Ava stirred in her sleep, curled on the pool lounger. She felt a presence leaning over her, warm fingers brushing her shoulder and arm.
"Ava," Ibrahim's palm tapped her shoulder gently, "Why are you sleeping here in the middle of the night, hmm? What are you trying to do to yourself — catch a cold?
She stirred again but didn't open her eyes, only shifting her head slightly against the cushion.
He crouched closer, his breath brushing her hair. "Baby girl. Come on… wake up. You have no idea who's here to see you."
Ava's lashes fluttered, and she finally opened her eyes—blinking at the sight of Ibrahim holding Tasha in his arm. The cat gave a high-pitched meow as if demanding her attention.
Her drowsiness vanished instantly. "Tasha…?" She sat up quickly, reaching out. Ibrahim let the cat go, and Tasha scrambled into Ava's arms, purring. She cradled her, kissing her head. "Oh my God… Tasha… you've grown so much! I missed you so much."
Ibrahim straightened, watching the scene, "Mm-hmm… I see how it is. I drag myself outside in this cold to wake you, bring your long-lost cat to you, and you don't even look at me once."
Ava didn't glance up, her attention fixed on scratching under Tasha's chin, "Because I haven't seen her in days. She's more important right now."
"Oh, so I'm less important than this furball?" Ibrahim followed Ava as she stood and walked toward the bedroom. "Interesting. Very interesting. Next time I should grow whiskers and a tail, maybe then you'll smile at me first."
She chuckled softly but didn't answer.
Inside, Ava set Tasha gently on the bed. The cat immediately curled up in the middle as if she owned the place. Ava sat beside her, still petting her.
Ibrahim came in behind her, sliding the glass door shut with a quiet thud before locking it. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching. "You know, I was out here for a good five minutes, trying to wake you without startling you. I touched your shoulder… nothing. I called your name twice… nothing. But the moment I said 'watch who came to see you,' suddenly you're wide awake."
"That's because you sounded different," Ava said. But inside, she was liking the fact that he was being so soft with her. This gentle side of his brought a subtle smile to her face, and she found herself wanting to see more of it.
Ibrahim pushed away from the wall, coming closer. "Different? And what if I told you I wanted that look on your face—the one you just gave Tasha—directed at me?"
Ava finally glanced up, meeting his eyes. "You're jealous of a cat?"
"I'm jealous of anyone, anything, that can make you smile that way without even trying," he said, crouching so they were at eye level. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. "If you keep looking at her instead of me… I'll throw her outside."
She gave him a mock glare, hugging Tasha protectively. "Touch her, and I'll throw you out instead."
Ibrahim smirked faintly, leaning closer until his forehead almost brushed hers, "I'm not good at sharing… not even with a furball."
Ava gave him a light push. Tasha hopped off her lap and padded back to the bed, curling into the pillows before batting lazily at the corner of the blanket.
"Evil," Ava muttered under her breath, "God knows how you treated her while I was gone."
"Oh, I treated her very well. Fed her. Kept her warm. Even let her nap on my bed. And the only reason I tolerated that was because you like her."
She pretended to think. "Is that it? Then you deserve a present."
Rising on her toes so she was eye level with him, Ava leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Barely a second.
Ibrahim's brows lifted, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. "So… I get just one kiss from you just for taking care of this furball, hmm?"
Ava laughed softly. "Don't get used to it," she teased, stepping back half an inch.
But That laugh was Ibrahim's undoing. His hands caught hers, pulling them firmly behind her back and he drew her in until there was barely a breath between them.
The sudden movement made her inhale sharply as always.
"Too late" he murmured and leaned in. The first touch of his lips on her neck was so soft that Ava felt her knees weaken instantly.
He didn't stop there—his teasing kisses trailed up from her neck to her jaw.
Her breathing grew uneven. "Ibrahim…" she whispered.
"Mmm?" he answered without pulling away. His lips reached the curve just under her ear, "You think you can kiss me once… and then walk away?"
Ava flinched when Ibrahim's phone started buzzing. "Your phone," she said, glancing toward it.
"Let it ring," he murmured against her skin, not breaking his hold.
She twisted slightly, but her hands were still caught behind her back. And the phone kept ringing.
"Ibrahim… answer it. It might be important," she urged.
With a sigh, he finally pulled away, his eyes watching her like she had just stolen something from him. "You really do know how to ruin good moments."
He reached for the phone lying on the bed and pressed it to his ear.
What came through the call made Ibrahim's body still… his jaw tightening… his breath slowing. It was as if all the air in the room had vanished.
Ava's smile faded. She watched the tension in his face, the way his gaze turned frozen. The raid…? Had he just found out?
Slowly, Ibrahim sat down on the edge of the bed, phone still in his hand, though the call had already ended.
Ava hesitated. Then she walked over and placed her hand gently on his shoulder, "Ib—Ibrahim… is everything alright?"
He didn't answer. She swallowed, her thoughts racing back to the worst possibilities. After a whole 5 mins he answered....
"Ava… Samir's been shot."
For a second, she couldn't believe. "No…" The sound barely left her throat, "What… what are you saying?"
"Shot in the shoulder—missed the heart. They fired at him when he was leaving the warehouse."
Ibrahim's voice was so low that Ava had to focus on his lips to catch the words.
"It's… it's not critical, right?" she asked quickly, almost hoping she had misunderstood.
He lifted his eyes to hers, and the answer in them was worse than any words, "It's critical, Ava. The doctor said… even after the operation, there's no guarantee he'll be the same again. Some bones were shattered. His arm… might never work like before."
Ava froze. It felt like her chest had forgotten how to breathe. She turned away from him, pacing the bedroom aimlessly. Every step she took made her heart beat louder in her ears.
Her thoughts were screaming at her—
"What have I done?"
She was the one who pushed Samir into this. She had sent him to death's door. How could she have been so cruel?
She turned quickly, "Is Samir… in the operating room right now? Are they… operating on him already?"
Ibrahim just nodded once. Slowly, he let his upper body sink onto the bed. Tasha hopped lightly onto his chest and curled. She had seen him like this before—tense, heavy, burdened—and she always did this, sitting close to calm him maybe.
"Then… why are you just resting here? Shouldn't you be at the hospital? You should be there right now, asking questions… doing everything to make sure Samir is okay! He needs you, Ibrahim! How can you just lie here while he's in danger?"
"Mom and Faisal are there."
"That's not enough! He's your brother, Ibrahim! Samir isn't just some patient you can leave in anyone else's hands. He needs you! He's your family. How can you just let him face this… this risk without being by his side?"
Ibrahim sighed, "Ava… do you know what it's like… waiting outside an operating theatre? Just… staring at that white door, knowing everything is happening behind it… and not being able to do a single thing? Not being able to hold him, to tell him it's okay, to make it better? What if the doctor comes out and says… they can't save him? That no matter what we do, nothing can bring him back? That the brother I love… the one who's fought beside me, trusted me, risked everything for me… is gone? I'm scared, Ava… so scared. I… I don't know if I could handle it if the door opens… and he… he isn't the same… or worse."
Ava moved closer, sliding onto the bed beside Ibrahim. She gently cupped his face in her hands, leaning in so he could feel her warmth. "Ibrahim… look at me," she whispered softly. "You're just scared. It's the shock… nothing more. You're not alone. Breathe with me, please."
He barely moved. She grabbed a wet tissue from the nightstand and softly wiped the sweat and tension from his face. "Come on. We're going to the hospital. Everything will be fine. Samir… he's not weak. He's strong. He'll be okay. You'll see. He'll be fine."
But still Ibrahim didn't respond. His gaze remained lost, "No… my family… my family is falling apart… one by one… all because of me… First… I killed my father… then… Zainab… died…"
"Who's… Zainab?"
November 30th, 2006. London.
Eighteen-year-old Ibrahim lived alone in a London villa. Zafar had bought it just for him because he didn't want his son to stay in a hostel. After all, Ibrahim was the son of a businessman, and he deserved comfort. At that time, Zafar had plenty of money and successful businesses, so affording the villa was easy for him.
Even though the villa was technically in Samir's name, it was meant for Ibrahim's use. During vacations, Zafar, Aliya, Samir, and Zainab used to visit London especially during Christmas.
This was one of those days. Ibrahim was leaving university earlier than usual because his family was arriving soon, after eight long months. He had been making small, secret plans in his mind—where he would take his siblings, which little treats or gifts to get for Zainab. He had already bought a bunch of cute dolls, some tiny dresses, and little trinkets that he knew she would love. For Samir, he had a small box with a model car inside, something Samir had been talking about for months. Ibrahim chuckled softly, picturing Samir's excited face when he opened it.
The car stopped, and Ibrahim quickly jumped out as soon as the door opened. There, near the open garage, was eight-year-old Zainab. She was playing happily with a little battery-powered car. Her hair was tied in two neat braids that bounced as she moved, and she wore a pink sweater with tiny white stars all over it. Her cheeks were rosy from running around, and she looked like the cutest little angel.
When she saw Ibrahim, her eyes lit up. "Ibi!" she shouted, running toward him.
She could never say his full name when she was little. To her, Ibrahim was always just Ibi
Zainab threw the remote control aside and jumped into his legs, hugging him tightly. Ibrahim laughed and scooped her up, holding her gently in his lap.
"Why… why were you so late?" She pouted, her little voice full of mock frustration. "I've been waiting for you forever, Ibi!"
He stroked her hair, "I had exams, little one. Otherwise… I would have come much sooner." Then he looked at her small hands and bare feet. "But… tell me—why are you playing outside in this cold? You don't even have gloves… and no socks! How can you stay out here like this?"
Zainab pouted, snuggling into his chest, "Socks are itchy! And gloves… they make my fingers feel weird. I hate them And I wanted to drive Samir's car. It's fun! I can't stay inside all the time. Inside is boring! I wanted to play… outside. And I was waiting for you to come."
Ibrahim stepped inside the villa, "You really are stubborn, you know that? Even in this freezing weather… you have to do things your own way."
But Zainab wasn't listening to Ibrahim. She had her own plans. "No no no. Let's go outside, Ibi… please. Mom and Samir are sleeping. They're not fun. Please, let's go somewhere!"
Ibrahim paused halfway up the stairs, raising an eyebrow. "And Dad?"
"He went for work." Zainab replied simply, resting her chin on his shoulder.
Ibrahim slowly walked back down the steps, his brow furrowing. That was strange. They had only landed an hour ago. It made sense for Mom and Samir to sleep after the long flight, but why would Dad leave so soon—without even meeting him? Dad always waited for him to come home.
He glanced at the driver. "Put my bag inside," he instructed before walking toward the front gate. Zainab held onto his neck as he started down the quiet street of their neighborhood.
She looked around, "Why is it so cold here? Kuala Lumpur isn't like this."
Ibrahim smiled faintly. "Because this is London, princess. Here, winter means real winter… cold winds, cloudy skies, and sometimes snow."
Zainab shivered and hugged him tighter. "Hmm… I think I still like it. But only if you're with me."
They walked to the nearby playground. Some children were already playing on the swings, so Ibrahim scared them off with a made-up ghost story. Soon, one swing was free, and he carefully placed Zainab on it, giving her a gentle push.
She swung slowly for a while, then suddenly asked, "Ibi… do you know why Dad hates me?"
Ibrahim looked at her. She was only eight, but she had already noticed, "No… Dad doesn't hate you. It's just… sometimes his behaviour feels different. That's all."
Zainab looked down at her shoes, gently rubbing one against the other. The swing had stopped moving a while ago, but Ibrahim's hands were still resting on the chains, holding her in place.
"Ibi… you know, Dad is always busy doing something for Samir… or for you. He takes Samir to football practice, he helps you with your school stuff… but when I ask him for something, he never gives it. It's always Mom who gets me what I want. Every time."
She sniffled, not looking at him. "Is… is Dad angry with me? Did I do something wrong?"
The cold wind curled around them, smelling faintly of chimney smoke from the nearby houses. The sun was already low, staining the sky a pale orange that faded into a grey mist. A layer of frost clung to the edges of the swing chains, making them icy under Ibrahim's hands. In the distance, the laughter of other children had faded, replaced by the quiet hum of cars passing on the far street.
He leaned against the cold metal pillar of the swing set, "Dad's just… old-fashioned sometimes. He thinks about things in a way that doesn't always make sense to us. It's not your fault. You're the best little sister in the whole world. If he can't see that, then it's his loss. Or maybe… maybe he loves you but just doesn't know how to show it."
"Ibi? Can you make Dad agree for Christmas shopping tomorrow with me? Please? I want to buy so many things… I'll gift my friends."
The corners of Ibrahim's mouth curved faintly. She was good at talking, and even better at jumping from one thought to another, as if the sadness from before had never existed.
"Absolutely," he said, ruffling her hair. "Actually, I have so many plans for us… we're going to see the ..."
He kept talking—about the glowing Oxford Street lights, the giant tree at Trafalgar Square and Zainab listened, tucking each word into her mind like little treasures.
She might not have had the love of a father who saw her worth, but she had something else—a big brother who loved her more fiercely than any father ever could.
But the night didn't turn out to be the happy night Ibrahim had imagined. After a while, they went back home. Ibrahim finally met his mother and Samir properly, sharing hugs and smiles. But even now, Zafar hadn't returned. It was so strange—Zafar never missed the first evening with Ibrahim.
Still, Ibrahim pushed the thought aside, until fate decided to drop a shadow right into his hands.
While he was still talking with his family, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Amir. His oldest friend, his only childhood confidant, and now, his classmate. The one person who'd seen every version of him, from scraped knees to late-night study sessions.
The text read:
"Can you come to Westgate Mall? The one near the university?"
Ibrahim frowned and typed back:
"Any reason? Out of nowhere, and this late?"
Amir's reply came a moment later:
"Just come… and see for yourself."