Hidden Strings: Who's Playing Who?

4. Seeing each other (again)

HAYAT'S POV :

The habit of wandering aimlessly is going to kill me someday. I keep walking, my feet carrying me through the labyrinth of the night market, my eyes scanning the stalls without really seeing them. The market is alive with its usual hustle and bustle-vendors calling out, the smell of street food wafting through the air, and the glitter of jewelry catching the light. I've already bought four pairs of earrings tonight. I don't need them, but I love the way they sparkle, the way they make me feel like I'm collecting little pieces of beauty in a world that often feels too heavy.

What I love most, though, is the anonymity. Here, no one recognizes me. No one questions me. No one expects anything from me. It's freeing, in a way that nothing else is. I can just exist, invisible, untethered.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifts. The traffic police start rounding up the crowd, their voices sharp and urgent. "Move back! Move back!" they shout, gesturing for people to clear the road. A VIP is passing through. I don't care who it is-politicians, celebrities, they're all the same to me. I just keep walking, my mind elsewhere, until a man grabs my arm and yanks me to the side of the road.

"Be careful!" he scolds, his voice tinged with irritation. "The cars are coming!"

I barely have time to register his words before a convoy of sleek black cars glides past, their windows tinted, their presence commanding. The crowd murmurs excitedly, and I catch snippets of conversation. "It's him!" someone says. "He's here!"

I don't pay much attention until one of the cars stops. The door opens, and a man steps out. He's tall, his posture confident, his suit immaculate. The crowd erupts in cheers, and I realize who he is-a politician, someone important, someone loved. I can't see his face yet, just the back of his head as he bends down to pick something up from the ground.

My heart skips a beat.

In his hand is a pair of earrings. My earrings. The ones I bought just moments ago. When did I drop them? How did they end up in his hands? I instinctively reach for my bag, my fingers brushing against the other pairs I've collected tonight. Sure enough, one is missing.

He straightens, holding the earrings up, scanning the crowd. His gaze moves methodically, searching for the owner. And then it happens-his eyes land on me.

Time slows.

His gaze halts, locking onto mine. I feel it like a physical force, a jolt that travels through my entire body. His face comes into view now, and suddenly, a vivid memory strikes me. I remember him. I remember that day. I thought our paths would never cross again. I thought I'd left all of this behind. But here he is, standing in front of me, his presence as commanding as ever.

The crowd erupts again, confetti exploding into the air, roses showering down like rain. But he doesn't look away. His eyes stay fixed on me, and for a moment, it feels like the world has narrowed to just the two of us.

I'm the first to break the eye contact. My heart is pounding, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I can't do this. I can't let these feelings resurface.

I turn and push through the crowd, my movements frantic. I need to get out of here. I need to put as much distance between us as possible. But even as I walk away, I can feel his gaze on my back, heavy and unrelenting.

Did he recognize me? No, that's impossible. We never even had a conversation back then. I was just a face in the crowd, someone he wouldn't even remember. And yet, the way he looked at me-it felt like he knew. Like he saw through me, straight to the part of me I've been trying so hard to ignore.

I scoff at myself, shaking my head. I'm overthinking this. He's a politician. He's probably trained to make everyone feel seen, to make everyone feel special. It doesn't mean anything.

But as I walk away, the memory of that day lingers, playing on a loop in my mind. I brushed it off back then, chalking it up to hormones, to youthful infatuation. But now, seeing him again, I realize those feelings never really went away. They've been there all along, buried deep, waiting for a moment like this to resurface.

I can't afford to let them grow. I can't afford to let him back into my life. But as I glance over my shoulder, just once, I see him still standing there, the earrings clutched in his hand, his gaze searching the crowd.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel something I thought I'd lost forever-hope.

IBRAHIM'S POV :

The noise and celebration of the crowd seemed to stop for a moment. Those eyes-I've seen them before. A feeling of warmth and recognition crept through my heart, something I hadn't felt in years. I clutched the earrings tightly, as if holding onto them would keep her close, would keep her from disappearing again.

I scanned the crowd, my gaze darting from face to face, searching for her. But she was gone. Vanished, like a shadow slipping through my fingers. My chest tightened with a mix of frustration and longing. Not again. I couldn't lose her again. Not this time.

I had stopped by the market to visit the people, to listen to their problems and demands. It was part of my duty as a public figure, but also something which will help me win the elections. I never imagined I'd see her here. I never imagined I'd see her anywhere.

Every time our paths crossed, she disappeared, as if she were a dream-something my mind conjured up to taunt me. But she wasn't a dream. She was real. I could still feel the weight of her gaze, the way her eyes had locked onto mine, even if only for a moment.

The crowd pressed in around me, their voices rising in excitement. They welcomed me with open arms, eager to share their stories, their struggles. I forced a smile, engaging in conversation, nodding at the right moments, but my mind was elsewhere. My heart was stuck in that moment, replaying it over and over.

Did she recognize me? I wondered. Does she remember?

I glanced over my shoulder, my eyes scanning the sea of faces once more. But there was no sign of her. Just the bustling market, the glittering lights, and the faint echo of her presence lingering in the air.

When the conversations finally ended, I made my way back to the car, the earrings still clutched in my hand. I slid into the back seat, my body sinking into the leather as I stared at the delicate jewelry.

That's when I noticed it.

Engraved on the back of the earrings were two tiny letters: HK.

Her initials.

My breath caught in my throat. It was her. It had to be. Hayat Khan. The name echoed in my mind.

I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes. The car began to move, but my thoughts remained fixed on her. Every encounter we'd had-every fleeting moment-played in my mind like a film reel.

And now, this. The market. The earrings. Her initials.

It couldn't be a coincidence. It felt like the universe was pulling us together and if universe wants it then who am I to stop.

I opened my eyes, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. Where are you, Hayat? I thought. Why do you keep running?

The earrings felt heavy in my hand, a tangible reminder of her presence. I didn't know how, but I would find her. I couldn't let her slip away again. Not this time.

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