After the Rain
It was an evening washed clean by rain.
The scent of wet earth still hovered in the air — yet something else was being soaked far more deeply.
A bond.
One the rain never touched.
Zoboriya sat in the middle.
To her left — AbuZarr.
To her right — Safwan.
And between the three of them, a wooden bench rested in silence — not because it had nothing to say, but because it was exhausted from holding unspoken truths.
AbuZarr kept looking at Zoboriya, as though he wanted to understand every word before it could ever leave her lips.
He said nothing.
In his hands lay the same old book — open, unread, unnamed.
Will she speak today?
And if she does… will I hear her — or lose myself in that silence again?
Safwan’s fingers traced the rim of his mug, slow and familiar.
The same mug — the one he had once said:
“This doesn’t just hold coffee… it holds those evenings — when you were silent, and I stayed near.”
Today, his eyes held no demand for answers.
Only patience — the kind that quietly waits, without asking to be seen.
Zoboriya wanted to speak.
Twice, she parted her lips.
Twice, she stopped — right at the edge of a question.
Where do I begin?
Whom do I speak to… and what truth do I choose?
She lowered her gaze, twisting the corner of her scarf between restless fingers.
Even her eyelashes trembled with unanswered questions.
To an outsider, it may have seemed like nothing was happening.
But in truth, all three were tangled inside the same fragile moment —
where love no longer begged to be chosen,
and softly whispered instead:
I am no longer an answer.
I am peace.
No words were exchanged.
No hands reached out.
And yet, something deep passed between them that evening.
AbuZarr finally reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a folded piece of paper — old, worn, written in uneven handwriting.
He placed it gently on the bench.
“I don’t know if you will ever forgive me…
But I know this — more than forgiveness,
I want nothing else.”
He stood up.
And left.
Without a single word.
Safwan stayed a little longer.
He looked at Zoboriya — not searching, not pleading.
And said softly:
“If you wish… I’ll still be your ‘Z’.
So you never have to confine yourself to a name.”
Then he, too, walked away.
Zoboriya was alone now.
Yet for the first time — her heart was not afraid of that solitude.
She picked up the note.
Then opened her diary.
🖋️
They both came today.
One — who once belonged to me, but now fears my silence.
The other — who never belonged to me, yet stood beside every silence.
And me?
I no longer seek anyone’s name.
I seek only that moment —
where my voice belongs solely to me.
That night, when Zoboriya returned home, her strength finally gave way.
The moment she saw her mother, she collapsed into her arms — wordless.
For hours, she wept.
Her sobs rose from the depths of her soul, and in her mother’s embrace, a shattered girl searched for shelter.
“Ammi…”
Her voice trembled — soaked, fragile — like the last stream of a dying river.
“I’m tired now, Ammi.
Tired of endings.
I don’t want anyone’s love anymore…
Nor anyone’s waiting.
I just want to be alone — far from everyone.”
She clung to her mother as if this one bond was the only place left where she could gather the broken pieces of herself.
AbuZarr — That Same Night
He sat by the window long after darkness fell.
The lights were off.
Only the moon remained awake — a silent witness in the room.
His eyes were empty of direction.
Neither the world outside, nor the path within, felt visible anymore.
Zoboriya’s silence was lodged in his chest like a thorn.
He knew —
She won’t ask…
and I won’t know how to say it.
It felt like walking slowly toward death while still alive —
and the cruelest part was having no one to tell.
A soft knock broke the stillness.
“AbuZarr?”
His mother’s voice — gentle, yet piercing.
She entered slowly, as if afraid even his shadow might shatter.
She studied his face.
“Since when have you learned such silence, my son?”
Her voice trembled with an unsaid fear.
He looked away.
“I’m fine, Ammi…”
Just two words — heavy enough to exhaust his breath.
She sat beside him.
“Don’t lie to me, Abu.
Your face has learned pain faster than my prayers.”
His throat tightened.
“Ammi… if I tell her everything — will you break?”
She cupped his face.
“No, my son.
But if you remain silent — I will.”
Time seemed to stop.
“Tell Zoboriya everything,” she whispered.
“Because she is your love — not your death.”
His shoulders shook for the first time.
He rested his head in her lap and whispered:
“This illness, Ammi… it isn’t just consuming my body.
It breaks my courage every day.
I don’t want to give her my fading face.
I don’t want her last memory of me to be my final breath.”
Her hand rested gently in his hair.
Two tears fell onto her palm —
neither his nor hers alone —
perhaps a prayer born from both.
🔹 Next Short Part
That night, Zoboriya could not sleep.
The diary lay open beside her, but her pen refused to move.
Somewhere far away, AbuZarr was fighting his pain in silence.
Somewhere closer, Safwan was choosing patience over hope.
And Zoboriya realized —
sometimes, love does not ask to be chosen.
Sometimes, it only asks to be understood.
The rain had stopped…
but the story had not.
🔹 Readers’ Message
Dear Readers,
Thank you so, so much for the immense love you are giving to this story.
I am truly overwhelmed and grateful to share that this story is being read in 125 countries around the world.
Your support, comments, and emotions mean everything to me.
If this story touched your heart, please share it with your friends.
And do comment to let me know — which country are you reading from?
Your words give me strength and motivation to keep writing.
With heartfelt gratitude,
Thank you. 🤍
https://afsanawahidwrites.blogspot.com/2025/12/hashim-entry-zille-huma-suspense-love-story.html
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