I WAS BLESSED WITH the smell of petrichor the first thing in the morning. The scent of the earth after rain. I smiled, breathing it in as I watched the dewdrops tease the autumn leaves, bathing them in a sheen coat yet threatening to separate from them.
It reminded me of my relationship with my parents in some ways. They were the dewdrops and I was the leaf, terrified that they would leave even when I knew that their protection and attention would quickly drift away, just like the embrace of dew. It was temporary just as it was beautiful.
But at least now, I had my husband. He was there to remind me that I wasn't alone. If I was a leaf, then he was the tree tethering me to him and keeping me safe. Keeping me alive and rooted. Despite the storm, despite the heavy wind, he not only protected me, but he protected everyone else who put their trust in him. He was our pillar of strength — my only pillar of strength at the moment — and I was so damn grateful to have him.
I was afraid, though. Last night was unexpected. It was sudden and as much I was glad that we finally put an end to the push and pull game between us, I was terrified that he might regret it or if it would damage the friendship we'd built over the past few months.
I shook my head, realising that I couldn't afford to think like that. I was terrified, scared that it would make him distant, but I assured myself that nothing bad would happen. It was a positive step in our relationship. It had to be.
When I heard a meow behind me, I pushed back against the window sill and turned to see grey eyes peering up at me intensely, almost in a way that yearned for attention. Everything in me softened as I crouched down next to my bed and looked into her eyes, the blue in one of her irises darker to seem more grey like the other, and my heart clenched when I saw the trust reflected in them.
I'd worn on Moon Haidar. She was no longer a pet, but a friend. She was family.
She purred when I picked her up in a bear cuddle and stroked her soft fur. She melted against my shoulder and I silently cheered to myself before scrawling back with no grace whatsoever and carrying her out of my bedroom.
I followed the strong waft of coffee and toast to the kitchen, my lips already stretching into a smile as I turned the corner. But it seemed I wasn't the only one looking for Zayaan's attention today because at the sight of him standing beside the window, the bundle of fur in my arms immediately started to fuss around.
I guess I was never going to be her favourite.
I let her down with a sigh, which made Zayaan turn around, not looking annoyed but not looking particularly happy either which wasn't the best sign. But he smiled as he picked her up and let her sit on the counter, placing a bowl of her food in front of her.
"Morning," I greeted tentatively, immediately feeling the stagnant butterflies take flight in my stomach when he looked at me with warmth in his eyes.
"Good morning. How are you feeling?"
"Good." I nodded, walking over to the other counter to make myself some tea. "You?"
"I'm good."
I didn't know what to say after that. I didn't even have anything to do with my hands since I was done making my tea and I just stared down at it awkwardly, wondering what to say. Did I talk about last night? Did we leave it unspoken? What was I supposed to do?
This really wasn't how I pictured this morning going.
"Zayaan—"
"Faithe—"
We both began at the same time and quickly shut our mouths after realising the other had something to say.
He shook his head. "Sorry. You go first."
"No, it's fine. You speak first."
"Faithe, please. I'm sure—"
"Zayaan," I interrupted. "Speak."
He sighed and said, "I'm sorry about last night."
All the hope I'd let build up immediately smashed into smithereens. He regretted it.
"You're sorry?" I asked, unable to disguise the hurt in my voice. "You regret it? Are you serious, Zayaan?"
His eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head. "No, Faithe. I—"
My defences kicked in and I started to ramble. "No, actually. You know what? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to kiss me. I should've known that it wouldn't do us any good. I should have realised that you would regret it. I should have realised that I couldn't trust you." With my heart.
But I didn't voice that aloud. Not that I tried because when he took a few steps forward, foregoing the idea of personal space, and placed both hands on my shoulders, I immediately shut up.
"I shouldn't have started like that," he said slowly, peering into my eyes earnestly. "That was wrong and I'm sorry, Faithe. But you shouldn't jump to conclusions. I never said that I regretted our kiss. All I said was that I was sorry."
My eyebrows tugged down and I opened my mouth to argue, but thought better of it and just let him speak.
"I'm sorry because of how rushed it was. I'm sorry because I wanted our first kiss to be more romantic than that. I'm sorry because you deserved something better than a kiss right after a rejection. I'm sorry that you felt it was a kiss only out of pity. Because it wasn't, Faithe. I could kiss you out of many things, but not pity. Never pity."
When he slowly took a step back after his last sentence, all I could think to say was: "You really are a romantic, Zayaan Haidar."
Zayaan laughed. "Yeah? Well, thank you but it seems I'm only a romantic when it comes to you."
"You better be," I affirmed. "Because I'm not sharing you with anyone else."
"No?" There was a glint in his eyes. "Not even with my future wife?"
I slapped his shoulder. "I'm your future wife. Your only wife. There's not going to be any woman after me. There better not be, Haidar."
"There's not going to be, Faithe," he said honestly. "However, I would really like it if my wife could trust me. I would like it if she didn't jump to conclusions and immediately try to pull away when I say something. I worded it wrong, and I'm really sorry about that, but you shouldn't jump to say those things, Faithe."
I shut my eyes, mentally berating myself. I'd said that I shouldn't have trusted him. If he'd said that to me, my heart would have broken.
"I'm sorry, Zayaan," I apologised, glancing up at him regretfully. "That was horrible of me to say. I panicked, and all my defences kicked in and I started saying whatever I could to lessen the wound I thought was coming."
Because if I didn't protect myself, I knew that I would never recover. Not from him. Never from him.
"I know, and I can understand that, Faithe. But please just don't say that again." His face was etched in sadness and guilt itched at me.
I buried my face into his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll never say that again."
Zayaan wrapped his arms around me tightly, and I glanced up at him, wondering how someone could look so perfect from any view.
"It was just scary, Zayaan," I continued. "It's just that, I like you. More than a friend. More than just a crush. I like you and hearing that was terrifying."
His eyes softened at my confession. "Sweetheart, it's more than just like at this point."
He did wondrous things to my heart. This man. I was dangerously close to falling in love with him if I hadn't already.
The thought didn't even scare me as much as it should have.
"Way more," I agreed, remembering something. "Also, last night was our first proper kiss, but it wasn't technically our first."
"No?"
"No." I shook my head. "During our wedding, you kissed me here." I pointed to the spot he'd kissed me in, right at the corner of my mouth but not too far that his lips didn't touch mine. I remembered the sudden spark, the sudden rush of butterflies going haywire in my stomach. It was confusing then, but now, I savoured the rush I got each time he touched me.
"Here?" Zayaan traced the area, the warmth that his thumb emitted making me shiver strangely enough.
I nodded.
"Well, it seems I'm going to need a refresher because I don't quite remember what that was like." He smiled, lifting me onto the counter and tilted my head up to place the gentlest of kisses against the corner of my mouth. It took me back to our wedding. It made me remember how I was left reeling with shock, but now it left me wondering how I could ever doubt this man. How I ever thought that I wouldn't fall utterly in love with him when we got married.
I cupped his face between my palms, feeling the bristles on his jaw prick at my skin. "Enough of refreshing old memories. I think it's time we make memories."
"I agree." Zayaan tugged me closer until we were flush against one another, and he kissed me. It wasn't rushed like last night. He wasn't trying to scorch me with his intensity this time. This one was a different song completely. It was delicate and warm. Like the sun rising after a gloomy, cold night and blessing you with its quiet warmth.
I smiled, following his tune and kissed him back softly. It was like we were exploring one another for the first time, and technically, we were. Last night, we were starved. Right now, we were savouring each touch, each press of our tongues, each breath. It was almost poetic in a way — until it wasn't.
I sighed and weaved my fingers into his hair, pressing my mouth harder against his. I liked the peaceful melody, but now I wanted the chorus that made your heart pulse and your bones weaken.
He must have been on the same page because he lifted me up, letting me wrap both legs around his waist like last time, and flattened his palm against the base of my spine. Only it was against my bare skin since my shirt had ridden up and I shivered, the tiniest bit of contact making me completely melt. He tugged at my hair with the other hand, tilting my head back for more access to my mouth. I yanked him closer by pulling him by his shirt and found my way into his.
We broke apart a few seconds later, gasping for breath.
"Slow," Zayaan said, inhaling a few deep breaths. "We need to take it slow."
I frowned.
"We have all the time in the world," Zayaan assured. "Let's take it slow, Faithe. One step at a time."
"Okay," I agreed after a few seconds. "Fine. But you better make today worthwhile for me since I have to go back to school tomorrow."
He smiled, almost roguishly. "I'll make it worthwhile, joonam. Don't you worry about that."
And with that, he pulled me back in for another kiss just as Moon meowed in the background, protesting against our ignorance.
════════
LATER THAT EVENING, after being nowhere near done with getting our fill of each other, we sat in the living room, watching as the rain pelted against the windows.
It felt like we were a fully formed family, with Moon cuddled up in my arms and with Zayaan's arms embracing me as I leaned into his chest on his lap. But it still felt as if something — or, someone — was missing. It didn't take much wondering to figure out whose absence caused that emptiness. Riyad.
If he were here, our little cocoon would be complete. The Haidars had promised that they would be visiting soon, with Riyad of course, and I couldn't wait to see him and pinch his adorable cheeks again.
Zayaan had managed to find a location that was for sale right in the midst of central London, to both of our absolute surprises. And it would be perfect for expanding Tales of Persia and creating a branch here. It took practically no time at all to find a place after Nafasat had introduced the idea when we were in Iran, leaving me to wonder whether it was fate or just pure luck. Knowing the Haidars, it was probably the reward for all their good actions.
But they were coming to see the location for themselves — at Zayaan's insistence, though I suspected that he missed his family and just wanted an excuse to see them — and finalise all the paperwork with their son. It was so exciting to get to be a part of something I knew would grow to be big, something that I knew would only increase the popularity of the Haidars and Persian culture.
Persian culture.
The thought immediately put a dampener on my mood, reminding me of how I'd been robbed of what was part of my identity all my life.
"What's wrong, Faithe?"
I looked up. "What do you mean? What makes you think something's wrong?"
"You have the same look on your face that you did yesterday," Zayaan assessed. "And something was definitely wrong yesterday."
I frowned. "It wasn't anything—"
"Don't lie to me, Fatimah." He looked at me seriously. "What's wrong? What happened yesterday?"
I set Moon down beside us, watching her cuddle into the pillow for a second, before turning to look up at Zayaan properly. I doubted I could have kept it in for a day longer anyway.
"It's my mother," I said slowly.
"Leila?" He asked in concern. "What happened to her?"
I shook my head. "Not Leila. My mother, Zayaan. My biological mother."
His eyebrows tugged down in pure confusion. "Your biological mother?"
I nodded.
Zayaan's eyes widened, lighting up with realisation and horror. "Leila isn't your biological mother?"
"No." I shook my head slowly. I went on to explain everything that they had told me yesterday, from Amira being a foster kid that Leila's parents had taken in after her parents died in a car crash to her death while giving birth to me, asking Leila to take care of me and Nafasat promising that she would see to making me family if she could. I told my husband about how Amira was Persian, how she was a family friend of his family, how she'd named me after her mother and left the Earth without realising that her entire life would be kept a secret from the children she'd birthed and even died for.
At the end of my explanation, all Zayaan did was tighten his arms around me and pressed his forehead against my temple, murmuring, "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," over and over again.
I just shook my head, robbed of all my energy after having poured out everything I had locked in from yesterday.
"I'm so sorry, Faithe."
"Don't apologise, Zayaan, please."
"I should have gone inside with you," he continued. "I shouldn't have listened when you told me to leave."
"You couldn't have known," I assured. "I think it was something that I needed to hear alone, anyway. Unless it was Aden with me. He still doesn't know the truth, Zayaan. I'm scared that my parents will chicken out before telling him because they had no choice but to tell me after I'd overheard them speaking about it. I'm scared he might never find out the truth. She was his mother too, Zayaan. She raised him for the first two years of his life, and it would gut him to find that out."
"It would," he agreed. "He doesn't show it outright, but I can tell how much it bothers him how neglectful your parents can be. It would only be worse for him to find out the root of the issue. I would be enraged if I found out my parents had kept something this huge from me. I can't possibly imagine what it would be like being in Aden's shoes. Or yours, Faithe. I hate how much they've robbed you of."
I could only nod in agreement.
"Is that why you asked me yesterday if I'd wanted to marry someone Persian?"
I nodded again, blinking to clear away the moisture in my eyes. "Yeah. It made me wonder what it would have been like growing up with my biological mother. I love Leila, Zayaan, but she's not the most motherly person. I tried to imagine what it would have been like growing up in a home immersed with our culture, in each nook and cranny, instead of a place where everything is expensive but bare and cold. I tried to imagine what my mother would have said about the kids who bullied me about my name and weight growing up. I wondered whether she would have let me call myself a whitewashed nickname instead of the one that belonged to her mother. I was trying to imagine a life where I wasn't Faithe, but instead Fatimah. A girl who appreciated her name, her culture and was everything my mother had hoped I would be."
"I disagree, Faithe. First of all," he started, cupping the side of my face with one hand to force me to look at him. "A name doesn't change the essence of who a person is. A name doesn't hold much weight in the grand scheme of things. It's important, yes, and I can understand where you're coming from but whether you're Fatimah or Faithe, you're still your mother's daughter. You're still the girl she wanted you to grow up to be. You're not just a whitewashed girl because of your nickname. And second of all, I'm positive that you're not just everything your mother had hoped you would be, but more. I'm sure that you surpassed all of her expectations and that she's looking down at you right now, smiling in pride."
I stared at him, unsure but wishing with all my might that he was right.
"After all, you married me, didn't you?" He smiled teasingly. "I'm sure I checked all the boxes she had in mind for a son-in-law."
I rolled my eyes yet still laughed. "You and your ego. It needs to be reined in."
"Does it?" He raised an eyebrow.
"No. It doesn't." I pushed back the strand of hair against his forehead. "You're perfect."
"I would say that the word is more fitting for you, del."
I loved each of the names he reserved for me — not that I would ever admit it.
I fiddled with my rings. "Zayaan, I know that you said a name doesn't really matter, but do you think you could start calling me by my actual name from now on? It's time I move on from a phase that had started because of a bunch of little monsters teasing me about something I should have learned to appreciate instead of cowering away from."
He smiled, and it was as warm and non-judgemental as ever. "I'd be glad to." He leaned as if about to divulge a secret. "Not to offend you, but I wasn't very fond of your nickname at the beginning. It slowly wore on me, but your given name is much more beautiful. It suits you much better."
"I could tell." I remembered the early days of our relationship, the first month or so after meeting one another. "You refused to call me Faithe for a solid two or three months even when I told you to call me that. I had to plead with you to stop calling me Fatimah."
"And it worked."
"It did."
"I could never refuse anything you asked of me, even before we got married," Zayaan said almost accusingly.
I pulled back to give him the stink eye. "Excuse me, sir, but about those three months I just told you about? You had me rolling my eyes and cursing you in my head every five seconds."
"That was a trial period."
"For what?"
He winced. "For you to back out. I thought that I could test you by calling you a name that you weren't fond of back then, and I wanted to see if you would still stay. But then I started to realise that you were just as stubborn as me, and I told myself that I wasn't about to let you go by annoying you any further."
I rolled my eyes jokingly. "How romantic."
"I know," he said, smiling. I leaned into him, and he pressed a kiss against the crown of my head.
I was in too deep. Scarily deep.
"We've basically been betrothed our entire lives," I spoke, focusing on something else that I couldn't get over. "Our parents have known each other for our whole lives, but we've never crossed paths even once."
"Crazy, isn't it? It just goes to show how little we know about the people we thought we knew everything about."
"Your parents have never mentioned anything about my family before?" I questioned, curious.
"Never." He shook his head. "The first time they spoke about your family to me was when they came across the smuggling allegations against your parents' company. They told me that they'd lost contact with your parents shortly after we were born and that they had just recently reconnected. But that must have been another lie."
"I guess so." I leaned my head back onto his shoulder. "I was already mad when they told me they wanted us to get married to strengthen the bond between our families. It would have been so much worse if they'd told us the truth."
He agreed silently.
"But doesn't that make you angry, Zayaan? That the people you trusted kept a secret like this away from you for your whole life? That your family had already mapped out your future without allowing you to have a say in it?"
He would've only been four years old when I was born, when Nafasat had promised that she would try to make us family. I understood that she was trying to comfort a woman on her deathbed — my mother — and that it would be wrong to break such promises, but were we not the ones who would face the consequences of such a vow? Were we not the ones that had to live with it?
"It does, but it would just be a waste of energy to be angry about that after everything is over and done with. There's nothing we can do to change the past anymore, so instead of fretting over that, why don't we just focus on the present?" Zayaan advised. "I'm glad it's you, and if we found each other through marriage and if we're happy with it, why ponder over something that we can't change?"
"I'm happy that I found you too, Zayaan, but how can you be so accepting? Is there not a part of you that wishes we had the choice to find one another instead of it being thrust upon our lives?"
"You have to learn to accept the things that life throws your way after a while, Fatimah." He smiled dolefully. "I've just learned to take everything in stride as it's already happened and because we'll only waste what we have left of our future by being angry at the actions of other people. We need to fight for what is left of our life; what we do have a choice in. We just have to let the past go."
I sighed, agreeing with and hating his words at the same time.
"You know how you said that Amira was a family friend of my parents?" He asked, effectively changing the dismal topic. "I think I've heard my parents talking about her family as I grew up."
I immediately sat up straighter. "You have?"
"I think so." His eyebrows furrowed as he thought about it. "The Hayats. I've heard them mention Amira and her parents — the Hayats — before. It has to be your mother."
Amira Hayat. That was her name. It was ironic considering that 'hayat' meant life in Arabic, only for hers — and her parents' life — to get cut short.
Fate was cruel.
"What did you hear about her?"
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I haven't heard much about Amira. But I have heard about her family — her grandfather, in particular."
"What about him?" I probed.
"You know when I told you about the crime in Iran?" I nodded at his question. "And how my great-grandfather was one of the first people to fight back against the government? His best friend, Mirza Hayat if my memory serves, was also one of the few to protest with him. He was brave — he fought for what was right and if there's any change in Iran, it's because of people like him."
"What happened to him?" I asked carefully, finding something to be off in his voice.
He hesitated. "He was shot during a riot."
Of course he was, I thought bitterly.
"It was too late to take him to the hospital and he passed away. But he was a fighter, del. He was ready to fight for justice for his country, despite being newly married and a new father."
"Fate must have really hated my family. They had some terrible luck," I scoffed, but I mourned their loss inside. I hated that life had been so cruel to them, despite them doing absolutely nothing to earn it.
"I don't think there's such thing as luck, Faithe. They say that God takes back his favourites — the best ones — earlier," Zayaan said compassionately. "Allah only took back the brave ones, the ones that were too good for Earth, back to Jannah faster. There isn't such thing as fate, nor luck — especially when it comes to things like life or death."
"Is there not?" I asked, drawing back. "Then why was I unlucky enough to lose my mother at birth, and then have two parents that couldn't have cared less about me or my brother growing up? Then why were the people of your — our — country unlucky enough to have such a sick government? Why did fate have to work in such ways that led to my family's business failing for us to get married? Why were you—" I pressed my finger into his chest, "unlucky enough to have something horrifying happen in your childhood that made you want to get vengeance for every single traumatised child in Iran?"
His body went rigid beneath me. But I continued, irked by how unfortunate our fate was.
"Tell me, Zayaan, is luck not real then? Is fate not real? Maybe it was our destiny all along to suffer our entire lives."
"Stop, Fatimah." He pushed me off of him and stood in a rush, striding over to the large, glass windows where the rain roared and poured out all of its frustration.
"No, Zayaan. You don't get to deflect from this." I followed behind him. "I poured my heart out to you. But you won't tell me a single thing about your past. You get all wound up and cold when I even try to approach it."
"That's because you don't need to hear it."
"What happened to you, Zayaan?" I implored, forcing him to turn around and face me. "You're my husband; I think that's more than enough reason why I need to hear it. What happened? What happened to you?"
"It's not pretty, Faithe," Zayaan warned.
I knew that the root of all his problems was more than Rafiq or Riyad. I knew that there was something big Zayaan wasn't telling me. Nafasat had hinted at it before, and whatever fuelled Zayaan to help all the kidnapped children was something much larger than just a passion for his country.
"It doesn't matter," I exclaimed. "You are my husband. Whatever you went through, whatever your past is, whatever your flaws and mistakes are, they're all mine too. They're mine, and I don't care whether my husband's past isn't pretty and perfect because I promised you that I would be by your side and listen at all times when I married you. I may not have said that verbally, but marriage is a bond where two people come together and share their life, their pains, their secrets, their everything. And I want to hear anything that you will tell me. So, please, Zayaan. Tell me what happened to you."
I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but I definitely wasn't expecting Zayaan to unbutton his jeans and pull the front down slightly to reveal what was supposed to be unmarred skin on his pelvis. Only there was there a wide, jagged scar instead. One that must have been been the messy result of knife injury. One that must have been a nasty, painful gash when it was new, and judging by how deeply it was embedded into his skin, he must have had it for years now.
My mouth fell open at the sight and I stared in horror, not sure about what I was going to hear anymore. His eyes were dark, tortured almost, and I hated whoever had done this to him, but I suddenly also hated myself for making him relive that pain. I knew that was what I would make him do when I'd asked, but this felt worse than cruel; it felt inhumane.
"This, Faithe," he said. "This is what happened to me."
author's note:
well, that took a turn at the end. it wasn't even my original plan for this chapter — hence why it took me THIS long to write and publish it — but i guess all secrets will have to be revealed one day and zayaan's one will be revealed in the next chapter if all goes according to plan. which it should, but i change my mind far too often and there's no point to me even making plans anymore. i'll be adding trigger warnings at the beginning of the next chapter so please watch out for those and please do not read the next chapter if any of it makes you uncomfortable. i want to bring light to the crimes happening in society till today, but i would hate to trigger anyone because of that. i'm also sorry about the late update, but school and preparing for upcoming exams is taking up majority of my time and unfortunately, updates will continue to be slow for the next couple months. but i think i will be able to get this book finished by july, which isn't too bad. thank you for reading, and please vote and comment 🤍