51. Life | زندگی

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The half crescent moon broke through the clouds as the hue brandished against his face carpeted in overgrown stubble. The crescent akin to the silver lining that she was okay now. Only he knew how he had spent those last hours – praying, begging for Allah's mercy.

His eyes were swollen as streaks of red marred them – the aftermaths of spending the past hours crying. Crying for the woman he loved too deeply and irrevocably. Crying for the woman who had become a part of his soul, too stubborn to leave. And he didn't complain. It was an honor for him to keep her inside him, that pure woman who had purified his haze of confused emotions, and shown him the light. The light that had led him to her and her only.

His jacket was thrown to the side as he sat on the bench situated in the back garden of the hospital. He had just seen her for the first time after she had woken up. Their eyes had met. Love against hate. Anger against calm.

And it had only crushed those broken pieces of his heart further, making him go numb. Her image of lying there amidst the puddle of blood still couldn't get off his mind. He had seen blood before. But the blood of this woman was on his hands. He was the reason she had taken this vile step. He was the reason she went through so much pain. He was the reason she was hurting so much. And he was the reason she was in this hospital, fighting for her life. The blood of the woman he loved with all his might was in his hands and there was no way in or out of hell, he'd ever find it in his heart to forgive himself. He had wounded that woman beyond repair and no amount of amendments would ever be able to fix it.

He was her criminal.

The demon of her past, her present, and he had no intention of being it of her future as well.

He had promised her he'd never show her his face ever again. But how could he fulfill that promise? How could he when all his heart yearned was to see her, even if it's just a mere glimpse. He could do with just a mere glimpse of her. Even right now, his heart throbbed against his promise as all he wanted was to hold her in his arms, and embrace her, feel her warmth and just keep her safe within the confinements of his protective cocoon.

Cold seeped through his bones as he stared at the moon and it reflected against the sky of his obsidian eyes. The combination was befitting yet lethal. It reminded him of her again, that silver chaos. They were both so same. Beautiful and scarred.

His gaze was still fixated on the moon when he felt someone sitting beside him, but he didn't shift his eyes as they still bored into that silver streak like a lost lover with unrequited love.

"Why did you say that?" Arham's voice reached his ears.

"Said what?" He asked, his eyes not moving a bit as if that moon was the only object of fascination in this world.

"That you'll never show her your face again."

"Because I won't." His voice broke at that. "And I mean it." The scent of wind whooshed through his nostrils. It was calming yet destructive.

"But you love her so much."

This time his eyes did move away as they swiveled toward him, unsaid emotions swirling in them. He needed to let the turmoil out. It was damaging him.

"Yes, but that's my problem. I'm not going to make it hers as well." His eyes glistened with determination, his chiseled jaws clenched.

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