They were an unbreakable couple since school. Still, he cheated on her.
She loved him with all of her. Still, he broke her into millions of pieces.
She has no one except him. He has someone other than her.
She was tolerating bad behavior of his fami...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Just as Adair chuckled at something Ayaan said, a sudden sound washed over them.
Azaan.
That first note, sharp yet soft, seemed to stop time.
The powerful, melodic call to prayer flowed from the nearby masjid, echoing through the narrow lanes like a divine whisper rolling across rooftops. The muezzin's voice, soaked in devotion, resonated deep in Adair's chest. A strange warmth spread through his ribs... and then a chill—like his soul had paused to listen.
Adair turned toward the sound, instinctively.
The masjid stood a few blocks away, its white domes kissed by the last rays of sunset. The golden glow bounced off the minarets, casting long shadows. A steady stream of people moved toward it, men with prayer beads wrapped around fingers, some with walking sticks, children trying to match their fathers' pace. Their heads covered, their steps calm.
The fragrance of ittar and incense smoke mingled with the cool evening breeze, brushing against Adair's skin.
He looked down.
Ayaan had stopped tugging at his shirt now. His tiny hands were still, his eyes wide and curious, silently watching the line of people walk past.
Adair crouched down to his level. His voice was low. Tender.
"Ayaan..." he said, brushing a curl from the boy's forehead. "Kabhi masjid gaye ho?" (Have you ever been to a masjid?)
Ayaan shook his head, curls bouncing lightly. "Nahi... Ammi ghar pe hi meri taraf se namaz ada karti thi." (No... Ammi used to pray at home for me.)
There was a flicker in Ayaan's voice—something unspoken. A memory. A missing warmth.
Adair's throat tightened. He swallowed hard.
"Chalo mere saath." (Come with me.)
Ayaan blinked up at him for a second, then slowly reached out and wrapped his fingers around Adair's hand.
They walked side by side, the crowd thickening as they approached the masjid. The buzz of people talking softly, greeting each other with "Assalamu Alaikum," the gentle murmur of devotion, the barefooted hush on the tiled floor—every detail carved itself into Adair's senses.
He stopped at the foot of the grand steps.
The entrance was majestic—arched with intricate patterns, Quranic verses woven into the marble like poetry, calligraphy glowing under the dim golden lights. The quiet hum of prayer echoed through the open courtyard.
