Inhaling close to her ear, he assured her, "I can guarantee you a lifetime of adventures."
Meerab clutched her hands together but smiled and replied, "You better be sure, otherwise I'll be coming back for a refund!"
When she looked up not getting an...
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~Vote and Comment.~
I considered giving this one up. However, my emotions refused to comply. This is my very first narrative about Meerasim, and I love it so much that I can't stop. So let's hear what everyone thinks about how the chapter took off.
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Haya lowered herself onto the worn-out chair, feeling its uneven surface press against her skin. The room was dimly lit, casting eerie shadows along the walls that seemed to dance in the flickering light. The atmosphere was heavy with tension.
Her face appeared pale and lifeless white. Fear and uncertainty were etched across her features, defining the turmoil that raged within her.
In the center of the room, a sturdy table stood, its surface marred with scratches and dents. Prominently placed upon it, a pair of steel handcuffs gleamed dully. The metallic clinks of the restraints seemed to echo through the room, amplifying the sense of confinement.
Above her, a single yellow bulb hung from the ceiling. Its feeble glow barely penetrated the darkness. The light it emitted was somber, casting long, haunting shadows that seemed to reach out towards her, intensifying the anxiety and fear that pulsed through her veins. The room seemed to close in on her, suffocating her in its claustrophobic embrace.
Seated across from her was a stern-looking policeman, his black uniform crisp and commanding. Every line etched on his face spoke of authority and determination. His gaze bore into her, unwavering and piercing.
Besides the policeman, Anwar Chacha sat with a stoic demeanor, his face a mask of emotionlessness. His eyes betrayed no hint of his thoughts or intentions. The silence between them was deafening, filled with unspoken and hidden words.
Standing on either side of Haya were two female constables, their presence formidable and foreboding. They stood with a firmness in their posture, their batons held tightly in their hands. It was as if they were poised to strike at any given moment, ready to pounce on any sign of resistance.
Haya mustered the courage to speak. She looked directly at Anwar Chacha and asked, "Anwar Chacha, why have you brought me here? What have I done?" Anwar Chacha remained silent, his silence speaking volumes about the seriousness of the matter at hand. Anwar Chacha's jaw tightened as Haya asked her question, the only sign of emotion he had shown since entering the room.
The interrogation room was dimly lit, with tension palpable in the air. Haya, seated across from a stern-looking police officer, could feel the pressure mounting. The officer's gaze was unwavering, his eyes piercing through her, demanding answers.
