The next morning, when Zarif woke up, Zara was already gone. The room felt eerily silent, as if she had never been there at all. But on the dressing table, a small chit lay neatly placed. He picked it up, recognizing her clean handwriting.
"The appointment is at 6:30 today."
His grip on the paper tightened. He didn't need to ask what appointment she meant. It was the divorce discussion.
Zarif got ready for work, but the usual routine felt off. Throughout the day, he couldn't shake off a strange feeling of unease, a heaviness sitting in his chest. He distracted himself with work, but time was merciless—seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, and before he knew it, the clock struck 6:30.
Cursing under his breath, he hurried out and drove to pick up Zara. As he arrived in front of her office, he saw her struggling with a heavy bag, stumbling as she tried to balance it. Instinctively, he moved to step out of the car, but before he could reach her, a male colleague appeared, steadying her by the shoulders and taking the bag from her hands.
Zara flashed the man a small, polite smile, and he patted her shoulder lightly, saying, "Good work today. Get home safe."
Zarif's hands tightened around the steering wheel. A strange annoyance surged in him, but he brushed it off. Why did it matter? He refused to acknowledge the unpleasant twist in his chest.
When Zara entered the car, she simply put in her earphones, mumbling the lyrics to a song as if they were heading to a picnic instead of a lawyer's office. The air between them was light for her, but suffocatingly heavy for him.
At the lawyer's office, the meeting was straightforward. After going through the legalities, the lawyer looked up and said, "According to the law, you have to remain legally married for at least a year before proceeding with the final divorce. There's no way around this."
Zara, unfazed, nodded and asked, "Is there no faster way?"
The lawyer shook his head. "No. This is the standard procedure."
"Alright then," she replied as if she had just been told she had to wait for a meal at a restaurant.
Zarif, on the other hand, barely registered the conversation. The weight in his chest had only grown heavier. One whole year. He didn't know why it suddenly felt so significant.
On the drive back home, Zara leaned against the car window, humming a tune. The wind played with her hair, and she looked... untouched. As if none of this bothered her in the slightest.
"Sorry, we have to stick together for another year," she said with a light tone, a ghost of amusement on her lips.
Zarif said nothing. His throat felt too dry to respond.
By the time they reached home, Zara had already fallen asleep in the passenger seat. For a moment, he just sat there, watching her even breathing. Then, carefully, he unbuckled her seatbelt and—without thinking—lifted her in his arms.
She was lighter than he expected. The warmth of her skin against his sent an unfamiliar shiver down his spine. As he stepped into the house, his mother and sister were passing by. They stopped in their tracks, watching him with wide, knowing eyes. Then, in unison, they broke into giggles.
"Aww, look at him, being all caring," his sister teased.
"I never thought I'd see this day," his mother added, her voice filled with unhidden amusement.
Zarif shot them a glare, but they only snickered harder. Ignoring them, he carried Zara to their room and gently placed her on the bed. Her hair had fallen over her face, covering her closed eyes. Without thinking, his fingers reached out and brushed the strands away.
The moment his skin made contact with her cheek, Zara stirred slightly. Zarif froze. His breath caught in his throat. But she simply shifted, turning to her side, still deep in sleep.
Letting out a quiet breath of relief, he backed away and turned towards the bathroom.
Later, as he stood under the cold water, his fingers absentmindedly traced his own. The sensation of touching her still lingered, burning softly at the edges of his mind.
And for the first time, he found himself questioning why it mattered at all.
He got out of the bathroom and sat on the bed facing Zara. Seeing her peaceful face raised a storm in his heart. He could no longer look at her, his chest felt heavy. He laid down on the bed facing the other side. As soon as he closed his eyes Zara opened her eyes, she stayed still in her sleeping position but the ever lasting smile was gone .Her face looked stoic, she rubbed her hand against her eyelid as if to wipe something.
But she knows touch can't be wiped ....