The next morning carried a strange blend of awkwardness and something quietly refreshing.
Roshaane lay cocooned in her quilt, her eyes following Aarib as he buttoned his shirt. He avoided her gaze, focused on the mirror.

“I’m going to prepare breakfast,” he said, tone neutral, almost too neutral.

Before she could reply, he was already out of the room.

Roshaane smiled to herself, stretching lazily before getting up. Their conversation from last night replayed in her mind—the hesitation, the awkward laughter, the attempt to begin something… as friends.

She freshened up quickly, tugging on a pair of blue jeans and a loose, thigh-length top. Her hair fell messily over her shoulders; she didn’t bother fixing it. She felt oddly light today.

When she reached the kitchen, Aarib was placing plates on the table.

“Good morning,” she said softly, taking a seat.

“Good morning.”
He sat opposite her, keeping his eyes on the food.

They ate quietly, the silence not uncomfortable, but definitely unfamiliar.

“Can I go to Hikmat bhai’s home?” Roshaane asked suddenly, breaking the stillness.

Aarib’s hand paused mid-air. “Why?”

“I want to meet Zainab. I get bored alone.” She shrugged lightly.

He nodded. “I’ll drop you.”

Her face brightened instantly. “I’ll just come!”

She rushed to her room, tied her hair into a ponytail, grabbed her crossbody bag, and hurried back out.

“I’m ready,” she announced.

Aarib turned, scanning her from head to toe. A sigh escaped before he could stop it.

She frowned, looking down at herself. “Am I not looking good?”

“No… you look nice.”
He walked toward the front door, slipping into his shoes.

Relieved, she grabbed her coat, wore her shoes in a hurry, and followed him out.

They sat in the car, the silence more awkward this time—but she tried again.

“You enjoy your day. I’ll come pick you in the evening,” he said as they approached Hikmat’s house.

“Okay.” She smiled… then turned to him again.
“Are we really friends?”

He glanced at her but didn’t answer immediately.

“I meant… what you said last night. Start as friends?” she clarified gently.

He gave a short nod.

Her smile widened. “Good. Because friends talk. Even if it’s nonsense, even if it has no meaning… I like talking. And I want you to talk to me too.”

He nodded again, but words didn’t come easily to him.

They reached the gate. She unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out, waving. “Bye!”

Aarib raised a hand half-heartedly. His expression stayed thoughtful as he drove off.

Her words echoed in his head.
Friendship… talking… moving forward.

But how did a man whose heart still lived in the past take that step?

At the restaurant, he was still lost in those thoughts when Hikmat arrived. They took their usual seats beside the riverside view—calm water, soft breeze, quiet surroundings.

“So,” Hikmat leaned back, arms crossed, “what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking to move on now,” Aarib said quietly.

Hikmat’s eyebrows rose in relief. “Finally! That’s good news.”

“Not really.”
Aarib sighed, staring at the cup in front of him.
“It’s… not easy.”

“You can do it,” Hikmat encouraged.

Aarib let out a bitter laugh. “As if it’s in my hands.”

“It is,” Hikmat insisted. “But you’ll have to face one truth first.”

Aarib looked up, confused.

“You have to forget that you love another woman more than your own wife.”

Silence.

Aarib’s jaw tightened, his grip on the cup hardening.

“Wife…” he repeated softly, almost scoffing.
“There’s nothing in her I ever imagined in my wife. She doesn’t make my heart flutter. She doesn’t remind me of anything I wanted. But still… I want to free myself from this pain—this useless pain of abandoned love.”

Hikmat leaned forward, eyes serious and steady.

“Then look at her as your wife, Aarib. Not as some girl forced into your life. Accept her in your heart.”

Aarib blinked at him—surprised, startled, unsure.

“Will it be easy?” he whispered.

“Give it a try.”
Hikmat lifted his cup.

Aarib looked at him… then slowly, genuinely for the first time in months, he smiled—small but real.

He lifted his own cup and tapped it against Hikmat’s.

They both sipped their tea, talking softly, the river breeze carrying away the heaviness between them.

And for the first time…
Aarib felt the faintest possibility of a new beginning.

-------

Hikmat’s home had a small, cozy lawn outside—flowers blooming quietly under the late-morning sun, a soft breeze brushing the grass. Zainab had brought two cups of hot chocolate and settled on the wooden bench, smiling warmly at the girl sitting beside her.

“I’m really happy you came,” Zainab said.
“You know… since Aarib bhai is like an elder brother to me, that makes you my bhabhi. And honestly? I always wanted a friend at home.”

Roshaane smiled, looking down at her steaming cup.

“I’m happy too,” she whispered.

They sat quietly for a moment—comfortable silence, birds chirping lightly around them.

Then Zainab turned a little, studying her face.
“You… look different today. Calmer. Happier.”
She paused. “How’s the marriage going? Settling well, right?”

Roshaane looked up—but the question hit deeper than she expected.
Her smile faded slowly.

“It’s… complicated,” she admitted.

Zainab gently placed her cup aside. “Want to talk about it?”

Roshaane breathed in deeply, her heart pounding. It was the first time someone had asked without judgment. Someone who genuinely wanted to listen.

“I loved him,” she began quietly.
“I loved him for years. Even before he ever noticed me.”

Zainab’s eyes softened immediately.

“I always imagined… one day he would see me, understand me. But when he chose someone else to marry…”
Her voice wavered.
“I— I couldn’t handle it. I thought my world was ending.”

Her hands trembled as she spoke.
Zainab gently held one of them.

“I tried to kill myself,” Roshaane whispered, tears filling her eyes.
“I felt like I had nothing left… no reason to live if he belonged to someone else.”

Zainab’s breath caught in her throat.
“Oh, Roshaane…”

“And then everything changed so fast,” she continued.
“He married me… but I could see it clearly. He didn’t choose me. He didn’t love me. He was just… trapped in circumstances.”

Tears slid down silently.
Zainab didn’t interrupt.

“After marriage, I realized something,” Roshaane said shakily.
“I can’t force myself on anyone. I can’t force him to love me. He’s kind. Respectful. But his heart…”
She placed a hand over her chest.
“His heart is somewhere else. And maybe… maybe I was wrong in thinking love alone was enough.”

Zainab exhaled slowly, overwhelmed by the quiet pain she saw in her eyes.

She squeezed her hand gently.
“You’re not wrong for loving him,” she said softly.
“And you’re not wrong for hoping.”

Roshaane sniffed.
“But he’ll never love me the way he loved Maliha.”

“Maybe not,” Zainab said honestly.
“But hearts change with time. Affection grows. Comfort grows. And marriage… it’s built slowly. With effort from both sides.”

Roshaane looked at her, listening intently.

“Don’t give up,” Zainab added.
“You’re his wife now. You have every right to try. Make a little more effort—be there, talk to him, understand him. Not to compete with anyone… but to win his heart in your own way.”

Roshaane’s lips trembled into a hopeful smile.

“You really think I can?”

Zainab returned the smile warmly.
“If anyone can win him… it’s the girl who loved him enough to break, enough to heal, and enough to still stay.”

Roshaane leaned in and hugged her tightly.
For the first time since her marriage, she felt seen… understood.

And somewhere deep inside her heart, a small hope quietly reopened its eyes.

Zainab pulled back from the hug, brushing away a tear from Roshaane’s cheek with a smile.

“You know,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully,
“men… especially men like Aarib bhai… notice things even when they pretend they don’t.”

Roshaane frowned cutely. “Notice what?”

“Everything.” Zainab grinned.
“The way you dress, the way you smell, your hairstyle, how you talk, how you carry yourself.”

Roshaane blinked.
“I—I always wear simple clothes. Comfortable ones.”

“Comfortable is fine,” Zainab nodded, “but a little effort never hurts. Find out what he likes. Colors he notices. Styles he pauses at.”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“And try that. Not to change yourself… but to show him the version of you he never looked at properly.”

Roshaane bit her lip thoughtfully.
“What if he doesn’t notice?”

“He will,” Zainab said confidently. “Aarib bhai isn’t blind. Just heart-stuck.”

Both laughed softly at that.

After a moment, Roshaane hesitated, then shyly asked:

“Zainab… can you teach me something?”

“Anything,” she said immediately.

Roshaane looked around as if checking no one was listening, then whispered like a secret:

“Teach me… how to say ‘I love you’ in Turkish.”

Zainab’s eyes widened—then she burst into a playful giggle.
“Oh ho! Someone is planning big moves!”

Roshaane covered her face, blushing furiously.
“No! I just… I mean… maybe someday? If… if the moment ever comes.”

Zainab held her hand and whispered dramatically:

“Seni seviyorum.”

Roshaane blinked. “What?”

“Seni… seviyorum,” Zainab repeated slowly, syllable by syllable.

Roshaane tried.
“Sani… sev— sevay… room?”

Zainab slapped her shoulder playfully.
“No! Not sevay-room. Seviyor-um. Again!”

They both leaned forward, giggling like teenagers.

“Seni… seviyorum…” Roshaane repeated carefully.

“Yes! Perfect!” Zainab clapped.

“And what does it mean exactly?” Roshaane asked.

“It means…” Zainab pressed a hand to her heart,
“I love you deeply.”

A pink blush warmed Roshaane’s cheeks.

“Anything else? Something sweet?” she asked shyly.

Zainab grinned mischievously.

“Okay, repeat after me.”
She pretended to hold an invisible mic.
“Çok güzelsin.”

“Coke… joozelsin?” Roshaane attempted.

“Uff! Not coke,” Zainab laughed. “Çok. Means very. Güzelsin means beautiful.
It means: You are very beautiful.”

Roshaane smiled, eyes sparkling.
“Maybe I’ll say that to myself first.”

“Good! Start there. Confidence looks beautiful on a woman.”

They spent the next few minutes exchanging words:

“Merhaba—hello.”
“Teşekkürler—thank you.”
“Canım—dear.”
“Tatlım—sweetheart.”

Every mispronunciation brought more laughter.
Every correction made them closer.

Both laughed so hard, their eyes watered, the sadness of earlier melting into a soft, hopeful warmth.

For the first time in a long time…
Roshaane felt like a girl who could love again—properly, courageously, and maybe… successfully.

-----

The next morning arrived heavy and silent.

In the dining hall, only the soft clinking of spoons broke the stillness.
Mr. Isham and Haseeb sat side by side, both wearing the same stern, unreadable expressions.
Across from them, Sana Isham and Maliha exchanged nervous glances, neither daring to ask what was wrong.

Maliha’s eyes kept shifting toward Haseeb. He looked tired… almost haunted.

Suddenly, Mr. Isham’s deep voice broke the silence.

“I need you both to stay in the house today. No going out.”

Sana looked up, confused.
“Why?”

Before his father could answer, Haseeb spoke—his tone firm, protective.

“Mom, it’s dangerous. Let us finish this case first. Until then… just be careful.”

Maliha felt her chest tighten. She scanned Haseeb’s face—tense jaw, tight shoulders, and something like fear hovering in his eyes.

Then he looked directly at her.

“Maliha, please. No roaming around until I say so.”

Her brows knitted.
This wasn’t normal.
This wasn’t a routine case.

“What case are you handling?” she finally asked, unable to stay silent.

Haseeb exhaled slowly, staring at his plate.

“It’s confidential.”

He wouldn’t even look at her.

Maliha’s mind raced, recalling the rumors she had heard.

“You better not be dealing with the Italian mafia,” she said quietly but firmly.
“If you are… you’re in huge trouble.”

The fork paused in Haseeb’s hand.
He looked up sharply—just for a split second but enough to tell her she had guessed right.

Before she could say more, Mr. Isham’s voice thundered across the table.

“Maliha, I told you not to interfere.”

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping the floor.
For a moment, the father in him overshadowed the lawyer.

His eyes were heavy with fear—for his son.

“I want both of you safe,” he added, softer this time.

Haseeb rose too, adjusting his coat, avoiding everyone’s eyes but his mother noticed the tremor in his hand.

Together, father and son walked out of the house, their broad backs carrying the weight of danger and duty.

And behind them, two women sat frozen in fear…
wondering what storm the men were about to face.
------

Legal assistants whispered among themselves, sensing something was wrong.
Everyone knew that taking a Mafia case wasn’t normal criminal defense… it was a gamble with danger.

The moment Haseeb and his father entered, the staff fell completely silent.

Inside their private chamber, Mr. Isham closed the door firmly.
He didn’t walk to his desk; instead, he stood near the bookshelf, gripping the edge as if steadying himself.

Haseeb noticed.

He removed his coat and set it aside.
“Dad… are you alright?”

For a moment, Mr. Isham didn’t speak.

Then he exhaled slowly.

“You should not have come today.”

Haseeb frowned.
“Why? We have hearings, clients—”

“And a Mafia family watching every step we take.”
His father’s voice was controlled, but the fear behind it was unmistakable.

Haseeb froze.

Mr. Isham finally faced him.

“They fired at you, Haseeb.”
His jaw tightened.
“They don’t warn. They eliminate.”

Haseeb swallowed hard.

He had always seen his father as the strongest man he knew.
But right now… he saw the father who had almost lost his son last night.

He stepped closer.

“I can’t back out of this case now. You know how close we are to exposing them.”

“Yes,” Isham replied, voice heavy.
“And that is exactly what makes you their target.”

Then quietly, brokenly—

“You’re my only son, Haseeb.”

Haseeb’s breath caught.

His father rarely expressed emotion.
But today… the barrier had cracked.

“Dad…”
He placed a hand on his father’s arm.
“You’re in danger too.”

Mr. Isham shook his head.

“I’ve defended dangerous criminals for thirty years. I know their world.”
He looked at Haseeb with tired eyes.
“But you… you’re still new to this level of risk.”

“I’m not inexperienced.”

“You’re my child.”

The silence between them was full—fear, love, and unspoken worry.

Finally, Mr. Isham straightened, regaining his lawyer composure.

“For the next few days, I handle the hearings.”

Haseeb stared at him.

“Absolutely not. They shot me, Dad. They want me gone, not you. You can’t take the stand in court—”

“I won’t let them kill you.”
His father’s voice broke for a second.
“Not while I’m alive.”

Haseeb’s throat tightened.

Before he could respond, their senior associate knocked and entered quickly.

“Sir… we received an anonymous envelope addressed to both of you.”

He placed it on the table.

No stamp.
No sender.
Just a black seal.

Father and son exchanged a tense look.

This wasn’t normal.

“Bring gloves,” Mr. Isham ordered.

The associate handed them over silently.

Haseeb picked up the envelope with gloved fingers.

Inside was a single paper.

Written in red ink:

“Drop the case.
Last night was just a warning.
Next time—we don’t miss.”

The father and son looked at each other—

Afraid, furious, and more determined than ever.

But Mr. Isham’s eyes softened for a moment.

He whispered:

“I will not let them take you from me.”

A vow.
A father’s fear.
A lawyer’s battle.

And the Mafia had just made it personal.

----.

Aarib arrived outside Hikmat’s home right at sunset.
The Istanbul air was cool, touched by the Bosphorus breeze.
When Roshaane came out, waving at Zainab and Hikmat’s mother and grandmother, she looked light—happy in a way he hadn’t seen before.

She climbed onto his curiser bike behind him, holding the side handle awkwardly.

As they drove, the city lights reflected on the wet streets, and the cold wind brushed her cheeks. She closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling.

Then she leaned forward slightly.

“Can you teach me to ride the bike?” she asked suddenly.

Aarib nearly lost balance.

“What? No. I mean… no.”

She giggled at his panicked tone.

“Why not? One day I’ll ride, and you’ll sit behind me. Imagine how romantic that would be.”

His brows drew together.

“What’s romantic about that?”
he muttered under his breath.

They stopped at a light.
He kept his eyes on the road.

“I have some work at the restaurant. Should I drop you home first?”

“No. I’ll come with you. I like being around people… and I like being around you.”

He didn’t respond, but the grip on the handlebars tightened.

---

The restaurant was alive with soft lights, warm wooden textures, and the scent of Turkish spices.

Workers immediately approached Aarib.

“Aarib bey, the supplier is waiting.”
“Sir, table six is asking for you.”

He nodded and gestured for her.

“Sit anywhere you like.”

She chose a corner table where she had the perfect view of him.

Aarib moved through the restaurant with quiet authority—checking dishes, giving instructions, correcting minor mistakes, all with calm precision.

“These greens aren’t fresh enough. Replace them.”
“Serve the soup again—less salt.”
“Napkins should be aligned, not thrown like this.”

Not rude. Just meticulous.

And unintentionally… charming.

Every now and then, his eyes drifted back to her.
She sat with her hands around a warm cup, her hair in a messy ponytail, her smile soft every time she caught him watching.

It made him lose track of his thoughts more than once.

A worker asked a question twice before Aarib realized he was staring at her.

Roshaane pretended not to notice, hiding her smile behind her cup.

After finishing a round, Aarib returned to her table carrying two steaming cups of linden tea.

He placed one in front of her quietly.

“Are you tired?”

“Not at all.”
She leaned her chin on her hand.
“Actually… I like watching you work.”

His eyes flickered with something he didn’t want to name.
He looked away sharply, almost embarrassed.

They drank their tea in comfortable silence.

Outside, the sounds of Istanbul floated through the open door—the ferry horns, seagulls, distant chatter, the hum of life.

Something subtle shifted between them.

Not love.
Not attraction he was ready to admit.

But a soft beginning.
A release.
A letting go of old ghosts… just a little.

A/N:: Assalam-o-Alaikum dear readers,

I hope you all are doing well. 🌸

Finally, the update is here! I couldn’t upload last week due to some reasons, so to make up for it, I’ve brought two chapters together this time. I truly hope you enjoyed reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them for you.

Your love, comments, and support mean the world to me, so please don’t forget to leave your feedback, vote, and share the story with others. It really motivates me to continue.

And if you haven’t yet, do follow to stay updated with future chapters.

With lots of love,
Your Author 💖