37| A Live Feed

A   L I V E   F E E D

W O R D  C O U N T: 4548

Thanks for all your support.

Here is a double update ♥️

I really, really love you guys ♥

Midnight arrived, yet she remained frozen in the same spot where he had left her, the weight of his words still pressing heavily on her chest. Then, just as the house had settled into eerie stillness, the distant sound of metal gates creaking open sent a jolt through her. Moments later, the deep rumble of an approaching car filled the premises.

Heart pounding, she rose to her feet and strode out of the room, determination replacing the numbness that had consumed her for hours. I need to know what's wrong. I need to understand.

As she neared the grand spiral staircase, she saw him.

Humza.

But he was different.

He looked like a man who had been dragged through hell and barely crawled out. His steps were unsteady, his body swaying slightly as he climbed the stairs at an agonizingly slow pace. His normally sharp, calculated movements were now clumsy, his footing uncertain.

"Have you been drinking?" Anaabiya's voice cut through the silence, sharp with accusation and concern.

He didn't answer. Didn't even acknowledge her presence. It was as if she wasn't even there.

She clenched her fists, watching him struggle with each step until he finally reached the top—where she stood waiting. And then, just as he took another step forward, his body faltered.

Instinct took over. She reached out to steady him.

But the moment her fingers brushed against his arm, he recoiled violently, yanking himself away as if her touch burned him.

"Don't you fucking touch me." His voice was a low growl, venom laced in every syllable.

Anaabiya stiffened, swallowing down the sting of rejection. The strong, bitter scent of alcohol and cigarettes clung to him like a second skin. His shirt was crumpled, the buttons misaligned as if he had carelessly thrown it on. His hair—usually neat, perfectly styled—was disheveled, strands falling into his bloodshot eyes.

He was drunk.

Humza was beyond just drunk—he was completely wasted.

His steps were reckless, unsteady, as he staggered down the dimly lit corridor, barely keeping himself upright. His breaths were uneven, heavy, and reeking of alcohol. Anaabiya stood frozen, watching in horror as he moved towards the first door in the hallway.

And then, without warning, he slammed his fist against the wooden surface.

"Open up, woman!" His voice was rough, slurred, but loud—loud enough to echo through the empty corridor.

Anaabiya's heart constricted painfully at the sight. A terrible, gut-wrenching feeling spread through her chest, her body locked in a state of frantic turmoil. She wanted to stop him, to shake him, to make him see reason. But she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

The door creaked open a few seconds later, and Malika's sleepy face emerged from the dimly lit room. She blinked, looking groggy, her hair slightly disheveled from sleep.

But the moment her gaze landed on Humza, everything changed.

Her expression shifted, the last traces of drowsiness vanishing in an instant. Her eyes lit up in unmistakable excitement, recognition flashing across her face.

Anaabiya felt a sickening wave of dread crash over her.

Without a word, Humza barged past Malika, stepping into her room without hesitation.

Malika didn't stop him. She didn't question him. Instead, she turned to Anaabiya—who was still standing there, watching in stunned silence—and smiled.

Not a kind smile. Not an innocent one.

A smug, victorious smirk that sent ice straight through Anaabiya's veins.

And then, with deliberate slowness, Malika reached for the door and shut it.

The click of the lock was deafening.

Anaabiya felt something inside her shatter.

It wasn't just pain. It wasn't just betrayal.

It was devastation.

A deep, soul-crushing humiliation seeped into her bones, leaving her standing there like a fool, like an outsider who had just witnessed the man she—No. Don't say it.

Her hands clenched into fists. Her nails dug into her palms, but she barely felt the sting. Every ounce of respect, of trust, of admiration she had held for Humza evaporated in that moment, leaving only a bitter emptiness behind.

She had believed in him. Believed in the man who had been gentle, kind, and warm over the past few days. The man who had saved her, protected her.

But this...

This was not that man.

This was someone else. Someone she did not—could not—recognize.

Anaabiya barely slept that night.

She had cried until there were no more tears left to shed, until her body felt drained, hollow, and lifeless. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on her, but her mind refused to rest. Every time she closed her swollen, aching eyes, the image of Humza—drunk, reckless, choosing Malika—played over and over in her mind like a cruel, torturous loop.

The cavernous, serrated pain in her chest twisted relentlessly, making her grimace from time to time as she lay curled up on the bed, alone in the vast silence of the room.

Nabiha had been moved to another room, leaving Anaabiya to sulk in solitude. She thought being alone would bring her some peace, but it only intensified the suffocating weight pressing down on her. The loneliness clawed at her, wrapping around her like an unrelenting shadow.

Sleep came only when exhaustion became unbearable, when her body could no longer fight the desperate need for rest. But even then, it was not peaceful—it was fleeting, restless, filled with nightmares that left her gasping awake.

Morning arrived too soon, dragging with it the harsh reality she wished she could escape. Her throat was raw from crying, her body heavy with sorrow. But worst of all was the ache in her heart—a dull yet unyielding pain that refused to subside.

She thought about going to Rafiya Aunty, about demanding answers. What had she done? What had she said that pushed Humza into this darkness?

But then Anaabiya stilled.

Would it even matter?

Would knowing the truth change anything?

The thought of him, drunk and reckless, willingly walking into Malika's room—choosing her—sent a sharp, searing pain slicing through her chest. It was unbearable, suffocating, like knives piercing through her heart all at once.

How could she have been so foolish?

She had allowed herself to hope, to believe that Humza was more than the cold, distant man he once was. That he was changing. That he cared.

But last night had shattered every illusion she had built.

She had been wrong.

So terribly, terribly wrong.

Anaabiya wept bitterly during Fajr, her heart heavy with grief as she begged Allah to do something—anything—to ease the unbearable pain that Humza's words had left behind.

She felt shattered, broken into pieces too small to put back together.

After she was done with her prayers, she quietly checked on Nabiha. Her younger sister was still fast asleep, undisturbed by the turmoil that had consumed Anaabiya through the night. Not wanting to linger in the suffocating silence of her room, she made her way to the kitchen, craving nothing but a simple glass of milk.

She felt weak. Drained. Her limbs were heavy, exhaustion pressing into her bones, yet no trace of sleep lingered in her system. It was as if the night's horrors had stripped her of even the ability to rest.

The house was eerily quiet at this hour, the early morning stillness settling over everything. She expected the kitchen to be empty, abandoned, as everyone else still slept.

But as soon as she stepped inside, she froze.

Malika was there.

The woman sat at the counter, devouring a chocolate truffle cake with unrestrained greed, shoving large bites into her mouth without care or refinement. Anaabiya's stomach twisted at the mere sight of her.

Her mind betrayed her with a bitter thought—she must be starving after all that effort last night.

Revulsion curled through her at the implication of her own thoughts, making her stomach churn in distaste.

Malika didn't acknowledge her presence, didn't even spare her a glance. She continued eating, stuffing herself shamelessly, as if nothing had happened—as if the night before had meant nothing.

Anaabiya clenched her jaw and moved toward the fridge, forcing herself to remain composed. With slow, deliberate movements, she poured the milk into a glass, ignoring the burning urge to throw it in Malika's face.

Anaabiya was about to take a sip of her milk when Malika's voice sliced through the quiet air.

"So, had a fantastic night, did you?" Her tone was sharp, laced with something almost mocking.

Anaabiya lowered the glass slightly, her expression unchanging. She wants to play games? Fine.

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?" she shot back, rolling her eyes before finally taking a slow sip of the thick white liquid.

Malika's face twisted into a scowl. Irritated? Good.

"Don't try and act smart with me," Malika snapped, eyes flashing.

Anaabiya raised a brow, momentarily confused. Since when does she talk to me? They had barely exchanged words before, yet now Malika was striking up a conversation as if they were old rivals.

Her clothes were the same as last night. A smug smirk tugged at the corner of Anaabiya's lips. Didn't even bother to change, huh?

"Why do you sound so doubtful?" Anaabiya mused, tilting her head as she studied Malika's expression. There was something... off about it.

Malika scoffed, folding her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the counter. Defensive.

"Fine. I get it. He chose you over me. Hell, he always chooses you over everyone, but there's no need to act like a bitch about it," she sneered, tossing her hair back. "You can have him. I'm done. He's not worth it anymore."

Anaabiya stilled.

Something cold and sharp coiled in her chest. Her grip on the glass tightened, but she refused to let her expression falter.

He slept with her.

She felt her stomach drop.

Where was I in this?

The air suddenly felt thick, suffocating.

Slowly, she lifted the glass to her lips and downed the rest of the milk in one go, not even tasting it.

"You got what you wanted, Malika," she said, her voice steady despite the hurricane inside her. "He never chose me. He slept with you. He doesn't love me."

Malika's smirk faltered. A flicker of something—shock?—crossed her face.

Malika scoffed, crossing her arms as she studied Anaabiya with narrowed eyes. Was she seriously this clueless?

"Don't tell me you actually don't know," she snapped, her voice laced with frustration. "What, did you wake up with memory loss or something?"

Anaabiya frowned, her patience thinning. "If you have something to say, say it clearly," she replied, her tone even but firm.

Malika inhaled sharply, as if bracing herself, before rolling her eyes. "Nothing happened between us," she said, her voice dripping with irritation. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with him. He was sulking like a damn child the whole time, wouldn't even let me touch him. Then, after an hour or two, he just got up and left. And guess where he went?" She scoffed, turning away as she placed her plate in the sink. "Straight to your room."

Anaabiya's breath hitched.

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, something warm curling in her chest. I knew it.

She had doubted for a moment, let fear creep in—but deep down, she had always known. Humza would never betray her. He—

He loves me.

Malika, still facing the sink, let out a frustrated sigh, shaking her head. "You're really something, you know that?" she muttered. "One look at you, and he turns into a complete mess."

"Stupid fool," Malika muttered under her breath, shaking her head in exasperation.

Anaabiya, however, felt an eerie sense of calm settle over her. She could handle anything—pain, distance, even his coldness—but not this. Not the idea of him choosing someone else over her. Not when she was willing to give him everything.

Was he testing me? The thought flickered in her mind. Did he want to see if I really love him?

Well, she would prove it to him.

She was still dazed, processing it all, but one thing was crystal clear—he hadn't touched Malika. He had gone to her room, but he hadn't stayed. He hadn't given in.

A smirk pulled at Malika's lips as she rolled her eyes and turned to leave, clearly done with the conversation. But Anaabiya was quicker. She stepped forward, blocking her path.

"So just to be clear," Anaabiya murmured, unable to stop the foolish grin spreading across her face. "Nothing happened between you two last night?"

Malika let out a sharp, humorless laugh, tilting her head in disbelief. "You really need to get your head checked. Are you that desperate for reassurance?" she sneered. "Yes, for the last damn time, nothing happened."

Then, with an annoyed scoff, she shoved past Anaabiya and stalked out of the kitchen.

Anaabiya, on the other hand, barely noticed. A triumphant warmth spread through her chest.

She didn't hate Malika anymore. Maybe, just maybe she wasn't so bad after all. She could have easily hidden the fact that nothing had happened between them but she didn't and Anaabiya was grateful for that.

She was sure now.

And in that moment, she could have danced.

Anaabiya hurried toward Humza's room, but he wasn't there. The space remained frozen in the chaos of the previous night—shattered glass still littered the floor, expensive decor lay overturned, and yet, the only thing that remained untouched was his scent. That familiar cologne clung to the air, wrapping around her like a bittersweet memory.

If Humza refused to tell her what was wrong, she would find out herself. He was playing a game with her. But she wasn't going to lose. She knew he loved her. He could try to push her away all he wanted, but she wouldn't let him.

Determined, she turned on her heels and headed for his gym on the second floor. As she stepped inside the spacious room, her gaze immediately sought him out. He was there—lifting heavy weights, his muscles flexing under the strain.

No wonder he had that powerful, sculpted build.

Her heart pounded violently against her ribs as she slowly made her way toward him. He had to know she was there—she was certain of it—but he didn't acknowledge her presence. Instead, his sharp gaze remained fixed on the wall ahead, his expression unreadable.

"We need to talk." Her voice came out steadier than she expected, but the moment his piercing eyes snapped to hers, all the confidence she had built up wavered.

The intensity in his stare was suffocating, holding her captive, stripping away her defenses before she even had the chance to strengthen them. He was drenched in sweat, his breathing heavy from exertion, but his presence alone was enough to make the air between them impossibly thick.

Anaabiya swallowed hard, but her throat had already gone dry.

Humza set the weights down with practiced ease before turning toward the large black-and-blue striped punching bag. Without hesitation, he launched into a series of brutal punches, each strike more forceful than the last. His knuckles met the bag with a resounding impact, the force behind each blow making it sway violently.

Anaabiya flinched at the sheer aggression in his movements, but she knew he would never direct that anger toward her. He wasn't a danger to her—his true enemy was the darkness consuming him. And she had to pull him out of it.

"Stop pretending you can't hear me, Humza," she said, her voice sharp and unyielding.

He didn't respond, didn't even glance her way. His fists continued their relentless assault on the bag, his breaths ragged with exertion. Watching him now, Anaabiya knew one thing for certain—whoever stood against him would never stand a chance.

Still, she refused to back down.

"I know you love me," she pressed, her voice unwavering despite the storm raging in her chest. "Something is holding you back, but I don't know what. And I don't care. No matter what you do, I will never hate you, Humza. I can't stop loving you."

At last, his movements stilled. His hands gripped the punching bag tightly, stopping it before it could swing back toward him. A tense silence settled between them. Then, his voice, cold and cutting, shattered it.

"I don't care if you hate me or not. You don't exist to me."

The words were a blade straight to her heart. They should have devastated her. And maybe they did. But she also knew he was saying them on purpose—deliberately pushing her away.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, but her resolve didn't waver. "Stop running from this," she said, stepping closer. "I told you—I love you."

His eyes darkened instantly. His fists clenched again, his entire body wound tight as if preparing for battle.

But Anaabiya didn't give him the chance to retreat.

With newfound courage, she closed the distance between them, her hands reaching up to cup his face. His breath hitched, but he didn't move away. Their foreheads pressed together, and she closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her palm.

His breath fanned against her lips, and hers mingled with his. Their closeness was intoxicating, overwhelming, yet he remained still—frozen, unmoving.

"Tell me you don't feel anything right now."

Her voice trembled, but the challenge in it was unmistakable.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, searching his face for any sign of emotion. But his expression was unreadable. Blank. As if he had locked away every shred of feeling.

Yet his hands remained clenched at his sides, the tension in his body betraying him.

Humza shook his head sharply and stepped back, his jaw tightening.

"I don't," he bit out. "Go mess with someone else's mind."

Anaabiya refused to believe him. He didn't mean it. He couldn't mean it. She repeated those words in her head like a prayer, fortifying herself against the blow his words had delivered.

Still, she refused to let him win. Crossing her arms over her chest, she lifted her chin defiantly, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence. "You can lie to yourself all you want, but I know the truth, Humza. And trust me, soon enough, you'll confess it too. You don't scare me. Go try intimidating someone else."

His eyes darkened, and before she could react, he reached out, gripping her arms tightly and yanking her closer. She could feel the exhaustion rolling off him, see the cracks in his carefully constructed walls. For a moment, just a fleeting second, he looked as if he was on the verge of breaking.

But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the vulnerability vanished. His mask was back in place, cold and unyielding.

"Well, good luck with that," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "But here's some breaking news before you waste your time—I don't love you. I never have. And to me, you don't exist."

With that, he shoved her away and stormed out of the room, leaving her standing there, her heart pounding in the silence he left behind.

The following day, Anaabiya sought out Rafiya Aunty, desperate for answers. But when she brought up Humza, the older woman merely shrugged, avoiding her gaze. There was something off in her demeanor, something nervous and guarded.

Why was she acting like this? What was she hiding?

But before Anaabiya could press further, she realized there was a bigger problem—Humza hadn't returned. The hours passed, then the entire day, yet there was no sign of him. She waited. She searched. But he was nowhere to be found.

As six days passed without any sign of Humza, Anaabiya found herself slipping deeper into restlessness and anxiety. Each day felt heavier than the last, and the silence of his absence weighed on her like a crushing force.

Rafiya Aunty had left soon after, confirming Humza's bitter words—his mother truly didn't care enough to stay. The realization only added to the turmoil churning inside Anaabiya.

Desperate for answers, she turned to Huzaifa, the only person who might know where Humza had gone. But each time she asked, he merely shrugged, dismissing her concerns with vague responses.

"He's busy these days. He'll come home when he has time," was all he ever said, his tone clipped, as if he wasn't willing to discuss it further.

But Anaabiya couldn't accept that anymore. On the seventh day, she finally managed to convince Huzaifa to take her to their office—or dungeon, or whatever else they called that godforsaken place.

Hopelessness had settled deep within her, a constant, suffocating presence. She could feel despair clawing at her chest, whispering doubts into her mind. But beyond all that, there was something stronger—a longing so fierce it burned through her bones.

She was dying to see him. It had been too long, too painful. And now, more than ever, she knew one thing with absolute certainty.

She loved him.

"Remember, Anaabiya, this was your idea. You blackmailed me into bringing you here," Huzaifa muttered, his voice tight with unease. Unlike him, however, Anaabiya felt no fear—only determination.

Seated in the back of his car, she clutched a steel tiffin filled with biryani, her grip firm as if the meal itself would somehow anchor her emotions. The vehicle moved deeper into an unfamiliar alley before coming to a halt. The path ahead was too narrow for the car to continue, surrounded by dense trees that loomed over them like silent sentinels.

Huzaifa exhaled sharply before sprinting forward, navigating the barely visible path carved through the forest. Adjusting her slightly loose hijab, Anaabiya followed behind, her mind racing with questions. What kind of office operates in the middle of nowhere?

As the trees began to clear, a massive, old warehouse came into view. It was surrounded by armed men, their expressions unreadable, their presence intimidating. Yet, instead of fear, an unexpected rush of anticipation surged through her.

Huzaifa led her inside, and as they passed through the entrance, Anaabiya noticed something peculiar—several men lowered their heads in silent acknowledgment. At first, she assumed it was for Huzaifa, but a quiet remark from him corrected her.

"They're bowing to you. It's Humza's order," he stated, his tone unreadable.

A flicker of something warm spread through her chest, momentarily overshadowing the unease. Didn't he miss me? The thought gnawed at her, fueling the desperation that had been consuming her for days. She needed to see him.

Reaching an enormous double door, Huzaifa knocked firmly. A few seconds passed in silence, and when there was no response, he cautiously pushed it open. Peeking inside, he turned back to her.

"He's not here. Go inside—I'll call him."

Anaabiya nodded, stepping into the dimly lit space as Huzaifa disappeared down the hallway.

The room wasn't an office—it was something else entirely. A safe house, perhaps. Anaabiya stepped inside, her gaze sweeping across the room with quiet curiosity. The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with books and files, neatly arranged but overwhelming in number. At the center stood a large wooden desk, a sleek laptop resting atop it, alongside a pen stand, a paperweight, and a chair tucked slightly to the side.

She placed the tiffin carefully on the desk, exhaling softly. Everything in this room held traces of him, his presence lingering even in his absence.

But where was he? And more importantly—why was he hiding from her?

Every corner seemed to hold something significant—something that belonged to Humza. As she moved toward the other side of the desk, her eyes landed on his laptop.

The screen was still lit, and the wallpaper caught her attention immediately. It was a photograph of Humza with his father. The resemblance was uncanny—Humza had inherited almost all of his features from the man in the picture. But what stood out more was the warmth in the image. A young Humza sat on his father's lap, looking content, the bond between them evident in the way his father's arm protectively rested around him.

A pang of emotion struck her chest.

She tore her gaze away, turning to the nearby shelves filled with books and files, scanning their contents absentmindedly—until a familiar voice rang through the air.

"Aapi... Aapi, where are you?"

Anaabiya froze. Her brows furrowed as she turned swiftly, searching for the source. But the voice hadn't come from outside the room. It had come from—

Her eyes snapped to the laptop.

With growing urgency, she rushed back to the desk, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Nabiha? Her voice had been clear—worried. It had to be a recording. But as Anaabiya reached for the laptop, another distressed murmur filled the air.

"Where did Aapi go? Ya Allah, what do I do now?"

Her breath caught. She hurriedly maximized the minimized tabs, and the moment the screen changed, her entire body stiffened.

A live feed.

Her own room appeared on the screen, the footage crisp and real-time. Her eyes darted across the familiar setting—the bed, the slightly messy sheets, the clothes she had left behind before coming here. The realization struck her like a storm.

Humza had been watching her all along.

A shiver ran down her spine, but the sensation was mixed with something else—something strange, something that sent a flutter to the pit of her stomach.

She should have been horrified. She should have felt anger, betrayal. But instead, all she felt was an overwhelming awareness of him.

Why?

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Anaabiya's head snapped up at the furious voice. Humza stood near the doorway, his sharp gaze locked onto her, a storm brewing in his eyes. Her breath hitched.

He looked different—rougher. A faint stubble shadowed his jawline, making his already intense features even more striking. There was something dangerously captivating about him, something that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Without hesitation, he strode toward her, his movements sharp, controlled. In one swift motion, he slammed the laptop shut, cutting off her view entirely. His jaw was clenched, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something else beneath his rage—something he was trying to bury.

It almost felt like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

Anaabiya crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. "Isn't it a little unfair?" she mused, her voice laced with challenge. "You disappear for a whole week without a word and I don't get to see you for so long, but you've been watching me the entire time?"

Humza stilled. His fingers twitched slightly against the desk, but his expression remained impassive.

For the first time, he didn't have an immediate response.

Vote and Comment please ☺

How was the chapter?

E D I T E D  on 5.3.2025