forbidden whispers

chapter 7

He appeared out of nowhere, stopping right in front of her. Maasa instinctively stepped back, avoiding bumping into him. Qusay spoke quickly, still catching his breath:

“I’ll stay with you until Lateef arrives… Mirna called him, he’s on his way now.”

A soft sigh escaped her, and she nodded. They walked slowly side by side. Qusay tried to make friendly conversation.

“When will your parents return from their trip?”

She gestured with her hand.

“They still have one week left.”

Embarrassment washed over her. She had noticed his attempts to approach her many times, but her shyness always pushed him away too quickly. In truth, Maasa admired him—his bravery, how he sacrificed so much for his family. Her mother had praised him countless times, impressed by his intelligence, kindness, and sense of responsibility.

“That’s wonderful… you must miss them so much. You’re not used to being away from them.”

Maasa struggled to read his lips and understand his words. She suddenly jumped ahead of him, making him stumble back in confusion. She motioned firmly:

“Let’s wait for Lateef here.”

She pointed at a bench on the sidewalk. Qusay ruffled his hair awkwardly—he had to remind himself that he couldn’t talk to her without letting her see his lips clearly.

Maasa sat facing him directly, her expression saying: Go on, I’m listening.

But how could he speak while she stared at him like that? His heart raced wildly, sweat forming on his forehead, his tongue suddenly useless. God, she was beautiful… unbearably beautiful. Her frown deepened at his silence. He blurted the first thing that came to mind:

“How’s your studying going? Only two months left before exams.”

She nodded with relief and began explaining with her hands, a gentle smile forming on her lips. Qusay didn’t understand much of her signs, but he enjoyed watching her—even when he didn’t comprehend a single word.

She suddenly stopped, realizing he was lost. Quickly, she pulled out a small notebook and pen she always kept with her, scribbling as he watched with a foolish grin.

“Thank God, I’m doing very well in all subjects… except physics. I’ll die if I can’t understand it. Every time I think I’ve mastered it, I realize I’m nowhere close.”

Physics was exactly Qusay’s strength. He loved it, reveled in its complexity, and used to impress his teacher with his creative solutions.

“I can help you with it, if you want.”

Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. He brightened and added:

“I was one of the top students in physics. I graduated high school with a 96% average.”

Her eyes widened. Mirna had told her he was smart, but she never knew he was that smart. She thought Mirna had been exaggerating… but no, he was serious.

Suddenly realizing something, she wrote quickly:

“Why don’t you enroll in university? It’s not too late. You can still join… the three of us could be classmates.”

He stared at her, stunned. The thought had never crossed his mind. He enjoyed his work as a mechanic—he was good at it, earned a solid living, and never felt he needed university. But her enthusiasm seeped into him… the idea of being her classmate, walking beside her every day… it sounded thrilling.

Seeing the look on his face, she winked playfully:

“Well? What do you think?”

He stared at her in admiration.

“Beautiful…”

(Then quickly corrected himself when she scowled.)

“I mean… it sounds like a great idea. Why not?”

Maasa clapped her hands excitedly just as Lateef’s jeep pulled up beside them. He greeted Qusay and thanked him for staying with her. Maasa waved goodbye and hurried toward the car.

While he drove, Lateef received a call that made his eyes widen in fear—but Maasa didn’t notice. She was lost in her own daydreams, the ones she had built ever since Qasim left to study abroad. Those fantasies had become her refuge—her way of living the life she could never have in reality. Without them, she would’ve fallen apart from his absence… and from the girl he chose over her in the end.

She only snapped back when Lateef took a sudden turn away from the road to her home. Frowning, she signed sharply—he understood immediately:

“Where are we going? Why did you change the route?”

He avoided her gaze in the mirror.

“Your aunt asked for some things and warned me not to return without them.”

Maasa groaned. She was exhausted and just wanted to get home. The store he was heading to was far… meaning two more hours trapped inside the car. She pulled out her notebook again and wrote quickly:

“Can’t you drop me home first? I’m tired and need to rest.”

Lateef read it, but he had strict orders he couldn’t break.

“I’m sorry, miss. I’m already halfway there… and your aunt insisted on those items.”

She sighed and slumped back in her seat. Lateef kept glancing at her through the mirror—tiny, tired, barely able to keep her eyes open. Tears stung his eyes. What will she do when she learns the truth? She’ll never survive this shock.

He motioned gently:

“Why don’t you sleep for a while? I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

Too tired to argue, she lay down and closed her honey-colored eyes, falling asleep instantly. Lateef exhaled in relief and immediately called Qasim, just as ordered.

“Yes, sir… she’s asleep. She didn’t feel a thing—she was exhausted. Are they… are they okay?”

Qasim’s voice was deep, strained:

“My father died instantly. My mother is still in surgery… we don’t know if she’ll survive.”

(His voice cracked.)

“Take care of Maasa. Don’t bring her home. My aunt is in a terrible state and she will destroy the girl. If you must, take her to your place for the night. I’ll try to calm my aunt and get her back home.”

Lateef broke into sobs. Qasim’s father had been the best of men… more friend than employer.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her. My daughter Bassant is visiting today—she and Maasa will enjoy each other’s company.”

Qasim sighed heavily.

“Good… I trust you.”

Lateef later woke Maasa and told her the car had broken down, forcing him to take her to his house, which was closest. She didn’t argue—she wasn’t dying to see her aunt anyway. When he mentioned Bassant was there with her two children, Maasa brightened and raced into the house with excitement.

She blended in instantly—she had spent many afternoons with them in the past. She adored the little girl, Zahra, who could barely speak, just like Maasa in her childhood. Being with her felt comforting… quiet… safe.

Saraa, Lateef’s wife, prepared a late but hearty lunch in Maasa’s honor. The warmth of the home soothed her troubled thoughts.

Lateef later told her that her aunt knew she was spending the night there and hadn’t objected. Maasa shrugged—why would her aunt care? She never wanted her around anyway. Maasa was simply grateful for one night away from her aunt’s stinging tongue.

She intended to enjoy the night. In spite of everyone…

Everyone?

Three faces flashed in her mind: her father, her aunt… and Qasim.

She shook the thoughts away and went back to Zahra’s games.

But when night came, sleep refused to come. Her thoughts dragged her mercilessly from her aunt… to Mirna… to her childhood love… then to Qasim. Surely he had found happiness abroad. Surely he was settling down with someone else. That would be better for her heart… for her sanity.

And she missed her mother terribly. She had never been away from her for this long. The house felt strange without her warmth. And this bed—this unfamiliar bed—how could she possibly sleep?

She buried her face in the blankets, trying to silence her racing thoughts.

By noon the next day, Maasa returned home after a peaceful morning with Lateef’s family. Her aunt wasn’t there, but she didn’t care. She ran upstairs and collapsed into her bed, hugging her old deformed teddy bear. She fell asleep instantly, making up for last night.

She dreamed again—beautiful dreams—and within them crept Qasim’s phantom. She dreamt of him almost every night before… but once she learned of the other girl he intended to marry, he vanished from her dreams.

So why had he returned now?

Why did he look so sad?

He looked thinner… shadows under his eyes… as if love itself was keeping him awake all night. The thought made jealousy burn inside her. Anger tightened her innocent features.

His touch in the dream felt too real… too warm… too familiar.

Wait…

Her eyes opened wide.

This wasn’t a dream.

Qasim was sitting beside her.

Watching her with a broken, exhausted gaze.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat. She scrambled back, dragging the blanket up to her chin, staring at him as though he were a ghost.

Silence.

Shallow breaths.

Shaking fingers.

Frantic eyes.

God, how he ached to pull her into his arms… but he didn’t trust himself. If he touched her, he wouldn’t let go.

A crooked smile appeared on his lips. He gently pinched her cheek.

“Don’t worry… I’m not a ghost, my deadly little bullet.”

Maasa’s joy exploded—if he was here, that meant her mother must be back too. The realization struck her like lightning. She jumped off the bed, leaped past him, and ran downstairs recklessly. Qasim hurried after her, terrified she’d fall.

She searched everywhere—living room, kitchen, bathroom—no sign of her mother. No luggage. No scent. No life.

Her heart dropped.

Her mother hadn’t come home.

She spun around—Qasim stood at the doorway, arms folded, a troubled expression clouding his handsome face. They stared at each other, and for a moment she allowed herself to study him. Broader shoulders. Harder muscles. His tight shirt made it impossible not to notice the change. Her gaze rose to his bearded face—only to find him drinking the sight of her just as slowly.

Suddenly she felt naked.

Her red sleeveless pajamas… the low neckline… the tight pants…

Her eyes widened in horror.

Five years had passed. She wasn’t the girl he left behind. She had grown… changed… and standing before him dressed like this felt unbearable.

A wicked smile played on his lips—he had understood exactly what rattled her.

Her shock flared into anger. She shoved him aside and sprinted into her room, slamming the door and locking it. She leaned against it, trying to calm her trembling hands and pounding heart.

God, what was wrong with her?

A red light glowed softly in the room—he was outside, asking permission to come in. She ignored him. The red light pulsed insistently, then stopped. The doorknob turned sharply.

Her anger boiled. How dare he try to come in after she refused?

Soon everything went quiet. A small paper slipped under the door.

She picked it up and read it.

To be continued…