The morning sun broke through the curtains, flooding the room in golden warmth. Zoha stirred awake in Zafar's arms, her head resting against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat comforting.
Last night had changed something.
Not just between them—but within him.
Zafar lay silently, staring at the ceiling, Zoha's soft breath on his skin. His mind wandered to the boy he spoke about... the broken child he had hidden so well behind walls of coldness and control. And now, somehow, with her, those walls were slowly crumbling.
She stirred, eyes still closed. "Good morning," she whispered sleepily.
He smiled faintly. "Morning, sunshine."
She sat up, brushing hair from her face. "Zafar…"
He looked at her, waiting.
"I've been thinking," she said, eyes steady. "I want to build something. A place where women and children like me—who've lost family, safety, love—can find it again. A shelter. A home."
He blinked. "You want to run a shelter?"
She nodded. "Not just a shelter. A healing space. With therapy. Education. Safety. Hope."
Zafar stared at her for a long second, then looked away. "That's... a beautiful dream."
She could feel the hesitation in his voice. "But?"
"I've never believed in dreams," he said, voice low. "I was raised to believe they were useless distractions. All I ever knew was survival, power, and silence."
Zoha placed her hand over his heart. "Then let me show you what belief feels like."
A Week Later
The building was old, dusty, and empty. But Zoha's eyes lit up the second she walked through the broken doors.
"This one," she said with certainty. "I can see it already. Painted walls. Soft beds. A kitchen that smells like hope."
Zafar stood behind her, arms crossed, watching her like she was made of something he didn't deserve to touch.
"You'll need permits. Staff. Funding."
She turned to him, a soft smile on her lips. "I have you, don't I?"
Something tightened in his chest.
"You'd trust me with your dream?"
"I already have."
Later That Night
Zafar stood on the balcony, looking out over the city. His phone buzzed.
Father:Heard you're spending time with that girl. Be careful. Love is for the weak.
He didn't respond. Instead, he turned his phone off and looked up at the stars.
Behind him, Zoha stepped out, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.
"Thinking?" she asked.
"About a lot," he said honestly.
She leaned her head against his back. "Tell me something you believe in."
He hesitated.
Then turned around to face her.
"You."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"I believe in you, Zoha. In what you're building. In the way you look at Ezra like he's your whole world. And... for the first time—I'm starting to believe I'm not broken beyond repair."
Tears welled in her eyes. She cupped his cheek gently.
"You never were broken, Zafar. You were just... waiting to be loved the right way."
They stood like that under the stars, two scarred souls finding safety in each other's presence.
And deep inside Zafar, something unfamiliar bloomed.
Not fear. Not doubt.
But hope.