The night was quiet.

Too quiet for what had just happened.

Zoya sat on the cold bench of a deserted park just a few lanes away from her house. Streetlights flickered, casting golden halos on the cracked pavement. Trees swayed gently as if they too were holding their breath for her.

She was shivering.

Not from cold—but from the emotional storm still raging inside her.

And then, she finally broke.

Without warning, she threw herself into Akif’s chest, her arms wrapping around him tightly. Her face buried into his shirt as she cried—really cried—for the first time in days. No more hiding. No more pretending. It all came crashing out in sobs that shook her small frame.

Akif’s arms instinctively locked around her.

“I’ve got you, Baccha,” he whispered, holding her as if she’d disappear. “Let it all out. I’m right here.”

Her fists clutched the fabric of his hoodie. “I-I hate them… I hate how they made me feel... like I’m a shame. Like my dreams are dirt.”

Akif gently pressed his cheek against the top of her head. “You’re the brightest part of this entire world, Zoya. My world.”

Aarfa knelt beside her, her own eyes wet. “You’re safe now. You’re not alone anymore.”

“I’ll never let anyone touch you like that again,” Akif murmured, voice dark with promise.

Her kurti sleeves were slightly pushed up from the chaos back at home, revealing faint red marks. Inner bruises. Not just physical. But emotional.

Akif’s eyes burned.

He carefully rolled up the first aid kit Aarfa had brought and, with trembling fingers, dabbed antiseptic on the bruises.

Zoya winced slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay… you’re gentle,” she said through a broken smile.

He looked at her, really looked at her, and thought—how could anyone ever hurt this girl?

The moonlight fell on her tear-streaked cheeks, making her look like a fragile porcelain doll finally being put back together.

Ayaan stood guard, watching every passing car with alert eyes.

Time passed like that. In silence and small bandages. In stolen breaths and quiet comfort.

And then—

Footsteps.

Zoya stiffened as her eldest brother appeared at the edge of the park, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

Akif stood up instantly, pulling Zoya gently behind him.

The brother raised both hands slightly. “Relax. I’m not here to create another scene.”

Aarfa narrowed her eyes. “Then what are you here for?”

He looked at Zoya, then at Akif.

“Dad wants to talk.”

Zoya froze. “To me?”

He shook his head. “To him.”

Akif’s brows drew together.

“Why?” Ayaan asked cautiously.

The brother shrugged. “Maybe to scream. Maybe to listen. Maybe… to make peace.”

Zoya stepped forward. “You’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t joke about this,” he said quietly. “He said if the boy claims to love his daughter so much… let’s see it.”

Akif turned toward Zoya. Her eyes were wide with worry, fingers gripping his sleeve.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

He gently touched her cheek. “I have to. For us.”

She swallowed, tears threatening again. “What if… what if they say no?”

“Then I still won’t stop,” he said simply. “Because I’ve already chosen you.”

She hugged him tightly, again, afraid to let go.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “And maybe… just maybe, this time, things will start to change.”

As he walked away, Aarfa wrapped her arm around Zoya’s shoulders.

“Hey,” she whispered, “for what it’s worth… I think this storm is finally passing.”

Zoya looked up at the stars, silently begging the universe for just a little bit of mercy this time.

Just a little bit of peace.

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