Fariya
Fariya stood in the kitchen, her fingers tracing the smooth edge of the glass, lost in thought. The silence of the house felt oppressive now, heavy, like it was closing in around her. Her throat was tight, and the ache in her chest hadn’t subsided. She had tried to swallow her emotions, to keep them at bay, but they simmered just below the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment.
Her mind wandered back to the image of Dayyan at the café, his hand brushing the woman’s cheek with a familiarity that made her stomach twist. She had tried to rationalize it, tried to convince herself it wasn’t what it looked like. But now, with the untouched lunchbox staring at her like some cruel reminder, it was impossible to ignore. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see them laughing
