YOU BELONG TO ME

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO : PREMONITION.

Roohina's eyes snapped open, her panicked wail reverberating in the dimly lit room. She was drenched in sweat, her chest heaving as her heart pounded against her ribcage with such force it felt as though it might burst free. She exhaled deeply, her trembling lips whispering a prayer of gratitude to Allah-it had all been a nightmare.

But before she could fully regain her composure, the door burst open, startling her further. Ashmaan stormed in, his face etched with worry. He had been in the middle of a Zoom meeting when her cry had reached him, and he had rushed over without hesitation.

"What happened? Are you okay?" he asked, his tone filled with genuine concern.

Roohina stared at him, her lips parting to respond. But the memory of her dream suddenly surged back like a tidal wave, vivid and terrifying. In it, Ashmaan had killed her. Could it have been a premonition? Was his concern an act? What if he was merely playing a role, waiting for the perfect moment to strike?

"Are you okay?" he repeated, his voice cutting through her turbulent thoughts.

She locked eyes with him, her gaze unwavering and guarded. For what felt like an eternity, neither spoke. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice cold and edged with suspicion.

"Just do what you came to do and get it over with."

"What?" His confusion was palpable. "I heard you scream. That's why I came. I was worried."

"Stop pretending to care!" she snapped, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. "Show your true colors already. You're here to kill me, right? Then do it! Get it over with and let me rest in peace!"

Ashmaan's brows furrowed, his confusion giving way to frustration. "What are you talking about?"

"Just leave me alone!" she shouted, clutching her throbbing head as if to steady the whirlwind inside it.

For a moment, he stood there, torn between staying and respecting her wishes. But her clear dismissal left him no choice. Without another word, he spun on his heel and left the room, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary.

Once outside, his frustration bubbled over. Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number, and the call was answered almost immediately.

"We need to talk," he said, his tone tight as he fought to calm his fraying temper.

"Alright, let's meet at our usual spot now," came the reply before the line went dead. The abruptness only added fuel to his simmering anger.

Minutes later, Ashmaan pulled up to the Makhtoum Estate, parking his car with practiced ease in the sprawling driveway. He moved quickly, descending the seemingly endless spiral staircase that led to a private space-a blend of a cozy café and a sleek conference room. It was his sanctuary, reserved for personal and business matters alike.

He barely had time to settle into his chair before the sound of clicking heels echoed down the corridor. A woman entered, dressed simply yet elegantly in a black abaya and a white hijab. She hurried to his table, setting her Aldo bag down before sitting across from him.

"You're one minute, thirty-nine seconds, and two miliseconds late," Ashmaan began, his tone clipped.

"Alright, alright! I'm sorry for being late and for hanging up on you earlier," she cut in, waving off his meticulous tracking. "Now, can we focus? I'm in a hurry-I have work in less than an hour."

"Says the one who showed up late," he quipped, smirking.

"I drive carefully and responsibly, unlike you," she retorted with mock indignation.