Imran drove back to his house, the long forty-minute journey a quiet reprieve he hadn't realized he needed. Normally, he zipped through streets with an effortless speed, but tonight his foot lingered on the brake. The road to home always seemed to slow him down, as if some invisible force tethered him to the stillness of his thoughts.

As he approached the gates, he turned off the headlights, careful not to disturb anyone—not the guards, not even the shadows of the house. Reaching into the glove compartment, he retrieved the remote, pressed the button, and watched as the gate creaked open. His car slipped into the compound like a ghost, and he parked without a sound. Yet, instead of stepping out, he stayed in the driver's seat for over thirty minutes, staring blankly at the moon, its soft glow filtering through the windshield. When he finally moved, it was with the weight of a man carrying unspoken burdens.

Meanwhile, inside the house, Jadwa sat motionless on the sofa, exactly where she'd been since her prayers ended. Her heart had quickened when she heard the faint hum of the car engine outside, signaling his arrival. For thirty minutes, she waited, aware that he hadn't come inside. Was he busy with something? She could only wonder.

At last, the front door opened, and his familiar voice broke the silence. "Assalamu Alaykum," he said, the words flowing smoothly, though his attention seemed divided. His phone was pressed against his ear.

Jadwa's lips curled into a soft smile as she answered, "Wa Alaykumus Salam. Welcome back."

He nodded, closing the door behind him. "Thank you. How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice neutral, devoid of warmth but free of any trace of anger.

"Alhamdulillah, I'm okay now," she replied, her heart thudding in her chest. His tone wasn't cold, yet it wasn't comforting either—just indifferent.

"No need for any checkups?" he asked, finally looking at her.

"No," she said, watching as he turned and began ascending the stairs without another word.

She waited until she heard the soft click of his bedroom door closing before retreating to her own room. There, she allowed herself a long, steaming shower, letting the hot water wash away the tension knotting her shoulders. She dressed for bed, deciding not to disturb him. Instead, she went downstairs to turn off the lights and make herself a cup of raspberry tea.

As she cradled the mug in her hands and took a slow sip, a sound broke through the stillness—his laughter. It was rich and unrestrained, a melody she hadn't heard in a long time. Startled, she set down her tea and moved toward the living room, but he wasn't there. Her gaze shifted to the open door of his study, where faint voices carried through the air.

Her brows furrowed. A video call? At this hour?

She strained to make out the faint female voice on the other end. Lily? Rahma? The thought flitted through her mind. He was always strict about his sisters going to bed early, so it couldn't be them. Her stomach tightened as doubt began to creep in, unwelcome and suffocating.

Could it be someone else? The idea made her chest ache. She shook her head, forcing herself to reject the thought. No, Imran isn't like that. He would never.

Still, it gnawed at her, this unfamiliar laughter that wasn't shared with her. This wasn't the first time, either. The calls had been frequent for the past couple of days, though she hadn't said anything or thought anything of it.

She gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, her curls falling forward as she tried to steady her breathing. This distance between us... I have to fix it, she resolved. She wasn't one to let doubt fester. He was her husband, and she had every right to take the first step.

With a deep breath, she pushed her curls behind her ear, straightened her posture, and walked to his study. The door was ajar, and she knocked gently before peeking inside.

"Hold on, Alina. Give me a second, okay? I'll call you back," Imran said, his tone light as he smiled at the screen. He ended the call before Jadwa could fully catch the voice on the other end. Her chest tightened as a rush of heat surged to her head. Alina?

It better not be.

"Yadai?" he said softly. "Come in." He stood up, pocketing his phone as he leaned casually against the desk.

Jadwa stepped inside, her smile small and hesitant. She searched his face, looking for any hint of deception, but his expression was unreadable. "Uhm, I made dinner... and also the drink you like," she stammered.

Imran nodded, his gaze steady. "I already had dinner," he said, his tone casual. "But I'll have the drink. Thank you."

Her smile faltered briefly, but she forced it back. At least he's talking to me, she thought, clinging to the small victory. His willingness to accept the drink made her heart swell with a fragile hope.

"Uhmmm..." Jadwa's mind raced as she tried to think of something, anything, to say. Her throat felt tight, and her nerves were getting the better of her. Finally, she blurted out, "Can we talk, please?"

Imran's eyes were on her immediately, his expression unreadable. There was a stillness about him that made her feel exposed, but he nodded, slow and deliberate.

"Of course," he said, his voice calm, almost detached.

Jadwa exhaled shakily, relieved but still on edge. Her fingers fidgeted with each other as silence stretched between them. The words she had rehearsed in her mind seemed to scatter the moment he looked at her, his gaze pinning her in place. Her heart pounded so loudly she wondered if he could hear it too.

"Mhmm," he hummed softly, urging her to speak.

"Uhm..." She cleared her throat, her voice trembling as she finally managed to say, "I miss you." The words were so quiet, so fragile, she wasn't sure if he even caught them. But then she felt it, the weight of his gaze, sharper and more intense than before. Her eyes slowly lifted to meet his.

He stared at her, his jaw tightening subtly, the muscle in his cheek twitching as his tongue pressed against the inside of it. They locked eyes, and for the first time in their marriage, Jadwa didn't shy away. She didn't lower her gaze or retreat into herself. She held his stare, willing him to see the truth etched in her expression.

The strap of her slip dress slipped off her shoulder, a small, unintentional distraction. His eyes flicked to it, and before she could react, his hand reached out, brushing lightly against her skin as he adjusted the strap back into place. The gesture was quick, almost mechanical, and yet it left her frozen.

"You should go to bed," he said softly, but with finality. He turned slightly, as though to move away, but Jadwa grabbed his hand, her fingers wrapping around his wrist as she stepped closer. The gap between them disappeared, their bodies now lightly brushing.

"I've started seeing you in everything my eyes land on," she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. Her hand slipped from his wrist, and she placed it lightly on his chest. He stared down at her, his expression impassive, but she pressed on, emboldened by the way he didn't pull away.

"There's a distance only you can fill, Albi," she said, her voice softening at the endearment. Her hand drifted up, her fingers brushing against his cheek, tracing the line of his beard.

"Let me be sorry," she pleaded, her voice trembling now. "Let me carry the weight of my mistakes. Punish me if you must, but at least... at least let me be your wife." Her fingers lingered on his face, desperate to convey what words couldn't. "Let me be your wife," she repeated, the faintest quiver in her tone, as though she was begging for more than forgiveness—begging for his heart.

Imran's brow lifted slightly, his voice quiet but questioning. "You are my wife, no?"

Jadwa shook her head, tears threatening to spill. "I am... but let me truly be. Let me talk to you, laugh with you, share a room with you. Let me be with you, feel you. Let me fulfill my rights in the eyes of Allah." She hesitated, realizing her words could be misinterpreted. "I don't mean... I mean, I have rights over you, and you have rights over me, but—" She stopped abruptly, her frustration boiling over. "That's not what I mean. Oh my God," she muttered, her hands trembling. She pressed them to her temples, mortified at her inability to express herself.

"I never stopped you," he said evenly, his calm demeanor only amplifying her inner turmoil.

She stared at him, her mind spinning. Her instincts pushed her to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. He started to speak again, his voice breaking the silence. "Did—"

But before he could finish, she acted. Her lips grazed his in the lightest, most hesitant touch, so fleeting it felt like a whisper. The contact sent a shiver through her body, and she froze, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest.

She pulled back slightly, her gaze dropping to the floor as panic set in. Did I mess up again? she wondered, her hands clenched at her sides. Gathering her courage, she raised her head, expecting anger or rejection. But instead, he just looked at her, waiting. He didn't move, didn't speak. He simply stood there, his steady gaze daring her to decide what came next.

He straightened to his full height, his presence towering over her in a way that made her feel small and unreachable. She could sense the restraint in him, the battle he waged against himself, but she refused to let him drift further away. Her resolve hardened as she stood on her toes, knowing it wasn't enough to bridge the gap. Her hands found his shoulders, grounding her, and for a fleeting second, he didn't move.

Then he gave in.

The moment their lips met, it was as if the wall fell. She kissed him with everything she had, every ounce of passion, every unsaid word, every desperate plea poured into that connection. If this kiss could save her, she would let it. And when he kissed her back, the world seemed to dissolve around her.

But he wasn't gentle.

There was nothing soft or careful in the way he claimed her. His hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her closer as he took control, his movements demanding and unyielding. She whimpered, the sound breathless and raw, but he didn't relent. He consumed her, and she surrendered completely, her body molding to his until the moment he decided it was enough.

When he finally let her go, Jadwa staggered slightly, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. She felt like she'd run a marathon, her legs shaky beneath her. He, too, was catching his breath, his shoulders heaving slightly as he stepped back.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, the words barely audible.

Her gaze lifted to his, a soft smile curling her lips as her hand instinctively moved to her neck, tracing the path of his touch. She stepped closer, her doe eyes wide, full of sincerity and something else entirely.

"I'm your wife," she said softly, searching his face. "Why? Why are you sorry?"

His jaw tightened, and he looked away momentarily, as though gathering the strength to speak. "I promise you don't want this, Jadwa," he said, his voice laced with something more than caution, something almost like regret. "You should go back to your room now."

But she didn't move. Her hands found his face, her thumb brushing gently across his lips, her touch tender and unyielding. "I want you," she said, her voice steady, leaving no room for doubt.

He shook his head, his expression a mix of frustration and something deeper. "I don't want to hurt you," he said, though his tone lacked conviction.

Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Hurt me?" she echoed, as if the idea itself was ridiculous.

"For your sake," he continued, his voice firmer now, though there was an edge of desperation, "please go and sleep."

She tilted her head, her expression playful yet sincere. "Will I be sinning if I don't listen?" she asked, her voice light, teasing.

His eyes darkened, and she saw the conflict there, the way his gaze roamed over her, as though he were trying to resist something inevitable. His lips pressed together, his teeth grazing his lower lip as he scanned her from head to toe. When his eyes met hers again, they burned with something she couldn't name but understood entirely.

"You don't listen, do you?" he asked, his voice low, carrying a weight that sent a shiver down her spine.

Before she could respond, he cut her off. "Go and wait for me in the room," he said, his tone firm yet rough, a statement that brooked no argument.

The command left her stunned and breathless, goosebumps spreading across her skin as she nodded silently and turned to leave.

In his room, she sat on the bed, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. Her hands moved to her hair, smoothing it down as she tried to steady her racing heart. The anticipation coiled tightly in her chest, every second feeling like an eternity until she heard his footsteps.

The door opened, and he stepped inside, his gaze locking onto her. He stood there for a moment, his eyes lingering on her before he reached for the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.

Her heartbeat thundered in her chest as he moved closer, the space between them evaporating. When he hovered over her, his presence enveloped her completely. This wasn't the type of moment to swoon over. It was raw, overwhelming, and all-consuming. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her body trembling beneath his.

"I warned you, didn't I?" he whispered in her ear, his voice sending chills down her spine.

She opened her mouth, ready to offer a witty retort, but he silenced her the only way he knew how.

The next thing Jadwa knew, morning had arrived. The sunlight streaming through the window pierced her closed eyelids, making her wince and turn away. She instinctively reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, but as she tried to move, a sharp, searing pain shot through her body, pinning her to the mattress. A quiet gasp escaped her lips, and a single tear slid down her cheek as she managed to grab the glass. Taking a small sip, she fought to steady herself, blinking back the sting of discomfort.

Sitting up felt like a monumental task, her back pressing gingerly against the headboard. Her breaths came slow and measured, an attempt to gather her composure. Last night played on a loop in her mind, a vivid reminder of the difference between love and lust, intimacy and just sleeping with someone. Between a true marriage built on trust and the empty void of passion without tenderness. There was a chasm between being held by your partner and simply being consumed. Between longing and pain.

She finished the water in small gulps, letting the cool liquid soothe her dry throat. Leaning her head back, she exhaled deeply, her body aching in ways that didn't just stem from physical exhaustion. The sound of the door creaking open pulled her from her thoughts.

Imran stepped inside, his expression unreadable. He was dressed in a hoodie and shorts, as though he'd been out for a morning run. He paused by the chair, pulling off his hoodie and draping it over the backrest, his sharp eyes briefly scanning her. She shifted slightly under his gaze, squinting at him but refusing to look away.

He didn't say a word. Instead, he disappeared into the living room. The silence in his absence felt heavy, almost suffocating, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the dull throb in her body. When he returned, his movements were deliberate, his face composed as he carried a cup of steaming hot chocolate and two packs of medicine in his hands.

Without meeting her eyes, he placed the items in her lap, the packets resting atop the saucer. His hand lingered only for a moment before he offered her the cup, the warmth radiating through the porcelain into her trembling fingers.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Make sure you have this."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, before he turned and walked toward the bathroom.

Jadwa stared at the cup in her hands, her eyes drifting to the two medications. A painkiller, the other a Plan B contraceptive.

The lump in her throat grew unbearable, but she swallowed it down, forcing her trembling lips to remain sealed. Her grip on the cup tightened, her knuckles pale as she sat there in silence, processing the unspoken truths in his actions of bringing her the pill.