Mr.Haughty And His Muslimah

14.Midnight tears and conspired accident.

The body that we attend is temporary, the soul that we neglect is forever~

Third Person's P.O.V--

It was not the woods. No matter which path she took, it always came back to the hangman's noose at the centre of the maze. There was no way out.

The dark sky above was blanketed with murky, smoky clouds from where the crescent new moon ascended and a distant owl hooted in the background, igniting sparks of chilled shivers to run down her back. It almost felt like a bewitching hour. She found her legs paralysed on spot, more still than the mossy statue and a yell threatening to ring out when a cold revolver metal touched her head from behind.

She could feel his sinister smirk but she couldn't dare to turn around, scared that her fears would get confirmed.

Then all of sudden, a high pitched shriek caught her attention and before she knew, she found her family at gunpoint. A gang of kidnappers, whose faces she couldn't tell, shrouded with mask, had them at captive.

Tears brimmed her sore eyes and pain pierced through her thumping heart.

They were paying the price for her! She and only she, was at blame!

Then out of nowhere, she saw a familiar lone wolf charging towards the hijackers and attacking on them. And hence, saving her family from the hands of darkness, much to her relief.

It was then when it started to advance towards her that she could have a clear close-up of her view: From the angry drools trickling down to enraged growls escaping in powerful vibrations;  From the poisons of acid dribbling out of it's edged fangs to the storming thunders whirling in it's hazel burning eyes;  From the rogue body of a wolf to a malicious bloodcriminal mafia.

And among the miscellaneous cold thoughts that ran down her boggling mind, she found herself a prisoner to her cursed fate as the agonizingly slow realization dawned upon her. 

And she shivered.

Because, it was no wolf,  it was a remorseless beast in disguise of a man.
And that dream-man wasn't her saviour, he was Zaid Yemen: the shadow of her demons.

----
Farishta jolted up from her bed, sweaty, tear-stained and out of breathe. She felt sick to her stomach, a pukish feeling overtaking her system.

Clutching her stomach with one hand and covering her mouth with another, she sprinted towards the washroom.

With the world spinning and darkness looming in her blurry vision, she could barely stand on her own toes. Tenderly rubbing her sore vein-bulging temples which was pulsating with a pounding headache,  she perched on her couch as a million thoughts terrorized her.

Her breathing escalated, coming out in short patchy puffs and her unsteady emotions exploded her peace of mind. She felt the air closing in and suffocation engulfed her as she gasped for breathe.

She was having a panic attack.

Screams of frustration threatened to break free as anxiety built in her.

She needed someone.  To comfort her and tell her it was okay.  That everything was gonna befall in it's place.  That she was not alone in this. That she was strong enough.  That she was going to make it to the very end. That she was brave. That it was not the end.

And that's when her moistened swelled up eyes flickered over the rusty Quran, sitting on the organized timber shelf. 

Overwhelming pool of guilt surfaced in her as she gave thought to where she stood and her current status as a Muslimah. Pure regret washed over as she realized how engaged she had been in the glitz and glam of this temporary world and how unsuccessful she was, in alloting sufficient time for her Lord.