The morning broke cold and dim.
Aarib sat on the edge of the bed, tying his shoelaces in silence. Behind him, Roshaane stirred under the blanket, her sleepy eyes following his every move. He didn’t glance her way, not even once. The silence between them had grown so thick that even the sound of his steps across the room felt heavy.

He picked up his coat, brushed his hair back, and without a word, left the room. The door clicked softly behind him — the same way it had every morning since the argument.

Roshaane exhaled quietly, sinking deeper into the pillow. He didn’t even say good morning.
But what hurt more was that she had stopped expecting him to.

Downstairs, Aarib moved through the kitchen with the same practiced rhythm. He made breakfast — scrambled eggs, toast, and tea — placed it neatly on the table. Then, almost as an afterthought, he took a sticky note from the counter and began to write something on it.

The pen paused mid-sentence. His jaw tightened.
He crumpled the note in his hand and threw it into the bin.

Moments later, the sound of his bike echoed faintly outside the apartment. He drove off into the crisp winter morning, the cold wind biting at his face as he rode toward A&A Restaurant.

---

The restaurant stood quiet, the sign glinting faintly under the weak sunlight. It wasn’t open yet; a few staff members were mopping the floors and setting the tables. The smell of detergent and fresh coffee mingled in the air.

Mr. Rehmat, the middle-aged manager, straightened as soon as he saw Aarib walk in.
“Aarib Bey, you’re here early today,” he said respectfully.

Aarib gave a small nod, his eyes sweeping the interior as he spoke in Turkish.
“Did Hikmat come?”

Mr. Rehmat shook his head. “Not yet, Bey.”

Just as he finished, the sound of footsteps echoed from the entrance.
“Marhaba!”

Hikmat stepped in, his smile as open and effortless as ever. He was dressed in a long wool coat, scarf neatly looped around his neck, his presence warm even against the chill.

"Marhaba,” Aarib replied, his voice calm but distant.

“Mr. Rehmat,” Hikmat said cheerfully, “bring two cups of tea for us. I need to steal my friend for a while.”

Without waiting for permission, he guided Aarib toward the outdoor seating area behind the restaurant — where the soft hum of the nearby river filled the air. The view was peaceful: trees swaying, sunlight glimmering faintly on the water.

They sat down, both wrapped in their coats, steam from their breath visible in the cold.

Hikmat leaned back, studying his friend quietly before asking,
“Don’t you think it’s time you told me the whole story?”

Aarib looked away, his eyes following the river’s slow current. The expression on his face was unreadable — exhaustion mixed with something heavier.

“There’s nothing much to tell,” he said finally, his voice low.

But Hikmat didn’t believe that. He never had to.

He’d known Aarib since the day the quiet man first stepped into Turkey — a stranger then, with a heavy heart and restless eyes. Over time, they had built A&A Restaurant together, turning an empty corner of the city into something beautiful.

He smiled faintly now, brushing the snow off the table’s edge.
“You always say that when something is to tell.”

Aarib didn’t reply. He just kept staring at the water, lost in thought.

Hikmat kept waiting for Aarib to open up. The winter breeze brushed past them, stirring the quiet between their words. Aarib exhaled heavily, and just then, a waiter appeared, serving them steaming Turkish tea in delicate glass cups.

Aarib wrapped his hands around the cup, took a slow sip, and finally began to speak.

“It was our engagement night,” he said quietly. “Mine and Maliha’s.”

Hikmat straightened in his chair, his expression softening.

“After the ceremony, Maliha and I went to the roof. It was late, but neither of us could sleep. We kept talking… laughing a little… trying to believe that it was real — that we were engaged, and soon we’d be married.”

Aarib’s voice trembled slightly. His eyes glistened — awake with the pain of memory.

“I was standing by the railing, holding her hand. She was still in her engagement dress — shining, beautiful — and then… we heard some noise downstairs. Panic. Shouts. Something felt wrong, so we ran.”

He paused, his breath unsteady, gaze shifting to the river beside them. Morning fog curled low over the water. Birds pecked along the shore, unaware of the storm that was still alive inside him.

“What did you see?” Hikmat asked quietly.

Aarib swallowed hard. “Her,” he said. “Our Roshi. Lying lifeless… blood everywhere. Her hands were—” He broke off, voice cracking. “She had tried to kill herself.”

The silence that followed was thick. Hikmat’s face grew still, the shock settling in slowly. Aarib took another sip of tea, as if the warmth could burn away the memory.

“They rushed her to the hospital. I still remember the faces — Aarham, Sameer, Shazam — frozen, pale. Their little sister fighting for her life. Zeeya Maa couldn’t stop crying. Jahan Papa just sat there, silent… like the world had stopped.”

Aarib closed his eyes briefly, seeing it all again.

“Then we found out why she did it. She loved me. She couldn’t bear the thought of me marrying someone else. Me and Maliha — we were… we were shocked. We never saw it coming.”

Hikmat took a deep breath. “I understand she loved you,” he said carefully, “but why did you and Maliha break up? And why… why did you marry her?”

Aarib looked down into his cup, the reflection of his weary eyes rippling in the tea.

“Her brother, Aarham , came to me. He begged me to marry her. He said it was the only way to save her. I refused. I couldn’t imagine it. How could I marry someone who had just tried to—” He stopped, the words dying in his throat.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Then I saw Zeeya Maa crying. She was sitting outside the hospital room, her hands trembling.”

---

Flashback.

The corridor smelled of antiseptic and fear. Zeeniya sat on the bench, her eyes darting between the closed door of Roshaane’s room and her trembling hands. Jahan sat beside her, silent, broken.

Aarib walked up slowly, kneeling in front of her.
“Maa… are you okay?” he asked gently, taking her cold hands in his.

“She’s just so stupid,” Zeeniya sobbed. “How could she do this, Aarib? My baby girl…”

“She’ll be fine,” he whispered. “Insha’Allah, she’ll be fine.”

Zeeniya nodded, wiping her tears. Then she looked at him , really looked at him — and held his hands tighter.

“I know what Aarham said to you,” she said, voice trembling. “He’s weak in front of his sister’s tears. But I’m not. I don’t want you to destroy your life because of this. I want my son’s happiness. I want you and Maliha to be together. I’ll handle Roshaane. I’ll make her understand. Just don’t listen to Aarham.”

Aarib’s eyes softened with love and gratitude. “You always handle everything, Maa.” He kissed her knuckles, then turned to Jahan. “She’ll be fine, Papa,” he said quietly.

Jahan only nodded, his face pale and tired.

Aarib left the hospital that day with a heavy but steady heart — certain that his family would heal and his life with Maliha would continue.

But fate had other plans.

---

He was called by Maliha that evening. She met him in the lawn  behind house, her eyes red, her hands cold.

“I want you to marry her,” she said suddenly.

Aarib stared at her, stunned. “What?”

“I want you to marry her, Aarib,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “It’s the only solution. She won’t live without you.”

He stepped back, shaking his head. “Are you insane? How can you even say that?”

Maliha’s tears finally spilled over. “I saw her, Aarib! She was begging everyone to bring you back to her. You think I can live with that? With her blood on my hands?”

Aarib clenched his fists, his world tilting. “Maliha”

“She loves you more than I do,” she said through tears. “And maybe that’s why she deserves you.”

Aarib stared at Maliha, disbelief spreading across his face.
“You don't tell me who I deserve or not. You want me to marry her?” he asked again, his voice sharp, almost trembling.

Maliha’s eyes glistened. “Yes.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Why would you even say that, Maliha? You love me. I love you. We are supposed to get married.”

She took a shaky breath, unable to meet his eyes. “Because I saw Zeeniya Maa crying. I saw how she looked — broken, shocked. It's time for us repay her love and kindness we received all life”

Aarib blinked, confusion darkening his expression. “What do you mean, repay?”

“That it’s not about us anymore,” she whispered. “It’s about saving her. About saving that family.”

Aarib’s chest felt tight, every word slicing through him.
“So you’re telling me,” he said slowly, “you’re doing this because we've to save Zeeya Maa daughter, by ruining our own happiness?”

Maliha nodded, her lips trembling. “Yes. She’s torn. And so am I. But this would be good for us all .”

Aarib stepped closer, his voice breaking. “Maliha… you’re asking me to throw away our life for a mistake. For something that isn’t my fault. You don’t have all rights to take decision.”

She closed her eyes, tears falling freely now. “It’s not a mistake, Aarib. It’s destiny. Maybe… maybe she was meant for you all along. And i'm having no right on you.”

He shook his head, backing away, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “No. Don’t do this. Don’t turn our love into pity. Only you have every right on me, on our this love. Let us think something else.”

Maliha looked at him one last time, her face pale under the fading sunlight.
“Sometimes love means letting go before it destroys more lives,” she said quietly. “Maybe you’ll understand that one day.”

And with that, she walked away — her footsteps fading on the gravel path, leaving Aarib standing in the middle of a life that had just fallen apart.

---

Present.

Hikmat’s hands stilled around his teacup. His usual calm expression faltered for the first time.
“You mean to say… it was Maliha’s wish for whom you had to marry Roshaane?” he asked, stunned.

Aarib nodded faintly, his gaze distant. “Maybe not in words, but yes. Zeeya Maa couldn’t see her daughter dying in front of her eyes. I can’t even blame her. Any mother would’ve done the same. But Maliha really took all rights from me.”

“And you agreed?” Hikmat’s voice was low, filled with disbelief.

“I didn’t — not then,” Aarib replied quietly. “But when I was left with no right. When Maliha took her steps back. I wanted to run away. Even after Maliha rejected me, Our love but i just couldn't.”

The wind carried the soft sound of water against the stones. Hikmat leaned back, speechless, his heart heavy for his friend.

“So you've been dragged in all this by both women.” he said finally.

Aarib nodded once, his throat tight. “And maybe that’s the reason why peace never came to us. Because no marriage built on force. It can give happiness — not to either of us.”

He looked down at the half-empty cup in front of him, the steam long gone cold.

Hikmat said nothing for a long while. Then, softly, he murmured,
“Fated roads always cross where hearts are weakest, my friend. But maybe yours still has a turn left.”

Aarib didn’t reply. The morning sun had risen higher now, but inside him, the fog hadn’t cleared.

---
Greece.

The lobby of the Corinthian Blue Resort was alive with music and laughter. Chandeliers glimmered above, their light dancing across the marble floors where guests moved about — cousins greeting each other, uncles discussing the next event, the fragrance of roses and citrus floating in the air.

The Zohaib family had booked nearly half the hotel for the wedding. Every corner echoed with celebration — from mehndi rehearsals in one hall to decorators rushing with flower baskets in another.

At a quiet table near the glass wall overlooking the sea, Maliha sat with Mrs. Sana Isham, smiling faintly as they talked. The evening light touched Maliha’s face gently — and for the first time in a long while, her laughter sounded unforced.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you like this,” Sana said, her hand resting fondly over Maliha’s. “When you agreed to come, I was afraid you’d hide in your room again.”

Maliha smiled, eyes soft. “I almost did. But it feels… nice here. Peaceful, somehow.”

“Good,” Sana said warmly. “You deserve to feel light again, beta.”

Across the atrium, Haseeb watched them for a moment — the rare spark in Maliha’s eyes, the way she leaned forward as Sana spoke. A small, satisfied smile crossed his lips. Finally, he thought, she’s starting to come back to life.

But someone else noticed his expression too.

From the opposite side of the room, Halay stood with a group of cousins, her gaze fixed in their direction. She watched as Haseeb walked toward Maliha and his mother, his tone soft, his presence relaxed — the kind of ease she hadn’t seen in him before.

Her laughter with her friends faded. The more she watched, the tighter her chest grew.

When Haseeb reached the table, he said lightly, “You two seem to be having an intense conversation.”

Maliha looked up, smiling politely. “Just your mother telling me all your childhood secrets.”

Sana chuckled. “Only the innocent ones.”

Haseeb laughed — a warm, genuine sound that drew a few passing glances. But one of those glances was cold.

From a distance, Halay’s hand clenched around the strap of her purse. She didn’t even realize she had stopped talking, her cousin beside her asking something she didn’t hear.

Something ugly stirred inside her — not anger, not quite jealousy, but a tightening unease that she couldn’t shake. Why her? she thought, her jaw stiffening. Why does she have that effect on everyone?

Later, as the families gathered for the evening dinner, Halay stayed unusually quiet. Her mother noticed.
“Halay, are you all right?” Mrs. Zohaib asked softly.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, though her eyes drifted again — toward Maliha laughing gently at something Haseeb said.

But fine was the last thing she felt.

-------

The laughter and music from the ballroom had begun to fade, replaced by the softer hum of the sea outside. The terrace lights glowed amber, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Most guests had retired to their rooms, leaving the cold Greek night still and quiet.

Haseeb stood near the railing, his coat draped loosely over his shoulders, talking on the phone with one of his friends. His tone was calm, efficient, as always.

When he ended the call, he turned slightly — and froze for a moment.
Halay was standing a few steps away, her arms folded, eyes sharp under the soft light.

“You’re still awake?” he asked lightly, trying to ease the tension.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said flatly. “Too many things on my mind.”

Haseeb gave a small nod and turned back toward the sea. “I know. Weddings can be stressful.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she snapped.

He glanced at her then — brows raised slightly, more surprised than annoyed. “Then what is it, Halay?”

She took a step closer, her expression tightening. “Why did you bring her here?”

Haseeb frowned. “Who?”

“Maliha.” Her voice trembled slightly, anger threading through it. “Why did you bring her with you and your parents? You knew she’d be here for days, staying with us. You knew how this would look.”

He exhaled slowly, resting his palms on the railing. “You’re overthinking again.”

“No, I’m not,” she shot back. “I saw you today, the way you smiled, the way you talked to her. Even Aunt Sana is acting like she’s her daughter now. It’s—” She paused, her breath unsteady. “It’s uncomfortable and unbearable.”

Haseeb turned to face her fully, his tone measured. “You’re making something out of nothing. She’s been through enough. We just wanted her to feel normal again.”

“Normal?” Halay repeated bitterly. “You call this normal? Anyone can say that you two are—” She stopped herself, clenching her jaw. “You can’t blame people for talking.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t care what people say.”

“But I do!” she blurted, her voice breaking slightly. “Because every time she’s around, I feel like I’m the one who doesn’t belong!”

For a moment, the wind was the only sound between them. The faint rustle of the sea, the flutter of a flag above — everything else stilled.

Haseeb’s expression softened, but his words stayed calm. “You’re letting jealousy cloud your sense, Halay.”

Her eyes widened, wounded. “Jealousy?” she repeated. “You think I’m jealous of her?”

“I think you’re being unfair,” he said quietly. “Maliha has nothing to do with whatever you’re feeling.”

Halay laughed under her breath — not out of amusement, but disbelief. “You don’t even see it, do you? How different you are when she’s around? You talk more, you smile more. You never notice anyone else when she’s in the room.”

He went silent. There was truth in her words — or maybe just the sharpness of them that made him pause.

Finally, he said, “I notice what matters, Halay. That’s all.”

The words stung more than he intended.

Halay took a slow step back, blinking hard to hold back the tears threatening her composure. “You should be careful, Haseeb. Pity can look a lot like love — and once you confuse the two, it ruins everyone.”

With that, she turned and walked away, her heels clicking sharply against the marble before disappearing into the hotel corridor.

Haseeb stood there for a long moment, staring at the waves below — her words echoing in his head.

Pity can look a lot like love.

He exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. For the first time since they’d arrived in Greece, the cold seemed to reach him.

"But it was never pity. It was always love." He whispered to himself.

Author's Note.

Assalam-u-Alaikum readers.
How are you all? 💫
Finally, I’ve updated this story! Honestly, I was a bit stuck on the last chapter and wasn’t sure how to carry it forward — but I gave it my best shot.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Let’s wait for the next one — I’ll be posting it soon, Insha’Allah.

With love,
Your author 💕