WHAT THEY SOW
890 Words
VELVET HOURS
CHAPTER 10: WHAT THEY SOW
“Time doesn’t heal all wounds. But it teaches us how to live around them.”
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Two Years Later – Autumn
The sky over the coast was the color of rose tea, kissed by clouds. Soft wind brushed over the white curtains of the seaside villa, carrying the sound of laughter and baby footsteps echoing from the terrace.
Inside, Haya stood in the kitchen barefoot, her dark hair braided loosely over one shoulder, her belly gently round beneath a soft linen dress.
A small boy toddled behind her, gripping the hem of her gown like it was his anchor.
“Zayyan,” she murmured, turning with a patient smile. “Mama’s cooking.”
He squealed in reply, arms raised in the air.
Jibraan entered, just in time to scoop their son up and pepper kisses on his cheeks. He wore a faded t-shirt, his hair mussed from the ocean breeze, a small scar near his temple still visible from a recent surfing mishap — a quiet reminder that even perfect peace comes with scrapes.
Haya turned to him. “You got sand in your ears again.”
“I like to live dangerously,” he smirked, setting Zayyan on the counter beside a bowl of cut fruit.
She rolled her eyes and leaned in to kiss him softly. It still made her breath hitch — not from nerves, but from the certainty that she was loved.
Safe.
Held.
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Zarar Bin Saleh – What Remains
He lived in a silent hospice ward now, tucked between gray corridors and plastic chairs that never warmed.
Pancreatic cancer. Stage IV.
The body that once stood with arrogance and control had withered into a bony, coughing shell, jaundiced and shrinking beneath pale bedsheets.
There were no visitors.
No women.
No empire left to hide behind.
He sometimes muttered ReTaaj’s name when the pain meds kicked in. Sometimes Haya’s.
But no one came.
Only the nurses — and even they averted their gaze.
One day, a letter arrived. No return address. Just six words, handwritten.
“I don’t fear you anymore. — H.”
He held it with shaking fingers.
And cried for the first time in years.
Not from pain.
But because his power had finally turned to dust.
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ReTaaj Bint Hashim – What’s Left Behind
Once the darling of the elite, she now lived in a rented studio, the kind that echoed too much because it had nothing to cushion loneliness.
After Jibraan left her behind in silence, everything crumbled.
Her family name was dragged in the scandal. Her bank accounts frozen during the Zarar investigation. Her sponsors abandoned her. Investors pulled out.
She tried to salvage the ashes — through social media, through expensive wine, through meaningless nights in too many hotel rooms.
But nothing worked.
And Zarar never came back for her either. Just an old text she never answered:
“You were beautiful when you obeyed.”
She sometimes stood by the window and imagined calling Jibraan.
But what could she say?
I loved your money? I envied your tenderness with her? I destroyed myself trying to be adored?
Instead, she smoked.
Watched clouds.
Listened to silence.
And wished she had chosen love before it was gone.
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Haya & Jibraan – The Bloom
Later that evening, Haya and Jibraan walked along the beach just behind their home, her hand resting on her belly as Zayyan dozed in a sling across Jibraan’s chest.
“You think it’s another boy?” he asked.
She smiled. “Maybe. Or maybe a girl with your eyes and my chaos.”
He chuckled, then paused, turning to face her as the sun dipped behind the waves.
“I never thought we’d get here,” he admitted. “Back then… after everything…”
“You stayed,” she said simply.
“That’s not enough. I vowed more.”
“You gave me peace,” she replied, slipping her hand into his. “You didn’t save me, Jibraan. You let me save myself. That’s why I chose you.”
The breeze whispered through them like a quiet blessing.
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A Letter for the Future
That night, after Zayyan was tucked in and sleep had folded the world into hush, Haya sat at her desk by the window, belly cradled in her arms, and wrote.
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Dear Daughter,
(or Son — if you turn out more wild than your brother)
I used to believe broken people don’t deserve love. That if you’re damaged, no one will choose you.
But your father did. Not out of pity. Not to fix me.
But because he saw me.
Even when I didn’t.
One day, you’ll feel small. Maybe shattered. I hope this letter finds you then.
Remember — your softness is not your weakness. Your silence is not shame. And your past is not your prison.
Love is not supposed to hurt.
Real love holds you when you can’t hold yourself.
I’ll spend my life proving that to you.
Love,
Mama
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Closing Scene
Jibraan came up behind her, kissed the curve of her neck, and whispered, “Come to bed.”
She turned off the light.
Their silhouettes faded into the quiet warmth of a room where no ghosts lived anymore.
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END OF CHAPTER 10: WHAT THEY SOW
- Writer
