Chapter 82 : A Little Surprise.

The soft hum of the car engine faded as Ibrahim skillfully parked in front of a old jewelry shop. The aging jewelry shop stood as a relic of time, its exterior adorned with weathered wooden panels and faded gold lettering that hinted at its enduring presence in the community.

Ibrahim turned to Ava with a quizzical look, "Don't you want to step out from the car?"

Ava inquired, "Why are we here?"

Ibrahim gestured for her to follow as they stepped into the shop. The shop was almost empty, with only an elderly man behind the counter. Beside him stood a young boy, appearing around 14 to 16 years old.

Ibrahim inquired of the boy, "What about the earrings?"

With an enthusiastic nod, the boy exclaimed, "It's fixed, sir! It's done very well. You wait here; I'm bringing it now."

While the boy scurried off to retrieve the earrings, Ava subtly pulled at the fabric of Ibrahim's shirt, seeking an explanation. 

But Ibrahim offered, "Hold on for a moment."

Meanwhile, the elderly man signaled Ibrahim with a simple gesture—raising his hand, palm open, and displaying five fingers 🖐️.

Baffled, Ibrahim pulled out his credit card and offered it to the old man. However, the old man denied the payment with a shake of his head.

In the meantime, the boy returned, presenting a small jewelry box. Observing the credit card in Ibrahim's hand, the boy explained, "Grandfather can't talk or hear. He's saying no because we don't have a card-swiping machine."

Ibrahim asked, "How should I pay? I don't carry 50,000 ringgit in cash." 

"Check the product first, sir, and then you can pay." The boy suggested. 

The boy opened the small jewellery box, "Madam, take a look! Grandfather fixed it so well. You can wear it without any problem now."

And Ava's eyes widened, recognizing the gold earrings immediately. These weren't just any earrings—they held a precious piece of her past. When she was eight, her mother had gifted her these earrings, symbols of love and cherished memories. 

However, the passage of time had been unkind—the hook of one earring had dislocated, rendering it unwearable. No jeweler had managed to restore it.

Her mouth forming an 'O' of astonishment, as she gingerly took the earrings in her hands. The memories associated with them flooded back.

On the other hand Ibrahim was watching her. The joy in Ava's eyes was worth everything. If he had to cut a mountain for seeing Ava's smile ; Ibrahim would do that without any hesitation. 

The boy, eager to share in the moment, added, "Madam, grandfather worked his magic! Wear them with pride now!"

Ava looked at Ibrahim, gratitude in her eyes, "Did you bring me for this? No one in Kuala Lumpur fixed the earring. I went to too many jewelry workers."

With a gentle smile, Ibrahim replied, "It was not my work after all. You should thank the grandfather."

Ava turned to the old man, holding the repaired earrings, "Thank you, Grandfather. Thanks a lot."

The old man, though not comprehending her words, reassured her by displaying five fingers 🖐️. The boy signed a thumbs up 👍 to his grandfather, indicating that Ava appreciated his work.

The boy proudly shared, "My grandfather is famous in Malacca for his skills. Many come from far for his expertise."

Expressing her gratitude once more, Ava said, "Thanks a lot."

The boy took out his phone, showing Ibrahim the online scanner code for payment. Ibrahim scanned it and completed the transaction. Turning to Ava, he asked, "Are you happy?"

Ava looked at him, "Oh, Ibrahim, you really made me happy today. I will remember that. Thanks a lot."

They left the shop and settled inside the car. As Ava secured her seatbelt, she curiously asked Ibrahim, "Where did you find the earrings?"

Ibrahim started the car and casually replied, "In your closet. One day, my eyes fell on your jewelry box, and I opened it."

Ava felt a tug at her heartstrings, a surge of emotion welling up within her. She confessed, "I want to cry now."

As the car moved through the streets, Ava couldn't hold back the intense wave of emotions any longer. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she murmured, "I want to cry so hard."

Ibrahim got worried. He couldn't understand how could Ava started to cry out of the blue. He immediately pulled over and parked the car on the side of the street. 

He spoke softly, "Don't cry, baby girl. Don't you have any mercy on me? I can't bear to see your tears."

Ava's crying persisted, each sob accompanied by the weight of her emotions. Attempting to express herself through tears, she managed to share, "It was my favorite earrings. Even though I don't like to wear gold, I loved these."

Ibrahim gently insisted, "Ava, please. You're breaking my heart. You liked the surprise, didn't you?"

Ava nodded, her words drowned in the midst of her tears. "Yes, I liked it, but..." Her voice trailed off. 

"But what, baby girl? Tell me." Ibrahim asked. 

While wiping her tears with the back of her hand, Ava managed to convey, "But it's just... too much. It's too beautiful, and I'm not used to such surprises."

Ibrahim, responding with a soft smile, stated, "Well, you better get used to them because you deserve beautiful surprises. Please stop crying now, Ava."

Ava gazed at herself in the rearview mirror and questioned, "Do I look like a witch now?" Her once-flawless eyeliner had been smeared by her tears.

Ibrahim chuckled, "No, baby girl, you look fine." Observing the traces of smudged eyeliner on her cheeks, he reached for a tissue from the dashboard and tenderly wiped away the remnants of her tears.

Ava sought reassurance, "Really? Don't you find me ugly now?"

Gazing into Ava's eyes, Ibrahim responded to her question with a tender smile, "Ava, your beauty transcends any definition. It's like trying to capture the essence of a sunset in mere words. Your flaws are merely brushstrokes in the masterpiece that is you. If every star in the sky were a testament to beauty, they'd still pale in comparison to the radiance you bring. You're not just beautiful; you're a celestial symphony, and I am forever captivated by the melody that is you."

Ava inquired, "Do you really love me that much?"

Ibrahim conveyed, "More than words can fathom, more than the universe can hold. My love for you is boundless, reaching beyond the stars and echoing in the depths of my heart."

Ava, wiping away her tears, teased, "You're talking like a philosopher."

Ibrahim, with a playful smirk, restarted the car, replying, "Maybe I am a philosopher."

Ava burst into laughter, remarking, "Then you'll be a bad philosopher."

Ibrahim, finally seeing her smile, couldn't help but smile himself.

"It's our last day in Malacca. I want to drink the traditional coffee." Ava told. 

Ibrahim nodded, saying, "Sure, let's go."

Ava added, "And I want to do some shopping too."

Ibrahim assured, "Sure, baby girl."

.....

In Kuala Lumpur, another scenario was unfolding. Professor Syed prepared tea for himself in the kitchen of his apartment. Today marked Farah's turn—she would be the fourth victim in his twisted game.

After brewing the tea, he poured it into a coffee mug and sauntered to the dining area. Seated on the couch, he took a leisurely sip. Unlike previous encounters with other girls, he had summoned Farah to his own apartment this time. His gaze drifted to the ornate ceiling, tracing the intricate patterns with an absent finger.

However, his mind was far from vacant. It danced in a macabre waltz, fueled by memories that were anything but innocent. The pleading whispers, the desperate promises, the symphony of tears that played solely for his ears – these were the notes that resonated with Prof. Syed, the twisted melody that conducted his life.

He reveled in the art of manipulation, the subtle dance of control where secrets became weapons and weakness, his trophies.

The thrill of orchestrating a girl's downfall, watching her world crumble brick by fragile brick, was a perverse elixir he couldn't resist. 

He'd drawn out their cries, savoring each sob, each whimper that escaped her tortured lips. The way their body throbbed beneath him, a frantic butterfly pleading for release, was a perverse poem he could recite in his sleep. The thrill of seeing them crumble, their pride melting like wax in his hands, was a heady elixir and forbidden.

A cruel smile played on his lips as he savored the memory of a girl, her name lost to the haze of countless conquests."Please," she had rasped, her body racked with sobs, "please, Professor, not so fast." 

He remembered the way her skin had flushed crimson under his touch, the way her voice had broken into a whimper as he pushed her to the brink. "Slow down," she had pleaded, her voice barely audible above her own ragged breaths. "Please, Professor, I can't take this anymore."

Prof. Syed took a slow sip of his tea, the warmth of the porcelain against his lips a stark contrast to the icy fire that burned in his veins. He was a wolf in a professor's skin, his smile a mask for the predator that lurked beneath. The girls, mere pawns in his twisted game, were his canvas. He painted their lives with shades of fear, dependence, and ultimately, a crushing despair that echoed his own. 

For Prof. Syed, their tears were the ink, their broken hearts the brush, and their shattered souls the very essence of his art. He was the spider, and the girls, his silken prey, trapped in a web spun from secrets and shame.

As the doorbell rang, Prof. Syed's focus shifted from his dark thoughts. "Finally, Farah came," he muttered.