Don't leave me

Zayan sat across from Firoza in the opulent living room of their Sydney mansion, the air thick with the weight of concealed truths. Disbelief painted his features, a simmering hurt lurking beneath the surface of his usually composed demeanor. "How could you hide such a significant matter from me, Mom?" His voice held a wounded edge, seeking answers, craving understanding. Firoza sighed, her gaze meeting his with a mixture of regret and empathy. "There was no need to burden you with the truth, my child. What could I have told you? At a time when your mental well-being was fragile, we arranged your marriage with a girl... a girl who was motivated by more than just your personal charm, shall we say." The room felt suffocating, despite the expansive windows and designer furniture. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, even heavier than the crystal chandelier suspended above them. Zayan stared at her, his disbelief morphing into a slow burn of anger and betrayal. 

"Greedy? Questionable character?" The words tasted bitter on his tongue, clashing with the image of the loving wife he'd glimpsed in his dreams."Yes," Firoza continued, her voice thick with regret, "we provided a dowry that would make most heads spin. We even ensured her sister's education was fully funded. At the time, you needed a caretaker, someone who would provide constant companionship and support. Marriage seemed like the best option, given your... unique circumstances. And Muntaha..." Firoza paused, a flicker of guilt clouding her eyes. "She seemed so innocent, so pure. But appearances can be deceiving, can't they? She wasn't a good woman, Zayan. She only married you for your wealth, for the access to a lifestyle she craved. And when her attempts to manipulate you failed, she even..." Firoza's voice dropped to a whisper, "she even went to the extent of harming you."

"Where is she now?" Zayan choked out, the question hanging heavy in the air, laced with a cocktail of emotions - anger, confusion, and a strange flicker of longing.Firoza's gaze dropped, a tremor of guilt flickering in her eyes. 

"She... she ran away when we discovered her true intentions," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. "And then we came back to Australia. When you recovered completely, you forgot her completely. So, we thought it's better not to mention her and move on."

The room turned quiet, the only sound the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock. Each tick echoed in Zayan's ears, a stark counterpoint to the turmoil within him. He couldn't reconcile the woman in his dreams with the monster his mother described."Son, you shouldn't think about her," Firoza said, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "This was all in the past. A bitter past that shouldn't be remembered. And, you are lucky that you have forgotten her."Zayan nodded, but he couldn't tell her the truth. How the day before, he had knelt in prayer, his forehead pressed against the tiles, begging Allah to bring the woman in his dreams to life. Now, knowing she was real, knowing she was Muntaha, a woman capable of such darkness, filled him with a chilling dread. He forced a smile, his voice hollow. "Yes, Mom, you're right. She is just a past." He could almost hear the echo of his own words, a mantra he desperately wanted to believe.

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... ...

Despair gnawed at Zayan's heart, mirroring the bruised violet and fiery orange hues bleeding across the Little Bay sunset. Usually, a haven of serenity, the gentle lapping of waves now sounded like taunting whispers, each crest a reminder of the truth that had shattered his world. He stood barefoot on the damp sand, the coolness seeping into his soul, unable to numb the ache within him. Muntaha. The woman who haunted his dreams, the warmth in her phantom touch, the love in her imagined eyes – all a carefully crafted lie. A viper he'd unknowingly held close, her venom coursing through his memories, poisoning the well of his trust. His gaze fell upon the vast expanse of the sea, the endless blue mirroring the hollowness within him. 

"Why do you keep coming in my dreams, Muntaha Islam?" he choked out, his voice ragged with despair. "Why don't you leave me alone?" The waves crashed against the shore in a relentless reply, offering no solace, no answers. He remembered the warmth of her embrace, the whisper of her name on his lips, the echo of laughter that now rang hollow in his ears. How could he have been so blind? So easily manipulated? The betrayal gnawed at him, leaving behind a gaping wound that pulsed with raw pain.

" So, Allah's decision has arrived," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the ocean's sigh. "You are just a phantom that I chase. A mirage in a desert. Nothing else." A dry sob escaped his lips, lost in the symphony of the sea. He sank onto the sand, the dampness seeping through his clothes, mirroring the tears he refused to shed. The weight of his shattered reality pressed down on him, threatening to consume him whole. Yet, amidst the crushing despair, a flicker of defiance sparked within him. He wouldn't be broken. He wouldn't let the lies and deception define him. His eyes fell on the small, velvet box lying beside him. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, lay a delicate set of glass bangles. A gift he'd brought by impulse.

He picked up the box, his fingers tracing the intricate design. Her delicate hands filled with glass bangles flashed in front of his eyes, forcing his heart to beat faster.

But, he had already made a decision. He would move on from a phantom. After all, dreams are bound to shatter. At first, he thought he'd throw it into the sea. But then, he stopped. He stared at the box, with a finality that mirrored the setting sun, he placed the box back on the sand.

... ...

As the last sliver of the sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the world into twilight, Zayan rose to his feet. The sea breeze tousled his hair, carrying away the whispers of the past. He turned his back on the retreating waves, his gaze fixed on the sparkling stars of the night sky.He took his phone and dialed Feroza's number."Assalamu alaikum, Mom," he greeted, his voice firm despite the tremor within. "I'm ready to marry Samaira. Tell her family."He hung up and walked away, leaving the box on the sand, its contents hidden. The waves, his silent witnesses, rolled closer, whispering secrets as they nudged the box towards the water's edge. He didn't look back.

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Sunlight streams through the expansive windows of Zayan's opulent office, illuminating the plush furniture and mahogany desk. Zayan, impeccably dressed, sits behind the desk, reviewing documents with focused concentration.

... ...

The door bursts open, and Ibrahim storms in, his face flushed with anger. He throws a crumpled cheque on the desk, the paper bouncing with a dull thud."Explain this, brother!" Ibrahim shouted. Zayan raised his eyebrows, unfazed by his brother's outburst. He calmly sets down his pen and gestures to the chair opposite him. But his brother remained standing, pacing agitatedly."I apologize, Ibrahim. Did you inquire with the bank about the reason?" Zayan said, his voice calm like an ocean."Don't play dumb with me! You know exactly why. That investment I told you about... the one you so generously 'advised' against." Ibrahim scoffed. Zayan sighed, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features."Ibrahim, you know I wouldn't interfere unnecessarily. The project had several red flags, and I simply voiced my concerns."

"Oh, so now you're the financial oracle?" Every word dripping sarcasm."Remember when you were... insane? Who kept this empire afloat? Who made sound investments and grew our wealth?" Ibrahim asked. A bitter smile displayed on his lips. Zayan winced at the reminder of his recent illness and memory loss. He stood up, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. He said, "Ibrahim, I appreciate everything you did during that time. But I'm back now, and I have a responsibility to make sure our investments are sound. That particular project just wasn't a good fit for our portfolio."Ibrahim pulled away, his anger simmering."This isn't about the project, Zayan. This is about control. You're questioning my judgment, doubting my abilities. Frankly, it's insulting."

"It's not about that! You are getting me wrong." Zayan's tone became stiff. "I trust your business acumen, Ibrahim. But this was a calculated decision, not a personal attack."Ibrahim shook his head. "I don't need your protection, Zayan. I can manage my investments."He turned towards the door, his voice laced with bitterness. "Consider this a formal request. Don't meddle in my affairs anymore."He exited the office, leaving Zayan standing alone, a mix of emotions swirling within him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Perhaps I handled it wrong. But protecting our family's assets is my duty too. He murmured to himself and returned to his desk, picking up a pen. The decision might have caused friction, but Zayan stood by it. He knew the importance of making informed choices, even if they sometimes create conflict. The future of their empire depended on it. And, he couldn't let Ibrahim's immature decision ruin it.

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The house creaked and groaned under the onslaught of the thunderstorm. Rain lashed against the windows, and the wind howled like a wounded animal. Fear, primal and raw, jolted Zayan awake. He scrambled onto the bed, his eyes wide and searching, the room unfamiliar. Suddenly, warm arms engulfed him. Muntaha's familiar scent of strawberry filled his senses, a fleeting balm to the terror gripping him. He burrowed into her embrace, her voice a soft melody against the storm's roar."It's okay, Zayan," she whispered, her voice laced with concern. "It's just a storm. See, everything is fine."Another thunderclap boomed, closer this time, and Zayan flinched, clutching her tighter. His eyes, the stormy gray of a monsoon sky, darted around the dimly lit room, searching for an anchor in the chaos."Don't leave me, Moon," he pleaded his voice barely a whisper. 

"Please don't."

"I'm not going anywhere, Zayan," she promised, stroking his hair gently. "Inshallah, I will always be with you."

Present:

Zayan woke with a start, the storm a distant memory. He sat up, disoriented, he sat up in the plush leather chair. The memory of the storm, the comfort of Muntaha's embrace, felt strangely real, yet hazy and incomplete. Her face flashed in his mind. But it was like a dream, beautiful yet elusive. "Are these dreams a lie?" he whispered to himself, his voice thick with confusion. "Is my mind deceiving me?" Anxiety gnawed at him.  He closed his eyes, trying to recapture the fragments, but they slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. He yearned to understand, to piece together the fractured fragments of his past. But the storm had left him with only echoes, whispers of a life he couldn't remember.

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