CHAPTER 17 — The Night That Changed Everything
1296 Words
Kamal didn’t let go of her immediately.
He held her like he was trying to gather all the broken pieces of her that the world had scattered. When she finally loosened her grip, he pulled back just far enough to see her face again.
“Your cheek… Aisha, this is bad,” he whispered.
She looked away, embarrassed. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
He gently lifted her chin so she would face him.
“You’re not fine. Nothing about tonight is fine.”
His voice cracked.
Aisha blinked hard. “I just… I couldn’t stay. If I slept there, I—”
Her voice broke.
She wiped her eyes with shaking fingers. “I wouldn’t wake up.”
That sentence hit him harder than any slap could.
Kamal froze, breathing in sharply, like someone had punched the air out of his lungs.
He cupped her shoulders. “Aisha, listen to me. You did the right thing. You hear me? You survived. That’s what matters.”
She nodded slowly, but the fear still clung to her, heavy as wet cloth.
“Come,” Kamal said softly. “Let’s get out of here.”
He led her gently toward the bike. The rider looked confused, glancing from Aisha to Kamal, but Kamal shot him a sharp look that said don’t talk.
Aisha hesitated. “Kamal… where are we going?”
“To the only place I trust with you,” he said simply.
She swallowed. “Your house?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Somewhere safer.”
His expression was unreadable, but Aisha felt no fear — only curiosity mixed with exhaustion.
He helped her climb onto the bike carefully, making sure the bag didn’t brush her back too much. She winced anyway. Kamal noticed everything. He pulled off his hoodie and tied it around her waist like a soft shield.
“It’ll make the seat less painful,” he murmured.
Something inside Aisha warmed.
Tenderness like this wasn’t familiar to her. It almost hurt.
Kamal climbed on in front of her, but before telling the rider to move, he reached back and took her hands gently.
“Hold me,” he said.
She didn’t argue.
Her arms wrapped around his waist, her forehead resting lightly on his back. For the first time that night, her body stopped shaking.
“Let’s go,” Kamal told the rider.
The bike took off, the wind whipping past her, but it didn’t scare her — not with her hands holding onto him like a lifeline. Every bump sent a sharp pain through her back, but Kamal placed his hand over hers halfway through the ride, reassuring her without saying a word.
The streets began to change — from loud, busy areas to quieter, shaded roads. Aisha finally lifted her head when the bike turned into a narrow street lined with trees.
A single building stood at the end — tall, old, but strangely warm-looking.
“Kamal…” she whispered. “Where are we?”
He paid the rider, then turned to her.
“My aunt’s place.”
Aisha blinked. “The one that raised you?”
He nodded. “She doesn’t tolerate nonsense. And she hates bullies — including parents who think anger is discipline. She’ll help you.”
Her breath hitched.
“Are… are you sure she won’t chase me away?”
Kamal stepped closer and brushed his thumb against her cheek gently.
“She would open the door for a stranger bleeding on the roadside. What do you think she’ll do for the girl I—”
He stopped mid-sentence, swallowed hard, and changed direction.
“—for someone I care about?”
But Aisha heard the unfinished sentence anyway.
And it made her chest squeeze softly.
Before she could respond, the front door swung open.
A woman in her late fifties stood there — tall, dark-skinned, regal in a simple wrapper and scarf, her expression sharp yet warm. Her eyes went straight to Aisha, scanning her face, her torn uniform, her trembling posture.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then:
“Kamal, who did this to her?”
Kamal’s jaw tightened. “Her father.”
The woman shook her head slowly, anger flashing in her eyes — not the loud kind, but the dangerous, controlled kind.
“Bring her inside,” she said firmly. “Now.”
Aisha hesitated at the doorway.
Kamal’s aunt noticed immediately.
She stepped toward her and touched her chin gently — the same way Kamal had, but with a mother’s tenderness Aisha hadn’t felt in years.
“My child… you’re safe here,” she whispered. “No one will touch you under this roof. Not even God Himself would allow it.”
Aisha’s chest crumbled.
Kamal touched her back lightly — not on the bruises, but just enough to steady her.
“Let’s go,” he said softly.
Aisha stepped inside.
And instantly… she felt something she hadn’t felt in years.
Warmth.
Safety.
Air that didn’t choke her.
Walls that didn’t threaten her.
Kamal’s aunt closed the door.
The sound of the latch clicking shut felt like the universe sealing her into somewhere new — somewhere life could start again.
“Sit,” the woman said gently.
Aisha obeyed.
Kamal sat beside her, close enough that their arms brushed lightly — accidentally, yet comforting.
His aunt returned with a small plastic bowl and a wet cloth, but when she tried to check Aisha’s back, Aisha flinched hard.
Kamal immediately placed his hand over hers.
“It’s okay,” he whispered.
“I’m right here.”
Her breathing steadied.
His aunt was gentle, but even the softest touch made Aisha hiss with pain.
The welts were deep.
Some had bled.
Some were already swelling.
“Jesus,” the woman muttered under her breath. “That man is not a father. He is a danger.”
Aisha’s eyes watered again.
Kamal clenched his jaw, anger flaring again.
“This is why she can’t go back,” he said.
“She’s not safe there.”
His aunt nodded solemnly. “She won’t.”
Aisha lifted her head sharply. “Ma… I don’t want to cause problem. I don’t want to—”
The older woman placed a finger on her lips gently.
“Child, abuse is not a ‘problem’ you cause. It is a sin someone committed against you.”
Aisha’s eyes filled. She bit her lip to keep from crying again.
“You will stay here,” the woman continued. “For as long as you need. This house is big enough for pain and healing. And we have room for both.”
Kamal exhaled shakily.
Aisha whispered, voice breaking, “Thank you… thank you so much—”
“You can thank me when you have eaten,” the woman said, standing. “And when you sleep. Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we talk.”
Aisha nodded.
The woman left the room.
Silence fell — thick, soft, and comforting.
Aisha looked at Kamal.
His eyes were already on her.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered.
She hadn’t noticed.
“I’m scared,” she admitted.
Kamal scooted closer.
“Then I’ll be scared with you.”
She let out a small, broken laugh.
A laugh that sounded like hope trying to breathe again.
He reached out — slowly, gently.
“Can I… hold your hand?”
Aisha nodded.
Their fingers intertwined.
Her pulse slowed.
Her breathing steadied.
And for the first time since she ran away from home…
Aisha felt something she didn’t think she’d feel again tonight:
Safe.
Held.
Wanted.
Alive.
The night wasn’t over.
But neither was she.
And that was the beginning of her becoming unstoppable.
- Writer
