𖥻﹕𝖥𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖮𝗇𝖾𝗌﹒ຯ - Chapter 13: Chapter 13

A few days had passed, and Afreen and Fahmid's bond was still stuck at square one. Afreen tried many times to apologize and make it up to him, but each time he turned her down by either walking away or using sharp words that crushed her already wounded heart.
It was a Friday noon, after Jummah prayer; the elders were seated at the dining table. Sufiyah and Ayaan's families were invited for a lunch over along with Rashid, Ashraf, and Yasmin. Afreen and Sufiyah were arranging the table as Ayaan helped his wife here and there. Rashid had gone out to bring cold drinks and some snacks. The young couple were occasionally sharing some lovey-dovey moments, to which Afreen had a bittersweet smile on her face. She was low-key envious of them.
However, more than envy, she was feeling guilt and regret. If only she had not been a coward and judged everything on her own, maybe Fahmid and she could have been lovey-dovey as well. They too could have their precious moments. If only she had had the courage back then.
As she was watching them and placing the bowls and plates of different foods, unknowingly her fingers brushed against one of the hot curry pot's steel edges. Afreen winced the moment her fingers grazed the searing steel edge of the curry pot. "Ahhh!" A sharp yelp escaped her lips as the pain pulsed through her skin, sharp and immediate. She instinctively pulled her hand back, cradling it close to her chest as her breath hitched.
Immediately, Sufiyah and Ayaan's attention went to her, but before any of them could approach her, a tall figure practically zoomed past them and quickly but wordlessly took her hand in his. It was Fahmid; he was just descending the stairs to reach the dining room when he witnessed the scene. The protectiveness inside him for his Angel could not hold back, and he rushed to her aid.
Afreen did not even realize he had been watching her, but before she could take a step, he was already beside her. His hand, warm and rough, wrapped around her wrist—not too tight, not too gentle—just enough to ground her. His expression was unreadable.
He led her away from the dining room, into the quiet of the kitchen. The silence between them buzzed with a thousand unsaid things. Afreen’s heart thudded in confusion—half-hoping, half-afraid. "It's fine... It didn't hurt much. I am oka—" She was cut off as he turned on the faucet at the sink and guided her burned hand beneath the running water. Cold relief met the heat of her skin, but her focus was not on the burn anymore. It was on him.
His head was slightly bowed, his brows drawn close in focus. His jaw clenched. He did not speak, did not look at her—but she could see the tiniest tremble in his fingers. His chest rose and fell in tight rhythm, like each breath was a battle against what he dared not say.
“You still care,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
He froze for the smallest second. His eyes flickered up to hers before returning to her hand. And just when she thought she saw a crack in the wall he had built, he straightened.
"I never stopped..." He wanted to say, but instead he said, "Don’t read into this. It’s just first aid—not a feeling." His voice was clipped and distant. "I would have done the same for anyone else." He turned off the tap and reached for a clean towel. She tried to take it from him, but he gently—almost too gently—wrapped her hand himself. She did not fight it. Just watched him.
Her heart ached with the truth behind his denial. His words were cold, but his actions—his touch, his urgency, his silence—were screaming a truth he was not ready to admit.
He looked at her again, just once, and for a moment, his eyes betrayed him. There was pain there. Guilt. Longing. Maybe even love. Then it was gone. And so was he. However, she stood there, clutching her burnt hand with the other towards her chest with a faint smile.
"No matter how much you deny it, Lion-ie. You are still the same. Loving, caring, protective, and mine. I just need to find my Lion-ie back and make him mine again." She whispered to herself as she looked at her injured hand, where he had touched her so gently moments ago.
Back at the dining room, where everyone witnessed the scene between them from afar, they could not help but have either naughty smiles or quiet appreciation. "He still cares..." Yasmin could not help but whisper among the elders.
Sumaiya Alam, Sufiyah's mother and Fahmid's dad's sister, chimed in, "That boy's acting is so terrible. He thinks no one would notice his fake coldness. Tsk! Naive kid!" Others at the table either laughed or just nodded to Sumaiya.
Soon everyone settled down to eat, everyone serving one another in turn, making everything even more delicious and fun. Afreen was seated between Sufiyah and Sabrina. When Sabrina nudged the brunette with a cheeky smile, "You sure your hand’s burnt and not your heart?” Sabrina whispered in Afreen’s ear, making her jump.
“What?” Afreen blinked.
Sufiyah smirked from the side. “Girl, the way you were staring at your hand, we thought you were about to write a poem.”
Afreen flushed scarlet. “Can we, please, just eat?” Sufiyah eyed her husband, who was sitting beside Fahmid, with a knowing look, and Ayaan, too, got the signal and winked at her. Ayaan softly asked, "Fahmid, pass the korma, please."
Just then, Sufiyah asked for the same for Afreen, and as a result, both Fahmid and Afreen touched the korma bowl at the same time, and their fingers brushed against each other. Fahmid immediately removed his hand, as if it had been burnt. But in reality, it was an electric jolt of feeling that pulsed through him when he touched her.
Afreen, who was feeling butterflies minutes before, then felt disappointment seeing him retract from him like that. Meanwhile, Fahmid clenched his fist under the table, trying to steady his racing pulse. He told himself it meant nothing—that touch. But it did. It always did with her.
The whispers, the stolen glances, the memories—they all clawed at him with invisible fingers. And yet he had to act indifferent. He had to protect himself. From her. From his own heart.
Their avalanche of thoughts got interrupted when Hamza stood up and cleared his throat as he gently tapped the edge of his glass with a spoon. The soft ting-ting-ting brought the room to a pause.
Everyone turned their attention toward him. “I have a small announcement to make,” Hamza said, his voice warm yet firm, the kind that naturally demanded attention. Sabrina smiled, already knowing the cause behind it.
Fahmid, who had just taken a bite of biryani, froze mid-motion. He narrowed his eyes slightly, already sensing where it might be going.
Hamza continued, “Starting next week, Fahmid will be joining my company officially. He will be under my direct guidance for a month—learning the ropes, meeting our partners, and understanding how we run things. And once I feel he’s ready, he’ll step in as the next CEO.”
Gasps of surprise and soft murmurs rippled across the table. Ayaan beamed. “Wow! That’s big news, buddy! Congratulations, Fahmid!” Rashid whistled from the other end of the table.
“Finally! Took you long enough,” Ashraf added with a teasing grin.
Fahmid gave a small, polite nod, swallowing the food and the attention with a calm exterior. “Baba, you could’ve given me a heads-up,” he said, eyes slightly narrowed at his father.
Hamza chuckled. “Surprises make life interesting. Besides, you were always going to take this step. I just made sure the timing was right.”
However, Afreen remained quiet, her eyes fixed on Fahmid. "Future CEO..." Her heart fluttered involuntarily. The same boy who once used to walk beside her in quiet evenings, talking about dreams he never voiced to others, was soon stepping into a role of leadership and legacy.
There was a pride in her chest she could not explain. And maybe a pinch of pain too—because she was not a part of that journey for the time being. Not being able to share the moment with him openly. But even then, a smile tugged at her lips. "That’s my Lion-ie... taking charge of the world—bit by bit." She whispered to herself with pride oozing out.
Just as the buzz from Hamza’s announcement was dying down and congratulations were being passed around, Afreen’s phone buzzed on the side of the table. She picked it up instinctively, planning to ignore it—until her eyes widened at the sender: “University Admin Office.”
Her heart skipped. With shaky fingers, she opened the message. And then… silence. Her lips parted in disbelief. Her eyes scanned the message twice—then a third time.
Sufiyah noticed her expression first. “Afi? What happened?”
Afreen looked up, stunned. Her voice trembled. “I... I got in.” Everyone paused for her to continue. “I cleared the entrance exam—by ranking 4th among the top 10 candidates. I’m officially enrolled. Radiology and Imaging Department. I—I’m going to university!”
The room erupted with cheers. Sufiyah squealed and hugged her tight while Ayaan clapped from across the table; Rashid gave her a proud thumbs-up. Even the elders at the far end of the table smiled warmly, offering blessings and congratulations. Her parents expressing how proud they were.
But Fahmid, who had been silently sipping water after his own announcement, kept doing his work and did not say a word. He did not join the clapping. He did not even look her way for long.
Yet, Afreen caught it—the briefest flicker of something in his expression when the news was announced. A subtle, almost invisible smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he looked away, pretending to focus on his food. But that small shift in his eyes… it was enough. He heard. He cared.
The lunch gradually transitioned into afternoon tea, conversations becoming more relaxed as the elders chatted, and the younger ones moved to the living room. The joyous buzz still hung in the air, thick with celebration and warmth. But Fahmid remained in his calm shell—polite, composed, and distant. Not once did he acknowledge Afreen’s achievement out loud. Not once did he say “congratulations.”
And yet… when the Asr prayer call echoed through the neighborhood, Fahmid quietly excused himself. No one paid much attention—Friday afternoons were always marked by prayer and rest. He yet again offered two extra Raka’ats of Nafl prayer—his silent way of thanking Allah.
Not for himself. But for her. For the woman whose dream was finally beginning to take flight. He did not tell anyone. He did not need to. It was between him and his Rabb.
After the prayer, while others stayed behind at the house, Fahmid stepped out, making his way to the nearby mosque’s entrance, where a few beggars had gathered—women with children, an old blind man with a cane, and some regular faces he vaguely recognized.
Without saying a word, he opened the tote bag in his hand and began distributing packets of food—biryani wrapped neatly in foil, sweets in little boxes, and cool water bottles. The beggars lit up with gratitude, offering warm ¹⁴*JazakAllah and quiet du’as in return. He offered them all with the same calm demeanor, his hands moving with quiet intention.
One of the elderly women who knew his mother paused. “May Allah bless you, son. This must be for some celebration, yes?”
Fahmid paused for a second before nodding once, a rare soft smile ghosting across his lips. “Yes,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Someone important passed a big test.” And then he left.
Meanwhile, at home—in her own quiet room—Afreen too was kneeling on her prayer mat, the sunlight streaming in soft golden hues. And like him, she offered two additional raka’ats of Nafl, and she lifted her hands while smiling—a tear slipping down her cheek as she whispered a du’a not for herself, but for him.
For the boy who once lingered in the shadows of uncertainty, soon he would be chasing a purpose he could finally call his own. In her silent prayer, she thanked Allah for Fahmid’s rise, for the strength he had carried through years of struggle, and for the man he had become.
After her prayer, she took the money she had set aside weeks ago—the little she had saved from home tutoring around the neighborhood—and donated it anonymously to the nearby orphanage. A way to honor the man with the lion heart, who once shared stories with her about how orphans deserved better, kinder beginnings.
Neither of them knew about the other’s gesture. But perhaps that was what made it beautiful. Two souls, still apart. Yet their hearts bowed for each other—not in longing, but in prayer. They both celebrated each other’s milestones—not with words, but in sujood. In quiet gestures. In ways the world did not see, but heaven surely did.