Chapter 11- When the Rain Turned Red
1361 Words
The rain had stopped, but the streets were still bleeding mud. Puddles shimmered beneath the flickering streetlights, and the air carried a strange stillness — the kind that comes before something bad happens.
Said sat alone by the window, the lamp beside him dim, his mind echoing Stacy’s final words:
> “If fate ever gives us another chance… I’ll come back clean.”
He hadn’t seen her since that night. The door had closed, and with it, a chapter of his heart. He tried to move on — went back to the mosque, resumed helping his mother with her small vegetable stall, even laughed at Ali’s endless jokes. But something inside him had gone quiet — a silence too deep to name.
Then one evening, as he was returning from the mosque, Ali came running toward him, face pale, breath uneven.
> “Said… it’s bad. Really bad.”
> “What happened?”
> “It’s Stacy… she’s at the hospital.”
Said froze. The air around him seemed to vanish.
> “What do you mean? What happened to her?”
Ali swallowed hard.
> “They found her unconscious near the bridge. The police said it looked like someone tried to—”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. Said was already running.
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Scene 1 — The Hospital
The corridors smelled of antiseptic and despair. Said pushed past the nurses, his heart pounding so hard it hurt.
He found her in the emergency ward — pale, lifeless, her face bruised, lips trembling even in sleep. Machines beeped beside her like fragile promises.
He took her hand gently.
> “Stacy… it’s me. You’re safe now.”
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, tears forming before words could.
> “He found me…” she whispered.
> “Mark?”
She nodded weakly.
> “I thought I could run… but he followed. He said if he can’t have me, no one will.”
Said’s grip tightened.
> “I swear, he’ll pay for this.”
> “Don’t,” she begged softly. “You’re not like him. Please don’t let hate become your home.”
He looked at her — fragile yet brave — and for the first time, he felt the fire of vengeance warring with his faith.
> “You nearly died, Stacy. How am I supposed to forgive that?”
> “By remembering that your soul is worth more than revenge.”
Tears burned his eyes. He bowed his head and whispered,
> “Then at least let me protect you.”
She smiled faintly.
> “You already did. You came.”
Scene 2 — The Threat
Three nights later, while Said sat by Stacy’s bedside, his phone vibrated. Unknown number.
He hesitated, then answered.
> “You should’ve stayed out of this,” a deep voice hissed.
“Mark.”
“You think you can take her away from me again? You’re mistaken.”
“She was never yours,” Said growled.
“Then let’s see how long she stays yours.”
The line went dead.
He stood abruptly, his chest burning. Ali, who’d been dozing in the corner, woke up.
> “Bro, what’s wrong?”
> “He called.”
> “Mark? Again?”
> “He’s not done.”
Ali’s face hardened — rare for someone usually lighthearted.
> “Then neither are we.”
Scene 3 — The Return of the Storm
Two days later, Said and Ali walked Stacy out of the hospital. She was weak but healing. The doctor had warned her to rest, avoid stress, and stay somewhere safe.
Said’s mother welcomed her warmly.
> “My son has suffered enough. You’re family now, girl.”
Stacy burst into tears, hugging her. For a moment, it felt like peace was possible again.
But peace has a habit of leaving just when you start to believe in it.
That night, Said woke up to a sound outside — footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.
He peeked through the curtain. Nothing.
Then — a shadow moved.
He stepped out quietly, gripping the metal rod he kept near the door. The moon was faint, half-hidden by clouds. The air carried the faint smell of cigarette smoke.
> “Who’s there?”
Silence.
Then a whisper behind him —
> “You should’ve listened.”
He spun around — too late. A figure lunged from the darkness, slamming him into the wall. The rod fell, clattering on the stones.
Said fought back, adrenaline roaring through him. He recognized the voice — the weight — the fury. It was Mark.
The struggle spilled into the open yard. Rain began to fall again, soft at first, then harder — as if the heavens wanted to watch.
Ali rushed out, shouting,
> “Said!”
Mark swung, a blade flashing under the moon. Said dodged narrowly, grabbing his arm. They both slipped, crashing into the mud.
> “You ruined everything!” Mark screamed.
“She was never yours!” Said shouted back.
Mark slashed wildly, cutting Said’s arm. Pain shot through him, but he pushed back, tackling him to the ground.
Ali grabbed a stick and hit Mark across the back. The man howled, dropping the knife.
Stacy appeared at the door, screaming,
> “Stop! Stop! Please!”
Said stood over Mark, breathing heavily, mud and blood mixing on his face.
> “Do it,” Mark hissed. “Finish it. Be the hero you think you are.”
For a moment, Said’s hand trembled above the knife. He could end it — end the fear, the pain, the nightmares.
But then Stacy’s voice cut through the thunder.
> “Said! Don’t!”
He froze. Her tears glistened in the rain.
> “You promised you wouldn’t lose yourself,” she whispered.
Said dropped the knife, collapsing to his knees.
> “I’m done fighting ghosts.”
Ali kicked the weapon aside, holding Mark down until the police sirens wailed in the distance.
Scene 4 — The Aftermath
Mark was taken away, cursing as they dragged him through the mud. Stacy sat beside Said, tending to his wound.
> “You could’ve died,” she said softly.
> “Maybe. But then, so could you.”
> “Why did you stop?”
> “Because I realized revenge doesn’t heal. It only feeds pain.”
She looked at him for a long moment.
> “You’re stronger than I ever was.”
He smiled weakly.
> “No. I’m just tired of bleeding.”
The rain finally began to ease. Dawn crept through the clouds — slow, gray, and quiet.
Scene 5 — The Dawn After the Storm
Weeks passed. Stacy recovered. Said’s wound healed, leaving a scar that would stay — a reminder, not of pain, but of endurance.
Ali returned to his jokes, lightening the house again.
> “Bro, next time you fight a man in the rain, at least wear shoes. Mud doesn’t suit you.”
Said chuckled.
> “I’ll remember that.”
But the laughter couldn’t erase everything. Nights were still long, and sometimes, he’d wake up hearing thunder and think of that knife, that scream, that choice.
One evening, Stacy joined him at the rooftop, where the city lights blinked like fading stars.
> “Do you ever regret not killing him?” she asked quietly.
> “No. Because then I’d have killed myself too — the part of me that still believes in good.”
She smiled faintly, resting her head on his shoulder.
> “You’re not the same Said I met years ago.”
> “No,” he said softly. “That Said died the day love met reality. But this one… this one is learning to live again.”
The wind blew gently. Somewhere in the distance, a muezzin’s call echoed — soft, haunting, beautiful.
> “Maybe,” she whispered, “this is what forgiveness feels like.”
He looked at her, then at the sky — dark, endless, forgiving.
> “Maybe,” he replied, “this is what survival looks like.”
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