Words Left Unsaid

Ahmed Aziz sat beneath the old jacaranda tree in the hospital courtyard, the one Jamila used to love during her residency days. Its blossoms had fallen again, painting the ground violet. He remembered how she'd once cupped a handful of petals and scattered them over his hair, laughing like she had nothing to fear in the world. That laugh had haunted him for months now.

He stared at the message still open on his phone.

**Jamila and Aayan Al-Fayed cordially invite you…**

He didn’t need to read the rest. The words were etched in his mind.

It wasn’t the wedding announcement that hurt—it was the smile she wore in the photo. Genuine. Effortless. The way she used to smile at him, once upon a time, before he’d taken her for granted.

He exhaled slowly. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered to himself.