29| Sleeping Beauty

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Anaabiya's trembling hands cradled Humza's face, her forehead pressing desperately against his, her breath uneven as tears slipped down her cheeks.

"Please," she whispered brokenly, her voice barely audible over the distant crackling of the dying fire. "You can't leave me like this. I need you, Humza. Please... wake up for me."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile ghosted over his lips—so fleeting that she thought she had imagined it. His eyes were closed, his body heavy against hers. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought he was merely asleep, lost in a dream. But then, his breathing hitched, his muscles tensed, his body jerked slightly as if fighting against the pain—and then, suddenly, everything stilled.

His body went limp.

His eyelids fluttered weakly before falling shut, and in that moment, Anaabiya felt an unbearable, soul-crushing fear grip her.

"No," she choked out, her hands pressing against his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as if her touch alone could bring him back. "No, no, no—please!"

Her heartbeat pounded wildly, her pulse roaring in her ears as she struggled to comprehend what was happening. The night sky loomed above them, dark and endless, offering no comfort, no reprieve. The house still smoldered behind them, the air thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burnt wood.

Humza's weight bore down on her, his body straddling hers as he lay unmoving. His neck was slick with blood, his shirt soaked through with it. Anaabiya's breath hitched in panic. He wasn't fine. He wasn't fine at all.

A deep, terrifying realization settled in her bones—an unsettling, gut-wrenching certainty that she was about to lose something... someone precious.

If we die, we die together.

His words echoed hauntingly in her mind, replaying like a cruel, unrelenting curse.

And then, something inside her shifted.

Her entire world narrowed down to the man in her arms. All her life, she had never known what it felt like to have someone willing to die for her. To put her before themselves. And now, staring at Humza's bloodied, motionless form, the weight of that truth crushed her.

This had happened because of her.

Anaabiya sobbed uncontrollably, her hands shaking as she pressed them against his chest, feeling the slow, uneven rise and fall of his breath. "Humza," she whispered, her voice barely holding together. "Please, wake up."

There were voices around them—some familiar, others foreign—but she couldn't focus on anything beyond him. She could barely think, barely breathe.

Her body moved on instinct. She gritted her teeth and used the last of her strength to push him off of her, turning them over so that he lay flat against the damp ground. The moment his burned, battered back touched the earth, he whimpered in agony, the sound so raw, so broken that it shattered something inside her.

Anaabiya clutched his hand in hers, horrified to see the burns marring his skin. He flinched at the contact, but she held on tighter.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry."

Her hands hovered over his wounds as if she could somehow absorb his pain, take it away, bear it for him instead. But she was helpless. Useless. The realization made her entire body quake with silent, wracking sobs.

"Humza," she tried again, her voice breaking, "wake up. Please, please wake up. I—"

Her words dissolved into a choked cry as she pressed her forehead against his chest, feeling the weak thud of his heartbeat beneath her. His body was growing colder, and that terrified her more than anything.

Allah, please. Please don't take him from me.

Tears streamed down her face, falling onto his skin, mingling with the blood and soot. Her grip on his shirt tightened as if holding on to him could somehow tether him to this world, to her.

The last thing she remembered before the world turned to darkness was a heavy blanket being thrown over them, shielding them from the cold night air. Voices swirled around her, urgent yet distant, like echoes in a void. Hands tried to pry her away from Humza, but she clung to him with every ounce of strength she had left.

And then, as exhaustion and grief consumed her, her body gave in. Her head dropped onto his chest, her fingers still tangled in his shirt, and the world faded into nothingness.

The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor filled the silence, its steady yet unbalanced pace a stark reminder of reality. A faint groan slipped past Anaabiya's lips as her body stirred. The bright sunlight filtering through the curtains stung her closed eyelids, forcing her to shift uncomfortably. She wanted to keep sleeping—to escape into oblivion for a little longer—but the persistent voices around her wouldn't allow it.

"I think she's waking up," a woman's voice murmured, laced with relief.

"Ya Rab, I can't thank You enough," another voice whispered from somewhere to her left. The voices were familiar yet distant, their warmth cutting through the lingering haze clouding her mind.

Anaabiya felt a shadow fall over her, blocking the sunlight, and the slight shift in light made it easier for her to pry her eyes open. Her lashes fluttered, and a sharp sting burned through them as they adjusted to the brightness. The room around her was unfamiliar, but its luxurious setting reminded her of something—something just like her old room.

She tried to move, but the moment she did, an uncomfortable dryness scratched at her throat. A harsh cough rattled through her chest, making her wince. Before she could react, Maliha—her eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying—hurried to the bedside table, pouring a glass of water with trembling hands.

"Here, drink this," she urged, her voice thick with emotions.

Bibijaan was beside her in an instant, gently lifting her into a sitting position. Weakness enveloped Anaabiya's body, making her limbs feel impossibly heavy, as if she hadn't moved in weeks. She gratefully accepted the glass, bringing it to her lips with trembling fingers, and drank the cool water in hurried gulps. The soothing liquid relieved the painful dryness, and in that moment, she silently thanked Allah for something as simple as water—a blessing so easily overlooked.

"How are you feeling now, child?" Bibijaan asked softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Anaabiya blinked at her, trying to process everything. "Better," she rasped out, though her body still felt weak, as if drained of every ounce of energy.

Bibijaan nodded, brushing away a stray tear. "You gave us all quite a scare."

Anaabiya exhaled shakily. "How long... how long was I asleep?" she asked, her voice still hoarse.

"A day and a half," Maliha informed her gently.

Her eyes widened in shock. "A day and a—"

"Don't panic," Maliha interrupted quickly. "It was just a side effect of the medications. You needed rest."

Anaabiya nodded numbly, trying to absorb the information. Then, as if struck by lightning, a thought jolted through her. Her pulse spiked, her eyes darting around the room frantically.

"Where is Humza?"

Silence.

Her stomach twisted as she looked from Bibijaan to Maliha, who exchanged hesitant glances, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.

"He's... he's out of danger," Maliha finally said, but there was something about the way she said it that made Anaabiya's breath hitch. "The doctors said he was lucky—no concussion, but he lost a lot of blood. His back and hands are severely burned." Her voice softened. "He hasn't woken up yet... he's in a lot of pain."

Anaabiya felt as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs. The walls of the room seemed to close in, suffocating her.

"I—I need to see him," she stammered, already struggling to sit up.

"Calm down, child," Bibijaan soothed, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "You need rest. Your leg is injured."

It was only then that Anaabiya noticed the bandages wrapped around her ankle. The pain was dull but present, a throbbing reminder of the fire. But she didn't care.

"I don't care about that," she whispered, her voice laced with desperation. "Bibijaan, I can't just stay here when he needs me." Her vision blurred with unshed tears. "Please take me to him. I beg you."

Maliha's face softened, and after a brief hesitation, she nodded. "I'll get a wheelchair."

Relief surged through Anaabiya, and for the first time since waking up, she felt like she could breathe again.

Within minutes, Maliha returned with a wheelchair. With great effort, Bibijaan and Maliha helped Anaabiya settle into it before carefully wheeling her out of the room.

The hallway stretched endlessly before them, vast and elegant, adorned with golden ceilings and chandeliers that gleamed under the dim lighting. Everything around her screamed wealth—luxury beyond anything she had seen before.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion as she took in the expanse of the place.

"This is Ahmed's house," Bibijaan answered simply.

Anaabiya frowned. She had no idea who Ahmed was, but before she could ask further, her attention was drawn to the uniformed maids dusting the grand wooden doors lining the corridor.

Her heart pounded harder with each turn they took, anticipation and dread mixing into a suffocating knot in her chest.

Finally, Maliha stopped in front of a set of double doors, their ornate carvings standing tall and imposing before her. Without a word, she pushed them open for her.

The moment Anaabiya's eyes landed on the figure inside, nausea churned in her stomach.

Huzaifa sat on a small sofa in the corner of the room, his fingers tangled in his disheveled hair, his posture hunched in despair. He looked... broken. The agony in his expression made her heart clench painfully.

Humza's mother sat on the sofa, her head bowed, shoulders trembling as silent tears streamed down her face. Beside her, her husband held her gently, his hand resting on her shoulder in a futile attempt to console her.

And then, her gaze shifted to the bed.

Humza lay still, his body positioned on his stomach, his back and head wrapped in thick bandages. A clear IV line dripped steadily into his arm, keeping him stable, but his skin was pale—too pale. His face, usually so full of life and mischief, was now devoid of all color. His chest rose and fell in a slow, unsteady rhythm, as if even breathing had become a battle.

Anaabiya's throat tightened.

The reality of his pain hit her harder than she had expected. She wanted to reach for him, to touch him, to assure herself that he was real—that he was still here.

The nurse attending to him stepped aside as Maliha wheeled Anaabiya closer to the bedside, allowing her to see his face more clearly.

The moment Humza's mother saw Anaabiya, she rushed to her side, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Overwhelmed with emotion, she pressed a trembling kiss to Anaabiya's forehead.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she whispered, her voice thick with relief.

Anaabiya stood frozen, unable to find the right words. Her mind was consumed by the sight of Humza—his pale face, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, and the unbearable pain he must have been enduring.

Her heart ached at the sight of him like this.

Everyone quietly exited the room, giving her space, but Anaabiya barely registered their departure. Her entire world had narrowed down to the man lying motionless before her.

Her vision blurred with unshed tears as she whispered, her voice breaking, "Humza..."

Anaabiya's gaze lingered on Humza's face, tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the way his dark lashes rested against his pale skin. He looked so different now—so fragile, so unlike the unyielding man who always stood tall, exuding power and control.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and reached out, her fingers trembling as she gently brushed the back of her thumb along his cheek, feeling the rough texture of his stubble. "Please wake up soon," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the beeping monitors.

Her grip tightened around his unbandaged hand, desperate to feel any warmth, any sign of life. He was so still, so unnervingly quiet. A sob built in her chest, and before she could stop herself, she rested her forehead against their joined hands, letting the weight of her emotions spill over.

Tears streamed down her face, soaking his skin as she clutched his hand like a lifeline. "Ya Allah, please," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Please heal him. Please, I can't take this anymore. I can't lose him. I've lost enough. Not him Allah. Please not him."

But the only response was silence. No reassuring squeeze of his fingers, no flicker of his eyelids. Just the rhythmic sound of his uneven breathing and the distant murmurs of people outside the room.

Her heart ached as she thought back to the man who had once been her worst nightmare—the one who had threatened her, controlled her, forced her into a life she never wanted. And yet, here he was, the same man who had thrown himself into the flames for her, who had nearly killed himself just to make sure she lived.

How had everything changed so drastically?

And why did the thought of a world without him terrify her more than anything else?

And just like that, three days slipped by, each one stretching longer than the last, filled with restless anticipation and unbearable silence. Humza remained motionless, his body still and unresponsive, his face pale against the stark white of the pillows. The only signs of life were the shallow rise and fall of his chest and the steady beeping of the monitors beside him.

Anaabiya had grown restless, impatience gnawing at her from the inside. The doctors assured her that he was healing, that his vitals were stable, yet he had not once opened his eyes. Not even a flicker.

Huzaifa had claimed to have seen his fingers twitch once, and Bibijaan swore she had witnessed the same, but Anaabiya hadn't been there to see it herself. She had been in the washroom at the time, and when she returned, Humza was just as still as ever. A nasogastric tube had been inserted through his nose, feeding him the nutrients his body needed, and though the IV in his arm had been removed, the sight of the tube unsettled her.

Her own injuries had healed faster than she'd expected. The pain in her leg lingered but had dulled to an ache rather than an unbearable sting. She no longer needed the wheelchair and could move around on her own, yet she barely left the room.

She took care of him.

The nurses had taught her how to clean his wounds, and now she insisted on doing it herself. Every day, she sat by his side, carefully dabbing at the burns on his back and arms, her hands gentle yet firm, as though her touch alone could will him back to life.

She barely ate. Sleep had become a luxury she no longer afforded herself. Every night, she knelt on the prayer mat, pouring her heart out to Allah during Tahajjud, her forehead pressed against the ground, tears soaking into the fabric. Ya Allah, please wake him up. Please heal him. I can't take this anymore.

But every morning, when she looked at him, nothing had changed.

She found herself dozing off after Fajr, exhaustion forcing her into short, restless naps, but even then, her dreams were filled with his face—his voice calling her name, his eyes filled with the fire of life again. She would wake up with a start, only to find reality unchanged.

People came to visit him every day—friends, acquaintances, business associates. Even Ahad had come, relieved to see that she was fine. He had scolded her, telling her she wasn't taking care of herself, but his words barely registered. She couldn't think about herself.

Her world had shrunk to the confines of this bedroom.

Bibijaan was her only source of comfort, standing by her side like a mother, helping her care for Humza, offering quiet reassurances when Anaabiya felt like she was slipping into despair. Huzaifa, on the other hand, was seething with frustration. He was convinced the fire hadn't been an accident and had thrown himself into investigating its cause.

Days turned into nights, and before she knew it, five days had passed.

The doctors were optimistic now, saying Humza's condition was improving rapidly. The feeding tube was removed the following day, and hope rekindled in her heart.

She refused to leave his side after that, fearing he would wake up and find her gone. The thought unsettled her in a way she couldn't fully comprehend. She didn't want to analyze the unfamiliar emotions stirring inside her, didn't want to acknowledge the truth they hinted at.

All she wanted was for him to open his eyes, to look at her, to speak to her.

And until that happened, she wasn't going anywhere.

"Bibijaan, please go get some rest," Anaabiya pleaded, her voice gentle but firm. She looked at the older woman with concern, noting the exhaustion evident in the lines on her face. "You've been awake all night. You need sleep."

Bibijaan crossed her arms and gave her a pointed look. "And so do you," she countered, her tone carrying both frustration and affection.

"Someone has to stay with him," Anaabiya insisted, her conviction unwavering.

"And that someone can be me," Bibijaan shot back, exasperated. "Look at yourself! You're barely eating, barely sleeping. I am tired of watching you wear yourself down like this."

"I'm fine, Bibijaan," Anaabiya reassured her, forcing a small smile. "See? My leg is almost healed." She gestured toward her injured foot, which still ached but was no longer debilitating. "Please, if you love me, go and rest. I promise I'll sleep as soon as you wake up."

Bibijaan studied her for a long moment, then sighed in resignation. "Fine," she relented. "But I'll be in the next room. If you need anything, call me."

Anaabiya nodded, watching as the older woman reluctantly left. The moment the door closed, her gaze drifted back to Humza.

Silence filled the room, save for the faint rhythm of his breathing.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bed, cupping her chin in her palms. Her eyes traced over his face—his sharp jawline, his thick lashes, the slight furrow of his brow even in unconsciousness.

"Are you punishing me?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because if you are... it's working." A lone tear slid down her cheek, and she hastily wiped it away.

Her lips trembled as she let out a soft, shaky laugh. "You know what? You're a terrible husband," she accused, her tone light but laced with sadness. "You made me sign a contract, forced me into this marriage... and now you're lying here like this, making me worry, making me—" She hesitated, swallowing thickly before whispering, "Making me care too much."

Her fingers brushed over the back of his hand, tracing over the rough patches of his burned skin. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss against it.

A deep sigh left her lips as she shifted closer. She hesitated before leaning in, her breath fanning against his forehead as she placed another lingering kiss just above the bandage.

Her gaze flickered to his lips.

Soft. Unmoving.

Something stirred within her, an unfamiliar pull she didn't understand—one she wasn't ready to acknowledge. Before she could stop herself, she leaned down, her lips brushing against his in the lightest of touches.

A sudden jolt shot through her body, a warmth spreading from the pit of her stomach to the very tips of her fingers. It was brief, fleeting, but enough to send her heart into a wild, chaotic rhythm.

Realization struck her like lightning.

She froze.

Her eyes widened in horror as she abruptly pulled back, her breath hitching. What had she just done?

Her face burned as she turned away, pressing a hand against her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. "It's fine... he won't know," she whispered to herself, as if repeating it would somehow make it true. "He won't—"

A deep, husky voice shattered the quiet.

"What if he does?"

Anaabiya's breath caught in her throat.

Her body stiffened as the room spun around her. Slowly—almost fearfully—she turned.

Humza was awake.

His dark eyes were half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion, but there was a flicker of amusement in them. His lips, the same ones she had just kissed, curved into the faintest of smirks.

Her stomach dropped.

Her first instinct was to run, but her legs felt weak, her entire body frozen in place. Before she could process the overwhelming wave of emotions crashing into her, he attempted to sit up. A sharp grimace crossed his face as pain shot through him, his brows knitting together.

Without thinking, Anaabiya rushed to his side, her hands immediately reaching for him. "Stop, you're hurt," she scolded, her voice breathless. She carefully eased him back onto the bed, her hands lingering on his shoulders.

His gaze never left hers.

She refused to meet it.

Her mind raced, every nerve in her body screaming in embarrassment. Ya Allah, please make him forget what just happened. I'll offer twenty raka'ats of shukrana—no, thirty. Just please...

Humza exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "Anaabiya..." His voice was hoarse, laced with exhaustion.

"Shh," she cut him off hurriedly, grabbing a glass of water from the nightstand. "You need to rest. You shouldn't be talking."

She busied herself with anything but looking at him, but she could feel his stare, heavy and unrelenting.

Humza watched her, amusement flickering in his tired eyes.

"You didn't answer my question," Humza murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion yet carrying that unmistakable edge of amusement.

Anaabiya stiffened, her fingers curling into fists in her lap. She dared to glance at him and instantly regretted it.

He was smirking.

The kind of smirk that made her want to either slap him or sink into the ground and disappear.

Heat crawled up her cheeks, burning hotter than the fire that had nearly swallowed them both. She quickly averted her gaze, looking everywhere but at him.

"I'll go call everyone," she blurted out, pushing up from the chair, desperate for an escape.

But before she could take a step, his fingers wrapped firmly around her wrist. Not hard. Just enough to make it clear—she wasn't going anywhere.

"Stay," he ordered, his grip unyielding.

Anaabiya hesitated before slowly lowering herself back into the chair. Her pulse was erratic, hammering against her ribs, and she had no idea why.

A slow, lazy smile curved his lips as he tilted his head to study her. "Come here."

She blinked. "What?"

"Lay beside me."

Anaabiya gawked at him as if he'd lost his mind. Was he delusional? Had the painkillers messed with his brain?

"What?" she repeated, her voice betraying her complete disbelief.

Humza sighed dramatically. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

"Yes—actually, no! That's not happening," she spluttered.

"Why not?" His smirk deepened. "You had no problem getting close when I was unconscious."

Anaabiya's soul nearly left her body.

Her entire face flamed as her jaw fell open. "I—I did not—!"

"You did," he cut her off smoothly. "I felt it, you know. Your lips on mine. I just didn't call you out on it at the time."

"Ya Allah, just strike me down," she whispered under her breath, absolutely mortified.

"If you were awake, why didn't you say something earlier?" Anaabiya frowned, narrowing her eyes at him.

"And miss my chance to be Sleeping Beauty? No way!" Humza grinned, clearly amused.

"Sleeping Beauty?" she repeated, her confusion evident.

"Yeah, the one who wakes up with a kiss," he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Anaabiya's face burned with embarrassment. She wished the ground would just swallow her whole.

"Come on, I let you have your fun," Humza teased, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Now it's only fair you return the favour."

"Favour?!" she sputtered, her voice rising.

"You kissed me when I was asleep," he pointed out smugly. "I think it's only fair you let me—"

"Don't even finish that sentence!" she cut him off, mortified.

Humza let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying her suffering. "Fine, fine. I won't ask for another kiss. Yet." His gaze flickered with mischief before he patted the empty space beside him. "Just lay down. I won't bite."

Anaabiya hesitated, debating whether to argue or just surrender.

Humza, however, seemed to have no patience for her internal battle.

"If you don't," he started, pushing himself up, "I'll just get up myself—"

"Okay, okay! I'll do it!" she blurted out in panic, pressing her hands against his chest to keep him from moving.

She let out a deep sigh of defeat before carefully climbing onto the bed, making sure to keep a safe distance between them. Every nerve in her body was on high alert.

But, of course, Humza wouldn't let that be enough.

His arm snaked around her waist, tugging her closer in one swift motion.

Anaabiya gasped as her body was suddenly pressed against his bare chest. Her breath hitched, her entire body stiffening.

His skin was warm, his scent a mix of fresh soap and something undeniably him.

"Humza," she protested weakly, trying to pry herself away.

But he simply smirked, resting his chin lightly atop her head. "Relax, woman. I nearly died, and you're acting like I asked you to sign over your soul."

"You're insufferable," she muttered, but she made no real effort to move.

He chuckled. "And yet, you still kissed me."

Anaabiya groaned, burying her face into his chest. "I hate you."

"Mmm," he mused, his fingers tracing slow circles over her waist. "Could've fooled me."

She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

He lowered his lips near her ear, his voice dipping into something low and teasing.

"You can kiss me when I'm unconscious, but the moment I'm awake, you keep your distance? Don't you think that's a little unfair?" Humza teased, his voice laced with amusement.

Anaabiya's face turned crimson as she buried it in his chest, hoping to escape the humiliation.

"Why do you always do that?" he mused, his tone softer now, almost curious.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she mumbled against him, refusing to meet his gaze.

His breath hitched slightly, and his fingers lazily traced circles against her waist, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

"Should I show you exactly what I mean?" he murmured, his voice rich with mischief.

Anaabiya's heart pounded wildly. She knew she was in trouble now.

She had walked straight into his trap.

E D I T E D on 27.2.2025