Don't Leave Me Again

30- Stirring up memories

The clatter of pans and the sharp sounds of chopping filled the kitchen, but Zafrin's mind was elsewhere. Her hands moved with automatic precision, stirring a sauce she barely noticed. As the fragrant steam rose from the pot, her thoughts drifted back to a time that felt both distant and painfully close.

She could still recall those stolen moments with Danish, he thrill of sneaking out to meet him, the secret smiles exchanged across crowded rooms, the whispered conversations only they understood. Back then, she had been just a teenager, wrapped up in the excitement of a forbidden romance, while Danish,  mature, composed had seemed like the anchor in her chaotic world.

It started innocently enough, meeting after family gatherings, slipping away for a few minutes alone. No one suspected anything more than a casual friendship between them. But the truth was far more intimate. Zafrin’s heart raced at the memory of their first meeting in secret. They had found a quiet corner at a family friend's house, on the terrace, far from the prying eyes of relatives. She had laughed nervously as he took her hand, his warmth seeping into her, making her feel safe and excited all at once.

They spent that summer hiding from their families, sharing moments that no one else knew about. It was thrilling, the way he would touch her hand gently, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He had this way of making her feel special, as if she were the center of his universe. She had been so young then, naive, full of dreams about a future that seemed endless.

But something had changed. Abruptly, without warning. There had been an argument, one that had shifted everything between them. She still didn’t know what exactly had gone wrong, but the memory of it haunted her. That day, everything had fallen apart.

As the memory of that painful conversation clawed at her, she gripped the spoon tighter, her hand shaking slightly as she stirred the sauce. Her mind replayed their last moments together, the words they exchanged, bitter, sharp, full of hurt and confusion. It was the moment she realized that maybe they weren’t as invincible as she had once believed.

The sauce was bubbling over now, but Zafrin didn’t notice. Her thoughts were too loud, drowning out the sizzle in the pan. She was back on that terrace, Dhanish’s face inches from hers, both of them speaking words they couldn’t take back. Her heart ached with the memory of it, and the regret still weighed on her.

Suddenly, the sharp scent of burning snapped her back to reality. She glanced down and saw the sauce bubbling too vigorously, the edges charring black. “Damn,” she muttered under her breath, scrambling to turn down the heat.

In her haste, she knocked the spoon off the counter and reached to grab it instinctively, only to let out a sharp gasp as her hand brushed against the hot pan. The pain was immediate, sharp, and searing, cutting through the haze of her memories.

"Zafrin!" Hiba’s voice called from across the kitchen, but Zafrin was too busy trying to douse her burning hand under cold water. The pain from the burn echoed in her chest, a perfect metaphor for the hurt she’d been carrying for years. Both wounds, she realized bitterly, might take a long time to heal.