Shattered Chains

25.0 [Ali's POV]

2 more chapters to go.......

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

"It's in the silence between us that I realized I needed to speak the most."

~Unknown

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The first thing I noticed was the headache—a pounding, relentless ache that throbbed behind my eyes. I blinked against the dull light seeping through the curtains, groaning as I tried to lift my head. My mouth felt dry, and the taste of regret lingered on my tongue.

What the hell had I done?

The events of last night came crashing back in a series of jumbled memories—Asif's sharp words, the drinking, the weight of it all pressing down on me. And then... Amira. Her face, her wide eyes filled with worry, her soft voice calling my name. The way I had tried to speak to her, but my words had failed me, slipping into the haze of alcohol.

I groaned again, turning over in bed. My body ached in ways that weren't just from the drinking. The emotional weight of the past few weeks had left me exhausted. I wanted to shut it all out, to crawl back under the blankets and pretend like the world outside didn't exist. But I couldn't escape what I had done.

As I slowly sat up, the room spun for a moment before settling. I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling the stubble that had grown over the past couple of days. The tension between Amira and me had reached a breaking point, and instead of fixing it, I had drowned myself in alcohol – Pathetic.

With a deep breath, I pushed the blankets aside and stood, wobbling slightly before steadying myself. The bedroom was eerily quiet, and for a moment, I wondered if Amira was even home. I didn't know how I could face her after last night.

I had wanted to tell her everything. The truth is that I didn't want the divorce, that I was terrified of losing her. But the words never came, lost in the fog of drunkenness. And now, I had no idea what she was thinking.

I padded across the room to the door, opening it quietly. The hallway was empty, and I strained to hear any sounds from downstairs. Nothing.

With a sigh, I made my way to the bathroom. The mirror reflected back a version of me I barely recognized—tired, pale, and worn down. The circles under my eyes were darker than I remembered. I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would wash away the guilt clinging to me. But it didn't.

It couldn't.

As I got dressed, my mind kept drifting back to the conversation I had overheard between Amira and Samad Bhai days ago. She had mentioned the divorce, and said it might be the best option. It had torn me apart to hear her say it, but I had convinced myself it was what she wanted. That it was inevitable.

But now, standing here, I wasn't so sure anymore. What if I was wrong? I shook my head, pushing the thought aside. No. She had made it clear enough, hadn't she? This was what she wanted. What we both needed.

I was halfway down the stairs when the smell of cooking reached me. My stomach churned at the thought of food, but I forced myself to keep going. As I entered the kitchen, I saw her—Amira—standing at the stove, her back to me. She moved quietly, methodically, as though she had done this a thousand times. And maybe she had.

For a moment, I just stood there, watching her. My chest tightened at the sight of her in the soft morning light. I wanted to speak, to break the silence that hung between us like a wall, but the words were stuck in my throat.