Chapter 24
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With a pitiful look on his face, he was sitting in a half-reclined position on the bed. But John, who was standing near the bed, knew the truth hidden behind that pitiful expression. That's why he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at him.
What had happened was simple—Derrick had annoyed the hospital staff so much that in the end, they themselves brought him back home. Sometimes he would get into trouble with another patient, and at other times, he would mess with a nurse. Once, the nurse on duty left her juice on the table while stepping outside to attend a call. Derrick had glued the mouth of her juice bottle shut… you can imagine the rest yourself.
Most of his wounds had healed, but his leg was still taking time.
"Are you going to stop staring at me now?" he said, curling his lips.
At that, John rolled his eyes but didn't respond. Instead, he started scanning the room silently.
"Are you going to say something or not?" Derrick's silence was beginning to get under his skin, and he knew it. So without replying, John walked to the window and looked out at the lawn.
"John… have you given your tongue to Emma?" Derrick's voice broke the silence. John didn't answer. This time, Derrick really sensed something was wrong. Using the stick for support, he walked over to him.
"John… is everything alright?" This serious and worried Derrick was someone else entirely.
John finally looked at him, and the emptiness in his eyes told Derrick something had definitely happened.
"You're not going to tell me anything either?" Derrick placed a hand on his shoulder to draw his attention. Though it caused pain in his injured leg, the pain of seeing John like this was far worse.
"You already know everything… so what should I say?" John seated him carefully on the sofa, placed a chair under his plastered leg, and then sat beside him.
Derrick turned his head and studied the face of his dear friend—his brother-like John. His blue eyes were lined with red. After looking at him for a while, he spoke in a thoughtful tone.
"Did Emma say something?" He asked casually, but the expression on John's face confirmed his suspicion. Friends didn't need words—they could read everything from your face, from your silence.
Those two were like that as well.
"She wants to get rid of me…" John said with a wounded smile. Derrick didn't bother asking him what he wanted. He didn't need to. First, because he knew John wouldn't admit it—he was one of those who feared confessing his feelings in case something happened to the ones he loved. Second, because Derrick already knew—John didn't just like Emma… it had gone far beyond that.
Breaking the silence, Derrick asked, "Where is she now?" His tone was thoughtful.
"She's with Olivia…" After the club incident, John had installed GPS trackers in her phone, so he knew the moment he left, Emma had gone out too.
The room fell silent once again.
---
Emma had left right after John. At first, she didn't know where to go, but then she remembered she had Olivia's number. She called her and went to her house. She just wanted to relax her mind somehow. She didn't tell Olivia anything—she had been quiet since then. Seeing her condition, Olivia brought her to a restaurant.
It was evening. Icy cold winds blew, white snow covered everything, and yellow streetlights lit up the roadside. People in thick warm clothes moved about in the cold.
The two sat near the restaurant's windows.
"Umm… Emma, you wait here for the food. I'll be right back," Olivia said, phone in hand, and stepped outside while taking a call.
Emma glanced at her briefly and then turned her attention back to the window. At that moment, she felt detached from everything—nothing seemed to interest her anymore. Her gaze drifted outside—and then landed on James walking past.
Thinking for a moment, she quickly left the restaurant and walked toward him.
"Heyyy James!" she called out softly as she reached him.
"Oh… ma'am… you. Is sir with you?" he asked politely, looking genuinely pleased. But his mention of John surprised her. In his tone, there was respect and affection when he spoke of John.
"He humiliated you so much, and yet you're still asking about him?" Emma couldn't hold back her words.
James gave a small smile and lowered his head. When he looked up again, he met Emma's gaze.
"Ma'am, I'm surprised you still don't understand sir. On the outside he may seem harsh, but inside he is soft-hearted."
Emma frowned in confusion, not catching his meaning. For her, John was nothing but rude, arrogant, hot-headed—and yes, irritating too.
Seeing her puzzled look, James understood she didn't get it.
"Ma'am, come with me. It's too cold outside… the coffee here is really good." He pointed at the same restaurant she had just left.
Once they sat down, James began to speak.
"I was unemployed, with no education. How was I supposed to look after myself and my sick sister? We lived on the streets—whether it was cold or hot, the street was our home. One day, my sister's health became critical. I begged wealthy people for help, but they all thought I was just begging for money."
He smiled bitterly, while Emma listened in shock.
"That's when I crossed paths with an angel. I didn't even have to ask—he came with me, laid my sister in his expensive car, and got her treated. When I thanked him, he said he hadn't done it for free. He needed a loyal servant. And I had to be that person. He continued to treat my sister, gave me a salary too. That day I realized… it wasn't him who needed an employee—it was me who needed employment.
He may appear arrogant and proud, but in reality, he is priceless. He helps people in such a way that they never even realize it. Everything I am today is because of him. My sister is fine now, and studying. This morning, he scolded me because I wasn't well. He told me not to work, fearing he might fall sick because of me."
James chuckled lightly, though his eyes glistened with tears.
"What he actually meant was: don't work, you're not well. But I still went ahead to make breakfast, and that's why he scolded me."
Emma didn't realize when tears began to stream down her face.
James eventually said goodbye and left, but she remained seated there in the same position, frozen in thought.
"Emma, are you okay?" Olivia asked, placing a hand on her shoulder, concern etched on her face.
"Hmm… yes, I'm fine. I should get going now…" Emma quickly grabbed her bag and stood up.
"But at least have dinner—" Olivia pointed toward the food the waiter had just brought.
"No… I… I should just leave. Bye."
Olivia tried to stop her, but Emma left so fast that there was nothing she could do.
---
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She was sitting silently in the lawn.
An open book lay in her lap, begging for her attention, its pages fluttering back and forth in the breeze.
The cup of tea placed on the table in front of her had already grown cold, but her eyes were lost in the flowers blooming across the flowerbeds. Her mind, however, was somewhere else. She was missing her mother, father, and Ali a lot today.
Diyan had gone to school.
All the household chores were done by Sakina Bua. To pass the time, she had opened a book, but she hadn't been able to read a single word.
Aahil was feeling heavy today, so he hadn't gone to the office. From the terrace connected to his room, he stood watching her.
With her head covered by a dupatta, wearing a peach-colored shalwar kameez, she seemed like a natural part of the scenery. To shield herself from the cold, she had wrapped a white woolen shawl around her. He had never seen her walk around the house with her head uncovered.
Aahil couldn't understand what to do. His heart always decided in her favor, but his mind, tainted by its own shadows, always stood against her.
He had been standing there watching her for a long time. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't tear his gaze away. At last, he sighed deeply, left his room, and walked toward the lawn where she was sitting.
He sat down on the chair beside her and stared at her for quite some time. She, unaware of his arrival, remained lost in thought. Finally, to get her attention, he placed his hand over hers.
Startled by the warmth of his touch, Hoor looked at him. His face was flushed, his hand unusually warm. Without thinking, her hand moved to his forehead, which was burning with fever. A wave of worry swept through her.
"You shouldn't have come here… and you didn't even wear a sweater on top," she said with concern, completely forgetting all the bitterness between them. Removing her shawl, she draped it over him so the cold wouldn't worsen his condition.
He wanted to tell her that the cold could affect her too, but the words never left his lips. He only watched her quietly.
Hoor made him stand, and he obeyed her as though in complete submission. She led him inside. After warming the room, she seated him on the bed, covered him with a blanket, and left the room.
Aahil sat silently, as though under a spell. Her care shook his heart. The more he tried to distance himself from this girl, the more she took hold of him. He didn't want to think about her, but her attention inevitably drew him toward her.
Her absence made him restless. He would have followed her had she not returned just then, carrying a tray with warm milk, bread slices, jam, and butter.
She spread butter on a slice and held it out to him. Instead of taking it from her hand, he took a bite directly as she held it. He hadn't taken his eyes off her even for a second, and aware of his gaze, she kept her eyes lowered.
The room was filled with a meaningful silence, within which Hoor could clearly hear the racing of her own heartbeat.
She gave him his medicine with the milk, then turned to leave. Just then, Aahil caught her hand. Her heart skipped a beat.
Her cold hand lay within his fever-warmed grip.
"If only you were truly this good…" he murmured, exhausted, his eyes fixed on her.
"If only you trusted me…" she whispered back, her voice carrying quiet hurt. There was a reproach in her eyes that unsettled him.
Not knowing why, he brushed her cheek softly with the back of his hand.
"No one has ever trusted me either," he spoke absentmindedly, without any sarcasm or harshness for the first time.
Hoor held the hand with which he was caressing her cheek.
"I don't know what happened in your past, but I trust you. And I always will," she said firmly, looking straight into his eyes.
"Why do you trust me? Why?" he asked in a faint voice, closing his eyes. That was his biggest turmoil—why did she trust him so much?
The medicine was taking effect. She smiled faintly at his question, but her eyes didn't match her lips.
"The very first step of love is trust… then comes respect… and then love itself. I think I've gone far ahead… so far that despite all your indifference, I cannot leave you."
But she kept these words within her heart, for he had already fallen asleep.
She looked at him as he slept, appearing as innocent as a child. Leaning forward, she placed her soft lips on his fevered forehead. At that very moment, a tear slipped from her eyes and disappeared into his hair.
She spent the rest of the day and night nursing him.
---
Late at night, when he returned home, he found her asleep on the lounge sofa, without a blanket, despite the bitter cold. Even in sleep, her face bore traces of restraint. He wanted to ignore her and let her sleep as she was, but his thoughts kept returning to her.
Irritated, he threw his towel aside, fetched an extra blanket from the wardrobe, and came back to the lounge. He covered her with it, turned on the heater with the remote, and looked at her.
She seemed more at peace now in the warmth. Her loose hair was spread across the sofa. They weren't too long, but not short either. When a strand fell across her face, he gently tucked it back. Her hair felt like silk beneath his fingers—something he realized for the first time.
Her hand was tucked beneath her cheek in a fist. Closed eyes, long lashes, sharp nose, delicate rosy lips—slightly parted. She looked like a fairy-tale princess, wrapped in innocence. And that innocence was his weakness.
His heart told him to claim her as his own right then, but no—he had to control himself. If he didn't step away, he would lose his restraint.
Back in his room, he poured himself water from the jug on the side table and lay down. Half the night had passed, but sleep evaded him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Emma's face.
Frustrated, he stared at the ceiling until faint sounds reached his ears from outside. He went to the lounge and found the blanket he had covered her with had slipped off halfway. She was shivering, soft sobs escaping her lips.
Alarmed, he placed his hand on her forehead—it was cold, damp with sweat.
In the darkness, those shadows had once again taken hold of her body. Just before the fire consumed her, she felt a living warmth touch her shoulder.
A shadow still lingered outside, glaring at him with red eyes. Suddenly, that redness began to fade, turning into blue—like water dousing flames. Then the shadow's face became clear.
John looked at her. She had opened her eyes, staring at him in disbelief. Terror filled them. Overwhelmed, he cupped her cold face in his hands.
"Emma…"
"John…" Her lips moved, but no sound came out. The terror in her eyes softened into uncertainty. The next moment, she threw her arms around him and burst into tears.
John understood—she had seen a terrible dream. He wrapped his arms around her, giving her the safety she needed most.
"Their eyes were red… I kept running from them… but they entered me. Every time… they enter… and then my body burns… it hurts… it hurts so much…" she spoke brokenly, like a frightened child pressed against his chest. He could feel her trembling.
"It's okay… go to sleep now… no one will come," he soothed her, stroking her hair.
"No…" Emma clutched his shirt tightly at the front, as though terrified he would force her to sleep.
"They'll come again…" her voice shook with helplessness, tears glistening in her eyes.
"They won't come. I'm here. As long as I'm with you, no one can harm you."
Something in his tone reassured her. She leaned back slightly, studying his eyes, as though searching for truth in them.
"Promise?" She held out her hand.
John looked at her delicate fingers, then took them into his own strong grip.
"Promise," he said firmly.
---
Today, she had another session with the psychiatrist. After the nightmare that night, John had taken her to him the very next day. When Emma had first seen Dr. Ibrahim, who also ran an Islamic center, she had been delighted to meet him again.
The first session had been casual, but today they moved toward the main issue.
"Alright, Emma, tell me something. Do you remember when you last saw that dream?" Dr. Ibrahim asked warmly, resting his elbows on the desk.
"Um… four or five days ago," she answered calmly, feeling relaxed with him.
"Good. Did you bring the diary I gave you?" He had given her a black diary to record her daily routine.
"Yes, here it is," she said, handing it over.
"Hmm… good." Closing it, he smiled kindly. "You should stay happy. This is no age to be burdened with tension."
She smiled faintly at his words.
"May I ask you something?" he said after observing her quietly for a moment.
"Of course."
"I feel… you're very inspired by Islam." His eyes studied her carefully, measuring her reaction.
She would have been surprised by his accurate guess if she didn't already know he was a psychiatrist.
"Any good thing can inspire me," Emma replied casually, shrugging her shoulders.
"Did you never feel like embracing that good thing?" he asked, still gently.
A sad smile appeared on her lips.
"Twice I felt that way. Once, after being inspired by my Muslim friend, I picked up a book on Islam. But my father saw it and became so angry that I never dared again. The second time, I searched online. I found good things, but also frightening ones. I got confused… so I stopped trying to learn more."
Dr. Ibrahim listened attentively. He didn't know exactly what made her so special, but he was certain—Allah did not want her to remain heedless.
"Miss Emma, you must come to my house with Mr. John someday," he invited warmly.
"Of course," she replied.
"Good. Now, please wait in the waiting area. I need to speak to Mr. John."
Emma nodded and left. A few moments later, John entered. His face was expressionless, his blue eyes carrying their usual coldness, his proud walk unchanged.
He sat opposite Dr. Ibrahim, crossing one leg over the other.
"How are you?" Dr. Ibrahim asked.
"Fine," John replied curtly.
"Look, Mr. John, as I've told you before, Miss Emma's repeated traumas have left deep fears in her mind. These nightmares are the result. Whenever she is mentally disturbed, she experiences them. You should keep her happy."
John listened quietly.
"Is there anything else?" he asked seriously.
"Yes. You know, we humans have a sixth sense. Sometimes dreams serve as warnings of future danger. It's possible her dreams are trying to alert her."
John nodded, gave him one last look, and left.
---
Blindfolded, she was playing with Diyan in the lawn.
"Diyan…" she called, moving her hands in the air, turning toward the sound of his laughter.
"Mama, here!" He tugged at her dupatta from behind and ran away.
"Oh no…" She stepped back, stretching out her hands to find him, but her foot twisted. Before she could fall, strong hands caught her shoulders, steadying her.
Even blindfolded, she knew by his scent who it was. Quickly, she pulled off the blindfold.
He was standing right in front of her. Those dark eyes were fixed on her. She lowered her gaze and stepped aside, suppressing the pain in her foot. Aahil removed his hands from her shoulders and clasped them behind his back.
"Papa, I won!" Diyan cheered, running out from his hiding spot and clinging to Aahil's legs.
Aahil picked him up, kissed his cheek, and then looked at Hoor, who was waiting for him to leave. She didn't want him to notice her pain, but her flushed face gave her away. For a moment, Aahil was startled.
"Phupo is leaving today. Get ready quickly—we have to drop her off," he said, his gaze lingering on her face that reflected both joy and sadness at meeting Rukhsar Begum.
"And Daji?" she asked hesitantly.
"They're not coming, only Father. Now hurry."
Hoor moved inside happily but carefully, though her unsteady walk did not escape Aahil's eyes. Concerned, he stepped closer.
"Are you okay? Why are you walking like that?" he asked, his worry genuine—but only for a fleeting moment. He forced his heart not to feel hope.
"I'm fine. Just give me Diyan, I'll change his clothes too." She reached for the child, but instead of handing him over, Aahil placed Diyan down and supported her by the shoulder, guiding her inside.
He seated her on the lounge swing, then knelt and examined her foot despite her protests.
He realized it was sprained. With a sudden jerk, he tested it. Hoor cried out, muffling her scream with her hand. Even Diyan was startled by her cry.
"Does it still hurt?" he asked seriously, moving her foot gently, watching her closed eyes. She didn't reply. The pain in her heart outweighed the pain in her foot.
"What happened?" Diyan asked nervously, placing his little hand on her knee, his innocent face full of concern.
Hearing his voice, Hoor opened her eyes. Red veins ran through them.
"It's nothing," she said with a weak smile, running her fingers through his hair. She ignored Aahil, as she had been doing for some time now.
Her indifference struck him deeply. Furious, he stormed out, taking long strides.
Hoor sighed heavily once he left. Ignoring him was so difficult—but she had to. She wanted him to feel her absence, even in her presence.
She changed clothes, draped a large shawl, and picked up Diyan, already dressed. Coming downstairs, she saw Aahil leaning against the car, smoking. He quickly put out the cigarette when he saw them, got into the car, and started it as soon as they sat down. The car headed straight for the airport.
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To be continued…