Yusra: Don't hurt me in the way I cannot even recover.
Shazal: Do you not realize, there's no one but you for me?
Daniyal: She let the tears fall, but it weren't for me.
Zumar: You fall in love and then, fall out of it.
It's not that big of a deal.
...
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๑ 🥀 ๑
After nearly half a day of gruelling travel, with no rest in the days leading up to or even on the day of the wedding, he was utterly drained. Exhausted to the core. But you wouldn’t know it by looking at him—his face showed nothing. He was good at concealing, at masking his emotions, hiding every feeling beneath a calm exterior.
Carrying Zumar's luggage, he walked inside the house with her silently trailing behind, her movements stiff, her expressions just as lifeless. She seemed like a doll, moving through the motions, her face unmoving, unreadable.
They moved in a rhythm neither fully understood. The main door stood at the far right of the hall, while a simple sofa took centre stage. As they stepped inside, they were met with a small shoe rack tucked under the staircase leading to the upper floor. He noticed her observing the space, taking in the warm minimalism he’d added to it. The place wasn’t vast or extravagant—it was small, cosy, and touched with his simple style.
He led her past the sofa, through a dark brown door, and into what would be her room. She didn’t follow him in. After setting down her luggage and ensuring everything was prepared, he quietly exited.
When he returned, Zumar was by the sofa, her gown brushing its edge, her gaze drifting toward the dining area across the room. She looked like she wanted nothing more than to shed the heavy dress clinging to her.
He cleared his throat, hoping to start a conversation or at least catch her attention. Her head turned to him, still expressionless.
“That’s your room,” he said, gesturing toward the chocolate-brown door. “I’ll stay upstairs.” Casually, he unbuckled his watch and removed the red rose from his pocket square.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Her head snapped toward him, eyes blazing with barely contained fury. Strands of hair fell over her face, dancing under the warm chandelier light.
He took in her appearance—her light brown skin softly illuminated, her makeup delicate yet firm. Despite her soft look, her expression held nothing but resolve.
“I’m heading to my bedroom,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you’d rather I stay in yours?”
The question left her momentarily taken aback.
“You know what I’m talking about.” She looked around the room. “Where are your parents?”
“They are still in Florida, regardless, this is my house,” he replied simply. “They'll be in theirs.” With a shrug, he took off his coat.
She stared at him, speechless for a moment. “What is the meaning of all this?” She took a step forward.
“What do you want me to do, Zumar? Everything I’m trying to do is for both of us—why can’t you understand that?”
