Love And Revenge✔️

Five

Fuad lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts entirely consumed by Rumaisa. Ever since he'd seen her at the restaurant earlier, he hadn't been able to think about anything else. She had looked... radiant. Confident. Happy. And she had a boyfriend, someone by her side, close and familiar.

It should have stung, but instead it left him uneasy in a way he couldn't quite name. She looked different—better than she had three years ago, stronger and freer, thriving without him. There was a subtle tension when their eyes met, something unspoken, something he couldn't interpret. Part of him wondered if it was regret. Part of him feared it was simply the natural pull of memories he hadn't yet let go.

But there was no ignoring the truth—there were things they still needed to discuss. Conversations left unfinished. Words left unsaid. And the longer he waited, the more complicated it felt.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, deciding he needed clarity before the restless thoughts consumed him. He changed into a simple grey shirt and black sweatpants, practical, unassuming, nothing to call attention.

And yet, he felt a twinge of guilt. His treatment of Hadiza earlier had been cold, unnecessary. She had been waiting, trying to connect with him, and he had shut her out without reason. Four months of patience, care, and trust—and he had ignored her entirely.

Fuad rubbed his face with both hands, exhaling sharply. He knew he had to sort himself out before trying to sort anything with Rumaisa. Emotions were messy, but he couldn't let them control him—not now, not ever.

The first step, he decided, was understanding exactly what he wanted.

And then acting.

•

Fuad got dressed quickly, the urgency in his chest refusing to be ignored. He needed to see Rumaisa—now. He needed to explain, to clarify, to set things right before his thoughts spiraled any further.

He remembered Mama mentioning she would be attending a wedding with Jabir's mother around this time. Quickly, he grabbed his phone and dialed.

"Mama?" he said when she answered.

"Fuad? What's wrong? You can't reach your mother?" Her voice was filled with concern.

"No, it's not that. I... I was on my way to see you, but then I remembered you wouldn't be home."

"Yes, but you can wait for me there. We're finishing up anyway."

"Okay... alright. See you there."

"Alright."

He ended the call, his fingers tightening around his car keys. Heart pounding, he hurried out of the house, every thought focused on her.

Rumaisa.

This couldn't wait another second.

•

Fuad had been sitting in the car for twenty-five minutes, replaying a thousand scenarios in his head. What am I even going to say? he wondered, jaw tight. Finally, he sighed and stepped out. The front door was wide open. With a deep breath, he entered.

"Come on, you can tell—it's not cheap. It's cashmere," a familiar voice called from the living room.

Fuad followed the sound and found Rumaisa lounging on the couch, dressed casually in yoga pants and a plain blue shirt, her hair neatly braided. Even in this simple attire, she looked undeniably striking. Half Portuguese, she carried her heritage gracefully—her features, her posture, the quiet confidence she radiated.