Introduction
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Please don’t copy, repost, or share this story anywhere—online or offline—without my full permission. It’s illegal, and it’s personal. This book is the result of years of hard work, and I ask for your respect. Get inspired, feel motivated, but never steal.
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This is a fictional story. Any similarities to real people, places, or events—living or dead—are purely coincidental.
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Full edits will be done after the story is completed.
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Thank you for being here. For reading. For giving this story a chance.
It means more than I can say.
With love, and a full heart—Good night.
P.S. I’m just a girl trying to tell her story. That’s all. And you being here? That already means the world.
________________
1. Our Present
Adam POV
Adam POV
The dust still floated in the air from when I blew on the doorknob.
My hand rested on the cold metal. It felt warm now-maybe because of how long I stood there. I twisted it roughly, and the sound echoed in the hall.
I pushed the door with my fingers. The hinges creaked.
And then, there he was.
A man. Laid on the floor. His stomach pressed against the carpet. His face toward the ground.
I froze, like a statue. Not because of the body. But because of where he was, and what it showed me.
His face carried the life he had spent on this earth. His features-passed down to me like a xerox copy.
Except I am nothing like him. Not even close.
The room was the same. Nothing had changed. Plain walls. Quiet. Still.
To the left corner, the bar. To the right, his chair and desk. In front of them-
The picture of the woman who birthed me.
Mother.
I stepped closer. Bent down, just before reaching him. About to turn him over-
But he moved.
He bent. Then stood up on his knees, rising.
He stood in front of me.
It felt like a mirror. Me-looking at my older version. Him-facing his younger one.
Everything in this room mirrored itself.
Nothing had changed.
He stared with emptiness in his eyes. His hands pressed gently on my shoulders, and he pushed me back-just beyond the edge of the carpet.
I held my hands at my sides, tightly. The urge to do the same to him-
It was strong. Still strong. Always was.
I stretched my neck. Left. Right. Then cleared my throat.
He walked away. To the end of the room. To the portrait.
Mother.
Both of them-my parents-were here. The two who brought me into this world.
And for the first time, I realized-
I was only Khalid in front of him. Not Israel. Not Adam. Only Khalid.
“Father... I’m getting married.”
I raised my voice, emotions packed behind it. I stared at his back, as he admired her face in the portrait.
Silence.
Unlike my childhood, I didn’t feel like grabbing the table’s edge. Didn’t feel like slamming my feet.
Breathe.
I took in a deep breath. Held myself still. I wouldn’t do anything to beg for his attention.
Still- He stood. Still.
“This world is temporary.”
His only words. The ones he once told me. They echoed in my mind.
That was it.
No tears came. No emotions overwhelmed me. Maybe they were never there in the first place.
Breathe.
I took in the scent of his office. Let it settle in my lungs. Then stepped toward him.
I stood in front of him. And I hugged him.
Tightly.
Just for a few seconds. Just to feel it.
Then I leaned in. Sniffed his shoulder. Pressed my lips to his forehead.
And stepped back.
“I’ll miss you, Father.” I whispered that to myself.
Silently.
Then walked to his desk.
And left a photo. Me. Valeria. Alyona. Kozyal.
I don’t know if I’ll ever expand this family. Don’t know if I’ll send him more photos.
But this one- This is the last one I’ll give him.
I turned to look at him. Still facing her. The portrait.
She looked so young. Before she gave birth to me. Before she left him.
I glanced at the spot where he was lying before. Then turned my head back to him.
Still- Not affected.
Breathe.
I inhaled deeply. Then stepped out of the room, exhaling.
The creak of the hinges drowned out the sound.
No tears. No memories. No voice inside me cried for his treatment of me.
Nothing.
I stood in the hallway, absorbing the silence. Even the air conditioner was off.
Midnight still.
This is it.
With an empty heart, and a quiet mind- I stepped away from the door.
As if it had never opened for me in the first place. As if it was all just a bad dream.
****
Afrah POV
*slam*
I slam the bathroom door in fury. The ringing in my ears fades, replaced by another sound growing clearer.
Clicking glasses. Metal clinking on metal. People gathering.
Too many to focus on just one.
A green floral dress lies on my bed, with white ballerina slippers on the floor - laid there by my so-called mother. Because she’s the only one who comes into my room.
The one who wakes me up from sleep.
Steam from the bathroom slowly drifts into the room, but the hot shower didn’t clear my mind. Neither did sleep.
I scoff loudly, walk to my closet, choosing my accessories and fixing my hair.
I curl my hair, put on gold earrings and a bracelet with my name.
Afrah.
I get dressed, then jump on my bed to scroll. Suddenly, a notification from my mother blinks on my phone:
COME DOWN STAIRS
Am I just there for their entertainment?
That sentence is on the tip of my tongue. If I say it, I’ll get an earful lecture. If I don’t, I’ll be called ignorant.
Ignorant daughter.
I get up from the bed with my phone and my mantras.
Take no one’s words personally.
I twist the door handle and step outside, standing still, waiting for someone to notice me, see me, call me out.
A few seconds pass. I feel my cheeks flush red, but no one hears me, no one turns.
No one acknowledges me.
Do it.
I decide to make myself noticed. I slam the door shut behind me loud enough for everyone to turn toward me.
"Wind,” I gasp as the door crashes, then fake a smile. I walk into the hall, then the living room.
I can’t even remember knowing so many people.
The doorway from my room to the living room is packed with people, yet I don’t see a single familiar face.
I enter the living room, eyes fixed on the chandelier. It’s been changed - bigger crystals, yellow instead of white.
Why change?
Suddenly, a group of women surrounds me like orcas protecting their loved ones.
“OMG, girl, you’ve got yourself a personal bank!” one squeals behind me. I turn - office coworkers.
“Congratulations, Afrah. I’m happy for you,” another says.
“Afrah, since when did you start dating him? How did you meet? Tell me everything!!!” A hand grips my right shoulder, turning me toward Aunt Penelope - blonde hair, light blue eyes, and a face clearly worked on.
I nod, still smiling, saying yes without words: I met him, saw him, wanted him.
And grabbed him.
She pats my hand like she’s comforting me for some grief, then drags me away from my coworkers to my parents.
My parents - Lorenzo Gianluca and Nimra Tiziano, from unknown ancestors - decided to marry two years after my biological father left me. I never knew why or how, despite their different backgrounds.
Lorenzo, Nimra, and their close friend, lawyer Victor, with his wife, stand together in what’s supposed to be a private conversation.
Anything but private.
“Mr. Gianluca, you’ve got yourself a good investor,” my father’s lawyer Victor says, clinking glasses with my parents.
“Huh, yes. It feels like a dream to be part of such a big family,” Lorenzo says, gesturing with his glass.
Silence. No one has anything left to say - as if all our lives have been exaggerated and over before the party even began.
“Afrah always said she was going on a date,” my mother breaks the silence, grinning at me and the people around. “But never in my wildest dreams did I think she’d bang such a man.”
Liar.
I don’t remember you asking me for permission to go on a date, she screamed at my face when I wanted to go with my crush.
But I didn’t. Because she didn’t remember me asking.
If Victor’s wife, Eva, sensed the bad blood between my mother and me, she jumped in between our hate-stare contest.
“I think we should move to the dinner table, darling,” she said, grabbing her husband’s arm, walking toward the table outside in the garden.
Apparently, my mother wants my wedding reception outside.
It’s good weather.
Well, I can go outside after I’m wed - not hold my wedding for the animals too. I’m sure they want their privacy protected as well.
“Ahh yes, after you,” Victor gestures to his wife after my father does the same as we reach the table.
I pull the chair back to sit but halt when my mother says,
“Hmm, Afrah, could you go to Miss Maxwell’s table? I want Kyle to sit with us.”
She points behind me - Kyle, my stepbrother.
“Please, Afrah?” Eva says, placing her hand on mine.
I stare in disbelief, then push the chair away and walk off.
I hear my mother’s happy squeals of excitement for my brother.
Not wanting to leave because people will ask about the bride, as my mother mentioned, I sit down with some elderly couples.
“Hello,” I say to a woman in a wheelchair, her head tilted back. Another woman beside her looks grumpy.
She gets up, pushes the wheelchair back, then walks away.
I feel nothing. It’s not the first time.
(Optional)
Maybe not the last either.
Losing my appetite, I stand and walk angrily back to my room. I open the door, close it quickly, then jump on my bed.
I am nobody.
________
Thank you for reading. Please share your thoughts about the chapter through vote and comment.
So writing first chapter wasn’t an easy task especially when putting out to people from checking Grammer mistakes to making sure everything is set and perfect, almost perfection.
Hence it took me very long,long time, courage, confident, thinking to put this out. It is something I hold dear to myself. And today I decided to do so.
And you being here not only as reader but your presence means a lot to me. And presence is never explainable because it’s felt.
And I felt through your views, vote and comments.
