MAFIA LOVE ( Series Two)

Find her

If you haven't prayed your salah please pray this book can wait but your salah can't

Happy reading...

Third person p.o.v

The living room is dimly lit as the sound of a key turning in the front door lock can be heard. The door slowly opens, revealing the exhausted but determined face of Aamal .She steps inside, exhausted yet her eyes gleaming with a newfound strength. Her FAMILY, including her uncle, Aunty, and her brother , rush to her side, their faces filled with both relief and worry.

" I'm home... I'm finally home." Her
voice quivering.

" Oh, my daughter! We thought we had lost you forever." Aamal aunty hugged me with teary eyes .

Her uncle pulling her into a tight embrace"
We've been searching for you everywhere. We never gave up hope"

Amira, unable to contain her emotions, rushes forward and clings to her legs.

" You're back, big sis! I missed you so much!" She sobbed.

Aamal kneeling down, hugging her sister"
I missed you too, my little warrior. I promise I'll never leave you again "

Tears stream down Animal's face as she looks around the room, her gaze lingering on everything and cherished memories.

" I couldn't bear to lose all this. Not after everything that happened." She whispered

Her eyes went to Ibrahim who couldn't even hold her gaze and went inside his room.

" Don't worry he will be fine. '' Aamal 's aunt stroked her hair gently .

Aamal p.o.v

As I turn the rusty key in the lock, the door creaks open, revealing a room cloaked in darkness. Stepping inside, memories surge forth, flooding my senses with a potent mix of nostalgia and pain. This was once my sanctuary, a haven where I sought solace amidst a stormy world.

Moonlight seeps through the tattered curtains, casting ethereal patterns across the worn wooden floor. Dust particles dance lazily in the air, as if performing a forgotten ritual, whilst shadows play hide-and-seek amongst the furniture. It feels as though time has paused here, waiting patiently for my return.

I gingerly trace my fingers along the wallpaper, tracing the faded floral patterns that served as an illusion of happiness during my childhood. Though worn and torn, they stand as silent witness to my struggles, echoing the battles fought and the victories won. The walls may have held secrets, but they also bear witness to my transformation from victim to warrior.

There, in the corner, stands the dilapidated bookshelf that once held worlds within its pages. Their pages fluttered like butterfly wings, whisking me away from this cruel reality into realms where heroes vanquished darkness and dreams were not yet snatched away. Reaching forward, I brush away the layers of grime, revealing titles that once ignited my imagination.

I move towards the r bed, tracing the edges of the tears that stain the fabric. Those nights, filled with despair and the constant fear of what lay beyond my childhood haven, and yet the same bed that cradled my dreams of freedom. I close my eyes, savouring the tangible reminder of the strength that allowed me to defy the clutches of the mafia.

And as I stand here, basking in the bittersweet embrace of this room that holds my past, I am reminded of the journey taken, the blood spilled, and the  sacrifices, leading to this moment of liberation. No longer a victim, I am the heroine of my own narrative, breathing in the freedom that once seemed only a distant dream.