Night was quiet in Samira's house. After her boyfriend left, she walked slowly to her father's photo that hung in the hall. She touched the frame with trembling fingers. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Papa," she whispered, "you left us so soon. Today I promise, I will save our house. I will fight for your dream. Please guide me from heaven."
Her mother came near, placed her hand on Samira's shoulder. "Don't cry, Sami. Everything will be good. Your dad is now in heaven, he will protect us and support you."
Samira nodded, wiping her cheeks. "Yes, Mom, I also feel that. Papa is still with us."
For a moment both hugged each other. A little strength returned to their hearts.
That same evening, Sam reached Lyra's house. Her parents were away for work, so she was alone. He called from the gate.
From upstairs came her voice, playful but casual. "Hey, I am in bath. Just come inside, the door password is the same."
Sam pushed the code and entered. He waited in the living room for some minutes. Silence filled the house, only water sound from above. Curiosity sparked in him. He thought: Why not go to her room?
He stepped slowly, climbed to the second floor. The door to her room was open.
At that exact moment, Lyra came out of the washroom wrapped in only a towel, her wet hair dripping on her bare shoulders. She stopped for a second when she saw him but didn't scream, didn't chase him away. Her eyes showed surprise, but also a hidden spark.
Sam smiled, walking near. "Where are you going, baby?" he asked, catching her soft hand.
Her body was still cold from bath, soap smell fresh in the air. That fragrance made him crazy. His fingers slipped under the towel easily. She shivered, breath shaking, but didn't stop him.
"Sam…" she whispered, "you always hurry…"
He pressed closer, heat rising. "Always we play in dark, under sheets. Today is day, full light. I want to see you complete."
With one tug he loosened the towel. It fell to the floor. She covered her chest with crossed arms, blushing. "I feel shy," she said.
He kissed her shoulders, then her neck. "Don't worry. I will take away your shy." His lips and fingers travelled every part of her body, slow and greedy. He flicked her nipples with mischief. She laughed through her moans. "Hey, I am not carrom board! You're flicking like coins."
"For me, this is the coin," he teased, biting gently, twisting with his teeth. She screamed a little but her eyes melted.
For a long time—minutes stretching to an hour—they touched, squeezed, bit, teased, without crossing further. Just body play, heat building, tension rising. Finally he slid his hand down, fingers dancing inside her, three fingers moving like ballet dancers, then like soldiers fighting. Her body shook violently. She clutched him.
"Sam, I cannot hold more," she begged.
Then they moved to the next step. The room filled with moans, whispers, sweat. Time passed like a dream. Nearly three hours later, both lay exhausted, hugging on the bed.
Sam stroked her cheek. "Now we are relaxed. After tomorrow, we leave this village forever. We get the house back, then new life begins."
Lyra smiled wicked. "I also like acting. Shall we try field? We can earn much."
He kissed her lips. "Ok, we will try." Soon they started again, exploring, till noon the sun burned high.
The City Plans
Same noon, Lucian and his close friend woke late, heads heavy with last night's drinks. They refreshed quickly and went to his office.
The secretary was already ready. "Boss, tomorrow morning at 9 AM we can leave. I arranged transport, papers, permission. First we visit the site, then in the evening I booked a meeting in Rich Mart hotel."
Lucian nodded. "Ok. My friend is also coming. Make things for him too."
Later he returned home. His father shouted at him for skipping his younger brother's birthday party. Lucian, tired and angry, snapped back. "If I don't work day and night, you and your second son cannot enjoy luxury. You sit in gold because I bleed for it."
He looked at his stepmother sharply. "And you too." Without listening to their reply, he went inside his room and shut the door.
His grandparents saw but kept quiet. They knew his mood, and also his stepmother's poison tongue.
Later that woman whispered to Lucian's father. "See, darling? Your son is thirty, still unmarried. I wanted to use the party to find a girl for him, but he insulted me. I worry for his life."
The father sighed, believing her words as always. "I will talk to Lucian."
After he left, the woman's face twisted in a secret smile. He cannot touch any woman, she thought darkly. I gave him medicine since childhood. Daily I mixed powder in his food. That is why his body suffers, that is why the allergy started when he was twelve. No one knows. Only my son will inherit. Soon I will arrange his marriage, he will give me grandsons. This whole empire will be mine.
Her laugh was soft but cold as snake hiss.
Back in the village, Samira and her mother went to see the shop. The walls were black, shelves broken, everything ruined. The smell of burnt spices still floated. Both stood with tears.
The landlord came too. He shook his head sadly. "Two days before the fire I told your father to renew insurance. But he delayed. Now the policy expired. No claim. According to the contract, you must pay shop damage. Almost twenty thousand dollars."
They gasped. That number was a mountain to them.
"Please," Samira begged. "Give me some months."
He looked at her face, remembering her father's honesty for ten years. He sighed. "Alright, I give you six months. Try to settle."
They bowed in thanks. A little weight removed.
On the way home, Samira spoke carefully. "Mom, Papa once told me about a friend in the city. He said that man can help me join the acting field. Shall we call him?"
Her mother frowned. "No, it is not safe. Your father was alive, so maybe ok. Now only two women in our family. I don't trust city people. Better we work here. We start again your father's spice business. Small scale, from home. He had good customers, they will still buy from us."
Samira thought and nodded. "Yes, you are right. We can do. I also have savings. Almost two thousand dollars. Enough to begin."
Her mother's eyes softened. "We will start small, then grow. Our hands, our work, our pride."
They both felt hope, even if small.
But far away, Sam and Lyra were planning something else. And above all, fate was drawing its own design.
Which dream will win—the honest struggle, the secret betrayal, or the cruel destiny—only time will answer.