Third person's POV.

Italy,Rome.

The sun had just begun its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose as Maliha and Haseeb walked side by side toward the quiet lane that led to their home. The air was still carrying the laughter of children playing somewhere nearby, and the faint aroma of street food lingered in the breeze.

Maliha’s cheeks glowed faintly, not from exertion but from the gentle contentment of the day. She clutched a small paper bag in her hand—a trinket she had insisted on buying, nothing of value, but to her it carried the essence of a memory made in simplicity.

Haseeb glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He had been careful all day—never pressing her, never asking for more than she was willing to share. He wanted her to breathe, to feel her steps light and unburdened. Her silence didn’t make him restless; instead, he matched it, filling the space between them with small gestures—holding the door open, slowing his pace to hers, pointing out little things to make her smile.

“You’re tired?” he asked softly as they neared the gate, his voice a blend of care and restraint.

Maliha shook her head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not tired. Just… it feels different being outside, after so long. It almost felt like I was someone else today.”

Haseeb’s lips curved in a faint smile. “Then let’s make sure you feel like that more often.”

Her eyes flickered toward him, searching for the weight behind his words, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he reached forward to open the gate, letting her step inside first.

The house welcomed them in its familiar silence, the kind that didn’t choke but offered them space to think.

Maliha knew he was giving her time, just as he had promised—time to heal, to accept, to slowly allow herself to belong again. And though the ache of her past still lingered, somewhere in the quiet rhythm of his patience, her heart had begun to notice.

---------

Turkey, Istanbul.

The streets of Istanbul throbbed with life, glowing under the warm lamps of late evening. Aarib’s footsteps echoed on the cobblestones as he pushed through the crowd, his sharp eyes scanning every corner. Panic had begun to churn in his chest.

He had already checked the small shop she had once pointed at in curiosity, the nearby stalls where she had lingered to look at scarves, even the bakery where she had once bought bread with halting Turkish. Nothing. No trace of her.

“Ya Rabb…” he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. The thought of her, alone in a city she barely understood, not knowing his number, not knowing even the name of his restaurant, tightened something fierce inside him.

He stopped by a kiosk, showing her photo on his phone to the shopkeeper. “Bunu gördün mü? Buradan geçti mi?” (Have you seen her? Did she pass by here?)

The man shook his head, offering an apologetic shrug. Aarib’s jaw clenched. He moved on, his pace quicker, his panic only rising.

---

On the other side of the city, Roshane was wandering further and further into the maze of streets. She had followed the tram earlier, excited by the stream of tourists, her heart momentarily lighter as she admired the Blue Mosque’s domes and later found herself swept into the crowd heading toward the Galata Tower.

But now, the excitement had dissolved into dread. Her steps slowed, her throat dry. Every street looked the same, every turn only pulled her deeper into the city’s heart. She hugged her arms around herself, trying to calm the racing of her heart.

Where do I go? Which street was it?

She looked at the signs but the Turkish words blurred into one another. She couldn’t even ask anyone properly—her voice faltered, her tongue clumsy. The more she walked, the more lost she became.

And somewhere, not too far, Aarib was searching the very streets she had left behind.

Two souls circling the same city, so close yet still missing one another.

-------

The streets of Istanbul were alive with lights and voices, but for Roshaane, everything blurred into chaos. Her heart pounded as she ran from one alley to the next, her heels clattering against the cobblestones.

“Aarib… Aarib…” she whispered breathlessly, clutching her bag tighter to her chest, her eyes darting helplessly. She tried asking strangers, her voice trembling.
“Aarib?” she repeated, showing her palms, her broken words lost in the sea of Turkish replies she couldn’t understand.

Nobody knew. Nobody helped. The language felt like walls closing in on her, trapping her. Her tears spilled faster, her voice cracking as she muttered his name again and again—like a prayer.

---

Across the city, Aarib’s own breath came heavy as he pushed through the crowds. His shirt clung to him, his hands running desperately through his hair.

“Roshaane…” he whispered harshly, his throat dry, his steps quickening. His eyes scanned every corner, every face, but none were hers. His heart banged louder with each second, fear gnawing at him—what if she was lost forever in this city that never slept?

He stopped once, leaning against a lamppost, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His lips barely moved, but the words tore out of him like a plea:
“Where are you, Roshaan?”

---

And then—like fate weaving their names into the same breath—her whisper collided with his across the noise of the street.

She had stumbled to the edge of a tram stop, tears streaking her cheeks. And there, across the rails, on the opposite side of the tram line, Aarib came running. His eyes locked on her instantly, disbelief flashing before relief washed over him like a storm breaking.

Roshane froze, her lips parting, her voice trembling with one last whisper:
“Aarib…”

A tram screeched between them, blocking the view, its bell ringing, people climbing and stepping off. For a heartbeat, she feared she had imagined him. But when the tram rolled past, there he was—across the road, eyes wide, chest heaving, staring only at her.

And for the first time since they came to Turkey, both looked at each other like this.

And then, in that frantic moment,

Roshaane.

It was as if a new light broke through the shadows around him. The chaos of the streets, the clang of the tram, the restless beat of Istanbul—all fell away. In her tear-stained face, in her frightened eyes searching for him, he found something he hadn’t known he was missing.

Home.

The panic inside him unraveled, spilling out like water released from a dam. His lungs finally filled, his heart eased its wild rhythm. She was there. She was safe. And in that moment, he realized: finding her wasn’t just about responsibility—it was life itself.

------
The tram rolled past, and nothing stood between them anymore. For a moment, neither moved—just eyes locked, both trembling under the weight of what they had almost lost.

Then Roshane broke into a run. Her feet barely touched the ground as she darted across the street, pushing past people, her eyes fixed only on him.

“Aarib…” her voice cracked as she collided into him, her arms wrapping tight around his chest.

Aarib staggered back half a step, his breath catching. His arms rose instinctively, holding her close. He felt her shoulders shake, her tears wetting his shirt, her grip clutching him like he was her last anchor. He didn’t let her go. He couldn’t. For a few suspended seconds, the world was silent again—just her heartbeat against his chest and the trembling relief in his veins.

Slowly, she pulled back, wiping her face, but she didn’t let go of him completely. Her trembling fingers clung to the cuff of his sleeve, like a child refusing to lose her lifeline.

“Where… where were you?” His voice came low, rough, struggling between scolding and softening. His jaw tightened as he searched her tear-streaked face. “Do you know how worried I was? You shouldn’t go like this, Roshaane. Not here. Not alone.”

She dropped her gaze, lips trembling, her tears falling harder.

His fists curled at his sides. Every nerve inside him wanted to shout, to shake her for scaring him like this. But he couldn’t. His promise echoed in his chest—he could never raise his voice to her. She was his responsibility, the daughter of his Zeeya Maa,  the girl he was bound to protect.

So he swallowed the storm inside him, his tone caught between anger and tenderness. “Don’t… don’t ever do this again.”

Her hand clung tighter to his sleeve, and she sobbed softly, whispering, “I’m sorry… I just… I just wanted to walk. I didn’t know I would get lost.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his breath heavy, his eyes burning. Happy and angry. Relieved and restless. He wanted to scold her, but instead, he simply reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek.

“Let’s go home,” he said finally, his voice calmer now, though his chest still heaved with the remnants of panic.

And without letting her hand slip from his, he led her away from the crowd.
-------
Italy, Rome.

The night was calm, a cold breeze drifting through the garden of Isham Villa. Maliha pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the bright moon glowing above. Her heart still carried weight, but somewhere in that silence, she felt a small sense of ease. After a long day of roaming the streets with Haseeb, she now sat once more in solitude — not locked away in her room this time, but in the open lawn, where the stars could hear her sighs.

“Mind if I take a seat?”
The voice startled her gently, and she looked up to see Mr. Isham standing beside the bench.

“Uncle, you shouldn’t even have to ask,” she smiled faintly, and he sat down next to her.

“So… how was your day?” he asked warmly.

“Your son nearly killed me with all the walking,” she complained, mockingly frowning. “He dragged me through every street in the city!”

Both laughed lightly.

“It was necessary for you,” Mr. Isham replied with a knowing smile. “After all that time shutting yourself inside, you needed it.”

She nodded, her smile fading into silence.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked softly.

Maliha looked down at her hands. “Maybe… yes,” she admitted.

“I know your pain,” Mr. Isham said gently. “First love is never easy to forget. But why chain yourself to it forever? You chose to let it go… then why keep carrying it in your heart?”

Her lips trembled, and a single tear escaped. “Because sometimes I regret it. I regret everything. I shouldn’t have parted our ways.”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “You shouldn’t have. Sometimes, one has to fight for their own happiness — not let anyone take it away. And in this, you made a mistake.”

She smiled sadly, tears now spilling freely. “But Roshaane… she was ready to ruin herself for him. She was like my younger sister. How could I let her cry like that? How could I let her die for him? I had no choice but to make this decision.”

Her voice broke, and more tears followed.

“She was young,” Maliha whispered, “too young to understand. I only wanted her to be happy.”

“And yet in saving her, you broke yourself… and Aarib too,” Mr. Isham said gravely.

“She was always dear to us… to both me and Aarib,” Maliha murmured.

Mr. Isham looked at her, sighing deeply. “If you’ve let his hand slip away, then let him go fully. Don’t keep holding half a rope. Only then will you find peace.”

“I’m trying,” she whispered.

He leaned back with a tired sigh, his eyes glimmering. “I know how it feels… to lose your love.”

Her eyes widened. “What? You—”

He chuckled at her shock. “What? Did you think I couldn’t have fallen in love when I was young?”

Her breath caught. “Wasn’t it… Sana Khala?” she asked hesitantly.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “There was someone I was hopelessly in love. She was arrogant, proud, full of attitude. But I loved her all the same.”

“But she didn’t love you back?” Maliha asked quickly, her curiosity piqued.

“Oh, she loved me. But she was so stubborn. She told me to go to her father and win his permission. And I did. He was a gentleman — far gentler than her, actually,” Isham chuckled.

“Then why didn’t she marry you? Was it family? Rejection?”

He sighed, recalling the days. “Winning her was the hardest battle of my life. Rejections, arguments, endless trials. I drowned in sadness more than once. But in the end…” He stopped, smiling faintly.

“Where is she now? Did you… forget her?” Maliha asked softly.

He chuckled, pointing towards the villa. “She’s been living with me for thirty years — making me laugh every single day.”

Maliha exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Uncle, you scared me!” she said, laughing through her tears.

“You should’ve been like her,” Mr. Isham said kindly, his tone turning serious. “Tough, bold, unshaken. Don’t let anyone or anything make you weak, Maliha.”

Her eyes shimmered as she whispered, “I will try.”

He placed a hand gently on her head. “Good girl. And if you wish, you can join me in my office tomorrow. Maybe it’ll help you step out of this cage of pain.”

She managed a small laugh. “Your son will be so surprised to see me there.”

“He won’t remember anything once he sees you,” Isham muttered with a knowing smile.

Maliha laughed too, not catching the deeper meaning in his words. Together, they rose and walked back inside the villa — smiling, talking, their shadows stretching under the silver moon.

-------

The door of the apartment clicked softly behind them.
The silence that followed was heavier than words.

Roshaane walked in first, her steps slow, her face pale from exhaustion and tears. The city lights spilling through the windows painted soft golden lines across the floor. Aarib followed her quietly, closing the door as if afraid even the sound might hurt her.

She stood in the middle of the living room, eyes unfocused. Her fingers still clutched the edge of her shawl — the same one she had pulled around herself while wandering through the cold streets.

“Sit down,” Aarib said finally, his voice low, steady but strained.

She obeyed without a word, sinking onto the couch. He placed the water glass in front of her and watched her drink with trembling hands.

“I told you not to go out alone,” he said after a pause — not harshly, but as if he was talking to himself more than her.

“I… I didn’t plan to,” she whispered. “I just wanted to walk for a while. I didn’t know I’d lose the way.”

Her voice cracked, guilt pressing on her words.

Aarib sighed and rubbed his face, his jaw tight with emotions he was trying to control. Anger, relief, fear — all tangled inside him.

“You could’ve been hurt, Roshaane,” he said softly, leaning forward. “You don’t know this city. You don’t even speak the language.”

Tears gathered again in her eyes. “I know. I was scared too. I tried to ask people. I said your name but… no one understood me.”

Aarib’s eyes softened at that. The image of her — lost, frightened, calling his name among strangers — twisted something inside him.

He reached out and took her hand gently. “You’re safe now,” he murmured.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The sound of the clock ticking on the wall filled the quiet between them.

Finally, he stood up. “You should rest,” he said, his voice returning to calm authority. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

She nodded faintly. “Thank you… for finding me.”

Aarib paused in his step, looking back at her. His eyes, warm yet unreadable, lingered for a moment longer before he replied, “I had to.”

And with that, he turned away, leaving her alone in the soft glow of the night — safe, but still trembling with the echoes of what could have been lost.

The door closed behind him, and silence fell once again.

Roshaane sat there, still on the same couch where he had left her. The glass of water remained on the table, the ripples in it still from when her trembling hands had set it down.

For a long while, she didn’t move. The echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor felt like a weight pressing deeper into her chest.

He had left — again.
Just like every night.

She drew her knees up and hugged them close, staring at the dim lights outside the window. The city of Istanbul glittered beautifully, but inside the small apartment, she felt like a ghost.

Her mind began to wander — back to the day everything had changed. The day she insisted.
To this marriage. The threat she had given to her family.
To him.

She thought of her parents’ faces that night — her mother’s trembling hands, her father’s silence, her brother’s helplessness in his eyes. She knew he doesn't love her But she hadn’t. She had believed love could be built, that kindness could grow between strangers. That if she followed her heart, she’d find peace.

And now here she was, in a foreign land, surrounded by walls that didn’t echo her name.

Aarib was kind, yes — but distant. Polite, but cold.
He made sure she had everything she needed — clothes, comfort, a home — but not what she wanted most.
Him.

She lowered her gaze, whispering to herself, “Maybe he's never gonna forget her… maybe he never could be here with me.”

Her fingers brushed the ring on her hand — the only piece of gold that still tied her to a dream.

Loneliness had become her only companion. The TV still flickered in the corner, the faint hum filling the silence. But she didn’t hear it.

Her eyes grew heavy with unshed tears, and for the first time, she allowed herself to cry freely — no pretending, no holding back. Just tears, soft and soundless, falling into the stillness of that foreign night.

---------
The restaurant was alive with its usual evening rhythm — the soft hum of Turkish conversations, clinking cutlery, the hiss of the kitchen flames, the aroma of grilled spices filling the air.

Aarib stood behind the counter, pretending to check receipts. But his eyes weren’t on the numbers — they were lost somewhere else.

Every time he blinked, he saw her again.
Standing in the middle of that crowded street — scared, breathless, her eyes searching for him.
And when she had finally found him, the way she had run toward him — that moment kept replaying like an ache that refused to fade.

He shut his eyes briefly, running a hand down his face. The guilt was burning quietly inside him.

She could have been hurt.
She could have disappeared forever.

And all because he had been too distant, too lost in himself to see what she was going through.

His manager came up to him with a question about tomorrow’s bookings. Aarib nodded absently, muttered a few words in Turkish, and sent him away. The moment the man left, he leaned back against the counter, exhaling slowly.

The ghost of another face. Another voice.
Maliha.

And then Roshaane.

And now she was his wife.
A title that should have meant something beautiful — but right now, it only felt like a wound he didn’t know how to heal.

Still, the way she had looked at him tonight — broken, trusting, lost — something inside him had shifted.

Maybe she didn’t deserve his distance.
Maybe it was time to stop punishing her for a past she had nothing to do with. His feet turned, about to go back but then he stopped.

Then, with a small sigh, he bent down on a couch.  “Not tonight,” he whispered to himself. “Not yet.”

He looked out through the restaurant window — at the city lights stretching endlessly beyond the Bosphorus — and for the first time, the thought of going home didn’t feel like an obligation.
It felt like something he wanted to do.

Author's note.

Assalam-u-Alikum readers.
How are you??

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know how are finding this story going on. I'm receiving very small comments. Please tell me your views.

Will be back soon with another update.

With love
Your Author.