Eternity

Chapter 52

As-salamu alaikum wa rahmatullah wa barakatuhu

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It had been weeks since Zara left and the air between Ayzal and Zayan started to feel a little less tense, but neither of them had truly acknowledged it. Ayzal could sense a shift in Zayan’s demeanor. He wasn’t as harsh as before, and there were even moments when his gaze lingered on her, softening just slightly. It was as if the cracks in his wall of indifference had begun to show, but she couldn’t tell if it meant anything more. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted it to.

One evening, as the sun dipped low, casting a warm glow through the curtains of their bedroom, Ayzal found herself folding the fresh laundry on the bed. She was humming a song softly, absentmindedly going through the motions of her task. Zayan had been quiet all day, seemingly lost in thought, but she hadn’t paid much attention. It was the way their lives had been—existing side by side but rarely intertwining. But today felt different.

Zayan walked into the room, his hair slightly tousled, as if he had been running his hands through it all day. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms, and there was something about the way he looked that made Ayzal feel a little more aware of him than usual. She quickly turned her focus back to the laundry, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest.

"You are folding that wrong," Zayan suddenly commented, his voice light, yet teasing.

Ayzal looked up, her brows raised in surprise. "Excuse me? I think I know how to fold a shirt."

Zayan smirked, walking over to the bed. "Clearly not," he said, picking up a neatly folded shirt and unfolding it, only to refold it his way. "See? Perfect."

Ayzal gasped in mock offense. "Hey! I just folded that! And how is your way better?"

Zayan shrugged, tossing the shirt back into the pile with a grin that Ayzal hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. It caught her off guard. There was something playful about him today, something lighter. And she realized, as she watched him sit on the edge of the bed, that she didn’t mind it. In fact, it felt… nice.

"Okay, Mr. Perfectionist," she said, folding another shirt. "Let’s see if you can fold this one better."

Without missing a beat, Zayan took the shirt from her hands and gave her a confident smile. "Challenge accepted." He began folding, deliberately slow, exaggerating each motion as if he were demonstrating some grand, secret technique.

Ayzal couldn’t help but giggle at his antics. "You are ridiculous."

"And yet, somehow, you are laughing," Zayan replied, his voice filled with mock seriousness. "Clearly, my folding methods are unmatched."

Ayzal laughed again, this time louder, and for a moment, the sound seemed to fill the room, echoing off the walls and carrying with it a warmth that neither of them had felt in a long time.

Zayan paused for a moment, his hands frozen mid-fold as he looked at her. Her head was thrown back in genuine amusement, her eyes sparkling with joy. It was the kind of laughter that reached her eyes and made her whole face light up, and Zayan found himself completely mesmerized.

For a moment, he forgot about everything. All he could focus on was the way her laugh softened the edges of her features, making her seem almost carefree, like the girl she might have been before everything became so complicated between them.

He couldn’t look away. His gaze lingered on her, drinking in the sight of her happiness, and he realized, with a sudden pang, that it had been so long since he had seen her like this. So unguarded, so… beautiful.