FATED TO A STRANGERS REGRET

CHAPTER EIGHT : A QUIET BLOOM

The morning sun filtered through the tall curtains, casting pale gold streaks across the marbled floor. Amara blinked awake slowly, the dull ache behind her eyes reminding her of the night before. The news about her brother still pulsed through her heart like a wound that refused to scab.

She hadn’t heard from the hospital again, maybe that was because her phone lay in pieces, shattered against the wall in a moment of grief and rage. But deep down, she told herself that no news might mean no worse news. Maybe silence was safer. Because she knew she didn’t have the strength to hear something even more devastating. Her heart was already too bruised, her hope too fragile. So she chose not to think about it—not yet. Some truths were too heavy to face when breathing alone already felt like a burden.

Wrapped in a robe, she stepped onto the balcony attached to her room. The breeze was soft, and for a second, the world felt gentle again. Birds chirped from a nearby tree, and she could see the sparkling edge of the swimming pool in the distance.

She inhaled deeply, trying to savor this moment of silence. Her life used to be chaos and survival; now, guilt and uncertainty danced in her chest. But her brother needed this deal. This strange, twisted contract she’d found herself in… it was the only thread holding her world together.

She pulled away from the railing and decided to step out for air ; real air. Not balcony air, not the sterile chill of the mansion hallways. She threw on a light dress, tied her hair up, and walked barefoot down the polished staircase, ignoring the questioning looks of some staff.

And to the pool again ; she found a sense of peace. The sun was warm, and the water shimmered invitingly. For a while, she just sat at the edge, dipping her feet in. She didn’t swim. She just existed. And for once, that was enough.

“Madam Amara,” a gentle voice called from behind.

She turned to find Halima..Hali..standing by the path with a tray balanced carefully in her hands. A glass of freshly pressed juice, a small bowl of fruit, and what looked like a handwritten note under the glass.

Amara smiled. “Hali… you didn’t have to.”

Hali smiled shyly and approached, setting the tray down on a side table. “You didn’t eat much yesterday. And I noticed you like fruits more than the heavy meals.”

Amara blinked in surprise. No one else had noticed that.

“That’s… very kind of you.”

“I used to do this for my younger sister,” Hali said, sitting on the grass near Amara’s feet. “She was delicate. Always afraid to ask for what she wanted. But I knew.” She chuckled softly, eyes crinkling. “Some people just need quiet love.”

Amara looked down at the water, heart tugging. “I think I’m one of those people.”

Hali was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Did you cry the other night?

Amara nodded, throat tightening. “I did. It’s just—my brother… He’s all I have.”

“You’re not alone now,” Hali said gently. “Even if it feels like it. You’re not.”

They sat in silence for a while, the kind that didn’t ask for conversation to feel whole. Amara finally leaned back, letting her arms support her as she stared at the sky. “I miss being normal. Worrying about school, my friends, trying to sneak food from the kitchen without my brother catching me. I miss laughing for no reason, I miss my par…” she stopped .

Hali picked up a flower that had fallen near the pool and handed it to her. “Maybe laughter isn’t lost. Maybe it’s just waiting.”

Amara took it carefully, smiling at the delicate petals. “You’re a poet, aren’t you?”

Hali blushed. “Only in my head.”

“Well, I like your poetry.”

They giggled together, and for a fleeting second, the mansion didn’t feel so strange. The weight in Amara’s chest lifted just slightly ; like a tightrope being slackened, not broken, but less suffocating.

“Tell me about you,” Amara said. “Do you ever get to rest?”

“Sometimes. When I sneak away,” Hali winked. “Don’t tell anyone. But I read novels when I can. I have this small corner in the laundry room where I hide my books.”

Amara laughed lightly. “That’s bold.”

“Bold is hiding fruit in your nightstand drawer because you don’t like the evening food,” Hali teased.

Amara burst out laughing. “You knew?”

“I saw. But I didn’t say a word.”

“Thank you,” Amara said sincerely. “You’ve been the only person here who feels real.”

“I’m always here. When you need to talk, or even if you don’t,” Hali promised.

A cool breeze swept past them, and for once, Amara didn’t flinch from it. She lay back on the poolside tile, arms stretched beside her, the sun warming her skin.

She still didn’t know how she felt about everything. The contract. The mansion. The man whose gaze was always unreadable.

But today, she had sunshine. She had Hali. She had fruit and a flower and the small possibility that things might not always feel so cold.

And sometimes, that was enough.