The Tangled Love

𝟐𝟐. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐭.

❝I hold a deep obsession for you, my darling.❞

The phrase lingered in the air, sending waves of chaos and apprehension through Fayra's mind. Her gray eyes reflected the turmoil within her as she tugged her maroon hijab tighter, the air playing with its loose ends. Her long floral maxi dress pooled around her feet on the wooden floor.

Anyone could see she was anxious. Despite the cold weather, her body temperature was high, and beads of sweat trickled down her forehead as she rested her head on the marble counter.

Myriads of questions swirled in her mind, trying to unravel who could be behind such creepy messages and what their intentions might be.

❝Ma'am, can I get a butterscotch ice cream?❞ The foreign man's voice snapped Fayra out of her thoughts. She looked up at the white man in front of her, who offered a kind smile. He tapped his fingers hastily on the marble countertop, his brown hair giving him a messy look, while his dark green eyes held kindness that made Fayra return a winsome smile.

❝Sure, sir. Just wait a minute,❞ Fayra said, taking his order. After talking to Iram that morning, she had quickly gone to the ice cream parlor to start her work. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson had gone for a walk, leaving Fayra to manage the shop.

After serving the sweet and handsome man his ice cream, Fayra's thoughts returned to the creepy texts that refused to leave her mind. She wasn't sure if someone was targeting her with a motive or if the message had been sent to the wrong number. By now, her mind was exhausted, and frustration began to take over.

The unusual sound of a motorbike made Fayra turn her head sideways. When she couldn't figure out what it was, she stood up and ambled toward the backdoor of the ice cream parlor. Her mouth fell open, and her gray eyes widened in horror. Her heart raced as she placed a trembling hand over her chest, struggling to calm herself down.

❝Wh-who are you?❞ Fayra stammered, her voice echoing through the ice cream parlor. Sweat beads formed on her forehead as she took a step back, staring at the man approaching her. His head was hidden behind a helmet, and his face was obscured. He wore black gloves, and the sound of his brown boots reverberated against the walls as he sauntered toward her in a black jacket and dark blue jeans.

Her heart filled with fear, and her eyes welled up with tears. By now, she knew he was the same man who had come before. Her mind spiraled into darkness, and Fayra felt the need to breathe. But before the man could reach her, a familiar male voice cut through the air.

For the first time in her life, Fayra felt safe hearing that familiar voice. She bolted out of the parlor to save herself, reaching the main door as the man sprinted out of the parlor, finding his escape.

Her legs came to a halt, and her mind urged her to turn back and see if she could find that man again. But he was nowhere to be found. As each second passed, Fayra's head collided with a rock-like chest.

A familiar cologne wafted past her nostrils, and her mind and heart both found tranquility in the scent.

Fayra's intoxicated gray eyes met a pair of ocean-blue eyes. For the first time, those eyes held concern, making Fayra drown in their elegance. Her mind kept warning her that he was her beast and that she should move away. He was just as dangerous as the man in the helmet, yet her heart begged her to stay.

❝Musa?❞ her shattered voice whispered as a lone tear slipped down her innocent face. Musa gently cupped her cheeks, his heart gripped by strange emotions. His fingers instinctively wiped away her tears, and he tilted his head slightly, silently asking her not to cry.

❝Are you alright, wifey?❞ His soft voice made Fayra's heart race. The word "wifey" brought a blush to her cheeks, her eyes brimming with both tears and shyness. The sight of her caused Musa Hassan Khan to snap back to reality. He instantly withdrew his hands from her cheeks and maintained a respectable distance, his demeanor turning cold again.

❝Dadi wants you back home. She's running a fever,❞ Musa said, turning his head away and walking out of the parlor. Fayra quickly followed, her heart filled with concern for Dadi.

❝How? I mean, she was alright this morning,❞ Fayra questioned, trying to match his pace. As they reached his car, he turned his head slightly to glance at her, his eyebrows lifting as he took in her beauty.

❝Get in the car,❞ he ordered, sending a shiver down her spine. Fayra took a moment to take in his appearance. He was dressed in a black hoodie and dark jeans, his hair messy, as if he had just taken a shower.

❝I'll just lock up the parlor and be right back,❞ Fayra said, sprinting inside to write a note of apology to Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, explaining that she had to leave for an emergency. After locking up the parlor, she placed the note on a nearby empty bench and ran toward the car.

She kept glancing back to see if the creepy man had returned, her eyes filled with fear as she resolved to stay alert. She was now certain that someone was stalking her, but she had no idea who or why.

This left her with a growing apprehension about returning to the parlor. Her mind raced with the possibility that the man might try to harm her again. But the real question was, was she even safe in her own home? Her husband was a beast, and her father had been abusive. How could she expect anything good from a stranger?

Fayra felt tears of helplessness well up in her eyes, her heart roaring in pain as the existence of her life seemed to crumble around her. Yet, this dead soul aspired for nothing but happiness—something she knew she might never experience. Still, Fayra believed that God counted her tears and that, one day, everything would be alright. With this hope, she continued to endure, fighting for herself like a brave soldier.

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