ECHOES OF DEFIANCE

chapter 3

Mom arrived at my place early today, ready for our day of exploring Seoul together. I had missed her so much, and since they arrived, we hadn't really had any time alone. She made me a quick breakfast before we headed out, and then we spent the entire day sightseeing, wandering through the vibrant streets of the city. It felt like the perfect mother-daughter bonding moment I had been craving. As we browsed through the bustling markets, I picked up wristwatches for Abba and Daddy, a small souvenir from our trip. By the time we made it back to the hotel, the day had slipped away. They were leaving for the airport at midnight, so I decided to spend the night here with them. Ya Usman was also there, and Amma was sitting behind me, carefully parting my hair to make neat box braids.

As the clock ticked toward their check-out time, we all boarded a taxi to Incheon Airport. On the way, Ya Usman's phone rang. I could tell who it was by the way he answered, his voice dropping into that familiar tone. "Meet us there," he instructed, his eyes glancing at me as he ended the call. When we arrived at the airport, Ya Usman gathered all the luggage onto a trolley and stood by the entrance, waiting for him to arrive before heading to the terminal.

He appeared moments later, dressed casually in a black t-shirt and jeans. Even Mom and Amma exchanged surprised looks. It was rare to see him without his usual black blazer. He greeted them politely, wished Amma well, and then they started making their way toward the terminal, the finality of their departure hitting me all at once. I waved at them, tears welling up in my eyes, unable to hold back the sobs.

As if on cue, he handed me a handkerchief. "Thank you," I murmured, wiping my eyes.

"Let me take you home," he offered softly. I shook my head. "I can manage," I said, but he simply showed me his phone screen. It was a message from Ya Usman: *"Take care of her, please."*

Reluctantly, I nodded, and he opened the car door for me just as he had done before. I slid inside, feeling the weight of my emotions. Neither of us spoke throughout the entire journey. My heart felt so heavy-I already missed them so much.

As we pulled up to my building, he asked, "Do you need anything from the café?"

"No," I whispered, still lost in my thoughts.

"Okay," he replied, his voice gentle as we made our way to the elevator. We rode in silence, and when we reached my floor, I finally looked at him. "Thanks," I said softly.

He said nothing in return, only watching as the elevator doors closed between us.

---

Days passed like this, and it became almost routine-bumping into him in the elevator or at SNU. Our exchanges were brief, just a simple 'hi' and nothing more. He didn't have friends here, and I didn't feel the need to ask him for help, despite Ya Usman calling and scolding me, reminding me that Zain was there for things I couldn't handle alone. But I was stubborn. I would rather struggle than ask him for anything.

This morning, I woke up feeling under the weather. It was December, and Seoul's winter was harsh-cold winds and snow blanketing the city. Özge hadn't arrived yet, and my head was pounding so badly that I could barely see. Deciding to leave early, I made my way down the hallway, my hand pressed to my forehead as if it could soothe the pain. I was halfway down the rails when I bumped into him.

"Are you okay?" His voice was uncharacteristically concerned. He took one look at me and frowned. "Why do you look like this? Are you sick?"

Before I could even respond, he was already pulling me aside, his usual quiet demeanor suddenly replaced with urgency. I wasn't used to hearing him speak so much in one go-he barely ever said more than ten sentences in a day.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, trying to brush past him.

But he grabbed my wrist, and for the first time, I felt a jolt, like a current of electricity shooting up my arm. I froze.

"Ya Salam! Are you crazy? You're burning up!" His words came out in Arabic, and it caught me off guard. That's when it clicked-he was Arab. He always had a certain look, but I'd thought he was Persian.

I pulled my hand away, feeling flustered. "I'll be fine. I'll take some medicine when I get home."

"Stop being so stubborn," he muttered, already moving past me. Before I knew it, he was pulling his car around. He helped me inside, his movements gentle but firm, and drove me back to the apartment.

As we reached my door, I fumbled for my keys but couldn't find them. The dizziness was overwhelming now. I leaned against the wall, struggling to stay upright.

"They're in the locker," he said quietly. "Let's go to mine. You can rest there, and I'll pick up the keys later."

I was too weak to argue. He helped me stand and led me to his penthouse. By the time we arrived, my vision was blurry, and all I could do was collapse onto his sofa. He found a blanket and carefully draped it over me, tucking it around my shoulders. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant.

"I'll get some meds," he said softly before disappearing into another room. He returned ten minutes later with a glass of water and some pills. After helping me take them, I fell asleep within minutes, my body finally giving in to the exhaustion.

---

The warmth of the blanket and the quietness of the room enveloped me, but even in my dreams, the sensation of his hand on mine lingered-gentle yet full of something unspoken.