Dayyan stormed out of the house, his mind spinning with rage and frustration. The door slammed behind him with a loud bang, but he barely registered the sound. His pulse was racing, and the adrenaline coursing through him made his movements jerky, as if he couldn’t control his own body. He needed to get away, to breathe, to clear his head from the suffocating atmosphere inside the house.
Inside that house, Fariya—*his* Fariya—was sitting with some other man, a stranger, discussing her future as if it didn’t tear him apart.
He walked down the street with quick strides, his heart pounding, the cool night air doing nothing to calm him. His hands fumbled in his pockets until they closed around his pack of cigarettes. Without thinking, he yanked one out, lighting it with trembling fingers.
