"I loved a woman… offered her my heart as a sacred sacrifice guarded by the arrows of sin. One of them found its mark..."
Laughter rang out, soft and melodic, like a siren's call that floated lazily through the air. On top of a delicate mosquito net, she lay on her stomach, her long hair cascading down her bare back. A sheer cloth clung loosely to her hips, the rest of her body mostly uncovered. Next to her, he reclined, shirtless, his broad figure radiating both dominance and desire. His eyes devoured her—hungry, intense, as if she were a delicacy he'd long craved.
He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaled the smoke toward her face, and watched her breathe it in with a smile. Sometimes, he leaned in and let the smoke dance between their lips. His hand moved with intention—lightly grazing her skin, from her neck downward in slow, deliberate strokes. She didn't resist. Instead, she leaned into his touch, trusting him with the intimacy of the moment.
She closed her eyes as he pressed soft kisses along her shoulder, his fingers slipping through her hair. Her breath caught as his palm lingered over her chest, gently exploring. She reached behind to pull him closer, whispering in a sultry tone, "Anas... mmm... what more do you want?"
His lips found hers, and between kisses, he murmured with heat in his voice, "You. I want to lose myself in you, to feel you surround me."
He didn't wait for permission. He moved above her, their bodies entwined in a rhythm they both knew too well. She surrendered to the moment, lost in him, in the tension, the escape, the craving.
The sound of her phone ringing broke the trance.
She groaned, stretched for it, still tangled in his arms. The caller ID read Salma. Without pulling away entirely, she answered the call.
"Yeah... Salma, what is it?" she said breathlessly, her voice trembling as she suppressed a moan.
Salma teased, her voice laced with amusement, "You sound... busy."
Huda chuckled, trying to compose herself. "Kind of. Just tell me what you need."
"I'm on my way to pick you up," Salma said. "Be ready so we can leave before Si Qader shows up."
"Okay... just don't be late," she replied weakly, as her voice gave way to another shudder. She dropped the phone when his movement deepened suddenly, the call still faintly audible.
Salma laughed through the speaker, "Careful, Anas. Leave some energy for her groom tomorrow."
He reached over and ended the call, watching Huda's amused expression.
"You're laughing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She bit her lip. "Should I cry instead? Now stop talking and give me my gift."
He understood. Their lips met again, fierce and desperate, as their bodies moved together in perfect chaos. She clung to him, not wanting to think about anything else—not tomorrow, not the consequences.
Afterward, they lay in silence, her head resting on his chest.
She reached up and traced a line on his jaw with her finger. "How did I do, my love?"
He didn't respond.
She turned fully toward him and gently stroked his beard, whispering, "Funny, his name starts with an A too. Just like yours... even the same number of letters—Anas and A..."
Before she could say more, he covered her mouth with his hand, his voice sharp with anger: "I don't care what his name is. I don't want to know."
He pushed her off him and stood up, dressing quickly. She followed him, still bare, unbothered by her nudity.
"Oh, don't act like the broken-hearted lover just because your girl is marrying someone else tomorrow," she said, pressing a finger to his chest. "You're the reason we're even here."
He grabbed her arm roughly. "And don't forget why we're doing this. Don't start playing the bride now—this marriage won't last. Even if he marries you, you'll still be mine. I'm the one who owns you."
She leaned close, almost touching his lips. "After tomorrow, I'll no longer belong to you. I'll belong to someone else... someone whose name also starts with an A."
She smiled with cruel sweetness and turned away to dress, his eyes never leaving her.
"Disappear for now," she warned as she fastened her dress. "Don't ruin the wedding with one of your outbursts. If my father or brothers see you, you'll vanish for real—and with you, any chance of ever seeing me again."
When he didn't respond, she turned and raised her voice slightly. "Did you hear me?"
He nodded once.
She approached, cradled his face, and whispered, "This will all pass. We'll find our way back to each other. Just hold on."
She kissed him—deeply, slowly—as if trying to memorize him. Her phone rang again. Salma.
She broke the kiss, gave him one last look, and walked out.
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As soon as Huda and her friend Salma stepped out of the car, Huda exhaled in relief. Her brothers' and father's cars were nowhere to be seen—thankfully, they hadn't arrived yet.
They snuck through the garden, moving quietly and quickly. The house was buzzing with family members—some carving decorations, others preparing for the wedding. The place was in a delightful chaos.
Without wasting a moment, they dashed upstairs straight to Huda's room. They had barely caught their breath when the door creaked open.
The sight of her mother made Huda instantly roll her eyes. Here it comes, she thought—the usual lecture. She surrendered to the inevitable, flopping onto the edge of her bed, watching her mother approach with a tight, knowing gaze.
Her mother, Samira, was a woman in her late forties. Despite her age, she still carried a striking beauty. She was, in many ways, a mirror image of Huda—light olive skin, wide almond eyes, and those signature beauty marks sprinkled across their faces that only added to their allure.
Samira (angrily):
"Still not ashamed of yourself? You were with him, weren't you?"
Salma jumped in, trying to defuse the tension.
Salma (explaining quickly):
"No, Auntie! We were just—"
Samira (cutting her off sharply):
"Stay out of it! I'm not talking to you."
Salma fell silent, shifting uncomfortably as her eyes darted around the room.
Samira now stood directly in front of Huda, who still hadn't bothered to respond.
Samira:
"Do you want to be buried alive? When are you finally going to come to your senses?"
Huda (mockingly):
"Oh please. You talk like I haven't already been buried alive with this ridiculous marriage. You're throwing me to the dogs—tying me to a man I don't even know! I don't even know what his face looks like. He's probably some lunatic or a cripple who couldn't even bother to show up and propose properly. But of course, none of that matters to you. All you care about is getting rid of me."
Samira sighed, the anger in her eyes dimming into sadness. She didn't like any of this either, but the decision hadn't been hers to make.
She sat beside her daughter, gently running her hand along her back.
Samira (softly):
"Your father and brothers only want what's best for you. You've seen what happened when you were left to make your own choices... You saw how it ended. Just give this man a chance. I know you'll grow to like him. He's from a good family, his father is close to your father—he'd never dare mistreat you."
Huda (disgusted):
"And that's supposed to make me jump with joy? To dance and cheer? Let me tell you something—this man you've chosen? I will never be his willingly. Even if you stitched our skin together, I would never love him."
Samira (coldly):
"Love isn't the point. What matters is that he's pleased with you."
(She grabbed a handful of Huda's hair.)
"And don't even think of ruining everything and disgracing us. Don't make me do something I'll regret."
Salma rushed between them, prying Huda's hair from Samira's grip.
Salma:
"Please, Auntie! Don't mind her. She's just overwhelmed."
Samira let go but continued glaring at her daughter.
Samira:
"This girl... I know exactly what's going on inside that head of hers."
Huda (taunting):
"Oh really? Then you know I'm planning to run away tomorrow before the wedding. Leave you with nothing but the wind—and your precious groom. You can marry him yourself, or hand him off to one of your spinster friends."
Samira exploded, seething at the insult. She lunged forward, ready to tear into her, but Salma blocked her just in time, holding her back.
Samira (shouting):
"Let me go! I swear I'll bury this disgrace myself! Let me at her… the viper I gave birth to! Go ahead, run away! Let them catch you and destroy you. At least I'll be done with you and all your drama."
Salma held onto her firmly, trying to calm her down.
Salma:
"Auntie, please! Don't make a scene—the house is full. Let's not make this worse. She's just talking nonsense, she doesn't mean any of it. I swear to God."
But Samira wasn't convinced. She narrowed her eyes at Salma suspiciously. She knew she was the keeper of Huda's secrets.
Samira (threatening):
"You two are in on this, aren't you? You're plotting together, just like always—troublemakers."
Salma (hurriedly):
"No, Auntie, I swear on my mother's soul! There's nothing going on."
The mention of Salma's deceased mother softened Samira's anger. She knew Salma wouldn't lie if she swore by her mother's memory.
Trying to shift the mood, Salma leaned in curiously.
Salma:
"Tell us, Auntie… have you actually seen this mystery groom?"
Samira:
"Yes, I saw him at his brother's wedding. Honestly, he stood out among all the men. Just stunning."
Salma (eagerly):
"Really? What does he look like? Describe him!"
Huda (sarcastically):
"Oh sure, the finest of all men. I bet he turns out like that guy… what's his name? Shab Al Arabi."
Salma burst into laughter.
Salma:
"What's wrong with Shab Al Arabi? He's a man, isn't he?"
Huda:
"If he's such a man, marry him yourself. Leave me out of it."
Salma glanced at Samira, who was still glaring. She gently patted Huda's shoulder.
Salma:
"We're just joking, Auntie. So, is he tall? Short? Come on, give us the details!"
Samira:
"Tall, broad-shouldered—he can barely fit through a doorway! His eyes are this dreamy blend, like that Turkish actor… what's his name again?"
Salma:
"Osman Kuzan?"
Samira:
"No, no… the one who was in that series, the one where he falls for his uncle's wife."
Salma (thinking hard):
"Who? What was the name of the show?"
Huda (groaning):
"She means Mohannad. If she finds someone even slightly cute, she starts comparing him to him—even if the guy's just average."
Samira nodded eagerly.
Samira:
"Yes, yes, Mohannad! His eyes are like his, and the hair too. He looks just like him."
Salma (laughing):
"Wow, my best friend's marrying Mohannad! Lucky her!"
Samira:
"Even better than him. You'll see him tomorrow."
Huda:
"Ugh. I hate pale men. He's probably as fragile as flour. What have I done in life to deserve this—a ghostly man I don't even know?"
Samira pinched her.
"And what has he done in his life to deserve a disaster like you?"
To be continued...