The music played softly in the background. Laughter and celebration echoed through the grand halls of the palace. But for Qasim, all of it blurred into silence the moment he saw her.
There she stood — Princess Nayab, draped in royal silks, but her face was pale, her body fragile, and yet… to him, she looked more radiant than ever. Her eyes, once filled with fire, now held a quiet pain — but also strength. She had survived. And she was here.
Qasim froze.
He had imagined this moment so many times — but standing there now, leaning on a wooden crutch, his arm in a sling, pain shooting through every limb… he could barely breathe.
She turned.
And then, their eyes met.
For a second, the world stopped.
She gasped softly — her lips parted, and her gaze locked on him. The crowd around them vanished in her mind. There was only him. Qasim. Wounded. Limping. Yet standing tall, proud… for her.
Nayab's heart twisted at the sight.
The last time she saw him, he was full of strength, always ready to fight the world. But now… now he looked like he had fought a hundred battles alone. His face was tired. His eyes carried stories of pain — and love — that no words could tell.
He smiled faintly.
Not with his lips — but with his eyes. A smile filled with sorrow, relief, and unspoken longing.
She took a step forward, hesitant at first, then another. Her legs were still weak, but they moved — not because she was fully healed, but because he was there.
And Qasim… he forgot his pain for a moment. He forgot the bruises, the broken bones. All he could see was the girl he had longed for, prayed for — standing in front of him like a miracle.
They stood face to face now.
Neither said a word.
But in those few seconds, everything was spoken.
His eyes said:
"I'm sorry I wasn't there."
"I missed you every day."
"You don't know how much it hurt not to see you."
And her eyes replied:
"I know."
"You were in pain too."
"You don't have to say sorry."
A tear slipped down her cheek. She tried to hide it, but he saw.
And Qasim? He looked away for just a second, because if he didn't, he too would break down. His eyes shimmered, but he blinked the tears away. Not now. Not in front of her.
He gently bowed his head.
And she? She reached out slowly — her fingers brushing his good hand — just for a second.
That brief touch held everything.
Years of friendship.
A love that was never confessed.
And a pain they both carried alone… until now.
That evening, in the middle of a palace full of music, laughter, and light — two broken hearts found a moment of peace.
And though no words were spoken, their silence was louder than the crowd around them.
They had both returned from the edge.
And they had found each other again.
The palace buzzed with joy, yet one pair of eyes searched for something else entirely…" The King's grand party had brought together nobles and commoners alike. But amid the noise and light, someone walked unseen.
Hashim.
Wrapped in a dark shawl, his presence was like a shadow slipping quietly through the crowd. His eyes searched, sharp and restless — until they found her.
Fatima.
She stood by a floral archway, her scarf lightly brushing her cheek as the evening breeze played with it. The golden light bathed her in warmth, and for a moment, Hashim forgot the noise, the people, the palace.
He walked up silently behind her and gently took her wrist.
Startled, Fatima turned sharply.
"Hashim?" she said in a low voice, her eyes wide.
"Just… come with me," he said softly, his voice unsteady. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Something in his tone — not commanding, but pleading — made her freeze. And for reasons she couldn't explain, she followed.
He led her through a quiet corridor at the edge of the palace, away from the crowd and into a hallway lit by warm lanterns and ancient portraits. The noise faded behind them.
Unseen to them, a pair of eyes watched from behind a curtain. A silent figure. Listening. Observing.
Hashim finally stopped. He let go of her wrist slowly.
"I've never felt this weak before," he said quietly, not meeting her gaze. "But around you… I become someone else."
Fatima stared at him, her expression unreadable.
"I'm a terrible person," Hashim continued. "Everyone says it. And maybe they're right."
He looked up, his eyes raw and honest.
"But when I see you… I hate who I've become. I don't understand it — I don't even deserve to speak to you. But ever since I saw you… I haven't been able to stop."
There was a stillness between them.
Fatima didn't speak. She didn't pull away. She just looked at him — not with fear, not even with pity, but with something softer. Something… human.
Hashim stepped closer.
"All I want is to see you," he whispered. "Every day. Every night. And when I can't… it all feels empty."
Her eyes flickered, her lips parted slightly — as if to say something, but no words came.
The light flickered gently on her face, and in that quiet corridor, something passed between them — invisible, unspoken, but very real.
And far behind them, in the shadows…
the hidden witness quietly turned and disappeared.
Fatima's heart beat faster as Hashim led her away from the crowd. His touch wasn't forceful — it was unsure, almost trembling. She looked at him, trying to understand the man who once seemed untouchable, dangerous… and now stood before her like someone searching for redemption.
Why does he look at me like that? she wondered. Like I'm the only peace he's ever known?
She should have pulled her hand away. She knew who he was — or at least who the world said he was. But in his eyes, she didn't see power or pride. She saw pain. Longing. A silent apology.
Is this real? Or just another illusion?
Yet something inside her softened. A warmth she couldn't explain.
Maybe even the darkest souls still carry a little light...
She didn't say a word. But in that silence, she let him see — she wasn't afraid anymore.
Question For readers :
If you were in Fatima's place — standing face-to-face with someone who had a dark past but showed you honesty and vulnerability — would you trust your heart or protect it?
Written By
Sabir Ali
Thanks For reading