Chapter 38: What He Saw in Her
The shelter had no name yet, but it had a heartbeat now.
Workers moved in and out—carrying paint, wood, mattresses. Volunteers sorted through clothes. The air buzzed with noise, energy, and purpose. And in the center of it all was Zoha—wearing a simple kurti stained with paint, her hands busy, her voice gentle but firm.
Zafar stood silently by the door, watching her.
He wasn't used to this kind of chaos.
But she moved through it like she was born for it—kneeling beside a trembling teenage girl, holding her hand with a kind of softness that silenced every fear. A little boy clung to her side, not ready to speak, but already trusting her more than anyone else.
Zafar's eyes didn't leave her for a second.
He had seen beauty before—in women who dripped gold and spoke like honey—but this was different.
This woman who laughed with children, who wiped tears and painted walls and gave without asking for anything back… she was strength, cloaked in softness.
And something about it broke something open inside him.
Later That Day
Zoha sat under the big neem tree in the garden of the shelter. The air was cooling down, dusk settling in. A few children played nearby, their giggles making her smile.
Zafar came and sat beside her, wordlessly handing her a bottle of cold water.
"Thanks," she said softly, her hand brushing his as she took it.
He didn't look at her. "Why do you do this, Zoha? Why give so much to people who can't give anything back?"
She turned to him. "Because I know what it's like to have nothing. And I promised myself—if I ever got the chance to give someone even a little comfort, I wouldn't waste it."
He was silent for a moment. Then, in a low voice, he said, "You're too good for this world."
She chuckled gently. "No, I'm just... finally becoming who I was always meant to be."
He looked at her now. Really looked. And something inside him shifted.
He wanted to protect her. Keep her. Claim her.
He didn't understand this possessive pull. It wasn't about control. It was about fear—fear of losing this light that had walked into his dark, cold world and made it warm.
That Night
Zafar couldn't sleep.
He sat in Ezra's room, watching his son sleep peacefully, clutching his favorite soft toy.
His mind wouldn't stop racing.
Zoha. Her laughter. Her tears. Her hands cradling that broken girl. Her tired eyes still glowing with purpose.
How had she become such a part of him?
He clenched his jaw. She belongs to me now. She just doesn't know it yet.
Then came the knock.
One of his men entered, face stiff. "Sir… there's something you should know. Zara is back."
His blood ran cold.
"Where is she?"
"She's been seen around the shelter. Watching."
The Next Day
Zafar stood at the edge of the shelter grounds, watching from his car. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
Zara. His ex-wife.
She had abandoned their son like he was an inconvenience. And now she was circling back?
What did she want?
As he stared ahead, his eyes locked on Zoha again—laughing with a little girl whose arms were covered in bruises. Zoha gently brushed the girl's hair behind her ears and said something that made the girl smile.
Zafar's heart clenched.
He couldn't let anyone take this away.
Not Zara. Not anyone.
He stepped out of the car, storming toward the building.
From a distance, hidden behind a black car, Zara watched them both—with a quiet, unreadable expression.