Qasim remained hidden for many days in the quiet shelter of Umm-e-Farwah's home. Far from the chaos of the palace, the walls of her modest house offered the kind of peace he hadn't known in years. At first, their conversations were brief and cautious, shaped by the tension of the situation. But as time passed, a quiet bond grew between them. Umm-e-Farwah, strong-willed yet kind-hearted, began to see beyond the title of "commander" that everyone else feared or revered. She saw Qasim simply as a man—wounded by betrayal, hunted by those he had once protected, yet still holding onto the truth.
Even young Hammad, once intimidated by Qasim's silent presence, started sitting beside him, asking curious questions about swords and bravery. Qasim smiled for the first time in days.
Meanwhile, Abdul Rehman stayed within the palace walls. After the public accusation by Shehzadi Nayab, he chose not to run. Instead, he became her shadow—serving as a personal guard. She didn't know whether to see him as a friend or just another soldier obeying her commands. But his loyalty was gentle, never forceful. He stood beside her when she looked lost, comforted her when memories of her father made her eyes glisten, and offered silent strength in her most vulnerable moments.
She began to notice. The way he looked away when she cried, so she wouldn't feel weak. The way he never left her side, even when others did. Her heart, already bruised by grief and confusion, found a strange comfort in his presence. She didn't say anything—but her eyes, once filled with suspicion, now softened when they met his.
Abdul Rehman, too, felt the shift. He hadn't planned for this. His mission was to uncover the truth, to clear Qasim's name—but somewhere along the way, Shehzadi Nayab had become more than a royal figure. She had become someone he wanted to protect—not as a duty, but by choice.
Far from this, in the shadows of the kingdom, Hashim laughed.
He stood alone, whispering to himself, holding an old, dusty box with nothing inside. To him, it wasn't empty. It was the sacred book—*the* book. He believed it spoke to him. That it had chosen him. That every move he made, every poison he used, every lie he spread was part of a divine script written just for him.
But in truth, there was no book. No prophecy. No voice.
It was all in his mind.
Hashim had convinced himself that his cruelty was part of a greater purpose. He had turned madness into a mission. Every time he stood before a mirror, he saw not a murderer, but a messenger. Not a traitor, but a savior.
He didn't just lie to the world.
He lied to himself.
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**Reader Question 1:**
Do you think Shehzadi Nayab made the right decision by trusting what she saw, or should she have listened to Fatima and investigated further?
**Reader Question 2:**
Will Abdul Rehman be able to prove Qasim's innocence before it's too late? Or will Qasim be captured as a traitor?
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