The Killer's Kiss

5.I want answers

Hasna walked toward her bedroom, her mind a whirl of questions. She needed answers. The worst scenarios played out in her head, scenarios she didn't want to confront again. Although she had faced the worst in life many times before, she wasn't ready to face another disaster. Lost in her thoughts, she stepped into the room—only to find Hamza standing there, just emerging from the washroom, drying his face with a towel.

Her brow arched in surprise. Without a word, she turned on her heel and hurried back to the living room, where Khala was still lingering.

"What is he doing in my room?" Hasna demanded, crossing her arms tightly across her chest, her voice shaking with a mixture of confusion and anger. "Ask him to leave."

Khala chuckled softly, her smile warm but knowing. "He is your husband, Hasna. Won't he stay in the same room with you?"

Hasna's eyes widened in shock, and she stumbled back a few steps. Husband? Her thoughts raced as she tried to make sense of the situation. "Oh, right! Husband," she repeated, her voice barely more than a whisper, trembling with disbelief. She collapsed onto the sofa, her legs no longer able to support her.

She stayed in the living room, her mind whirling with conflicting emotions. Khala eventually returned to the servants' quarters, leaving Hasna alone with her thoughts. She had no idea how long she sat there before exhaustion claimed her, and she fell into a restless sleep.

Hasna was jolted awake by a faint noise. She blinked in the darkness, her senses slowly returning to her. Something had changed, but it took a moment for her to realize what it was. She slowly opened her eyes and saw someone praying in the dim light of dawn. It was Hamza, performing his morning salah.

For a moment, she watched him in awe, captivated by the sincerity of his devotion. His movements were fluid, his posture serene, as if he was connected to something beyond the physical realm. Hasna's heart softened as she observed him, a sense of peace washing over her despite the confusion that lingered in her mind. She was in her menses, so she didn't need to pray, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from him.

When Hamza offered his right salam, their eyes met for a split second. Hasna's heart skipped a beat, and she quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She turned away, her pulse racing. This stupid shyness...

The reality of her surroundings slowly dawned on her. She was in her bedroom—hadn't she fallen asleep in the living room? Did he carry me here? The thought made her eyes widen in shock. She glanced down at herself, checking to see if anything was amiss, but everything seemed normal. Hamza, on the other hand, paid her no attention. After completing his prayer, he picked up a Qur'an and began to recite.

The sound of his voice filled the room, soft and melodic, soothing her restless mind. Hasna felt herself relax, the tension easing from her body as she leaned back against the headboard, closing her eyes. The beautiful recitation enveloped her, filling her heart with a tranquility she hadn't felt in a long time. She knew she had so many questions, but for now, she was content to just listen, letting the peace of the moment wash over her.

The second time Hasna woke up, it was to the bright rays of the morning sun tickling her face. She rubbed her eyes, adjusting to the light, realizing she must have fallen asleep again while listening to Hamza's recitation. She sat up, feeling refreshed but also confused. The questions that had plagued her mind the night before rushed back, their weight pressing down on her chest. Who is he? What does he want from me? Why did he marry me? One thing she knew for sure—there had to be a reason behind all of this. No sane man would marry a convicted murderer and hide her away in his house without a motive.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Khala, smiling as she entered. "I'm glad you're already awake, Hasna. Sir has asked you to join him for breakfast."

Hasna was taken aback by the sudden request. She hesitated, still uncertain about Hamza's intentions. But she quickly composed herself and nodded. After freshening up, she made her way to the dining room.

As she entered, she found Hamza already seated at the table, silently eating his breakfast. He barely glanced at her as she took a seat, the tension between them thick and palpable. She picked at her food, her mind racing with questions she was too afraid to ask. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

After breakfast, Hamza retreated to the study, and Hasna lingered with Khala. But the questions gnawed at her, refusing to be silenced. She needed answers, and she couldn't wait any longer. Summoning her courage, she walked to the study, her heart pounding in her chest.

The study was more of a small library, with bookshelves lining the walls, filled with volumes that seemed to have been carefully selected and organized. Hamza was seated at his desk, wearing spectacles and reading a book, his concentration undisturbed by her presence. A steaming cup of coffee sat beside him, the aroma mingling with the scent of old paper.

Hasna hesitated at the door, then knocked softly before stepping inside. Hamza looked up from his book, giving her a quick glance before returning his gaze to the pages. Hasna frowned, feeling a surge of irritation at his calm demeanor. She walked straight into the room and stopped in front of him, clearing her throat to get his attention.

Hamza finally looked up again, this time with a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"Hello, mister... enough of your drama. Tell me honestly, why are you doing all of this? What's your motive? What do you want from me? And most importantly, why did you marry me? Don't you know I'm a murderer? I've killed seven men."

Hamza slowly put down his book and removed his spectacles, placing them carefully on the desk. His gaze locked onto hers, steady and unflinching.

"I married you because I like you. And I know that you haven't killed anyone," Hamza said, his voice calm but firm, his eyes searching hers for a reaction.

Hasna was taken aback by his answer. She didn't expect him to say he liked her, especially knowing her past. She looked into his eyes, trying to discern if he was telling the truth or hiding something. But his expression was serious, sincere, as if he meant every word. Her heart skipped a beat, confusion swirling within her.

"You're wrong. I am a murderer. I've killed seven men. It would be better for you if you sent me back to prison. Otherwise, you'll be my eighth victim," she threatened, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

Hamza didn't flinch. "I know you're not a murderer, Hasna. So, I won't send you back to prison." He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, "But I also know you're carrying a burden of guilt, a heavy one. And it's not easy to live with that. If you want to tell me your story, I'm here to listen."

Hasna stared at him in disbelief. She couldn't fathom why anyone would be so kind, so understanding toward her—someone who had committed such terrible acts. As she gazed at him, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, she felt a torrent of conflicting emotions bubbling within her. His words had stirred something deep inside, something she had long buried beneath layers of guilt and regret.

With a heavy heart, she turned away from him and took slow, hesitant steps toward the door, her mind reeling with thoughts of what she had done, what she had lost, and what she could never regain. The answers she sought seemed further away than ever, buried beneath the weight of her own past. But for now, all she could do was walk away, leaving Hamza and his words behind, even as they echoed in her mind.