The days following Zarif's release were quiet, almost too quiet. The chaos had settled, but its echoes remained, lingering in the air like an unspoken truth. Zara went about her days with her usual composure—calm, collected, and always wearing that faint, enigmatic smile. It was maddeningly unreadable, as if nothing in the world could touch her.
For Zarif, the calm brought little peace. The storm inside him was far from over, but it was no longer just about the betrayal or humiliation. It was about her.
He found himself watching Zara more often than he'd like to admit. The way she moved with quiet confidence, always aware of her surroundings but never flustered. How she sat by the window at night, the moonlight softening her sharp features, her gaze distant yet steady. There was an unshakable strength in her, something he had never seen in anyone else. And it unnerved him.
Zarif couldn't understand it.
Zara had only been in his life for two weeks, and somehow, she had already taken root in his thoughts.
That morning, Zara was in the kitchen, brewing tea. The faint scent of cardamom filled the air as she moved about, her hands precise and deliberate. Zarif lingered by the doorway, unnoticed—or perhaps ignored. He wasn't sure which.
He cleared his throat. "Why did you do all?Why did you risk your self-respect for me?You didn't have to do all this, you know."
She turned to face him, that same serene smile on her lips. "It's my responsibility, isn't it?"
Her words were simple, almost detached, but they hit him harder than they should have. Responsibility. That's all this was to her. An obligation. Nothing more.
He stepped closer, his voice quieter now. "Zara… you didn't have to go through all of that for me. The accusations, the threats—you didn't deserve any of it."
Her smile didn't falter."I did it because I trust you, I knew you could have never done that.Also,I thought it's my duty to stand by you."
Zarif's chest tightened. There was no malice in her tone, no bitterness—just an unwavering sense of duty. But it felt hollow, as if she had built walls around herself that even her words couldn't breach. He wanted to tell her that she was more than just a protector, more than just a stoic shield against the world's chaos. But the words caught in his throat.
Instead, he reached for the cup of tea she handed him. Their fingers brushed for the briefest moment, and he could swear his heart skipped a beat. Zara, however, didn't seem to notice. Or if she did, she didn't care.
Later that evening, Zarif found himself standing outside the room. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see her seated by the window, her silhouette outlined by the silver glow of the moon. She was staring into the distance, her expression calm as always. But for a fleeting second, he thought he saw something else—a flicker of… sadness, maybe? Or perhaps it was just his imagination.
He knocked lightly on the doorframe. "Zara."
She turned, her smile as steady as ever. "Is something wrong?"
"No," he said quickly, stepping inside. "I just… I wanted to thank you. For everything."
"There's no need to thank me," she replied. "It's what I had to do."
Had to do. The words felt like a barrier, shutting him out before he could even get close. Zarif wanted to say more, to tell her that she didn't have to carry everything on her shoulders, that she didn't have to face the world with that ever-present smile masking whatever she truly felt. But he didn't know how.
So he simply nodded, lingering for a moment before he retreating to the bed.But as he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, one thought kept circling in his mind.
The woman lying next to him was all he could think about. Snatching away his sleep she laid there peacefully and innocently.