ECHOES OF DEFIANCE

chapter 32

*Zain’s POV**

My grandfather had been on my neck for the past few days, pressuring me to divorce my wife and return to Qatar to marry a Qatari princess—my cousin, no less, who was around the same age as Farhana. They were missing the entire point. I couldn’t imagine living with anyone else besides my wife. The thought of marrying another woman, even as a second wife, felt unbearable. I couldn't allow Farhana to suffer the way my mother did.

They sent my father away only a week after his wedding to my mother, exiling him after she gave birth to me. My parents were forced to live in Nigeria, all because he chose my mother over his duties. If they could do that to a princess, just imagine what they would do to my Farhana. My thoughts spun in circles, consumed by fear and frustration.

“Hayati’m, you look disturbed. Is something wrong?” Farhana’s soft voice pulled me out of my thoughts. She stepped into the room, looking like she had just descended from the heavens, so angelic in her presence. Allah knows how much I love this woman. Every time I look at her, I’m reminded of all the happiness I want to give her, even if the world is against us.

She was about to sit next to me, but I couldn’t help myself. I pulled her into my lap, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. She blushed, and her beauty seemed to illuminate the entire room.

“Hayati’m, I don’t like seeing you like this. What’s bothering you?” she asked again, her eyes searching mine for answers. God, how I hated making her worry.

“Diyar Amma, what could possibly go wrong when I have you?” I lied, hoping to ease her concern. “I’m just stressed about finals.” But I could tell she wasn’t convinced. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she could see right through my weak attempt to hide the truth.

Thinking quickly, I changed the subject. “Do you want to play basketball with me?” I asked with a smile.

Her face lit up with excitement, and she agreed eagerly. I now have an indoor basketball court near by the gym, so I quickly went to change into my jersey. After waiting a few minutes in the living room, she emerged, and my breath caught in my throat.

"Ya salam..." I whispered to myself. Her dusky skin glowed, her waist-length thick curls tied into two playful tails. Her big, grey almond-shaped eyes were accentuated with a touch of kohl, and her hourglass figure looked even more stunning in the jersey.

“This is cheating,” I groaned with a grin. “How am I supposed to focus when you look like this?”

She smirked, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Even I can’t concentrate when my Arab prince looks like a hot cake.”

We played together, her laughter filling the space, making me forget the heavy weight of my troubles. I let her win most of the games, just to see her joyful jumps and hear her sweet, victorious laughter. In those moments, watching her happiness made me realize that I would do anything for this woman. She was the one I could lay my life down for. Her joy was my joy, and for a while, all my worries faded into the background.

---

A few days later, I got a call from my father—a command, really—to fly to Qatar. My heart sank at the thought of leaving Farhana. Being without her felt like suffocating; she was my oxygen, and the thought of distance between us gnawed at me. But I had no choice, so I flew out to Qatar, hoping I could quickly resolve whatever it was.

Since I landed, I hadn’t been able to reach her, and the ache in my chest grew with each passing hour. My father told me it was an official meeting, scheduled for tomorrow, but how could I possibly wait until then without hearing her voice?

I needed to speak to my father. There had to be a way out of this. I couldn’t lose Farhana—not to them, not to anything.

I entered my father’s room with a quiet *salam*, hoping he could help me. My heart was racing, the anxiety clawing at me.

"Abba, I can't reach Farhana," I said, my voice tight with concern. "It's been 17 hours now, and I'm worried. Please, can I use your phone?"

He looked up at me, his expression unreadable but tense. There was something off in the way he reacted. My nerves tingled with unease as I took his phone and dialed her number. But just like before, I was met with the same automated voicemail. My heart sank even further.

I dropped the phone, feeling helpless, and hurried back to my room. Every second without hearing her voice felt like a lifetime. I dialed her parents’ number, praying they would pick up. But once again, the call didn’t go through. The feeling of dread intensified.

Next, I thought of the receptionist at the building where she was staying. I dialed the number, hoping for some relief. Still nothing.

*Why is everything falling apart?*

Then it hit me—Demir. The chef at the Turkish restaurant. He had a connection to Ozge, Farhana’s friend. They were family, and maybe, just maybe, he could get in touch with her. I called Demir, and thank God, the call went through.

I quickly explained the situation, my voice trembling with urgency. He promised to send me Ozge’s contact number. Relief fluttered briefly in my chest when he did, but it was short-lived—the call didn’t go through either.

Frustration surged through me as I called Demir again. He told me he had just been on the phone with Ozge from Turkey, and he would try reaching her again on my behalf. My pulse quickened as I waited, the silence around me heavy and suffocating.

A few moments later, Demir called me back. His voice was soft but carried a weight that told me something was wrong.

“Hana’s amma is sick” he explained, his words slow, as if afraid of how I would react.

*Amma is sick.* My mind raced, but I knew Farhana well enough—if Amma was unwell, she wasn’t okay either. My heart clenched in my chest.

I asked Demir to tell Ozge to pass on a message to Farhana—that I was fine and would be back soon. I needed her to know I was thinking about her, that I would never leave her side in spirit, even if I was thousands of miles away.

After that, I tried calling every contact I had—people in Korea, friends in Nigeria—anyone who might know what was happening. But none of the calls connected. It felt like I was trapped in some kind of nightmare, cut off from the person who meant the most to me.

With a sigh, I opened the internet, hoping for some distraction. But the second I saw the top headline, my blood ran cold.

*An official announcement of my wedding to Mahra bint Rasasi.* The ceremony was apparently scheduled for tomorrow.

My stomach twisted with dread. How could they do this without even informing me? How could they plan my life like this, as if I had no say? Worse yet, what would happen when Farhana saw this? My heart pounded in my chest, imagining the shock, the betrayal she would feel.

I quickly sent a voice message to Demir, asking him to deliver it to Farhana as soon as possible. I needed to calm her down, to explain that none of this was true. I knew with everything on her plate—Amma’s illness, the stress of being away from me—she probably hadn’t had the time or energy to look up the news.

But if she did… Allah, what would that do to her?

I sat there in silence, my mind spiraling with a mix of anger, helplessness, and love. All I wanted was to be with her, to hold her in my arms and reassure her that no one could take her place in my heart. No matter what my family wanted, no matter the pressures mounting around us, Farhana was the only woman I would ever love. The thought of losing her, of her suffering because of all this… It was unbearable.

I clenched my fists, determination rising within me. No matter what it took, I would make sure she knew the truth. I would fight for her, for us. Because without her, nothing in this world mattered.