Destined Strangers

Chapter 11

"Trust is the foundation of all human relationships, and it is only through the courage to step into the unknown that we find our true selves."

Søren Kierkegaard

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He peers through the small peephole, his heart racing as he watches the police outside. They're earlier than expected. He curses under his breath, panic surging through his mind. How did they find him so soon?

Quickly moving away from the door, He moves towards a small room. He had prepared for this contingency, but never thought it would happen so soon. He hastily makes his way to the secret room, hidden behind a false wall.

As he enters the cramped space, the police's shouts grow louder, and the sound of their searching fills the air. Their footsteps echo outside, growing closer and closer. He locks the door behind him and leans against it, trying to calm his racing heart.

The secret room is small, with no windows and only a small ventilation shaft. He had stocked it with food, water, and a first-aid kit, in case he needed to hide for an extended period.

They'll search the house, but they won't find him here.

He can hear the police searching the house, their voices getting fainter. They might eventually give up and leave, but he knows this isn't the end.

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As the car glides down the road, the heater's gentle hum envelops them in a warm embrace. Yet her face remains a mask of stone, her eyes empty of any emotion. This unnerves Hassan, and the rest of the journey passes in silence.

When they arrive at her house, Hassan halts the car, and she turns to him. He senses a deep-seated pain behind those eyes, a pain she refuses to acknowledge.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice barely audible, as she reaches for the door handle.

But Hassan can't let her go, not like this.

"Wait... I will come with you."

"I'm fine... " she replies, her tone firm, but her eyes betray a hint of vulnerability.

"Let's go inside, we need to talk about this in detail,"

Hassan says, his tone gentle but assertive. He gets out of the car and walks toward the house door, and she follows behind him. She doesn't say anything, and he doesn't give her a chance to speak either, though her face clearly shows unease. He moves forward and opens the door, and she enters.

It's cold inside the house, so Hassan looks around, finds the heater switch, and turns it on. She is still standing by the door.

"Come, sit here."

The cold air seems to vibrate with unspoken words and the weight of unshed tears. Her movements are mechanical.

"Where's the first-aid box?"

Hassan asks, trying to break the silence. Her gaze drifts downward, her hands clasped together in her lap, and she remains silent. He waits, willing her to speak. She sits on the sofa, so he sits down beside it, on the floor, close enough to see her face. There is still pain visible on it.

"Sania?"

She looks up, and her gaze locks onto his.

"First-aid box?"

"It's in the dresser," she replies. Hassan gets up, retrieves it, and sits down again in the same spot, next to her.

"Show me your hand."