the first
1248 Words
Amera stepped into the room. The air inside felt warmer, quieter, almost as if it had been waiting for her. She glanced around, taking in the large bed with its neatly folded covers, the soft lamplight spilling across the walls.
Her gaze was drawn to a half-open door. Curiosity pulled her toward it, and she found herself inside a walk-in closet. One entire side stood empty—bare shelves and hangers, as though they had been cleared just for her. The other side was filled with neatly arranged men’s suits, shirts in muted shades, and a few casual pieces that still held the faint scent of cologne.
She ran her fingertips along the empty rail, a strange tightness curling in her chest. No one had ever made space for her before—not like this.
At the far end, she opened the last cupboard. Inside, a folded prayer mat rested on the shelf, its fabric clean and carefully placed. Beside it were a few of her own clothes—the same ones she thought she’d never see again.
Her throat tightened when she spotted her phone lying on the bedside table, its familiar weight suddenly feeling priceless.
She turned toward the bathroom, half expecting it to be cold and impersonal, but instead found it spacious and softly lit. Two toothbrushes stood in a holder. Two towels hung neatly side by side, as though someone had already imagined her presence here.
For a moment, she just stood there, the reality pressing into her—someone had thought of these things before she’d even arrived. And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she’d been dropped somewhere… she felt like she’d been placed.
She stepped into the bathroom, performing wudu with slow, careful movements, feeling each drop of water wash away the heaviness clinging to her heart. Returning to the room, she faced the qibla and began to offer the prayers she had missed, each sajdah pressing her closer to the earth, yet lifting the weight from her soul. When she finished, she stayed on the mat, her forehead resting against it.
Her voice trembled in the stillness. *“Ya Allah… guide me to the right path. Keep me from harm. And… thank You… thank You for saving me from worse.”*
Tears slipped down her cheeks, not from pain, but from a quiet, aching relief.
In the dim light of the basement, Dimitris sat in his wheelchair, his gaze fixed on a small photo frame in his hands. The picture inside showed a woman with fair skin, sharp features, bright eyes, and a smile so warm it almost lit up the room. She looked happy—radiantly so.
Andrew entered quietly, a stack of papers in hand. For a moment, he stood by the doorway, watching Dimitris’s expression. Then, he walked over and placed a hand gently on his friend’s shoulder.
“Do you think this will work?” Andrew asked, his voice low.
Dimitris’s eyes didn’t leave the picture. “It’s the first step. I’ll do anything to destroy the man who destroyed my life.”
Andrew hesitated before asking, “And… what about the girl?”
A long pause filled the air. Dimitris’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with thought. “I don’t know,” he admitted at last. “But one thing is clear—she will help me. And I will protect her… for as long as she wants me to.”
Andrew took a deep breath, the weight of Dimitris’s words settling over him. Without another word, he turned and left for the night.
Dimitris lingered, staring at the photo for a while longer before finally setting it down. When he was certain the woman upstairs was asleep, he walked himself quietly toward his room. But as soon as he entered, he stopped.
Amera was awake, kneeling on her prayer mat, her head bowed in quiet devotion. He said nothing, only crossed to the closet to change. When he was done, he slipped into bed, placing his watch on the side table.
For a while, he lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint rustle as she finished her prayer. She rose, folded the mat neatly, and tucked it into the closet before changing into her nightclothes. Moments later, she slid under the sheets beside him.
The silence between them was heavy—too heavy. Neither could sleep.
“You awake?” Dimitris’s voice broke the stillness.
She hummed softly in reply.
“Tomorrow, we meet my father,” he said. “He’ll be furious… maybe even lose control. Be on guard.”
“Okay,” she answered simply.
“And Amera,” he added, “the only people you will trust are me, Andrew… and nico. No one else.”
She hummed again. Then, after a pause, she asked quietly, “Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
She turned on her side to face him, her eyes searching his. “Why are you helping me?”
Dimitris mirrored her movement, their faces now just inches apart. “You’ll know that very soon.”
“So you do have a motive,” she said, studying him.
He gave a small nod.
“Will you break the contract?”
“I am a man of my word,” he replied.
A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Good night,” she murmured, closing her eyes.
But Dimitris didn’t look away. He kept watching her face in the soft shadows, not entirely sure why he couldn’t.
...........................................................
The alarm rang early, and Amera woke up. Dimitrus was awake too but pretended to be asleep.
Quietly, Amera slipped out of bed and went to the washroom to perform wudu. As the cold water touched her hands and face, her mind raced—how would she face Maxim now? What would he do next? A knot of worry tightened in her chest.
Back in her room, she spread out her prayer mat and began the Fajr prayer. In her dua, she silently begged Allah for strength and guidance to get through the days ahead.
After reciting the Quran, Amera returned to bed and, in the blink of an eye, drifted back to sleep. Dimitrus lay there, quietly watching her, and drawn to her every move.
At nine o’clock, a soft knock echoed on the door. Sofia stepped inside, her voice gentle but curious."Sir, will you have breakfast here, or in the dining room?”
Her eyes flickered toward the other side of the bed—and instantly widened in shock. She wasn’t expecting to see a girl there.
Before the surprise could escape her lips, Dimitrus’s calm voice cut through the silence. “My wife and I will be in the kitchen.”
There was a quiet firmness in his tone that left no room for questions. Sofia’s heart raced with confusion and disbelief, but she said nothing.
- Writer
