magic on both Laila and Ayat.
Ayat’s reflection shimmered in the mirror. She wore a soft dusty rose chiffon outfit with delicate golden embroidery tracing the neckline and sleeves. The dupatta, light as air, was draped gracefully over her hijab, pinned neatly so the gold tassels brushed her shoulders when she moved. Her bangles chimed faintly every time her hands lifted, and a subtle rose-gold glow shimmered across her skin from the warm makeup tones the beautician had used.
Just then, Hooria entered the room, asking softly, “Ayat, are you ready?”
Ayat smiled and nodded, but before she could answer, Hooria added, “Ayan and Mahnoor are being stubborn again. They’re saying only Chachi will get them ready.”
Ayat laughed under her breath. “You go and get ready, api.(Sister)I’ll handle them.”
She adjusted her dupatta, thanked the beautician, and left the room.
She was in a hurry, walking quickly through the hallway when she accidentally bumped into someone and it was Zamil. He was on a phone call, his expression sharp until their eyes met.
“Sorry,” Ayat murmured, stepping back.
Zamil’s words froze on his lips. For a moment, everything around him blurred…the noise, the lights, even the person calling his name through the phone. He could only see her. His wife.
The soft shimmer of her dusty rose dress, the golden lace at her wrists, and the faint scent of jasmine that lingered as she moved,it all struck him harder than he expected. She looked different tonight,modest yet mesmerizing. Her brown eyes, her shy glow, the tiny earrings peeking from beneath her hijab it all felt dangerously perfect.
“I’ll call you back,” he muttered into the phone, ending the call without waiting for a reply.
“I was just going to Ayan and Mahnoor’s room to get them ready,” Ayat said, her tone gentle.
Zamil only nodded, his gaze still tracing her features, unable to look away.
As she walked past him, he called out, “Ayat.”
She turned, her eyes meeting his. But he didn’t face her directly he kept his back turned, his voice low, almost hesitant.
“You look… good.”
Ayat blinked, taken aback for a second. A blush crept to her cheeks, though something inside her felt heavy.
“Thank you,” she replied softly.
Without another word, he walked away, and so did she, both pretending not to care, both feeling the silence press harder than words.
A few minutes later, Ayat entered Ayan and Mahnoor’s room. They ran to her, holding their dresses in tiny hands.
“Chachi, ready us!” they demanded in unison.
Ayat smiled, her sadness melting a little. She sat down between them, brushing their hair and fixing their clothes.
Chapter 32
“كلّ شيءٍ مرّ بسرعة،
إلا صوتك…
تعلّق بي كذكرى لم تحدث بعد.”
“Everything passed quickly,
Except your voice…
It clung to me like a memory that hasn’t happened yet.”
________________________________________________________
The nikah ceremony had begun. The hall shimmered under soft golden chandeliers; petals were scattered across the white aisle leading to the stage. Yousef sat beside Laila, both their hands trembling slightly as the imam recited the verses. Every eye in the room watched with emotion, every heart silent under the rhythm of sacred vows.
When they finally exchanged their promises, the hall filled with gentle murmurs of “Mubarak ho” (congratulations) and applause. Yousef turned toward Laila, a quiet smile curving his lips, and for a moment time felt still.
Ayat watched them from the side, her hands clasped together. A strange ache spread through her chest. Their happiness reminded her of her own nikah,the day she never got to live as a bride should. The words of their vows echoed inside her head like distant whispers she couldn’t escape.
She looked down, trying to steady her breath, but the emotions were too heavy. Her eyes burned slightly, and before she could blink them away, the lights blurred around her vision.
She stood, excusing herself from the group, and began walking down the stage stairs. Her foot caught on the edge of her dress, and before she could balance herself, she slipped,falling hard against the steps.
Gasps filled the air. Laila and Yousef froze.
Zamil, who had been seated on the stage beside Khwaja Sahib, was on his feet within seconds. His heartbeat spiked as he rushed toward her, kneeling down before anyone else could reach.
“Ayat!” His voice broke the noise around. He cupped her face gently. “Are you okay?”
Fatima Ami and Khwaja Sahib hurried over. Ayat winced, her hand pressed against her ankle, but forced a weak smile.
“I’m fine…” she whispered, though her voice trembled.
Khwaja Sahib frowned. “Zamil, take her to the room immediately.”
Zamil nodded, his jaw tightening as he looked back at Ayat.
“Can you walk?” he asked softly.
Her eyes met his,filled with unshed tears and silent pain. She shook her head faintly, a quiet “no” escaping her lips.
Without thinking for a second, he slid his arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms.
The hall fell utterly silent. Some gasped, others smiled at the sight, the man known for his calm authority, carrying his wife as though the world around them had stopped existing.
As he walked down the corridor, Ayat’s dupatta brushed lightly against his chest. Her heart wasn’t racing because of the pain,it was racing because of him, of being this close after so long.
she stirred a little in his arms.“Zamil…” she said softly.
He hummed in response, eyes still fixed ahead.
“Do you always carry someone if they fall?”
He stopped walking, glancing down at her. For a second, silence stretched between them, thick and fragile. Then he said quietly,
“No… I’ll not let them fall…”He paused, his voice lowering even more,“But if it’s you… I’ll carry you.”
Ayat’s heart thudded painfully. She looked up at him, while he continued walking,his eyes on the road ahead, his side profile sharp against the faint golden light.
Her gaze wandered, tracing the clean line of his jaw, the light stubble that seemed to fit him perfectly, and the small mole near the corner of his eye she had never noticed before. There was a faint scar on his cheek, she’d always seen but never really looked at. Tonight, everything about him felt different. Softer. Human. Hers.
She didn’t even realize when the words slipped from her lips.
“What if you turn sixty… will you still carry me like this?”
That made him stop.
The silence that followed felt heavy, almost fragile. His jaw tightened, his eyes darkened slightly but he didn’t answer.
Ayat looked up at him, waiting. Begging silently for him to say something. Anything.
But he didn’t.
Because deep down, he knew one day he might have to let her go. He might have to free her from the name she carried, even if that name was his.
And so, in that aching silence, he began walking again.
Ayat understood. She didn’t press him. She simply shifted a little in his arms and rested her head against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck like a quiet, trembling hug.
The cool night breeze brushed her skin, and her eyes grew wet again,not from pain this time, but from something far heavier.
Because she remembered.
That night when she had come back for her phone,she had overheard them.
Yousef’s calm but serious voice.
“Zamil, you should forget the idea of divorce.”
And Zamil’s reply, quiet yet heavy with meaning.
“It doesn’t matter what I think… her happiness matters.”
The words echoed in her mind now, breaking her heart all over again.
He had said it for her…for her happiness. Yet, in that moment, she had never felt so close to him… and so far at the same time.
Her tears fell silently, soaking into the fabric of his coat as he kept walking, strong and steady carrying her through the night, carrying all the unspoken things that neither of them dared to say.
Zamil pushed open the door of their room and stepped inside, still carrying Ayat in his arms. The soft light from the bedside lamp painted the space in a warm glow. He carefully placed her down on the bed, his movements slow, cautious like she might break at the slightest touch.
Ayat kept her gaze lowered, her fingers trembling slightly as she adjusted her dupatta. Zamil’s eyes caught the faint shimmer of tears glistening on her lashes.
He leaned a little closer, his voice quiet but full of concern.
“Does it hurt more?”
She didn’t dare to meet his eyes. Her throat felt tight. She quickly wiped her tears and shook her head.
“No… it’s okay.”
He didn’t look convinced. Without another word, he walked to the drawer, took out the medical kit, and came back to her side. Kneeling down, he gently lifted her foot to remove her sandal.
Ayat winced in pain, a small hiss escaping her lips.
“Careful…” she whispered, biting her lip.
“Hmm,” he murmured softly, his voice almost tender.
He finally managed to take it off and opened the cream bottle, applying it slowly over the swollen area. His fingers were careful, moving with quiet precision, and yet the warmth of his touch sent a strange flutter through her chest.
When he was done, he stood up and pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing quickly.
“Doctor, come to the mansion. There’s been a small accident,” he said, his tone serious.
Ayat looked up in surprise. “There’s no need for that,” she said quickly. “It’s not that bad.”
He turned to her, brow furrowed.
“What if you broke a bone?”
That made her let out a tiny laugh…soft, unplanned. For a moment, even he couldn’t help but glance at her lips curling into that shy smile. Something inside him shifted quietly.
Before he could say anything, his phone rang again. It was Khwaja Sahib.
“Yes, Uncle,” he answered.
On the other end, Khwaja Sahib’s voice came calm but heavy. “Son, how’s Ayat now?”
“She’s fine,” Zamil replied, glancing at her.
“Good. Laila’s bidaai( farewell )is about to start. We’re waiting for you.”
Zamil sighed quietly. “I’ll be there in a moment,” he said and ended the call.
He looked back at Ayat, who was trying to adjust her dupatta again. “Let’s go,” he said softly.
Before she could protest, he bent down once more and scooped her up in his arms again.
“Zamil….” she began, startled.
He didn’t look at her, just said in a calm voice, “You can’t walk on this foot. Don’t argue.”
She stayed silent, her heart racing as she felt the warmth of his hold again.
_________
Laila stood near the car, tears streaming down her cheeks as Fatima Ami hugged her tightly.
“Take care of my daughter,” Fatima Ami said to Yousef, her voice breaking.
“I will, Ami,” Yousef replied softly, his eyes full of affection.
Umar walked closer, wrapping his sister in a tight embrace. “Be happy always,” he whispered. Then, turning to Zamil, he said with a faint smile, “Take care of her, Zamil… look forward to her happiness.”
Zamil nodded silently.
Yousef helped Laila into their car, wiping her tears gently. The engine started, and slowly, the car began to roll forward. The family stood behind, waving and praying.
On the other side, Zamil walked toward his own car, Ayat still in his arms. He opened the door carefully and placed her inside. Her eyes followed Laila’s car disappearing into the night, and a strange silence settled in her heart, la mix of joy, sorrow, and something unexplainable.
Zamil closed the door beside her, walked around, and sat next to her. The car began to move, following the convoy of lights leaving the mansion.
Inside, neither spoke. The sound of the city faded behind them, and only the faint hum of the engine filled the air.
Ayat’s hand rested on her lap, the traces of mehndi still dark on her skin. She looked out the window, blinking away a tear she didn’t want him to see.
Zamil glanced at her from the corner of his eye…her silence, her pain, the way she hid everything behind a quiet smile.
He turned his gaze forward again, jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t say a word.
___________
The night air had softened by the time they reached the new mansion. Lights shimmered along the grand gates, the path lined with fresh rose petals and golden lanterns glowing like stars fallen to earth.
Ayat looked out the car window, her eyes widening slightly. The mansion stood tall and majestic, every corner dressed in soft yellow lights and floral arrangements. It looked like something out of a dream.
When the car stopped, Zamil stepped out first. A guard immediately brought a wheelchair to the side. He opened Ayat’s door, and without a word, helped her sit gently in it.
As the headlights from the approaching cars cut through the driveway, Yousef and Laila arrived right behind them. Zamil had arranged everything a warm welcome, flowers, and the traditional dhol beats echoing softly through the hall.
The mansion doors opened wide as a group of staff members stood waiting, holding flower baskets and trays. The aroma of roses filled the air.
Zamil stood beside Ayat’s chair, calm and steady as always, while Yousef helped Laila out of the car. The moment Laila stepped in, petals showered from above. She gasped in awe, her smile radiant and full of joy.
Ayat looked at her, her heart warming despite the dull ache in her ankle.
Zamil, standing tall beside her, said quietly, “Welcome home.”
Laila turned to him, her eyes soft. “Zamil bhai, this is beautiful… thank you so much.”
Zamil’s lips curved faintly into a rare smile. “Yousef is my brother,” he said in his deep, composed tone. “How could I not celebrate his happiness?”
Laila’s eyes glimmered, and Yousef looked between them with quiet gratitude.
Ayat, sitting in the chair, nodded with a small smile as Laila bent down beside her.
“Are you okay now?” she asked gently, touching her hand.
Ayat nodded. “I’m fine, don’t worry,” she said softly.
Yousef also leaned down a little, concern clear in his voice. “You should rest, Ayat. Don’t try to walk yet.”
Before she could reply, Zamil stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on the wheelchair handle. “I’ll take her to the room,” he said simply.
There was a silent authority in his tone not demanding, not cold, just… protective.
He began to wheel her away as Yousef and Laila turned toward the stairs leading to their room.
Ayat looked over her shoulder once at Laila and smiled. Laila waved back before disappearing up the stairs beside her husband.
********
The room glowed in a golden hush, soft fairy lights wrapping the walls, petals scattered across the bed, and the faint scent of vanilla drifting through the air.
Laila stood by the window, her bridal dupatta shimmering under the dim light. Her hands trembled slightly as she touched her mehndi-darkened palms, her heart racing with every sound of footsteps approaching the door.
The door creaked open, and Yousef stepped in quietly, closing it behind him. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the sight of her… his wife, his love, now truly his forever.
Laila looked up, her eyes lowering again shyly. “You’re late…” she whispered, her voice soft as a secret.
Yousef smiled faintly, walking toward her. “Blame Zamil — he kept everyone busy outside,” he teased, his tone warm, full of the same gentleness that had always drawn her in.
She chuckled nervously, still avoiding his gaze. “You should thank him then… or you wouldn’t have the chance to see me like this.”
That made him laugh … a deep, soft sound. He stopped in front of her, close enough to feel her breath catch. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for years,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”
Laila finally lifted her gaze, eyes glimmering. “I know,” she said. “And you kept your promise.”
He reached for her hand, tracing the henna that bore his name. “It’s dark,” he said, smiling. “Guess they were right, it means you’ll love me more.”
She blushed, shaking her head. “No… it means you’ll love me more.”
He laughed softly and leaned in, brushing his lips against her lips …a quiet, pure promise beneath the golden lights.
*********
At the same time, across the mansion, the mood was entirely different.
The doctor sat near the bed, examining Ayat’s ankle while Zamil stood nearby with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes never leaving her face.
“It’s not a fracture,” the doctor said after a moment, gently pressing her ankle. “Just a sprain. She needs rest and no pressure on this foot for a few days.”
Ayat exhaled slowly in relief, nodding. “Thank you, doctor.”
The doctor smiled kindly. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. I’ll leave the painkillers on the table.”
Zamil walked the doctor to the door, exchanging a few low words, and then turned back toward Ayat. She was trying to sit up, reaching for the blanket, but he stepped forward before she could.
“Don’t,” he said quietly, taking the edge of the blanket and covering her himself.
She froze, her heart beating faster as his hand brushed near hers. “It’s fine,” she said softly, eyes downcast.
Zamil looked at her for a long moment… her face pale, her lashes still wet from the earlier tears. Something inside him tightened.
“It’s not fine,” he said finally, voice deep, calm, but edged with something she couldn’t name. “You should’ve told me it hurt more.”
Ayat looked at him then, her eyes glassy but soft. “You already had enough to do… I didn’t want to trouble you.”
He gave a faint exhale that almost sounded like a sigh. “You’re my wife, Ayat,” he said, his tone almost whisper-like. “You’re not a trouble.”
For a second, she forgot how to breathe.
Zamil’s eyes softened as he asked, “Didn’t you eat?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No….”
Without another word, he picked up his phone and called the maid. “Bring her food. Something light but warm.”
When the tray arrived, he placed it carefully on her lap. “Eat,” he said,not as an order, but in that calm, serious tone of his that no one dared to argue with.
Ayat obeyed, quietly taking a few bites while Zamil stood near the window, pretending to scroll through his phone. His reflection in the glass looked distant, but his eyes kept drifting toward her.
After a few minutes, she lifted her gaze and asked softly, “Did you eat?”
He looked at her, surprised for a moment, then shook his head. “I’ll eat later.”
She hesitated, then said gently, “Come and eat with me… the food is enough for both.”
For a second, he looked like he might refuse. But seeing the sincerity in her eyes, he sighed quietly and walked over. Pulling up a chair beside her bed, he sat down.
They shared the same plate silently, but comfortably. The soft clinking of the spoon and the faint sound of the night outside were the only things between them.
When they finished, he stood and reached for the medicine on the table. Pouring a glass of water, he handed it to her. “Take this.”
She took it without a word, her lashes brushing her cheeks as she swallowed the tablet.
Zamil then adjusted the pillows behind her carefully, making sure her injured foot was resting properly. “Sleep,” he murmured.
Ayat nodded weakly, her eyes already half-closed.
The maid came in quietly, taking away the tray and plate. Zamil waited until the room was silent again before turning toward the bathroom.
A few minutes later, he came out after his shower his hair still damp, his expression calm. He looked at her sleeping figure for a long moment, then walked to the other side of the bed.
Carefully, without disturbing her, he lay down beside her, keeping a small space between them. The night air was cool, but both of them found a quiet kind of pain.
Chapter 33
“كأنَّكِ أنتِ البدايةُ،
وكأنَّكِ أنتِ النهايةُ،
وكأنَّكِ كلُّ الحكاية.”
“As if you were the beginning,
As if you were the end,
As if you were the whole story.”
By: Mahmoud Darwish
The next morning, the mansion was alive again, servants moving quickly, laughter echoing faintly down the halls, and the scent of cardamom tea drifting through the air.
It was tradition, Khwaja Farooq’s family had come for breakfast after the rukhsati. Zamil had already arranged everything down to perfection, from the seating to the breakfast spread that gleamed on the long dining table.
Laila and Yousef were the last to come downstairs. They were already bickering quietly, Laila’s voice carrying just enough for everyone to hear.
“Can you believe he spent one whole hour in the washroom?” she said dramatically as she spotted Ayat sitting on the sofa. “Didn’t even give me time to get ready properly!”
Ayat smiled, trying to hold in a laugh. Yousef followed behind, still fixing his cufflinks, and looked toward Zamil with mock frustration.
“She lost the necklace I gave her last night.”
Laila gasped, placing a hand on her chest. “Excuse me! I found it myself,” she said, tilting her neck proudly to show the necklace glinting against her skin.
Ayat laughed softly. “You have a great choice, Yousef.”
Yousef gave her a look, then turned to Zamil as if silently saying, You see what I deal with?
But before anyone could reply, two small voices filled the room.
“Chachu!”
Ayan and Mahnoor came running in, their laughter echoing as they threw their arms around Yousef’s legs. Yousef bent down, scooping them both up effortlessly and spinning them around, the twins’ giggles filling the hall.
Moments later, Khwaja Farooq and Fatima Ami arrived, with Hooria walking beside them. Behind them, a few staff members followed, their hands full of trays carrying sweets, breakfast dishes, and wrapped gifts.
As soon as they entered, Zamil and Yousef stood up to greet them.
“Zamil beta,” Khwaja Sahib said warmly, smiling, “you’ve arranged everything so beautifully.”
Zamil shook his head lightly. “You didn’t have to bring anything, Uncle.”
“It’s tradition, son,” Khwaja Sahib replied with a grin. “One doesn’t visit their daughter empty-handed.”
Fatima Ami looked toward Ayat and asked, “How’s your foot, beti?”
Ayat smiled softly. “It’s much better now. I can walk slowly.”
“That’s good to hear,” Ami said, patting her hand affectionately.
Laila joined Hooria at the other side of the sofa, already chatting and laughing over last night’s function.
Zamil was speaking with Khwaja Sahib about business and family matters when he casually asked, “Why isn’t Umar bhai with you?”
“He had some work,” Khwaja Sahib replied with a sigh. “He’ll come by tomorrow at the
Walima,
In shaa Allah
.”
The conversation was light and warm, Yousef still entertaining the kids while the older ones shared smiles and stories.
Then, out of nowhere, Fatima Ami chuckled and said teasingly, “We want more children in this house soon.”
The words landed like a spark — both Ayat and Laila immediately froze, exchanging embarrassed glances before looking down, their cheeks turning pink.
Yousef almost choked on his tea. “Ami, let them breathe at least,” he muttered under his breath, making Zamil hide a smirk.
Trying to escape the teasing, Ayat stood up carefully. “I’ll go help arrange the breakfast.”
“I’ll come too,” Laila added quickly, glad for an excuse.
As the two women walked toward the dining area, Yousef and Zamil exchanged a look… one amused, the other quietly thoughtful.
___________
The long dining table gleamed under the soft morning light, the fragrance of
chai
,
halwa puri,
and
omelette
filling the air. Laughter echoed from one corner to another, a rare sight in the mansion that once stayed wrapped in silence.
Ayat sat beside Ami, her soft smile hidden behind the steam rising from her cup. Laila was beside her, narrating how Yousef made her late again this time because of his “mirror obsession.” Yousef rolled his eyes.
“Next time I’ll gift her a wristwatch instead of a necklace,”
he muttered, making everyone laugh.
Zamil sat at the head of the table, calm as ever, but his eyes found Ayat often ,the way she tucked her dupatta carefully when serving Ami or the shy way she thanked Khwaja Sahib for the blessings. She looked every bit of a newlywed bride in her pale pistachio-green outfit, embroidered with golden tilla and soft gota work along the sleeves ,traditional yet graceful.
“Zamil beta,” Khwaja Sahib began between bites of paratha, “We were thinking to keep the Walima simple, just family and close business partners.”
Zamil nodded. “That would be best. The guest list will be finalized by noon. I’ll handle the arrangements.”
Ami smiled, turning to Ayat. “And my daughter will sit beside me, not in the kitchen today. The staff will manage.”
Ayat tried to protest softly, but Zamil’s voice joined in — low, but firm.
“ Yes Ami, She deserves a rest. Let them handle it.”
Ayat looked at him for a second ,unsure if that was care or command but it made her heart flutter anyway.
Yousef leaned back, grinning. “I just hope you don’t turn this Walima into one of your ‘business meetings,’ Zamil.”
Laila smirked. “Don’t worry, Yousef. I’ll make sure Ayat keeps it lively.”
Ayan suddenly chimed in, “Can they dance again like yesterday?”
Everyone laughed.
Zamil lifted his cup, glancing briefly at Ayat and for the first time that morning, their eyes met longer than a second.
_____________
The night was alive with laughter, the chandeliers glimmered like captured stars, and the scent of jasmine filled the grand venue.
Music flowed softly through the air as guests congratulated the family, and Zamil stood near the stage, exchanging polite smiles with Khwaja Sahib’s friends.
Everything was perfect, until one of his guards approached him hurriedly.
“Sir…” The man leaned closer, his tone low. “This just arrived for you. It says it’s a gift.”
Zamil’s brows furrowed. The box was large, neatly wrapped in gold paper with a black ribbon tied around it. Something about it made his gut tighten.
He took it silently and walked a few steps aside, away from the guests. His fingers gripped the ribbon, pulling it loose. The lid came off….and the world around him seemed to stop.
Inside was a man’s head. Cold. Expression frozen in horror.
For a brief second, Zamil didn’t move. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkened but his expression stayed unreadable.
Then, quietly, he inhaled and muttered under his breath, “Oh God…”
His phone buzzed at that exact moment. He answered instantly.
A familiar voice crackled on the other end.
“Boss,there’s been an attack on the New York shipment. We lost contact with half the team. We need you.”
Zamil’s eyes hardened. His tone was ice.“I’ll be there.”
He turned and walked briskly toward the stage, where Yousef was posing for pictures with Laila and the family.
Without a word, he motioned for Yousef to step aside.
The smile on Yousef’s face faded when he saw his brother’s expression. “What happened?”
Zamil spoke quietly, so no one else could hear. “We’ve got trouble in New York. The shipment’s been hit. And…” he glanced back at the wrapped box, “….they’ve started sending messages.”
Yousef’s body tensed. “I’m coming with you.”
He began removing his coat, already preparing to leave, but Zamil gripped his arm firmly.
“No,” he said in a low, commanding tone. “You stay here. I’ll handle it. It’s your night …don’t ruin it for her.”
Yousef hesitated, frustration burning behind his eyes. But he knew when to obey that tone.
Zamil’s gaze shifted across the hall and landed on Ayat.
She was sitting beside Laila, smiling faintly at something Ayan had said, her innocence untouched by the chaos quietly unfolding.
He exhaled sharply. “She comes with me,” he said finally. “It’s not safe here anymore.”
Yousef followed his gaze, eyes widening slightly. “Zamil…”
“I said it’s not safe,” Zamil cut him off, his tone final.
He straightened his coat, fixed his expression, and walked toward Ayat.
She looked up as he approached his face calm, but his eyes shadowed with something she couldn’t read.
“Zamil… what happened?” she asked softly.
He didn’t answer right away. “We have to leave after the ceremony,” he said instead, voice controlled. “Go back and pack your things..”
Her heart skipped. “Leave? But—why?”
“Just do as I say, Ayat.”
His tone wasn’t harsh, it was protective. Deadly calm. She could feel the storm behind his words, even if she didn’t understand it.
Without another question, she nodded and rose from her seat. The driver appeared instantly, escorting her out through the side exit.
____________
The clock struck midnight, but the mansion was still alive with faint movement. Outside, engines hummed low, a convoy of black cars lined up under the porch lamps, headlights cutting through the dark.
Inside, the family gathered near the entrance. Everyone looked confused, some half-awake, others worried but silent.
Ami was the first to speak, clutching her shawl tightly.
“Beta, itni jaldi ja rahe ho? ( Son, you’re leaving this early?)What happened suddenly?”
Zamil’s tone was calm, respectful.“Something came up with the New York branch. It’s urgent. I have to handle it personally.”
He looked completely composed ,the perfect businessman explaining a sudden trip.
Only Yousef, Umar, and Khwaja Sahib exchanged subtle glances, knowing the truth that hid behind those simple words.
Khwaja Sahib placed a reassuring hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Business never rests,. Let them go. It’s important.”
Ami sighed, her eyes moving toward Ayat. The girl stood beside Zamil, her abaya draped over her light blue outfit, eyes soft but uncertain.
Ami walked forward and cupped her face gently. “Take care of yourself, beta. Call me when you reach.”
Ayat nodded, her voice small. “Ji, Ami.”
Little Ayan and Mahnoor ran toward her, hugging her tightly.
“chachi, don’t go! You just came!”
Ayat smiled through her sadness, kissing their heads. “I’ll come back soon, okay? And when you visit New York, I’ll make biryani for you myself.”
Hooria laughed lightly from behind, though her eyes were teary. “Bas, save some for me too.”
Even Laila, dressed in soft pastel colors, came and hugged Ayat warmly. “Take care. And message me when you land.”
Ayat smiled faintly. “Promise.”
Behind them, Yousef stood near Zamil, his jaw tight. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”
Zamil shook his head. “No, stay here. Keep things calm. I’ll handle it.”
His tone left no room for argument, but his eyes softened slightly, the brother in him speaking silently.
Umar approached next, quietly. “You’ll call when you land?”
Zamil nodded. “Yes. And keep an eye on everything here.”
Finally, Khwaja Sahib came closer, placing his hand on Zamil’s arm. “Whatever it is, deal with it wisely, beta. I know you will.”
Zamil inclined his head respectfully. “Insha’Allah.”
The guards opened the car door. Ayat turned one last time, the entire family waving from the entrance, the moon light touching their faces.
Her chest tightened as she waved back, trying to memorize the warmth of that moment.
Zamil adjusted his cuffs, gave a last nod to Yousef and Khwaja Sahib, and then stepped inside the car.
The convoy began to move, wheels crunching against the gravel.
From the rear window, Ayat watched the mansion grow smaller, her reflection faintly merging with Zamil’s beside her.
********
The hum of the jet filled the cabin… soft, steady, yet heavy with tension. Outside, the night stretched endlessly, clouds glowing faintly under the silver light of the moon.
Zamil hadn’t sat down once since takeoff. His jacket was off, shirt sleeves rolled up, phone pressed to his ear as he moved back and forth across the narrow cabin aisle. The quiet authority in his voice was unmistakable…. cold, calm, commanding.
Ayat sat near the window, hands folded in her lap. She kept her eyes on him, her heart restless. He looked… different, not like the man who carried her so gently days ago. His sharp features were tense, eyes fixed, every word that left his lips heavy with control and urgency.
She didn’t understand what exactly was happening, but she knew, something was wrong.
When one of the guards handed him another phone, Zamil turned, his gaze briefly meeting hers. For a moment, his expression softened, but only slightly.
“Go sleep in the room,” he said quietly, his tone not harsh, just distant. “It’s going to be a long way.”
Ayat hesitated. “Aren’t you… going to sleep?”
He shook his head, eyes already drifting back to the papers on the table. “… I have to work.”
Her lips parted to say something, but she stopped herself. The words felt useless now. Instead, she gave a small nod and stood up.
As she walked toward the small cabin room, she looked back once, Zamil was still there, standing under the soft yellow light, his profile calm but shadowed by something deeper. His phone buzzed again, and he answered instantly, voice low and composed.
She sighed softly and stepped inside the room.
The sound of his voice lingered faintly through the door.
Ayat lay down, eyes open against the hum of the engines.
Chapter 34
“الحب لا يعطي إلا ذاته،
ولا يأخذ إلا من ذاته،
فالحب لا يملك،
ولا يُملَك.”
“Love gives nothing but itself,
And takes nothing but from itself.
Love possesses not,
Nor would it be possessed. “
By : Gibran Khalil
They landed around 2 a.m. The convoy of cars drove through the empty streets, the city lights fading behind them as they turned toward the outskirts.
It wasn’t Al-Mansur Estate. It was one of Zamil’s old warehouses…secured, silent, and cold.
When they entered, Zamil guided her in quietly.
“Freshen up,” he said gently. “Dinner will be served. I have to go outside for a while.”
There was no warmth in his tone, but there was something heavier, concern buried beneath layers of control.
Ayat just nodded, her eyes following him until the door shut behind him.
She went upstairs, washed her face, and changed into something soft. The maid served her dinner, though she barely ate. Her stomach felt tight.
Every few minutes, she looked at her phone. When it finally rang, she almost jumped.
It was Laila.
Ayat smiled faintly, answering.
“Hey… I just landed.”
“Finally! How’s New York?”
“Same as before,” she chuckled softly. “We’re not home yet.”
They talked for a while. Laila’s voice made her feel lighter , until Ayat’s smile slowly faded.
Something in the room… felt wrong.
Her heart stilled. She could feel it, the weight of eyes somewhere near.
Turning her head slightly, she caught a glimpse through the curtain, a shadow standing at a distance near the buses. Unmoving. Watching.
Her breath hitched.
She moved away from the window, her hand trembling as she ended the call.
Her fingers dialed Zamil’s number. Once. Twice.
No answer.
On the third ring, his voice came, sharp and strained.
“Ayat?”
“There’s…..there’s someone outside,” she whispered. “He’s just standing there, watching me…”
Before she could finish, the air shattered.
Gunshots. Loud. Violent.
“Hide!” Zamil’s voice thundered through the phone. “Right now, Ayat. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. I’m on my way!”
The call cut.
She froze for a heartbeat, then ran, shutting off the lights, looking around wildly for somewhere to hide. Her chest burned from fear. The sounds outside were getting closer sharp, echoing blasts.
She crawled into the small storage cabinet, curling herself tight, hands over her mouth to stop her sobs.
The room trembled. Footsteps thundered above her.
Her whole body shook with every gunshot that echoed closer… closer…
And then… silence.
The quiet was worse. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears.
Until….
CRASH.
Her door broke open.
She held her breath, tears blurring her vision.
Footsteps again. Slow this time. Heavy.
The cabinet door jerked open and she flinched back, whispering,
“Please don’t….”
“Ayat,”That voice.Her eyes flew open. It was Zamil.
She burst out, throwing herself into his arms before her mind could even register it.
“I thought….. I thought I was going to die,” she choked, her voice breaking.
“Shh…” He held her tighter. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Not while I’m breathing.”
He made her sit on the couch, poured a glass of water, and watched until she drank. His hands were still trembling slightly, but his eyes stayed steady on her face.
For a while, neither spoke. Just the sound of their breathing, uneven, fragile.
Finally, she looked up at him.
“Who were they?”
He didn’t look away this time. His jaw clenched.
“The men who killed my parents,” he said quietly.
Ayat’s eyes widened. She didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
Zamil exhaled slowly, leaning back. His voice turned distant as if every word dragged him back to the boy he once was.
He told her everything, how his family was murdered, how he ran, how Turkey became a battlefield of survival, how he built an empire just to reach the ones responsible.
Ayat sat in silence, her tears falling one by one.
She couldn’t speak for a moment. The man sitting in front of her wasn’t just powerful, he was broken, scarred, and still standing.
“You’ve carried too much,” she whispered finally. “All your life… you’ve carried pain no child should ever know.”
Her voice trembled, but her gaze didn’t waver.
“I used to think I was the one who suffered. But there are people who lose everything and still don’t lose themselves. You’ve become my ideal, Zamil.”
He looked at her for a long moment and for the first time that night, a faint, tired smile touched his lips.
“My only wish,” he murmured, “is to punish those who killed my parents.”
Ayat blinked away her tears.
“And my wish,” she said softly, “is to do Hajj with my husband.”
Something in his eyes softened a rare flicker of warmth breaking through the storm inside him.
“Then wish granted,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll go this year.”
Her lips curved into a small, peaceful smile.
“You should take a shower,” she said after a pause. “You smell like smoke and gunpowder.”
He chuckled under his breath, glancing at his sleeve.
“Maybe I do,” he said quietly, standing up.
She watched him walk away tall, strong, and yet carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He never raised his voice. Never showed his pain.
But she could feel it like the quiet ache of a wound that never healed.
_______
The morning sun barely touched the sky when Ayat was escorted out of the warehouse. The air outside was cold, still carrying the scent of gunpowder and metal. Two black SUVs waited near the gates, the guards opened the door for her, speaking softly, “Ma’am, we’re taking you to the Al Mansur Estate.”
She nodded faintly, her eyes still heavy from the sleepless night. The echo of gunshots, Zamil’s voice shouting orders, the way he pulled her from danger, everything replayed in her mind like a broken record.
As the car began to move, she glanced back at the warehouse. Zamil wasn’t there anymore. Only the shadows of his men and the smoke curling into the morning sky.
Her fingers curled over her lap, a silent prayer slipping from her lips. “Ya Allah, protect him…”
__________
The sky was tinted gray, the smell of smoke and salt mixing in the air as the black SUV came to a screeching halt near the docks. Zamil stepped out, his coat fluttering in the wind, eyes burning with a cold fury.
“Where’s Carter?” he demanded.
One of his men, drenched in sweat and seawater replied, “He’s not here, boss. Only his crew. They took the ship at dawn.”
Zamil’s jaw tightened. “Then we take it back.”
Without hesitation, he walked toward the pier, rolling up his sleeves. The sound of gunfire cracked in the distance … short, controlled bursts. His men were already in position, returning fire from behind the stacked containers.
“Cover!” Zamil shouted, picking up an assault rifle from one of his guards.
The men obeyed instantly. Zamil moved forward, each step steady despite the chaos ,bullets sparking against the steel near his feet. He crouched behind a cargo box, took a breath, and fired a clean shot.. one, two …both landing perfectly.
Within minutes, the balance shifted. The enemy men began to retreat toward the far end of the dock, trying to escape with speedboats.
“Don’t let them leave,” Zamil ordered through the comms. “Not a single one.”
One of his guards called out, “The ship’s bridge is clear!”
Zamil didn’t wait. He sprinted toward it, climbed the steel stairs two at a time, and kicked open the door to the control room. The smell of oil and gunpowder hit him hard.
A man inside raised his weapon, but Zamil was faster. He fired once the man collapsed, hitting the controls as he fell.
Zamil stood there for a moment, breathing heavily. The radio crackled beside him , his second-in-command’s voice came through.
“Boss, it’s done. The ship is ours again.”
Zamil’s grip on the gun loosened. He looked around at the walls, the floor, the blood. His ship. His men. His empire.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Now burn every trace of Carter’s presence here. I want this place clean before sunrise.”
He stepped out onto the deck, watching the sea glimmer faintly under the breaking dawn. For a man like him, victory never felt peaceful , just necessary.
____________
The sky over New York was heavy with clouds, the kind that promised rain but never kept their word. The mansion felt too large tonight, its silence echoing through the marble halls.
It had been a week since Zamil left for the docks. A week without his footsteps in the corridor, without his quiet “good morning,” without his presence that filled every space even when he said nothing.
Ayat had stopped asking where he was after the third day. The guards said only, “He’s handling business, ma’am.”
And so, she went back to her routine, joined the company again, kept herself busy, and told her heart not to wait.
Today, though, the house was alive again. The staff was setting the long dining table. The smell of roasted lamb and saffron rice drifted from the kitchen. Laila and Yousef were arriving tonight, and Ayat had personally prepared the dinner.
She was in the kitchen, tying her apron, tasting the sauce for the third time when her phone buzzed.
It was his name.
Zamil.
For a moment, her heart stilled. She wiped her hands quickly and answered, voice soft, “Hello?”
“I won’t make it tonight,” his tone was low, rough maybe from exhaustion, maybe from smoke. “Something came up.”
Ayat swallowed the lump in her throat. “You said that yesterday too.”
A pause. Then, almost gently, “I know.”
She wanted to ask where he was, or if he was safe, but the words refused to leave her tongue. Instead, she said quietly, “Yousef and Laila will be here soon. They’ll ask about you.”
“Tell them I’m proud of him,” Zamil replied. “And tell Laila… welcome home.”
The line went silent after that. He didn’t say goodbye , he never did.
Ayat lowered the phone slowly, staring at it for a few seconds before slipping it onto the counter. The sauce on the stove began to bubble too much; she quickly stirred it, pretending that her eyes weren’t burning.
The doorbell rang.
Laughter followed.
She straightened her dupatta, took a deep breath, and walked out to greet the couple.
Laila instantly ran to her, hugging tight. “Ayat! Finally, we’re here!!”
Ayat smiled faintly. “welcome, Mrs. Yousef.”
Laila blushed, and Yousef just laughed, “You’re the one making her blush again, Ayat. Where’s My Zak?”
Ayat hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying softly, “He’s… caught up with work. He said he’s proud of you both.”
Yousef’s smile dimmed a little. “Work never ends for him.”
“No,” Ayat said quietly, glancing toward the window where the rain had finally begun to fall, “it never does.”
*************
Zamil POV
He was back.
Back from hell, back from reclaiming his ship but not from himself.
At first, he thought only about Ayat.
What would she say if he showed up home like this … bruised, half-broken, still smelling of blood and smoke?
So, he stayed at the hotel.
A week passed.
A week of silence, of torment, of trying to convince himself that he could let her go.
He couldn’t.
After that night… the attack on the warehouse, something inside him changed.
For the first time, Zamil Al Mansur had felt fear.
Not for his empire, not for his life… but for her.
Now, he sat on the floor of his hotel suite, the man everyone feared reduced to a wreck.
The room was dim, lit only by the dying glow of a bedside lamp. Cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air.
His shirt hung open, revealing the scars and bruises on his chest. The floor was littered with cigarette butts.
One cigarette burned between his fingers; the other hand held his phone.
On the screen… her.
Ayat.
The photo was one he had taken secretly, at Yousef and Laila’s wedding.
She had been laughing that day, unaware of his gaze.
He exhaled a shaky breath, smoke curling toward the ceiling as a faint chuckle left his lips.
How strange ,
the man who once told her not to expect love or affection now couldn’t go a single night without her shadow haunting him.
The world feared him.
But love had made him weak or maybe, more human than he ever wanted to be.
He looked up, eyes heavy, dark circles marking sleepless nights.
“Ya Allah,” his voice cracked quietly, “I don’t know what to do… but I can’t let her go. Not now. Not ever.”
He rose slowly, running a hand through his messy hair, shirt still undone. The city lights spilled faintly through the curtains, painting gold on his bruised skin.
Without another thought, he grabbed his keys and walked out.
People turned as he passed some stared, some flinched away. But he didn’t care.
At the entrance, the guard handed him his car keys in silence.
Zamil slid into the driver’s seat, engine roaring to life.
He didn’t know where he was going.
But his heart did.
He drove toward the only place that ever felt like peace.
Toward her.
_____________
The dining room glowed softly under the golden light.
Yousef and Laila sat with Ayat around the table, the sound of gentle laughter filling the air as they shared dinner. For a moment, everything was calm, ordinary.
Ayat rose from her chair, smiling faintly.
“I’ll bring more bread,” she said softly, heading toward the kitchen.
Just then, the main door opened.
The quiet hum of conversation stopped.
Lady Nova turned, her smile fading when she saw who stood there.
Zamil.
His shirt was half-open, smeared faintly with blood and smoke. His hair was a mess, eyes hollow yet burning with something fierce. Cigarette smoke still clung to him like a scent of war.
“Sir—” Lady Nova began, nervous.
He cut her off, his tone low but steady.
“Where is she?”
“In… in the kitchen,” she stammered, stepping aside.
He didn’t wait another second. His footsteps echoed down the corridor, firm, impatient, heavy with a thousand unsaid things.
Ayat was reaching for a bowl when she felt arms wrap around her from behind … strong, trembling, desperate.
She gasped and froze, her heart racing. But then she caught his scent …that familiar, deep musk of his cologne, mixed with smoke and the faint trace of salt and rain.
“Zamil…” she whispered, her voice breaking.
He said nothing. Just pressed his face into her shoulder, exhaling as if finally breathing after days.
“Are you… are you okay?” she asked softly, her hands brushing over his.
A quiet “hmm” escaped his lips , muffled against her skin.
When he finally let go, she turned to face him.
Her eyes widened instantly. His bruised jaw, the dried blood near his collarbone, the exhaustion carved deep into his features.
“Ya Allah… what happened to you?” she murmured, worry flooding her voice.
Instead of answering, he just watched her.
Ayat frowned, then sighed softly, her hands reaching for his undone shirt. “You can’t go out there like this,” she said under her breath, her fingers carefully buttoning each one. “Yousef and Laila will think something’s wrong.”
Zamil said nothing.
He just stood there, silent, watching her every small movement.
Her touch was gentle, her brows furrowed in concentration, unaware of how his eyes refused to leave her face.
When she was done, she looked up at him, her fingers brushing the last button. “There,” she whispered, then frowned again. “Your hair…”
She reached up, fixing the messy strands with her soft hands.
But his gaze didn’t move .. steady, unreadable, almost vulnerable.
Her breath hitched slightly. “Why are you staring like that?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
He didn’t answer. His silence said enough, more than words ever could.
Ayat stepped back, nervous under his gaze. “Come… come have dinner,” she said quietly, her voice trembling just a little.
Zamil’s eyes lingered a moment longer before he nodded faintly.
He followed her out of the kitchen ,his heart still heavy, but for the first time in days… calm.
Ayat walked back toward the table, her hands still trembling a little.
Behind her, Zamil followed, his tall frame shadowing her small steps, his shirt now neatly buttoned but still creased, his presence commanding the entire space the moment he entered.
Yousef was the first to look up. His smile widened instantly.
“Zamil! Finally, man!” he said, getting up from his chair. “We thought you wouldn’t make it.”
Zamil forced a small smile ,tired, distant.
“Neither did I,” he replied, his voice low, roughened by sleepless nights.
Yousef walked forward and hugged him tightly. “You look like hell,” he said, half-joking.
Zamil gave a faint chuckle, pulling away. “Feels worse than it looks.”
Laila stood up too, her soft eyes full of warmth. “It’s good to see you back,” she said sincerely.
Zamil nodded, his gaze briefly flicking toward Ayat, who was now quietly setting an extra plate at the table, avoiding his eyes.
“Come, sit,” Laila urged. “We were just talking about how quiet New York feels without you shouting at someone on the phone.”
That earned a small smirk from Zamil as he sat down. “You must have enjoyed the peace,” he said dryly.
Yousef laughed. “Not at all. The office feels dead without your chaos.”
Ayat returned to her seat beside Laila, pretending to focus on serving food.
Her hands, however, betrayed her , slightly trembling as she placed the bowl in front of him.
Zamil noticed. His gaze lingered for a moment before he quietly said, “Thank you.”
She didn’t look up. “You’re welcome,” she murmured.
A few minutes passed in easy conversation,Yousef talking about the flight, Laila sharing stories from the trip but Zamil barely spoke.
He listened, occasionally nodding, his expression unreadable. Only when Ayat laughed at something Yousef said did a faint warmth flicker across his eyes.
Yousef noticed it ,the silent way Zamil’s gaze followed her, soft yet restrained.
When their eyes met across the table, Yousef’s grin turned teasing. “You sure you’re alright, brother? You’ve been staring holes in your dinner since you sat down.”
Zamil blinked, then leaned back in his chair, his lips curving faintly.
“Just thinking,” he said, brushing off the question.
Ayat shot Yousef a look, flustered. “You always tease people at dinner?”
“Only when they give me reasons,” Yousef laughed.
The moment softened. For a while, it felt almost normal again — laughter blending with the clatter of spoons and the quiet hum of the city outside.
But every time Ayat looked away, Zamil’s gaze found her again as if making sure she was still there, still safe.
Chapter 35
“أحببتكِ حتى آخر وجعي،
حتى آخر حدود الكلام.
ثمّ وجدتُ أنني أتكلم وحدي.”
“I loved you to the end of my pain,
To the last edge of words.
And then I realized — I was speaking alone.”
The house had finally gone quiet.
Outside, the city lights shimmered faintly through the glass walls, and the soft hum of the heater filled the silence of the room.
Ayat stood near the dresser, brushing her hair when the door to the bathroom opened.
Zamil stepped out steam trailing behind him, water dripping from the ends of his hair. He looked exhausted, yet something in his eyes had softened tonight.
His shirt was half-buttoned as he reached for his watch, but Ayat’s voice stopped him.
“Where were you all this time?” she asked gently, turning to face him.
Her tone wasn’t angry just filled with quiet worry that had been bottled up for days.
Zamil paused. His hands stilled for a second, then he exhaled deeply.
“Work,” he said simply.
The word hung between them sharp, unfinished, and clearly not the whole truth.
Ayat’s lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to ask more, but then she stopped herself. She had learned something about him ,when he didn’t want to speak, he wouldn’t. Not until he was ready.
So instead, she said softly, “There’s a new investor… he wants to meet me tomorrow. I was thinking…”
Her voice lowered a little. “Would you come with me?”
Zamil looked up from the buttons he was fastening. For a brief second, their eyes met in the mirror.
“I will,” he said, his voice steady with no hesitation, no question.
Ayat nodded, relief flickering through her chest.
“Alright,” she murmured, and turned off the lamp near her side of the bed.
Zamil walked to his side, pulling the sheets aside and settling down. The faint scent of soap and smoke still lingered on him.
Ayat slipped into her place too, her back turned slightly toward him. The silence stretched comfortable, yet filled with something new.
Then, without a word, she felt his hand reach across the space between them.
He pulled her gently toward him, her body fitting against his chest before she could react.
“Zamil…” she whispered, startled. “What’s this?”
He buried his face lightly in her hair, his voice low and calm.
“Can’t I hug my wife?”
Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t reply just froze, her breath caught between shock and a strange, sweet nervousness.
The steady rhythm of his heartbeat pressed against her back … strong, uneven, human.
Her own heart began to match it, beating faster with every passing second.
Zamil didn’t move again. He just held her quietly, protectively, like the world outside no longer mattered.
Ayat lay there, her face hidden in the pillow, her mind swirling with too many feelings she couldn’t name.
And as the night deepened, she realized she could finally hear something in his silence not words, but a kind of peace she hadn’t known she needed.
He stayed like that the entire night not sleeping, not letting go as if holding her was the only way to remind himself that she was real, that she was his, and that nothing would take her away.
_______________
Sunlight filtered softly through the tall curtains, spilling golden warmth across the marble floor.
Ayat stood before the mirror, her dupatta pinned neatly around her head, her light pastel suit giving her a graceful, professional look modest yet striking.
It was her first business meeting, her first step into the world Zamil had ruled for years.
She had been up since dawn, rehearsing how to greet the investor, how to keep her voice calm, how not to mess up in front of him, the man who rarely showed emotions but whose presence somehow made her heart race faster than her thoughts.
When she stepped out of the room, she found Zamil already waiting near the main door, dressed in a black tailored suit, the faint bruise near his jawline still visible, his watch glinting under the morning light.
He looked at her once from head to toe and something unspoken crossed his eyes.
“You’re ready?” he asked, voice low, calm.
Ayat nodded quickly, clutching her small purse. “Yes…”
The drive was silent, the city gliding past the tinted windows of the black Maybach.
Ayat kept her gaze fixed on the file in her lap, pretending to revise the details of the investor’s proposal but every few seconds, her eyes would drift toward him.
Zamil sat beside her, one hand on the steering, the other scrolling through his phone. His jaw was tight, the tension from last night still shadowing his face. Yet there was a kind of peace in the car, a quiet connection that didn’t need words.
Ayat exhaled softly and whispered, “You know… this is my first official meeting.”
Zamil’s eyes shifted briefly from the road to her. “I know.”
She smiled nervously. “And you’re not going to… stare silently the whole time, right?”
That pulled a faint smirk from his lips — rare and short-lived, but it made her cheeks warm.
“I’ll try not to intimidate anyone,” he murmured.
___________
They arrived at the Khalil International Stock Exchange, the glass building towering high above the city. Reporters and investors moved in and out the air buzzing with activity.
As they stepped out of the car, Ayat adjusted her dupatta, her fingers trembling slightly.
Zamil leaned closer and said quietly, “You’ll do fine. Just be yourself.”
The simple words steadied her more than any preparation could.
Inside the lobby, the receptionist instantly recognized Zamil and greeted him with quiet respect. Ayat followed beside him, her heels clicking softly against the marble, her eyes wide as she took in the enormous space, the screens flashing numbers, people moving in perfect coordination.
They were led to the top floor, into a sleek meeting room where the new investor was already waiting a middle-aged man in a gray suit with a sharp, polished smile.
“Mr. Al Mansur,” the man said, standing up to shake hands. “It’s an honor. And this must be Mrs. Al Mansur.”
Ayat smiled politely, murmuring a soft Assalamualaikum as she sat down.
The meeting began, discussions of market positions, joint ventures, and new stock expansions.
Ayat listened intently, speaking only when asked… her voice clear, confident, even though her palms were damp with nervousness.
And every time she’d glance up, she found Zamil already watching her… not with critique, but with a kind of pride he didn’t show in words.
When the meeting ended, the investor said warmly, “You’re lucky, Mr. Al Mansur. Your wife has a business mind and a calm presence. Rare combination.”
Zamil’s gaze slid to her for a moment before he replied,
“I know.”
Ayat’s cheeks warmed, her heart catching at the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.
The boardroom slowly emptied, the air still thick with the weight of Ayat’s decisions.
She stood near the window, the New York skyline stretching beyond the glass tall, proud, and alive, just like her.
Zamil watched from behind, hands tucked in his pockets, saying nothing.
It wasn’t his empire this time, it was hers.
And seeing her in that chair, commanding respect from every man in the room, had stirred something fierce inside him.
Ayat turned toward him, her dupatta slipping slightly over her shoulder, a small nervous laugh escaping her lips.
“Was I… too harsh in the end?”
Zamil’s eyes softened.
“You owned that room, Ayat.”
She blinked, taken aback by the quiet pride in his tone.
For a man like him whose words were few and precise , those five words felt like a whole confession.
They walked out of the building together.
Outside, the afternoon sun gleamed on the glass façade of Khalil International Stock Exchange.. her company, her father’s legacy, the name she had vowed to protect.
Zamil opened the car door for her, and as she sat, she caught her reflection in the tinted window, a reflection of a woman who had once been too afraid to speak, now leading a business empire.
Inside the car, silence fell again, but it wasn’t empty.
It was the kind that spoke volumes between them.
Ayat glanced sideways. “You didn’t say anything during the meeting.”
Zamil looked ahead, his voice low. “It wasn’t my place to. You were leading.”
She smiled faintly, looking down at her hands. “Still… I kept looking at you. Every time I did, it felt like I could breathe again.”
He turned to her this time….his gaze steady, unreadable.
“You don’t need me to breathe, Ayat,” he said quietly. “You were born to stand on your own.”
Then, softer almost a whisper…
“But I’ll still be there… when you fall.”
The words made her heart skip.
She looked at him, caught between awe and disbelief the same man who once told her never to expect affection, now sitting beside her, his guard finally slipping.
She hesitated, then said softly, “And what if… I don’t want to fall anymore?”
He looked out the window, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
“Then I’ll make sure you never do.”
The car stopped at a red light.
Ayat turned her gaze toward him, studying the faint shadows under his eyes, the exhaustion that still clung to him.
“You haven’t rested, have you?”
Zamil exhaled through his nose. “Not really.”
“Then tonight,” she said firmly, “you’ll rest. No calls, no business.”
He tilted his head slightly, watching her with quiet amusement.
“Giving me orders now?”
“Someone has to,” she shot back, her tone playful.
That made him smirk… the smallest, rarest hint of a smile that reached his eyes this time.
And for a moment, as the light turned green and the car moved again, Zamil felt something he hadn’t in years, peace.
Because for the first time, he wasn’t protecting his empire.
He was protecting her.
_________________
Three months later…
Ayat had been working hard or maybe too hard. Her once-perfect reports now had careless errors, her presentations lacked their usual spark, and her focus seemed to drift every few minutes.
Zamil noticed. He noticed everything.
But he never said a word. Until today.
He was in his office, staring at the schedule when he picked up the phone.
“Send Ayat in,” his voice calm, deep, but holding that sharp undertone that made anyone stand straighter.
Moments later, the door opened.
Ayat stepped in, dressed in her formal suit, clutching a few papers nervously.
Zamil’s eyes lifted from the file.
“Are you ready for the presentation?” he asked simply.
She nodded quickly. “Yes, everything’s prepared.”
Without another word, he stood and walked toward the meeting room. She followed, her heartbeat already unsteady.
*******
The meeting began. Investors were seated. The air felt heavy with importance.
Ayat started the presentation but halfway through, her voice trembled. She lost her place in the slides, mixed up numbers, and stuttered through explanations.
Zamil’s jaw tightened, but he stepped in smoothly, his tone firm, confident, commanding. Within minutes, he turned the chaos into brilliance, leading the room as only he could.
When it ended, the investors left satisfied, thanks to him.
The door shut behind the last person. Silence.
Ayat stood there, frozen.
Zamil’s hands were pressed against the table, his head slightly lowered. The air around him burned with quiet anger.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, dangerous.
“If you weren’t ready, Ayat,” he said, each word controlled, “then why did you hold the meeting?”
Her throat tightened. “I…..I didn’t do it on purpose,” she whispered.
He looked up, eyes sharp. “I hate liars.”
That broke her. Her eyes filled before she could stop them. “Fine!” she said, her voice trembling. “Fine, I d…did it on purpose!”
His expression froze, confusion flickering beneath the anger.
“Why?” he demanded.
She swallowed hard, tears falling freely now.
“Because… if I…I become successful… you’ll divorce me.”
Zamil’s body stilled. He looked at her, every wall he had built cracking in silence.
She took a shaky breath. “I… I don’t want to go anywhere. I…I want to be with you.”
Her voice broke. “Because… because I—”
Before she could finish, he moved.
In one swift motion, he closed the distance, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her to him.
His lips met hers…warm, firm, desperate.
Her breath caught in her throat, surprise turning into something she couldn’t name. Her hands lifted, trembling, and then found his neck. She clung to him like he was air itself.
When she finally tapped his shoulder, breathless, he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers.
His voice came out in a whisper, rough and low.
“Uhibbuki, ya zawjati…”
(I love you, my wife.)
Then again, even softer…
“Ana uḥibbuka kathīran… Habibti”
(I love you so much…. My love.)
Her eyes opened wide. She stepped back, dazed.
“You… you were going to leave me,” she said, her voice small.
He chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
“Leave this much loving wife?” he murmured, amusement and affection tangled in his tone.
Her cheeks flushed crimson.
He tilted his head slightly. “I’m still waiting for your answer,” he added with a teasing smile.
“I… I—” she began, but he pressed his finger gently to her lips.
“Shh…” His gaze softened, voice dropping lower. “Not now. If you say it now… I’ll lose my control.”
Her eyes widened as she lightly punched his shoulder. “Stop it… this is office!”
He leaned in again, close enough that she could feel his breath near her ear.
“We’ll continue this at home,habibti,” he whispered.Ayat froze, eyes flying open. “Astagfirullah…who wants that?” she stammered, stepping back quickly.
He only laughed softly as she grabbed her folder and moved toward the door.
“Tomorrow is the first Ramadan,” she said hurriedly. “We’re going shopping after work. Don’t forget.”
He nodded with a faint smile, watching her rush out.
When the door closed, Zamil exhaled, running a hand over his face before pressing it against his heart.
“She’s really going to be the death of me,” he murmured under his breath,with the ghost of a smile that only Ayat could draw from him.
*******”
Evening fell softly over New York.
The sky glowed with the dying fire of the sun,orange melting into purple. The Al Mansur tower shimmered in the distance, the glass walls catching the last light of day.
A soft knock came on Ayat’s door.
She looked up from her desk, still surrounded by open files and documents.
“May I come in, Mrs. Al Mansur?”
The voice was calm, deep… unmistakably his.
She turned, a small smile tugging her lips. “Yes, yes, Mr. Al Mansur,” she teased lightly. “What brings you here?”
Zamil leaned against the doorway, his sleeves rolled, the setting sun glinting against the watch on his wrist.
“If you’re done with work,” he said, his tone softer than usual, “we should leave for shopping. You said it’s Ramadan tomorrow.”
Her eyes brightened. “Oh, yes! Let’s go.”
She quickly gathered her things and walked toward him, brushing past him with the faintest scent of jasmine that always seemed to linger around her.
He followed quietly, his gaze unconsciously softening.
————–
The car ride began smoothly.
Ayat, sitting beside him, was all energy ,scribbling a small list in her notebook, murmuring things under her breath.
“Dates… lanterns… new prayer mats… and maybe something sweet,” she said, smiling.
Zamil was half-listening, half-busy on his phone, responding to work emails.
“Hmm,” he replied, distracted but still nodding. “Whatever you like.”
She leaned a little closer. “You’re not even listening,” she said with mock annoyance.
He looked up from his screen, one corner of his mouth curving slightly. “I am. You’re buying the whole city.”
She gasped softly. “That’s rude.”
He smirked. “That’s true.”
And she laughed — a light, genuine sound that made him look away for a moment just to hide the small smile forming on his lips.
They had just crossed the bridge when everything changed.
A loud boom tore through the quiet evening.
The lead car, one of Zamil’s security vehicles…. exploded into flames, metal shattering, smoke spiraling into the sky.
Ayat screamed, the car jerking to a stop.
Within seconds, Zamil’s expression hardened,every trace of warmth gone.
His men surrounded the car instantly, guns drawn, shouting commands.
Zamil pulled open the glove compartment and retrieved his own firearm, his movements precise, steady.
He turned to Ayat.
“Do you trust me?” he asked firmly.
Her voice trembled, but her eyes didn’t waver. “A…Always.”
He gave a short nod.
“Stay down. No matter what happens.”
And before she could say another word, he was gone. The car door slammed shut, leaving her heart racing in the echo.
Outside, chaos raged.
Zamil moved like a shadow controlled, sharp, terrifyingly calm. Bullets whizzed past; his guards returned fire. Flames roared behind them.
He took cover beside one of his men, shouting orders, his voice cutting through the noise.
Then another vehicle screeched in from the opposite street … it was Yousef’s car.
He jumped out, gun in hand, shouting, “Zamil! On your left!”
The two men locked eyes for a split second, a flash of unspoken understanding.
And then the fight truly began.
The crack of gunfire echoed through the street, smoke mixing with the sunset’s dying light.
From inside the car, Ayat pressed her trembling hand to her mouth, praying under her breath… “Ya Allah, please… please keep him safe.”
Every gunshot outside felt like it struck her heart directly.
But all she could do was watch the shadow of her husband through the smoke, fighting like a man who had nothing left to lose.
The air was thick with gunfire.
Sparks and smoke blurred the view outside as Zamil fought in the distance .. every movement sharp, calculated. His men were trying to surround the shooters, but chaos had already taken hold.
Inside the car, Ayat crouched low, heart pounding in her chest.
Her trembling hands clutched her phone ,she didn’t even know who she wanted to call, only that she wanted this nightmare to stop.
Then suddenly
tap, tap, tap
…..the sound of bullets striking against the car glass.
She looked up, startled.
One of the masked men had come close, his gun aimed directly at her. He began shooting repeatedly —
bang, bang, bang! ….
the bulletproof glass holding, but spider cracks started forming across it like veins of death.
Ayat screamed, curling into herself, covering her head.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as her breath came in sharp gasps.
The sound wouldn’t stop that constant metal rain of bullets hitting the glass again and again until finally, her fear took control.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t think.
She just ran.
Ayat pushed open the back door and stumbled out into the open, her dupatta flying behind her like a pale flag.
Smoke curled up from the burning vehicle ahead. The air smelled of metal, dust, and fear.
She turned wildly, her voice trembling.
“Zamil!”
Her cry cut through the chaos, reaching him where he stood some distance away, mid-fight.
He froze.
His eyes widened the instant he saw her… his Ayat, out in the open.
For a second, everything slowed.
The world dimmed around him, the sound of gunfire fading into a hollow hum.
“AYAT! WATCH OUT!”
he shouted, his voice raw, desperate.
She turned toward the sound just as a man stepped from behind a burning car, his gun raised.
Her eyes met the attacker’s.
And then the sound.
A single gunshot.
Ayat’s body jolted backward as the bullet tore into her chest.
Her eyes went wide with shock. For a heartbeat, she just stood there, unmoving, her lips parting soundlessly — and then her body began to fall.
“NO!”
Zamil’s voice broke into a roar as he sprinted across the asphalt, the world blurring around him. He didn’t feel the bullets that grazed his arm, didn’t hear his men shouting.
He only saw her.
He caught her before she hit the ground, his knees slamming into the dirt as he pulled her against him.
Her blood stained his shirt instantly … warm, spreading fast.
“Ayat… Ayat, look at me!” His hands were shaking as he cupped her face. “
“Habibti, open your eyes. Do you hear me?”
She blinked slowly, her lashes wet with tears, her lips pale.
“Zamil…” she whispered weakly. “I…It hurts…”
He pressed his forehead to hers, his own tears falling freely now.
“I know, I know, just stay with me. Don’t you dare close your eyes.”
Her breathing hitched, shallow and uneven.
“u…uhibbuka….Zamil”( I ….I love you….Zamil)she whispered, her voice fading.
“A…Ana uḥibbuka kathīran. “
(I ….Ilove you so much.)
Final chapter
وَمَاتَتْ هِيَ، وَلَكِنَّ صَوْتَهَا لَا يَزَالُ يَهْتِفُ فِي صَدْرِي،
تَرَكْتَنِي بَيْنَ الْحَيَاةِ وَالْمَوْتِ، لَا أَسْتَطِيعُ أَنْ أَخْتَارَ.
قَدْ سُرِقَ نَبْضُ قَلْبِي مَعَهَا،
وَكُلُّ مَا بَقِيَ مِنِّي… صُورَةٌ تَبْكِي عَلَى قَبْرِهَا.
She died, yet her voice still echoes inside my chest.
She left me between life and death — unable to choose either.
The heartbeat was stolen from me when she left,
and all that remains now… is a man’s shadow weeping over her grave.
The sound wouldn’t stop that constant metal rain of bullets hitting the glass again and again until finally, her fear took control.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t think.
She just ran.
Ayat pushed open the back door and stumbled out into the open, her dupatta flying behind her like a pale flag.
Smoke curled up from the burning vehicle ahead. The air smelled of metal, dust, and fear.
She turned wildly, her voice trembling.
“Zamil!”
Her cry cut through the chaos, reaching him where he stood some distance away, mid-fight.
He froze.
His eyes widened the instant he saw her… his Ayat, out in the open.
For a second, everything slowed.
The world dimmed around him, the sound of gunfire fading into a hollow hum.
“AYAT! WATCH OUT!”
he shouted, his voice raw, desperate.
She turned toward the sound just as a man stepped from behind a burning car, his gun raised.
Her eyes met the attacker’s.
And then the sound.
A single gunshot.
Ayat’s body jolted backward as the bullet tore into her chest.
Her eyes went wide with shock. For a heartbeat, she just stood there, unmoving, her lips parting soundlessly — and then her body began to fall.
“NO!”
Zamil’s voice broke into a roar as he sprinted across the asphalt, the world blurring around him. He didn’t feel the bullets that grazed his arm, didn’t hear his men shouting.
He only saw her.
He caught her before she hit the ground, his knees slamming into the dirt as he pulled her against him.
Her blood stained his shirt instantly … warm, spreading fast.
“Ayat… Ayat, look at me!” His hands were shaking as he cupped her face. “
“Habibti, open your eyes. Do you hear me?”
She blinked slowly, her lashes wet with tears, her lips pale.
“Zamil…” she whispered weakly. “I…It hurts…”
He pressed his forehead to hers, his own tears falling freely now.
“I know, I know, just stay with me. Don’t you dare close your eyes.”
Her breathing hitched, shallow and uneven.
“u…uhibbuka….Zamil”( I ….I love you….Zamil)she whispered, her voice fading.
“A…Ana uḥibbuka kathīran. ” (I ….Ilove you so much.)
“Don’t—” his voice cracked, trembling as he held her closer.
He looked up, screaming for help, his voice echoing through the night —
“YOUSEF! GET THE DAMN CAR!”
Then he looked back down at her, brushing her hair away from her face.
“Stay with me, Ayat. Please… please, don’t leave me. You’re safe. I swear, you’re safe.”
Her trembling fingers rose weakly, brushing against his cheek, her last strength spent on a faint smile.
And then her hand fell.
Zamil froze.
For a second, the world stopped moving.
Then his voice broke, a sound so deep, so raw that even his men stopped firing.
He pulled her closer, clutching her against his chest like he could bring her back through sheer force.
The gunfire had stopped.
Only the faint crackle of burning metal and the sound of Zamil’s uneven breaths filled the air.
He laid Ayat gently on the ground, her head resting on his arm. His fingers brushed her cheek one last time, as if memorizing the warmth before it faded.
Then….silence broke.
His eyes, red and hollow, lifted toward the man who had fired that fatal shot.
The shooter was trying to crawl away, wounded.
Zamil stood, every muscle in his body trembling with fury. He picked up his gun ,his hands slick with blood and walked slowly, step by step, until he was standing over the man.
The killer looked up, terrified.
But there was no mercy left in Zamil’s eyes.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The sound echoed again and again, each shot heavier than the last,rage, grief, heartbreak, all blending into one.
Zamil stood there, chest heaving, smoke swirling around him.
Then he dropped to his knees beside Ayat again. His hands shook as he pulled her close, one arm around her body, the other still holding the empty gun.
He looked down at her face ,peaceful now and his voice cracked into a whisper.
“How could I live… when my heart is dead?”
His hand trembled as he raised the gun to his temple. His eyes closed.
From the distance, Yousef’s voice shattered through the chaos.
“ZAMIL! NO!”
Zamil’s finger pressed the trigger…
Click.
Empty.
He opened his eyes, confusion giving way to despair. The gun slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground. He let out a broken sound …half scream, half sob and collapsed forward, wrapping both arms around Ayat.
For the first time in his life, the man the underworld feared most cried not in anger, not in pain…. but in love.
He cried like a child, holding her face, pressing his forehead to hers, whispering her name again and again, as if his voice could call her back.
Sirens wailed in the distance, red and blue lights flashing through the smoke. Police cars stopped, officers shouting orders, medics rushing forward.
But all Zamil saw was her.
Yousef ran toward him, breathless, his own eyes wet. He crouched beside them, his hands trembling as he touched Zamil’s shoulder.
“Brother,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You have to let them take her.”
Zamil didn’t move. He just kept holding her, murmuring softly, “
She’s cold… she’s cold, Yousef…”
Yousef’s throat tightened as he reached forward, slowly wrapping his arms around Zamil from behind, pulling him back, away from Ayat’s still form.
The medics lifted her onto the stretcher, the white sheet fluttering under the siren light.
Zamil’s body went limp in Yousef’s arms.
He wasn’t fighting anymore.
He wasn’t speaking.
His eyes just stayed locked on that stretcher as it disappeared behind the ambulance doors.
__________
The air in the mansion was still.
Too still.
The soft recitation of Qur’an echoed faintly through the halls ,verses that should have brought peace, yet only deepened the ache sitting in every heart.
Ayat’s coffin rested in the center of the grand room, wrapped in white ,the same color she had once worn as a bride.
Now it looked colder.
Quieter.
Zamil sat beside it, his body frozen like marble. His eyes..red, hollow, sleepless…hadn’t blinked for hours. Twenty-three hours now, Yousef had counted. Not once had Zamil moved. Not once had he eaten, drunk water, or spoken.
Just sitting there.
One hand resting over the coffin’s edge as if afraid she might slip away again.
When Khwaja Farooq’s family finally arrived, the house filled with quiet sobs and broken salaams. Ami, her steps weak, walked toward the coffin. She fell to her knees beside it and touched Zamil’s shoulder.
“My son…” her voice cracked, “…get up. Please. It’s Allah’s will. She’s gone.”
Zamil blinked once ,the first movement in hours. Slowly, he turned his face toward her.
His voice came out hoarse, empty, trembling.
“It happened… because of me.”
Ami shook her head through tears, “No, beta. Don’t say that. It was written…”
He interrupted, voice rising slightly, his throat dry,
“No. She wasn’t supposed to be there. I promised her safety, Ami…”
He swallowed hard, his voice breaking, “And I couldn’t even keep that.”
He pressed his forehead against the coffin. His lips moved in silence, no one could hear what he whispered, but the pain in his voice carried through the air like a storm ready to break.
Yousef stood nearby, eyes glistening, his hands folded tightly. He had seen Zamil angry, powerful, ruthless. But this… this was something else entirely.
The man who ruled empires now couldn’t even hold himself together beside the woman who made him human.
When the time for the burial came, Yousef crouched beside him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Brother…” he whispered, voice trembling, “…it’s time.”
Zamil looked at him …eyes empty, tired. Then, without a word, he nodded slowly.
He stood up, weakly, his body heavy like the world was pressing down on him.Yousef and a few men stepped forward. But before they could touch it, Zamil rose slowly, his legs trembling yet firm.
He walked closer, his hand brushing the edge of the wooden coffin. His voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.
“Habibti…”he said, his throat tightening,“you said I would never let you fall.”
He lifted one side of the coffin, tears slipping down his cheeks as he forced a weak smile.
“Look…”he whispered,“I still carry you.”
Silence fell over everyone. Even the wind seemed to stop.
As they began to move toward the graveyard, he walked beside her, step after step, the man who had once ruled empires, now carrying the only thing he could never protect.
_______________
One Week Later
The air in the basement was heavy with blood and silence.
Chains clinked faintly as. Ray Carterhung there…bruised, broken, and dripping crimson.
Zamil stepped inside.
His eyes were hollow, his face blank—no anger left, just the echo of loss.
Ray raised his head weakly, spitting blood before forcing out a laugh.
“Why don’t you just kill me, Zamil?”
Zamil’s voice was calm.
“Because death is mercy,” he said coldly. “And I don’t believe in giving mercy anymore.”
Ray coughed, smiling through his pain.
“Then you’ll never have peace.”
Zamil took a step forward, pressing the muzzle of his gun to Ray’s forehead.
“I’ll find peace when you stop breathing.”
Ray closed his eyes.
“Do what you want,” he murmured, “but don’t you want to know why I did this?”
Zamil didn’t answer, turning to leave…
until Ray’s next words froze him mid-step.
“Your father… Fahad Al Mansur… was my best friend.”
Zamil’s eyes narrowed.
Ray’s voice trembled, half pain, half rage.
“He betrayed me. We were partners….brothers. There was a project… a deal that would’ve made us both kings. But he changed at the last moment. Said my money wasn’t enough. He left me with nothing.”
The scene blurred, slipping into the flashback…
Ray storming into Fahad’s office, shouting,
“We were friends!”
And Fahad’s calm reply“It’s business, Ray. Nothing personal.”
That day Ray’s empire collapsed.
His pregnant wife died without proper treatment.
His newborn daughter starved in hospitals that refused his name.
“All because of your father,” Ray said, voice breaking, “I lost everything. So I made sure he would too.”
Flashback ends.
Zamil’s jaw tightened. His hand trembled around the gun.
“My wife…” he said through clenched teeth, “she wasn’t part of this.”
Before Ray could respond……
Zamil fired.
One. Two. Three.
Until the count lost meaning.
Thirty-six bullets tearing through vengeance.
Yousef rushed in, grabbing him from behind, shouting,
“Zamil! Enough! He’s gone!”
Zamil’s gun fell.
He sank to the ground, face buried in his hands as Yousef held him.
“He’s gone,” Yousef whispered again.
Zamil didn’t reply. His tears fell silently onto the blood-soaked floor.
Yousef signaled the guards.
“Clean it up,” he ordered softly.
When they left, Zamil sat there in silence.
Then finally, he spoke,“Go, Yousef… I need to be alone.”
Yousef hesitated, then nodded and left him there…broken, yet breathing.
Time passed.
Zamil stood, glancing toward the small window above. A thin line of light crept through the dust.
“The last enemy is dead,” he muttered. “So why does peace still feel so far?”
He walked out of the basement, onto the quiet morning streets.
The adhan echoed through the sky.
Ayat’s voice whispered in his mind, soft and warm…
“It’s the first Ramadan Tomorrow… let’s go shopping.”
He stopped walking when he heard it…
a faint cry.
At first, he ignored it.
But something inside wouldn’t let him.
He followed the sound to an alley.
There, wrapped in a torn blanket, lay a baby…abandoned, trembling, crying.
Zamil stared, his throat tightening. He turned to walk away but after a few steps, he stopped.
He looked at the sky, whispering through a broken voice:
“So now… You give me him?”
He walked back, lifted the baby gently in his arms.
The child stopped crying immediately, nestling into his chest.
Zamil exhaled slowly.
For the first time in days, he felt something move inside him…not peace, not joy…
just purpose.
He turned, walking back down the empty road, the call to prayer echoing behind him.
______________
Six Years Later
The sun was gentle that morning.
A light breeze brushed through the quiet cemetery, carrying the faint scent of jasmine.
Zamil knelt beside Ayat’s grave, placing fresh white lilies , her favorite.
His hand rested on the cold marble, his voice calm yet aching.
“So… today’s meeting went good, Habibti,” he murmured softly.
“They finally approved the new project. You’d have scolded me for forgetting breakfast again.”
He smiled faintly, the corner of his lips trembling.
“And Aryan… our son… he’s still as stubborn as you. Said he won’t get ready unless mummy helps him.”
He chuckled under his breath. “Can you imagine that? He thinks you still help him find his socks.”
A car stopped behind him.
Zamil didn’t turn,he already knew who it was.
Small footsteps came rushing forward.
“Papa! Papa!”
Little Aryan, six years old, ran toward him, waving a small golden trophy.
His eyes sparkled with the same innocence Ayat once carried.
“Papa, I won! I won the… competition!”
Zamil turned, his smile softening the rough lines on his face.
Behind him, Yousef walked slowly, holding the boy’s school bag.
Yousef said, “our Aryan, he got first in poem singing.”
Aryan puffed his chest proudly.
Then he turned toward the grave.
“Look, mummy!” he said cheerfully, placing the trophy beside the flowers.
“I win this for… you. Want me to… sing it?”
Zamil’s eyes filled, but he nodded silently.
The little boy started singing.. an innocent, shaky melody, his small hands moving in childish gestures as if performing on stage again.
When he finished, he turned toward his father with an eager smile.
“Papa… mummy liked it?”
Zamil swallowed, forcing a smile.
“She’s saying she’s proud of you, Aryan,” he whispered. “Very proud.”
Aryan’s face lit up, but just for a second.
Then his small lips trembled, his eyes glistened.
“But papa…” he said, voice cracking,
“mummy talks to you… but she never….. talks to me.”
Silence.
Zamil froze.
Even Yousef had no words.
For a moment, the world stood still, only the sound of leaves moving in the wind.
Finally, Yousef knelt, gently placing a hand on Aryan’s shoulder.
“She talks to you when you’re asleep,” he said softly. “Maybe you just don’t remember it, hmm?”
Aryan nodded slowly, still teary.
Yousef lifted him up, saying, “Come on, champ. Let’s go buy some chocolate before Papa eats them all.”
Aryan sniffled but smiled, clinging to Yousef’s hand as they walked back toward the car.
Zamil stayed.
The breeze moved again.
He placed his palm on the grave, fingers trembling slightly.
“You see, Habibti…” he whispered, voice breaking,
“I kept my promise. I raised him like you would’ve. He’s got your laugh… your eyes… your soul.”
He paused, the ache in his chest spreading like fire.
“But what I can’t give him is you.”
Tears fell silently.
“Every night, he asks where you are. And I tell him,‘she’s in the safest place, my boy… in Jannah.’( heaven )But then he asks me,‘if it’s so safe there, why does Papa still cry?’”
Zamil exhaled shakily, eyes on the marble.
“You took my peace with you, Ayat. And I’m still learning how to breathe without it.”
He placed his hand over her name, pressing a soft kiss to his thumb, whispering….
“Even in your death, you taught me how to love in silence.”
Every year since she left, Zamil performed Hajj, never missing a single one.
It was her wish… her dream he kept alive.
And when he stood before the Kaaba, heart trembling beneath the white Ihram,
he always whispered the same words..
his voice breaking between prayers and tears.
“Ya Allah… tell my Ayat… that I still love her.”
“Tell her I kept my promise.”
“Tell her… she still lives here,” he said, pressing a hand over his chest.
And as he looked at the Kaaba, the wind brushed against his face…
soft… almost like her touch…
as if heaven itself carried her answer back to him.
نامَتْ هِيَ تَحْتَ التُّرَابِ،
وَنَامَتْ مَعَهَا أَحْلَامِي.
لَكِنَّ ذِكْرَاهَا، مَا زَالَتْ تُصَلِّي فِي قَلْبِي.
She sleeps beneath the earth,
and with her, my dreams rest too.
Yet her memory still prays within my heart.
The End
Author’s Final Words
I know this ending might not feel right to many of you but sometimes, we have to accept that not every love story ends in happiness. Reality is often cruel, and I wanted this story to stay real.
The journey was beautiful, wasn’t it? From the very first page, it was meant to be this way. You might not believe me, but I cried the night I wrote this chapter… and again today, while finishing it.
Some stories simply have to end this way.
Thank you so much for giving this novel so much love, support, and patience. I’ll never forget what this story and you all have meant to me.
This was my first novel, and because of you, it became something unforgettable.
And now, a new journey begins my next novel, “VILLAIN.”
It’s a story apart from this one… darker, deeper, and filled with new emotions.
With love,
Anlxin0
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