“I cannot explain it to you now. Pray for me, Amina.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and so did his. Then he let her go. That hand she did not want to release slipped away slowly, as if fate itself were pulling him far from her.
He left.
And the door closed behind him like a tomb.
Silence flooded the house that night.
No more voice, no more footsteps, only Amina and his absence, which hollowed her out.
For hours she sat in their room, her eyes fixed on the clothes he had left behind. Those worn fabrics she had once despised, she now clutched in her fingers with an inexplicable pain. She caught herself whispering his name. Listening to the silence in the mad hope that he would answer.
She searched for news everywhere, but no one knew anything.
Even her mother refused to speak.
She looked at her without emotion.
“Amina, forget him. Consider your marriage over. You must move on.”
Her words pierced her chest like a blade.
How could she move on, when she had only just understood what she felt for him?
That night, a dream came and shattered her even more.
A long dark corridor.
Karim walking slowly, his body marked by wounds she did not even dare imagine.
He turned toward her, his gaze broken.
“I am sorry, Amina. I may not be able to return. But I love you.”
She woke with a start, her breathing short, her cheeks wet, a dull anguish settling deep inside her like a warning.
Three days later, fate knocked at her door.
A man dressed in black stood before her, his face closed. He held out a large envelope without saying more than necessary.
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