forbidden whispers

chapter 11

She woke up late that morning; sleep had completely abandoned her the previous night.

Ma’assa sat up and began writing a letter to send to her beloved mother. She didn’t know the mailing address, so she planned to ask Qasim about it and deliver the letter herself.

She went downstairs to the living room only to be surprised by Zahra running around and playing in every corner of the house. Ma’assa couldn't resist the joy of seeing her; she snuck up quietly from behind, pounced on her, scooped her into her arms, and began tickling her. The room filled with Zahra’s little screams and laughter, and when Latif’s wife rushed in worried, she relaxed instantly upon seeing Ma’assa hugging and playing with the little girl on the couch. With a relieved shake of her head, she returned to the kitchen.

Moments later, Latif joined them, stealing Zahra from Ma’assa’s arms, placing her on his shoulders, and running away from Ma’assa and her “suffocating kisses.”

Ma’assa sighed in contentment… It looked like a happy morning, and she hoped the whole day would be just as cheerful.

Latif approached his wife while she prepared lunch and asked with sadness:

“Do you think she’ll forgive us when she learns the truth?”

His wife sighed with grief:

“I don’t think she ever will… but it’s not in our hands. We’re only following orders.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting back toward Ma’assa and the happiness glowing on her face.

“Poor girl… she should’ve been with Qasim at the funeral right now. La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah…”

Ma’assa grew exhausted from playing—Zahra had an endless supply of energy. When she glanced at Latif whispering with his wife, sadness written on both their faces, she walked toward them with a frown, gesturing:

“What’s wrong? Why the misery on both of your faces?”

Latif’s wife rushed to answer:

“Qasim left early to take care of some things… I made you some cheese sandwiches, you must be hungry. Sit at the table, I’ll bring them right away!”

Ma’assa shrugged—perhaps it was family matters, and she was intruding like an i***t. And of course, Qasim was free to go wherever he pleased; she didn’t care about anything he did.

She scoffed inwardly—if only he would go back to his fiancée and leave her alone; she’d be more than happy.

She sat at the table, pulled out her pen and small notebook. Latif placed the plate in front of her. She gestured for him to sit and handed him the notebook to read what she’d written, watching him expectantly.

“I want to send an express letter to my mother, but I don’t know the address. Can you help me send it?”

Latif’s face drained of color. He had no idea how to answer. At that moment, his phone rang—an opportunity to escape. He excused himself quickly.

Ma’assa frowned—once again, she sensed the strange reactions from him and Sarah. She shook off the thought; none of this was her business. She began eating.

Latif stepped outside to the garden. The caller was Qasim.

“Yes, sir… she’s having breakfast now. Everything’s fine, don’t worry… but—”

Qasim’s firm voice cut him off:

“What is it? Tell me.”

“She wants to send a letter to Madam Hanan… asked for the address.”

Qasim exhaled tensely.

“Take the letter from her. Tell her you’ll send it to the right address.”

“Alright, I will.”

“Latif… I’ll be late. Take care of her and keep her busy.”

Latif hesitated.

“Of course… but—we need to return home before evening.”

“If I’m late, leave… but tell me before you go.”

“Agreed… goodbye.”

Latif returned to find Sarah feeding the little girl and simultaneously explaining to Ma’assa how a phone could be useful—especially in her studies.

Ma’assa had always refused to own a phone. She spent her free time watching TV or reading beneficial books and stories. Since she couldn’t speak, she never felt she needed one—she had no one to talk to anyway. After Qasim traveled abroad, she once asked her mother for a phone to stay in touch with him…

Her mother had answered firmly:

“Qasim is abroad to study. A phone will distract him. Do you want him to fail?”

Ma’assa sighed at the memory. She never asked for a phone again. When she missed him, she wrote him letters, secretly mailing them so her mother wouldn’t forbid it. But… her mother had been right. Qasim didn’t want any communication with her. She had sent him many letters; he ignored them all—except one. She had buried that single letter like a precious treasure in her secret box.

Her thoughts scattered when Latif returned. She gestured:

“Is everything alright?”

He nodded and sat beside his wife.

“Give me the letter, I’ll send it to Madam Hanan.”

She smiled delightedly and handed it to him immediately. She finished her meal and went upstairs to study before Qasim returned to ruin her mood.

Hours later, Ma’assa stretched her arms. It was 2:30 PM. She went downstairs to find Latif and Sarah drinking coffee in the garden, while Zahra slept soundly.

Sarah asked,

“Shall I pour you a cup?”

Ma’assa politely declined and sat with them, then wrote:

“I want to go visit Mirna. Are you free to drive me?”

Latif swallowed hard. Qasim wouldn’t like this… even though he tried to prevent news from reaching her, nothing was guaranteed.

Sarah read the note and exchanged a quick look with her husband, as if to say leave it to me.

“But I already invited Bassant for lunch. She’s coming to spend time with us.”

Ma’assa nodded—fine, Mirna could wait.

“Great! We’ll watch a movie together since you prepared all this delicious food.”

Ma’assa enjoyed her time. She watched foreign movies with Bassant, played cards afterward, and Sarah spoiled them with endless treats. It was a lovely, lively day—ending with Ma’assa falling asleep on the couch after Latif and his family left. Latif didn’t forget to message Qasim, informing him they had left and she was alone at home.

Half an hour later, Qasim returned. The TV volume was blasting. He turned it off and stared at Ma’assa sleeping peacefully.

He sat across from her, quietly studying her innocent face.

Today, he had bid his parents farewell…

Today, he had become truly alone—an orphan with no protector.

The masks had finally fallen off his uncles… and his aunt, who had never once shown warmth toward Ma’assa.

But he never expected their tactical attack on him:

“My dear, I know you’re wise and understanding… your parents are gone now, and keeping Ma’assa in this family is no longer acceptable.”

Qasim had clenched his jaw, trying to control himself.

When she asked to speak to him privately, he didn’t imagine the topic would be Ma’assa.

“Aunt… don’t you think this is the wrong time for such a conversation?”

She sighed in false tenderness, as if he had agreed with her.

“Of course, dear… after people leave the funeral, we will talk.”

He looked at his sleeping Ma’assa with heartbreak.

Would his aunt go through with her threats?

How would he protect her?

His mother… had hidden so much from him.

Now he understood the cause of her harshness.

For a moment, he almost believed his mother had never loved them.

After the mourners left, his uncles surrounded him.

His younger uncle—the one three years younger than his father—started the conversation:

“Son… you’ll soon return to Turkey and continue your life. We need to put an end to the farce that happened.”

Qasim frowned, anger simmering:

“What farce?”

His aunt jumped in:

“Ma’assa… that disabled girl! We all know why she was here. Your mother wanted to compensate for losing Mais. Now her role is over. May God have mercy on your mother, but your father only agreed to keep her because he loved your mother. That doesn’t mean he supported these actions.”

Qasim wanted to explode.

Was this really the right time?

“This decision concerns my parents alone. No one has the right to intrude on their private matters.”

His youngest uncle snapped:

“We respected your father’s decision because we didn’t want your mother to relapse after Mais’ death. Now we’re no longer obligated to keep her.”

Qasim shouted in disbelief:

“She isn’t even registered as part of the family! She’s Ma’assa Al-Salmi, not Al-Hamad. I don’t see how this harms anyone!”

His aunt grew furious at his defense of “the outsider.” She had expected him to be easier to manipulate than his parents—but she was wrong.

She took the low road:

“Harm? You ask about harm? What will we tell people when they learn the truth? We don’t know anything about her except her name. What father abandons his only daughter… unless she wasn’t his daughter at all? What if she’s a bastard?”

Qasim roared:

“Aunt! You can’t throw accusations like that! Watch what you say!”

His aunt’s outrage boiled—how dare he shout at her for the sake of a stranger?

She struck where it hurt:

“Ah, so my suspicions were right! Perhaps this is why your mother exiled you abroad!”

He froze, staring at her, barely breathing.

“What do you mean? Speak clearly.”

She looked at his uncles for support.

“It seems you intend to make use of her… you’re a man, she’s a beautiful woman, and there’s no sibling bond between you.”

When his uncle elaborated on her insinuation, something exploded inside Qasim.

He didn’t know how he lunged at his uncle, grabbing his collar and tightening his grip around his throat, his fist raised—until his aunt screamed and his eldest uncle yanked him away.

Realizing his outburst, Qasim stepped back, hands raised in defeated surrender.

My God… I almost struck my uncle at my parents’ funeral.

His rage, sorrow, and despair erupted as he slammed his fist into the wall, blood smearing the surface to the shock of everyone present.

His aunt screamed:

“Have you gone mad like your mother?!”

His uncle—now vengeful—shouted:

“Enough! We’ve endured too much. Tomorrow I’ll publish an announcement in every newspaper, on TV, and online—that Ma’assa is not part of this family. We’ll contact her father to take her back.”

Qasim threatened through clenched teeth:

“Do it… and I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your life.”

His aunt scoffed:

“She’s bewitched you—just like she bewitched your mother! I’ll go to the mansion myself, drag her out by the hair, and throw her into the street! Show me how you’ll stop me!”

She spat out her threats and stormed out.

Qasim checked his phone—Latif’s message: We left Ma’assa watching TV. She’s alone now.

He cursed under his breath. Before leaving, he turned to his eldest uncle:

“We’ll talk later. And tell my aunt she is no longer welcome in my home.”

He returned to find Ma’assa sleeping peacefully… unaware of the battle being waged around her.

A faint smile rested on her lips. He wondered—what is she dreaming of?

If she knew her parents had been buried today… how would she react?

He imagined her sobbing, collapsing… she would never endure such pain. She was more attached to his mother than he ever was.

His mother had been right when she begged him to keep it from her:

“Do not let her know about my death. Let her finish school and become the doctor she dreams of being. Don’t abandon her. Don’t break like I did… be strong for her. For me. For yourself.”

The pressure…

Now he knew where it came from.

The more pressure, the deeper the pain—until it killed.

Ma’assa’s eyes slowly fluttered open, sinking into his fixed gaze.

She swallowed nervously—and frowned when she realized he wasn’t actually seeing her. He was lost in dark thoughts.

She shifted uncomfortably, and he blinked suddenly, snapping out of his memories.

He stood abruptly, turning away so she wouldn’t see his expression.

Did she notice anything?

He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration—it had been a long, awful day.

She stood from the couch, adjusted her dress nervously. It was already 9 PM.

She was grateful she wore something modest and proper.

She looked at him—something was wrong.

He seemed… different.

She hesitated, then approached him. She poked his arm, trying to get his attention.

She cleared her throat silently—but he didn’t turn.

Was he angry?

Had something happened at work?

Qasim whispered painfully, knowing she wouldn’t hear:

“Go to your room… please.”

She stepped in front of him, insisting—fear gripping her.

She suddenly worried about her parents.

What if something happened to them?

She gestured anxiously:

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

He stared into her worried eyes.

Damn it… why does she look so beautiful?

He shook his head.

“Everything’s fine. Just… work problems.”

She breathed in relief.

As long as her family was safe… that was all that mattered.

She asked before leaving:

“Did you have dinner?”

He smirked.

“What, are you playing house now? Feeling guilty all of a sudden?”

Ah, this was the sarcastic Qasim she knew.

No need to worry then.

Her eyes glimmered with irritation as she signed:

“Go to hell.”

She turned toward the stairs—relieved he could take care of himself.

Suddenly he grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him.

He inhaled the scent of jasmine in her silky hair.

His voice dropped, rough and low, as her hand pressed against his chest to steady herself:

“I’m starving… what do you have to feed me?”

She relaxed—thinking, for a split second, that he understood her sign.

She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip tightened.

His eyes had darkened.

Her face flushed crimson. Her lips trembled silently.

She looked away, not realizing she was biting her lip in distress.

She struggled like a frightened kitten.

With a deep, frustrated sigh, he loosened his grip slowly, letting her step back.

His free hand gently slid to release her lip from her teeth, his gaze burning on her mouth.

“Don’t do that… you’ll hurt yourself.”

The moment she felt free, she shoved him away, breathless.

She signed sharply, anger flashing in her eyes:

“Serve yourself. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, calming her racing heart, and ran up the stairs.

She shut the door behind her and leaned back against it, breath shaky.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

She faced the mirror, studying her own expression, whispering:

“Damn it… what just happened? Oh God, help me…”