CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE ONES WHO KNEW HIM BEFORE
966 Words
The echoes in the mansion had changed.
Voices floated through the halls—unfamiliar, airy, and confident. Laughter trailed from one corridor to the next, and soft heels clicked against the polished marble like they belonged there. The younger woman’s giggle rang out like a bell, mixing with the firmer tone of the older woman’s voice. They moved with familiarity, walking into rooms without hesitation, taking the stairs like it was second nature.
Amara sat in the garden still, her book now forgotten on the table, the juice glass sweating in the fading heat.
They’ve been here before…
It wasn’t a question—it was a realization.
By the time the sun dipped behind the horizon and the sky dimmed into early evening gold, the mansion had shifted into something else—something warmer, livelier, yet oddly unbalanced. As though it was waking up from a long silence.
And then came the hum of another engine.
Zayn’s car.
The cold, black vehicle glided into the compound like a shadow, commanding and sharp. Amara didn’t move, but her heart stirred with the sound of his arrival. From her position at the side of the garden, she watched him step out of the car, tall and composed in his dark tailored suit. His personal assistant followed close behind, speaking low and fast—probably giving a rundown of the day.
Zayn gave a nod, dismissing him quietly.
He walked into the house.
Straight to his room.
No glance at the garden. No awareness of her eyes tracking his every move.
Upstairs, water flowed. A shower.
Then silence again.
But not for long.
By the time Zayn descended the grand staircase once more, his black shirt was untucked slightly, damp strands of hair brushing over his forehead. He looked more relaxed now, less guarded. Something in his pace was calmer, more natural.
At the dining room door, he paused.
His gaze swept the table where both women now sat, dishes steaming, silverware clinking lightly.
The older woman sat straight-backed, elegant and quiet, sipping from her wine glass like a queen surveying her court. The younger girl—vibrant and smiling—was halfway through a story, her laughter making her eyes shimmer.
Zayn’s expression softened instantly.
He stepped closer.
“Mom,” he said, and leaned in to hug the older woman gently.
Then, turning, “Alya,” he said with a slight grin, wrapping the younger girl in a warm, one-armed hug. She playfully poked his side, and they shared a quiet laugh.
It was a side of him Amara had never seen. And she wasn’t even in the room.
From a distance, one of the housekeepers approached him, whispering something.
His eyes shifted.
To the garden.
“She’s outside?” he asked.
The housekeeper nodded.
“Tell her to come join us for dinner,” Zayn said calmly, fixing the cuff of his sleeve.
A few minutes later, Amara stepped into the dining room.
The room smelled of roasted chicken, creamy vegetables, and red wine. Candlelight flickered softly, casting shadows on the high ceilings and long curtains. The atmosphere felt both elegant and oddly… domestic.
Zayn turned as she entered.
His eyes met hers, but there was something different in them tonight—softer, like he wanted her to feel welcome.
“Come,” he said simply, then gestured towards the two women. “Amara… meet my mother, Mrs. Kaima El Amin and my younger sister, Alya.”
Alya’s face lit up instantly. “Amara?” she exclaimed as if they were long-lost friends. She stood and walked straight to her, arms wide. Before Amara could even react, the girl had embraced her warmly, like they shared a secret only they understood.
Amara stood stiff for a moment, confused… then slowly returned the hug.
“I’ve heard about you,” Alya whispered near her ear with a mischievous grin before pulling away.
Mrs. Kaima gave her a polite nod. “You’re the young woman staying here,” she said softly, her voice laced with quiet grace. “How is your brother doing, dear?”
Amara blinked in surprise. “He’s… recovering. Slowly, but he’s better than before,” she said carefully, wondering how the woman knew about Noah.
Mrs. Kaima nodded again. “Good. Zayn told us a little.”
Zayn pulled out a chair for her without speaking, his hand resting briefly on the back of it. “Sit with us,” he said.
Amara obeyed quietly, taking the seat beside Alya.
Dinner resumed.
She noticed it immediately.
The way Zayn smiled—genuinely smiled—when Alya teased him. The way he leaned in to listen when she spoke, how he joked about things Amara didn’t understand. And even when he disagreed, there was a spark in his eyes that had nothing to do with the cold, dark man she had grown used to.
He laughed.
Not the fake chuckle he gave to dismiss people.
Real laughter.
Soft. Full. Unfiltered.
It was… strange. But oddly comforting.
Even Mrs. Kaima, though reserved, would smile occasionally—especially when watching her children interact. Her presence was dignified but loving. She asked a few more things about Amara and her studies, then returned to her meal, content.
Amara didn’t say much.
But she watched.
She watched Zayn speak and laugh and eat with the people who knew him before the darkness.
And in that moment, something loosened inside her.
He wasn’t a machine.
He wasn’t just mystery and cold anger.
He was someone’s son.
Someone’s brother.
And they loved him.
Somewhere in the middle of dinner, as Alya nudged her playfully under the table and Zayn smiled—smiled like he hadn’t in ages—Amara finally understood.
He was not completely lost.
And maybe..just maybe..she wasn’t either.
- Writer
