3.

I froze, my breath hitching as Feras's cold, assessing eyes bore into mine. His expression was unreadable, but his voice carried an unmistakable authority.

"What's going on here?"

My words caught in my throat, and all I could do was stand there, trembling. I could still feel the sting of Aman's grip on my arm, his mocking laughter ringing in my ears.

"Anam," Feras said again, his tone sharper now, jolting me out of my frozen state. "Answer me."

Before I could speak, Aman stumbled out of the kitchen behind me, his face red with anger and the imprint of my slap still fresh on his cheek.

"Nothing, bhai," Aman slurred, his steps unsteady as he leaned against the wall. "Just a... little misunderstanding. Right, Anam?" His lips twisted into a smirk that made my stomach churn.

I clenched my fists, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst.

Feras's gaze shifted to Aman, narrowing as he took in his disheveled appearance. The faint smell of alcohol in the air didn't escape him either. His jaw tightened, and a cold, biting anger flickered in his eyes.

"Aman," he said, his voice low and controlled, but there was an edge to it that made even Aman flinch. "What are you doing up at this hour? And what's that smell?"

Aman straightened up, trying to appear composed, but his drunken state betrayed him. "It's nothing," he muttered, avoiding Feras's gaze.

Feras took a step forward, and I instinctively stepped back, bumping against the wall. He glanced at me briefly, his eyes flickering with something I couldn't quite place—concern? Annoyance? I couldn't tell.

"You're drunk," Feras stated flatly, his voice laced with quiet disgust. "Get to your room before I decide to tell chachu about this."

Aman hesitated, glaring at me as if this were somehow my fault, but under Feras's steely gaze, he didn't dare argue. He staggered away, muttering under his breath, and disappeared down the hallway.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I couldn't bring myself to meet Feras's eyes, my entire body still trembling from the encounter.

"Anam," he said finally, his tone softer now but still firm. "What happened?"

I shook my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Nothing," I whispered.

He exhaled sharply, clearly not convinced. "Aman doesn't behave like that for no reason. If he—"

"It's nothing," I repeated, cutting him off. I didn't want to talk about it, especially not with him.

For a moment, Feras just stared at me, his brows furrowed as if he were trying to read my mind. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he stepped back.

"Fine," he said, his voice returning to its usual cold detachment. "If you don't want to talk, I won't force you. But don't think I didn't notice."

I looked up at him in surprise, but he was already turning to leave.

"Go to bed," he said over his shoulder. "And lock your door."

I stood there in the dimly lit hallway long after he was gone, my heart still racing. For the first time, I wasn't sure what scared me more—Aman's actions or the way Feras seemed to see through everything I tried to hide.

.....

I finally retreated to my room, shutting the door behind me as quietly as I could. The house was silent now, with even the faint creaks of footsteps stilled. My heart still thuded heavily against my ribs, but I tried to focus on the sound of my breathing, steadying it as I leaned against the door.

The encounter with Aman had shaken me, but it was Feras's reaction that lingered in my mind. The way he had looked at me... cold and penetrating, as if he could see straight through the mask I wore.

You don't understand, I thought bitterly, directing the words at a version of him I'd never have the courage to confront. You've never had to live like this... to fight for every ounce of respect, to swallow your words for the sake of peace.

Still, his final words echoed in my mind. Go to bed. Lock your door. It wasn't a suggestion; it was a command. And though I bristled at his tone, I couldn't deny the flicker of gratitude buried beneath my irritation.

Shaking off the thoughts, I returned to my desk. The clock on the wall showed it was nearly 3 a.m., and the pile of notes in front of me seemed insurmountable. But I didn't care. I refused to let my emotions get the better of me.

Focus, I told myself. You have exams. You've always done your best, no matter what.

With that resolve, I buried myself in my books again.

The next morning was no different from the countles others I'd endured. I was up before anyone else, preparing breakfast with the maids. The aroma of parathas and chai filled the kitchen, but I barely noticed it as I worked on autopilot.

Ayub joined me a little later, her face still drowsy. "Api, you didn't sleep again, did you?" she asked, her voice soft with concern. (Api: older sister)

I offered her a small smile. "It's fine, Ayub. The exams are important."

She frowned but didn't push further. She knew how stubborn I could be.

At the university, the chaos of the morning faded away as Ayub and I entered the campus gates. She and I parted ways as she headed to her class, but I promised to meet her for lunch later.

The familiar weight of my books against my chest was oddly comforting, and I found myself slipping back into the role of the quiet, diligent student. At least here, no one expected me to be anything else.

During a break, I made my way to the library. I didn't have much time before my next class, but I needed a quiet place to collect my thoughts.

"Anam!"

I turned to see Umul waving at me, her warm smile immediately lifting my spirits.

I walked over to her table, setting my books down as I sat across from her. "What are you doing here? Don't you have class?"

She grinned. "Skipped it. Don't tell me you've never skipped a class in your life?"

I gave her a mock-scandalized look. "Of course not. I'm the picture of responsibility."

Ummul laughed, her laughter drawing a few disapproving glances from the other students. "I can't even imagine you skipping class," she teased.

We spent the next few minutes chatting quietly, her presence like a balm for my frazzled nerves. She was one of the few people who truly understood me, who didn't see me as just a dutiful girl in a hijab or someone to pity.

When I got home later that afternoon, the house was its usual oppressive self. Chachi was lounging in the living room with Seher, her daughter, who barely spared me a glance as I entered.

"Anam," Chachi called out, her tone sharp. "You're back just in time. There's a pile of dishes in the kitchen. Make sure it's spotless before dinner."

I clenched my jaw, but I didn't argue. What was the point? Ayub stepped forward, looking like she was about to protest, but I shot her a look that stopped her in her tracks.

"It's fine, Ayub," I said softly. "Go to your room."

As I rolled up my sleeves and headed for the kitchen, I caught sight of Feras sitting in the dining room, his laptop open in front of him. He didn't even glance up as I passed, his indifference a familiar sting.

I pushed the thought away and focused on the task at hand. The sound of clatering dishes drowned out the noise in my head, and by the time I was done, the sun had diped below the horizon.

Later that night, as I prayed my tahajjud, I found myself whispering his name in my duas again.

"Ya Allah," I murmured, my forehead pressed against the cool floor. "Grant him guidance. Grant me strength."

Feras treated me as if I didn't exist, but that didn't matter. My faith in Allah was stronger than any bitterness I felt, and I would continue to pray for him, no matter what.

As I rose from my prayer mat, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. The shadows under my eyes were dark, and the wearines in my expression was undeniable. But there was a fierceness in my gaze that refused to dim.

No matter how difficult life became, I wouldn't let it break me.