Chapter 147 : Soulmate

Rafi's brow furrowed as he entered in the dining area of his penthouse, his gaze immediately drawn to the bandage on Farah's head. "What happened there?"

Farah, perched on the armchair, arched an eyebrow at his question. "Seems a little bandage has you tensing up, Uncle Rafi?" she countered, her tone laced with a nonchalance that did little to hide the underlying bitterness.

Rafi cleared his throat, settling himself into a chair across from her. "Well, you are my niece," he offered, a touch defensively. "It's natural to be concerned."

Farah's lips curved into a humorless smile. "Concerned? Funny, I don't recall that kind of concern when I came to you two and a half years ago, begging for my first semester fees. You sent me back empty-handed, despite knowing I'd pay you back within a few weeks. But no, your money was more important than your niece's education back then, wasn't it?"

Rafi shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "Farah, it wasn't like that. I was genuinely busy that day with a very important meeting. I told you to come back later, I didn't send you away..." 

"A meeting?" Farah interrupted. "Right. And then what? Did you suffer from amnesia after that grand meeting? Because by the time you 'tried' to contact me," she air-quoted with a pointed look, "my fees were already settled."

Rafi opened his mouth to defend himself, then closed it again. He was on thin ice. Farah wasn't a naive girl who would swallow his excuses whole.

"Did you honestly think I was helpless, Uncle?" Farah continued, "That I had no one but you to turn to? Don't forget, I have a best friend. A best friend who would do anything for me, including helping me out in a pinch. A best friend who didn't hesitate to step up and settle my fees when I needed it most." She paused, a pointed look aimed at Rafi. "I hope you know exactly who I'm talking about."

He cleared his throat and nodded curtly. "Yes, yes, I know. Ibrahim's wife, Ava Lim. Isn't she? I recently heard..." He trailed off. Leaning forward, he told, "Is it true? About Ava missing?"

Farah sighed internally. How on earth did Rafi find out? Ibrahim wouldn't let such sensitive information leak to the press or media, knowing it could damage his carefully crafted image. After all, it could easily backfire on him and expose his dirty laundry. And even if news of Ava's disappearance did slip out, Ibrahim would throw money at the situation to keep it quiet. 

Farah hadn't told her roommates. As far as she knew, only a select few were aware of Ava's absence.

Farah schooled her features, masking the churning worry within. "It would be best if you didn't pry into matters that don't concern you."

A repugnant smirk twisted Rafi's face. 

"Oh, I'm interested alright," he drawled, "Ibrahim certainly has a taste for the finer things in life, his wife included." He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in a way that spoke of entitlement and a complete disregard for boundaries.

"Surprised, even," he continued, "Such a young, beautiful woman… How a man like Ibrahim could settle for someone so…"

Farah's blood ran cold, "Don't you dare! Not a single word about Ava with that filthy mouth of yours. Her character is beyond your tainted perception. You understand me? I don't care what games you play with Ibrahim, but keep Ava's name out of it. You keep her name out of your mouth and your filthy thoughts even further from her!"

Farah wasn't just angry; she was a tigress protecting her cub. Years of knowing Rafi had painted a clear picture of his character. She knew, deep down, the kind of man her uncle was, and the thought of him sullying Ava's character with his warped perspective was unbearable.

Rafi sputtered, "Why? Why are you suddenly defending Ibrahim? It seems you've taken his side in all this."

Farah's eyes narrowed to slits. "Ibrahim? Don't make me laugh," she scoffed. "His actions are his own, and he deserves whatever consequences come his way. He could be the worst scum on earth for all I care. But Ava? She's an entirely different story. My concern lies solely with her well-being. In this mess, she's the victim, and I won't stand by while you drag her name through the mud. I'm wondering what in the world is your problem with Ibrahim? Why this burning hatred? What's the real story here?"

He nodded curtly. "Many things, Farah. Many things that he took from me. More than you can imagine."

Rafi pushed himself away from the chair and paced towards the large window. His gaze fixed on the city lights outside the expansive window. The night sky was a canvas of inky blackness, dotted with a million twinkling stars.

"He orchestrated my scandal," Rafi began, "a public humiliation that shattered my reputation. My political ambitions, years of planning, all reduced to ashes because of that scandal."

A bitter edge crept into his voice as Rafi continued, "And that wasn't enough. He kidnapped my sons once. I got divorced because of him...."

Farah remained silent, her gaze fixed on Rafi's broad back. She swiveled slightly in her armchair, her eyes narrowed as if scrutinizing him without him noticing.

 "While your situation sounds terrible, there must have been a reason for Ibrahim to take such drastic measures. Did you ever..." she paused, searching for the right words, "...cross him in a way that would warrant such retaliation? Did you ever take something of value from him in the past?"

Rafi spun around, his back no longer a shield against the scrutiny in Farah's eyes. Nervousness came across his face, betrayed the righteous indignation he'd displayed moments ago.

"N-never," he stammered, "I never did anything to Ibrahim. Not a thing."

"Are you sure, Uncle?" Farah pressed, "Because judging by your reaction, it seems like there's a whole lot more to this story than you're willing to share."

Rafi instantly changed the subject, "Yes, there's more..Something I never told you before."

"What is it?" she demanded.

Rafi took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping slightly, "Eight years ago, your father... he didn't die in a car accident. I lied to you that time. You were too little."

The color drained from her face, her features contorting in disbelief. She rose slowly from the armchair, her body swaying slightly as if the ground beneath her had given way.

"What are you saying?" she croaked, "My father... he didn't die in an accident? Then what happened to him?" 

Her mind was struggling to grasp the earth-shattering truth that was being unveiled.

Rafi took a step forward, "Hashim was murdered. Killed by none other than Ibrahim Rahman, Your precious best friend's husband."

What!! Why? How could this be true? She had lost her father at the young age of sixteen, a harsh blow that had left a permanent scar on her life. Life hadn't been easy after that. Hashim, though not a perfect father, was the only one she had. He wasn't a source of support or a pillar of strength. Farah distinctly remembered a time when, consumed by greed, he had sold his own wife, Farah's mother, for a sum of money. This singular act had ignited a deep-seated hatred within her, a loathing that was there even after his passing.

Grief was a strange emotion. While the resentment burned strong, there was an underlying sense of loss, a void that his absence created. Farah hadn't attended Hashim's funeral, consumed by the anger that overshadowed any potential good memories. Now, with this revelation, a flicker of regret sparked within her. Perhaps, a part of her wished she had offered that final goodbye. Despite his flaws, Hashim was her blood. Her Father. 

Farah felt like a lone figure adrift in a stormy sea. Her life was a mess. Her mother was snatched away by her own father to settle debts. Years had passed, and Farah had no clue whether her mother was even alive.

And now, Rafi's words cast a shadow over her father's death. If what he said was true, then Ibrahim was responsible. 

Rafi, the one person who was supposed to be family, had offered little to no support throughout her life. Even as he delivered this earth-shattering news, his face remained devoid of warmth or genuine concern.

Farah felt an all-encompassing emptiness. Love, a basic human need, was a stranger to her. It had been absent from her father, a man who prioritised his own gain over his family's well-being. Her uncle also had only offered neglect. From a young age, she had known only neglect and betrayal.

She had grown up in a barren landscape of affection. No one, it seemed, had ever reached out to truly see her, to understand the depths of her pain, or to offer the solace of genuine love. She was a solitary soul, going through a world that had repeatedly failed to provide the emotional scaffolding she craved.

Farah's body moved on autopilot. Grabbing her purse from the table, she made a move towards the exit.

Rafi's voice broke the stunned silence. "Where are you going?"

Farah spun around, her eyes blazing. "I need to hear both sides of the story. You've told me yours. Now, it's time for Ibrahim's version. It takes two hands to clap, Uncle."

With that, she marched out of the penthouse, the door slamming shut behind her. Reaching the street, her phone emerged from her purse to book a cab. Her destination: Rahman Mansion. 

But suddenly a notification caught Farah's attention – a friend request on her Pacebook account. The name was unfamiliar, but the profile picture sent a relief through her. It was a bouquet of white roses, Ava's favorite.

A glimmer of hope flickered within Farah. Perhaps Ava had created a new account, a secret way to reach out. "Oh, Ava," she whispered to herself, "Finally, you contacted me."

Just moments ago, Farah had felt utterly alone, adrift in a sea of emotional neglect. Sure, her family hadn't provided the love and support she craved, but there was Ava. A small smile touched her lips. For Farah, there was Ava, and for Ava, there was Farah.