Third person's POV.

Finally, after days of festivity, laughter, lights, music, and endless celebrations, the grand wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Zohaib’s son had come to an end. The reception was held just a day ago, and now Maliha, Haseeb, and Mr. & Mrs. Isham were set to return to Italy.

Suitcases rolled across the airport floor. Families hugged. Goodbyes floated in the cold morning air.

Haseeb stood in front of Halay.

She wasn’t looking at him.

Her face was turned away—eyes swollen, lashes still damp from the tears she had wiped earlier. She stood stiff, her hands trembling as she clutched her handbag.

Haseeb took a hesitant step toward her.

“Are you going to stay offended?” he asked softly, his voice almost pleading.

Halay lifted her gaze at last.

Her eyes were red. Hurt.
But calm in a painful way.

“Do I not have the right?” she whispered.
“At least as your friend?”

The words hit him harder than he expected.

“H-alay…” he breathed, guilt knotting inside his chest.

She turned her face away again, swallowing the tears stubbornly.

“I never wanted to see you like this,” he said, his voice cracking just a little.

He slowly raised his hand and wiped the tear that slipped from her lower lash line.

Her eyes closed for a moment—just one second of letting herself feel the comfort she had once always found in him.

“But you made me feel like this,” she finally said, opening her eyes and looking straight into his.

Her voice trembled.

“You made me hope. You made me think I mattered.”
A deep breath.
“And now I don’t even know what I am to you.”

He froze.

There was no answer on his lips—because he didn’t know how to shape one.

"I thought may be one you'll understand my love,” she whispered, her voice breaking again.

Haseeb clenched his jaw, regret washing over him.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said quietly.

“But you did,” she replied, stepping back, wiping her cheek fiercely.
“You hurt me more than anyone else ever could.”

Before he could say anything else, Mr. Isham called out,

“Haseeb beta, let’s go. Boarding time.”

Halay inhaled sharply, forcing herself to compose.

“Goodbye, Haseeb,” she said in a fragile voice.

He wanted to call her back.
To explain.
To beg her to not look at him like he was a stranger.

But his throat locked.

All he managed was a soft, broken—
“Halay…”

She shook her head, took her bag, and walked away toward the gate.

And Haseeb stood there watching her go…
his heart heavy,
their friendship hanging by a thread,
while somewhere behind him—

Maliha quietly observed everything.

Her hand tightened on her passport, a strange ache forming in her chest.

Not because she understood their connection…

…but because she suddenly feared what that pain meant for her.

------

Rome was glowing beautifully that night.

It wasn’t the kind of glow created by bright lights or noisy streets , no. It was softer, calmer. The kind of glow that came from marble buildings soaked in moonlight, from narrow cobblestone streets catching silver reflections, from street lamps that hummed quietly like sleepy souls.

Maliha walked with her hands tucked loosely in the pockets of her long coat. Her steps were slow, thoughtful. Haseeb matched her pace quietly, his own hands clasped behind him. Neither had spoken for several minutes, yet neither felt awkward. Silence had grown comfortable between them over the past week.

They had come back from Greece seven days ago. Since then, life had tried to drag them back into routine — work, schedules, responsibilities but nights like this helped them breathe again.

The air was slightly chilly, brushing against Maliha’s cheeks. She exhaled, watching her breath fog briefly in the air.

“Cold?” Haseeb asked finally, glancing sideways at her.

“A little,” she murmured, not slowing down. “But the night is too nice. I didn’t want to stay home.”

He smiled faintly. “Me neither.”

They continued walking. The street opened into a quieter square, dimly lit, with a small fountain in the center. Water shimmered under the moonlight, making everything look unreal, almost dream-like.

Maliha stopped near the fountain and looked up.

“The moon looks bigger here,” she whispered, as though somebody might hear her if she spoke louder.

“Or maybe,” Haseeb said softly, stepping beside her, “you’re finally looking at it.”

She tilted her head, unsure how to respond. Something in his tone made her chest tighten a little — not painfully, but unexpectedly.

They sat on the edge of the fountain. Not too close, not too far.

For a long time, they just watched the water.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said without looking at her.

“So have you,” she replied gently.

He breathed out a soft laugh. “Touché.”

Silence again.

A warm breeze passed through the square, carrying the faint smell of roasted chestnuts from a stall two streets away.

Maliha toyed with the edge of her sleeve. “Sometimes… I think I’m still getting used to everything.”

“New place. New people. New rhythm,” he listed calmly. “It takes time. You don’t have to rush it.”

She looked at him — not sharply, not shyly — just naturally.

“You always talk like you understand more than you say.”

He shrugged lightly. “Maybe I do. Maybe I’ve been there before.”

Another pause. This one deeper.

“Do you miss home?” he asked.

“Sometimes.” Her voice softened. “But I think I’m trying to… find myself here first.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing her words.

“You will,” he said with quiet certainty.

It startled her — the way he said it like a promise, not a prediction.

A group of tourists passed by in the distance. Their laughter echoed faintly, but the moment between Maliha and Haseeb remained untouched, suspended like a delicate thread in the air.

He stood up and extended a hand toward her.
“We should walk more,” he suggested. “There’s a street ahead that looks even prettier at night.”

She put her hand in his — not because she needed support, but because it felt natural.

They walked again.

Side by side.

Their shadows stretched on the cobblestones, touching before they did.

“Do you ever think too much?” she asked suddenly.

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “More than I should.”

“About what?”

He hesitated, then said, “About… moments like these.”

She looked at him, surprised.
“Like what?”

He turned his head slightly, meeting her eyes in the soft golden glow of a street lamp.

“Quiet walks,” he said, voice dipping slightly. “With the right person.”

The words settled between them like a breath.
Warm.
Unexpected.
But not unwelcome.

Maliha blinked, trying to hide the flutter in her chest.

The night stretched ahead of them — Rome calm, beautiful, waiting — and they walked deeper into it, both aware that something subtle, something gentle was shifting between them.

Not loudly.

Not suddenly.

Just quietly.

Like moonlight on old stone.

They walked a little further until the street narrowed into a quiet lane, lined with old buildings and climbing vines that trembled lightly in the breeze.

Maliha slowed down, her fingers brushing the cold stone wall as she walked. The softness in her face shifted into something heavier — thoughtful, almost hesitant.

“Haseeb,” she said quietly.

“Hm?”

“You said… moments like these. With the right person.”

He turned to her, brows slightly raised in question.

She took a breath.

“If you’re unsure about the girl you’re in love with… shouldn’t you think about her feelings too?”

He stopped walking.

So did she.

The moonlight fell between them.

His expression softened. “You mean Halay.”

Maliha nodded slowly. “She cares for you. Deeply. Anyone can see that.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. And I don’t want to hurt her.”

“But you might,” she said gently, “if you don’t know what you feel.”

He looked down at the cobblestones, silent.

Maliha hugged her arms around herself, not because of the cold but because of the memory that rose inside her.

“I know what it’s like, Haseeb,” she whispered.

He lifted his eyes.

She looked away, eyes glistening.

“To love someone… and watch them slip away. To know that nothing you do can make them stay.”

Her voice cracked — just a little.

“Aarib,” he murmured, understanding instantly.

Maliha nodded, breathing deeply to keep her emotions steady.

“I miss him,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “More than I should. More than I say. Even after everything, a part of me still waits for him to… walk back into my life.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, surprising her. She quickly wiped it away.

“But he won’t. And I know that As I've pushed him out of my life.”

Haseeb watched her silently — respectfully, not pitying her, just listening with the kind of attention that makes someone feel seen.

“I want to forget him,” she continued, her voice trembling. “I want to forget every memory. Every moment. I want to move on. I want to breathe without hurting.”

She pressed her palm to her chest softly.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m trying to live with a weight that doesn’t leave.”

A gust of wind touched her hair, brushing a strand across her face.
Before she could move it, Haseeb reached out gently — slow, careful — and tucked the strand behind her ear.

“Hey…” he said softly. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Her eyes lifted to his — red, emotional.

He continued, voice low.

“You loved him. That’s not something you can erase. And you don’t have to.”
A pause.
“But you can heal from it. You will heal.”

Her breathing steadied slightly.

“Sometimes healing looks like nights like this,” he added, looking around at the quiet street. “Sometimes it looks like walking forward even when your heart isn’t ready.”

She swallowed, her voice hoarse.
“And what if I never move on?”

“You will,” he said firmly. “Because you’re stronger than you think. And because life has a way of giving us people… moments… that help us take the next step.”

Maliha looked at him for a long moment, her eyes shimmering in the glow of the street lamp.

“You really think so?” she whispered.

“I know so.”

A silence settled — but it was warm now, not heavy.

She took a small step closer, not touching him, just closing the distance enough to feel less alone.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do. You listen. You understand.”

He smiled faintly. “Maybe because I’ve also had to let go of things I loved.”

Another pause.

“Maybe that’s why we’re here,” he added, his voice calm and sincere. “Walking this city on a night like this. Because we both needed someone who… understands the quiet kind of pain.”

Her eyes glistened again, but this time with something softer — relief, maybe.

They started walking again.

Side by side.

Not talking much now.

Just breathing.

Just existing.

Just healing — quietly, slowly — together under the calm Roman moon.

They walked on, the heaviness of their earlier conversation slowly fading as the soft Roman night wrapped around them.

Maliha nudged him. “Okay, teach me something in Italian now.”

Haseeb raised a brow. “You just want to show off later.”

“Maybe.” She grinned.

He gave in.
“Bella notte( beautiful night).”

“Bella… notty?” she attempted.

He laughed softly. “Not not-ty. It’s noh-teh.”

She sighed dramatically. “Fine. Then say something in Turkish.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “You know I’m terrible at Turkish.”

“Try,” she insisted.

He cleared his throat and attempted,
“Gü…zel… ge…ce?( beautiful night)"

She gasped. “No! You murdered the word!”
Her laughter echoed in the quiet street.

He smirked. “You’re no better in Italian.”

“Challenge accepted,” she teased, nudging him again.

They kept walking, teasing each other, exchanging small phrases, laughing more freely than they had in months.

For a few minutes, everything felt normal.

Warm.

Peaceful.

But peace never lasts.

A soft engine hum behind them made Maliha glance back lazily — just a casual black car approaching.

Nothing unusual.

They stepped a little to the side and continued talking.

Haseeb was mid-laugh at her exaggerated Italian accent—

When the night exploded.

BANG!

A gunshot cracked the air.

Maliha screamed as the car shot past them, a masked man leaning halfway out of the window.

“HASEEB!” she shrieked in terror.

Haseeb stumbled back, grabbing his upper arm as blood instantly seeped through the fabric.

A folded note fluttered down, hitting the pavement near him,  thrown by the shooter.

The car vanished into the night as fast as it had appeared.

Maliha’s breath broke in panic.
“Haseeb—oh God—Haseeb, you’re shot!”

He gritted his teeth, pressing his hand hard to his arm.
“It’s just a graze,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m okay—Maliha, I’m okay.”

“You’re bleeding!” she cried, voice cracking as she cupped his arm with trembling hands.

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered, but the paleness of his face betrayed him.

She guided him quickly to a nearby bench.
“Haseeb—sit—sit down—your arm—God—”

Her eyes caught the paper lying near his feet.

“Haseeb… there’s a note.”

His eyes sharpened instantly.

“Maliha, leave it.”

But her hand was already reaching for it, shaking.

She opened the small folded note.

Four words.

Four cold, heavy words:

“Stay out of this.”

Her pulse froze.

“Haseeb… what does this mean? Who is threatening you?”

His jaw tightened, darkness filling his eyes.

“Maliha,” he said quietly, voice steady despite the blood running down his arm, “we need to get out of here. Right now.”

She nodded quickly, still trembling.

She slipped under his uninjured arm, supporting him as he stood up.

“Haseeb…” her voice shook, “I’m scared.”

He held her tighter despite the pain.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered.

“But someone—someone just tried to kill you,” she whispered, tears gathering.

He didn’t deny it.

Because he couldn’t.

The Roman night suddenly felt colder.

Darker.

Dangerous.

And whatever had just happened…

It was only the beginning.

----
The door clicked open as Haseeb pushed it with his uninjured hand. He stepped inside, breathing carefully, while Maliha hovered right behind him, her face pale, eyes wide in shock. The street lights had barely faded from her vision when the warmth of the house wrapped around them.

“Haseeb?”
Mrs. Isham’s voice came from the living room, soft at first, then rising with alarm.
The moment she saw him holding his bleeding arm, her cry echoed through the entire house.

“Ya Allah! What happened to you?”

She rushed forward, cupping his face, touching his arm, trembling as if she had been shot herself.

Mr. Isham hurried from the study. One look at the blood-soaked sleeve and his expression hardened.

“Haseeb…”
His voice was low, controlled, but his eyes carried fear only a father could hide.

“I'm fine, Mama,” Haseeb said quickly, trying to reassure her while steadying himself on the sofa.
“It’s just a graze. Nothing else. No need for a hospital.”

Maliha stepped closer, guilt and fear rolling off her in waves.
“khala… someone just passed by in a car and shot—”

“Maliha, enough.”
Mr. Isham cut her off sharply, a warning hidden in his tone.

Mrs. Isham looked between the three of them, panicked.
“Why would anyone shoot? You were just walking… were you robbed? Was it an accident?”

Haseeb forced a smile.
“Mama, it was nothing serious. Maybe someone in the street fired in the air… and it got too close.”

“This isn’t a joke, Haseeb!”
She slapped his uninjured shoulder lightly, her voice breaking.
“You could’ve been killed!”

He softened, placing his hand over hers.

“I’m here. Safe. Please don’t cry.”

But she was already wiping tears.

---

While Mrs. Isham ran to bring the first aid box, Haseeb exchanged a tense glance with his father.

A silent understanding.

A silent warning.

A silent lie.

Mr. Isham stepped forward, murmuring quietly,
“Go to the study after we’re done. We need to talk.”

Haseeb nodded.

Maliha listened, noticing the heaviness in their tone, but saying nothing.

Soon Mrs. Isham returned with trembling hands and bandages.
She cleaned the wound, whispering prayers under her breath.
Maliha helped by holding the cotton, her hands shaking almost as much as Mrs. Isham’s.

“You should’ve gone to the hospital,” she whispered, her voice small.

Haseeb glanced at her.
There was guilt in her eyes… as if she blamed herself for walking with him.

“I’m fine, Maliha.”
“You’re not,” she answered softly.

He looked away.

His mother finished bandaging his arm, still whispering complaints about his carelessness.
When she hugged him finally, her tears wet his shirt.

“You scared me tonight… my heart is still shaking.”

Haseeb closed his eyes.
If only she knew the truth.

---

After ensuring his mother went upstairs to rest, Mr. Isham locked the study door behind them.

“That wasn’t an accident.”
His father’s words were sharp, low.

Haseeb sank into the chair, jaw stiff.
“I know.”

Mr. Isham stepped closer.
“Did they leave anything?”

Haseeb pulled out the folded note from his pocket and handed it to him.

His father opened it slowly.

The message was short:

“Back off, or this is only the beginning.”

A muscle jumped in Mr. Isham’s jaw.

“They’re watching you.”

Haseeb leaned back, breathing through the pain in his arm.
“They were close… too close. Baba, they didn’t want to kill me. They wanted a warning.”

“A warning is enough to kill your mother with fear,” Mr. Isham snapped.

Silence.

Only the wall clock ticked.

After a moment, he sighed and lowered his voice.

“We cannot let them know we’re shaken.”

“I'm not,” Haseeb replied quietly.

His father looked directly into his eyes.

“But you need to be careful now. Be smart. And don’t let Maliha suspect anything. She already looked terrified.”

“I know,” Haseeb murmured.

“And Haseeb…”
His father paused, tone softer.
“If they attacked once, they can attack again.”

Haseeb’s gaze darkened, thinking of Maliha beside him when the bullet grazed him.

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” he said.

“I know.”
His father’s voice lowered.
“That’s exactly why I’m worried.”

---

Maliha stood outside the study door, clutching her shawl tightly.
She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop… but she had heard enough to understand:

This was not an accident.

Haseeb was in danger.

And for the first time, fear wrapped itself around her heart —
not for herself… but for him.

A/N:: Assalam-o-Alikum readers.

How are you all? 💛
I’m back again with another update! I hope you’re happy to get a new chapter so soon.

I didn’t write anything about Maliha and Haseeb in the previous part, so I thought this chapter should focus on them. Tell me how it was! How are you feeling about the story now? Your feedback really helps me shape the characters better.

I need lots of comments from you all — don’t forget to share the story, follow, and vote. Your support means everything to me!

With love,
Your Author 💕