𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

21

Airah POV:

I don't know why it shocks me when I find out that Arsalan owns an apartment in DC. I have him just drop us off by Arsalan's apartment, and the house is insanely big. I enter the house while Arsalan takes my luggage in. The living room is spacious, dominated by a large, plush sofa and a sleek coffee table in the center. A state-of-the-art flat-screen TV hangs on the wall directly in front of the sofa. The open-plan layout allows for a seamless flow into the kitchen, which is on the left side of the living area. The kitchen is modern and stylish, with high-end appliances, marble countertops, and a large island that doubles as a breakfast bar.

A full-ceiling-to-floor window occupies one wall, providing access to a balcony that offers a breathtaking view of the ocean. Even though the sun is almost set, the sky is painted with hues of orange and pink, creating a picturesque backdrop.

The walls are painted in soothing shades of off-white and light gray, giving the space a clean and airy feel. I take a moment to absorb my surroundings, marveling at the elegance and comfort of the space.

"Make yourself at home," Arsalan says, breaking my reverie. I watch as he takes off his watch and blue shirt, placing them on the kitchen countertop. He opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, retrieving two glasses from a cupboard. I walk towards the kitchen counter and sit on one of the high chairs.

He pours water into both glasses and we drink in silence. Without a word, he gets up and heads into the bedroom. I wash both of our cups and place them back in the cupboard they had come from. Looking around, I try to find my luggage, but it is nowhere to be seen. Realizing I still haven't taken off my abaya, I remove it and start searching for my bags again. "Where did Arsalan put them?" I mutter to myself.

"They are in your room," a voice behind me says. Startled, I turn around to find Arsalan standing a few feet away, now dressed in a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Which room is mine?" I ask innocently. He signals for me to follow him, so I do. After the living room, there's a narrow hallway leading to two rooms that are parallel to each other. "This is mine," he says, pointing at the door on the right. "And this is yours," he adds, opening the door on the left.

As I step into the room, a cozy feeling washes over me. I'm immediately drawn to the queen-size bed in the center, looking soft and inviting. Lamps on each side cast a warm glow, making me feel relaxed.

Walking to the window, I'm captivated by the stunning view of the ocean. The full-length window offers a clear view of the rolling waves, calming my soul.

Turning to my right, I see the doorway to a bathroom, offering convenience and privacy. It's like a quiet friend, ready to help whenever I need it. In this room, I find peace and quiet, a place to escape from the world and just relax. "Your house is nice," I say softly. "Thank you," he replies, before disappearing into his room and closing the door quietly.

As I finish unpacking my bags, I wander into the living room, expecting to find him there. But the room is empty, devoid of his presence. Instinctively, I know he must be in his room. With a sigh, I glance at the countertop, where his watch and shirt lay abandoned.

Picking up the items, I make my way to his room. Each knock on the door echoes in the hallway, but there is no response. Bracing myself, I turn the doorknob and push it open, revealing him standing there, engrossed in a conversation on the phone.

His expression is serious, and I feel a pang of concern. "What happened?" I ask, my voice tinged with worry, but he doesn't even spare me a glance.

I extend my hands, offering him his belongings, hoping to ease whatever tension hangs in the air. But instead of gratitude, his reaction is sharp and cutting. He snatches the items from my hands, his words laced with anger.

"You don't have to bother with my stuff," he snaps, his tone harsh and unforgiving. "And don't ever enter my room without asking."

His words strike me like a physical blow, leaving me stunned and hurt. Before I can even respond, he slams the door shut in my face, leaving me standing there, reeling from the encounter.

Slowly, I retreat back to the living room and plop down on the sofa, feeling heavy from his mean words. I feel so dumb for hoping things would be different here. I didn't do anything wrong. I just wanted someone to talk to, to not feel so alone in this strange place. But even that seems too much to ask.

I miss my cousins from back home, the fun chats we used to have. Thinking about them makes me sad. Tears start streaming down my face, a mix of frustration and longing. I let out a big sob, feeling all alone in the quiet room.

I hug my knees, trying to find some comfort in my own arms. I cry until I can't keep my eyes open anymore. Sleep is the only escape from the hurt in my heart. But even as I drift off, one question nags at me: How will I get through the coming months without anyone to talk to or understand me?