Chapter 115 : "Why... why is there blood on them?"

The azure water of the swimming pool shimmered in the morning light, like a shimmering image in the hot weather. Sunlight danced on the water's surface, throwing glittering diamonds upon the pristine white tiles that edged the pool. Yet, the scene offered no peace to Ava, who sat perched on a lounge chair, her body taut with disappointment, her bathrobe clutched tightly around her. 

Ava closed her eyes. More than two years she had waited for this scholarship, the gateway to her dream of studying at Manchester University. Years of tireless work, sleepless nights hunched over books, fueled by the burning ambition to leave her small town and make a name for herself.

But dreams, she discovered, can be fragile things, easily shattered against the harsh realities of rejection. Two years ago, as a hopeful first-year student, she had applied, only to watch her dreams crumble as the acceptance email never arrived. This time, she had approached it with steely determination, pouring every ounce of her being into her application. Yet, fate seemed to take a perverse pleasure in playing with her emotions. 

A lone tear, traitorous and unwelcome, escaped the dam of her lashes, tracing a wet path down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away, a futile attempt to erase the evidence of her grief. But grief, like ink on paper, doesn't simply vanish. It bleeds through, seeping into the cracks of her carefully constructed facade. Another tear escaped. But she quickly brushed it away, but another followed, then another, like raindrops. She hadn't asked for much, just a chance, but fate or God? It seemed, had other plans..... But she didn't really know, her fate and God both are Ibrahim. 

Then, a soft thud of footsteps broke the silence. She didn't need to turn to know who it was. Ibrahim had reached her. He settled onto the same lounger behind her, his chest warm against her back. The chair was spacious enough for two. His long and strong legs brushed against hers, his body a warm wall enclosing her. He leaned forward, resting his head on her shoulder. 

"Ava," Ibrahim murmured, his hand circling her stomach to pull her closer, "If you need to cry, cry today. I won't stop you."

And the dam broke again. Tears, long held at bay, welled up in her eyes and spilled over. She turned, burying her face against the expanse of his bare chest, "Why, Ibrahim? Why am I so weak? Why can't I handle these small blows that life throws at me? Why do I always crumble?" 

Ibrahim sighed, his breath a warm sigh against her damp hair. He held her tighter, his strong arms cradling her like a precious porcelain doll, "You're not weak, Ava. You're a warrior. Just because you stumbled on this path doesn't mean you're lost."

He gently lifted her chin, his gaze holding hers, "Maybe, maybe this closed door wasn't your true destination. Maybe, just maybe, the universe has a bigger, brighter picture waiting for you, one you can't even imagine right now." 

Ava shook her head, her tears subsiding into silent hiccups. "I don't know about the future. But Manchester… it was more than just a university. It was a dream. My parents… they studied there. Mom did English Literature, Dad was in Journalism. They met there, fell in love there. They used to tell me stories about their late-night study sessions in the library, about the cozy cafes where they'd write their dreams onto napkins, about their secrets. And Dad would tell me about the smoky pubs, the debates that lasted till dawn."

A wave of nostalgia washed over her, transporting her back to her childhood, before the tragedy that stole her parents away at the tender age of ten. She continued, "I wanted to see it with their eyes, you know? To see if it was the same Manchester they talked about. To experience it, just once. It was my dream, even before I knew what dreams were. Eight years old, and all I knew was Manchester, Manchester, Manchester. And now it's all gone. I'm not even a good student."

Ibrahim's heart ached with each word, a dull throb that resonated with the hollow ache in her soul. A sob escaped from Ava's lips, a choked cry that tore through Ibrahim's heart. He held her tighter, his embrace a silent plea for forgiveness for the burden he had placed on her shoulders. 

 "You are..." he finally managed, "You're not just a good student, Ava. You're brilliant. The brightest star in the sky, even if you can't see it yourself."

Ava's every choked hiccup, every damp tear that stained his skin, was a searing accusation he couldn't deny. This suffocating guilt, this constant battle between truth and his twisted desire to keep her close? Perhaps it was. The irony of it all – Ava wept on the very source of her pain, seeking solace in the arms of the man who'd snatched her future.

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to confess, to beg her forgiveness, to tear down the house of lies he'd built. But he couldn't....the words wouldn't come. If he did, it would do worse. "Forgive me, Ava," he whispered, the words lost in the wind, unheard by the woman whose trust he'd so brazenly betrayed. "Forgive me."

Ava's voice, thick with tears, sliced through the suffocating silence. "Elara… he was saving money for me. So I wouldn't have to worry. Everything… everything is gone. How can I tell him? How can I say I failed again?"

Ibrahim lifted a hand, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, the touch a betrayal disguised as comfort. Handling her in this moment was like going inside a minefield blindfolded. He was the villain in her play, the monster under her bed, the whisper of doubt that poisoned her dreams. And yet, as twisted as it was, as cruel as it seemed, Ibrahim's love was real. It was a tangled mess of fear and longing, a desperate attempt to hold onto the woman who had become his anchor, his reason for being.....

Ava pulled back from his embrace, her eyes searching his face. "I don't want to go to university today," she said, her voice a hollow whisper. "Everyone will talk. The whispers, the pitying glances...I can't bear it today. Take me to the cemetery. I haven't spoken to Mom and Dad in days."

"Now?" Ibrahim asked. 

Ava nodded, "But...my clothes...they're torn."

"I'll send someone for new clothes. We can leave after breakfast." Ibrahim replied. 

Ava leaned forward and hugged him again. "Ibrahim," she whispered, please be like this, always. When I cry, I need someone's shoulder. I need someone who can hold me. Please hold me like this.... always." 

Ibrahim's heart ached again with an unbearable intensity. "I will, baby girl. I'll."

.....

The afternoon sun, a cruel reminder of the passage of time, streamed through the expansive windows of Rafi's penthouse, painting the plush bedroom in a warm, yet unsettling glow. Yet, the opulence held no comfort for the man sprawled on the king-size bed, his face etched with worry and exhaustion. His blood pressure gauge lay abandoned beside him, a testament to the nervous tension that had gripped him for the past nineteen agonizing hours.

For nearly twenty agonizing hours, silence had been his tormentor. No news, no ransom demand, nothing. Tension had etched itself onto his face, deepening the creases around his eyes and hardening the lines around his jaw. 

The Doctor, a tall man with silver hair and a calming demeanor, approached the bed, his stethoscope draped around his neck like a concerned hand. He placed a gentle hand on Rafi's arm, "How are you feeling, Mr. Ahmed?" 

"Like I've aged ten years in as many hours, Doctor. How do you think I feel?" Rafi rasped, "It's been nearly 20 hours. No call, no message, nothing. What have they done to my sons?"

"I understand your concern. But fretting will not help us. We need to remain focused, clear-headed." The doctor replied. 

Rafi scoffed, a humorless sound devoid of mirth. "Clear-headed? How can I be clear-headed when my sons are out there, God knows where, God knows what they're facing?"

The doctor squeezed Rafi's arm gently. "I know this is a difficult time, but your sons need you to be strong."

Just then, a knock on the door interrupted them. A young butler entered the room carrying a large parcel box.

"Sir, a parcel arrived for you." 

Rafi's head snapped up, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. He exchanged a silent nod with Doctor Khan, who discreetly excused himself and left the room.

Rafi's gaze remained fixed on the box, his mind racing with possibilities. He gestured to the butler, his voice hoarse. "Open it."

The butler carefully removed the wrapping paper, revealing a nondescript cardboard box. He lifted the lid, and both men stared in surprise at the contents. Inside the box, there was two shoelaces. One was light blue and one was black. 

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as the butler finally broke the stunned silence.

"Sir, these shoelaces… they don't belong to young masters, do they?" 

Rafi's breath hitched. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he picked up the shoelaces. A metallic tang filled his nostrils, and his heart lurched as he noticed the crimson stain marring the light blue lace. It was blood. Though the black one also had but the blue one was highlighting the Blood Mark.

A wave of dread washed over him, chilling him to the bone. "Why... why is there blood on them?" he rasped. 

But the question hung heavy in the air, unanswered. Then his mind raced, piecing together fragments of the previous day. Ava.....the way he had tied her shoelaces. So, Ibrahim had taken his sons. This was a message. A warning, loud and clear – a twisted response to his harmless act. 

A guttural growl escaped Rafi's lips. He wouldn't play this twisted game. He wouldn't cower in fear. "Find Ibrahim. I need update about him in fifteen minutes."

He wouldn't let Ibrahim win. He wouldn't let fear dictate his actions. He would find his sons, and he would make Ibrahim pay.