The Silent Cage

One month later, Arsalan sat in his hospital office, staring at the grainy footage on his computer screen. The glow of the monitor illuminated the sharp angles of his face, throwing shadows under his eyes, which were ringed with fatigue. He hadn't gone to her or the children for almost a month. After that incident, he had kept his distance, avoiding both her and the storm of memories she dragged up inside him.

She wasn't in her right mind. He knew that. He had learned his lesson after five years of clinging too tightly to her, of thinking he could control the chaos that surrounded them both. He wasn't about to make the same mistakes again. This time, he would stay away.

The cursor blinked on the screen, but Arsalan's focus didn't waver.

On the feed, Sahira sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by a whirl of chaos. Arham darted past her, clutching his hands to his mouth, while a little glass of water and medicine in her hand showed her relentless determination to catch him. The boy's giggles echoed faintly through the speakers.

His lips twitched at the corner, a faint smile that even he couldn't suppress.

Still, Arsalan's chest tightened as he studied her. She looked calmer than she had a few weeks ago, her face no longer etched with the panic that had consumed her after the incident. There was something oddly steady about the way she handled the children—the practiced movements of a mother who had learned to juggle four unruly boys. But Arsalan knew better than to be fooled.

When the children were awake, she was cheerful, always present to attend to their needs. She played with them, taught them surahs in her soft voice, cooked meals they devoured with messy enthusiasm, and scolded them when their mischief crossed the line. At bedtime, she transformed into someone else entirely: a mother who sang them to sleep with lullabies Arsalan hadn't heard in years, her voice cracked and raw.

But when the house finally fell silent, so did she.

Arsalan clenched his fists as his mind conjured up the image he'd seen too many times on that screen. Sahira, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, trembling as though trying to hold herself together. Her hands would clamp over her mouth, muffling the sobs that wracked her body. Her head would bow, her face hidden behind her tangled hair, and the tears would fall unchecked, staining her lap.

When the tears ran dry, she would sit still for hours, her gaze locked on something invisible, her face blank as though her soul had fled, leaving behind only her fragile body. Sometimes, Arsalan found himself brushing his fingers against the screen, tracing the outline of her face as if it would help him feel her pain, understand it. But how could he?

For five years, had she been pretending to be happy in front of everyone, only to shatter when no one was looking? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, and an ache settled in his chest.

The sound of laughter broke through his brooding thoughts. On the screen, Arham had managed to slip free from Sahira's grasp and was now dodging behind a sofa. She rolled her eyes but didn't give up, her steps quick and sure as she cornered him.

"Arham, stop running!" she said, her voice soft but firm.

"Never!" Arham shot back, his voice a blend of defiance and delight.

Arsalan's faint smile returned, his shoulders relaxing just slightly.

His moment of peace was shattered by the sound of his office door slamming open. Karim strode in without so much as a knock, his typical swagger making Arsalan's jaw tighten.

"I told you to knock," Arsalan growled, turning his gaze away from the screen.

Karim ignored the warning, as he always did, and ambled over to the desk. He was grinning, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Relax, man. You're too uptight. What are you watching, huh?"

Arsalan's expression hardened. Without a word, he reached for the keyboard and switched off the screen, his possessiveness showing as clearly as if he'd spoken it aloud. "Nothing," he said curtly.

But Karim had already heard the faint sounds of laughter coming from the speakers. "Sahira and the kids, huh?" His tone softened, curiosity replacing the teasing. "I knew it. You were smiling, Arsalan. A real smile. When was the last time that happened?"

Arsalan shot him a glare, but Karim ignored it and slid into the chair next to him.

"You can't hide from me, man. Let me see."

Arsalan's hand hovered over the keyboard, his hesitation betraying him. With a sharp click, he altered the feed, cutting the live footage of Sahira and replacing it with a static display of the children's bedroom instead. The soft sounds of laughter from the bathroom disappeared instantly.

Karim straightened, his brows furrowing. "Seriously?"

Arsalan leaned back in his chair, his voice cold. "You don't need to see her."

"Okay. I wasn't going to see her either. I just wanted to see the kids." Karim calmly responded. He knew very well, how possesive Arsalan was regarding Sahira.

"Whatever!!!"

He retorted.However, faint voices from the screen caught Karim's attention. He leaned forward, listening intently and trying to get an idea what was happening. Since looking was strictly forbidden.

It was Sahira, chasing after Arham again. Her voice carried a mix of exasperation and affection.

"That boy's got your stubbornness," Karim said with a laugh. "How's he doing? Still refusing his medicine?"

"He shouldn't be running," Arsalan said, his tone clipped. "He needs rest."

Karim smirked. "He's your son, Arsalan. Rest isn't in his vocabulary."

He pointed at the screen, where the other three boys had gathered in a corner. "What are they up to?"

Arsalan glanced at the screen but didn't answer. He switched the camera feed to the room where the children were. The three boys were huddled together, a marker in their hands. Arhal had stripped off his shirt and was drawing shaky circles on his chest, his tongue sticking out in concentration. Arhab and Arhan were no less mischievous, scribbling lines on their arms and backs.

"Are they seriously using each other as coloring books?" Karim burst into laughter. "Look at that one—he's drawing eyes on his brother's glasses! Your kids are hilarious, man."

Arsalan's lips twitched again, but this time he fought the smile. "They're out of control," he muttered.

Karim clapped him on the shoulder. "You're lucky, you know. Those kids—they're the best parts of you. And Sahira... she's stronger than you give her credit for."

From the voices, they realized Sahira had finally caught Arham, her breath quick but steady as she knelt down to meet his height. Her hands gripped his shoulders firmly, but her expression softened as she tilted her head and looked into his wide, mischievous eyes.

"Open your mouth," she said with gentle authority.

Arham clamped his lips shut, shaking his head fiercely.

Sahira's lips twitched into an exasperated smile. "You're going to have to take this, Arham. You're already strong, but this will make you even stronger. Do you want to get better?"

Arham hesitated, his resolve faltering under her steady gaze. Finally, with a dramatic groan, he opened his mouth just enough for her to pop the pill inside. He swallowed it quickly, his face contorting into a grimace.

"It's bitter, Mom!" he cried, his voice filled with betrayal.

She chuckled softly, brushing her fingers through his messy brown hair. "The best medicine always is," she said, pulling him into a warm hug. She snuggled him close to her chest and patted his back gently, her voice dropping to a soothing coo.

While her focus was on Arham, her eyes darted instinctively around the room. She froze when she realized the others weren't present in the room. She came out and spotted the other three boys in the far corner of the living room. Her brows knitted together, lips pressing into a thin line as she squinted at them.

"Boys," she called out, her voice dropping to a warning tone. The three froze like statues, guilt written all over their faces. "What are you doing?"

Their eyes flicked to each other, searching for a scapegoat.

"I just looked away for one second, and this is what you've done?" she demanded, her voice low but sharp as she marched toward them. The sound of her footsteps on the floor made them squirm.

Arhal, the youngest yet the bravest of the trio, shifted nervously but decided to speak up. "Mom, we can wash it off with soap," he offered, his voice trembling but hopeful.

She sighed deeply, placing her hands on her hips. "I know that. But I already washed all of you and bathed you! And Arhan..." She turned her gaze to the eldest, her tone more pointed now. "Aren't you the big brother? You're supposed to keep them in check. But look at you—you joined in!"

Arhan's head dropped low, his hands clasped awkwardly in front of him. "Sorry, Mom," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"And you," Sahira said, turning her attention to Arhab, her finger pointed at his glasses. "How many times have I told you not to draw on your glasses? How are you supposed to see now? Answer me."

"Sorry, Mommy," he mumbled, his small shoulders hunching.

"Sorry, Mom," Arhal and Arhan chimed in unison, their voices shaking.

They fidgeted where they stood, stealing timid glances at her face, hoping to gauge if her anger had softened. Their wide, guilty eyes and downturned mouths made them look more like remorseful puppies than troublemakers.

Sahira pressed her lips together, trying to maintain her stern expression, but her resolve faltered. She let out a long sigh. "Apology accepted—but only for this time," she said, pointing a finger at them. "Next time, if I see you doing this kind of mischief again, I'm going to..." She hesitated, searching for the right threat, then smirked. "...whoop all your little behinds."

Arham, still clinging to her side, giggled. "Mommy, you always say that, but you never do it!"

Sahira couldn't help but laugh, ruffling his hair playfully. "Next time, I mean it," she teased. "Now, come on—all of you! Let's get cleaned up."

The boys relaxed instantly, their faces lighting up as they followed her like a trail of ducklings.

Arsalan sat in his chair, his gaze fixed on the screen, watching the scene unfold with an intensity that bordered on obsession. His jaw tightened as Sahira smiled, her boys clinging to her, their laughter echoing faintly through the grainy audio. It was a rare moment of peace amidst the chaos, but Arsalan's expression didn't soften. Instead, it hardened, as though the joy on the screen was a bitter reminder of how far he stood from it.

Karim sat casually across from him, leaning back in the chair, watching Arsalan with a mixture of amusement and caution. He'd known Arsalan for years, long enough to understand the thin line between his stoicism and his dangerous edge. And right now, Karim knew better than to linger too long on what was on that screen.

The unspoken tension was enough to send a chill down his spine. Karim imagined the worst-case scenario: if he dared to look at the footage of Sahira and the kids even for a second, Arsalan might forget their friendship altogether. The man was perfectly capable of gouging out his eyes in one of his infamous, calculated fits of rage.

But then again, this was Arsalan. If it ever came to that, Karim wouldn't put it past him to source new eyes by highly questionable means—illegal wouldn't even begin to cover it—and perform the surgery himself, just to make a point.

And Karim had no interest in testing those limits today.

"I'm glad she's doing better," Karim said, leaning casually on the edge of the desk. But Arsalan didn't reply. His eyes remained glued to the screen.

The camera shifted to show Sahira entering the bathroom with the boys, her laughter spilling into the speakers as Arhal splashed water at his brothers. Arsalan's fingers brushed against the edge of the desk as his chest tightened. That smile... how effortlessly his children drew it from her.

It was something he could never do.

Karim inhaled deeply before speaking again. "Arsalan, I spoke to Nancy," he began, his tone measured. "She said Sahira needs to meet her family. It's time to let them know she's alive. Keeping her locked up here isn't helping anyone."

Arsalan's expression hardened.

Karim exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Look, I haven't told Johra yet, but she already knows something's up. You're running out of excuses, Arsalan. Take Sahira home. Let her see her family. And let everyone meet the kids. They deserve that. She deserves that."

Arsalan's jaw clenched. "She's safer here."

"Safer?" Karim snapped, stepping closer. "She's not your enemy, Arsalan. This house—it's a cage, not a home. She doesn't belong here."

Arsalan's voice dropped, mocking. "She's not scared of me, Karim. She hates me. And I don't blame her."

"Of course she hates you!" Karim shot back, his voice rising. "You dragged her into this mess without her will. You hid your truth from her. So, when she finally saw what kind of man you really are, it broke her. She thought you were an angel, Arsalan. A life saving doctor. Instead, you showed her the side of you that kills without a second thought. Can you blame her for shattering?"

Arsalan's face remained unreadable, but his fingers dug into the edge of the desk.

Karim sighed, his anger softening. "You should be grateful she's still alive. Let her go before you destroy whatever's left of her. Remember, you two are not alone this time. You two have four kids together. They're innocent, Arsalan."

Arsalan didn't answer. His hand hovered over the mouse, his eyes flicking to the screen as though checking to make sure the footage of Sahira remained hidden.

Karim shook his head, muttering under his breath as he walked toward the door. "Just don't make this worse, Arsalan."

The door clicked shut, leaving Arsalan alone.

For a long moment, he didn't move. Then, slowly, he switched the feed back to Sahira. She was still in the bathroom, splashing water at the boys, her laughter carrying through the speakers like a melody he didn't deserve to hear.

His fingers brushed the screen, lingering on her image as though it might reach back to him. Her smile wasn't his. It never had been. Yet, even after all these years, she still held the strings of his heart, pulling them effortlessly, as if she had always known how to unravel him.

He exhaled, a sharp, controlled breath, his jaw tightening. Enough. This game of hide and seek had gone on long enough. He had watched her from the shadows, given her space, allowed her to exist in her own world, untouched by him. But no more.

Now that she was back in his life, she needed to accept him. To realize that there was no escaping the life they shared—it was where she was meant to stay.

She needed to love him. Again.

His gaze darkened, an unfamiliar ache simmering beneath the surface of his determination. She had taken too much from him—years. Years of her absence, her silence, her rejection. He had carried it like a wound that never closed. But no longer.

She needed to compensate for every stolen moment, every piece of his soul she had broken.

She needed to return his love.

And he would ensure that she did.

Because Arsalan Ansari, alias Ezel, was not a man who let anyone take advantage of him—or take what was his.

It was enough to shatter his fragile resolution of "staying far from her" and toss it straight into the garbage.

He had already given her enough time. Five years...

More than enough.

What she needed now wasn't space—it was discipline.

With that thought, he shut his computer and stood, his movements deliberate and firm. He was done waiting.

After all these years, he was finally going back to the one place that could feel like home again. A place where she was present.

A slow, sinister smile curled on his lips as he stepped out of his office.