The Silent Shift

Few days later,

The late evening air was still, carrying only the faint rustling of leaves from the garden. Zarif sat by the window of his room, staring out at the darkness beyond. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards, yet his mind was anything but quiet.

He couldn't stop thinking about Zara.

It made no sense. She had barged into his life two weeks ago—unwanted, uninvited. Their marriage wasn't a bond forged by love; it had been thrust upon them by circumstances neither of them could control. On their wedding night, he had been very clear with her—there was no room for love in their union. His heart belonged to someone else. It always had.

Yet, here he was, replaying the moments they had shared in his mind.

The way she had stood up for him, unwavering and resolute, even when the entire world seemed to turn against him. The way her faint smile never wavered, no matter how much she endured. He had told her not to expect anything from him, and she hadn't. But she had given everything instead—her strength, her resolve, her unflinching support.

A pang of guilt twisted in his chest. Noori's face flashed in his mind, her soft eyes and gentle voice pulling at his heartstrings. He had loved her. He still did… didn't he? But if that were true, why did Zara's presence feel so significant? Why did her absence leave a hollow ache in its place?

Zarif exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. He didn't have answers—only questions that tore at him, leaving him restless and frustrated.

The next morning, Zarif found himself in the dining room earlier than usual. He wasn't sure why—perhaps some part of him hoped to see her. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the empty doorway, waiting.

When Zara finally entered, she carried herself with the same calm, steady grace she always did. Her light blue dress swayed slightly as she walked, her ever-present smile softening her sharp features. She didn't seem surprised to see him, nor did her expression falter. She simply nodded in greeting.

"Good morning," she said, her voice even and polite.

"Morning," Zarif replied, perhaps a little too quickly. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound casual. "You're up early."

"I thought I'd prepare breakfast," she said, moving toward the kitchen. "The staff has been under a lot of stress lately. They could use the rest."

Zarif watched her go, a strange warmth settling in his chest. Even when she wasn't fighting battles, she carried the weight of the world without complaint. She made it look so effortless—too effortless. He wondered if anyone else noticed how much she gave and how little she asked for in return.

Later that day, Zarif wandered into the garden, seeking solace among the blooming flowers and the quiet rustle of the trees. To his surprise, he found Zara there as well, seated on a stone bench with a book in her hands. The sunlight danced across her face, highlighting the faint curve of her lips as she read.

He hesitated, unsure if he should disturb her, but his feet carried him forward before he could stop himself. Zara glanced up at his approach, her smile as steady as ever.

"Didn't expect to find you here," Zarif said, sitting down on the opposite end of the bench.

"I like the quiet," Zara replied simply, closing her book and resting it on her lap. Her eyes met his briefly before drifting back to the garden. "And you?"

"I… needed to clear my head," he admitted, leaning back against the bench. His gaze flicked to her, studying the calm lines of her face. "Do you ever lose that composure of yours?"

Her faint smile deepened, though it carried no humor. "Why would I? It serves me well."

"But it's not real," Zarif said, the words slipping out before he could think them through. "That smile. It's a mask."

For the first time, Zara's expression shifted, though only slightly. Her eyes softened, a flicker of something unspoken passing through them. But just as quickly, she regained her usual poise.

"Perhaps," she said, her tone enigmatic. "But a mask is better than letting the world see what it shouldn't."

Her words left Zarif unsettled, yet intrigued. He wanted to ask more, to dig deeper, but she stood before he could.

"Enjoy the garden," she said, turning to leave. "It's peaceful."

As she walked away, Zarif stared after her, his heart heavier than ever.

The lines between 'falling' and 'fallen' blurred—he was already lost in her, and he didn't want to be found.As much as he tried to deny it, he wanted to uncover every layer of her.