Harry didn't move. Not an inch.
"No," he said quietly...too quietly. "Not this time."
Airam took a step back. He followed. She reached for distance. He refused to give it.
When he lifted his hand to touch hers, she jerked away like his skin was fire.
"Airam…" His voice broke. "I love you."
She shook her head hard, desperate. But Harry reached again, catching her wrist softly from behind as she tried to slip away.
"Please," he whispered, his forehead nearly touching her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I hurt you. I know I did. But I love you. I love you so much, Airam."
His hands slid gently along her arms, slow, trembling touches that felt like confessions.
Airam's breath hitched.
Her body stiffened, every part of her fighting the warmth he was awakening in her and the comfort, the familiarity, the pull. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let herself feel anything.
She stood still, rigid, swallowing the trembling in her chest. Then she walked away again. Harry didn't hesitate. He didn't allow the space.
He caught her arm again, this time turning her to face him.
Their eyes met...her pain, his desperation colliding like storms.
"I love you," he said again, louder this time, voice cracking. He lifted both hands and gently cupped her face.
Airam immediately looked away, refusing the intimacy, refusing the truth in his eyes, she just couldn't open herself up to feel anything.
Harry leaned in slowly, gently trying to kiss her, trying to bridge the impossible distance between them.
But she pulled away with every ounce of strength she had left. The rejection didn't anger him.
It broke him. He lowered his hands slowly, almost defeated, and stepped back.
For the first time that night, Harry Johnson… walked away. Quiet and heartbroken.
He did not leave, slamming the door, not arguing. Just leaving because forcing her now would hurt her even more.
Airam kept her back to him until she heard, and she felt the moment he was gone.
Silence.
Then her walls shattered.
Her breath came out in a sharp, painful sob. She pressed both hands to her mouth, but it only made the sobs louder. She stumbled toward the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped inside fully dressed.
The warm water hit her skin, mixing instantly with her tears.
For the first time in years, Airam cried like the child she once was, unloved, unwanted, abandoned.
For the first time in years, she cried for herself. And outside, behind the closed hotel door…
Harry stood with his forehead resting against the wood, breathing like a man who had lost the one thing he loved most.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Airam stepped out of the elevator, smoothing her dress, still exhausted from the previous night. Someone from the front desk had told her, "Ma'am, someone is asking to see you."
She agreed only because she thought it might be a client or colleague.
From the hotel bar, Harry lifted his drink and froze.
Airam.
He set the glass down immediately and followed her, keeping a careful distance.
Airam turned the corner into the lounge and then stopped dead.
Ahmed Maktoub. The brother, she didn't know until a few hours ago.
Her jaw tightened instantly. She turned to walk away.
"Sister, please..."
"I said don't call me that!" Airam snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "And we have nothing to talk about. Leave."
Ahmed swallowed and stepped forward nervously. "I know you're angry, Airam. But believe it or not, we are family. Our father is not perfect, but he is our father, and the best father we could ask for..."
That sentence hit her like a slap. Airam's eyes widened with disbelief… then fury.
"Look here, boy…" she said slowly, dangerously. "A misunderstanding?"
Ahmed's face tightened, but he stayed quiet. Airam took one step closer, her voice trembling with rage she had spent two decades swallowing.
"You stand there and tell me he is the best father you could ask for? Good for you. Good for you, Ahmed, that you knew the good side of him. That you grew up in a house filled with favor and acceptance."
Her voice cracked. "Because that is not the father I had." Ahmed looked confused but didn't interrupt.
"Your father was a good man, yes. Until I was born. Until the disappointment of me being a girl."
Her breaths were coming fast, her chest rising and falling with every memory she had fought to bury.
"Then things got worse. His business fell apart. He started drinking. Sleeping around. Beating my mother. Beating us."
She jabbed a finger at her own chest. "Beating me like the curse child that ruins his life." Ahmed's eyes widened in shock, but she wasn't done.
"And the final straw?" She laughed bitterly. "When he wanted to marry me off because some family wanted me. I was a child, and I was only six. The daughter he didn't want. Like a property."
Ahmed looked sick. "That," she said, stabbing the air with her words, "is the man you are calling the best father you could ask for."
Ahmed swallowed hard. "Airam… I...I didn't know... he is..."
"Of course you didn't know," she cut in harshly. "You grew up with his second chance. With his redemption. You lived in the house where he learned to be good again. You received the father I prayed for."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, raw and painful. "He was never that man for me."
Behind them, Harry stood silently near a pillar, hands clenched, eyes dark. Every word she spoke made his chest tighten.
He wanted to pull her away, protect her, hold her, but he didn't move.
He knew this pain wasn't his to interrupt. Airam stepped back from Ahmed, breathing hard.
"So don't come to me with 'misunderstanding,'" she said. "Don't try to defend him. And don't call me sister. Because you and I… we do not share the same childhood. And we do not share the same father."
Ahmed looked devastated, but Airam had nothing left to give. She turned around. And came face-to-face with Harry.
His eyes were soft, full of pain not for himself, but for her.
Airam froze. And the world went quiet.