After that night, after the unspoken confessions, the shared pain, the quiet acceptance, and the air between them changed.

Not drastically.
Not loudly.
But gently.

Aarib no longer felt the old suffocation when returning home. Somewhere deep inside, his heart had begun to accept destiny, not as a burden but as a truth. Roshaane noticed it first. The way his eyes softened when he looked at her. The way his pauses no longer felt distant. He was still reserved, still careful with words, but the wall of hesitation had thinned.

The house had learned their rhythm.

Evenings were no longer silent. He knew now, without questioning it, that someone was waiting for him. Her presence had slipped into his life like a habit he never intended to form, yet couldn’t imagine breaking.

Winter deepened its hold.

That evening, Aarib returned from his restaurant earlier than usual. The cold was sharp and biting, and he had no plans to visit the other branch. As he stepped inside and removed his shoes, his eyes landed on her.

Roshaane sat curled up on the sofa, a red blanket draped over her legs. The television played softly in the background. A bowl of snacks rested beside her, her phone in hand with Zainab’s name glowing on the screen. Her lips curved into a smile at something she read.

Without realizing it, Aarib smiled too.

“Marhaba,” he said casually, moving forward and taking a seat beside her.

She startled, then turned, surprised to find him so close. His seriousness still clung to him like a coat, but it hung looser now.

“It’s cold,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

“I can see that,” she replied, leaning closer, too close.

Before he could understand what she was doing, her palms cupped his face. The sudden warmth made his breath catch, his back pressing into the sofa as if the world had tilted.

“Your face is freezing,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing his cheeks. “So red.”

Her closeness stunned him.

“You look cute,” she added softly.

“Excuse me?”

His words pulled her back to reality. Realizing how close she was and how her hands rested on his face, she pulled away at once and straightened herself. She tucked her hair behind her ears and fixed her eyes on the television.

“I’m sorry,” she said, flustered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He watched her for a moment, then touched his own cheeks thoughtfully.

“That’s fine,” he said evenly. “But I don’t understand how I’m cute when I’m clearly handsome.”

As he stood, a faint smile playing on his lips while she buried her face in the cushion, now placed in her lap.

“I’ll make dinner,” he announced, heading toward the kitchen, already knowing she would follow.

She did.

Wrapping her shawl around herself and slipping into her slippers, she joined him. He had begun preparing the dough, sleeves rolled up, movements neat and practiced.

She hovered for a second, then stepped closer.

“What are we having tonight?” she asked, standing just behind him as he cut the chicken into neat portions.

“Chicken rolls.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Make them juicy and creamy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He worked quietly, focused on the pan, while she filled the space with her nonstop chatter, stories, thoughts, small complaints. He replied briefly, occasionally glancing at her.

“When is my wife going to cook?” he asked suddenly. “I heard you joined Zainab’s cooking classes.”

She froze as her eyes lingered on his face who was busy in making dinner.

“You see me as your wife now?” she asked softly.

His hands stopped mid-motion. The kitchen fell silent.

She didn’t press him. She didn’t demand an answer but kept looking at him for few seconds and then smiled.

“I’ll cook for you soon, my Aarib Bey,” she said with a small smile, one that carried patience instead of expectation.

“I’m going to freshen up,” she added, turning to leave, and his face turned too to see her going.

But she paused and returned while his face now again turned back to the stove when he again felt her presence behind him..

Leaning close to his shoulder from behind, close enough to make him stiffen, she whispered, “Seni seviyorum.”

Then she rushed out.

Aarib let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hand rose to his chest on instinct, his heartbeat unfamiliar and unsteady.

“Crazy girl,” he muttered, returning his attention to the stove.

But her presence refused to leave his mind.

And somewhere, quietly, something within him had begun to warm, just like winter slowly yielding to the promise of spring.

------

Haseeb had been watching her for days now.
Maliha had been busy with shopping, mostly going out with his mother. Malls, markets, small shops. Sometimes laughing, sometimes deeply focused on choosing things. He knew she was preparing to go back. This thought kept troubling him, quietly, constantly. It scared him in a way he didn’t want to admit. As if once again, he was about to lose her.

Sana Isham noticed it.
Mr Isham noticed it too.

They both could see the restlessness in their son. The way his eyes followed Maliha whenever she moved. The way his smile appeared only when she laughed. Yet there was nothing they could do. Until Haseeb accepted his feelings and spoke them out loud, everything would remain the same.

Since Maliha had come to Rome, she had changed. The sadness she carried, the tears she once hid, slowly began to fade. Haseeb had been there through it all. In her silence. In her healing. In his own darkest time too. During the most dangerous case of his life, the threats, the fear, the tension, she stood beside him without asking questions.

Still, their paths remained separate.
Close, yet distant.

Five months had passed since Maliha came to Rome.In these months, she had slowly become a part of the family, someone none of them wanted to lose. Yet none of them had the courage to say it aloud in front of her.

That morning, Maliha was ready again. Dressed neatly, excitement clear on her face, she adjusted her bag in front of the mirror.

“I need to buy something for my niece and nephew,” she said happily.

Haseeb stood a little away, silently watching her. His eyes followed every movement, every smile. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words remained trapped inside his heart.

Mr Isham watched his son from a distance.
He saw the pain in Haseeb’s eyes.

A pain born from love, fear, and hesitation.
And he knew that if his son stayed silent for too long, fate might once again take away what his heart had already chosen.

Mr Isham waited until Maliha and Sana left the house.
The silence that followed felt heavier than usual.
Haseeb stood near the window, watching the car disappear through the gate. His hands were in his pockets, shoulders stiff. Mr Isham took a seat on the sofa and observed him quietly before speaking.

“How do you feel?” he asked gently.

Haseeb did not reply at once. He took a deep breath and turned toward his father.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I feel restless. Like something important is slipping away.”
Mr Isham nodded, understanding the words Haseeb had not said.

“You’ve been watching her for days,” he said calmly. “Tell me, what is in your heart?”

Haseeb lowered his gaze. His voice softened.
“She feels like home now,” he admitted. “Her presence makes things easier. When she laughs, I forget the fear. When she is silent, I feel it too.”

Mr Isham leaned forward.

“Then why are you silent in front of her?” he asked. “Why are you hiding from your own feelings?”

Haseeb smiled sadly.
“Because I’m afraid,” he said. “Afraid that if I say it, I’ll lose her completely.”

Mr Isham placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“You’ve faced danger without fear,” he said. “You’ve stood against powerful people for what is right. But when it comes to love, you step back.”
Haseeb looked up.

“What if I tell her,” he asked quietly, “and she rejects me?”

Mr Isham met his eyes.

“What do you think she will do?”

Haseeb gave a small, broken smile.
“She’ll reject me at once,” he said softly. “She doesn’t belong to me anymore. Maybe she never did.”

Mr Isham sighed.

“Even if she says no,” he said gently, “you will have peace. Regret hurts more than rejection, my son. Love is not about certainty. It is about courage.”

Haseeb remained silent, his father’s words sinking deep into his heart.

For the first time, the thought of speaking scared him less than the thought of staying quiet forever.

----------

She sat alone on the cold balcon and the room lights turned off.

Her eyes were fixed on the moon as she leaned back against the swing sofa. A warm shawl rested loosely around her shoulders, her hair falling to one side. Her cheeks were flushed, matching the soft shade of her dress, yet she seemed unaware of the cold Istanbul night surrounding her.

Her gaze slowly dropped to her phone.
A family picture filled the screen.

It had been five months since she had spoken to them properly. Aarham called sometimes, sent messages now and then, but her heart ached for her mother. She knew her mother was offended. She knew she should call, should try to fix things, but every time she thought of it, her courage failed her.

She missed her parents.
She missed her siblings.
She did not even know how they were.

At times, it felt as if she no longer existed for them.

A silent tear slipped from her eye. She wiped it away quickly, as if ashamed of her weakness.

On the other side, Aarib entered the house late that night. He had already sent dinner for Roshaane from the restaurant.  As he stepped ahead, tired, he found silence filled in the house. The lounge was empty. The television was off.

His brows creased in worry.

He slipped into his house slippers and walked toward the kitchen. The food lay untouched. His concern deepened instantly. Placing his keys on the counter, he moved quickly toward the bedroom.

The room was dark.

“Roshaane,” he called, his heartbeat quickening.
No reply.

His breath caught when he noticed the balcony door open. He stepped closer, then finally exhaled in relief when he saw her lying on the swing.

“What are you doing out here in this cold?” he asked, walking toward her.

“You came,” she said softly, straightening and pulling the shawl tighter around herself.

“It’s freezing. Why are you sitting here?” he said, about to sit beside her.

She stopped him by holding his arm and stood up. “Don’t sit here. It’s too cold.”

Still holding his arm, she guided him inside. He closed the balcony door behind them. She turned on the lights and walked toward the bed while he grabbed his night clothes and changed.

When he returned, she was sitting on the bed, the duvet pulled over her legs.

“You didn’t eat?” he asked, sitting beside her.

“I don’t like eating alone,” she replied quietly, turning to look at him.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

He nodded. “Hikmat and I were invited to a friend’s birthday. I had dinner there.”

She nodded, looking away, her chest tightening again.

“Is everything okay?” he asked gently. “You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m just missing Mama,” she whispered, tears spilling again.

“Then call her,” he suggested softly.

She let out a small laugh through her tears and suddenly began crying harder, startling him.

“She doesn’t talk to me anymore. She’s offended,” she sobbed. “No one even wished me on my twentieth birthday. They forgot they have a little sister.”

He handed her tissues. She wiped her tears and nose, and despite everything, he smiled softly at her childlike gesture.

“No one has forgotten you,” he said. “They call me every day to ask about you.”

She looked up at him, stunned.

“They do? Did Mama talk about me?”

“Yes,” he replied. “They love you. They’re just hurt. They’ll come around.”

She moved closer and held his arm, happiness shining through her tears.

“I’m sorry about your birthday,” he added quietly. “I forgot too.”

She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.
“You are my gift,” she whispered. “Nothing else matters.”

His heart clenched. Emotions stirred inside him, emotions he tried desperately to suppress.

“Hungry?” he asked, clearing his throat.
She nodded.

They had dinner quietly. She felt lighter now, comforted by the truth about her family. He avoided looking at her too much, afraid of the feelings rising inside him.

Afterward, they lay side by side. He turned off the lights.

Suddenly, she held his hand.

He startled slightly. “What?”

“Can’t I hold my husband’s hand while sleeping?” she said playfully. “Don’t worry. Just the hand.”
She placed his hand near her face and closed her eyes.

Soon, she drifted into sleep.
But he couldn’t.

For the first time, he truly looked at her. Her closed eyes, her lashes resting softly on her cheeks, her nose that resembled her father’s, her lips so much like her mother’s.
A quiet, natural beauty.

He felt an urge to touch her, to pull her closer.
His heart raced.

He turned away, forcing himself to face the other side.

“What am I doing?” he whispered to himself.
One glance at her again made the desire surge even stronger.

“She’s driving me crazy,” he murmured, covering his eyes with his arm, trying to sleep while his heart refused to calm down.

A/N:: Assalam-o-alikum readers.
How are you all.
I'm sorry for being too late. I took a long time to update. There are some issues I'm going through. I couldn’t focus on writing.

But still I'm trying to pull myself out to write for you all. On coming Sunday, I'll try to update again. 

Keep showering your love and keep reading.

Till next update
Allah Hafiz.