The Bride He Never Wanted

Chapter 8 until Chapter 10

💔 Chapter 8: A Mistake He’ll Regret

Hariz hadn’t spoken to Qisya all morning.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about her.

He was. Too much.

About her smile.

About how natural it looked when she was with Fikri.

The image kept replaying in his mind—and it made his blood boil.

⸻

Later that afternoon, he walked into the office earlier than usual, only to find Fikri sitting in the lobby. Laughing. Waiting.

With flowers.

“Who are those for?” Hariz asked, his voice sharp and low.

Fikri looked up, surprised. “Qisya. She left her book at the café. I thought I’d return it.”

Hariz’s jaw tightened.

“She doesn’t need you running around like her hero,” he said flatly.

Fikri’s smile didn’t fade. “And you think you’re the hero in her story?”

Before Hariz could reply, the elevator dinged—Qisya stepped out.

She stopped when she saw both of them.

Hariz looked at her. Then the flowers. Then Fikri.

Without thinking, he walked up to her and grabbed her wrist—not roughly, but firmly.

“We’re going home,” he said under his breath.

“What?” Qisya frowned. “Why?”

“I said we’re going home,” he repeated.

“But I’m still—”

“I don’t care.”

She looked at Fikri, then back at Hariz.

Something in her expression changed. She yanked her wrist free.

“No,” she said clearly. “You don’t get to control me just because you’re confused about how you feel.”

Hariz’s pride shattered—but he couldn’t show it. Instead, he made the worst choice he could.

In front of Fikri, in front of everyone, he said:

“You think he cares about you? He just wants what I have. That’s all you are now—mine.”

Gasps filled the lobby.

Qisya stood frozen. Her heart cracked, piece by piece.

“You don’t own me, Hariz,” she whispered. “You never did.”

⸻

That night, Qisya didn’t speak a word.

She packed her things. Not all—just enough to leave.

She needed air. Distance. Space to think.

And when she closed the door behind her, Hariz realised—

He had finally pushed her too far.

💔 Chapter 9: When Silence Hurts the Most

Part 1 — The Space She Needed

The silence was different here.

At her mother’s house, it wasn’t cold like in Hariz’s apartment. It didn’t suffocate. It didn’t remind her of how unwanted she was. Here, it felt… safe.

Qisya sat by the window, watching the clouds move across the dusky sky. She had barely spoken a word since she arrived that morning. Her mother, sensing the weight on her daughter’s shoulders, didn’t press her for answers. She only made warm tea, placed it beside her, and sat quietly nearby—offering comfort without questions.

But even in the silence, her thoughts weren’t quiet.

“That’s all you are now—mine.”

Hariz’s voice echoed in her head again and again.

The way he said it. In front of Fikri. In front of everyone.

Possessive. Arrogant. Cold.

Qisya had always known he didn’t want her. But to be claimed like a thing… it broke something in her. Something fragile, something that had still been holding on.

And now… she didn’t know if it could be repaired.

⸻

Down the hallway, her phone buzzed. Once. Twice.

She ignored it.

The third time, she checked.

3 Missed Calls – Hariz Zafran

1 Voice Message – Fikri

Her finger hovered over the play button. But she put the phone down again.

She wasn’t ready.

Not for him.

Not for either of them.

⸻

Meanwhile, miles away, Hariz stood alone in the living room.

The silence here… was loud.

Too loud.

He had come back from work early, hoping—idiotically—that she’d be home.

But she wasn’t.

Her things were still in the wardrobe. Her scent still lingered on the pillows. But she was gone. And that absence hit him harder than he expected.

He tried to read. Couldn’t.

He tried to work. Failed.

He tried to sleep. Didn’t.

Since when did her silence start to matter so much?

He picked up his phone, staring at the call log.

He had never called anyone more than once. Not even business partners.

But he called her.

Twice.

He hated that.

Hated that she was now occupying a space inside him he couldn’t explain.

Hated that when Fikri looked at her… she smiled in a way she never did with him.

And hated, most of all, that he remembered it so clearly.

The way she smiled when someone looked at her like she mattered.

⸻

💔 Chapter 9: When Silence Hurts the Most

Part 2 — The Walls He Built

Hariz wasn’t used to this.

This… emptiness.

This strange silence that felt like it was pressing on his chest.

He sat on the edge of the bed where Qisya used to lie, one hand rubbing his temple, the other holding his phone.

He hadn’t listened to the voice message.

But her phone had lit up earlier, and he had seen the name.

Fikri.

His jaw clenched.

He didn’t know what Fikri had said.

But he could guess.

And whatever it was, it had been enough for Qisya to leave.

And he hated that too.

⸻

Flashback — 18 years ago

A younger Hariz sat in the corner of a large, expensive house.

Crying.

But quietly—because in this house, crying was weakness.

His parents had just had another fight. Loud voices. Shattered glass. Cold threats.

His mother packed her things, again.

His father pretended not to care, again.

“Don’t be weak, Hariz,” his father once told him. “Feelings make you lose. Be smart. Be strong. Never let anyone in.”

So Hariz learned.

He learned to be silent.

He learned not to feel.

And eventually, he learned to make people disappear before they could leave him first.

⸻

But Qisya didn’t want to leave him.

Not until he made her.

And now… the silence was a punishment.

⸻

Meanwhile, at her mother’s house…

Qisya stared out the window again, a half-finished cup of tea beside her.

She had listened to the voice message—finally.

“Qisya… I know this might not be my place. But I’ve always believed you deserve more than someone who doesn’t even see you. I won’t push, I won’t cross lines. But if you ever need someone who listens… I’m still here.” – Fikri

It was kind. Gentle.

The kind of words she’d never once heard from Hariz.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

But not for Hariz.

No.

She cried for herself—for the version of her that kept hoping he would change.

For the girl who tried to love someone who was never ready to be loved.

She buried her face in her hands and wept. Silently. Finally.

⸻

That night, her mother knocked on her door.

“Qisya,” she said softly. “I don’t know what happened… but I know you. And I know your heart.”

Qisya didn’t speak.

Her mother sat beside her, stroking her hair gently.

“When you love someone, you fight for them. But don’t forget to fight for yourself too. Because no one deserves to live in a love that hurts.”

⸻

💔 Chapter 9: When Silence Hurts the Most

Part 3 — The Words He Couldn’t Send

Hariz stared at the blank message on his screen.

He had typed… deleted… retyped.

Four times.

Each version felt wrong.

He wasn’t good at this—at feelings, at apologies, at letting people know they mattered.

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I was wrong.”

Too soft. Too raw. Too real.

He couldn’t press send.

Because if he sent it… it meant admitting he had hurt her.

And Hariz Zafran had built his whole life avoiding that kind of truth.

But now?

Now, every corner of the house reminded him of her.

The little mug she always used.

The scarf she hung behind the door.

Even the faint vanilla scent on the pillow.

And the thing that scared him the most?

He missed all of it.

He missed her.

And for the first time, he couldn’t hide behind his pride anymore.

⸻

That evening, his mother dropped by.

She rarely visited without a reason.

When she stepped into the apartment and noticed the silence, she frowned. “Where’s your wife?”

Hariz didn’t answer right away. He just looked away.

She sat down, crossed her arms, and said, “So it’s finally happening.”

“What do you mean?”

She gave him a look. One that pierced deeper than he liked.

“I saw this coming. You pushing her away. Testing her limits. Acting like she doesn’t matter.”

He stayed silent.

“She’s not your father’s version of love, Hariz. She’s not someone who’s going to sit quietly and let you freeze her heart.”

His throat tightened.

“She left?” his mother asked softly.

He nodded once.

“And how do you feel now?”

Hariz didn’t answer.

But his eyes gave it away.

⸻

Meanwhile at her mother’s house, Qisya stood in the garden, trying to clear her mind.

The sky was dusky again—just like the day she left him.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

She turned slowly, confused. Her mother was still out buying groceries.

She walked toward the front gate, cautiously peeking through the gap.

Her eyes widened.

It wasn’t Fikri.

It wasn’t a delivery.

It was Hariz’s mother.

With a soft smile… and tears in her eyes.

“May I come in?” she asked.

💔 Chapter 9: When Silence Hurts the Most

Part 4 – The Truth She Never Knew

Qisya served tea in small white cups. Her hands trembled slightly, but she tried not to show it.

Hariz’s mother, Puan Sharifah, sat with quiet grace on the sofa, eyes full of something Qisya hadn’t expected—regret.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming,” she said softly.

Qisya shook her head. “I was just… surprised.”

There was a long pause before the older woman spoke again.

“I saw the way he looked when he realised you were gone. It wasn’t anger, Qisya. It wasn’t ego. It was… loss.”

Qisya looked down. “He never showed it.”

“I know. Because he doesn’t know how,” Puan Sharifah said. “But you deserve to know… why.”

⸻

She leaned forward, her voice lower.

“Hariz was just nine when he caught his father cheating. He was hiding behind the curtain. He heard everything—every word, every lie.”

Qisya froze.

“His father didn’t see him. But I did. He cried in silence that night. That was the last time I ever saw him cry.”

Puan Sharifah’s voice cracked.

“I should’ve protected him better. But I stayed in that marriage for the wrong reasons. And Hariz… he learned to protect himself by pushing people away. Especially the ones he loves.”

Qisya’s eyes shimmered.

“He’s scared of needing someone,” she whispered.

“He’s terrified of being left by someone he needs,” Puan Sharifah corrected gently.

And that… broke something in Qisya.

Because suddenly, all the coldness made sense.

Not right.

Not fair.

But it made sense.

⸻

That night, after she left, Hariz stood outside Qisya’s house.

In the rain.

He had been there for hours—motionless. Holding nothing but a phone… and a heart full of words he still couldn’t say.

When the door finally opened, Qisya stepped out slowly, her umbrella half-raised.

Hariz looked up, his hair dripping, eyes rimmed with red.

She had never seen him look so… lost.

“I don’t know how to love properly,” he said, voice trembling.

“But I think… I love you. And that scares me.”

She didn’t reply. She just stared at him—tears filling her eyes again.

“Please don’t leave,” he whispered. “Not now that I finally know what it feels like… to lose you.”

She took a step forward… and placed the umbrella over him.

“I’m not leaving, Hariz,” she said quietly.

“But if we do this again… it has to be real.”

He nodded. Once. Slowly.

And that was the first time Hariz Zafran felt warmth in the rain.

💞 Chapter 10: The Slow Return

Part 1 – Living Together Again

Two days had passed since Hariz came to her in the rain.

He hadn’t touched her since.

Not even a brush of the hand.

But he was… present.

He woke up early and made her tea. He asked if she needed anything. He even offered to sleep on the couch—without her needing to say a word.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was… different.

⸻

Qisya unpacked her bag slowly, back in their shared apartment.

Everything felt the same—but nothing was.

The air wasn’t cold anymore.

His silence wasn’t sharp—it was heavy. Full of things he wanted to say but didn’t know how.

She found him standing near the kitchen one morning, eyes on the mug in his hand.

The one she always used.

“I’m trying,” he said quietly. “Not to be… who I was.”

She nodded. “I can see that.”

Then added, without looking at him, “Trying is a good start.”

⸻

That evening, Hariz suggested something strange.

“Let’s go somewhere.”

She blinked. “Where?”

“Anywhere. Just… away from this place.”

He didn’t say it out loud, but she understood.

This apartment held too many ghosts.

⸻

They drove in silence to a quiet beach town two hours away. Not a fancy resort—just a small villa by the sea. No schedule. No pressure.

Just space to breathe.

⸻

Day One.

They sat on the sand, far apart.

Hariz tried to tell her a story from his childhood. He stammered halfway through. Apologised. Tried again.

Qisya smiled—gently.

He was learning.

Day Two.

She laughed at his horrible attempt to fry eggs.

He looked up, stunned. “You’re… laughing.”

“You’re horrible,” she teased.

He smiled for real this time.

Day Three.

They walked under the stars. No words. Just footsteps. And when he offered his hand… she took it.

For the first time, not out of duty. But choice.

⸻

Part 2 – When Fikri Calls Again…

Their peace was interrupted on the fourth night.

Qisya’s phone rang. She saw the name.

Fikri.

Hariz, sitting beside her, glanced at the screen.

She hesitated.

“Go ahead,” he said. “You don’t have to hide.”

But his voice was tight. Like each word hurt.

She picked up.

“Qisya, are you alright? I’ve been worried. I heard you went back to him…”

“I’m okay,” she replied softly. “He’s… different.”

There was silence on the line.

“I see,” Fikri said after a pause. “If that’s what makes you happy, then I’ll respect it. But if he ever hurts you again…”

Qisya cut him off gently. “I’ll know when to walk away next time.”

⸻

She hung up.

Hariz didn’t speak.

But she could feel the fear in him—the fear that her heart might still be elsewhere.

So she said softly, “I didn’t come back to test you, Hariz. I came back because I still believe in you.”

He looked at her, eyes wide. Then… lowered.

“I just hope one day you’ll believe in me too.”

💞 Chapter 10: The Slow Return

Part 3 – The Words He Finally Said

That night, Hariz couldn’t sleep.

They had been here for four days. The distance between them had shrunk — physically. But emotionally? He still wasn’t sure if she truly trusted him yet.

He glanced at her from across the room. She was sitting by the window, writing in her little brown notebook — the one he never dared to touch.

He stood up, walked to the small table, and placed something on it.

Qisya turned slightly. “What’s that?”

He took a deep breath.

“A letter,” he said. “For you. From me. The real me.”

She blinked. “You wrote me a letter?”

He nodded. “Because I speak too late. I hold too much. And I needed you to read me… before you leave me again.”

⸻

She didn’t reply.

She waited until he stepped out for air.

Then, hands trembling, she unfolded the letter.

⸻

Dear Qisya,

I don’t know how to write love.

Because love wasn’t something I grew up believing in.

I saw pain dressed up as marriage. I saw betrayal with a tie and a smile.

And I promised myself I would never let anyone close enough to hurt me like that.

Then you came.

Quiet. Kind. Brave. Beautiful in a way that wasn’t loud.

And I hated that I started to want you.

Because wanting meant needing.

And needing meant… risking.

I said you were just a contract.

But the truth is — you were the only thing that ever felt real.

I don’t expect you to forgive me.

I just hope… you’ll give me the chance to deserve you.

— Hariz

⸻

Tears slid down Qisya’s cheeks silently.

She folded the letter, pressed it to her chest… and sat there, letting the words finally soak into her heart.

⸻

The next morning, Hariz didn’t ask what she thought.

He didn’t need to.

Because when she walked toward him, she wasn’t guarded anymore.

She sat beside him. Took his hand.

And whispered, “I’m not ready to say I love you yet. But I’m ready to try again.”

Hariz turned to her, heart thudding. “That’s more than I deserve.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But this time… try to deserve it.”

He kissed the back of her hand — slow, trembling.

No passion. No heat.

Just honesty.

And that was the most intimate thing he’d ever done.