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"Imaan, stop!" a voice shouted from behind her. Imaan's eyes widened as she stared at the lifeless body sprawled before her, blood pooling around it. Her breath hitched, chest tightening with panic. The old school storeroom was dimly lit, with cobwebs clinging to the corners and dusty, brown cupboards lining the walls. The air was thick with the smell of decay, and her hijab clung to her damp forehead.
"What did you do? Why did you do this?" Imaan asked, her voice trembling with fear and confusion, hiccups interrupting her speech. She could barely keep her thoughts together as she glanced between the boy and the body. Her heart raced, feeling as though it was about to burst from her chest.
"I didn't do anything," the boy replied, taking a step closer, his hands stained with fresh blood. Imaan could see the fear in his eyes, but she also sensed he was lying.
"Don't lie to me," she whispered, her throat tight. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her chest heaving against her ribs as she tried to comprehend the situation. Her body screamed at her to run, but her legs felt rooted to the spot.
"I'm not lying, I swear! I was just trying to help!" the boy insisted, his voice trembling as he looked at the body, then back at her. His small face, pale under the flickering light, looked innocent enough, but Imaan knew better. She could feel the deceit in his words.
"You're a killer... you killed someone innocent," Imaan accused, her voice barely above a whisper. She began to back away, every fiber of her being urging her to flee from the horrific scene.
"But I'm not! You have to trust me!" The boy's blond hair glowed under the faint sunlight streaming through a cracked window, his white skin almost translucent. He reached out to her, desperation in his eyes, but before Imaan could react, she suddenly collided with something – or someone – behind her.
"Who did this?" a deep, authoritative voice demanded. Imaan's vision blurred as she spun around, her senses overwhelmed. The world around her started to fade, and before she could respond, everything went black.
Gasping for breath, Imaan jolted awake, her chest heaving as she clutched at her bedsheets. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her heart still racing as she realized she was in her own bed. It had all been a dream – a terrifying, vivid nightmare.
"Good morning, my love," came a calm, familiar voice. Emad stood by the doorway, dressed sharply in a black suit, his hair perfectly styled.
"I thought you needed to rest?" Imaan asked, still trying to steady her breathing as she rubbed her chest, her heartbeat gradually slowing. She didn't want to ask the question, but it slipped out before she could stop herself.
"Don't worry about me, Begum," Emad said with a soft smile, walking towards her with his tie in hand. The room was bathed in the gentle light of the early morning sun, the long curtains by the window swaying slightly in the breeze. Outside, little flowers bloomed, their colors bright against the green lawn. The air was fresh and filled with the scent of the morning dew.
"Help me with this?" Emad asked, holding up his tie. Imaan looked up at him, standing there in front of her. Couldn’t he tie it himself? The thought crossed her mind, but she kept it to herself, still shaken from her dream.
Silently, she took the tie from his hand and wrapped it around his neck, her fingers working the knot while his arms circled her waist. Her eyes widened as she felt his touch. "W-what are you doing?" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Just showing some affection to my wife. Is that so wrong?" Emad teased, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on her waist, making her knees feel weak.
