Part One
"So, her memory has returned?" Farhan rose from his seat, his eyes wide and his expression open in hope at Riyad's news. He hardly paid attention to the unconscious men laying at their feet as Kader worked to tie their arms and legs together, but even he paused at the news.
Riyad pressed his eyes closed as Amer continued stitching the skin beneath his hairline, suppressing his pain. "Just her voice."
"How did she get it back?" Kader asked.
"It is unfortunate that she still knows nothing about her past, but this is progress so I am thankful to God," Farhan continued in response to Riyad. "If her voice has returned then her memories are well on their way. How about you then? Are you feeling better now?"
Riyad nodded. "Alhamdullilah."
Farhan nodded. "Alhamdullilah. Their appearance does offer us a warning. If they've found our location then their other soldiers are no doubt soon to follow. We will discuss further steps tomorrow morning. For now, it's late, Riyad. You should get some rest until your injuries heals. Amer, can you take him up?"
Amer nodded, placing the stitching kit down and peeling open a bandage to place over the wound. "Just take painkillers tonight and tomorrow. I don't think it will cause you too much discomfort now that it's all stitched up." He extended an arm to Riyad.
With the younger boy's support, they both began their way up the apartment stairs. Even though Riyad assured Amer that he did not need support to walk up the steps, Amer refused to leave him. "You did not see how much blood was on your shirt when we found you guys. By God, I was terrified of your sight."
"You were afraid? After all the blood you've seen, Amer," Riyad chuckled, but the gesture tugged at the fresh stitches on his temple and he stopped himself. A wave of nausea rolled over him so Riyad paused, letting it dissipate before he dared move again.
Amer waited until they resumed walking to speak again. "I was not afraid of the blood, Riyad," he murmured as they reached the front door.
Riyad watched him place two courteous knocks on the wood. "What were you afraid of then?" He asked curiously, his eyes heavy.
"That you would succumb to it."
The answer made him pause in his mocking tone and the tired humor in Riyad's eyes slowly fell away as he watched the normally obnoxious boy. For some reason, he found that Amer looked younger today. It reminded him of how young the boy really was. Not even in his twenties yet.
"You are like my brother, Riyad. More than the others... you treat me as my brothers treated me before they...," he paused, completely avoiding Riyad's gaze when he spoke now. "By God, Riyad, do not let yourself be killed by those dogs. They are not worthy of blood as honorable as yours. I feel for you as I felt for my family, with great care."
Riyad smiled. "You love me, ya walad?"
"What?" Amer's eyes widened.
The reaction drew a laugh from him. This time, he continued to chuckle even with the discomfort that pulsed against his skull. Riyad reached forward to drop his hand on Amer's shoulder and shook him. "Say it, ya ami. It is our brotherhood and love for one another that has created The Resistance and will make us victors over the other side."
Amer averted his gaze and knocked on the door again, struck with an awkwardness at the idea of confronting such emotions. "Why isn't she answering?" He tapped his foot impatiently.
"I have a key."
"What? Why have you not used it?"
Riyad's smile remained present on his features as he stepped past the younger boy, sliding the key into its place. "Because I wanted to hear what my brother had to say, ya Amer."
At the statement, Amer rolled his eyes and raced back down.
The front door's lock clicked when Riyad turned the key, carefully stepping into the silent apartment. He peered around the empty space but knew he would not find the girl in the darkness of the kitchen and bedroom. Then his hearing caught on the shower water running past the closed bathroom door and he realized where she'd gone.
While the bedroom was empty, Riyad stepped in to change from his dirtied clothes into something cleaner and comfortable. He slipped on a short-sleeved café-colored thobe he found in Amer's drawers, appreciating the width of the collar. He did not have to push his arms through nor tug it over his bandaged head. Riyad buttoned the first button only.
When he stepped out of the room, he no longer heard the shower water running. Instead, his attention caught on a subtle hum echoing faintly in the bathroom to his right as he neared the couch. He paused in his steps at the sound of Harakat's quiet singing, the words muffled by the echo of her hum against the bathroom walls. Still, he shifted a step closer to hear her voice, a faint smile tugging at the edges of his lips.
Her voice was not soft nor delicate. It had raspy undertones and a pleasant depth behind each vowel she sang as she tried to keep her volume low. Even then, it blended smoothly each word she pronounced in a melodic rhythm that made Riyad want to remain silent and listen to her sing for the remaining hours of the night.
But then the bathroom door opened and his eyes raised from where he stood in the center of the living room to meet the girl's. She flinched at his appearance, the towel towering above her head nearly toppling forward onto her face from her sudden stop. Riyad quickly recognized the black thobe that seemed far too big for her.
She opened her mouth to speak and Riyad felt himself shift forward, ready to hear what she had to say. Then her brows twitched and she closed her mouth again, an unhappy expression settling over her features.
Harakat secured the towel above her head before moving past him and into the bedroom. Riyad took a moment to remember the look that had dimmed her features then turned after the girl, but the bedroom door closed just as he took a step to follow her.
He lifted his hand to knock then hesitated, unsure whether he should disrupt what she was doing or simply wait for her to come out. But the door opened just as he reached forward to knock. Harakat didn't seem as surprised to see him that time.
She stepped past.
"Harakat," he called, slowly turning to follow the girl's movements with his gaze. She stopped and redirected her attention to him, one eyebrow raised with visible tension that Riyad only met with further cluelessness. "Shoo malek? What's wrong?"
Riyad had searched the words silently spoken through her eyes for long enough to understand them even now. He read her displeasure through the tightness between her brows and the disappointment that weighed on a settling pout over her lips. His gaze shifted toward her crossed arms and the rest of her body's unamused stance. "Have I done something?" He asked.
She turned away from him. Refusing him her voice and her gaze.
"Harakat," Riyad dropped his tone, taking a step toward the girl who mirrored it with her own step away from him. He lifted his hands in defense and remained in his place. "Has your voice left you again?"
She frowned at him, meeting his gaze for only a second before pulling it back toward the bathroom door left ajar. Then her lips parted and Riyad's body seemed to reject every other noise, lifting the words that would leave her mouth above everything else. "I'm not speaking with you," she spoke slowly and quietly so he would not ask her to repeat herself.
"Lysh?" He asked, taking another step closer. This time he moved carefully so the girl would not reinforce the space between them. She averted his gaze in upset. "Tell me my wrongs so I might correct them."
She met his eyes, the frown on her features beginning to roll into a sad pout before she forced it away. Riyad edged closer, his narrowed gaze urging the girl to speak until she rolled her eyes with a light huff. He pursed his lips at the gesture—knowing she would only grow angrier if she saw the smile her actions brought onto his lips.
"Why did you put yourself in front of me?" Her words flew quickly from her mouth and Riyad flinched at the speed. He opened his mouth to request she repeat what she'd just thrown his way, his hearing still not fully returned. But when he saw a tremble in her lips for the moment after, he understood why she'd spoken so quickly.
He spoke carefully in response. "When?"
Harakat huffed again and Riyad took the chance to take another step closer. Her eyes darted around the room as if searching for how to articulate herself without succumbing to her despair. "With the soldiers and the bullet-," she tried to explain.
A growing glimmer in her eyes caught the reflection of the light behind him. She rolled her eyes and stomped her foot in frustration, her pout deepening to fight the rising emotions.
Riyad proceeded gently. "Were you worried about me, Harakat?"
Her gaze turned sour at the question as if it was a foolish one. Riyad resisted the urge to smile once his words had chased away her building tears. "Don't be dense, Riyad," she bit back.
The reply made him snort even through his exhaustion. "What is dense about it? I want to know if my wife was worried for me."
She only crossed her arms and continued frowning.
Riyad hummed. He nodded with heavy eyes and took another dragging step toward her. "I was not hurt badly from the bullet," he offered the fact as an attempt for comfort. "It hardly grazed by arm."
"Had you seen yourself...," she glared at him, the image he could see filling her mind drawing a troubled expression over her features. "Half of your blood came out of your head and you could not even speak. You could not even push that man's leg."
"Khalas," he whispered once he'd come in front of her, edging closer until her crossed arms brushed against his chest. "It has passed and we are both well now, alhamdullilah. Don't think too much about it, Harakat."
Her eyes remained caught on the contact of her forearms and his thobe. He shifted an inch back but her feet remained ground, only refusing him the contact of her skin until he responded to her in compliance. "Don't ever do anything like that again."
Riyad nodded. "I will not... unless it happens again."
Harakat's gaze darted to his. "No."
"Ya'ne, what do you want me to do, Harakat?"
"Not get killed for me."
Riyad closed his eyes, giving his pounding headache a momentary break from the light that surrounded them. He nodded along with her words, letting their harmony sit on his mind for a moment longer before replying. "Then I will not get killed," he offered.
She scowled. "Riyad."
"I like that," he whispered weakly, as if the words flowed over from an instinctual thought in his mind. One that he did not revise before deciding to speak into the narrow space between them. Her brow knit and Riyad smiled. He let his eyes sweep over her features once more, noticing how much softer they looked from this close. "I like the way you say my name."
His gaze lingered on hers for a moment before Riyad lifted his hand, sliding it between her forearms and gently pulling her crossed arms apart. "I don't say it differently from the others," she replied. This time, he felt a shift in her tone as well.
Riyad's touch traveled down her arms until they came to her hands, his fingers lightly sweeping over the shape of her knuckles and scars across her wrists. He shook his head, captivated by the effortless softness of her skin. "No," Riyad spoke quietly, shaking his head. "Because it's you, it's different from the others."
She tilted her head curiously, her eyes locked on his but his eyes occupied with the beauty he found between his hold. He never thought he could ever become so captivated by the faint outline of somebody's veins. "How?" She whispered, the light breath that left her lips pulling Riyad's gaze back up to her where their eyes met once again.
And he found himself seeing what he'd seen before. The gradual expansion of her pupils seemed to pull him in, leading him deeper into the mind of the girl who could speak so much in silence. Past the beauty of her features, Riyad would become enamored by the very essence of her.
"Stop looking at me like that," she lifted one hand to cover his eyes.
Riyad let her. "Like what?"
"Like... how you did before," she murmured. "With the soldiers."
He led her hand away. "How did I look at you with the soldiers?"
She held his attention that time, a flicker between both of their gazes confirming for a second that they both understood what she meant. A ripple of intensity that rolled over their eyes, sparked between them like heated electricity, and made them want to flinch back. But the reactivity of it was far more mesmerizing than the danger.
Her breath shook when she finally dared to speak.
"Like you're helpless."
Something shifted in Riyad's gaze at her words, but this time, the change was too subtle for its meaning to be deciphered by the silent girl. She curiously raised her eyebrows as he brought her wrist against his other palm, sandwiching her smaller hand between his.
Riyad Mousa, who led at the forefront of The Resistance with his keffiyeh masking his features and his daggers fearlessly clutched at his sides. Who walked toward the sounds of gunfire and destruction. He who'd grown up as a victim of the terror the Occupiers had inflicted on him and his people and refused to bow his head in compliance but raised it bravely with his weapons at his side and his faith leading every step forward.
Riyad Mousa who was surrendered himself only to his Creator, found himself a boy stripped of all his defenses and willpower every time he met the eyes of the girl standing before him now.
Harakat hummed with a question at his silence. "Riyad."
"N'am?" He asked in response. Yes?
"Shoo malak?" What is the matter?
His gaze shifted between hers, a delicate dimple forming fondly between his brows at the sight of her. His reply was hushed, nearly subconscious, as it left his lips. "I've become helpless."
Worry filled her expression at the statement. "Why?" She stepped closer and lifted her knuckles quickly to his forehead. Riyad could only watch her silently as she moved her palm lower to his bruised cheek. "Do you feel ill? Come sit. I'll make you something to eat."
"I don't want to eat."
"You should eat something."
"I want to drink," he said. "Tea."
She raised an eyebrow. "Tea?"
He nodded. "I want to drink tea with my wife."
A weak frown attempted to darken Harakat's features after he'd requested his first cup of tea from her, but her smile grew even through her urge to keep it down. Riyad liked the way her lips curled up when she tried to pretend as if she did not enjoy his words. He found himself as eager as a school boy who'd taken a risk to impress the girl he liked and now found her responding. "You cannot drink tea right now."
"Maybe not right now," Riyad let his arms slide closer until his knuckles brushed her waist. The moment of peace that fell over them was filled only with the nervous breath they both inhaled. "In the future. I'd like to drink tea with you from now on... will you?"
"Will I...?" She let the hand she'd placed on his cheek fall to his shoulder and pause there like they may not notice it.
Riyad noticed it. "Will you drink tea with me for the rest of our lives?" He asked, a flirty tone carrying even through the exhaustion that weighed his words down, making each letter heavier on his tongue.
Harakat's smile grew wider at the question. It stretched over her features and illuminated her face until it seemed unable to grow anymore. And just when he thought he would hear her laugh for the first time, something changed in her expression. The brightness fled away within a moment, replacing the sweetness in her eyes with an overpowering tremble of panic. Harakat's hand slipped from his shoulder but caught onto his arm, her fingers gripping his sleeve tightly.
When she stumbled back, Riyad's arms circled around her to steady the girl. "Harakat?" He spoke gently, dropping his head forward in an attempt to catch her attention before it fled away.
"Riyad...," her breath trembled weakly between her lips. Her brows trembled with her lips, an unescapable fear locking her in. She pulled him closer even as her eyes became unfocused. "No... I don't want-," she gasped.
Riyad tried to shake her, lifting one hand around the back of her neck. His thumb swept sweetly over her jaw. "Harakat, la trouhy," he tried to hold her with him. Don't go away. "Listen to my voice. You're safe."
Her legs gave out beneath her and Riyad dropped forward to catch her, his other hand occupied with holding up her falling head.
"I'm not- scared. I don't...," she murmured.
"Harakat," he pulled her head to his shoulders. "It's OK."
____________
Very long & packed chapter so it had to be split into two parts. Next part coming next week!
But wasn't the romance just the cutest?? Ahhhh, Riyad and Harakat are stealing my heart and my breath and literally everything I need to survive! How adorable they are 😭😭😭