Take off your Hijab (Rewriting)

I am in love With you✅

Hi,Just a quick Warning guys and ladies grab on to your tissue box and get ready for this chapter😘 anyways enjoy-Aysha

Third person's POV.

Baby, we built this house on memories
Take my picture now, shake it 'til you see it
And when your fantasies become your legacy
Promise me a place in your house of memories...

"Oh Hi," Amal says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey." The boy on the other end doesn't look anything like the stubborn, troublemaker she's grown to know. His eyes are swollen and rimmed with red, probably from all the tears he's been choking back behind that fragile, plastic smile. The voice that answers her is raspy, like every syllable is edged with unshed sobs, but she doesn't dare mention it. She knows sometimes silence is the best medicine; sometimes words can break what's already too brittle.

"Hey, um,so how is he?" Amal's question comes out like a reluctant confession, soft but carrying the urgency of someone who's tired of waiting for bad news. She rips the question out like a bandage on a wound, afraid to hurt but more afraid not to know.

"He's...the doctor said earlier that he might not-" Zach's words come stilted, hesitant. Then he falls silent, stumbling over a truth he's not ready to acknowledge. It's almost like saying it aloud will make it too real, as if denial's the only thing holding him together right now.

"I'm so sorry," Amal breathes, the words spilling out before she can stop them. Tears well up in her eyes, blurring her vision.

"No, don't apologize. It's not your fault. It's just...life...destiny...I don't know, honestly," Zach rambles, his voice tightening as he tries to feign a detachment he clearly doesn't feel. She watches him closely, the sad smile on her lips knowing and gentle. She can almost see the house of cards inside him, stacked delicately and dangerously close to collapse.

"I know, but-Zachary, I'm still...sorry," she murmurs, her voice steady but aching. "I don't know if this matters, but I've been, um, I've been praying for him." The confession is barely audible, and Amal's cheeks flush with sudden embarrassment. She wasn't sure how he'd take it, knowing his stance on religion and faith.

Zach blinks, taken aback. "What?"

"Yeah, I have been. But I'm sorry if it offends you. I know you don't believe in God, but I just... I wanted Him to grant you peace and-"

"Oh no, no, it's okay!" he blurts out, his eyes wide. "Thanks for praying for my...dad." He runs a hand through his messy curls, tugging at them nervously, as if trying to pull himself back together.

Amal's heart aches at the sight. She's seen Zach anxious, seen him on edge, but this is different. This is fear-the kind that seeps into your bones and makes every breath feel too loud, too heavy.

"And you?" she asks carefully.

"Me?" His brows knit together in confusion. "What's wrong with me?"

"Are you okay?"

He laughs then, a bitter, hollow sound that makes her flinch. "Okay? I'm not the one who's sick, Amal."

"Of course, I know that," she insists, not letting his deflection deter her. "But please... take care of yourself, too. I know you haven't been sleeping or eating right. I know how heavy this is for you, even if you refuse to talk about it." Her voice lowers, almost pleading. "You don't have to go through this alone."