It had been three days since Roshaane's allergic attack.

She was home now, back in their room, back under familiar ceilings, but Aarib hadn't returned to the restaurant even once. He had taken leave without explanation without caring about the workload piling up.

The faint red patches still marked her skin, reminders that refused to fade. Every time his eyes caught them, something tightened painfully in his chest.

He had never been that scared before.That morning, sunlight filtered softly through the curtains. Roshaane was asleep, medicine finally giving her body the rest it needed. Aarib stood by the bed for a moment longer than necessary, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. Only when he was sure her breathing was calm did he step out quietly.

He moved to the kitchen and turned on the stove, deciding to prepare soup for her. The flame burned low as he stirred absentmindedly, his thoughts drifting back to the hospital corridor to her pale face, to the terrifying stillness of her body in his arms .

The sudden sound of the doorbell broke his thoughts.

He lowered the flame and walked to the door.
Hikmat stood outside.

"Where are you, man?" Hikmat asked the moment he stepped inside. "You've vanished. Staff's asking questions, too."

"I was... a bit busy," Aarib replied simply, walking back toward the kitchen.

Hikmat followed him, arms crossed. "You could've at least answered your phone."
"I did."

"After fifteen missed calls."

Aarib didn't argue. He kept stirring the soup, checking the flame.

Hikmat watched him in silence for a moment.
Then his tone softened.

"How is she?"

"Better," Aarib said, though worry still edged his voice. "Doctor said the reaction will take a few days to fully settle. The patches will fade."

"That's normal after a severe allergy," Hikmat said. "But she's stable?"

Aarib nodded. "Yes."

Hikmat watched him carefully. "And you?"

That made Aarib glance at him. "What about me?"

"You look like you haven't slept properly in three days."

Aarib didn't deny it.

Silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the soft bubbling of soup.

Hikmat leaned against the counter. "You were scared."

It wasn't a question.

Aarib's jaw tightened slightly. "She stopped responding in my arms," he said quietly. "I thought..." He didn't finish.

Hikmat understood anyway.

After a moment, he spoke again, slower this time.
"You care about her."

Aarib didn't answer immediately. He poured the soup into a bowl, focusing on the steam rising from it.

"I'm responsible for her," he said finally.

Hikmat gave him a look. "That's not what I meant."

Aarib met his eyes.

"You didn't look responsible," Hikmat continued.

"You looked terrified. There's a difference."
The words lingered.

Aarib exhaled slowly. "I don't know when it happened."

"When what happened?" Hikmat pressed gently.

"When she stopped feeling like... an adjustment."

His voice lowered. "And started feeling like someone I can't afford to be offended anymore, or i don't know what i'm feeling."

Hikmat's expression softened.

"So," he said carefully, "are you accepting this? Are you actually moving on?"

That question landed heavier than expected.
Aarib leaned back slightly against the counter, thinking.

"I don't think moving on works the way people say it does," he replied after a moment. "It's not like replacing one person with another."

"No," Hikmat agreed quietly.

"But when I saw her unconscious..." Aarib's voice thinned. "I didn't think about the past. I didn't think about what I had lost." He paused. "I only thought about losing her."

That was the first honest confession.

Hikmat studied him.
"So the past isn't standing between you anymore?"

Aarib looked down at the soup bowl in his hands.

"It's still there," he admitted. "Memories don't disappear."

"But?"

"But they don't control me the way they used to."

Hikmat smiled faintly. "That means you're healing."

Aarib didn't argue.

After a moment, Hikmat added softly, "Does she know?"

Aarib's lips curved slightly. "She thinks she's the one healing me."

"And is she wrong?"
Aarib didn't answer immediately.

"But the wound was given by her as well." He said his voice low this time head down.

"Does it matter anymore?" Hikmat asked.

Aarib couldn't reply anything.

But this time, his silence was different.
Not confused.
Certain.

Hikmat pushed himself off the counter. "Go. Take care of her. I'll handle the restaurant."

Aarib nodded. "Thank you."

As he picked up the tray and turned toward the bedroom, Hikmat watched him for a second longer.

For the first time in months, Aarib didn't look like a man carrying a burden of unnecessary marriage.

He looked like a husband.

-------

Aarib pushed the bedroom door open gently, balancing the tray in his hands.

Roshaane was already awake.

She sat against the headboard, rolling her messy hair into a loose bun, strands slipping free around her face. Morning light fell softly over her, making her look fragile yet stubbornly alive.

His eyes paused on her for a second longer than he intended.

"You're awake," he said quietly, placing the soup on the side table.

"Yes," she replied, stretching her arms above her head with a small groan. "And I'm super hungry."

His lips twitched into a faint smile at her tone.
"Soup is ready," he said, nodding toward the bowl.
She stared at it.

Then she pouted.

"Who has soup for breakfast?" she complained. "Make me a cheesy paratha with an omelette."
Her eyes lit up at the idea.

"No," he said calmly. "First, soup. It's healthy."

She shook her head stubbornly. "No. I'm having a proper breakfast."

Before he could object further, she swung her legs off the bed.

"Careful..."
Too late.

Her foot wobbled as it touched the floor, and she faltered slightly. In an instant, Aarib reached forward and caught her by the arm.

His grip was firm.
Her laughter was soft.

"Sorry," she giggled, holding onto his arm now for balance.

He didn't let go immediately.

Instead, he adjusted his hold carefully, making sure she was steady.

"Walk slowly," he muttered.

Together, they moved toward the kitchen, her hand still lightly resting around his arm.

In the kitchen, he started preparing breakfast despite his earlier refusal.

She took a seat at the counter and simply watched him.The way he rolled the dough. The way he checked the flame twice. The way he glanced back at her every few seconds.

When he finally placed the paratha and omelette in front of her, she beamed.

"I've got the best husband," she said happily, taking her first bite.

He sat across from her, pretending to focus on his own plate, though a quiet smile threatened to betray him.They ate in comfortable silence for a moment.

Then, her tone shifted.

"I scared you, didn't I?" she asked softly, lifting her cup of tea.

He didn't meet her eyes. "Yes. I got scared." A pause. "I should have known about the peanuts."

"It's not your fault," she said immediately. "It's mine."

That made him raise his eyes.

She wasn't teasing now.

"When I couldn't breathe... when everything felt like it was closing in..." she began slowly, fingers tightening around her teacup, "I realized something."

Her eyes shimmered, but she didn't look away.

"That I was really unplanned fate of yours." She said laughed a bit with tears as if laughing on herself.

"I loved you," she said quietly. "But I never asked if you were ready to be loved by me."

His expression didn't move.

"I entered your life like a storm," she continued, a faint, broken laugh escaping her. "You were still building something with someone else. You had dreams. Plans. A whole future with her."
She swallowed.

"I didn't earn you. I just... took my place beside you."

A tear slipped down, but she didn't wipe it.

"You never loved me the way you loved Maliha. You knew her deeply. You chose her." Her voice trembled.

"You didn't choose me."

The words hung there fragile but sharp.

"And yet you never punished me for it. You stayed. Bear the pain. Tolerated me all this time. You cared for me. You held me. You ran with me in your arms." She exhaled shakily. "That makes it worse."

Silence.

"I'm happy that you've given me a place in your life but why don't you hate me? This is bothering me." She asked sobbing, wiping her nose, making his lips smile on her childish act, and he didn't even realize.

Aarib leaned back slightly, eyes fixed on her.

"You want me to love you or hate you?" He asked this time arms folded on his chest, eyes on her tiny red nose who was again and again sniffing making him smile.

"What you want to do?" She asked back this time looking up in his eyes.

"I..."He paused.

He felt lost in those glistened eyes, innocent face and red cheeks. It took him for few seconds to think what he was about to say.

"I want to understand you." He said leaning closer to the table.

"You're right," he said after a long pause.
Her breath hitched.

"I didn't choose you in the beginning," he admitted.

The honesty was heavy, but steady.

"There were nights I would think about the life I imagined with Maliha. I would compare it... unconsciously. I would look at what I had lost."
His gaze softened slightly.

"And then I would look at you."

Her fingers trembled on the table.

"You weren't what I had planned," he continued quietly. "You were something else."

He inhaled slowly.
"At some point... the comparison stopped."

Her eyes widened faintly.

"I don't know...," he said. "But I think I'm moving on with you."

The words were simple, but they landed deeply.

He looked at her fully now.

"Destiny isn't gentle," he said. "It doesn't ask permission. It just replaces one road with another."

A pause.

"Maliha was a chapter I believed would become a book."He swallowed.

"But you... you're the life I wake up to."
The room felt smaller.

"I don't want to measure you against the past anymore," he continued. "What was, was. It had its place. But it's not my present." His voice grew firmer.

"And I don't want it to be our future."

Her tears were falling freely now.

"You're not angry?" she whispered.

For a second, the truth almost slipped out. How could I ever be angry at the woman I almost lost?

Instead, he reached across the table.
His hand covered hers.

"No," he said quietly. "I'm not angry."

His thumb pressed gently against her knuckles.
"I'm here."

And this time, there was no shadow of hesitation in his eyes. No past. No longing of the lost.

---------

Maliha had finished packing.

The suitcase stood near the foot of her bed zipped, quiet, final.

She sat beside it for a long time, phone in her hand, scrolling through flight options back to Turkey.

One tap.

That was all it would take.
Instead, she locked the screen.
Before leaving, she wanted one last walk. One last look at the city that had once felt like a possibility.

She stepped out of her room, wrapped in a long coat, a muffler snug around her neck.

"Haseeb."

He was sitting on the sofa, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing.He had been like this for a month.Ever since he found out she would be leaving.He never asked when. Never asked why. Never asked if she would stay.

Because asking would make it real.

He looked up when she called his name.
"Yes?" he said, standing immediately. "Do you need something?"

"No," she replied softly. "Can we walk?"

There was a small smile on her face but it didn't reach her eyes.

He nodded without hesitation.

"Give me a minute."
He grabbed his coat.

From the hallway, Sana and Mr. Isham watched quietly.

A mother always sees.
Sana sighed under her breath at the sadness that had settled over her son , the kind that doesn't shout, doesn't break things, just sits heavily in the chest.

They stepped outside.
The winter was almost gone but still nights had cold air which greeted them crisp, clean, almost indifferent.

They walked slowly through the old streets, past familiar shops, toward the fountain at the center of the square.

The city moved around them.
But between them.
Silence.

Not uncomfortable.Just full.
Full of what they weren't saying.

Maliha..." His voice cracked slightly. She turned, brows lifting in quiet curiosity, her scarf brushing against her lips as the breeze caught it.

Haseeb swallowed, forcing a nervous smile. In Turkish, he whispered, "Çok güzelsin." (You are beautiful)

Maliha blinked, startled, then let a soft laugh slip past her lips. A smile curved at her mouth, warming her quiet face. The compliment caught her off guard, yet amused her too.

"Thank you. And you've learnt Turkish? Impressive. Let's see what else you know," she teased, stepping closer.

He grinned, attempting, "Benim adım Haseeb ve senin adın... çiçek." (My name is Haseeb, and yours is flower.)

She burst out laughing.

"Tesoro,( treasure)" he called her then, in Italian.

"I know Italian too," she countered playfully.

"Let me hear it then," he challenged.

She smirked, replying in Italian, "Sei uno sciocco." (You're a fool.)

Both giggled, their laughter echoing between the arches. Yet Haseeb noticed how her eyes glistened. He always noticed. His gaze had been tied to her for years, watching, reading the pain beneath her smiles.

"You still miss him?" he asked gently, bracing for the sting of her reply.

"Love is not easy to forget." Her words were simple, but heavy.

"Maybe he has forgotten you," Haseeb said, voicing the bitter truth.

"I know... and that's what I want. I want him to love his wife. To forget if Maliha ever existed." Her voice cracked as she grew cruel to herself.

"You've no right to hurt yourself like this," he said firmly, stepping in front of her.

"Do I have any right left on me?" she shot back, her tears betraying her strength. She wiped them quickly, refusing to break.

Then, with sudden calmness that seemed rehearsed, she whispered in Italian, "Domani parto." ( I'm leaving tomorrow.)

The words struck him like a stone. Haseeb stopped walking, his chest tightening.

"You... you're leaving?" His voice faltered.

Maliha slowed but didn't look at him. She adjusted her bag strap, staring at the soft glow of the street lamps. The truth was out and she couldn't take it back.

"I can't keep running, Haseeb," she said quietly. "I have to face the reality. We don't belong to each other now. And to accept that... I need to go back home. Back to Turkey."

"You won't come back?" His voice trembled with hope.

"Maybe not."

"And if I stop you from going?" he pressed.

She didn't turn. She didn't answer.

His breath shook. And then, in Turkish, he let the words fall firm, trembling, unstoppable.

"Seni seviyorum, Maliha." (I love you, Maliha.)

Her eyes widened, locking onto his as she turned shock.

The dam broke. His voice surged, desperate and raw: "Benimle evlenir misin?" ( Will you marry me?)

The fountain splashed softly behind them, Rome alive with music and light, but for Maliha, the world stopped.

Her lips parted. Shock froze her.

She could not move. She could not speak.

And under the autumn sky of Rome, with love confessed too suddenly and too fiercely, their fates began to twist.

"Are you out of your mind?" she finally breathed, her brows knitting together. "What are you saying?"

Haseeb exhaled deeply a long, shaking breath as if he had been holding it for years.

"I finally said it," he murmured.

He looked down for a second, then back at her. His eyes glistened but this time, there was something steady in them. A strange, fierce calm.

"You heard me right," he added softly. "Didn't you?"

"Haseeb..." she shook her head slowly. "This isn't funny. If this is some kind of joke, it's not funny at all."

She turned to walk away.

But this time, he didn't let her.
"You can't keep running," he said, grabbing her arms gently but firmly, pulling her back toward him.

Their faces were inches apart now.Close enough to see the tremble in her lashes. Close enough to see his reflection in her eyes.

"What are you doing? Leave me!" she snapped, trying to free herself.

"I'm telling you the truth!" he burst out. His voice cracked. "The truth I've been swallowing for years."

Her struggle slowed.

"Why could you never see it?" he continued, tears filling his eyes now. "The way I looked at you. The way my whole face changed when you entered a room. The way I waited just to hear you say my name."

Her heart pounded wildly.

"I was fine when you were here," he whispered. "I told myself it was enough. Just being near you. But this... this idea of you leaving, of you going somewhere I can't reach you, it's tearing me apart." His grip loosened, but he didn't step back.

"I love you, Maliha," he said, the words falling broken but certain. "Please... understand me."

She finally pulled free, stepping back as if he had burned her.

"You've lost your mind," she said, shaking her head. "How can you even think like this? You're younger than me."

"Does that matter?" he asked immediately, stepping closer again. "It doesn't matter to me."

"It matters to me. I... never think about you.!" she shot back.

"But I did. I always loved you.!"

"But I don't!"
Her voice cracked.

He reached for her hands again, holding them carefully this time.

"Marry me," he whispered again. "Please."

"Stop it!" she cried, shaking him. "Come back to your senses!"

But he didn't move.

He only looked at her like a man drowning.And then he dropped to his knees.The movement stunned her.

"Haseeb!" she gasped.

He held her hand tightly, his shoulders trembling.

"Don't leave me," he said hoarsely. "Please don't leave me."

Tears streamed down his face openly now.
The square continued around them, unaware of the heartbreak unfolding beside the fountain.

"You need to get out of this illusion," she said, though her own voice was shaking now. "This isn't love. This is attachment."

"Don't insult the feelings I've been carrying since years," he said brokenly. "Just try to understand me."

She closed her eyes for a second,gathering strength.Then she gently pulled her hand free.

"I can't give you what you're asking for."
And she walked away.

"Maliha!" he shouted, voice cracking across the square. "Don't go! I'll die!"

Her steps faltered for one second. Just one. But she didn't turn.
She kept walking.

She reached home in a storm of emotions.
Sana and Mr. Isham looked up immediately, sensing something had happened. Her face was flushed, eyes red not from cold.She didn't meet their gaze.She went straight to her room.
The door slammed shut behind her.

She ran her fingers through her hair, pacing.
What had just happened?
How had she not seen this?
Or had she seen it... and chosen to ignore it?
Her breathing was uneven.
No.

This couldn't grow further.This had to end here.
She grabbed her phone.
Without hesitating this time
She booked her ticket.
Tomorrow night.
Not two days later.
Tomorrow.
If distance was the only cure,
She would leave.

A/N: Assalam-o-Alaikum, dear readers.
How are you all?

Finally, the update is here! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

The story is finally moving forward. Now tell me, how do you want Haseeb and Maliha's story to unfold? What do you think should happen next?

I've already written the next three chapters, but I would still love to know your opinion.

The next update will be on Sunday, InshaAllah. I'll also try to update Razamirs Legacy as well.

Your comments truly make me smile, so don't forget to share your thoughts.

Till the next update,
Allah Hafiz 🤍