28.

The soft glow of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting golden patterns on the walls of their room. Anam stirred awake, the lingering memory of the night before etched into her heart like a warm glow. She stretched slightly, her movements careful, not wanting to disturb Feras. Her eyes wandered to where he slept on the other side of the bed. His face, usually marked with a cold intensity, seemed unusually calm in the soft light of morning.

She smiled, looking at her handsome husband.

Feras woke up to the faint rustling of her movements. His eyes opened slowly, taking in the sight of her by the window, adjusting her hijab as she prepared for Fajr. Something about the sight stirred a quiet ache in his chest... a longing he couldn't yet name. The vulnerability she had shown the night before, and the way he had let his guard slip for even a moment, weighed on his mind.

He sat up, running a hand through his hair as he watched her move. Her presence filled the room with a quiet grace he was starting to notice more and more.

When she turned to him, her eyes met his, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. The silence between them wasn't heavy this time; it was something softer, almost comforting.

"Good morning," she said softly, breaking the quiet with a small, tentative smile.

"Good morning," he replied, his voice gruff but not unkind. He cleared his throat, glancing away as though the weight of her gaze was too much. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, surprising even himself with the question.

Her smile grew a little, and she nodded. "Alhamdulillah, yes. And you?"

He hesitated, the memory of her tears flashing in his mind. "Better than I expected," he admitted, his tone softer than usual.

Anam moved towards the door. "I'll get breakfast ready," she said, her voice light but her heart a little heavier than she let on. As she left the room, she silently prayed for more mornings like this, for more cracks in his walls, for a chance to be the warmth that melted away his coldness, and show him the right path.

.....

It was Sunday, so everyone was at the table for breakfast...

Anam quietly served tea at the breakfast table, her movements graceful but subdued. Ahmed sat at the head of the table, and Feras beside him, his expression unreadable, a fortress of stoicism as he sipped his tea.

Chachi's voice broke the silence, her tone heavy with a mix of frustration and sorrow. "Feras, tumhare kisi dost ne koi khabar di Aman ke baare mein? Kahan hai mera beta?" (Feras, has any of your friends given any news about Aman? Where is my son?)

The question made everyone freeze for a moment. Anam's hand trembled slightly as she set the plate of parathas down. She didn't dare look up, but her stomach churned at the mention of Aman. The memory of that horrifying day flashed through her mind, and she felt a cold sweat break out on her skin.

Feras's jaw tightened, his hand gripping the cup a little harder than necessary. His voice was low, controlled, but it carried an edge sharp enough to cut through the room. "Uska zikar mat kijiye, Chachi. That name has no place in this house." (Don't mention him Chachi. That name has no place in this house.)

Chachi's face crumpled, but she wasn't ready to give up. "Woh mera beta hai Feras! Main kaise chup raho? Tumhe to pata hai, maa ka dil—" (He is my son, Feras! How can I stay silent? You know how a mother's heart—)

Salman interrupted her sharply, his voice booming with authority. "Bas karo, Sana! Aman ke naam ka zikr is ghar mein ab kabhi dobara nahi hoga." His words left no room for argument, and his tone carried a finality that even Chachi couldn't ignore. (Enough, Sana! Aman's name will never be mentioned in this house again.)

Ahmed, who had been silent until now, spoke up, his voice steady but firm. "Salman sahi keh raha hai. That boy has disgraced this family enough. No one will speak about him again." (Salman is right)

The room fell into a suffocating silence. Chachi's tears began to flow freely, her cries muffled as she pressed a dupatta to her face. Seher quickly moved to comfort her, glaring at the men as if blaming them for her mother's misery.

"Ammi, bas... aap kyun iss ghar mai kisi se koi umeed rakh rahi hain?" Seher whispered bitterly, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "In logon ko toh bas dard dena aata hai." (Ammi, stop... Why are you still expecting anything from anyone in this house?) (These people only know how to give pain.)

Anam kept her head down, her fingers clenching the edge of her dupatta. She didn't want to be drawn into the tension, but her heart was racing, the memories of Aman's cruel gaze and his despicable act haunting her.

Feras glanced at Anam, his gaze softening just slightly when he noticed her hands trembling. His voice cut through the air again, colder this time. "Aman jo kuch bhi tha woh pehle tha, ab woh sirf ek bhaga hua mujrim hai. Agar woh kabhi samne aaya, toh main khud uska hisaab chukaunga." (Aman was whatever he was before, but now he is just a runaway criminal. If he ever comes in front of me, I will settle accounts with him myself.)

Chachi let out a fresh wail, but this time, no one tried to console her, not even Seher, who was gravely intimidated by Feras. Salman's expression was as hard as stone, shame and guilt filling his heart, and Ahmed only shook his head disapprovingly.

The tension at the table was unbearable, and Anam felt as though the walls were closing in on her. She quietly excused herself and retreated to the kitchen, her hands shaking as she poured herself a glass of water.

Moments later, Feras walked in, his expression still unreadable. He stopped a few steps away from her, his voice low but commanding. "Tum theek ho?" (Are you okay?)

She looked up at him, startled, and then nodded quickly. "Ji... main theek hoon." (Yes, I'm fine)

He studied her for a moment, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly. "If anyone ever makes you uncomfortable... Seher, Chachi, anyone...you tell me. Samjhi?" (Understood?)

Her lips parted slightly in surprise, but she nodded again. His words were firm, but beneath them was a protective undertone that made her heart flutter.

For a brief moment, their eyes met, and the weight of the unspoken words between them hung in the air. Then, as quickly as he had come, he turned and left, his cold demeanor firmly back in place.

Anam stood there, her heart pounding.

.....

Anam stood in front of the dressing table, her fingers gently undoing the pins of her hijab. It had been a long day, and she was finally unwinding in the privacy of the room. The door, she thought, was locked. The quiet of the room wrapped around her as she removed the final pin, allowing the fabric to slip away, revealing her dark hair tied in a simple bun.

Just as she reached up to untie her bun, the door suddenly swung open with a loud creak.

She gasped, letting out a startled noise, her hands instinctively flying up to cover her head. Her wide eyes met Feras's equally stunned gaze. He stood frozen in the doorway, his phone pressed to his ear, his words trailing off mid-sentence.

"Main baad mein baat karta hoon," he muttered into the phone, his tone uncharacteristically distracted. He ended the call without waiting for a response and placed the phone on a nearby table, his eyes never leaving her. (I'll call you later.)

Anam's heart pounded wildly in her chest as she clutched the edge of her dupatta, which was now draped over the dressing table. "W-woh... mujhe laga tha ke darwaza locked hai," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. (I-I thought the door was locked)

Feras stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His expression was unreadable, but his intense gaze left her feeling completely vulnerable.

For a long moment, he didn't say anything, his eyes scanning her face and lingering on her hair.

He didn't say anything for a moment, just stood there, his gaze unwavering. Then, in a low voice that sent a shiver down her spine, he said, "Aj tumhe hijab ke baghair dekh kar samaj aya hai ke Allah ne aurtoon ko parda karne ka hokum kyu diya hai." Feras's voice grew a little commanding, sending a shiver through Anam. "Aaj ke baad, jab hum dono akelay hon, to tumhe apna sar mere samne cover karne ki koi zaroraat nhi hai."

(Today, after seeing you without a hijab, I finally understand why Allah commanded women to cover themselves) (From now on, whenever it's just the two of us, you don't need to cover your hair in front of me)

Anam's heart skipped a beat. Her cheeks flushed deeply as she nervously looked away, her fingers fidgeting with her dupatta. "Ji..." she whispered shyly.

Feras's gaze lingered on her, his expression a mix of intensity and something softer that she couldn't quite define. "Tumhare bare mein ek baat mujhe hamesha se bohot pasand thi, Anam," he said, his voice low and deliberate, as though each word was carefully chosen. (There's one thing I've always liked about you, Anam.)

Her heart skipped a beat at his unexpected admission. "K-kaunsi baat?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. (W-which thing?)

"Tumhara apni izzat aur sharam ka itna khayal rakhna. Tumhara apne aap ko dhak kar rakhna, apni haya ko sambhalna—ye cheezein tumhe aur bhi khoobsurat banati hai meri nazroon mai."

(Your respect for your own dignity and honor. The way you cover yourself, hold onto your modesty—these things make you even more beautiful in my eyes.)

Her cheeks flushed deeper, and she looked away, overwhelmed by the weight of his words. He was always cold, always distant, yet today his words carried a strange tenderness that melted something deep inside of her, making the love she had for him grow even more.

"Tumhare baal khule dekh kar lagta hai Allah ne yeh khoobsurti sirf mujhe dikhane ke liye banayi hai."

(Seeing your hair open like this makes me feel that Allah created this beauty just for me.)

Anam's heart raced. She swallowed hard, her fingers brushing over the fabric of her scarf still resting on the table.

As he turned away, his phone buzzed again, pulling his attention.

She stood there as his words wrapped around her heart, leaving her speechless by whatever just happened.She took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm wash over her. The love she had always felt for Feras, the connection between them, it was all becoming even deeper.

She thanked Allah for every moment that had led her here, for the strength to carry on, and for the chance to share this bond with him.

.....

Feras leaned back in his chair, his study dimly lit, the only sounds being the ticking of the wall clock and the faint hum of his phone call. His tone remained composed, sharp as ever, but his mind was elsewhere... drifting back to Anam, as it often did these days.

"Understood. Follow up with the documents by evening," he said curtly before ending the call. Setting the phone down, he exhaled, his gaze unfocused, his fingers tapping against the desk in a rare display of restlessness.

She had entered his life quietly, without demand or expectation, but the impact was seismic. Anam... The name itself carried a weight so so heavy.

She's shaken up my world, he admitted silently, running a hand through his hair. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't keep her out of his mind.

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as his thoughts took form, his heart whispering verses that felt too raw, too vulnerable to speak aloud.

Main uski rooh ki gehraiyon mein doobta ja rha hoon,

Apne dil ke band darwaze uske noor se kholta ja rha hoon.

(I am sinking deeper into the depths of her soul,

Opening the closed doors of my heart with her light.)

Her unwavering faith, her ability to meet his coldness with warmth, had begun to erode the walls he'd spent years constructing around his heart. She was undoing him in the gentlest way possible, her presence a quiet revolution.

Uska jazba mujhe sharaminda karta hai,

Uski mohabbat mujhe khuda ke kareeb karti ja rhi hai.

(Her passion makes me feel ashamed,

Her love is bringing me closer to God.)

He opened his eyes, the weight of the realization sinking in. She wasn't just changing him... she was reshaping the way he saw himself, the world, and even his connection to Allah. Her devotion, her patience, her strength... it was a mirror that reflected his shortcomings and encouraged him to be better.

Feras leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he pressed his hands together in thought. He had never wanted to need anyone, not after whatever life had made him go through, but Anam... she had slipped through the cracks, reaching parts of him he didn't think existed.

"Modesty is a girl's adornment"

—Imam Ali as