Chapter 4

They say no sin stays hidden forever.

Ayaan had always wondered if that applied to feelings. If love—pure or not—eventually crept out from behind your ribs and into the air, visible like steam from a kettle. He was starting to believe it did.

Because that’s exactly what happened.

It started innocently enough.

Lina had left her notebook on the kitchen table—open, of all things. He hadn’t meant to read it. But her name in cursive across the top page caught his eye. And then the line beneath it pulled him in like a tide:

> “He kissed me. Then promised not to do it again. That’s how I know it’s love.”

He froze.

And so did his mother—who’d walked in right behind him.

“What’s that?” she asked, suspiciously casual.

He shut the notebook in a panic. “Nothing. It’s Lina’s.”

His mother raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He tried to play it off. But she wasn’t stupid. And maybe part of him was tired of pretending.

Later that night, it exploded.

---

They were all in the living room. The whole Carter family—Mama, Baba, Lina, and him. His mother held the notebook in her lap, face tight.

“Lina,” she said softly, “do you have anything to tell us?”

Lina blinked. Then looked at Ayaan. Then at the notebook. Her breath hitched.

Silence.

Ayaan couldn’t take it anymore.

He stood up. “It’s true.”

His father looked up sharply. “What’s true?”

“I kissed her.”

Lina’s mother gasped.

Ayaan pushed forward. “We love each other.”

The room imploded.

His mother stood. “Have you lost your mind? She’s your sister!”

“She’s not,” he said, voice calm but shaking. “She never was. We aren’t blood. We weren’t breastfed. It’s just… what everyone assumed.”

“She grew up with you!” his father barked. “Under our roof!”

“I know,” Ayaan said, softer now. “That’s why we tried to bury it. We didn’t want this. But we can’t lie anymore.”

He turned to Lina.

Her eyes were full of tears—but she nodded. Just once. Brave.

“I love him,” she whispered.

Mama sat down hard, as if her legs had given out.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I raised you like my own. You’re my daughter. This—this feels like betrayal.”

Baba was quiet. His expression unreadable.

“We didn’t cross any lines,” Lina added quickly. “One kiss. And we stopped. We haven’t touched each other since.”

“You think that makes it better?” Mama asked bitterly.

“No,” Ayaan said. “But it makes it honest.”

The room sat in shock.

Until Baba finally said, “You spoke to the imam?”

“Yes. I asked Imam Haris. He said—if we’re not mahram, and if we’re serious about nikah, then we need to face it with dignity. Not shame.”

His father sighed deeply.

And then something unexpected happened.

Lina’s mother—who had sat in stunned silence all this time—reached over and touched Lina’s hand.

“You still wear your hijab. You still pray. You still carry pain with grace. I’ve watched you grow into someone stronger than I ever imagined.” Her voice cracked. “Maybe love doesn’t always come the way we expect.”

Lina burst into tears.

And slowly, Ayaan’s mother—stubborn, proud—stood up and said: “If you both want this… you’d better do it the right way. No more secrets. No more lies. We talk to the imam again. As a family. With a wali.”

Ayaan nodded.

His heart, for the first time in months, felt like it was breathing again.

---

A Week Later – On the Bus

The youth group trip was scheduled long before the drama. A camping retreat in northern Minnesota—separate cabins for brothers and sisters, group activities, Qur’an circles, bonfires, and hiking.

The masjid didn’t cancel it.

Neither did Ayaan.

Because now… he didn’t have to hide.

They sat in the middle of the bus, Both side by side,. Just enough space to stay "appropriate." Just enough to ache.

Most of the group was asleep or with headphones on.

The sky outside turned golden, pine trees blurring past.

Lina looked at him sideways.

He smiled, that slow, lazy smile that used to undo her when they were younger.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded.

But her hand, resting between them on the seat, trembled slightly.

No one was watching.