6. A Memorable Night

"Shall the reward of good be anything but good?"-Surah Ar-Rahman

Hasna had been living on a small Maldivian island for three weeks now, though she had no idea where she was exactly. All she knew was that this wasn't Bangladesh. Surrounded by turquoise waters and sandy beaches, she had fallen in love with the island's natural beauty. Gardening had become her new solace, a peaceful retreat that allowed her to cultivate not only the earth but also a sense of inner calm. Khala, who had been her guide in this new hobby, showed her how to care for the plants, turning the backyard into a vibrant, living tapestry.

Hamza was a man of few words, a mystery she hadn't yet unraveled. He was strange, she thought, but at times she sensed a gentleness in him, an innate kindness that contradicted his reserved nature. Most of the time, he remained in his study, emerging only for meals or prayers. In the past three weeks, he had left the house only three times, each time staying away for two or three days.

They shared a bedroom, but Hasna avoided him as much as possible. Since their last conversation, she hadn't made any effort to talk to him. She couldn't deny that he was devout, praying five times a day, and he was polite and respectful to everyone, including her. But still, she kept her distance, wary of his intentions.

One day, Khala, who had been cooking their meals, had to return home, and a Maldivian woman was brought in to replace her. Hasna was deeply disappointed with the new cuisine; it was nothing like the flavorful Bangladeshi food she was used to. The curry was bitter and bland, making her stomach churn with every bite. Hamza said nothing, merely eating whatever he could before leaving the table.

As the days went by, Hasna could no longer tolerate the bland meals. Determined to change the situation, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She entered the kitchen and prepared a delicious Bangladeshi feast-chicken curry, rice, lentil soup, fish fry, and various kinds of vorta. She cooked with her heart, and the aroma of her dishes filled the entire house, stirring memories of home.

When Hamza saw the spread on the table, his eyes widened with a mix of amusement, surprise, and curiosity. "Who cooked all of this?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Hasna took a bite of her rice and curry, barely glancing at him. "Who else? I did. I couldn't tolerate that awful food anymore. Maybe I'm not the best cook, but at least my food is edible," she said, her voice tinged with irritation.

Hamza listened intently, watching her as she spoke with unexpected passion. For the first time, he saw her in a different light-she was not just a quiet, mysterious figure, but someone with determination and a love for life's simple pleasures. He realized she had more layers than he had initially thought, and perhaps, she was even a little talkative when the mood struck her.

After lunch, Hamza returned to his study, while Hasna headed to the bedroom for a nap. She closed her eyes, quickly drifting into a deep sleep.

---

A gentle shake on her shoulder woke her from her slumber. Hasna groaned, still halfway between sleep and wakefulness. She had been dreaming of navigating a huge ship, with dolphins dancing in the crystal-clear waters beside her. The dream had been vivid and beautiful, the dolphins' graceful movements filling her with awe. She could still feel the warmth of the sun on her face, the wind in her hair. But then, a large wave had appeared on the horizon, and as it approached, she had reached out to defend herself, screaming in terror.

The scream was cut short as she opened her eyes to find Hamza standing next to her, holding a glass of water. Her face was wet with droplets. She blinked, confused, realizing he must have sprinkled water on her to wake her up. "The time for Asr is running out. Don't you want to pray?" he asked softly.

---

After finishing her salah, Hasna made her way to Hamza's study. As she entered, she noticed he was on the phone, his expression perplexed. He ended the call abruptly when he saw her, his brow furrowed in thought.

Had she heard anything? he wondered, his mind racing.

"Why did you sprinkle water on my face?" she demanded, her voice tinged with anger. "You caused a tsunami in my dream! What if I had drowned? And don't you fear me?" Hasna crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for his response, her tone a mix of frustration and bewilderment.

Hamza's frown deepened, but then a teasing smile tugged at his lips. "Why? Should I be afraid of you?" he replied, his voice light.

"What do you mean, 'why'? Don't you know I've killed seven men?" Hasna took a step closer, her voice low and menacing, but she was surprised by his reaction.

"Sorry, I forgot. I'll be sure to remember that next time," Hamza said casually, picking up a file from his desk.

"Do you think I'm joking?" she pressed, her frustration growing.

Hamza's expression sobered, and he looked directly into her eyes. "I wouldn't dare. But I believe you've repented for your actions, haven't you?"

His words caught Hasna off guard. She hadn't expected such a response, and for a moment, she was at a loss for words. Without answering, she turned to leave, unable to face him any longer.

"You shouldn't have sprinkled water on me," she muttered as she headed toward the door.

Before she could exit, Hamza called after her, "O believers! Protect yourselves and your families from a Fire whose fuel is people and stones, overseen by formidable and severe angels who never disobey whatever Allah orders-always doing as commanded."

Hasna stopped in her tracks, the words sinking deep into her consciousness.

"I'm sorry I sprinkled water on your face, but I was just doing my duty," Hamza continued. "I wanted to protect my family from the hellfire. I tried to wake you gently, but you didn't stir, so I resorted to water. And if someday I'm too lazy or fail to wake up for prayer, I give you full permission to pour an entire jug of water on me. Deal?"

Hasna listened, her mind fixated on one word-family.

Was she really his family now?

She left the study, feeling a conflict of emotions swirling within her.

---

Later, Hasna was in the kitchen preparing evening snacks. The house was quiet, with only her and Hamza present. The servants were in their quarters, and the silence was almost palpable.

She hummed a tune as she whisked a mixture of egg, chocolate, and flour, the rhythmic sound filling the otherwise still kitchen. She smiled to herself as the rich aroma of chocolate wafted through the air, bringing a sense of warmth and comfort.

From a distance, Hamza watched her, taking a break from his work. Her hair was tied in a bun, and her face was smudged with flour and chocolate. A soft smile played on his lips.

"What song are you humming?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Startled, Hasna's eyes widened, her face briefly paling. She turned to see him standing at the kitchen door. "You scared me," she sighed in relief, her heart still racing.

"And you've killed seven men," he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

Hasna shot him a glare, then turned back to her work. "Please make me a cup of tea," he requested, his tone polite but firm.

"What if I add poison to it?" she challenged, half-joking.

Hamza simply shook his head, unfazed. "Bring it to the garden," he said, his tone now more of a gentle command.

Hasna frowned, muttering to herself as she prepared the tea. "I should add poison to his tea-maybe then he'll take me seriously," she grumbled, though her actions betrayed her words. She prepared two cups and didn't forget to bring the freshly baked muffins.

She carried the tray to the garden, placing Hamza's cup in front of him before turning to leave. But she froze when she heard him say, "Sit here with me."

The sun had already set, and the moon had taken its place in the night sky. The stars twinkled brightly above, and a cool breeze rustled the leaves. Hamza patted the seat beside him, indicating for Hasna to join him. Reluctantly, she sat down, keeping a safe distance between them.

"Why did you ask me to sit here?" she asked, suspicion lacing her voice.

Hamza took a sip of his tea, savoring the warmth. "I just wanted to enjoy this beautiful night with a cup of tea and some company," he replied with a gentle smile. His demeanor was so kind, so genuine, that it took Hasna by surprise. Despite her initial reluctance, she found herself relaxing in his presence, her guard slowly lowering.

She sipped her tea, feeling its warmth spread through her, and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. The moonlight highlighted his sharp features, and her heart skipped a beat. She quickly looked away, taking another sip to calm her nerves.

"These muffins are good. You're a great cook. Where did you learn?" Hamza asked, genuinely curious.

"By myself," Hasna replied, a hint of pride in her voice. "From a very young age, I had to cook for everyone. No one taught me."

Hamza looked at her with admiration. "That's impressive. I never imagined someone could learn to cook so well on their own. You should be proud of yourself."

A warmth spread through Hasna's chest at his words. No one had ever complimented her cooking before, let alone praised her for it. She looked down, feeling a bit shy, a small smile playing on her lips.

Hamza continued to gaze at her, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "So, you know how to blush?" he teased, causing her to blush even more. This was all new to her-the gentle teasing, the compliments. She bit her lip, afraid to meet his gaze, worried he might see through her.

Her heart raced as he moved closer, her breath catching in her throat when he gently took her hand in his. Hamza looked at her with a tender smile and lightly squeezed her hand.

"Do you love gardening?" he asked, his voice soft and inviting.

"Gardening?" she echoed, a hint of confusion in her voice.

Hamza nodded, gesturing to the well-kept garden around them. "Yes, gardening. You've been taking care of the plants, right? Everything looks so well-maintained."

Hasna nodded slowly, her gaze shifting from his face to the garden. "Yes, I suppose I do enjoy it. It's peaceful," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

A comfortable silence settled between them as they sipped their tea, the night enveloping them in a serene embrace. Hasna felt a sense of calm wash over her, the tension she had been holding onto slowly dissipating as she listened to the distant chirping of crickets.

Hamza reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek for a moment longer than necessary. Hasna's heart skipped a beat at the touch, her eyes locking onto his, feeling a rush of emotions she couldn't quite name-nervousness, excitement, and something else entirely.

"The night is beautiful, isn't it?" he asked, breaking the silence. Hasna nodded, unable to find her voice, lost in the moment.

---

Meanwhile, in a different part of the world, a conversation was unfolding.

"Sir, she's innocent. I'm sure we're making a mistake. I know she's not the culprit. She didn't kill those seven men," he said, his voice filled with conviction. His senior raised an eyebrow, studying him intently.

"So, she's deceived you too," his senior stated flatly, with a hint of sarcasm.

"No, sir, we-" he began, but his senior cut him off.

"Wait," his senior said, pressing play on a video. "Watch this carefully."

The room fell silent as the video played. As the footage unfolded, the man's heart sank. The truth was undeniable. She was the murderer.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his head hanging low in shame. His senior patted his back sympathetically.

"It's okay, son. You did your best. Just don't let anyone deceive you again."

The man nodded, but he knew that things would never be the same.

---