Eternity

Chapter 31

As-salamu alaikum wa rahmatullah wa barakatuhu

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Ayzal laid on the couch frozen. Zayan’s cold words echoed in her ears, draining the warmth that had lingered from the previous night. She had hoped, just for a moment, that their shared intimacy might soften the edges of the bitterness between them, that it might lead to something better. But now, his rejection cut deeper than any harsh word he had ever thrown at her. The smile she had worn for him wavered, and she fought to keep her composure, swallowing down the knot of pain rising in her throat.

The walls of their room felt more like a prison than ever before. Her mind raced, searching for an escape from this life that seemed only to break her down bit by bit. Maybe she should leave, she thought, run far from the memories that Zayan couldn’t let go of and the suffocating guilt that wasn’t hers to bear. But where would she go? How could she rebuild when her heart was so shattered? Ayzal closed her eyes, trying to block out the ache, but it was no use. The sting of his words clung to her, and she knew that whatever fleeting moment of connection they had shared was now lost, leaving her more alone than ever.

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Zayan stepped into the room, the stillness of the night wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud. The only sound was the soft rise and fall of Ayzal’s breathing. His eyes, accustomed to the dark, quickly found her lying on the bed, curled up and seemingly fragile in her sleep. A strange sensation twisted in his chest—an unfamiliar pang that he couldn't quite decipher. Love? He immediately dismissed the thought. No, it wasn’t that. Pity, maybe. Or was it just a deep, unsettling guilt? Whatever it was, he didn’t want to name it, didn’t want to acknowledge that this woman, whom he had vowed to treat with cold indifference, could provoke such feelings in him.

He hesitated at the edge of the bed, torn between leaving and staying, but his feet felt rooted to the floor. His eyes remained fixed on her, studying the way her face softened in sleep, the way her body trembled slightly as if trying to fend off an invisible chill. Hours passed in this strange vigil, his mind swirling with thoughts he didn’t dare put into words. Why did he feel this need to watch over her? To ensure that she was alright? He scoffed at himself, pushing the thoughts away. He was just tired, that is all.

When she shivered again, instinct took over, and he found himself moving to the closet. He retrieved a duvet, the soft fabric feeling oddly heavy in his hands. Returning to the bed, he draped it over her with a care that was almost foreign to him, each movement deliberate and slow, as if he feared waking her. But as he turned to leave, something caught his eye—a glimmer of moisture on her cheeks. Tears. Ayzal had been crying in her sleep. A surge of emotion—something raw and painful—clenched at his heart, and before he could stop himself, he reached out.

The moment his hand made contact with her skin, he flinched. Her forehead was burning hot, feverish to the touch. Panic, sharp and unwelcome, shot through him. She was ill, and he hadn’t even noticed. How long has she been like this? He cursed under his breath, angry at himself for not paying closer attention, for letting his stubborn pride keep him from seeing what was right in front of him.

He hurried to the bathroom, grabbing a cloth and wetting it under cold water. Returning to her side, he dabbed her forehead, his hands shaking slightly as he worked. The fever seemed relentless, her body burning up despite his efforts to cool her down. Each time she stirred, a soft whimper escaping her lips, something inside him cracked a little more. But even as he cared for her, a war raged within him. He forced himself to remember why he couldn’t allow himself to feel more—why he couldn’t let this moment of weakness define him.

As the hours dragged on, Zayan found himself growing more exhausted, his body heavy with the weight of sleeplessness and the unspoken emotions that clawed at him. The fever finally began to subside, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He placed the cloth aside and stood, retreating to his side of the bed with a sense of unease that gnawed at him. He had done his duty, nothing more. But as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t shake the image of her tear-streaked face or the warmth of her skin beneath his hand.

The next morning, Ayzal woke slowly. Her body ached, and her head throbbed with the dull remnants of the fever. Blinking against the morning light streaming through the curtains, she noticed something different—an extra duvet draped over her. Confusion knit her brow as she tried to recall the night before, but everything was hazy, blurred by fever and restless sleep.

She shifted slightly, and as she did, she noticed a damp cloth lying beside her head, its edges drying out. A shiver ran through her, but it wasn’t from the remnants of her fever. The realization dawned on her slowly—someone had taken care of her during the night. But who? The room was silent, save for the faint sounds of morning outside the window. Her heart skipped a beat as she considered the possibility, her thoughts immediately turning to Zayan. Could it have been him?

Her gaze drifted to the bed, where she saw the faint impression of where someone had been lying. The sheets were slightly rumpled, and a pillow bore the faintest indentation of a head. It had to be Zayan. Her heart ached with the thought, torn between disbelief and a fragile hope she was afraid to nurture. He had been here, watching over her, caring for her, even though his words the day before had been so cutting, so final.

Sitting up slowly, she reached for the cloth, running her fingers over the fabric. The gesture, simple as it was, felt like a lifeline—an unspoken confession from a man who refused to admit any softness toward her. Her thoughts were a tangled mess of emotions. Had he stayed with her out of pity? Was this just another manifestation of his confusing and conflicting feelings? Or was it something more, something he couldn’t or wouldn’t acknowledge?

But as much as the thought of him caring for her, even in secret, stirred something tender within her, it also brought a fresh wave of pain. If Zayan could be this gentle, this caring when she was at her weakest, then why did he remain so distant, so cold when she was awake? Why did he insist on keeping her at arm's length, treating her as if she were a burden rather than a wife?

Her mind raced, searching for answers, but all she found was more confusion, more hurt. She felt tears well up, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. If this was all he was willing to give—silent care in the dead of night and indifference in the light of day—then she wasn’t sure how much longer she could endure it.

Ayzal slowly rose from the bed, the duvet slipping to the floor in a heap. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to steady her racing heart, her mind already dreading the inevitable encounter with Zayan. Would he acknowledge what he had done, or would he pretend, as always, that nothing had changed? That the night before had been nothing more than a fleeting moment of weakness, one he would never speak of?

She had no answers, only the cold, hard truth that she was once again left to navigate the emotional labyrinth that Zayan had created, with no map, no compass, and no promise of ever finding a way out.