Better Late Than Never

Epilogue

Four Years Later...

Constance Belle Mare Plage, Mauritius.

The group of six – Faris Bello, Hind Azaiza, Cairo Azaiza, Farrah Fayad, Zoya Bello, and Khaled Fahad – played by the seashore on the beach, supervised by their ever watchful grandparents.

Faris, the oldest in the group, led the subgroup of four to the waves that washed ashore. Once the water hit their small legs, they screamed excitedly and ran back to the dry part of the white sands before they repeated the process, not once getting tired.

Some feet away from them, Zoya picked up seashells she came across. The sea breeze blew at her loose curls, further loosening her already loose ponytail. The floral romper she wore complimented her skin and the sandals on her feet.

She dropped all the seashells she'd picked to focus on the dark brown one she found then. She studied it intently, amazed by its patterns, before she added it to her collection. She then arranged the seashells on the sand in the first pattern that came to mind which was that of a house. The laughter and excited screams of her cousins was a soothing background sound.

Getting the sense of being watched, Zoya raised her head. About two feet in front of her, Khaled Fahad was on his knees, a seashell in each hand. The moment her eyes met his, his eyes widened and he looked away, colour staining his cheeks and a small, shy smile appearing on his face. He looked so much like his father, Ibrahim, but he had his mother's eyes. He had Mayah's hair too.

Slowly, Zoya looked away and tried to refocus on her seashells with a rosy hue on her cheeks. Of everyone in their friendship group, Khaled was the person she least spoke to as he usually kept to himself so she usually looked forward to their conversations although they sparsely happened.

She tried to pretend as though she didn't know he was watching her again but it was hard. With a small sigh which sounded just like one her father would let out, she adjusted her kneeling position and turned to him.

Once again, he panicked and averted his gaze until he saw that she wasn't looking away. Slowly, he turned back to her.

Zoya gave him a small smile. "Hi, Khaled."

His bashfulness was beautifully wrapped around him like a cloak. "Hi, Zoya."

She looked at his hands. "Do you have seashells there?"

He nodded. "Yes." He got off the ground and took small steps towards her. "I picked them for you."

That surprised her. "Really?"

He nodded, kneeling right beside her. He added the two seashells to her collection and then smiled shyly at her. "You like seashells so..."

She beamed, radiating the warmth she felt inside. "Thank you!"

Khaled looked at his hands, his cheeks even redder. "Y-you're welcome."

"Do you want to play with them with me?"

He raised his head, his eyes shining. "Can I?"

She nodded, her smile wide and bright. "Of course. I am making a seashell house. You can do the windows."

He happily scooted closer, his expression so much brighter. "Okay." He picked a seashell. "Where is the window?"

Zoya pointed at a part of the house. "Here!" Her voice softened. Her smile did too. "Shukran, Khaled."

Khaled resembled a ripe tomato. "You're welcome."

The grandparents, who'd been watching the interaction play out, turned back to the other group of screaming kids with matching smiles on their faces. On the fully furnished private balcony of one of the resort's Prestige Beachfront Rooms, Ayman watched – with the help of his silver binoculars – as his daughter played with Khaled.