Destined Strangers

Chapter 25

Why even mention of heart's deserted state
The city's been looted a hundred times to date

-- Meer Taqi Meer

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The air is crisp and biting, each breath visible in the stillness. The snowflakes fall gently, their delicate patterns illuminated by the faint glow of streetlights. The ground crunches underfoot, and the trees stand heavy with snow, their branches bowing low. Everything is hushed, as if the earth itself is holding its breath, blanketed in a serene, cold silence.

"Is it really that hard for you to trust me?"

His tone is cold, and there's no emotion
on his face. Sania doesn't quite understand what he's getting at.

"If I didn't trust you, would you be here on my bed?"

Hassan just stares at her with serious, silent eyes, his gaze steady and unwavering. Sania shifts slightly. She thinks maybe he's upset, so she feels the need to clarify, though she's not sure why.

"Hassan, we both knew this relation was only meant to last until the situation was taken care of. So, that's why I just..."

Her words trail off as she catches the hardening of Hassan's features. He's been listening in silence, but now the atmosphere around him darkens, his jaw tight.

"Didn't we also agree that you wouldn't hide anything from me?"

His voice, though quiet, carries a cutting edge. Sania's breath catches. Does he already know? But how could he have found out so soon? Maybe he's talking about something else, she reassures herself, trying to push down the rising panic. She just stares at him, as if words have left her completely.

"Did we or didn't we?"

His voice rises slightly, breaking through the tension with a demand. Sania keeps looking at him, her wide eyes searching his face for something softer, but finding none.

"We did," she barely manages to say.The entire situation, the way Hassan is speaking to her so sternly, feels beyond her grasp.

"So, madam, will you tell me what you saw in the library yesterday that made you run out like that?"

Her held breath releases shakily. A wave of pain stirs in her chest, sharp and unmistakable. So, he knows. He's figured it out. She gathers herself, trying to steady her racing thoughts.

"Hassan, I-"

"What, Hassan?" His interruption is harsh, his face now as red as his eyes, his frustration clear.

"I wanted to tell you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

The weight of her choice presses down on her, and she wonders if she made the wrong decision. But no-she reassures herself-it was the right call. She had only been thinking of someone's well-being.

"What did you want to tell me?" Hassan asks with a raising voice.

Tears well up in her eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. It's a struggle, a battle of restraint. She doesn't cry, but the words fail her. Maybe she could have spoken if it wasn't Hassan sitting there. This wasn't the Hassan she knew-the one who spoke softly, who helped her solve problems with patience.

"Speak. What do you want to tell me? That you met your so-called kidnapper yesterday?"

Hassan's voice, edged with anger, cuts through the room like a blade. Sania flinches slightly, her heart racing. His words hit hard, but it's his tone that sends a chill down her spine.