The Mafia's Bride

Chapter 19

                           Hayat

The room felt colder than usual, or maybe it was just the silence pressing in around me. I sat by the window, knees pulled to my chest, watching the stars blur behind a thin layer of tears I refused to let fall.

My hand still throbbed, but the sting was dull compared to the ache in my chest. Everyone had left after checking on me, their concern genuine, but brief. Hazar hadn’t come back.

Not that I expected him to.

He was angry—furious, actually. And I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t even sure if he was angry at me, at Atal, or at himself. Maybe all three. I didn’t know what to make of this marriage anymore.

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts, and I quickly wiped at my cheeks. The door creaked open and there he was—Hazar, holding a tray.

“I brought you dinner,” he said, voice quiet, a little unsure.

I nodded, managing a small smile. “Thank you.”

He placed the tray down on the table without meeting my eyes. I watched him turn toward the door, ready to leave.

“You don’t have to stay,” I said, trying to sound casual, like it didn’t matter.

But it did.

He paused, just for a second. I could feel the weight of his silence.

“I’m used to eating alone anyway,” I added softly, not sure why I said it out loud. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe it was the truth slipping out from the cracks I worked so hard to hide.

I didn’t expect him to turn back. But he did.

“My parents died when I was twelve,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “After that, it was just me and my brother. When he moved out, it was just me. I’d sit alone at the table every night, pretending it didn’t bother me. And I got used to it. I really did.”

I looked down at my hands. “But I thought… maybe after getting married, I wouldn’t have to anymore.”

The silence stretched between us, thick with emotion.

Then, he walked over, sat beside me, and picked up the spoon.

“You're not eating alone tonight,” he said gently.

And just like that, something in me softened—a wall, a weight, a wound I didn’t even know I’d been carrying.

He lifted a spoonful of rice and held it out. I hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward and took the bite. He watched me closely, like he was checking if I was okay—not just physically, but deeper than that.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said quietly, after swallowing. “But I’m glad you did.”

“I told you, you’re not eating alone anymore,” he said, voice low. “Not if I can help it.”

There was something in his tone—still rough around the edges, but softer than before. I glanced at him, then down at the tray.

“You were really angry earlier,” I said, not accusing—just... curious.

He gave a small nod. “I was. I still am... at myself, mostly. And Atal. I should’ve seen it coming.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” I said quickly, always too quick to defend others. “I was clumsy—”

“You always do that,” he cut in, gently but firmly. “Take the blame even when it’s not yours.”

I looked away.