The orange rays of the morning sun spread all around. The chirping of birds… the cool breeze… and the silence that carried peace within itself.
This is the best time to go in search of Rizq (sustenance). Those who set out at this hour never return empty-handed. Not just sustenance… but knowledge, health—anything.
Whatever purpose you rise for, you succeed in it. Because whatever you do at this time, your ability in that field increases. Whether good or bad—it depends on you.
Hoor, too, after offering Fajr prayer and reciting the Qur'an, had come to the lawn for a walk. This was her habit. In the beginning, she had difficulty adjusting to the routine here, but now slowly she was getting used to the environment.
As she walked in the lawn, the soft breeze brushing against her body brought a wave of delight.
After a moment's thought, she slipped off her sandals and let her feet touch the grass.
The moment her bare feet touched the cool, soft grass, she felt a deep calm spread inside her. She closed her eyes to fully embrace this tranquility.
It was the kind of peace that soothed the mind.
Aahil, who had just returned from jogging after prayer, stopped in his tracks when he saw her. His heartbeat quickened.
With eyes closed, she seemed like she belonged to another world. Her face framed in a white dupatta glowed like the full moon, lips curved in a faint smile like delicate petals. She compelled Aahil to step closer.
She was unaware of his presence, but feeling the weight of someone's gaze, her smile faded, and yesterday's incident flashed in her mind.
Startled, she opened her eyes and, without looking at who was watching, hurried inside.
Aahil, who had been observing her intently, deeply noticed the fading of her smile.
Her smile vanishing snapped him out of the trance he was under.
And when he realized Hoor had sensed his presence, her nervous departure displeased him. He quickly reached out and caught her wrist.
She was terrified. In her mind, only yesterday's scene replayed—the fear in that man's eyes that had shaken her.
Tears welled up. But when she turned to free her wrist, her eyes fell on Aahil. A strange reassurance flowed through her veins.
"How are you?" Aahil asked, holding her wrist gently but firmly enough that she couldn't free it. His gaze studied the shifting colors of her face.
He had sensed something unusual in her demeanor.
"I'm fine. How are you?" Hoor glanced at him once before lowering her gaze, trying to free her wrist. His grip made her uneasy.
Her nervousness only amused Aahil.
"Why don't you tell me yourself how I am?" Aahil finally let go of her wrist, and she sighed in relief. But her relief was short-lived as he caught both her hands, examining the mehndi designs closely.
Her heart raced as though it would burst into her palms. She regretted asking, her cheeks burning. She didn't even have the courage to look at him.
"You still haven't answered…?" He lifted his gaze from her hands to her face, repeating the question.
Hoor stayed quiet, though her mind only thought of freeing her hands and escaping inside. Fear gnawed at her—what if someone saw them together?
Her thoughts halted when Aahil tugged her along, still holding her hands. Helpless, Hoor followed.
He made her sit on a chair in the lawn, leaned down with his hands on either side of the armrests, and fixed his eyes on her fluttering lashes.
"How do I look?" He whispered into her ear, making her shiver. Her heart pounded, her palms grew clammy. His manner was disarming her senses.
"Good…" she quickly replied.
"Not like that. Look at me and say it." He leaned closer.
"What if someone comes?" she whispered nervously, trying to create space between them, her eyes darting toward the door.
Aahil lifted one hand and turned her face toward him by her chin.
Then, with his dark, enchanting eyes locked on hers, it was as though he cast a spell.
She forgot to blink, staring deeply into those eyes that hid countless secrets… and something new—an unfamiliar emotion even he seemed unaware of.
"Now tell me…"
"Very good…" she spoke as if in a trance.
"How much…?"
"Like… cool rain in scorching heat. Like a ray of light in sudden darkness. Like spring after autumn. Like a heartbeat with the heart…" She answered dreamily, lost in his eyes.
Her words lit a sparkle in Aahil's eyes and a smile curved on his lips.
"So… you love me?" he whispered softly, as if speaking louder would break the spell between them.
Hoor shook her head gently in denial.
His gaze shifted to her cheek, where an eyelash rested. Keeping his eyes on hers, he softly lifted it away.
"Why not?"
She gave no reply. But tears welled in her eyes.
In her reflection in his eyes, suddenly she saw someone else—he had once belonged to another. That thought alone tormented her.
"Hoorain…" Aahil said her full name with concern when he saw her tears.
"You didn't do right…" A tear slid down her cheek.
That single tear unsettled him deeply.
He wanted to tell her you are the one who didn't do right, but when he spoke, his tone was drenched in love—something even he didn't realize.
"What have I done…?" He stopped that priceless tear from falling by wiping it with his finger.
"You don't love me…" she whispered, and this time tears fell freely.
He hushed her gently.
"Shhh… no more. Quiet." Kneeling on the grass before her, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped her tears.
"Hoor, what punishment are you giving me? These tears… do you know how much they hurt me? If only I could tell you…" His helpless tone stunned her, and she forgot her tears.
Her worry now turned to him.
"Where does it hurt? Why are you sitting like this?"
"Here… it hurts here." He placed her hand over his chest.
She felt the frantic beating of his heart under her palm.
Words failed her. She understood, and her lashes lowered, brushing her flushed cheeks.
Aahil admired the sight of her blushing. Her shyness made her even lovelier.
When she tried to pull her hand away, his eyes dropped to her palm—where his name was written in mehndi.
He traced his name with his finger. Hoor looked up, startled.
Then, giving in to his heart's desire, he bent down and pressed his lips on his name written in her palm.
Her heart didn't just race this time—it stopped. She felt she would faint. He still hadn't lifted his lips.
It seemed today Aahil was determined to shatter her composure completely.
"Ohhh… early in the morning, this is happening here?" Fahad's mocking voice snapped them back to reality.
With a wicked grin, he looked at Hoor's flushed face. He had come here only because of her—knowing she came out after Fajr. Otherwise, he would never wake at this hour.
But seeing Aahil kneeling before her made his face sour.
Startled by Fahad's voice, Hoor quickly freed her hand from Aahil's grip and ran inside.
Fahad's eyes followed her until she disappeared.
"Seems like you've forgotten the beating from last time…" Aahil growled, fury igniting at seeing Fahad's filthy gaze on Hoor.
"She's not something one can look away from… If I tell everyone the truth of your innocence, this little bird—"
Before he could finish his filth, Aahil's fist smashed into his mouth.
Another punch followed before Fahad could recover. The blow threw him to the ground, his lip split, his nose bleeding.
Aahil wanted to rip his tongue out for speaking such filth about his wife, but clenched fists and restraint held him back. The house was full of guests; he didn't want a scene. He turned to leave.
But behind him, Fahad spat out venom again.
"You could spend your whole life and still be nothing. Daaji and everyone else—you know well how they see you. And not just them… even Hoor."
That was enough. Aahil turned back and kicked him hard in the stomach, making him collapse again.
He grabbed him by the collar, eyes blazing.
"If you ever speak my wife's name again, your corpse won't even be found. And another thing—you don't need to worry about me."
His manic tone frightened even Fahad. This wasn't the calm Aahil he knew—this was a man on the edge of destruction.
But it was Fahad himself who had pushed him to this point.
Aahil let go of him and walked inside, leaving Fahad writhing on the ground.
But someone else had watched everything—with burning envy.
And envy never lets anyone live in peace.
The envious don't have a cure. No matter how much they have, they cry over what they don't.
And today, everyone seems afflicted with it. Who truly feels joy at another's success anymore?
But sometimes it's not just envy. Sometimes we push others into envy—through taunts, through constant comparisons, forgetting their own efforts.
In truth, we ourselves are destroying the next generation… and our own selves.
---
Hoor hurried into her room, shutting the door behind her, leaning against it as her heart raced.
Muskaan, unaware of it all, still slept.
Hoor's face was flushed. She still felt Aahil's gaze on her.
She touched the hand he had kissed, his warmth still burning there, the faint sting of his beard brushing her palm still alive.
She moved to the mirror, but her smile faded.
"No… he's not mine. I only had his name." Her mind whispered.
"And what happened today—what was that then?" her heart argued back.
"It was sympathy…" her mind insisted coldly.
"No, there was love in his manner…" her heart protested, mourning the mind's logic.
"Love happens only once." Her heart laughed bitterly.
"No, ishq happens only once. What I feel is true. And he will feel it too. I trust my love." Her heart won the argument.
But what lay ahead—was this truly ishq? Or would it become a wound?
For this is the Stairway of Love… each step harder than the last, yet each one making you stronger.
---
Aahil, meanwhile, grabbed his car keys and drove out.
He needed solitude. For the first time, he didn't understand himself.
After driving aimlessly for a long time, he finally stopped by the roadside, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
Hoor's face kept flashing before him.
"It must be love…" his heart whispered.
"You're mistaken…" his mind snapped back.
"No, these are signs of love…" the heart insisted.
"These are symptoms of a disease. And thankfully, I'm healthy." The mind countered sharply.
"You only realize it's a disease when it hurts. In the beginning, it doesn't hurt. But when pain comes, you seek a doctor, medicines…" The heart's argument was strong.
"Often people think they're sick just by hearing it from others, but when they check, nothing is there. It was just unnecessary worry." The mind retorted smugly.
"He loves Hoor." The heart declared plainly.
"No, he doesn't." The mind denied firmly.
"But she does, doesn't she?" the heart pressed.
"It's one-sided." The mind dismissed coldly.
"Those who don't value love always regret it later." The heart warned.
"And where was this love when she needed it? When she needed separation? When she belonged to someone else?" The mind showed the heart its harsh mirror of reality.
And this time, the mind won.
On one side stood the heart.
On the other, the mind.
On one side was love.
On the other, suspicion.
Now the question remained—whose victory would it be?
---
---
When she went to meet Derek, he had been asleep.
So, she decided to go after office hours.
Her life had become very busy ever since she had taken up another job on the side. She would wake up early for office work, then work as a waitress in a club at night.
She had not told anyone about this job—nor did she intend to.
And besides, who was there to ask? She had only made two friends, and both were distant from her.
Sitting in her cabin, she was preparing today's schedule.
She assumed John would not come today because of Derek's condition. What she didn't know was that he had come, and had only gone for a meeting.
Her brown hair was tied up in a bun. Glasses rested on her brown eyes. A small nose and thin lips beneath it—lips that seemed as if they had slowly forgotten how to smile.
Wearing a dark green T-shirt with trousers, she was completely absorbed in work, oblivious to her surroundings. Her face was serious.
The past and its tragedies had made her bitter and solemn.
After writing the schedule in her diary, she checked her laptop for important emails.
Just then, a colleague walked in holding flowers and a box wrapped in gift paper.
"Heyyy Emma…" he tried to get her attention away from the laptop.
"Hey George…" she gave him a brief glance before resuming work.
"Attitude…" George muttered under his breath, not liking her indifference.
"Okay listen… this parcel came for you. I've got work, I'm leaving. Bye."
He placed the flowers and box on the table and left.
Emma looked at the box in confusion.
"Who could have sent this to me…?" she wondered as she pulled the flowers closer.
They were white flowers—her favorite. She lifted them close to her nose, inhaling their fragrance. Instantly, her sad lips curved into a faint smile.
Among the bouquet, there was a small note:
"I hope these flowers make your lips smile."
Emma's smile deepened. That kind of caring gesture belonged only to one person. Whenever she tried to be upset with him, he would always find a way to melt her anger in advance.
"Han…" she whispered his name softly.
At that moment, her phone lit up with an unknown number.
"Hello… Pretty Em, how are you??"
The moment she answered, his voice filled her ears.
Emma smiled at the way he called her Em. She knew whenever he was in a good mood, he addressed her that way.
"I'm upset with you…" Emma said with fake annoyance. Her lips betrayed her, though—they were still smiling. After such a long time, just hearing his voice was enough for her.
She shifted the phone from one hand to the other, leaning back into her chair.
"Don't pretend. I know you're smiling right now…"
His accurate guess didn't surprise her. He always knew her every expression.
"I really am upset…" she insisted.
On the other end, Hannan felt as if life had returned to him. He had missed her voice, her tone, everything about her. But work had bound him so tightly, he didn't even have time to scratch his head. On top of that, his phone had gone missing.
"So, you haven't opened the box yet? Good. Just send it back then."
He bit back a smile and spoke with fake seriousness.
"What's inside it?" Emma instantly pulled the box toward her, as though Hanan might appear out of nowhere and snatch it away.
"Don't you dare open it…" he warned, deliberately provoking her to do the opposite.
"Now I will open it…" Emma said, tearing away the gift wrap.
Inside was a black square box, decorated on all sides with different wishes about friendship and love.
"What is this, Han?" she asked while reading the words on it. Her earlier annoyance was forgotten.
"I told you not to open it…" he replied in the same teasing tone.
"Han, I'm serious…" Emma pressed, irritated.
"Yes, I know… you're a serious case." He chuckled mischievously. He had no intention of spoiling the surprise.
"Fine, I'll see for myself. Bye."
She hung up, placed the box before her, and lifted its lid. The four sides of the box fell open, revealing the surprise inside.
Her face lit up.
The panels were lined with chocolates—her favorite.
Inside was another box, tied with a ribbon, its sides covered with pictures of her and Hanan together.
She untied the ribbon, and once again the sides fell open, revealing even more chocolates.
Her heart danced with joy at the sight.
But there was still one more box inside, smaller than the others, decorated with pictures of her and John together, tied with another ribbon.
Half-curious, half-anxious, she opened it.
Inside was a red little case.
Emma's heart skipped a beat uneasily.
Could it be… a ring?
Was Hanan… about to move beyond friendship?
Swallowing hard, she gathered courage and opened the case.
But it wasn't a ring.
It was a key.
"A key? To what…?" she held it up, puzzled.
Under the key lay a note:
"To know what this key belongs to, you'll have to step outside your office."
She left the building, but not without grabbing the chocolates. Looking around outside, she saw nothing.
She tried calling Hanan, but he cut the call.
Emma glared at her screen, annoyed—when suddenly, hands covered her eyes from behind.
Emma quickly placed her hands over his.
"Han…" she whispered, disbelief in her voice.
At her voice, Hanan removed his hands and stood before her.
Wearing red trousers, a white shirt, glasses, and that gentle smile that was his trademark. His silky black hair carelessly fell across his forehead. He looked as charming as ever.
"Oh my God… this is really you…" Emma cupped his face, still not believing he was truly in front of her.
Her touch made Hanan's heart overflow with joy.
He caught her hands, pressed them to his lips, and playfully bit her fingers.
"Ouch! What nonsense is this!" Emma pulled her hand back, glaring at him.
"I was just helping you believe. So… do you believe now?"
He removed his glasses, his black eyes gleaming mischievously as he teased her.
"Yes, I believe… now go back where you came from. You didn't think of me at all, and now that you've come, you're just teasing me. I don't want to meet you. I've got work. I'm going inside."
Emma pouted, turning to leave, but Hanan grabbed her hand.
"Hold on, let me speak."
"Fine, speak…" she said with mock annoyance, as if doing him a favor.
Her gesture made him smile from the heart.
"Look, the coming days are going to be even busier for me. I barely managed to get one day free. So please… be upset with me later."
His pleading expression made her smile faintly.
"Okay fine… but only for today. After that, I'll be upset again."
"Good. Then how about you take a short leave today? It's just this one day. Who knows when I'll get the chance again…"
He didn't say the last part aloud.
Emma, who was about to go back inside, remembered the key in her hand. She turned, waving it.
"And this key? What's it for?"
"You'll find out when you come back. It's a surprise."
Shrugging at his words, she went inside.
Hanan watched her swaying hair as she walked away. He had made up his mind today: he would confess his feelings to Emma—and he would no longer let her work alongside John in the office.
Since John wasn't in office, she easily applied for leave, gathered her things, and set aside Hanan's gift box.
When she came downstairs, Hanan was waiting on his heavy bike. Another heavy bike stood beside it.
At that moment, she realized what the key belonged to.
"What do you say—shall we race?" Hanan held out a helmet.
"Why not? Are you ready to lose?" Emma smirked, putting on the helmet.
"Let's see."
She mounted her bike.
"On the count of three," she said.
"One…" she settled herself. Both engines roared to life.
"Two…" smoke puffed out of the exhausts.
"Three…" Emma shouted, laughing as she sped off even before the race had properly begun.
Hanan clenched his teeth at her trick and raced after her.
---
That day, John had an important meeting, so instead of going to the office, he went straight to the hotel where it was held.
He had already arranged tight security for Derek. This time, things would not go Derek's way.
Besides, he hadn't gotten a proper chance to meet Derek anyway, since his friend was always under the effect of sleep and painkillers.
The meeting dragged on for long hours but, as always, ended successfully.
As everyone shook hands and left, John checked his phone. Since that day, there had been no call from "D."
But John had decided—the game was ending.
After years of patience, it was finally time to make his move and bring D crashing down.
Just as he was about to leave, his eyes unconsciously fell on a table nearby.
Seeing them laughing together, a mysterious smile curved his lips.
His blue eyes gleamed with a strange light.
"The real game begins now…" he muttered under his breath.
---
Emma won the race, of course—Hanan could never bear to see her lose or sad. Outwardly though, he sulked, insisting she had cheated.
Now they sat together in a hotel, waiting for food.
"Umm… Han, can I ask you something?" Emma traced the rim of her water glass thoughtfully, her tone serious.
"Go ahead. Since when do you stop when I say no?" Hanan teased, taking the same glass she had been fiddling with.
"I want to know… how John sir committed those murders…"
The image of John's worried face for Derek kept replaying in her mind. She couldn't reconcile the man who cared so deeply for his friend with the one accused of killing his sister, his mother, and even a dog.
Hanan, who had been smiling at her, suddenly went stiff. His eyes hardened.
"Emma, I don't want to talk about this." His voice was firm, his gaze shifting away.
"Han, you have to tell me. Otherwise, I'm leaving." Emma stood up at once.
"Sit down." Hanan caught her hand and pulled her back. His eyes stayed fixed on the table, his face flushing red with restrained emotion.
Emma sat quietly again. The atmosphere grew heavy.
After a long silence, Hanan finally lifted his eyes to hers.
His gaze frightened her—it was full of burning intensity.
The next moment, he looked away, toward the hotel window, and began to speak…
---
The Past
After his mother's death, John moved in with his father.
He became withdrawn.
Everyone tried to comfort him but eventually gave up.
He would sit wherever placed for hours, staring at his hands.
Give him food, and he would only stare at it.
It was as if he had forgotten how to speak.
Hanan longed to play with his siblings like other children, but John always stayed silent and distant.
Little Maryam was like a fragile doll—so delicate that even touching her felt strange. Her eyes sometimes looked blue, sometimes green. Mr. Jafar had hired a caretaker for her.
But John's dog, Rocky, was wonderful. Hanan played with him often, and the two became very close.
One day, John saw Hanan playing with Rocky in the garden. His face turned fiery as he approached.
Rocky ran to him immediately.
"He's mine." John said coldly, stroking the dog's back.
It was the first sentence he had spoken since the tragedy.
"But John, we're brothers. Between brothers, there's no yours and mine." Hanan tried gently, hoping for a bond to form.
John was the same height as him. He looked directly into Hanan's eyes.
"We're stepbrothers. Between us, there's only yours and mine."
With that icy tone, he took Rocky inside.
But the next morning, when Hanan went outside, he saw John strangling Rocky. The poor dog was struggling for breath.
Hanan wanted to intervene, but fear rooted him in place.
Finally, John let go, patted Rocky's back as if nothing had happened, and walked inside—face calm, eyes blank.
When he was gone, Hanan rushed to Rocky, holding him in his lap and crying.
From that day, Hanan became afraid of John and kept his distance from anything that belonged to him.
School reopened. Hanan spent most of his time with Maryam after classes.
At school, John and Derek clashed constantly—fighting, hurting each other, always at odds.
At home, John's troubling behavior continued until Mr. Jafar, frustrated, sent him to boarding school. He rarely came home.
One Christmas holiday, John returned. Hanan was playing with Maryam, now six years old.
The house was empty—Mr. Jafar and Mrs. Shazia were at a party.
Seeing them together, John locked Hanan in the storeroom.
Soon, Maryam's terrified screams filled the house.
"Sorry John! Please don't hurt her!" Hanan shouted, pounding on the door, desperate to break free and save her.
Then, suddenly, Maryam's screams stopped.
His heart thudded painfully. He pounded harder, but only silence answered.
Finally, when he grew weak, the storeroom door opened.
It was Shazia Begum, who had returned early from the party due to feeling unwell.
Hanan ran past her toward Maryam's room. She followed, alarmed.
When he reached, he saw blood on the bed—but no Maryam, no John.
Crying, he searched the entire house, calling her name.
At last, he found John in the back of the house.
"Where is Maryam??" Hanan grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him in tears.
"Maryam? Who's Maryam?" John replied calmly.
Blood stained his hands. His face was expressionless, his eyes disturbingly calm.
Hanan's heart pounded violently—and he fainted on the spot.
After that day, he would often wake up crying Maryam's name. He would be terrified at night.
John was sent back to boarding school—and never returned.
Maryam was never found again.
Hanan wiped his eyes.
Emma didn't realize that tears were also falling from her own eyes.
After hearing all this, she too felt fear of Jahan… she was terrified.
That's why she wiped her tears and placed her hand over Hanan's, which was resting on the table.
Feeling this, Hanan turned his gaze from the window and looked at her. There was a wounded smile on his face.
"Sorry…" he said in a low voice.
"No… how can this be your fault… Not at all. The one who did this… I don't even hold a grudge against him. I don't hate him, but I no longer have the strength to lose anyone else, that's why… I stay away from him. And I try that those dear to me also stay away from him."
Hanan looked at her hand resting on his as he shared the feelings of his heart with her.
"Alright… you sit here, I'll be back…" At Hanan's words, Emma nodded with a slight smile. Her intention was to lighten the mood.
Hanan walked toward the bathroom.
Emma kept staring at her hand. Jahan's image came before her eyes—when his hand was burned and he was eating from her hand so he wouldn't feel discomfort. That was the time when a soft corner for Jahan had formed in her heart. But now… Hanan's words had hardened that corner again.
She was so lost in thought that she didn't even notice someone had come and stood right next to her.
"Ahem…" John, after Hanan left, stood up from his chair and came to stand beside Emma. But when he saw her lost deep in thought, he made a sound to draw her attention.
Emma looked at him with a start.
Could anyone believe that behind such a beautiful face, such a great beast was hidden?
That's what Emma thought while staring at him.
"Hello. As far as I know… this is office timing… so what should I call your presence here?" Jahan's tone was completely serious. His blue eyes carefully observed the changing expressions on her face.
"She came with me… and gave a leave slip…" But before Emma could say anything, Hanan returned and came to stand between her and Jahan.
"Okay… we'll see. See you tomorrow, Miss Emma." Jahan smiled, patting Hanan's shoulder, then looked past him toward Emma hiding behind, flashed a smile, and left.
His smile was mysterious…
But Emma shook her head and distracted herself by talking with Hanan. A little later, the food arrived. After that, Hanan went somewhere again.
Suddenly, the loud music in the restaurant stopped.
"Emma…" and Emma heard her name echo from the mic.
She looked at the stage in shock. Jahan-Hanan was standing there, staring at her with burning eyes.
Everyone sitting in the hotel also turned their attention toward the stage.
"I don't know when and how… but… my heart beats in your name."
He was now stepping down from the stage, walking toward her, with the spotlight following his every move.
Emma stared at him in disbelief.
"These eyes… now every second… every minute… every moment… only want to see you."
Now he was standing right in front of her.
The spotlight fell on both of them.
"So, Emma…" he knelt down in front of her, pulled out a box from his pocket, opened it, and showed her.
"Will you marry me…" He looked at her with great hope.
The entire restaurant was silent. Everyone waited for Emma's "yes."
And Emma…
She was completely still.
Her gaze was fixed on the emerald diamond ring… inside which, on one side, her name was engraved and on the other side, Hanan's name.
Hanan too looked at her with a trembling heart.
Emma's eyes stayed fixed.
There was shock in them…
Pain…
Disbelief…
And she shook her head in refusal.
At that moment, Hanan's hands dropped weakly.
Emma began walking backward toward the door.
Her head kept shaking in denial… tears filled her eyes…
For losing her friend…
She had never thought something like this would happen.
She knew their friendship could never be the same again.
Then suddenly, she turned and ran out.
Hanan… with desolate eyes, watched her leave.
It felt like his heartbeat… had stopped.
The very thing he feared… happened.
Emma had refused.
And he knew Emma… she would now stay away from him.
—
John went straight back to the hospital.
Derrick was now fully conscious… people were coming to meet him as if he were some famous personality, or the Prime Minister of a country.
Even the hospital staff were surprised—what was it about this man that so many people came to see him?
Well, they didn't know who he really was… The one who put their lives into torment. After all, he was Derrick.
John moved toward his room, but at the door there was a paper with some writing on it:
(Derrick—that is me—whoever comes to meet me must not come empty-handed. And if you do come empty-handed, then go back and bring me something to eat. And if you decide not to come at all because you'll have to bring me something, then with all my love I'd just say… I have to recover anyway… Yours truly, Derrick.)
Reading this, John knew he was fully back to his senses.
When he entered, there was food scattered around the room…
Somewhere a box of chocolates, somewhere juice… chips… something or the other.
Such was the terror of this patient.
Oh, and yes, one of his fractured legs was hanging awkwardly, and his right arm, which was also fractured, was finally getting some rest. After all, the person to whom those arms and legs belonged… could never sit still.
Well, even now he wasn't still. His left hand kept giving equal justice to chips and juice. Though his left arm was also injured, at least it wasn't fractured.
John glared at the patient with murderous eyes. The munching mouth stopped instantly. Now Derrick looked at him with the most innocent expression he could muster.
But John knew the devil inside him very well. He wasn't about to fall for that fake innocence.
When Derrick saw his glare, he heard danger bells ringing in his head.
"Hey buddy… look, your friend came back defeating death for you…" Derrick swallowed hard, speaking in the sweetest tone possible as John approached him slowly.
But John wasn't affected at all…
He kept moving closer.
"Want some chips?" Derrick, swallowing his pride, offered chips. Otherwise, John's devouring glare would have swallowed him.
When John reached him, he moved the snacks aside, pulled a chair in front of him, and sat down.
His blue eyes blazed with fire, though his face remained expressionless.
He grabbed the chip packet, pulled one out, and crunched it loudly—like he wasn't chewing a chip, but Derrick himself.
Derrick grew even more awkward. His leg was injured, he couldn't run… He was completely at the mercy of this executioner—who didn't seem in the mood for either mercy or kindness.
"So, what was the message…" John leaned forward, placing his hand dangerously close to Derrick's fractured arm, speaking in a thoughtful tone.
Seeing his hand there, Derrick looked from his hands to his face nervously.
"Oh right, I remember…" John suddenly struck the fractured arm hard.
"'Sorry… I'm not going to leave this world so soon…' That was it, right?" He asked coldly.
Derrick screamed in pain. He looked at John with pleading eyes. But John only stared back with merciless ones.
"I was just giving hope—that I'll recover…" Derrick said with a pitiful face.
"And I'm also giving hope—that my friend is handling the pain so bravely…" John pressed his hand down on the injured arm again, twice.
Derrick nearly screamed out loud.
"John… I can't breathe… water… water…" he gasped between heavy breaths.
Seeing his state, John worried.
Quickly, he poured water into a glass, lifted Derrick's head with his hand, and pressed the glass to his lips.
But just as Derrick sipped twice, John tilted the glass and dumped the rest of the water over his face.
Now he really was drowning.
John stood straight, calmly observing his state.
After a while, Derrick steadied his breath and glared at John.
"If you try anything again… then you'll see…" Even in such a serious condition, he still managed to threaten.
John's lips curved into a mocking smile.
"I'll do more… and then let's see what happens…"
Derrick looked at him furiously.
"Don't forget… I have to recover…" he gave a warning.
"I remember very well. I've been hearing since childhood—you're going to recover. But tell me… is your mental condition still the same?" John taunted him mercilessly.
It was good Derrick could only use words now. Otherwise, those heavy hands would have crushed his already broken bones further.
John's phone rang. He looked—his lawyer was calling.
"Sir, the papers are ready…" Hearing this, a cold light flashed in his blue eyes. The mocking smile from earlier faded, replaced by a frozen one.
His face showed only coldness.
"Alright… keep them safe. We'll meet tomorrow…" he said seriously, ending the call.
He turned toward Derrick, who was looking at him with suspicion.
"Your intentions don't look good to me…" Derrick said suspiciously.
"Neither I nor my intentions are good…" John slipped the phone back in his pocket and sat beside him again.
"Are you telling me or not…"
Derrick tried to get up, but groaned and fell back. John still didn't help him.
"No." A blunt, one-word answer.
"Fine… I'll find out myself…" John only shrugged, as if to say, "Your choice."
A little later, the nurse came and gave Derrick an injection, putting him back to sleep.
John sat there, deep in thought about tomorrow.
He had made his decision.
Now only action remained…
And that, he would do tomorrow.
---
That girl was running again.
The shadows were after her again…
The same forest…
The same shadows seizing her…
And one by one, entering her body…
But as soon as they entered her, her body caught fire.
She screamed… continuously.
She wanted to put out the flames consuming her body.
But they burned her… destroyed her.
She screamed as she shot up from sleep.
It felt as if the flames still clung to her.
She grabbed the jug of water from the bedside table and poured it over herself. But the burning still lingered.
She rushed to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and collapsed beneath it.
Her hands trembled.
Cold water poured over her body.
But still, it felt as though the flames burned her.
Her clothes were soaked through.
Crying, she sat under the shower, resting her head on her knees.
At first, the dreams were only shadows… But now flames consuming her… it made her restless, terrified, harassed.
She had never thought life could become so difficult.
No one was there to give her courage, to say:
"Emma, it's only a dream. Nothing happened. Get up."
What does it mean to be alone? Someone should ask Emma today.
Loneliness—poison that slowly kills a person. First, it attacks the nerves. Then that poison sinks into the eyes, making every happy person seem unbearable. Either you start hating everyone… or you become weak. Then when that poison reaches the lips and finally the heart, a person becomes numb. His heart turns black… where every emotion dies.
After returning from the hotel, she had gone straight home. She didn't know when, crying, she had fallen asleep.
Today, by chance, there was a holiday from the club.
She didn't know how long she had stayed under the cold shower.
When her hands and feet began to go numb, she came back to her senses.
She leaned against the bathroom wall, slowly stood, and using the wall for support, returned to her room.
The curtains on the window were open.
A new day had begun.
But had a new day really begun?
Everything was still the same.
Life had become an exam for her.
Emma didn't know… her real test was only about to begin.
The real storm in her life was about to come.
After that, she couldn't sleep again.
So she decided it was better to get ready for work. After all, sitting idle, her useless thoughts would only torment her further.
When she came out of the bathroom after freshening up, the sneezes began. First one, then another, then another…
Her little nose turned red from sneezing.
Well, after all, sitting in London's cold for so long under icy water… this was bound to happen.
She wrapped her hair in a towel and went into the kitchen to make coffee. Along with it, she took some medicine too.
This apartment had two rooms, along with a kitchen and a bathroom.
She came back into the room and stood in front of the mirror to dry her hair. But when her eyes fell on her reflection, she was shocked.
Was this really her?
Those bright hazel eyes were now empty, swollen from crying. Dark circles shadowed them. Her nose and cheeks flushed red from the cold. She looked sick… as if ill for years.
What had she become in just one night?
---
To be continued…
---