C1 1.
*Author POV*
It was midnight.
Inside a dimly lit room, Noor Siddique lay in bed, her face turned slightly toward the wall. Her brows were furrowed, even in sleep, as if her heart carried more weight than her body ever could.
**BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.**
The alarm sliced through the silence. Noor’s eyes fluttered open, the weight of exhaustion pulling at her consciousness, but she moved with quiet precision. She reached out and turned off the alarm without a sound.
No groaning. No complaints. Just silence.
She slipped out of bed and walked to the washroom. The cold water jolted her awake as she performed **wudu** with practiced ease. Moments later, her small prayer mat lay unrolled under the faint moonlight sneaking through the curtains.
She raised her hands and began **Tahajjud**.
Slow. Silent.
But her heart? Trembling.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she bent into **sujood**. Only Allah knew the pain she poured out in the stillness of that night. Her lips moved in quiet desperation, begging for something… or maybe someone.
Once her prayer ended, she picked up her **tasbeeh** and continued her dhikr, her fingers moving rhythmically over each bead.
The room remained quiet, the only sound was the ticking clock… until a soft voice echoed from the nearby mosque.
**“Allahu Akbar… Allahu Akbar…”**
Noor paused. The **Fajr azaan**.
She smiled softly. Just a little. She replied to the call in a whisper only her Lord could hear.
Then she stood again, her body tired, but her soul alert. She prayed her **Fajr salah**, then opened the Quran that rested on her desk.
And just like every morning, she disappeared into its verses, hoping to forget the world outside.
*A gentle breeze moved through the curtains—as if the heavens carried her du’a across the city.*
Until a knock shattered the peace.
**“Noor!”**
A sharp voice.
Rough. Loud.
**“Come downstairs right now!”**
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the desk.
The peace was gone.
The day had begun.
---
**Noor POV**
I fixed my hijab quickly, my hands trembling as I hurried downstairs. My heart thudded painfully against my chest.
I stood silently in front of my **Bua**, Fariha Siddique.
Without warning, a harsh **slap** landed across my cheek. The sting burned, but I bit my lip, refusing to make a sound. A red handprint bloomed immediately on my skin.
**"Keno janash na amr bhai ke office a jete hobe! Ajke onek boro meeting ase, aar tui ekhono nasta bani nai!"**
("Don't you know my brother has to go to office? He has a big meeting today and you still haven’t made breakfast!")
Tears slipped down my cheeks from the impact, but I swallowed them back, forcing my eyes to stay down.
**"Ekhon ja, taratari nasta niye ai! Nahole aro kharap obostha korbo!"**
("Now go bring the breakfast quickly! Or I’ll make it worse for you!")
I rushed to the kitchen, my hands shaking as I prepared breakfast. My mind raced, but my body obeyed. I served the food silently, my gaze always cast downward.
Then, a tall figure descended the stairs.
**Six feet. Huge frame. Intimidating presence.**
He sat down silently at the table. My father—**Idris Siddique.**
I served him breakfast without a word, but my fingers trembled as I lowered my gaze.
---
**Rayaan POV**
The day began in a far different manner.
In a sprawling mansion, **Rayaan Khan** stirred awake as the soft azaan echoed from the smart speaker.
He opened his eyes instantly. No snoozing. No groaning. Just discipline.
He got out of bed, performed **wudu**, and stood for **Fajr**.
His movements were precise, his eyes calm, his heart distant.
But as he went into **sujood**, a faint breeze passed through the open window… the same breeze that had touched Noor’s curtain.
He didn’t know why, but something stirred.
After salah, he changed and went to his home gym.
**Punches. Sweat. Reps. Focus.**
Once done, he took a quick shower and dressed in his usual—crisp white shirt, black trousers. Watch on. Game face ready.
Downstairs, he greeted the household with a simple:
**“Assalamu Alaikum.”**
Servants straightened. Family members gave cautious smiles.
Rayaan poured himself black coffee and checked his phone.
**One new message.**
Unknown number.
He tapped it.
> *“Raayan, amake khoma kore dao… please give me another chance. I love you so much.”*
He stared at it for a second before typing:
> “You don’t deserve me anymore.”
He hit send.
Cut.
He returned to his coffee—but a shadow passed over his heart.
His **Dadajaan** broke the silence.
**“Raayan… amar mone hoy tomar akhon nikah kore fela dorkar. Ami amar great-grandchild dekhte chai, mitthor age.”**
("Raayan… I think it’s time you get married. I want to see my great-grandchild before I die.")
Rayaan stiffened. His brows twitched.
**“Don’t… don’t ever utter that word again. I won’t tolerate it.”**
He stood up sharply and left the table.
Within minutes, he was in his car, commanding the driver:
**“Office. Now.”**
---
*Author POV*
Noor finished her housework quietly and went to perform **Dhuhr salah**. The sun was high now, but her soul sought peace in sujood.
After prayer, she approached her aunt carefully, writing on her notepad:
**“Mam, vegetables shesh hoye geche?”**
("Mam, we’re out of vegetables?")
**“Ja giye kine ay. Amr matha khabi na. Aar soja ghore asbi.”**
("Go get them. Don’t bother me. Come straight back afterward.")
Noor nodded obediently and left for the market.
As she walked back with the bag of vegetables, she glanced at her watch.
**4:30 PM.**
Her eyes widened. **She was late.**
Fear crept up her throat. Her pace quickened.
Without looking carefully, she crossed the street…
**SCREECH.**
A car slammed its brakes, but not fast enough.
She cried out as she fell, pain shooting through her leg.
Two tall men rushed out of the car.
**“Tumi thik acho?”** one asked, concerned.
("Are you okay?")
She nodded shakily, trying to stand. After a struggle, she managed to get on her feet.
But her hands trembled. Her leg hurt.
She didn’t wait. She limped away quickly.
Another man watched silently from the other side of the car.
Yes.
**Rayaan Khan.**
Beside him—his cousin and best friend—**Zayen Khan.**
Rayaan mumbled under his breath:
**“Shit…”**
Zayen blinked, then said dramatically:
**“Astaghfirullah. Tui kakey mere felsi re bhai?”**
("Astaghfirullah. Bro, who did you just hit?")
They stepped out.
Rayaan’s eyes froze on her face.
There was something about her… her silence… her pain…
**Like an angel carved from sorrow.**
**“Ma Sha Allah,”** he whispered without realizing.
His heart clenched.
Zayen tried to help:
**“Sis, ami apnake help kortesi.”**
("Sis, I’m trying to help you.")
But she shook her head and limped away even faster.
Rayaan just stood there, silently staring.
He heard Zayen say:
**“Bechari. Pa-e betha paisey. Help korte chaileo nilo na. Allah jeno take hefazote basai niye jai. Ameen.”**
("Poor girl. She’s hurt. Even when we tried to help, she refused. May Allah take her home safely. Ameen.")
Rayaan lowered his gaze, something pulling in his chest.
**“Ameen,”** he whispered.
---
