echoes of defiance (Rewriting)

chapter 41

Farhana’s POV

It was late when I was finally discharged from the hospital. I hadn’t informed  my family  because I didn’t want to worry them.  In fact, I had never told anyone in my family about the whole Qatar incident. They wouldn’t understand, or rather, they wouldn’t let it go unchecked. My father, no matter how powerful Qatar was, would never tolerate what they had been doing to us—to me. It wasn’t about power; it was about a father’s love. If my dad knew, he would likely demand Zain divorce me. But the truth is, I love my husband deeply. After almost a year of marriage, the mere thought of living without him felt impossible. So, I carried the weight of it all alone, hiding everything from my family.

“Tsk,” Zain’s teasing sound pulled me from my thoughts. I used to hate that sound. He would say it to mock me in the past, but now, it had become a playful gesture between us. It was a sign that he was in a lighthearted mood, even when I knew we were both exhausted from everything that had happened.

I looked at him, admiring every detail. His well-trimmed black beard, his dreamy eyes, and those broad, comforting shoulders framed by the sleeveless white shirt he wore. The shirt clung to his chest, showing off the muscles I loved to rest against. His brown three-quarter pants made him look casual, yet effortlessly handsome. My lips curled into a slight pout without me realizing it. Zain noticed immediately.

“Babyyyyyy,” he teased, his voice low and rich, “why are you flirting with me when you’re the one who’s sick?”

His hand reached out, and with a gentleness that always surprised me, he caressed my lips with his thumb. I felt the warmth of his touch spreading through me, grounding me in the moment. I couldn’t help but smile, even as I pouted again.

“Why are you teasing me when I’m the one who's sick?” I asked, my voice soft, ending the sentence with another pout, hoping to get his sympathy.

Zain chuckled softly, his eyes dropping to my lips again. “Ya Subhanallah, rigimammiyan Zain,” he murmured, his voice teasing but affectionate. I wasn’t expecting what came next. His lips pressed against my lower lip, soft and gentle, a brief but tender kiss that left me breathless. His love always took me by surprise.

“Rest,” he whispered against my lips, his fingers gently running through my braids, sending a shiver down my spine. He looked deeply into my eyes, as if searching for something, maybe trying to understand the depth of what we both felt.

But I didn’t want him to leave, not even for a moment. I needed him close. Everything felt too fragile, too fleeting, like I hadn’t truly seen him in a long time. I just wanted to be wrapped up in his arms, to rest my head against his chest, where I always found peace.

“I don’t want to be alone,” I admitted softly, holding onto his strong, muscular arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. I didn’t care about food right now, I just wanted him near. “Let’s just order something,” I added, my voice pleading.

Zain smiled down at me, his eyes filled with that quiet strength and love he always had for me. He gently caressed my cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll bring the plush chair into the kitchen so you can rest while I cook,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “I want you to eat the porridge I make with my own hands. Trust me, you’ll feel better.”

I sighed softly, my heart full. He always knew how to take care of me, even when I tried to resist. His love was in the small gestures—the way he cared for me when I was weak, the way he kissed me unexpectedly, the way he always made sure I was safe, even from my own thoughts. Every touch, every look, every word was filled with tenderness and love.

Zain carefully placed the plush chair just by the kitchen door, positioning it so I could still see him as he worked. He knew I didn’t want to be left alone, and this was his way of making sure I was close without compromising his need to prepare something for me.

“Stay here where I can see you,” he said softly, giving me a reassuring smile as he ran his hand through my braida, his touch lingering on the strands. “I will make it in a bit, I promise.”

I settled into the chair, my eyes following him as he moved with effortless grace around the kitchen, his muscular form moving in rhythm as he began preparing the porridge. Even something as simple as this, he did with love. The soft clinking of pots and the gentle aroma of spices wafted through the air, filling the room with a sense of comfort.

Every few minutes, Zain would glance over his shoulder, checking on me, his eyes warm and filled with affection. He never let me feel alone, not for a second. Despite the weariness in his body, his love was constant—an unspoken promise that no matter how tough things got, he would always be there.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he said, his deep voice breaking through the quiet. “I’m almost done.”

His words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, and for a brief moment, all the pain and worry faded, leaving behind only the love we shared.