Love? Not For You

The Shattered Mirror

The Morning of the Reunion

The day of the Matric reunion arrived with a heavy, grey sky. Kiswa woke up earlier than usual, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She performed her Fajr prayer with extra devotion, her forehead staying on the Sajdah for a long time.

"Ya Allah, if my love for Wajdan is true, let this day be a testament to it. If not... give me the strength to bear the truth," she whispered.

She chose her outfit with painful precision. A soft, blush-pink silk chiffon saree that made her look ethereal—like a dream walking in the daylight. She wore no heavy jewelry, just the silver-plated ring Wajdan had given her years ago. To her, it was more than metal; it was a promise.

Downstairs, the mansion was quiet. Basim was already gone to the office, but a large bouquet of black roses sat on the dining table with a note: “Black suits the mourning of a heart. Enjoy the reunion, Kiswa. — A.”

Kiswa felt a chill. Azlan. He was everywhere, even when he wasn't there. She pushed the roses aside and walked out, her driver waiting to take her to the old school auditorium.

The Arrival: A Hero’s Welcome?

The school auditorium was decorated with banners of the "Class of 2016." As Kiswa entered, a hush fell over the room. She was the "Princess" of the batch, the billionaire’s daughter who hadn't changed a bit. Mavra and Urwa rushed to her side, looking stunning in their own right.

"He’s here," Mavra whispered, nodding toward the far corner.

Kiswa’s eyes locked onto Wajdan. He was wearing a suit she had bought for him last Eid. He looked every bit the charming hero she adored. When he saw her, his face lit up with that signature smile—the one that had kept her captive for a decade.

"You look like an angel, Kiswa," Wajdan whispered as he approached her, ignoring the curious stares of their former classmates. He took her hand, his touch warm, but for the first time, Kiswa felt a strange flicker of doubt. Was it too practiced? Too perfect?

"Wajdan, I was so scared you wouldn't come," Kiswa said, her voice trembling.

"I’d cross fire for you, you know that," he replied. Behind him, Hamza and Hussain were laughing with other girls, their eyes occasionally darting toward Mavra and Urwa with predatory interest.

The Crack in the Illusion

The party was in full swing when the auditorium doors swung open again. A group of women walked in—stylish, loud, and clearly not from their batch. Among them was a girl named Zoya, a well-known socialite.

Wajdan’s hand, which was holding Kiswa’s, suddenly went cold. He tried to pull away, but it was too late. Zoya’s eyes landed on him, and she smirked.

"Wajdan! Darling! I didn't know you were a 'Matric Hero' too," Zoya called out, walking straight toward them.

Kiswa looked at Wajdan. His face had turned ghostly pale. "Zoya? What are you doing here?"

"I was invited! A mysterious benefactor sent me an invite saying my 'favorite boyfriend' would be here," Zoya laughed, looking Kiswa up and down. "So, is this the 'rich sister' you always talk about? The one who pays your bills while you're out with me at the clubs?"

The world stopped for Kiswa. The music seemed to fade into a high-pitched ring. "Bills? Out with you?"

"Kiswa, she’s lying! She’s crazy!" Wajdan hissed, grabbing Kiswa’s arm.

"Crazy?" Zoya pulled out her phone and began scrolling through photos. "Is this photo from last Tuesday crazy? Or the one from the farmhouse party where you told everyone Kiswa is just a 'bank account' you've been managing for ten years?"

The photos were undeniable. Wajdan, the man who claimed to be "working late on his business," was seen laughing, drinking, and being intimate with multiple women. The "poor, hardworking boy" was a high-end playboy, living a life of luxury funded by Kiswa’s secret gifts.

The Storm Breaks

"Is it true, Wajdan?" Kiswa’s voice was a whisper, but it cut through the room like a knife.

"Kiswa, listen to me—"

"IS IT TRUE?" she screamed, the pain of ten years of lies exploding in her chest.

Wajdan realized the game was up. His face changed. The sweet, loving mask dropped, revealing a sneering, arrogant man. He let go of her arm roughly.

"Fine! You want the truth? Yes, Kiswa. I’m a playboy. Did you really think a guy like me would wait ten years for a girl who won't even hold my hand properly because of her 'Deeni' values? You were boring, Kiswa. But you were rich. You were my retirement plan."

The auditorium erupted in gasps. Mavra and Urwa stepped forward, but Wajdan’s friends, Hamza and Hussain, blocked them, laughing.

"Ten years," Kiswa sobbed, her heart literally breaking. "I gave you my soul. I gave you my prayers!"

"Keep your prayers," Wajdan spat. "I prefer cash."

The Dark Savior

Kiswa felt like she was drowning. She turned to run, but her legs gave out. She expected to hit the hard floor, but instead, she fell into a wall of solid muscle and expensive wood-scented cologne.

Azlan.

He was standing there, his face like a mask of cold stone. He had been watching from the balcony the whole time. He wrapped a protective arm around Kiswa’s waist, pulling her flush against him. His presence was overwhelming, dark, and terrifyingly powerful.

Azlan looked at Wajdan. The air in the room seemed to freeze. Wajdan, who was acting so brave a second ago, began to shake. He knew who Azlan was. Everyone knew Azlan—the man with the mental instability of a tiger and the resources of a king.

"You have a very loud mouth for a man who owes so much money to the wrong people," Azlan said, his voice quiet but echoing in the silence.

"Azlan... I... it was just a joke," Wajdan stammered.

Azlan stepped forward, still holding the sobbing Kiswa. He didn't use his hands; he just looked at Wajdan. "I don't like jokes. Especially ones that make my property cry."

Property. The word hit Kiswa even through her grief.

Azlan snapped his fingers. Two massive security guards appeared out of nowhere. "Take them out. All three of them. Make sure they remember this day every time they try to speak."

As Wajdan, Hamza, and Hussain were dragged out screaming, the room remained silent. Azlan turned his gaze to the crowd. "The party is over. Leave."

Within minutes, the auditorium was empty. Only Kiswa and Azlan remained under the flickering lights.

The Forced Destiny

Kiswa was shaking uncontrollably. The betrayal was too fresh, the pain too deep. She tried to push Azlan away, but he held her tighter.

"Let me go... please," she sobbed.

"I told you, Kiswa," Azlan whispered, his hand moving up to cup her face. His thumb wiped away a tear, but his touch wasn't gentle—it was possessive. "Love? It was never for you. Not the kind you wanted."

"Why did you do this? Why show me like this?"

"Because I needed you to see the trash for what it is before I put you in a golden cage," Azlan replied. He pulled out a ring—a massive, flawless diamond that put Wajdan’s silver ring to shame.

"Wajdan is gone. Your brother has already signed the papers. Your father has given his blessing. Next week, you become Mrs. Azlan."

Kiswa looked at him with horror. "I won't marry you. You're... you're a monster! You’re not stable!"

Azlan leaned down, his lips almost touching hers. A dark, twisted smile played on his mouth. "I am a monster, Kiswa. And you are my obsession. You thought Wajdan was your sanctuary? No. I am your end. You can pray to your God, you can cry till your eyes bleed, but the Nikkah will happen."

He forced the diamond ring onto her finger, over the silver one. "I don't care if you love me. I only care that you belong to me."

The Cliffhanger

As Azlan led a broken Kiswa out of the building, a black car sped away in the distance. Inside, a bruised and beaten Wajdan watched them through the glass. He wasn't finished. His eyes were full of hate.

"You think you won, Azlan?" Wajdan whispered through a broken lip. "I know your secret. I know why you're 'nafsiyati'. And I’ll use Kiswa to destroy you from the inside."

Back in the mansion, Kiswa locked herself in her room and fell to the floor in Sajdah. But this time, she couldn't speak. She just cried. She was trapped between a man who sold her heart and a man who wanted to imprison her soul.

The tragedy had officially begun.