𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬

Chapter 17

°°°
Nobody has ever measured, even poets, how much a heart can hold.

°°°

Aamirah felt a flutter of nerves in her chest as she walked through the doorway. Today was different—it wasn’t just breakfast. She would finally meet Osman’s grandfather, the patriarch of the family.

She had heard of him in passing, an imposing figure of the household’s legacy. Though her marriage to Osman was not born of love, she couldn’t help but hope that his grandfather might be kinder, more approachable than Osman or his grandmother.

As she entered the room, her eyes immediately found the elderly man seated at the head of the long, elegant table. He was much older than she had imagined, his silver hair glinting in the light, his face lined with the years of wisdom and experience.

Despite his age, there was an undeniable energy to him. His eyes sparkled with warmth, and his smile was not the cold, detached kind she had grown used to seeing in Osman—it was kind, genuine.

He rose slowly from his seat as she approached, leaning on his cane for support. Aamirah felt her pulse quicken, but before she could introduce herself, his deep, rich voice filled the room.

“So, this is my granddaughter-in-law,” he said warmly, his smile widening as he studied her. “Come, my dear, let me get a good look at you.”

Aamirah blinked in surprise, not expecting such a welcoming tone. She glanced briefly at Osman, who was seated at the table with his usual composed expression, before she stepped forward.

As she reached the elderly man, he extended his hand and gently took hers in his weathered, yet strong grasp. His fingers were warm, and the tenderness in his gesture immediately put her at ease.

“You must be so tired from all that has happened,” he said softly, his voice filled with understanding. “But you are a part of our family now, and you will always be treated as such.”

Aamirah’s heart fluttered at his words. The tension she’d been holding in her chest for days seemed to unravel with the simple kindness of his greeting.

She had expected cold formality, but what she found was something altogether different—a paternal warmth she hadn’t realized she craved so deeply.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried to suppress the emotion welling up inside her.

He shook his head gently. “None of that ‘sir’ business. Call me Grandfather, as Osman does. You are my family now, Aamirah.” His tone was so soft and caring that it made her chest tighten with emotion.

He released her hand, gesturing toward the seat beside him at the table. “Come, sit with me. We must talk. I want to know all about you.”

Aamirah felt an unexpected lump in her throat as she took the seat he offered. No one had asked her about herself since she had arrived.

She had been shuffled through the formalities of her new life, adjusting to her role as Osman’s wife and caregiver to Mohammed, with little time to reflect on her own identity.

But now, this man—this kind, loving man—wanted to know her, to understand who she was beyond the title she had gained.

As breakfast was served, he spoke to her as if she were his own daughter, asking about her past, her family, and even her favorite foods.

His questions were never intrusive, always delivered with a softness that made her feel at ease. When she mentioned her parents, his face softened even more.