14. The Last Chapter

The air inside the police station was suffocating, thick with tension that seemed to weigh down every breath. Hamza sat on the edge of his chair, his body rigid with anticipation. His lawyer sat beside him, methodically flipping through the stack of damning evidence spread across the table. On the other side of the room, Sarah paced like a caged predator, her heels clicking against the cold tiled floor with a metronomic rhythm that made Hamza's skin crawl.

Her face was calm—too calm—masking the venomous rage swirling just beneath the surface. She had always been like this. Calculated. Cold. Manipulative. But not anymore. Not today.

Rafiq stood near the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression a mixture of disbelief and desperation. His eyes darted between Hamza, the lawyer, and Sarah. His mind screamed that none of this could be true. His heart pleaded that his wife, Nishi, the woman he had loved and trusted, could not be involved. But the evidence was clear, stark and undeniable, and still, he clung to the fading hope that a miracle might save them all.

Hamza's pulse raced, his thoughts circling around Hasna, who was waiting for him in their secluded home on the island. Sarah had tried to destroy her—had tried to pin her sins on her innocent cousin—but it was over now. Hamza had the proof. He would clear Hasna's name. He had to.

The lawyer cleared his throat, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the room. "Sarah," he began, his voice measured and steady, "we have everything. Phone records, witness testimonies, forged documents—all of it leads back to you. Not Hasna. You've manipulated, deceived, and murdered for years. Eight victims so far, including Mrs. Alam. All connected to you. And now, you've tried to blame it all on your cousin. But the truth is clear. The evidence is irrefutable. You're the one responsible for the attempted murder of Hamza. You are the murderer."

Sarah stopped pacing. For the briefest moment, her mask slipped. Her eyes narrowed, and her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. She looked at the lawyer, then at Hamza, her lips curling into a bitter smile as something unhinged flickered behind her gaze.

"These are all lies," she spat, her voice sharp and venomous. "You're all trying to frame me."

Hamza leaned forward, his fists clenched under the table. "Sarah, it's over." His voice was low, calm, but laced with the anger he had been swallowing for months. "You can't hurt anyone anymore. You'll pay for what you've done. And you won't hurt Hasna."

Silence enveloped the room, stretching for what felt like an eternity.

Then, Sarah laughed—a harsh, mocking sound that sliced through the stillness like a blade. "Hurt her? She deserves everything coming her way." She stepped closer to Hamza, her eyes burning with envy. "You think you're her savior, Hamza? You were always so gullible," she hissed, her voice dripping with contempt. "Always seeing the best in people. So pathetic."

Hamza's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He saw it now—the real Sarah, twisted and consumed by her hatred, her jealousy. Once, she had been the center of his world, but that time felt like a lifetime ago.

Her lips twisted into a cruel smile, the bitterness in her words laced with something darker. "You used to love me... and now you're falling over yourself for Hasna?"

"Don't say her name," Hamza growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Sarah's smile widened, wicked. "You married her, didn't you? How did you find her? Did she fool you, too?"

"That's none of your concern," Hamza replied, his voice tight, controlled.

"Do you even love her?" Sarah's voice was like poison, each word laced with envy. "Or are you just pretending?"

Hamza ignored her, turning to the lawyer. "Make sure everything is in place. I want her to pay for every single crime."

He stood, his body tense as he prepared to leave the room, his mind already racing ahead to Hasna, to getting back to her. She had been through so much already, and he needed to make sure she was safe.

But Sarah wasn't done.

"If I'm going down, I'm taking her with me," she sneered, her voice rising in pitch. "I won't let her live happily, Hamza. Not while I'm breathing."

"Enough," the lawyer cut in, his voice firm. "This is over, Sarah. The evidence is clear. You're being arrested."

But Sarah wasn't listening anymore. The calm had disappeared entirely, replaced by something wild and desperate. Before anyone could react, she lunged for the nearby officer's gun.

"NO!" a police officer shouted, but the warning came too late.

The deafening crack of a gunshot echoed through the station. Time slowed. Hamza staggered backward, his hand flying to his chest as the searing pain ripped through him. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the cold, unforgiving floor. The world blurred around him, the voices distant, the lights dimming. The only clear image left in his mind was Hasna—waiting for him on that island. Alone.

His last thought before the darkness consumed him was of her. He prayed she wouldn't give up on him.

One Month Later...

Hamza's eyelids fluttered open, and the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room came into focus. His chest throbbed with a dull ache, and his limbs felt heavy as if weighed down by invisible chains. The haze of confusion lifted slowly, the disjointed memories of the police station, the gunshot, and the cold floor filtering back into his consciousness.

A nurse appeared by his bedside, her face soft with concern. "Mr. Hamza, you're awake," she said gently. "You've been in a coma for a month."

The words hit him like a sledgehammer. A month?

The thought immediately followed: Hasna.

Hamza struggled to sit up, pain shooting through his chest, but he ignored it. "Where's Hasna?" His voice was rough, barely audible, but the panic in his tone was unmistakable.

"You need to rest," the nurse urged, placing a hand on his shoulder to ease him back down. "You're not strong enough to—"

"I don't care!" Hamza's voice cracked with desperation as he pushed her hand away. "She's been alone for a month? On the island? Where is she?"

The nurse hesitated, unsure how to calm him. But Hamza was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his body shaking with the effort to stand. Hasna. She thinks I'm dead. She's alone. What if... Oh God, what if she's... He couldn't even finish the thought.

Ignoring the protests of the medical staff, Hamza left the hospital, his body running on adrenaline and sheer willpower. He had to get to her. He had to make sure she was safe.

The flight to the island was a blur, his heart pounding violently against his ribs the entire time. As the plane touched down and the house came into view, a heavy dread settled over him like a dark cloud. The garden was overgrown, the once-vibrant flowers wilted and neglected.

He sprinted to the front door, his breath ragged as he fumbled with the key. Pushing the door open, he called out, "Hasna?"

Nothing.

The silence echoed back at him, deafening. He rushed through the rooms, searching frantically. "Hasna!"

No answer.

He tore through the house, the panic rising like a tidal wave. The bedroom, the kitchen, the living room—each one as empty and silent as the last. His heart raced, fear gripping him tighter with each passing second. He came out of the house and sprinted through the sand, his heart a wild hammering against his ribs. The cool evening air did nothing to quench the burning panic rising in his chest, nor did it still the madness racing through his mind. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one sharp, desperate. Sweat slicked his skin, mixing with the salt of tears he hadn't even realized he was shedding. The fear gnawed at him with every step, a relentless beast whispering *she's gone, she's gone, you're too late.*

"Hasna!" His voice cracked, tearing through the stillness of the island, but only silence answered. The ocean roared in the distance, indifferent to his cries, his desperation. His legs faltered, weakening as dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. He stumbled, falling to his knees, the weight of his despair crashing down like a tidal wave.

Memories of another night, of another fall, came surging back—the night he had been left for dead, bleeding and broken in the mud. He had barely survived then, clawing his way out of the darkness. And now, with Hasna missing, it felt as if he were drowning all over again.

His head tilted back as he whispered into the darkening sky, "Oh Allah, I am your humble servant," his voice cracked, trembling. "I've failed so many times, but I beg for Your mercy now. I need You—*we* need You. Reunite me with the coolness of my eyes."

A calm settled over him. Not in his body, but somewhere deep in his soul. It was a whisper, a pull, something beyond himself guiding him. And then it hit him, like the sharp clarity of lightning slicing through the blackness. *The beach. She's at the beach.*

He surged to his feet, his legs moving before his mind could catch up, a wild hope igniting in his chest. He tore across the sandy terrain toward the back of the house, his feet barely touching the ground as he ran toward the place where she always sought solace, where the waves lapped gently against the shore like a lullaby.

As he reached the crest of the dunes, the scene before him brought him to a staggering halt. The sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in a soft blaze of oranges and pinks, the golden light spilling across the tranquil sea. And there, in the midst of that fading glow, sat Hasna, her arms wrapped around her knees, her gaze fixed on the water.

Hamza's heart clenched, a rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. She was there. She was safe. He swallowed the sob rising in his throat, his legs trembling with relief as he approached her, his steps slowing as he reached the edge of the sand where the tide kissed the shore.

For a long moment, he just stood there, drinking in the sight of her, alive and untouched. His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, Hamza fell to his knees in the cool sand. The weight of his relief buckled him, his forehead pressing against the earth. Tears streamed down his face as he whispered, "Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah."

The sound of his whisper broke the spell. Hasna turned, her breath catching in her throat when she saw him there, collapsed on the sand. She blinked, disbelief clouding her features. She thought she'd never see him again—he had left her like everyone else. But there he was, and for a moment, her heart forgot to beat.

"Hamza," she breathed, her voice trembling as she rushed toward him. "What are you doing here? What happened? Are you hurt?"

Hamza lifted his head slowly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Without a word, he stood on shaky legs and pulled her into his arms, clutching her as if she were the last breath of air in a drowning world. His grip was tight, desperate, as though the fear of losing her still clawed at him.

Hasna stiffened at first, confused, but the moment she felt the warmth of his tears against her shoulder, something inside her softened. Her hands moved on instinct, rubbing his back gently, trying to soothe him, though her own heart ached with the weight of the moment.

"What happened?" she asked again, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. "Why are you crying?"

Hamza pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes, his hands framing her face. "I thought I lost you," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "I thought you were gone."

She frowned, confusion flashing across her face. "Gone? This is an island, Hamza," she said, her voice laced with disbelief. "Where could I possibly go?"

He tried to muster a smile, though it wavered under the weight of everything he'd just been through. "I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "Maybe if you can murder seven men, you can find a way off this island too."

The words had barely left his lips before he regretted them. He saw the change in her immediately—the way her body went rigid, the way her eyes clouded over with a pain he hadn't intended to stir.

She looked away, her voice barely audible as she spoke. "I... I didn't kill anyone, Hamza."

His breath caught in his throat. Her voice trembled, and when she spoke again, it was like she was unburdening herself from a weight she had carried for too long. "Sarah... she did it all. She's the one who killed those men. She murdered Sumona when I tried to prove my innocence. She threatened me, Hamza. She said she'd kill my brother if I didn't take the blame. I... I was terrified."

Her voice cracked, and tears welled in her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. She turned her face away, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

Hamza's heart shattered. How much had she suffered? How long had she carried this alone, protecting the ones she loved? Without a word, he reached out, gently brushing her tears away with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't know."

Hasna shook her head, her shoulders sagging as if she were finally allowing herself to collapse under the weight of everything she had held inside for so long. "I was okay with it," she continued, her voice stronger now, steady. "I was okay with being labeled a murderer, with living in the shadows. But now..."

She paused, her eyes closing as if she needed the strength to say the next words. When she opened them, her gaze locked with Hamza's, raw and vulnerable. She took his hand and placed it gently on her stomach.

"I'm not okay with our child being labeled a murderer's child, Hamza," she said, her voice trembling. "I can't... I won't let our baby grow up with that shadow hanging over them."

For a moment, Hamza couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Her words settled over him like a storm, but then, slowly, the world began to right itself. His hand remained on her stomach, feeling the warmth of the new life growing there. His heart swelled with an overwhelming protectiveness.

He pulled her into his arms again, tighter this time, as if he could shield her and their child from the entire world. "You don't have to worry about that anymore," he whispered fiercely, his voice trembling with emotion. "It's over. Sarah has been arrested. They know the truth now. It wasn't you. It was never you."

Hasna's breath hitched in her throat. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with hope, searching his face for any sign that this was some kind of cruel dream.

"It's over," Hamza repeated, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. "You're free. We're free."

And then she broke. A sob escaped her, raw and uncontrollable, and she buried her face in his chest, the weight of the fear and guilt she had carried for so long finally lifting.

Hamza held her as she cried, his own tears mixing with hers. "No one will ever hurt you again," he whispered into her hair, his voice breaking. "No one will ever think of you as anything but the strong, brave woman you are. Our child will grow up knowing only love and light. I promise you, Hasna. We're free from that shadow. Forever."

Hasna's sobs quieted, and she looked up at him, her face streaked with tears, but there was a softness there now—a hope, a peace she hadn't known for years.

Hamza cupped her face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I won't let anything touch you or our child," he promised. "Not the past. Not the whispers. Nothing."

They stood there, the fading light casting long shadows behind them, the waves whispering against the shore. Together, they had faced the storm, and now, standing at the edge of the world, they held each other close, ready to face whatever came next.

After a long moment, Hamza wiped the last of her tears away and smiled softly. "I have a surprise for you."

Hasna blinked, confused. "What?"

Hamza took her hand and led her back toward the house. As they entered the living room, Hasna's eyes widened in disbelief.

Standing there, waiting, was Ikbal—her brother.

For a heartbeat, Hasna couldn't move. She looked at Ikbal, then back at Hamza, as if she couldn't trust her eyes. Ikbal's face mirrored her shock, his lips trembling as he finally whispered

, "Apa..."

At Hamza's gentle nod, Hasna rushed forward and threw her arms around Ikbal, pulling him into a tight embrace. The siblings clung to each other, sobbing, years of separation and suffering melting away in that single moment.

Hamza stepped back, watching them with tears in his own eyes. He had reunited them—finally. The darkness that had shadowed their lives had lifted, and a new chapter was beginning.

---

**Epilogue:**

In a dim jail cell, Sarah sat in the corner, muttering to herself. Her cellmate, Sakina, clutched the bars of the door, fear etched into every line of her face.

"Madam, please," she called to the constable, her voice trembling. "She's gone mad. I'm scared. Can't you move someone else in here?"

The constable barely spared her a glance. "This isn't a hotel," she snapped. "You don't get to pick your roommates."

Sakina fell silent, her heart heavy with dread. The constable's tone softened just slightly as she added, "Her execution's in a week. Just hold on."

But Sakina's fear only deepened as Sarah's muttering grew louder, more unhinged.

"I'll escape," Sarah whispered to herself, her eyes wild and distant. "I'll kill them all. No one can stop me."

She wasn't insane, but she refused to accept her fate. Even Pharaoh, until his dying breath, didn't admit defeat. It was only when he began to drown that he sought forgiveness, but by then, it was too late. Hell had already become his destiny.

Sarah, too, felt no remorse for her crimes. She had become a slave to her desires, and perhaps her fate was sealed as well—an eternal damnation awaited her, just like Pharaoh.

---

"Zaid, please, my dear, eat your food... don't make it hard for mummy," Hasna pleaded, struggling to feed her five-year-old son. She looked as though she was on the verge of tears. Zaid was a lively and mischievous boy, full of energy. He seemed to find it amusing to make his mother chase after him. His baby sister was asleep, so now was the perfect time to have all his fun, knowing that once she woke up, he wouldn't get the same attention.

He ran around the room, giggling, while Hasna's patience started to wear thin.

"Zaid!" she called out, just as Hamza walked into the room. Zaid, running away from his mother, crashed straight into his father's legs. Hamza scooped his son up into his arms, and Zaid squealed with delight.

"Baba!"

"My boy, who were you running from?" Hamza asked with a playful smile.

Just then, Hasna approached, smiling as she saw Hamza. One look from him, and he immediately understood that Zaid had been up to no good. After freshening up, Hamza sat down to look at Zaid's drawings. A little later, he sat his son beside him and asked, with love in his voice, "Why do you trouble your mother so much?"

"It's fun..." Zaid replied with an innocent grin.

"That's not good. Allah doesn't like it when little boys upset their mothers. Do you want Allah to be upset with you?" Hamza asked gently.

Zaid quickly shook his head.

"Then, will you stop troubling your mother now?"

"No more, Baba," Zaid said, his small head resting on his father's shoulder.

"Good boy." Hamza smiled, and Zaid, feeling a little guilty, turned to his mother and said, "Sorry, Mama, I won't trouble you anymore."

Hasna smiled warmly. Just then, the sound of crying filled the room. Little Ayesha, who had been sleeping peacefully, had woken up and was now crying loudly, demanding attention. Hasna rushed over to pick her up, and as soon as she cradled her in her arms, Ayesha stopped crying.

Carrying her daughter, Hasna walked over to Hamza. He took Ayesha from her arms, and soon enough, father and son were playing with the little girl. Hasna watched them, tears of gratitude welling up in her eyes. In that moment, she silently thanked Allah for everything and prayed for protection from the evil eye.

As she stood there, a small note she had once written for Hamza came to her mind. It was a verse from the Quran: 

*Fa inna ma'al usri yusra, inna ma'al usri yusra*—Verily, with hardship comes ease. Verily, with hardship comes ease.

She had written it for Hamza, but it wasn't just for him. It was for herself too. In the past, she had endured so much pain, so many trials. When she was in prison, it had felt like her life was nothing but hardship, that there was no ease, no relief in sight. But Allah, the Lord of all worlds, had promised that with hardship, there is ease. How could she ever lose hope? No Muslim, no believer in Allah and His Messenger (peace be upon him), could ever be truly hopeless. In that moment, she silently thanked Allah for all His blessings and sought forgiveness for all her despair and shortcomings. Her lips moved in silent prayer.

Just then, Zaid thought of his mother and ran towards her. Hasna lifted him into her arms and then sat down beside Hamza. Zaid began to show off his little sister, baby Ayesha, trying to make her smile.

Hamza looked at his wife with concern and affection and asked, "What's wrong? Are you feeling too tired?"

"No..." she replied with a soft, thoughtful smile. Then, suddenly, she added, "Thank you."

Hamza raised an eyebrow, smiling as he asked, "For what?"

"For everything," Hasna responded with a gentle smile of her own.

Hamza's eyes softened as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "No, thank you for saving my life that day."

"It was my pleasure."

"Hey, listen..."

"What?"

"The moon looks beautiful tonight, doesn't it?" Hamza remarked, and Hasna couldn't help but break into a soft laugh realizing his cheeky attempt at saying I love you. She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder. "I love you too," she whispered.

Their journey had come to an end, only to make way for a new beginning. Trials and tribulations still found their way into their lives; challenges still remained a part of the fabric of their existence. But now, it seemed as though both of them had learned a profound lesson from life itself—to be content with Allah's will, to place their trust in Him. For both of them had come to understand the eternal truth:

For indeed, with hardship comes ease.

Indeed, with hardship comes ease.

The End

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Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

First and foremost, thank you for embarking on this emotional journey with me. Writing this story has been a deeply personal experience, and I hope it resonated with you as much as it did with me. From the complex relationships and moments of despair to the flickers of hope and resilience, each character has faced their own trials and ultimately found their path toward healing and redemption.

Now that we've reached the end, I'd love to hear your thoughts. How did you feel about the twists and turns? The emotional highs and lows? Were there moments that surprised you, or perhaps left you reflecting on the themes of hardship and ease, love and sacrifice?

I'd be incredibly grateful to hear your feedback on the overall story—what worked for you, what moved you, and where you felt the strongest connection with the characters. Your insights help me grow as a writer, and I look forward to learning from your perspective.

Once again, thank you for taking the time to read and engage with this story. It means the world to me.

Let's meet again, where new stories will unfold, with characters yet to breathe and a world waiting to come alive in our hearts. Inshallah...

With gratitude,

Farzana Tutul