Zainab was never the type of girl to wait for anyone. She never allowed anyone to disturb her peace. But now… something was wrong. That Voice Refused To Leave Her Mind.
It wasn't love. It wasn't even attraction. It was worse than that. It was curiosity mixed with poison. The more she tried to push it away, the more it pulled her back.
During the day, she tried to drown it out. She went to Nayla's home, spoke to her friend's mother, asked about her recovery. Everything seemed normal, but inside her head, the voice kept replaying.
At night, when the whole mansion slept and her room glowed faintly under the lamp, she would find herself staring at her phone. That number. That unknown number. Her finger almost touched it every time. Then she would stop, drop the phone, and curse herself for even thinking about calling.
Why was she feeling this way? Maybe it was the way he spoke. It felt too close, too sure of her. As if he already knew what she would feel before she even felt it. That confidence disturbed her. It was like he had left a mark on her mind and walked away, certain she would keep touching it.
It was maddening. She didn't know his name. She didn't know his face. He could be anyone. He could be dangerous. He could already know her real identity. That he said she would miss him, and she really did.
She almost hated him for being right. But hatred was close to obsession, and obsession was exactly where she was falling. The waiting burned her. Three years. Why three years? Why not now? And it was the beginning of a dangerous downfall.
"Ibrahim… did you notice? Zainab seems too calm these days." Samir leaned back in his chair, his iPad resting on his lap. He wore a plain white T-shirt tucked into black jeans, a loose grey hoodie hanging open as if he had just thrown it on without much care.
They were sitting in the garden at the back side of the mansion, where the sitting area was built. It was a simple space with a wooden table and a few wooden chairs, surrounded by trimmed bushes and flowers. The air was cool and fresh because of the heavy rain last night.
Ibrahim, sitting opposite Samir, looked much more composed. He wore black joggers and a navy full-sleeved T-shirt. Even at home, he carried himself in a neat way, as if discipline was part of his skin. The watch on his wrist ticked quietly. In front of them, the table held Ibrahim's open laptop and Samir's untouched cup of tea.
Ibrahim followed his younger brother's gaze and then noticed what he was looking at. From their place in the garden, they had a clear view of Zainab's veranda. It was almost like a small outdoor lounge of its own.
It wasn't like the others—it was wide, stretched with carved railings, big enough to look like a stage. It was the grandest part of any bedroom in the mansion, a clear sign of how special her space was.
On that veranda, Zainab was easy to spot. She was curled on the wooden swing chair, gently rocking it with her toes. A thick book rested in her hands.
"Her exams haven't started yet, right?"
"Not yet," Samir replied. "They begin next Monday. But if you ask me, she's doing something else entirely. She looks busy… but with what, I don't know."
Ibrahim raised an eyebrow, "People can change, Samir. Maybe she's trying to be serious."
Samir snorted. "Serious? Zainab? That's rich. She barely opens a book until the night before exams. Last time, she copied her whole math assignment from three different friends and somehow got full marks. I swear, she should teach a class on cheating artfully."
"Don't go doubting people just because your sixth sense is poking at you." Ibrahim slowly closed his laptop, "Sixth sense doesn't always mean truth. Sometimes it's just… imagination. And imagination can destroy trust."
Samir dragged a chair closer with his foot and propping his legs up for comfort. "The boy you told me to help with computer classes. Aqil.... I'm talking about Aqil." His eyes flicked back to Zainab's veranda before returning to Ibrahim. "I think… something is going on between them."
"What exactly are you saying? Did he—Aqil—ever mention Zainab to you?"
"Once. We were just talking and the topic just slipped to Zainab. And I swear, Ibrahim, every time I mentioned her name, Aqil's whole face turned red. Like, really red. Tell me—have you ever seen a boy blush just from hearing a girl's name? I'm telling you, it wasn't normal. And another thing—why exactly did you make me his tutor? Why me? What's your plan there?"
"Because I wanted to know him better," Ibrahim replied simply. "Some things I can't do myself. That's where I need you. I had my doubts about that boy if he likes Zainab or not, so I wanted him close. I wanted to examine him, see who he really is. And from what I've seen so far—he's honest, well-mannered. Not a bad choice. He has potential. It wouldn't be a bad thing if one day he started working under me."
Samir's brows shot up, "Wait a second, Ibrahim… are you saying you already know? You know about Aqil's feelings for Zainab?"
Ibrahim looked straight at him, arms crossed. Then he gave the smallest nod.
"Hold on—what?" Samir's jaw literally dropped; his mouth formed a perfect "O" as he leaned back in shock. "Aqil doesn't even know the truth about our business. He's still in the dark. How can you be so sure he'll ever work for you? From what I've seen, the moment he learns what we really do, he'll run. That boy is young, stubborn, and the last thing he'll agree to is joining our world. He'll choose poverty before he chooses crime."
Ibrahim let out a deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment before speaking again, "Listen carefully. Aqil may look innocent, but the truth is he already took a step into this world. He went to a club and sold drugs— just one time, but still, he did it. And for whom? Rafi Ahmed. A man who uses boys like Aqil as pawns. Do you know what kind of man Rafi is? He won't even turn his head if his men get caught. If the police drag them, torture them, bury them—Rafi won't blink. I'm in the same business. But my men… they never dare complain about me. They know I look after what's mine. They know loyalty under me is safer. If Aqil must choose a devil to work for, it's better he works for me than for that bastard."
He stood from his chair, stretching slightly, then turned his gaze to the veranda above. Zainab was no longer curled up on the swing. She stood by the railing now. The distance was wide so that she looked small. She raised her hand and waved gently. Ibrahim, without hesitation, raised his own hand in return.
Then his eyes flicked back to Samir, "And there's something else. You're too young to see it, but I'm not. Aqil… he has the kind of heart, the kind of discipline, that could make him more than just another boy wasting his life. He could be shaped, molded. And in the future… if Zainab wants it—if she chooses him—he could even be a good match for her. Better her hands fall into someone I can control… than into a stranger I cannot. If Aqil proves himself, if he shows loyalty, then maybe he'll deserve her."
Samir suddenly pushed his chair back and stood right in front of his brother, "They're just kids. Aqil and Zainab—they're younger than me! How can you even start thinking about Zainab's marriage and future right now? She's still growing. No Ibrahim, I can't accept this. She isn't going anywhere. She's going to live right here, with us. This is her home. I won't let you decide her fate."
"Don't twist my words,." Ibrahim stepped closer to Samir, lowering his voice but making each word heavier. "Just because I'm thinking about the future doesn't mean I'll allow them to date now. Do you think I'd stand by and let some boy sneak around my sister? If anyone even dares to come near her, I'll break his legs myself. Do you know what I fear the most. The day Zainab comes to me with a man she chooses on her own and stands him in front of me. What will I do then? Do I kill him? Do I let her walk away from us? I don't want that day to ever come. So I hold everything in my hands now, before it slips away. Control is the only way I can keep her safe. And no one will change that unless I decide."
Zainab came walking across the garden, holding something bright in her hands. Samir saw it was a pack of stickers—colorful, shiny ones. She narrowed her eyes at both of them and asked suspiciously, "What are you two talking about? Looked very serious from up there."
Samir couldn't resist teasing, "Oh, we were just talking about how you failed your last exam."
The words were enough to set Zainab on fire.
"WHATTTT!!!" she shouted so loud that even the birds in the trees flew away.
Before Samir could even laugh, she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head down. With lightning speed, she kneed him in the stomach.
"You dare say that again!" she yelled while attacking him. "I copy assignments and homework from my friends, but that doesn't mean I'm a loser! I got A+ in all subjects—EVEN in math! And you're telling people I failed?? You liar!"
Samir bent over in pain, trying to defend himself, holding his stomach. "Okay, okay, sorry! I was just joking! Oww, Zainab, that hurts!"
Ibrahim, meanwhile, watching the whole fight with his head thrown back in laughter, "Look at you two. Samir, you always ask for it. You know she doesn't get angry easily, but whenever someone points at her credibility, she becomes a tiger!"
Samir groaned, "This tiger needs to calm down, I'm dying here!"
But Zainab wasn't done. She tugged at his hoodie, smacked his shoulder, and continued her mini-war until she got tired. After a while she sat down on the grass with full authority and opened her pack of stickers, "Now sit down, both of you," she commanded, pointing to the grass. "I'm going to decorate your faces."
Samir's eyes widened. "What? No way! I'm not sitting—"
Before he could finish, Zainab raised her foot threateningly, and Samir quickly sat cross-legged on the grass. "Fine, fine! Don't kick me again," he muttered.
Ibrahim lowered himself to the ground beside his brother. "Go on then, little one. Do your worst."
One by one, she started sticking the bright cartoon stickers on both her brothers' faces. First a shiny butterfly on Samir's forehead, then a fat Doraemon right on Ibrahim's cheek.
Samir protested weakly, "Stop it! I'm not your notebook!"
Zainab ignored him completely. With full concentration, she covered their faces like they were school projects. Soon, Ibrahim had a star, a rainbow, and half of Doraemon's body on his face, while Samir looked like a walking sticker book.
Zainab finally clapped her hands together proudly. "Done! Now both of you look PERFECT. The most handsome Doraemon brothers in the world!"
Ibrahim touched his face and laughed again. "I swear, if someone sees us like this, no one will believe I'm the head of this family. You're going to ruin my reputation."
Samir added dramatically, "Forget reputation—I think my stomach is ruined. I can't breathe. This is how I die, covered in stickers."
Zainab rolled on the grass, laughing so hard her sides hurt.