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The morning sunlight streamed into Mikaal’s room, soft and golden, but it failed to brighten the heaviness that weighed on his heart. He sat before the mirror, absentmindedly combing his hair, yet his eyes seemed distant, fixed not on his reflection but on a face that haunted him—Sara’s. Her innocent smile, the shy tilt of her head, the way her green eyes carried oceans of unsaid words—all of it lived in his memory as if engraved there forever.
Just then, the door opened. Amaya stepped in.
She was dressed with deliberate care: a short, fashionable top paired with loose, stylish slippers, her makeup bold, her hair cascading in perfect waves. Everything about her screamed attention, an unspoken plea to be noticed. For weeks, she had tried to capture Mikaal’s gaze, believing that her beauty was enough to pull his heart toward her.
“Good morning, Mikaal,” she said, her voice soft, almost teasing. “It’s Sunday today. I was thinking we should go out. Maybe the café, or the beach? Just the two of us.”
Mikaal did not even lift his eyes from the bottle of perfume he now held, spraying it lightly across his shirt.
“I have important work today,” he replied curtly.
Amaya’s lips tightened, but she stepped closer, determined. “Perfume? Is that more important than me?”
Finally, he looked at her—but not with admiration, nor even irritation. His eyes carried the kind of indifference that cuts deeper than anger.
“Amaya,” he said firmly, “please. You are only here because you’re related to my mother. I respect that, but do not mistake it for anything else. Don’t try to force yourself into a place where you don’t belong.”
The words stung. Her face flushed with humiliation. For a moment, her confidence faltered, but she quickly masked it with a scoff, tossing her hair back.
“You speak as if I’m nothing,” she muttered, bitterness slipping into her tone.
But Mikaal had already turned away. He moved toward the door. There, standing quietly, was his mother. She looked at her son, her expression heavy, and shook her head slowly—a silent warning, a plea to tread carefully.
Mikaal’s jaw clenched. He said nothing, only nodded faintly, and brushed past her. His steps were brisk, urgent, as though the air in the room itself was suffocating him. He needed to get away.
Behind him, Amaya sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. She turned to Mikaal’s aunt, who had entered after hearing the voices.
“He doesn’t even look at me,” Amaya whispered, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay composed. “I dressed for him. I did everything to please him. And still, I am invisible to him.”
Her aunt sighed, trying to soothe her. “Be patient, child. These things take time. He’s young, stubborn. He will see your worth.”
But both women were blind to the truth. Mikaal’s heart was not blind. It already knew where it belonged.
His love was not stirred by painted lips or artificial smiles. It was not captured by glittering dresses or practiced charm. No—his heart beat only for simplicity. For honesty. For the innocent, unadorned beauty of a girl who never tried to impress him, because she had already stolen his heart without even knowing it.
That girl was Sara.
He remembered her laughter, soft like a secret. The way she once held a book too close to her face, pretending to read, though he had caught her sneaking glances at him. He remembered her voice, quiet yet filled with sincerity. And most of all, he remembered the purity of her heart—a heart that made him feel safe, seen, loved.
Every day without her felt like an eternity. Every unanswered call tore at his soul. She was slipping away, and he could feel it, like sand falling through his fingers no matter how tightly he tried to hold on.
“I have to see her,” Mikaal whispered to himself as he walked out into the sunlit street. “Something is wrong. I can feel it.”
But behind him, Amaya sat in silent fury, her nails digging into her palm. She had always believed beauty was her power, and power was enough. Yet Mikaal’s rejection made her feel powerless for the first time. And deep inside her, a seed of bitterness began to grow.
Mikaal, however, was oblivious to her resentment. His thoughts were consumed by only one name, one face, one love.
Sara.
The city buzzed around him as he walked, but he noticed none of it. His heart was racing with urgency, his mind clouded by worry. Every unanswered call, every silence on the other end, screamed louder than any voice could.
And though he did not yet know it, his steps were carrying him closer to a storm—a storm waiting in the form of Sara’s uncle, a family that would never allow their daughter to choose her own path, and a fate that threatened to shatter every dream he had ever dared to dream.
309Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvEZfDkAK4H
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