. . .

. . .

~

"How foolish is man! He ruins the present while worrying about the future, but weeps in the future by recalling his past!" 'Ali ibn Abi Talib

~

"Qabool hai."

"Qabool hai."

"Qabool hai."

Uncontrollably, tears prick at Zoya's eyes. She looks around at everyone in the room — Haroun, his father and Farhan serving as the witnesses, the imam serving as Zoya's wali, and the imam reading the nikah with the agreed mahr — and something deep in her aches. A wave of déjà vu hits her like a brick to the face. Despite the happy moment, her fists clench and unclench.

Her father is not here. During one of the most important moments of her life, he is not here. Sameer and several others tried to track him down for the purpose of Zoya's marriage, but he was nowhere to be found. As if he doesn't even exist.

He has hidden himself really well.

God knows where he is.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a hand comes down on her head softly, caressing her. Gold bangles are pushed up her wrists and Haroun's mother smiles softly at her. Zoya tenses away from her touch at first, but manages to relax when she pulls back. All around the room, smiles and congratulations are exchanged. To her and her new husband.

Her new husband.

Warmth spreads throughout Zoya at the thought. Haroun is now her husband. She has been binded to him for the entirety of her life. He is hers. She is his.

She has achieved her life's greatest desire.

As the imams and Farhan leave after a collective duaa, Zoya sneaks a glance at Haroun.

She has never been shy to look at anyone before, never been bothered by the thought of staring mercilessly into someone's eyes.

But for some reason, the way Haroun makes her speechless, today he makes her . . . shy as well. After her stolen glance at him, she sees that he is staring right back at her. Heat spreads through her cheeks, and she looks away quickly, clamping her lips to keep from smiling.

Until she remembers how this all went down, how she made it happen, the haunted look in Haroun's eyes. And the thought begins to gnaw at her.

Easy, Zoya, she tells herself. You can worry about that later.

But that, it seems, does not want to escape her disturbed mind.

No matter how much force she pushes it away with, glancing around at her hospital room and the IV pierced into her skin throws her into it all over again. And again she becomes preoccupied with worrying.

No need to feel guilty, Zoya, a voice nags at her. You did what you had to do.

She nods slowly. Yes. I did what I had to do.

Did she, though?

. . .

Haroun's parents congratulate the couple once again — his father shares a tense hug with him and an awkward pat on his new daughter-in-law's head — and begin to head out. His mother lags behind for a moment, waiting for his father to leave the vicinity before she turns in the opposite direction. Leaving Zoya and Haroun alone.

The last time Zoya had been alone with Haroun, he was just her employee. An employee she had pined and drooled over for months.

Now he is her husband.

The label causes Zoya to feel giddy, jittery, and terrified all at once.

She turns to him, suddenly unsure of what to say. His face is impassive, unreadable. It's a new look for him, and it worries her more than she already is.

He is so wary. Did he really not want this?

"Are you okay?" she asks tentatively.

He looks up, directly into her eyes. Then, flushing because he isn't used to it yet, he turns away quickly. "I'm okay. You?"

"I'm okay," she replies. She leans back a little, wincing as the IV cuts deeper into her skin.

He notices. And stands. And moves his chair closer to her.

Zoya's heart rate speeds up. She has never felt this thrilled, this exhilarated, this out of control around him before. Or around anyone, for that matter. She is Zoya Zameer — she is not supposed to feel this way.

It's scary and exhilarating at the same time, the effect he has on her.

The monitor showcases the embarrassing speeding up of her heart, and Haroun's eyes dart to it. Surprisingly, a smirk plays on his lips, but the look doesn't reach his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

A nervous laugh escapes her. "It's just — this was hurting." She points to her IV and shrugs nonchalantly.

He becomes serious again, turning his face towards the window. He is too quiet, and something about his silence scares Zoya.

How much did he not want her?

"Thank you," she whispers. When he looks at her again, she continues. "For doing this."

Thank you for doing this? What a stupid thing to say to your new husband.

He rubs his face tiredly but gives no reply, just a slight nod.

"Is it that bad?" The words are out before she can stop them. Before she can calculate all the ways his answer could hurt her.

He sighs. Then, as if he can read her thoughts, "I don't want to upset you."

"Nothing you say will upset me." Lies, Zoya.

Haroun is quiet for a few long moments, and Zoya thinks he may not answer, but then he opens his mouth and says, "It's not you, Ms. Zoya — " He catches himself, chuckles softly at the slip up, shaking his head. "Zoya," he corrects, and her heart skips a beat. "I . . . don't think I was ready for a commitment yet. So soon after . . . " He swallows. "And I don't wanna live a life under constant scrutiny. I don't want so much invasion into my privacy by the media. And you — " He raises his head to hers, and the anguish in his eyes brings the uncomfortable, tugging sensation back to Zoya. "You're all over everywhere."

He presses his lips together suddenly, a flash of guilt passing over his face.

"I understand that," Zoya says, her voice softer than it ever has been. "And I know after Zaki messed with your reputation, you probably want nothing to do with me and . . . my world. But — " But I'm selfish. And I need you. She struggles to explain it to him because truthfully, she does not have an explanation that will satisfy him. "With time you'll understand," she ends lamely, the words sounding all wrong to her.

Stop blaming yourself, Zoya. You had to do this.

Haroun's gaze is trained outside the window again, passively roving over the skyline and the arch of the buildings. The light in the windows sparkles like stars in the darkness of the night. The two sit in tense silence for a few moments before he turns back to her. "Are you hungry?"

She is still not used to his gaze, and it seems that he isn't used to looking either because he turns away quickly. "No." She doesn't mention that they just ate an hour ago. She senses he's already nervous enough as it is and is attempting to make conversation despite the situation he has been put into.

Haroun Suleiman, ever the Good Samaritan.

Zoya's eyelids begin to droop, and at one point her head lolls to one side before she snaps back up quickly. Haroun turns at the noise, and a small smile forms on his face. "You should rest," he says, standing up and reaching forward. Zoya tenses for a moment, thinking he might touch her, but he studies her with his soft eyes and simply adjusts the pillows behind her head.

She feels disgusted at herself for being afraid of his touch. This is Haroun. She has nothing to fear about him. At all.

And yet.

Her past continues to haunt her every day.

Zoya leans her head back against the pillows as Haroun presses the button on the side of the hospital bed that declines it into a sleeping position. He reaches down and tentatively grasps the blanket, pulling it over her.

All this he does without touching her.

Zoya stares at him brazenly when he's not looking, her heart turning softer than it ever has. Seeing him tuck her in so carefully, so caringly, pushes away the regret that has been nagging at her. The regret that she made him commit himself to her. Instead, she grasps at the new feeling that is beginning to surround her. The quiet, comforting feeling. Blanketing her, arresting her senses. The ghost of what she could have if she spends more moments like this with Haroun Suleiman.

Peace.

As her eyes are closing, Haroun settles back in the chair in front of her. She regards him for a moment before saying, "You can go home, you know. I'll be okay."

He shakes his head and leans back. "You are my responsibility now."

The words send a shock through Zoya. Because they are spoken with such intense care that after a long time, Zoya finally feels as if she can lower her guards from her walls.

Because someone else may be defending them for her.

"And don't worry." The thrum of his quiet voice breaks Zoya out of her heart's warm reverie. "I will not touch you until you are okay with it."

And these words, on top of everything, seal the deal. She cannot feel regret anymore, not after the way he is acting and the things he is saying. Not after she has finally gotten Haroun Suleiman.

There is no need for her to regret anything she has done. Because if it means she can witness more moments like this, Zoya Zameer is willing to take that decision not a hundred, but a thousand more times.

Because her desire for his love is endless.

. . .