The Admiral's Daughter

Chapter 24

QOD "Some ghosts from the past don't return for closure; they return to test how well you've healed. Face them with strength, but never forget the scars they left behind." _unknown

Just as I stepped out of the shower, droplets still clinging to my skin, my phone buzzed from the bedside table. I reached for it absentmindedly, the soft towel wrapped around me, and squinted at the screen.

A message from an unknown number read:

*"Hi beautiful, this is my number. I'll call you later tonight. – Aysar."*

For a moment, I didn't breathe. The name hit me like a slap to the face. Aysar. I let the words sink in, my heart thudding as memories I had buried deep clawed their way back to the surface.

"Hmph," I muttered, shaking my head. "This guy really has guts."

I tossed the phone onto the bed, half-expecting it to explode under the weight of my emotions. Refusing to give the text another thought, I slipped into something comfortable, grabbed a jar of chin chin from the kitchen, and headed to Dad's room.

Dad and I laughed, argued, and cheered throughout the Lakers game like we always did, and when they won, I sprawled out on the couch, basking in the victory. Somewhere between Dad's chuckles and the warm glow of the television, sleep claimed me.

It wasn't until Maghrib's Adhan rang out that I stirred, groggy and heavy-limbed. Dragging myself back to my room, I prayed Maghrib, taking my time as I lingered on my prayer mat. It was always my favorite place—the quiet, the stillness, the way it grounded me when life felt like too much.

I stretched lazily, reaching for my Qur'an from the bottom drawer. My phone buzzed again, but I ignored it. Whatever it was could wait. My nightly routine was sacred: reciting from the Qur'an after Maghrib was my anchor, a ritual that kept my days from unraveling.

As I flipped through the pages, I landed on a verse that always gripped my heart with its quiet power:

"Or do you think that you will enter Paradise without such trials as those who passed away before you? They were afflicted with severe poverty and ailments and were so shaken that even the Messenger and those who believed with him said, 'When will the help of Allah come?' Indeed, the help of Allah is near."
(Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:214)

The last line felt like a lifeline. *"Indeed, the help of Allah is near."* How many times had I whispered those words to myself on nights when the weight of the world felt unbearable? They never failed to soothe me.

I hugged the Qur'an to my chest, closing my eyes as I repeated the verse under my breath. It was my daily affirmation, my reminder that even in my darkest moments, Allah's help was always closer than I thought.

And then my phone buzzed again.

I frowned, glancing at it. The thought struck me, unbidden: *What if this call is the help of Allah I've been waiting for?*

Shaking my head at my own foolishness, I placed the Qur'an gently on the soft grey mat and picked up the phone. I hesitated for a moment before swiping to answer.

"Assalamu'alaikum, hello?"

"Wa'alaikum salam. It's Aysar."

His voice was smooth, deep, deliberate. Every word carried a weight that made my chest tighten.

"Oh, hey," I said, keeping my tone light, unaffected. "How are you? How's Mama? Did you get home safely?"

"She's fine, thank you. And yes, we did."

"Good. Thanks for calling," I said briskly, hoping to end the conversation before it started.

"Wait." His voice was gentle but firm, like a hand reaching out to stop me.

I paused, unsure why I let him.

"I was so happy to bump into you today," he said softly. "It felt... special. Especially seeing you help Mama."

"Oh, come on. It was nothing."

"No, it wasn't nothing," he insisted. "Thank you so much. Jazakallahu khairan."

"Ameen," I murmured, feeling an uncomfortable warmth rise in my chest urgent.

There was a pause, heavy and deliberate, before he continued.

"Fairu, I don't know if you're free tomorrow after work, but I was hoping... maybe we could meet? Just the two of us. There's so much I need to say, especially after all these years."

I blinked, stunned into silence. Aysar wanted to meet me? After all this time? My throat tightened as memories of the past came rushing back—the pain, the betrayal, the pieces of me he left behind.

"Aysar, we're adults now," I finally said, my voice calm but cold. "Let bygones be bygones."

"I know," he said, his tone laced with regret. "But I've wronged you, Fairu. I've spent years thinking about it, and seeing the woman you've become—it makes me want to worship the ground you walk on."

I closed my eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on me. This was the same Aysar who had made me stop believing in love, the same boy who shattered my trust. Now he wanted a chance to fix things?

"I really don't have time for this," I said firmly, hoping to end the conversation before he could say anything more.

"Please," he pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. "Just one chance. Let me explain. Let me make things right. You don't have to forgive me, but at least let me say my piece."

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