Chapter 150 : "Forget Ava...."

Just as the car seemed about to make a horrific impact, a strong force yanked Farah backward. The world spun as she was pulled aside with surprising strength. A loud screech filled the air, followed by the whoosh of the car rushing past where she had been standing a split second earlier.

Farah stumbled. Looking up, she met the concerned gaze of Samir. Rain continued to pour down, soaking them both to the bone. Farah blinked. The world slowly came back into focus, the sounds of traffic returning to normal. It had been a close call, a brush with death that left her shaken but grateful.

Samir's voice cut through the ringing in her ears. "What would have happened if I wasn't here?"

Farah stared down at his hand, his fingers wrapped firmly around her forearm. She brushed his hand away gently. 

"Nothing," she replied, "Maybe a few stitches, a couple of bumps and bruises. Life goes on, right?" 

Samir frowned, the rain dripping down his forehead like a cold sweat, "Lost your mind? What are you doing out here without an umbrella?"

Farah stared back at him, her gaze distant. "My life, my choices," she muttered. 

Turning away, she took a step forward, as if to continue her aimless walk on the sidewalk. But Samir wasn't ready to let her go. "Wait, Farah," he called out. "Let me take you somewhere. You're soaked. Get you out of this downpour."

Farah stopped, her back still turned to him. She turned back. A spark of suspicion flickered in her eyes. "No thanks. No matter how hard you try, I won't reveal where Ava is."

Samir sighed, "We both know you'd rather go to war than reveal Ava's location. You don't have to say a word. Just get in the car."

A storm of doubt brewed within Farah. Was it possible they knew about Ava? Had Ibrahim managed to find a lead?

"Look behind you." she instructed abruptly.

Samir, momentarily confused, furrowed his brow. He slowly turned his head, scanning the busy sidewalk behind them. There was nothing out of the ordinary – just the usual flow of pedestrians hurrying through the rain.

"What is she ...?" he began, his question cut short as he turned back to face Farah.

But Farah was gone. The spot where she had stood just a moment before was empty. He spun around, searching frantically for any sign of her. But she had vanished. Had she vanished into thin air, or had she simply melted back into the crowd?

"Both best friends," Samir muttered to himself, "are the same. One disappears, leaving my brother behind. The other vanishes, leaving me."

.....

Ibrahim sat hunched over on the single sofa chair in his mother's room. His right arm rested on the chair's armrest, his hand supporting his chin as he stared out the window, his gaze fixed on an invisible point in the distance. His eyes were full of a dull emptiness. The pale blue of his t-shirt pulled up slightly to reveal the bandaged area on his abdomen. 

Aliya approached him, a bowl of warm water and medical supplies in hand. She knelt before him, her maternal concern evident in every movement. Gently, she began to remove the bandage from his abdomen.

A gasp escaped her lips as the wound came into view. The edges of the once on the mend incision now appeared angry and inflamed, a vivid redness contrasting sharply with the surrounding skin. The area around the stitches was swollen and puffy, a different sight from the hopeful progress which Aliya had observed just the day before. A faint redness spread around the stitches, a telltale sign of infection.

"Ibrahim!" she exclaimed, "Look how bad this has become! Didn't I tell you to take it easy? Now look at the mess you've made. See how much progress you've undone with all this unnecessary movement? You have to give your body time to heal properly. I've told you a hundred times to rest. But no, you never listen."

Ibrahim remained silent, his gaze still fixed beyond the rain-streaked window.

After cleaning and dressing the wound, Aliya looked up at her son, "How long are you going to be like this, Ibrahim? Think of me too, please. You don't sleep, you barely talk, and you've barely touched any food these past few days. Are you willing to throw everything away for Ava?"

Ibrahim finally stirred, his gaze meeting his mother's for the first time since she began cleaning his wound. He opened his mouth to speak, "I ate dinner last night too. Though, I don't even know if Ava has eaten or not. How can I eat when I don't even know if Ava has had a single bite? It's hard to sleep when my mind is full of her thoughts. Without seeing her, it's like... it's like I can't breathe. Where did she go, Mother? Is she even safe? Can she survive without me?"

His mother straightened up abruptly, placing the medical supplies and the bowl of water on the side table with a clatter. 

"Forget Ava, Ibrahim," Aliya said, "Forget her! She doesn't deserve your love, your worry. I don't want a daughter-in-law who would leave you like this, who would disappear without a word, leaving you in such a state. Just forget her."

She wasn't just expressing her disapproval of Ava's disappearance; she was voicing the primal fear of a mother who saw her son wasting away, consumed by a love that seemed unreciprocated, "Life has a cruel way of humbling us at every turn. Just when you expect the best, it throws you a curveball, leaving you devastated. I can't bear to see you like this, Ibrahim. Ava clearly doesn't deserve you! Ava had one job – to be by your side, to be your queen. Instead, she vanished.... She knew you were hurt and she just vanished! What kind of person does that?"

Ibrahim's head snapped up at his mother's words. His brown eyes blazed with anger. No one, not a single soul, had dared to utter such words – to cast doubt on Ava, the woman he loved with every fiber of his being. His mother, the woman who had always championed his choices, now spoke of Ava with disdain. The woman who had embraced Ava with open arms, was now advocating for her abandonment? 

Ibrahim had expected concern, worry, perhaps even desperation, but never rejection. Never a dismissal of the woman he loved, the woman who held his heart captive, "What are you even saying, Mother ? Forget Ava? How can you even utter those words? Ava is my wife, my everything. She's the fire in my soul, the air I breathe. This situation doesn't change the depth of my love for her. She belongs to me in life and even in death. No one, not even you, gets to tell me to forget her."

He had never spoken a harsh word to his mother. But on this matter, on Ava, there would be no compromise, "Ava isn't just some woman who walked into my life. She's mine. My wife, the other half of my soul. She may be gone now, but that doesn't change a damn thing. I will find her. I will bring her back. And when I do, no one, not even you, will ever question her place by my side."

Ibrahim lurched to his feet, a groan escaping his lips as the sudden movement sent a jolt of pain through his wounded abdomen. Ignoring the throbbing ache, he met his mother's gaze. 

"No one," he growled, "can even begin to imagine how much I love Ava. Only I know the torment of these days without her. Can't you see the hell I'm living in?"

He paced the room, "What was she even thinking when she found out it was me? Me, the one who rejected her scholarship! Damn it."

Ibrahim ran a hand through his disheveled hair, strands falling loose across his forehead. He stopped for a minute while pacing, "Ava walked away from me. But trust me, Mother I... I'm the one who forced her do this." 

The truth was bitter and undeniable. "She couldn't handle the betrayal." he whispered, "She trusted me and I.... I shattered them all."

Aliya watched him with tearful eyes, her heart breaking with each tortured step he took. The once proud, formidable Ibrahim, the leader, was now a broken man, brought to his knees by the loss of the woman he loved.

The battle lines were clear – Ibrahim had lost. He had lost the fight against his own pride, against the possessiveness that had driven Ava away.

 It wasn't the first time Aliya had witnessed such a devastating defeat. The same look of utter defeat, the same despairing resignation in the face of lost love – she had seen it reflected in another pair of eyes years before.

A name, long buried in the recesses of her memory, surfaced. Zainab. Ibrahim and Samir's sister - Zainab, a bubbly young woman stolen from them at a mere eighteen.

Aliya flinched. A cold fear crept into her bones. What if history was repeating itself? What if the love that brought Ibrahim to his knees was destined to follow the same tragic path as Zainab?