Fated Roads

Prologue

Third person's POV.

Turkey — 6 Months Later

Istanbul glimmered in the twilight — a city where East and West breathed together. The hum of trams, the chatter of tourists, the glow of street lamps over the Bosphorus all folded into the evening rush.

Inside one of the grand malls near Taksim, Roshaane moved between shops, her arms filled with bags, her face bright with satisfaction.

Her phone buzzed. Aarib’s name lit up the screen. She answered at once, her voice cheerful.

“Ne kadar daha sürecek?” (How much longer will you take?) Aarib’s tone carried his usual composure, yet a hint of impatience stirred beneath it. He had been waiting in the car park, glancing at his watch every other minute, his thumb tapping the steering wheel in restless rhythm.

“I’m finished,” Roshaane replied quickly, tucking a strand of hair beneath her scarf as she balanced the shopping bags. “Just walking out now.”

There was silence for a breath, then she added softly, her lips curving into a secret smile, “Seni seviyorum.” — I love you.

The words lingered in his ear, pulling something deep inside him. Aarib closed his eyes for a moment and, despite himself, a rare smile touched his lips. He had never said the words back — not yet — but her voice left an ache in his chest he could not deny.

“Gel, bekliyorum,” he murmured. (Come, I’m waiting.)

He drove the car closer to the entrance, eyes scanning for her. And then he saw her — stepping out of the glass doors, her bag slipping from her shoulder, her hands full of shopping bags, her face glowing with joy as she spotted him.

“Aarib!” she called, her voice lost in the rush of traffic. She started forward eagerly, not noticing the car racing down the street.

“Roshaane—!” His shout tore through the air, his hand slamming against the horn.

The screech of tires. The sharp cry of bystanders. The sickening thud.

Her bags scattered across the road, her body crumpling to the ground. The world collapsed in that instant.

Aarib’s chest clenched as he leapt from the car, running, his breath ragged, his mind refusing what his eyes saw. Dropping to his knees, he caught her face in his trembling hands.

“Roshaane… open your eyes. Stay with me!” His voice cracked, desperate, his heart thundering against the roar of the city.

Around him, Istanbul’s noise blurred into nothing. All he heard was the echo of her whispered Seni seviyorum — and the sound of his own breaking heart.

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Rome, Italy — 8 Months Later

Rome breathed in golden silence as the autumn night settled over its cobblestone streets. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of roasted chestnuts from a vendor’s stall, while faint music drifted from a guitarist playing near a café. Lanterns lit the ancient arches in warm light, casting shadows that danced across the piazzas.

Maliha walked quietly, her long beige coat brushing against her jeans, the strap of a brown leather bag resting neatly on her shoulder. A soft scarf looped around her neck, strands of hair escaping as the breeze teased them across her cheek. Her boots clicked lightly on the stones as she slowed near a fountain, her gaze lost in the glow of the city.

Beside her, Haseeb matched her pace, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark coat. His sneakers scuffed the stones, but it wasn’t the Roman chill that made him restless — it was the storm in his chest.

He stole glances at her, carrying words he had kept for years. Tonight, under the glow of Rome, those words pressed harder than ever.

“Maliha…” His voice cracked slightly. She turned, brows lifting in quiet curiosity, her scarf brushing against her lips as the breeze caught it.

Haseeb swallowed, forcing a nervous smile. In Turkish, he whispered, “Çok güzelsin.” — You are beautiful.

Maliha blinked, startled, then let a soft laugh slip past her lips. A smile curved at her mouth, warming her quiet face. The compliment caught her off guard, yet amused her too.

“Wow, you’ve learnt Turkish? Impressive. Let’s see what else you know,” she teased, stepping closer.

He grinned, attempting, “Benim adım Haseeb ve senin adın… çiçek.” (My name is Haseeb, and yours is flower.)

She burst out laughing.

“Tesoro,( treasure)” he called her then, in Italian.

“I know Italian too,” she countered playfully.

“Let me hear it then,” he challenged.

She smirked, replying in Italian, “Sei uno sciocco.” — You’re a fool.

Both giggled, their laughter echoing between the arches. Yet Haseeb noticed how her eyes glistened. He always noticed. His gaze had been tied to her for years, watching, reading the pain beneath her smiles.

“You still miss him?” he asked gently, bracing for the sting of her reply.

“Love is not easy to forget.” Her words were simple, but heavy.

“Maybe he has forgotten you,” Haseeb said, voicing the bitter truth.

“I know… and that’s what I want. I want him to love his wife. To forget if Maliha ever existed.” Her voice cracked as she grew cruel to herself.

“You’ve no right to hurt yourself like this,” he said firmly, stepping in front of her.

“Do I have any right left on me?” she shot back, her tears betraying her strength. She wiped them quickly, refusing to break.

Then, with sudden calmness that seemed rehearsed, she whispered in Italian, “Domani parto.” — I’m leaving tomorrow.

The words struck him like a stone. Haseeb stopped walking, his chest tightening.

“You… you’re leaving?” His voice faltered.

Maliha slowed but didn’t look at him. She adjusted her bag strap, staring at the soft glow of the street lamps. The truth was out — and she couldn’t take it back.

“I can’t keep running, Haseeb,” she said quietly. “I have to face the reality. We don’t belong to each other now. And to accept that… I need to go back home. Back to Turkey.”

“You won’t come back?” His voice trembled with hope.

“Maybe not.”

“And if I stop you from going?” he pressed.

She didn’t turn. She didn’t answer.

His breath shook. And then, in Turkish, he let the words fall — firm, trembling, unstoppable.

“Seni seviyorum, Maliha.” — I love you, Maliha.

Her eyes widened, locking onto his.

The dam broke. His voice surged, desperate and raw: “Benimle evlenir misin?” — Will you marry me?

The fountain splashed softly behind them, Rome alive with music and light, but for Maliha, the world stopped.

Her lips parted. Shock froze her.

She could not move. She could not speak.

And under the autumn sky of Rome, with love confessed too suddenly and too fiercely, their fates began to twist.

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Assalam-u-Alaikum dear readers, 🌸
How are you all? 💕

Finally, the most awaited story is here — Fated Roads has made its way to your screens! ✨ The prologue is live, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts. 🌙

I’m eagerly waiting for your comments and reviews. Tell me — how did you find the prologue? And what are your expectations from the journey ahead? 🚦💫

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