33| What Are We Doing?

W H A T A R E W E D O I N G ?

W O R D  C O U N T: 7051

Can't thankyou guys enough for the amazing votes and comments. I can't stop smiling throughout.

I apologise for posting a few hours late than the usual time. I was occupied with something else. Also this chapter was long so had to use a lot of my brain😅 jo already kam hai :D

Forgive me♥️

In return I hope you enjoy this lonnnnnnggg chapter in Humza's POV

Vaise Ramadan Mubarak logon😘

In the dimly lit room, Anaabiya whispered softly, "Shhh! Keep quiet or she'll wake up." Humza hovered over her, his eyes filled with longing. The small toddler on Anaabiya's other side slept peacefully, her features a mirror image of Humza's.

"But I want you so much," Humza murmured into Anaabiya's ear, his hand slipping under her top to caress her warm stomach. She giggled softly in response. "I want you too, but not right now. You don't want our daughter to wake up," Anaabiya replied, giving him a pointed look before leaning into his touch.

"I love you so much, Anaabiya," Humza whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he trailed soft kisses along her jawline. "Humza, move your hand," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Tell me what I want to hear," he insisted, kissing her neck fervently. He groaned audibly when she tried to push him away, tightening his hold around her stomach.

"Humza, please move," she repeated after a moment. This time, Humza groaned louder and threw a glare her way, hoping she would stop. He opened his eyes to look at her, still feeling sleepy. Anaabiya stared back at him with bewilderment. He glanced at her for a few seconds before looking to her other side. There was no baby beside her. Panic struck him hard as he sat up instantly.

What the hell had he been dreaming?

Humza's mind replayed his own words over and over—i love you so much Anaabiya—and he wondered, did he truly love her? Was it too soon? The baby in his dreams had looked so real, stirring emotions he hadn't expected. He felt foolish remembering how he'd gently fondled her stomach in that tender moment, as if trying to hold onto something precious.

Lost in thought, his eyes suddenly snapped toward her. There, by the window, Anaabiya was tying her long, beautiful hair with an effortless grace that left him marveling. The way her fingers moved—so practiced and delicate—made him think, How do women do that so effortlessly? He felt utterly whipped, a prisoner to emotions he hadn't anticipated.

"This can't be happening," he thought, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched her. In that moment, their eyes met—her gaze was lost, puzzled, as if trying to unravel a mystery she hadn't expected. Before he could muster a word, she turned and slipped away, leaving him suspended in silence.

He slumped back onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind awash with conflicting feelings. Just hours earlier, he had slept so peacefully, unaware of the turmoil that now churned within him. The rapid onset of these emotions both frightened and intrigued him. Had he really fallen so fast? Was the depth of his affection genuine, or merely a fleeting rush that would soon fade?

As he lay there, the memory of her graceful movements and the softness of her touch clashed with his inner turmoil. The vision of her tying her hair, so beautifully composed, reminded him of all that was tender and fragile in his heart. He was left to ponder the unpredictable nature of love—a force both comforting and consuming, capable of lifting him up or dragging him into despair.

In that quiet, lonely room, Humza realized that he was caught in the throes of something he could neither fully understand nor control. The thought both thrilled and terrified him, as he surrendered once again to the silent darkness, his heart echoing with the unspoken promise of love that might be as fleeting as it was real.

Humza knew he was attached to her—knew he wanted her in ways that went beyond reason. Perhaps it was possession he craved, the need to have her belong to him as one owns something precious and irreplaceable. He wanted to control her, to mold her into something that fit within the boundaries he had built for himself. But love? Love was something he had never truly believed in.

He had only ever seen love in one form—the way his father had adored his mother, as though she was the only person in his universe. His father's love had been unwavering, deep, and all-consuming. And yet, what had it amounted to? The moment he passed away, she had moved on as though his love had meant nothing. She hadn't grieved endlessly, hadn't been shattered by loss. Instead, she had done the unthinkable—she had married his younger brother.

It was as if she had stomped on his father's love, crushed it beneath her feet, and walked away the moment she had the chance. Humza had seen firsthand how love could be discarded, how it could turn into something meaningless the moment it became inconvenient. That was not love. That was betrayal. And he had sworn, from that moment on, that he would never allow himself to feel something as fickle as love.

Love, he knew, always ended in heartbreak. It unraveled everything, leaving nothing but chaos and pain in its wake. Love stripped people of control, left them vulnerable, and Humza despised vulnerability. He thrived on order, on control, on knowing that nothing could shake him. Yet here he was—standing on the edge of something he didn't understand, something he had vowed never to feel.

The realization hit him like a slow-burning storm. His feelings for Anaabiya were no longer something he could ignore or dismiss. They were growing, creeping into his heart with a force that terrified him. He didn't just want her—he needed her. And that need, that deep, unshakable longing, was beginning to feel dangerously close to love.

And that frightened him more than anything else.

Humza had never been one to sleep soundly. Rest had always been a luxury he couldn't afford—not when his mind was a battlefield of memories and regrets, not when his nightmares lurked in the darkness, waiting to drag him back into the abyss. On most nights, he barely managed an hour or two before jolting awake, his body drenched in cold sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sleep, for him, was an enemy he had long since stopped fighting.

But last night had been different.

For the first time in what felt like years, he had slept—deeply, undisturbed—for five, maybe six hours. It was a foreign sensation, waking up without the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him, without the ghosts of his past clawing at his sanity. And he knew exactly why.

Anaabiya.

The realization sent a surge of frustration through him. She was getting under his skin, slipping past the carefully built walls he had spent years reinforcing. This was dangerous—she was dangerous. He couldn't allow himself to become weak, not again. Not after what had happened with Baaba.

He had learned his lesson long ago. Trusting a woman, giving her even a fraction of his heart, was the quickest way to destruction. His mother had proven that. She had been the perfect example of betrayal, of disloyalty wrapped in delicate beauty. His father had worshipped her, had given her everything, and in the end, it had meant nothing. She had moved on without hesitation, without grief, as if the man who had loved her more than life itself had been nothing more than a passing phase.

Humza had told himself, over and over, that all women were the same. That they were incapable of true loyalty. That love was nothing but a deception, a pretty lie designed to trap fools. And he was not a fool.

Which meant he had to stay away from Anaabiya.

She couldn't become his weakness. He wouldn't allow it.

If he lost Anaabiya after having her, he knew it would destroy him. It would strip him of whatever semblance of a soul he had left, turning him into nothing more than a breathing corpse. The mere thought of watching her with someone else made his blood run cold, his hands clenching into fists. He couldn't—wouldn't—let that happen.

Frustration clawed at his chest as he grabbed his phone and dialed Huzaifa's number.

"I thought you'd be out cold for a while longer," Huzaifa greeted, amusement lacing his tone.

Humza ignored the remark, his voice sharp. "When are we leaving?"

"In about an hour," Huzaifa replied casually.

"Good. Let Ahmed know. I want to see him the moment he gets back." There was no room for argument in his tone, and before Huzaifa could say another word, Humza ended the call.

Determined to shake off the unrest bubbling inside him, he forced himself to focus. Within fifteen minutes, he was dressed and ready. Breakfast was a silent affair, his mind too occupied with memories that refused to stay buried.

Soon, they were on their way to his old mansion—the place where he had spent most of his childhood, back when his father was alive.

His father.

The weight of the past pressed heavily against his chest as they approached the estate. Every corner of the house carried echoes of the man who had once been his world. He could still remember his father's voice, the way he had meticulously designed every detail of the house Humza had lived in before the fire—his pride, his masterpiece. Now, that home was reduced to ashes, under renovation, just like the broken remnants of Humza's past.

As they neared the gates, a deep sense of nostalgia mixed with something darker—grief, resentment, longing. This place was a graveyard of his memories, and now, he was walking right back into it.

Throughout the journey, he resolutely kept his eyes forward, refusing to meet her gaze. Yet, he could feel it—her burning stare searing into the back of his head more times than he cared to count. A part of him ached to turn around, to steal just one glance, but his instincts screamed at him to resist. Distance was his only shield, and he wasn't foolish enough to lower it.

"Here we go!" Humza mumbled under his breath as Huzaifa smoothly parked the car inside. His fingers twitched on the door handle, instinct urging him to step out and open the door for her. But he knew better. A single gesture of care would only fuel the teasing from those around him, exposing just how much she was starting to affect him.

So, instead, he forced himself to ignore her presence entirely and strode toward the front door without a backward glance. A crowd had already gathered there, awaiting their arrival—his trusted men, Asad, the staff, and several others. Their expectant gazes followed him, but he kept his expression unreadable, unwilling to reveal the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

Asad stepped forward to greet him, and Humza extended his hand for a handshake, but Asad pulled him into a brief hug instead. It wasn't overpowering, just firm enough to convey relief—relief that he was alive. Humza responded with a small nod before acknowledging his men and stepping inside.

The moment he entered, Malika was already moving toward him, arms slightly outstretched, clearly intending to embrace him. But before she could, he swiftly extended his hand. Startled, she hesitated before reluctantly shaking it instead. The confusion on her face was evident, but Humza barely spared her a glance. Disgust churned inside him, and without another word, he brushed past her.

I'm a mess. The thought gnawed at him as he groaned inwardly.

They led him to one of the seats, and he sank into it, while the others took their places on the remaining furniture. Those who couldn't find a seat stood in a semi-circle around him, waiting. His gaze swept across the room, instinctively searching for Anaabiya. But she was nowhere in sight. Was she standing behind him? His fingers curled slightly, resisting the urge to turn and check.

The voices around him blurred into a distant hum as one by one, people asked about his health. They were saying things—concerned words, well-wishes—but he barely processed them. He simply nodded absentmindedly, his mind elsewhere. This house held too many memories, and if that wasn't enough, he had another problem—the traitorous heart beating inside his chest.

His gaze drifted toward the far end of the hall, settling on a small door tucked beneath the staircase. A familiar ache tightened in his chest. That door led to a tiny room his father had built for him. Right next to a walk-in closet, it housed all the remnants of his childhood dreams. His cricket kit—the one Baba had gifted him during his "I want to be a cricketer" phase. His football and the pristine Nike shoes from when he was convinced he'd be the next great footballer. And so much more.

A hollow chuckle escaped him. What a fool I was.

Yet, Baba had never stopped him. Never once discouraged his ever-changing ambitions. He had supported them all with unwavering enthusiasm, as if he truly believed Humza could be anything he wanted to be. Anything but this.

His father had never wanted him in the mafia. He had wanted a safe, honorable life for his son. But fate had other plans.

No. I had other plans.

I was responsible for my own misery.

The weight of his sins pressed down on him like an iron fist around his throat. I killed my father. I was his murderer. That night had been the beginning of his descent. The first four deaths had merely set the stage for the bloodshed that followed. He hadn't stopped. He hadn't wanted to stop. He had drowned himself in it, in the carnage and the chaos.

But if he hadn't asked his father to come along that night, it would have only been him who died.

His jaw clenched, rage and sorrow twisting into something vile inside him. He had blamed Allah. How could he not? His whole life, he had been told that Allah only bends his servants to teach them, never breaks them completely. But Humza had been shattered beyond repair.

And Allah had done nothing to stop it.

He could have—he was God. This world was his to command. With a single word, a mere flick of his will, he could have changed everything. Could have brought Baba back. But he didn't.

So Humza had prayed. For months, he had woken in the dead of night, weeping through tahajjud, never missing a single prayer. He had begged, pleaded—Give him back to me. Please. Bring him back.

But no answer came.

He had screamed into the darkness, drowning in grief, sinking deeper and deeper into an abyss he couldn't escape. He had told Allah he was breaking, that he couldn't breathe under the weight of his agony. That he needed help.

But help never came.

Because Allah had never loved him enough to save him.

Not when his mother had married his uncle, spitting on the very love his father had cherished. Not when he had lost every last shred of faith in divine mercy.

And so, he became what he was today.

A monster. Cold. Merciless. Unforgiving.

A man who no longer prayed.

Malika's voice sliced through his thoughts like a blade, dragging him back to the present.

"So, what exactly happened that night?"

For a brief moment, Humza hesitated, his gaze flickering with doubt. He wasn't sure if he should say it aloud, not in front of so many people. Trust was a luxury he couldn't afford—not anymore.

A fresh wave of anger surged through him as the memories of that night came crashing back. His jaw clenched tightly. The thought of what could have happened to Anaabiya if he hadn't regained consciousness in time made his blood boil.

He decided to give them just enough to know the truth.

His voice, sharp and controlled, cut through the tense air.

"Someone did it on purpose," he stated icily, his fingers curling into tight fists. "Someone hit me from behind with a club. And whoever it was, they were also responsible for the fire."

Gasps rippled through the room as the weight of his words settled over them.

"They?" Huzaifa's brows furrowed as he pressed further, his sharp gaze locking onto Humza with suspicion.

Humza nodded, his expression growing darker. "Yes. There were two of them. A man and a woman. They planned it. They waited for the right moment and then locked me inside, fully intending for me to be dead by now." His voice was lethal, his fury barely contained.

He elaborated further, but deliberately withheld certain details—the color of their outfits, the finer specifics of that night. He knew the enemy could be among them, listening, watching.

Huzaifa exchanged looks with a few others before voicing the obvious. "But everyone was at the party. Nobody was upstairs. The only people on that floor were you..." He paused, then turned his gaze toward Anaabiya. "And Anaabiya."

His words settled over the room like a cold realization. He was right. Someone must have followed them.

The tension in the room thickened, every word adding to the suffocating weight pressing down on them. Humza didn't like the direction this conversation was heading, so he cut in without hesitation.

"I had stationed a guard to watch the floor that night," he stated, his voice low but firm. "But when I went upstairs, he was nowhere to be found. That's when I knew something wasn't right."

Huzaifa's expression darkened as he revealed new information. "That's because he never made it up there," he said grimly. "His body was discovered in the basement during the renovations."

A hush fell over the room, broken only by Malika's voice, drawling with mock innocence. "Well, that leaves only one explanation, doesn't it?"

Humza's gaze snapped to her, confusion flickering in his eyes as he tried to decipher who she was pointing fingers at.

"Maybe she was the one who did it," Malika shrugged, feigning nonchalance before delivering the final blow. "With her lover boy."

A suffocating silence followed, thick with unspoken accusations.

Humza was about to follow Malika's gaze when Anaabiya's voice sliced through the thick tension in the room.

"You're accusing me?" she seethed, disbelief evident in every syllable. "Of trying to kill him?"

Her voice trembled with a storm of emotions—hurt, anger, and sheer indignation. A similar rage flickered to life in Humza's chest. How dare Malika throw such an accusation at her?

There wasn't a sliver of doubt in his mind—Anaabiya was innocent. He would stake his life on it. Every instinct in him urged him to put an end to this madness, to defend her, to shut Malika down before things escalated further. But then, the past held him back, gripping him with invisible chains.

Malika had suffered—because of him. Her life had been shattered, and he was the one responsible for the wreckage. That was why he could never be cruel to her, why he had always allowed her words to go unchallenged. He had caused her enough pain, enough devastation.

She was the only piece of humanity he had left.

Malika had no one—no family, no support, no place to belong. And it was his fault.

Folding her arms across her chest, Malika's lips curled slightly, the glint in her eyes smug and victorious. "Well," she said with feigned innocence, tilting her head as if lost in thought. "You were the only one upstairs with him."

Anaabiya's fists clenched as she glared at Malika, her voice sharp with anger and disbelief.

"I was locked in my own room!" she shot back. "I was injured! You can ask Humza!"

Pain laced her words as she turned to him, waiting for him to speak, to confirm the truth. But Humza remained silent.

He wanted to defend her—every part of him screamed to do so—but the words wouldn't leave his mouth. He didn't know how.

His silence echoed louder than any accusation, cutting deeper than a blade. His fists tightened in frustration, but he remained frozen, trapped between his past and the present.

Malika's lips curled into a triumphant smirk, seeing his hesitation as an unspoken victory. Encouraged, she pressed on, her voice dripping with mock amusement.

"Well, that explains everything, doesn't it? You've always been a good actress, haven't you?" she taunted, scanning the room with satisfaction as the tension grew thicker. Eyes shifted toward Anaabiya, suspicion creeping into their gazes.

"Your lover boy must have locked you in before running away, making sure no one could suspect you. It's a clever trick, really." Malika acted as if she had just unraveled a grand conspiracy, her words laced with venom.

Humza stared down at his feet, his fists clenched as he struggled to contain the fury simmering within him. If he let the beast inside him take over, he wasn't sure what he would do to Malika.

He couldn't bring himself to turn around, couldn't face Anaabiya. But the moment he heard her sniffle, his body went rigid. She was crying.

Rage surged through him like wildfire.

"There you go again," Malika sneered, her voice laced with venom. Her eyes gleamed with twisted satisfaction. "Such a good actress. Why don't you just run off with your lover boy and stop whoring around?"

And that was it.

She hit a nerve she never should have touched.

In an instant, Humza moved. His hand wrapped around Malika's throat, his grip unrelenting, his rage unchained.

A collective gasp rippled through the room.

"Don't," he warned, his voice eerily low, filled with barely restrained fury. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around Malika's fragile neck, his entire body a force of terrifying control.

He shook his head vigorously, battling the urge to end her right there. "Don't you dare forget who you are. And don't you ever fucking accuse my wife again—" his voice dropped to a deadly whisper, his words razor-sharp "—or I swear, I will smother you into nothing."

His chest heaved, his rage uncontainable.

For so long, he had let Malika say and do whatever she wanted, but this—this was unforgivable. He wouldn't let Anaabiya suffer her wrath any longer.

Shock was evident in every pair of eyes watching the scene unfold. But none held more fear than Malika's. Her wide eyes were thronged with it, panic setting in as she clawed at Humza's hand, desperately trying to pry it away.

His grip only tightened.

A strangled cough escaped her lips, her lungs starving for oxygen. She couldn't form words, but her teary eyes pleaded with him to stop. Silent whimpers of pain trembled from her throat as her body weakened under his hold.

A firm hand landed on Humza's shoulder—Huzaifa's. A silent attempt to ground him. To bring him back.

"Humza, let her go," Huzaifa urged, his voice tense yet controlled. "You're choking her."

But Humza didn't budge. His fingers dug deeper, his fury refusing to subside. Malika's coughing grew more violent, her body shaking with effort.

Then—

"Humza."

It was barely a whisper, yet it shattered through him like a gunshot.

His name. From Anaabiya's lips.

His body stilled, muscles gradually uncoiling as his eyes snapped to hers. Tear stains marred her cheeks, each one striking him deeper than any blade could.

She shook her head nervously, pleading with him in silence. Asking him to stop.

And somehow, he did.

With a sharp breath, he loosened his grip, almost pushing Malika away in the process. She stumbled back clumsily, her balance faltering as she collapsed into a fit of hysterical coughing.

Humza's jaw clenched. His rage hadn't left him, not entirely. But now, it was directed elsewhere.

At Anaabiya.

She shouldn't be so kind. Not to people like Malika. They didn't deserve it.

Humza turned sharply, his grip tightening around Anaabiya's wrist as he hauled her along without a word. She didn't resist, nor did she question him, and for that, he was grateful.

Silence stretched between them as they ascended the grand staircase, moving through a corridor etched deep into his memory. Every step felt heavier, burdened with the weight of the past.

Reaching the room that had been his since childhood, he pushed the door open and shoved her inside. He didn't want her facing anyone right now—not after what had just happened. Without hesitation, he bolted the door from the outside, ensuring she wouldn't leave. Then, exhaling a sharp breath, he leaned back against the now-locked door, eyes shutting for a moment.

Pressing his fingers against his temples, he massaged them in slow circles, trying to suppress the headache threatening to intensify. But there was no stopping the storm brewing inside him.

After a moment, he straightened and strode down the hallway, stopping at the last door. The one that had remained untouched for years.

His parents' room.

With a deep sigh, he reached for the handle and pushed the door open. The familiar scent immediately engulfed him, a bittersweet sensation washing over his senses. Even after all this time, the warmth of the room lingered as if untouched by the passing years.

It was the largest room in the mansion, a masterpiece of elegance. As a child, he had called it the rose gold room, captivated by its intricate gold-infused interior—a design his father had crafted specifically for his mother. A gift. A testament of love.

A memory surfaced, raw and unbidden.

"Baba, can I have this room?" a younger version of himself had once asked, eyes filled with childish longing.

His father had chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Of course, kid. But only after you're married."

That answer hadn't satisfied him. He had turned to his mother instead, hopeful. "Ammi, please? Let me have it. I love this room."

She had been warm then, kind—the mother he had once cherished.

But that was before.

Before she remarried.

Before he stopped calling her Ammi.

A single tear slipped down Humza's cheek, unnoticed until it fell, marking his silent grief. His body trembled as he sank to his knees, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. The weight of his past, his regrets, his failures—all of it crashed over him at once.

His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and broken. "I'm sorry, Baba... I failed you." He spoke as if his father could somehow hear him, as if the words could reach beyond the void that separated them.

The creak of the door jolted him back to the present. Panic surged through him as he hastily wiped his tears with the back of his sleeve, sniffling to mask any evidence of his breakdown.

"I figured you'd be here."

Huzaifa's voice was calm as he stepped inside, making his way to Humza's side before kneeling beside him. Humza kept his gaze lowered, waiting for him to speak, dreading it.

A brief silence stretched between them before Huzaifa finally said, "What you did downstairs..." He paused for a moment as if choosing his words carefully. Then, to Humza's surprise, he smirked. "Was long overdue. You should have done it earlier. I'm proud of you, brother."

Humza turned to look at him, finding Huzaifa grinning like a fool.

"Thanks," he muttered, his voice still thick with emotion.

The one thing he had always appreciated about Huzaifa was that he never pushed him. He never demanded explanations, never forced him to talk. He simply sat beside him, patient and silent, waiting until Humza was ready to speak.

And this time was no different.

A beat of silence passed before Humza finally spoke again. "I think... I think I'm falling in love."

Huzaifa scoffed. "You think?" His tone was teasing, laced with amusement.

Humza exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. "Yeah... but I don't want history to repeat itself." His voice dropped, the vulnerability in his words betraying the walls he tried so hard to keep up.

Huzaifa's teasing demeanor faded, replaced by something far more serious. "You know she's different."

Humza let out a bitter laugh. "I don't even know what's happening to me." He turned to Huzaifa as if searching for answers, as if he expected him to offer a cure for the turmoil inside him.

Huzaifa placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Trust ALLAH."

Humza stiffened at those words before shaking his head with a humorless chuckle. "I lost that a long time ago. He doesn't love me."

Huzaifa sighed, his grip tightening slightly. "No, you haven't. And He does love you." His voice held unwavering certainty. "You're alive, aren't you? You're breathing. As much as you think you're broken, you survived it all. You're still here. That wouldn't be possible if He didn't love you."

Humza looked away, choosing to shrug off the words because, deep down, they unsettled him more than anything else.

Humza exhaled sharply, shaking off the weight of emotions pressing down on him. He couldn't afford to let his past consume him, not when there was a traitor lurking among them. His expression hardened as he pushed himself up from the floor.

"Forget it," he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "We need to find the traitor." His sharp gaze landed on Huzaifa. "How is Zauq?"

Huzaifa's jaw tightened before he delivered the news. "He escaped. Someone helped him."

Humza's entire body tensed at those words. A dangerous silence filled the room before his fingers ran through his hair in sheer frustration. His breathing grew heavier, his mind already envisioning the merciless punishment he'd inflict on whoever dared to betray him.

"Whoever it is..." he murmured, his voice eerily calm despite the storm brewing inside him, "I'll make them wish they were never born." His fists clenched at his sides, his fury barely contained. "And Zauq... when I get my hands on him—"

Huzaifa cut him off before his rage spiraled further. "Calm down," he said firmly. "You need rest. You haven't fully healed yet."

Humza shot him a glare, but Huzaifa remained unfazed. "You won't catch the traitor by running yourself into the ground. We'll talk about this tomorrow." His voice left no room for argument, and before Humza could protest, Huzaifa turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving him alone in the suffocating silence.

For a long moment, Humza stood still, his fists still clenched, his mind still racing. But eventually, he sighed, his body giving in to the exhaustion he had been ignoring.

He turned towards the massive bed—the one his father once claimed as his own. Slowly, he sat down on the same side his father used to sleep on. As a child, he had always wanted to be like his father, to embody the strength and wisdom the man had carried so effortlessly.

But now, as he lay back against the familiar scent of the past, he couldn't help but wonder—would his father be proud of the man he had become?

Humza shut his eyes tightly, willing himself to sleep. The medication had left him feeling dizzy and light-headed, but despite its effects, he never managed to rest for long. After barely three hours, a knock at the door pulled him from his shallow slumber.

"Come in," he called out, his voice groggy yet firm.

The door creaked open, and Bibijaan stepped inside, balancing a tray with a steaming bowl of soup. A warm smile spread across her face as she took in the sight of him sitting up.

"You're awake," she observed, making her way toward him.

"Yes," Humza murmured, pushing himself up against the headboard.

Bibijaan settled beside him, carefully raising a spoonful of soup to his lips. He didn't refuse—he hadn't realized how hungry he was until the warmth of the soup spread through him.

"I am proud of you for what you did today," she said gently, feeding him another spoonful. "You stood up for the truth. Your father would have done the same." There was admiration in her tone, but also something deeper—something wistful.

Humza swallowed, nodding slightly. He didn't respond. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Did Huzaifa change your bandage?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

"Yes, he did."

Bibijaan nodded in approval before raising another spoonful to his lips. Just as he was about to take another sip, a thought struck him. He straightened slightly.

"Bibijaan," he began hesitantly, "I... I locked Anaabiya in my old room earlier. Could you ask someone to unlock it?" He frowned, realizing she must have been there for hours. "She must be starving."

Bibijaan's expression softened. "You don't need to worry," she reassured him. "Maliha already took care of it."

Relief flooded his chest, though he said nothing. The room fell into a comfortable silence as she continued to feed him. Once the bowl was empty, she picked up the tray and walked toward the door.

Just as she reached for the handle, she hesitated, then turned back toward him.

"It's good to see you falling in love," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Humza stiffened slightly, caught off guard by her words. He opened his mouth to protest, but the warmth in her gaze made him pause.

Bibijaan simply chuckled, her smile widening. "May Allah bring you happiness, dear."

With that, she turned and left, leaving Humza alone with his thoughts.

He exhaled slowly, staring at the closed door. Falling in love?

Was he?

The thought alone made something stir deep within him—something both terrifying and strangely exhilarating.

The day passed by in a blur, and not once did Humza catch a glimpse of her. As the clock struck two in the morning, restlessness gnawed at him. Sleep evaded him, his body tense with unease. He wanted her beside him. He wanted to sleep as he had the night before—with her.

A war raged within him, a constant battle between running away from her or running to her. In the end, he let out a sigh of resignation and chose the latter.

Grabbing his pillow, he strode toward her door. It wasn't locked, but instead of barging in, he hesitated, choosing to knock first—like a gentleman.

She would let him sleep beside her. Right?

He knocked a few times, waiting. When there was no movement from inside, doubt crept in. Was she asleep? He was about to turn back when the door suddenly swung open.

His eyes landed on her, admiration flickering in them. Even half-asleep, she looked beautiful.

She stood there silently, waiting for him to speak, her gaze flickering toward the pillow in his hand.

"I can't sleep," he confessed, his voice quieter than usual.

For a moment, he could have sworn she was checking him out. His lips twitched, almost forming a smirk—until she arched a brow at him, her expression puzzled.

"So?" she questioned, tilting her head slightly.

"I want to sleep here. With you."

Humza stated the obvious, watching as Anaabiya's eyes widened in shock.

"Not again," she groaned, immediately reaching to shut the door in his face.

But he was quicker. He pressed his palm against the door, pushing it open before she could lock him out.

"Wait, wait... uh... what about my wish?" He asked hurriedly.

She blinked at him in confusion. "What wish?"

"You said, 'Sleep with me for now,' and I did. That means the wish is over, right?" She pointed out, crossing her arms.

Humza smirked, shaking his head. "No, no, no. I said, 'For now, sleep with me.' There's a difference."

She gave him a flat look, as if he had lost his mind. "It's the same thing, Humza."

"It's not," he argued, his smirk widening. "Don't twist my words. I know exactly what I meant. My first wish was for you to sleep with me every night. Not just once."

Anaabiya groaned in frustration, rolling her eyes at him. "You are unbelievable! I am not playing this ridiculous wish game with you anymore."

"We'll see about that," he said smugly before stepping past her. "Now, will you please move? I need to sleep. My back is killing me." Without waiting for her response, he pushed the door open wider and strode inside.

To her surprise, she didn't stop him.

Humza glanced at his old bed, the familiarity of it making him sigh in relief before he collapsed onto it, peeling off his shirt without a second thought.

Anaabiya frowned as she sat beside him. "Why is your back hurting again? Didn't you apply the ointment?" Her voice was softer now, laced with concern.

"I have no idea why it's hurting," Humza muttered, shifting slightly to get comfortable. "Maybe because of all the traveling. Now, stop overthinking and just sleep." His tone left no room for argument as he reached for her wrist, gently tugging her toward him.

Anaabiya immediately pulled away, narrowing her eyes but he made an innocent face expecting her to melt.

"Fine," she murmured, finally lying down beside him.

This time, they were facing each other, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. As if on instinct, she placed a pillow between them once again, creating a barrier.

Humza groaned in frustration. "Can we stop pretending that we won't end up tangled together by morning?" Without giving her a chance to respond, he grabbed the pillow and tossed it behind him.

Anaabiya stiffened, her body going completely still. The nervousness in her expression was unmistakable, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Taking advantage of her hesitation, Humza slid his arm beneath her head, his other hand resting on her waist as he pulled her close. Their bodies were flush against each other, her warmth seeping into him almost instantly.

She didn't push him away.

For a moment, he wondered if she wanted this just as much as he did.

As if to test his theory, he gently rested his chin atop her head. Then, moving even further, he hooked his leg over hers, half expecting her to resist.

But once again, she didn't.

A strange warmth spread through his chest, something foreign yet entirely welcome. His Adam's apple bobbed as he shut his eyes, reveling in the feeling of her so close.

"What are we doing?" Anaabiya's voice was barely above a whisper, uncertainty lacing her words.

Humza tightened his hold around her, sighing softly. "Shhh... I don't know either. No more questions now." His tone was gentle, almost reminiscent of the way a mother soothes a restless child at bedtime.

A moment passed before he felt her arms slowly shift from his chest, sliding around his waist instead. The unexpected closeness sent a jolt of warmth through him, stirring something deep within.

"Thank you," she murmured against his skin, her breath warm and feather-light. "For standing up for me."

Even the smallest movement from her sent sparks of awareness through his body, his muscles tensing involuntarily. He couldn't believe how much control he was losing over himself just by having her near. Instead of responding with words, he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, hoping it conveyed everything he couldn't say.

Silence settled between them, but then, without thinking, he asked, "Who do you love the most?"

Anaabiya didn't hesitate. "Nabiha," she admitted, a fondness overtaking her voice. "She's my everything. I always told her I'd protect her like a brother, that no matter what, I'd take her with me when I got married. She never believed me, though—she hated the idea of me getting married." A soft chuckle escaped her as she recalled the past. "I would always try to explain that if I did, she wouldn't lose me. Instead, she'd gain someone else who would love and care for her just as much."

She spoke about her sister as if she were reminiscing about the greatest adventure of her life. The sheer love in her voice was undeniable, and Humza found himself listening, drawn in by the sincerity of her words.

"Why does she hate you?" Humza asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

For a moment, Anaabiya remained silent, and he almost thought she had fallen asleep. But then, in a quiet, almost hesitant voice, she answered, "I don't really know. My aunt played a big role in poisoning her heart against me. Nabiha wasn't always like this... She used to be kind, so full of love—for me, for everyone. And she still is, I think... just not with me anymore." A soft sniffle followed her words, and Humza immediately pulled her closer, wrapping her in a protective embrace.

"Don't cry," he murmured gently, running his fingers through her hair in a soothing motion. "Everything will be fine. Just give it time."

She didn't respond right away, but after a pause, she asked, "Who do you love the most?" It was clear she was trying to shift the conversation away from her pain.

Humza let out a small chuckle, deciding to play along. "Still trying to figure that out," he admitted truthfully.

Silence stretched between them for a while before he finally asked, "What about your parents?"

When she didn't reply, he shifted slightly to glance at her—only to find her fast asleep. A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest as he watched her peaceful face. Shaking his head, he sighed and closed his own eyes, allowing himself to drift into sleep for the second time with her safely tucked in his arms.

Do you love me guys?

E D I T E D  on 3.3.2025