Veil of thorns

Chapter Two: The Man Behind the Mask

The wedding is over.

The vows have been spoken, the guests have rejoiced, and now I am left to sit in solitude with the man to whom I have just been bound for life.

Kareem Al-Mansour. My husband.

The title feels odd, wrong.

I stand next to the bed, my body rigid under the weight of the wedding dress. My breaths are short, measured. I have dreaded this moment all night—the moment he expects to claim his bride. The moment he will realize I am not Zahra.

My heart pounds. If he touches me, if he even gets too close, will he know?

Kareem moves around the room, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt with slow, precise movements. He seems calm, completely at ease. It unsettles me.

I swallow, my throat dry.

This is it.

Finally, he looks at me.

“You’re very quiet,” he says. “Tired?”

Tired?

I can barely breathe.

I force my hands to unclench at my sides. "It's been a long day."

His dark eyes don't leave mine. "Yes. It has."

There's something about the way he says it—something that twists in my stomach.

A long silence.

Then, he takes a step closer.

I don't move.

He's looking at me again, as he did at the altar. Unmoving, unwavering, as if he's looking for something. As if he already knows something. My heart thuds in my ears as he stops just a breath away. He's taller than me, bigger. His presence alone is overwhelming.

Then, he raises a hand.

I recoil.

He doesn't touch me. His fingers find their way to my necklace instead, grazing the dainty chain, following it down to where the pendant lies against my collarbone.

A slow pause.

I hold my breath.

The touch is minimal, yet it's too much.

"Zahra." His voice is low.

A lump emerges in my throat.

I don't know what to say. My body is paralyzed, all my muscles rigid and unmoving. If I move, if I blink the wrong way, will he notice? Will he notice the differences—the sharpness of my jaw, the stiffness in my stance, the fear in my eyes?

Will he notice that I am not his wife?

The silence draws out.

Then Kareem pulls back.

Just like that.

He steps back, rolling his sleeves down, his expression not revealing anything. The air between us shifts, thick with something I have no name for.

"You should rest," he says practically.

I blink. "What?"

He doesn't glance at me as he undoes the top button of his shirt. "I'll be sleeping in the other room tonight.

I don't move.

I don't breathe.

For a moment, I'm sure I must have misheard him.

Relief crashes into me so suddenly my legs nearly give out.

I had spent the entire night bracing myself for the time we would be alone. The time Kareem would touch me, ask for something I could never give. The time he would tear off the veil, literally or metaphorically, and learn the truth.

But he's not asking for anything.

He's not asking any questions.

He's leaving.

Why?

Does he suspect something is happening? Or is he simply not interested?

I should be grateful. I should, at least for tonight, be safe. But I am not.

There is something about this that does not feel right.

Kareem hesitates in the doorway, turning to look back at me. His face is impassive, his voice impossibly neutral.

"Goodnight, Zahra."

The name cuts through me like a knife.

Then, he is gone.

The door shuts with a click. The silence in the room is suffocating.

My knees give way, and I fall onto the bed, my trembling hands falling into my lap.

He's gone.

I'm still breathing.

I'm still alive.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a spark of relief.

But only for a moment.

Due to the fact that Kareem's movements appear too intentional, too calculated.

And it frightens me that I am not sure why.