The desire to follow Akram upstairs began to overtake my mind. It was frustrating that I knew he was upset and I couldn't do anything. I knew it wasn't allowed to be there with him. It was one thing when he'd let me stay with him in New York, and another thing to invade his privacy here, in his family's home.

'Sure, hypocrite!' I scolded myself.

It was wrong to impose myself either way, but it would be outrageous to just walk up and knock on Akram's door with his father at home. It felt... forbidden. How would his father react? Would he be angry? From my first impression, he would give Akram trouble for bringing me here, let alone letting me near his room, or near him in any way.

I tried not to imagine what Dr. Sadiq might be thinking about me, and failed. Did he know about Akram's 'proposal'? Did he think I was some gold digger using his son for my own benefit? Did he despise me so much that he hadn't even tried to say 'hello'?

I perched on the arm of the sofa next to engrossed Jannah, biting my thumb, and giving Akmal an unavoidable, dirty look. He'd made himself too comfortable, crossing his feet on the coffee table and toying with his strange-looking cellphone for a while.

His nonchalance was getting on my nerves. How could he sit and chill like that after what he'd said to his brother?

"Feet off my table, please," Sophie commanded.

My eyes widened when Akmal put his feet down and straightened up in a blink.

"All right, will someone tell me why little Beethoven's gotten so narky?" Akmal asked, dropping his phone on the table.

That was it! My frustration bursted out and I couldn't stop myself.

"Seriously, why are you so mean to your brother?" I blurted out.

Akmal sent me a dubious glare. "Blimey! You can talk?"

"When I must." I crossed my arms, exasperated, yet surprisingly calm.

Akmal leaned back, placing one leg over the other. "You've got quite a temper, I'm impressed."

"She's right, though," Sophie backed me up from the kitchen, her chiding voice accompanied by the sounds of cutting and chopping. I internally rejoiced.

Akmal craned his stringy neck towards the kitchen. "Come on, Sophie. What have I done?"

"Your brother had a rough day and you were acting like a jerk." Sophie's firm tone was a breath of fresh air.

Akmal rolled his eyes. "It was a bloody joke."

"Cut the act, dear," Sophie demanded.

Akmal smirked. "I've struck a chord, then?"

I noted the pun, but it wasn't remotely funny. Not to me.

"You hurt his feelings," I shot back. "We thought we lost Jannah today and you're poking fun at him?"

Akmal glanced at Jannah, then arched an eyebrow. "Jannah's fine, innit? Besides, feelings are often counterproductive."

I gritted my teeth. "So you don't have feelings for Laila? I don't think she'll be happy to hear that."

Akmal's sarcastic tone vanished. "That was not what I said."

Sophie chuckled.

"Come on, ladies. How was I supposed to know?" Akmal raised a hand in the air.

"Maybe if you switched on your phone when Akram needed you?" I suggested, with a bit of an edge.

Akmal got up and paced around the sofa, hands in his pockets.

"You're a fighter. I fancy that very much, but listen to me, Miss Summer." He bowed closer, his dark eyes gripping, his voice low and serious. "I love my brother, although I'd like him to harden a tad. That 'tortured artist' attitude will not serve him well in the real world. He should learn how to deal with it."

I reflexively stood up. It shook me to hear him admit his love for his brother so openly. It didn't fit the tough guy image in my head. But I recovered quickly.

"You should've seen him take that guy down. He definitely knows how to deal with it," I argued. I wasn't going to back down, until he saw his brother clearly. "Akram knocked him down and broke his..."

"Shhhh!" Akmal glanced at the kitchen and whispered, "we do not upset Sophie, all right?"

The way he spoke snuffed out my brave moment. I peeked at Sophie, my cheeks warm with embarrassment. She turned her back to us, stirring a pot on the shiny stove. She didn't seem to hear our conversation.

Of course, Akram wouldn't want her to know the gory details of that attack that ended up with his injury. Or the chase we'd survived to get here in one piece. I wondered what he'd told her. How come I hadn't thought about this? What else did he have to lie about because of me?

"Come sit." Akmal signaled to me.

I complied, following him back to the sofa. We sat a couple of feet away from his sister. She still didn't pay attention to us.

"Tony Oliver," Akmal said. "Familiar?"

I frowned, trying to remember where I'd heard the name before.

"The bloke who attacked you in New York."

"You found him?" I knew why the name sounded familiar. He was Tina Oliver's brother. My poor ex-roommate!

"He was quite cooperative, until..." Akmal trailed off, his thick eyebrows furrowed.

"Until what?" I urged him, a dark thought swirling in my head.

He pursed his lips. "Until we lost him."

"H-he escaped?"

He shook his head.

I shuddered. "He was k-"

Akmal silenced me with a stern look and a finger across his lips.

"Why is this happening?" I rasped.

Akmal pursed his lips. "It's a tad complicated."

"Did my fa-" I swallowed the word. "Did he do this?"

Akmal sneered. "No."

"But it happened because of him, didn't it?" My hands balled up into fists. The damage was not going to stop until we all paid for the mistakes of my so-called 'father'. How could he manage to make me hate him even more?

"Not precisely."

"How could you say that?!"

"Amicus meus, inimicus inimici mei."

"Pardon me?!"

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

I grimaced.

"Your old man is the enemy of my enemy," Akmal explained.

My jaws locked. "So he's your friend now?"

"He might as well be."

I breathed slowly to calm myself. "Okay, then who's the enemy?"

Akmal's face turned deadpan.

I decided to hold my ground. "If I'm up to my neck in this, I think I should know who are the bad guys we're talking about?"

Akmal scratched his chin, deliberating. His eyes drifted towards the kitchen again, before he muttered, "ICORR."

"What is that?" I asked.

"I.C.O.R.R. International Charity Organization for Refugee Relief," he elaborated. "A NGO with the goal of helping refugees around the world."

"Except it really isn't?" I guessed.

"Correct."

"What do they do?"

He held his palms far apart. "Everything."

My eyebrows stuck together. "Like?"

Akmal's lips twisted. "Human trafficking, organ trafficking, weapons, drugs, terrorism - everything."

My eyes expanded in horror.

Akmal snorted. "What did you expect, really?"

I blinked. I had not expected anything of that extent. My encounters in the shelter had made it seem as simple as a prostitution network, run by my late roommate, Vivian.

I shuddered as I struggled to regain my voice. "What did... He do?"

His thick eyebrows pulled together, then unfurled. "A medical doctor."

My heartbeat accelerated for no reason.

Why are you asking, stupid? Do you really care what he does for a living? my cynical inner voice nagged me.

No! I didn't want to know him. I wanted to know how bad his crimes were. I wanted to make an informed decision about the level of hatred I should have for him. Because he probably deserved more of it.

"I meant," I gulped. "What kind of crimes?"

Akmal's hard features mellowed out. "Technically, none."

"You're kidding."

"I've told you, he's not the enemy."

"Then, why is he...?" My words were stuck.

"He used to work in one of their non-profit hospitals in Kiev," Akmal explained. "Many of the people who work with them don't know of the clandestine activities."

"But he knew."

"Not at first.."

"Are you trying to tell me he's completely innocent?" I didn't know why I was being so defensive.

"Not completely, no." Akmal leaned back, steepling his hands. "They make sure their staff is well-paid. Rewards create loyalty and silence their consciences. Supposing they've got doubts, or even data, they quite easily turn a blind eye to the truth."

"So he did just that." I guessed again.

"For a while," Akmal confirmed. "Until he revolted. He swiped all the information he could lay his hands on before he did a bunk."

"What kind of information?" I pried

Akmal activated his poker face. "The kind that's made him a fugitive for fifteen years and quite possibly leading him to his death."

I flinched. "And what guarantees he'll drop his guard and decide to cooperate with you?"

Akmal clasped his hands between his knees. He looked down for a second, then stared back into my eyes. "You."

I squinted, waiting for elaboration.

The click and thud of a door upstairs startled me. I shuddered when I realized Dr. Sadiq might have heard Akmal's blatant voice and decided to come down and possibly shoot us for interrupting his nap.

I hopped to my feet, expecting his emotionless face to appear, but another face greeted my eyes. A handsome face with a troubled expression that squeezed my heart.

Akram came down the stairs, not meeting our eyes. He quietly headed to the front door, his head hanging low, as if he didn't want to be noticed. My feet automatically gravitated to his direction. I didn't care about the snicker that came from behind me. Akmal could take his sarcasm and shove it.

I reached Akram's side and whispered, "are you okay?"

I wanted to hold his hand, but with his brother ready to tease, I didn't push it.

Akram nodded without looking up. "I'll just get some air."

"Is it okay if I... ?" I pointed hesitantly to the door.

Akram finally looked at me, sharing a faded smile. "Please."

"Habibi, don't drive if you still have a headache." Sophie's concerned voice came from behind us.

"I won't." Akram took a step closer to his mother, his expression holding a myriad of emotions. "Forgive me."

Sophie cupped the side of his face. "I'll get you some coffee and an aspirin."

Akram tilted his head and pecked her on the palm of her hand.

It never ceased to touch my heart how he adored his mother. She obviously deserved it for bringing him to life, and that alone would make me do anything for her.

"Can I make the coffee?" I cut in.

"Of course." Sophie smiled and waved towards the kitchen.

Jannah was still ogling the screen. Luckily, Akmal was nowhere around. I hadn't noticed when he'd disappeared.

Akram honored me with a full smile, then turned to his mother. "Where's he?"

Sophie made a face. "Smoking in the backyard."

Akram rolled his eyes.

I hated to be judgemental, but Akmal was determined to stick to all the action hero cliches. I wondered if Laila approved of his life-threatening lifestyle.

"I'll be outside." Akram brushed my hand and walked out of the front door.

My heart was pounding when Sophie took my hand. "Come with me, dear," she said.

She walked me beyond her spotless kitchen, through a back storage section. A professional-looking espresso machine with a built-in grinder sat on the granite surface, surrounded by a set of fancy coffee cups.

Sophie brushed my shoulder. "Feel right at home."

"Would you like some?" I asked enthusiastically, my barista spirit taking over. "I'll make anything you like."

Sophie's eyes creased like Akram's. "I drink Turkish coffee."

"Oh!" My enthusiasm fell. "I don't know how to make that."

"It's okay, sweetie. I can teach you if you'd like," she offered.

"I'd love to!"

"I'll show you after dinner, okay?" She promised.

I nodded rapidly. I didn't know why I was so excited. Maybe because I would have a taste of what having a mother felt like, or just because Sophie was the reason Akram existed in my life. Either way worked for me.

My eyes skimmed the cabinets on both sides, trying to spot the familiar tools. I had no doubt Sophie had them all, but I couldn't take the liberty to rummage around.

Sophie noticed my confusion and walked to open a couple of large drawers, next to a mini fridge. "Don't be shy. Everything is right here."

I hesitated before I asked. "How about Akmal? Does he like coffee?"

Sophie beamed. "You've guessed he doesn't, don't you?"

"Tea?" I assumed, because of the whole British drama.

"Guess again." There was humor in her tone, and in the wideness of her warm eyes. She made me curious.

"It's not alcohol, is it?" I was blunt and I regretted it as always.

Sophie laughed quietly. "No, he's a good boy. He drinks cacao."

My eyebrows flew up. "Hot chocolate? Really?"

Sophie blocked a fresh laugh with the tips of her fingers. "You better not say that to his face."

"Why not?"

"Because cacao is something else entirely." Akmal's voice made me jump.

I got over it and turned to face him. "It's technically the same thing."

"It is, in fact, quite different," he insisted, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Chocolate is highly processed muck."

"Cacao is basically unrefined chocolate, so, yeah, it is the same thing," I argued, pleased by my own confidence. "How do you like it? Shaken but not stirred?"

"Clever!" Akmal guffawed and pointed his thumb up. "I like it dark and spicy. No milk. No sugar."

"Okay, then. Sea salt and chili powder?" I dared him.

Akmal bowed his head. "I'll have that, thank you."

***

Holding a mug of homemade Cappuccino, I carefully stepped out of the door. The temperature outside was surprisingly higher than the air-conditioned home, but the light breeze, the scattered puffs in the sky, and the perfectly landscaped front yard was a welcomed treat. It was easy to get used to the beauty and peace enfolding this place.

Akram was sitting on a wicker porch chair, gazing at the front lawn. He leaned on the armrest, his chin on his knuckles, like a sideways Thinker statue. He got up when he saw me coming.

"Your mom's got awesome coffee equipment," I initiated, hoping to cheer him up.

Akram's lips curved slightly. "She spoils me too much."

"She's entitled to." I handed him the mug.

He placed the coffee on a small table and grabbed both my hands. "You spoil me too."

I squeezed his fingers gently. "You deserve it."

He sighed and released my hands to pull the other chair for me. I sat down, watching his face lose its shine again.

"You're being too hard on yourself," I told him.

Akram rolled his lips inward, fixing his gaze on the floor.

"You know Akmal didn't mean to hurt your feelings, right?"

"I know." Akram took a deep breath and gushed, "believe me, I know I acted like a child today and I'm ashamed of it, but it's really hard to be myself when my father is around."

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because..." Akram's throat moved, his forehead creased more than I'd ever seen it. "I can't get over being such a disappointment to him."

I shook my head vigorously. "That can't be true." It had to be an overstatement

"He stated it twice." He pulled up two graceful fingers. "In two languages."

A lump blocked my throat, watching the pain seep into his eyes. What kind of a father would say that to his son? And for what? What on earth would make a man crush his son's heart like that?

I reached my hand and stroked his arm. "What happened?"

"Juilliard happened."

"He didn't like it?"

"He loathed my choice."

"But he knew you loved music, right?"

Akram shrugged. "It was one thing to play music, and another thing to choose it as a career."

"What's wrong with that?" I genuinely wanted to know his father's perspective. He didn't seem like an irrational man, but I couldn't comprehend the logic behind his harshness. Music was a part of who Akram was to me. It didn't make sense for him to hate something his son loved so much.

"Baba's got specific standards. Expectations of how things should be done. How people should act. How a man should serve his community. Being a musician doesn't make the cut." Akram took a sip of coffee and closed his eyes briefly, cradling the mug between his hands.

I bit my lips to control the resentment in my voice. "And what did he expect from you?"

He flashed a wry smile. "To be a man who has a useful role in society."

I frowned. "Like what?"

His mouth slightly turned down. "Saving lives like him, or fighting crime like Akmal, or even teaching History like mom. Anything but being a useless entertainer."

I cringed at the word 'useless'. "Did you fight?"

"Just the opposite." Akram sipped more coffee and turned his gaze to the endless, afternoon sky. "He was too calm. I was shaking with excitement when I got accepted. He expressed his disapproval, plain and simple, explaining the whys in a very clinical manner. I stuck to my decision. He said 'fine' and the silent treatment began..." He pressed his lips into a thin line. "I was a ghost for over a year."

I took in an audible breath.

"Baba doesn't lose his temper. He shuts down completely," Akram continued staring into space. "Mom's always been the mediator. Only she can soften a heart of steel."

I was hopelessly biased, but I tried to be a mediator too. "I'm sure he loves you, Akram. He probably doesn't know how to show it."

He rubbed his forehead once and looked away. "It would've been great to feel it once in a while."

His sadness stabbed me in the heart, but I tried again. "But he talks to you now."

"Hardly." His voice broke a little. "And when we talk, he casts plain-spoken stones. He sugarcoats nothing."

"Honesty is the best policy," I said, keeping the inside joke to myself. I'd never be first place in an honesty competition.

"That's his motto," Akram murmured.

"It's not so bad." I convinced myself.

"No it's not." He shook his head slowly. "I love and respect my father, Mel, he's a great man. It's just hard to live up to his standards... I couldn't call off my dream and pretend to be someone I'm not to make him proud of me." Akram stooped on his seat, sliding his fingers through his hair. "And at the same time, I can't help thinking that I'm letting him down. That I'm not the son he hoped for. I feel it in his eyes and in his words every time we speak and I can't live with it."

A deja vu moment hit me all of a sudden. A memory from months ago, when Akram had invited me to that restaurant and opened his heart readily, and I'd been so mesmerized and confused about his emotional outburst. Now it all made sense. That bubble of solitude he'd been trapped in, being special without feeling special, because of his father. It also struck me that we were, somehow, similar. Not that I was remotely close to how exceptional Akram was, but we carried the same burden. We shared a vulnerability, because of the same person in our lives. The thought made my heart quiver in bittersweet joy.

I leaned in and rubbed his shoulder, resisting the urge to hold him tightly in my arms and tell him he was the most extraordinary man in the world. My world. My life. He didn't deserve to feel the way he did. I wished I could take it all away.

"This can't be true, Akram. You're being unfair to you both." I brushed a soft curl in front of his ear. "Your dad's disagreement doesn't mean he's not proud of you. I mean, no father wouldn't want his son to be a man who makes his own decisions. Even if he doesn't agree with them, it's enough that he raised a man who takes responsibility for his actions. A man that's good and kind and loving and respectful. That's you, Akram. It probably means nothing, but I'm proud of you, too. I don't think you could ever disappoint anyone."

A quick smile rippled across his lips. He slowly straightened back up, his expression intense. "This morning, you asked me to vent to you anytime, and I didn't want to bother you again today, but right now I'm so greedy I don't want this to stop."

"Then don't stop," I encouraged him. "I'm here for you, for as long as you want. I'm not going anywhere until you feel better."

"I already feel better, but..." Akram puffed a sigh, tipping his head back for a second. "I want to say one more thing, and please don't flatter me, because I think I'm a horrible person."

I tensed up. "Don't say that!"

He shook his head. "Don't even try. I'm too awful."

"No, you're not!" I almost cried.

"But I forgot to thank you for the coffee. What would you say about me?" Akram lifted the empty cup and unleashed his cute puppy face that had always fiddled with my heartstrings.

My stiff shoulders relaxed and my lips curved. "I'd say don't worry about it."

"And I didn't apologize for leaving you alone with the beast." He wrinkled his nose, just like every time he'd mentioned his brother.

"Oh, Akmal? It turned out he's not as tough on the inside," I admitted. "He said he loves you!"

"I love him too." Akram's face softened. "That's about all I can do right for anyone."

"Oh, you can do much more, Akram." I wrapped my fingers around his. "But your love is the most exquisite thing you can ever give to anyone."

His eyes twinkled, scanning my face. "You really mean that?"

I didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"And yet you refused to marry me?"

A wave of heat rushed to my face and my head dropped. "That's not my point."

"Then what is?'

I brushed my hair behind my ear. "It's what you do. Everything you do, actually. It doesn't matter if you do it right or wrong, you do things out of love." I kept my eyes on our intertwined hands. "I think that is the most useful role in society. People need love and kindness, it makes life worth living."

I paused to catch my breath, still not meeting his eyes. Akram didn't interrupt my thoughts. "When you play, you create a paradigm of love for your audience. You convey your heart through music and you make everyone happy."

"Do I make you happy?" He asked, his voice a little husky.

"All the time." Just by existing in my life, holding my hands, Smiling, breathing...

"Melody, look at me, please," Akram requested, touching my chin with the tip of his finger.

I raised my eyes slowly to find the swirls of cinnamon inches from my face. His grin was as wide as the sky. "I love you."

I exhaled loudly. My eyes were locked in his gaze and I didn't resist anymore. I promised myself not to. But I was torn between those opposite ideas again: wanting to get up and run back into the house, and wanting to throw my arms around his neck and bury myself in his embrace for the rest of my life.

The earthy warmth in his eyes glimmered in the afternoon sun. "Why are you always so shocked when I say it?"

I took a moment to restart my brain. "I... I'm getting less shocked."

"So you believe me now?" His eyes intensified.

"I think..." No, I wasn't thinking very much. "I do believe it, yeah, because seriously, why would you put up with all this crap otherwise?"

Akram beamed.

"Unless..." I totally wasn't thinking straight. "You sure you don't have any mental problems ?"

Akram's face fell. "Oh, Lord!"

My heart dropped. I thought my reckless words hurt his feelings. Then I realized he wasn't looking at me. He was staring at a far point beyond the front yard.

A red MINI pulled over to the curb, and someone familiar came out. Someone who was really tall, really blonde, and really, really beautiful.

Akram filled in the blank . "It's Dana."

****

Hello dear ones!

Melody and Akram's fans! We are finally back!!! For now! 😇

I have been having second thoughts, and third thoughts as well, about my writing in general, considering the difficult, past couple of years. But after my amazing friend undoubtedlymine came up with the poetry Camp idea to reunite us again, Wattpad writers, poets , and friend, I'm hopeful that things are changing for the better this year. This kind of motivation is not to be taken lightly, my friends.

When a friend knows your pain, doubts, and fears, and pulls you back from that dark place, that is as true as a friendship can get.

I would also like to thank my buddy _Imperfect_Writingfor always supporting me and for being my only reader/fan for the past couple of years. Thank you, Mickey for being there for me. 🙏🌷

So for now let's all enjoy the moment together.

Please let me know your thoughts about the chapter! Don't worry about sharing all your feelings. I would love to read everything that comes to your mind...

Much Love

Most_bay