In the Depth of the Heart - Chapter 47: Chapter 47
You are reading In the Depth of the Heart, Chapter 47: Chapter 47. Read more chapters of In the Depth of the Heart.
Zuhra’s House – Tuesday Morning
It was a cold and quiet morning. But Brigadier Imran’s house buzzed with activity and prestige. Army vehicles and officials were lined up at the gate — like a convoy for a head of state. One glance was enough to know: someone important was leaving town.
Brigadier Imran was heading to Pune.
He stepped out of his room in a simple, understated military outfit — like a man who had finally found peace with his duty. In the dining area, Mommy, Zuhra, Amir, and Ruhan waited for him.
> Mommy (smiling with a hint of sadness):
“You’re really leaving already?”
> Brigadier Imran (checking his watch):
“Yes, they’re waiting outside. I’ll be gone for a while. But all of you—take care of one another.
Zuhra,” he turned to her, his tone soft but full of weight, “I want you to focus on your training… and become the pride I dream of. Don’t stain our name.”
Zuhra looked up at him, struggling to bury the quiet storm building in her heart. He stepped closer, cupping her face in both hands.
> Brigadier Imran:
“Do you know why I’m hard on you? Because you’re Zuhra — daughter of a Brigadier.
You’re meant for dignity and purpose.
You’re meant to leave behind music and chase medicine.
You’re meant to impress the world with your knowledge — not with verses that lead nowhere.”
Then he added:
> “I’m leaving this house in your care. I trust you won’t betray it. I believe in you. And Insha Allah… even in my absence, I’ll remain proud of you.”
Zuhra lowered her head, her eyes glistening.
> Zuhra (softly):
“Yes, Daddy…”
He then turned to Amir and Ruhan, gave them parting advice, and was accompanied to the car by Mommy.
Zuhra remained in the living room, eyes fixed on the gate, heart tangled in emotions she could no longer name.
The Fallen Flower of the Heart
After they left, silence settled once more into the house.
Zuhra turned slowly and looked at the flower vase beside the couch. The white and soft-pink flowers had begun to wilt. Some were folding inward — like a heart exhausted from pretending. And then, one flower — shaped like a heart — fell.
Tap.
She froze. Her eyes landed on the fallen bloom.
> “The flower of the heart… fell the moment my father walked out the door.”
She knelt down and picked it up — not to return it to the vase, but to set it gently atop her diary. She stared at it, and in her mind, a quiet voice whispered:
> “Some flowers don’t belong in a vase.
They bloom better in the wild.
And some hearts… don’t belong in a body.
Only in a poem.”
She closed her eyes. A tear fell.
Then she walked to her room in silence — feeling like she was on the edge of tears too deep to cry out loud.
University of Hyderabad – A Quiet Café
In a corner of campus, inside a small café scented with roasted beans and silence, Kamal sat alone. Before him — a cappuccino cup and a sheet of paper. His phone lay face down beside it. His student ID reflected faintly in the café window.
He was restless. But words flowed from his heart like sacred rain.
He scribbled a verse onto the paper with urgency — like he was running out of time:
> “Not every day turns to gold,
But the heart — when wounded —
Becomes stronger than any verse.
I lost you in sight,
But in my poetry, you still live.”
He read the lines aloud, as if casting his soul into the air toward Zuhra.
> “I’ll recite this — even if she doesn’t come.
I’ll speak it — even if she never hears.”
He set down his pen, staring at the poem like it was a prayer.
Inside, he held one last hope: that Zuhra might hear him — even if she didn’t attend SoulMic, even if she never returned to the Poetry Lounge, even if she never showed up again.
Because in his heart — still — it was her verses that kept him breathing.
It was a cold and quiet morning. But Brigadier Imran’s house buzzed with activity and prestige. Army vehicles and officials were lined up at the gate — like a convoy for a head of state. One glance was enough to know: someone important was leaving town.
Brigadier Imran was heading to Pune.
He stepped out of his room in a simple, understated military outfit — like a man who had finally found peace with his duty. In the dining area, Mommy, Zuhra, Amir, and Ruhan waited for him.
> Mommy (smiling with a hint of sadness):
“You’re really leaving already?”
> Brigadier Imran (checking his watch):
“Yes, they’re waiting outside. I’ll be gone for a while. But all of you—take care of one another.
Zuhra,” he turned to her, his tone soft but full of weight, “I want you to focus on your training… and become the pride I dream of. Don’t stain our name.”
Zuhra looked up at him, struggling to bury the quiet storm building in her heart. He stepped closer, cupping her face in both hands.
> Brigadier Imran:
“Do you know why I’m hard on you? Because you’re Zuhra — daughter of a Brigadier.
You’re meant for dignity and purpose.
You’re meant to leave behind music and chase medicine.
You’re meant to impress the world with your knowledge — not with verses that lead nowhere.”
Then he added:
> “I’m leaving this house in your care. I trust you won’t betray it. I believe in you. And Insha Allah… even in my absence, I’ll remain proud of you.”
Zuhra lowered her head, her eyes glistening.
> Zuhra (softly):
“Yes, Daddy…”
He then turned to Amir and Ruhan, gave them parting advice, and was accompanied to the car by Mommy.
Zuhra remained in the living room, eyes fixed on the gate, heart tangled in emotions she could no longer name.
The Fallen Flower of the Heart
After they left, silence settled once more into the house.
Zuhra turned slowly and looked at the flower vase beside the couch. The white and soft-pink flowers had begun to wilt. Some were folding inward — like a heart exhausted from pretending. And then, one flower — shaped like a heart — fell.
Tap.
She froze. Her eyes landed on the fallen bloom.
> “The flower of the heart… fell the moment my father walked out the door.”
She knelt down and picked it up — not to return it to the vase, but to set it gently atop her diary. She stared at it, and in her mind, a quiet voice whispered:
> “Some flowers don’t belong in a vase.
They bloom better in the wild.
And some hearts… don’t belong in a body.
Only in a poem.”
She closed her eyes. A tear fell.
Then she walked to her room in silence — feeling like she was on the edge of tears too deep to cry out loud.
University of Hyderabad – A Quiet Café
In a corner of campus, inside a small café scented with roasted beans and silence, Kamal sat alone. Before him — a cappuccino cup and a sheet of paper. His phone lay face down beside it. His student ID reflected faintly in the café window.
He was restless. But words flowed from his heart like sacred rain.
He scribbled a verse onto the paper with urgency — like he was running out of time:
> “Not every day turns to gold,
But the heart — when wounded —
Becomes stronger than any verse.
I lost you in sight,
But in my poetry, you still live.”
He read the lines aloud, as if casting his soul into the air toward Zuhra.
> “I’ll recite this — even if she doesn’t come.
I’ll speak it — even if she never hears.”
He set down his pen, staring at the poem like it was a prayer.
Inside, he held one last hope: that Zuhra might hear him — even if she didn’t attend SoulMic, even if she never returned to the Poetry Lounge, even if she never showed up again.
Because in his heart — still — it was her verses that kept him breathing.
End of In the Depth of the Heart Chapter 47. Continue reading Chapter 48 or return to In the Depth of the Heart book page.