chapter 8:

I lost control and couldn't bear it anymore. I began banging my head against the wall in a desperate attempt to make it all stop. But before I could harm myself further, someone pulled me closer, embracing me tightly and begging me to stop.

"Please, stop, you're hurting yourself," the person pleaded, their arms wrapped around me.

I was too shocked to react, too overwhelmed to pull away. Tears streamed down my face as I continued to cry.

In that moment, my focus shifted from my injuries to the fear of what would happen when my father found me. How could a father force his daughter into marriage for the sake of money?

In Islam, it is strictly forbidden to coerce someone into marriage. On the contrary, Islam encourages individuals to marry the person they love in a halal way. My father's actions were a grave sin, completely going against the teachings of our faith.

In this neighborhood, every person, particularly girls and women, were treated with respect and love. The spirit of brotherhood and friendship prevailed, and they exemplified the principles of Islam by helping the less fortunate and doing good deeds in the community, following the guidance of the holy Quran and hadith.

But my father was doing the complete opposite. I prayed to Allah, asking for His forgiveness and guidance for my father, hoping that he would find his way back to the right path and refrain from committing any more sins.

"Hey, are you okay?" the person who had intervened earlier asked once more.

It suddenly dawned on me that I was in the arms of a stranger, a man I didn't know. Feeling a mix of emotions, I turned around and pushed him away hastily.

He too seemed to realize the situation and took a few steps back, nearly stumbling but managing to maintain his balance.

In the dim light, I couldn't see his face clearly. He cleared his throat and apologized, expressing his difficulty in stopping me from hurting myself. He didn't mean any harm and appeared quite ashamed of his actions.

Flustered, I felt my cheeks burning and my heart racing. Why was I feeling this way? His deep and calm voice was soothing, easing the pain within me.

I couldn't find the words to respond. My mind was consumed by the uncomfortable silence that had settled between us. Replying now would only make things more awkward, and it might lead to more questions about why I was there. Thus, I stood in silence, eyes fixed on the floor.

Physically, every inch of my body ached, and I must have looked like a mess. Thankfully, the darkness concealed the full extent of my appearance.

I found myself torn between venturing out into the unknown in search of someone else I could trust or staying put with this stranger. Somehow, I made the decision to stay by his side. I couldn't explain why, but I felt an inexplicable sense of trust in him. I was afraid that if I left, my father would find me.

The stranger moved towards the door, causing panic to rise within me. Was he leaving? The thought of being alone again terrified me, with my father's potential presence lurking nearby.

To my relief, he returned with a bag and a phone in his hand. He turned on the flashlight and took out something from his bag—a chocolate bar.

He raised his head, offering me the chocolate bar. "Here, take this. It's late, and it will give you some energy," he said nervously, running a hand through his silky black hair, his gaze meeting mine.

Just like that, time seemed to stand still.

It was him—the green-eyed man. His eyes sparkled as if recognizing me. Oh no. I couldn't allow him to see me like this—bloodied face, swollen cheeks, puffy eyes, and disheveled hair. How did I end up outside in my pajamas?

Oh Allah, could this night get any worse?

Embarrassed, I covered my face with my hands. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

Why did it have to be him?

He moved closer, just inches away. Gently, he pulled my hands away, concern flooding his face.

"Who did this to you, Angel? Who could have hurt such an innocent soul like yourself?" he murmured softly, his hand cradling my jaw as he examined my face for any severe injuries.

His voice remained calm but carried a hidden intensity, as if he were battling a storm within. His warm breath brushed against my face, leaving me frozen in place. My hands trembled, and my heart raced uncontrollably.

He was undeniably handsome—or rather, beautiful. Oh Allah, forgive me for staring at him.

He removed his hand and continued to study me with an intense gaze, as though I were a puzzle he needed to solve. He was curious, but there was an undercurrent of anger.

His gaze wasn't pitying like that of others who would look upon someone in my state. It held a different quality.

He maintained eye contact, searching for answers, and spoke once again in a gentle tone, each word caressing the air.

"Please, say something, Angel. I'm worried about you. You haven't spoken since you stopped crying. If I hadn't heard your scream, I would have thought you were mute. Please, tell me why you're in this state. Tell me why the girl I see in my dreams is beaten and in such a terrible condition. You can trust me—I promise I'll try my best to help."

His voice was soothing, each word carrying weight and care.

He dreams about me?

Oh Allah, this feeling is so beautiful. Could he be the one You have chosen for me?

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. It was time to respond. After all, he had been kind to me.

"I can't tell you everything, but I can say that I'm hiding from someone I don't want to find me. May I ask why you're here?" I answered, my voice hoarse and weak. I noticed him frown again. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as if attempting to regain control. Was he angry about what I had just told him?

Oh no, did I upset him by asking about his presence here?

As I prepared to apologize, he interrupted with a sharp, anger-tinged remark, "Who would dare to harm a young lady like you and mar such a beautiful, innocent face? You may not know me, but I don't tolerate this kind of behavior, especially in a Muslim country."

He spoke with controlled anger, his emotions barely contained.

Before I could utter a word to respond, a voice interrupted our conversation, casting a darker shadow over the unfolding events.

"You little whore, I knew you were only pretending to be good." And with those words, everything changed.

BANG.