False Claims

The morning after the wedding, the air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers and leftover celebration. But beneath the surface, an eerie tension brewed, waiting to explode.

Zara stirred from her sleep, stretching as the golden rays of the sun filtered through the curtains. A frown creased her forehead as she reached for the empty space beside her. Zarif was not there.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Where is he?" she murmured, glancing around the room. Maybe he had gone to the garden for fresh air, she thought. After all, she had seen him walking in that direction the night before—or at least she had assumed he was.

But before she could dwell on it, loud shouting erupted from outside. Her heart leaped in her chest. It wasn't the sound of morning laughter or casual chatter—it was the sound of chaos. She quickly slipped on her slippers and rushed out.

As soon as she stepped into the living area, a sharp, echoing slap froze her in place. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene before her.

Miss Wahida stood in the center of the room, her face red with fury, her hand trembling as she held it mid-air. And in front of her—Zarif. His cheek burned from the force of the slap, his head slightly turned from the impact. Around them, a crowd of nearly two hundred guests had gathered, their murmurs and gasps filling the space.

Zara's stomach twisted. "What…what is happening?" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Miss Wahida's furious voice cut through the murmurs. "Ask your husband what he's done! Ask him, Zara! I gave birth to a monster! You can't be my son—you are the devil!"

Zara's heart pounded violently. "What are you talking about?" Her voice was steadier now, but inside, she was drowning in confusion.

Miss Wahida's eyes burned with rage and devastation. "He—he ruined Huda! He forced himself on her last night!"

A stunned silence settled over the crowd. Zara felt her world tilt for a moment. The accusation was so absurd, so outrageous, that for a second, she thought she had misheard.

Her gaze slowly drifted to the side, where Huda sat on the couch, a bedsheet draped over her frame. She was crying—loud, heartbreaking sobs—but something was off. Her tears seemed exaggerated, and her lips trembled, yet there was a ghost of something else hidden behind her sobs—satisfaction? Amusement?

Zara's fists clenched. She turned to look at Zarif.

His face was blank. Emotionless. Hollow. As if his soul had been ripped from his body. As if he had just witnessed the cruelest betrayal imaginable.

Zara swallowed hard. "No. No, this is a lie."

Huda's fake sobs halted for a brief second before she let out an exaggerated whimper. "I-I'm telling the truth," she cried, clutching the bedsheet tighter around herself. "He came to my room at night. He—he forced himself on me!"

Zara inhaled sharply. "Liar!"

Gasps echoed around the room as all eyes turned to Zara.

Huda's expression flickered with panic for a brief moment before she dramatically burst into tears again. "She's lying! She just wants to protect him! He's her husband, after all! She'll say anything to save him!"

Zara took a step forward, her voice unwavering. "I saw you, Huda. I saw you dragging him last night!"

Huda's entire body tensed. Her eyes darted left and right, and for a second, her lips parted in shock before she quickly composed herself. "No! No, that's not true!" she shrieked. "She's making things up!"

Miss Wahida, still trembling with anger and heartbreak, turned to Zara. "Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure about what you saw?"

Zara nodded, her gaze fierce. "I saw her pulling Zarif with her. But from my angle, it looked like he was going willingly. I didn't think much of it at the time. But now, after hearing this nonsense, I know she planned this."

The murmurs in the crowd shifted. Doubt crept into the eyes of those who had been quick to condemn Zarif.

Zarif's father, who had been cursing under his breath, turned to Huda with narrowed eyes. "Is this true?" he asked, his voice dangerous.

But before Huda could respond, her mother, Miss Naziba, jumped in. "Are you seriously believing this girl over my daughter? My daughter was violated, and instead of punishing the culprit, you're entertaining these baseless accusations?"

Miss Wahida suddenly staggered, her hand clutching her chest. Her breath became ragged, and before anyone could react, she collapsed to the floor.

"Mom!" Zarif and his sister cried out at the same time, rushing to her side. Guests panicked, some moving to call for help.

Zarif placed his trembling hands on his mother's face, his expression breaking for the first time. "Mom, please wake up," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

But Miss Wahida was unconscious.

At that moment, something in Zarif shattered. He pushed his hands against his ears and screamed.

"I AM INNOCENT!"

His voice thundered through the hall, filled with raw agony, desperation, and fury. His eyes burned with unshed tears as his body trembled.

Zara's heart clenched at the sight of him—so broken, so devastated. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and turned to the crowd.

"I believe my husband." Her voice was strong, unwavering. "I will prove his innocence."

The room fell into a deafening silence.

Zara stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Zarif's shoulder. "I trust him with my whole heart, and I swear—I will clear his name."