Paasban

Chapter 30

Zyra's POV:

Zyra's POV:

"Musa... I know I matter to you," I said softly, looking up at him as I gently patted his arm. His gaze was so intense it felt like he was searching for something in my eyes, but I gave him a small smile to ease the tension. "You don't have to prove it. Mistakes happen... it's a part of life. It's okay."

His expression didn't soften, though. If anything, the weight in his eyes seemed to deepen. "But it's not okay, Zyra," he said, his voice low, almost strained. "I've been distant, cold... I've hurt you, and I don't want that to be how you remember me."

I blinked, caught off guard by his words. It was rare to hear him speak so openly, so vulnerably. The Musa I knew was always guarded, but here he was, standing before me, peeling back the layers.

I squeezed his arm lightly, trying to offer comfort. "We're all flawed. You don't have to be perfect," I said, my voice soft but firm. "What matters is you're here now. And you're trying."

He looked down at me, something unreadable flickering across his face, and for a brief moment, the guarded exterior he wore so well seemed to crack. The city lights bathed us in a soft glow, and the Eiffel Tower loomed behind us, but all I could focus on was him—Musa, standing before me, trying so hard to let me in.

Musa took my hand gently, his fingers warm and firm against mine. He led me to a set of comfortable chairs on the deck, the quiet hum of the river surrounding us. We sat down, the soft cushions giving a sense of calm amidst the heavy emotions swirling between us.

He stared at our hands for a moment, his thumb absently brushing against my skin. "There's something I haven't told you," he began, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. "Something that explains a lot about why I am the way I am."

I looked at him, confused but listening intently.

"My real parents... they weren't like Arif and Sana's. They weren't like the family you've always thought was mine." His jaw tightened slightly, his eyes distant as he spoke. "My father... he was controlling. He used to abuse my mother. Verbally, physically—he took out his anger on her, constantly, in front of me." He paused, his voice growing quieter. "That's what I saw growing up. That's what I learned... how to treat people. How to control, how to hurt."

My breath caught in my throat as I processed his words. I'd always known there was more to Musa than what he showed, but this... I hadn't expected this. The thought of him growing up in that kind of environment, witnessing such pain, made my heart ache.

"I didn't know," I whispered, squeezing his hand gently, trying to offer some comfort.

He nodded, his expression still distant as he continued. "When things got bad, my father... he couldn't handle me anymore. My Taya and Tayi—Arif and Sana's parents—they took me in. They adopted me. Gave me a different life. But... I still remember everything from before. I never let go of it."

I blinked, taken aback. I'd always thought Uncle and Aunty were his parents. That their warm, welcoming home was where he'd always belonged. But this was something entirely new. The man sitting next to me wasn't just distant because he wanted to be—he was distant because he was trying to protect himself from a past he couldn't shake.

"Musa... I had no idea," I said softly, feeling a lump in my throat. "I always thought Uncle and Aunty were your parents."

He shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the dark waters of the Seine. "They saved me," he said quietly. "But that past... it shaped me. And I'm scared that I'll end up like him. That's why I keep my distance... why I struggle to show you how I really feel."