Beneath My Broken Sky

Chapter4

Alia stuffed the last of her notebooks into the brown leather bag she once adored. Once a symbol of new beginnings and academic ambition, it now felt like a relic of a life that had slipped through her fingers. Too familiar. Too stained with memories she wished she could unremember. It was Khalid who had helped her pick it out—after her last exams, in a moment that felt like a lifetime ago. They had laughed then, standing under the bright shop lights, fingers brushing over the worn leather as if sealing an unspoken promise.

She zipped it shut with a trembling hand, her knuckles pale from the strain, her breath coming in shallow waves that barely filled her lungs. Her eyes flicked around the room, darting from wall to wall, as though the memories clung like cobwebs in every corner. She couldn’t do this here. Not anymore. Not in this house. Not in this town where everything reminded her of what had died before it even had the chance to fully live.

The scent of the bridal perfume—soft jasmine and sandalwood—still lingered in her closet, haunting her each time she opened the door. It clung to her scarves. To her pillowcases. To the dress she never got to wear.

The lace veil, once gently folded in anticipation, now hung in her sister’s room, forgotten and frayed at the edges. A ghost of a celebration that never came. A reminder that even the most delicate dreams can unravel.

And at night, the silence was unbearable. Thick. Suffocating. Dense with questions no one dared to ask out loud. “What happened?” “Why did he leave?” “Wasn’t it supposed to be forever?”

The university was 45 minutes away, but today, it felt like another planet. And that distance—that beautiful, impossible distance—was exactly what she needed. Space. Solitude. Silence that didn’t echo with disappointment. No reminders. No pity-filled stares. No whispers slithering between closed compound doors. No neighbors who paused their conversations when she passed by.

Just her. And her books. Her purpose. Her dreams that remained untouched by betrayal.

The only promise that had never let her down.

She had barely eaten in two days. Toast that went stale on her plate. Tea that cooled untouched. But she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. Numbness had crept in like a slow-moving tide, wrapping around her ribcage, dulling everything. It was her armor now. And the only thing left within her control was her future—her calling. Her career.

Her father had asked to drive her. No, he had insisted. The Colonel was not a man who begged, but that morning, in his silence, she heard every plea. He said nothing about what had happened. He didn’t need to. She could see it in the tight set of his jaw. In the way he lingered by her door, pretending to adjust his wristwatch for the third time. Pride was etched into his every feature, but so was heartbreak. He was watching her heart crumble, powerless to catch the pieces.

That morning, while the dew still kissed the grass in their compound and the sky wore the soft lavender of dawn, the Colonel had stepped outside. He stood beneath the mango tree, its shadow stretching long across the yard, and pulled out his phone. Fingers trembling just slightly, he scrolled through his contacts until he found the name he hadn’t dialed in years.

Jamal.

He hesitated, just for a moment, then began to type. Each word deliberate. Weighted. As though the future itself hung in the balance.

“That unworthy flagpole has collapsed. It’s time to fix a better one. The flower is still radiant, but a little sad. She leaves today.”

He didn’t wait for a reply.

He simply pocketed the phone, squared his broad shoulders like he had done a hundred times in battle, and helped his daughter carry her boxes into the car.

The ride was quiet. Heavy with unsaid words.

Alia stared out the window, watching the familiar trees blur into unfamiliar roads. Her thoughts swirled like storm clouds, loud and suffocating, but she said nothing. Not a word.

The Colonel, beside her, gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary. The lines around his eyes deeper than she remembered.

When he finally pulled up in front of her apartment building, he parked and turned to her. She tried to smile—tried to summon something warm—but it faltered, dying on her lips before it could reach her eyes.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered, her voice brittle with exhaustion.

He looked at her for a long moment, his gaze lingering on her face as though trying to memorize every detail.

“You’re stronger than this, Alia,” he said softly. “Don’t let this define you.”

She nodded. But her silence was louder than any words could have been.

He pulled her into his arms and hugged her—tight, like he was trying to squeeze strength back into her bones. It was the kind of hug she hadn’t received from him in years.

Then, without another word, he turned and left.

She stood there, her keys in her hand, the sun climbing higher behind her. The apartment door felt like a gate into another world. One where she would have to begin again.

She climbed the stairs slowly, each step a burden. Her body ached in ways she couldn’t explain. As if grief had made her heavier. As if disappointment had settled in her limbs like lead.

When she finally stepped inside, the silence wrapped itself around her like a cold blanket. The door clicked shut, and in that moment, the weight of everything she had been holding in cracked open.

She slid down to the floor, her back against the wall, her knees drawn tightly to her chest. And then, finally, the dam broke.

The tears came in violent waves.

Raw.

Ugly.

Heavy sobs that shook her entire body, that ripped through her like a storm long overdue. She buried her face in her arms, trying to muffle the sound, but it poured out of her—this pain, this betrayal, this heartbreak that no one could explain away.

She wept for the love she lost. The love she had once dared to believe in.

She wept for the dreams that were stolen before they could bloom.

For the hope that had been mocked and dismantled piece by piece.

And for the part of her—the most fragile part—that still wondered if she was ever meant to be loved the way others were.

Outside her apartment, not far from her window, a tall figure stood beneath the dying light of evening. Still. Silent. Watching.

Jamal.

He hadn’t expected the sound of her sobs to twist something inside him. He hadn’t expected his throat to tighten or his fingers to curl into fists. But hearing her cry—hearing that grief that broke through her chest like a scream—was unbearable.

He had followed from a distance. Parked down the street. Worn black jeans and a plain polo shirt, stripped of his identity. To the world, he was just another man.

But he had never been a stranger to the Colonel. Not to the promise made years ago, on a veranda steeped in secrets and quiet nods.

And certainly not to Alia.

Even if she didn’t remember him.

Even if she had never seen his face.

Four years ago, he had come to her home, sat in the presence of her mother, and made a vow—to wait. To stay in the background until she was ready. Until time allowed their paths to meet.

He had kept his word.

She had been so young then. Caught in the whirlwind of university dreams and exam schedules. She hadn’t known. Her parents never spoke of it again. She had never asked.

But Jamal had remained. In the shadows. Watching from afar. Through quiet updates from her father. Through reports he never asked for but always received.

He knew her milestones. Her struggles. Her strength. Her brilliance.

He knew about the pain she carried. The sickle cell diagnosis. The hospital visits. The long nights.

But he never saw any of it as a flaw.

To him, she had always been radiant.

And now, watching her cry—seeing her collapse under the weight of what she never deserved—he felt something rise in him.

Not pity.

But purpose.

He couldn’t approach her now. That would be reckless. Thoughtless. She was still bleeding. Her wounds too fresh, her trust too broken.

But he would wait.

Even if it meant staying in the shadows a little longer.

Even if it meant watching from afar until the day she looked up—and saw him.

And maybe, just maybe…

Recognized the man who had been waiting.

Not for the perfect moment.

But for her.