CHAPTER THREE
Pain flared through my body from his grip, but I did not stop staring at this Aghazada (nobleman). I watched him so that I would remember; I watched to water the buried seeds of hatred.
Let it sprout, I thought, even at the cost of my own decline and the destruction of my dreams.
I watched him intently as his face turned a deep crimson with rage. He finally broke the reigning silence, speaking through gritted teeth with a voice like a snarling tiger.
"One more time—just one more time—use that ridiculous word 'Sir,' and I will not be held responsible for what happens next, you stupid girl!"
Still in shock from Ryan's outburst, I had no choice but to stare.
"Look at me! Do not play games with me; the price will be heavy. You know well that my cup of patience is very small... very small!"
"Are you... are you even human?" I finally managed to whisper. "Masih has nothing to do with this. You cannot blame him for my insolence!"
The pressure on my arms eased. Ryan slowly returned to his composed self, addressing me with a sudden, melodic sweetness that felt entirely out of place.
"Of course he has nothing to do with you. You have no connection to him at all... right?"
"Why won't you just be honest about your goal?" I demanded. "Why have you trapped me in this corner of the palace to play these games? What difference does it make if I call you 'Sir' or something else? Do you think my words can change this class divide? No—tell me, what are you trying to prove? That you see me as a little sister and haven't forgotten me? Or that I was once a tool to escape your loneliness, and now you want to be kind to me out of pity?"
I stepped closer. "But do you know what? I have forgotten you. Everything was beautiful only because we were children. Now, everything is different. I only want to live within my own boundaries. I hold no grudge against you—just stay away from me. That is all!"
Ryan's lip curled into a crooked smile. "Aside from all those questions... when did my little Yas grow so much? You used to be so cheerful and innocent. Do you remember how you used to force me to smile with just a flick of your fingers when I was angry?"
He continued, his voice dropping. "Even my father accepted that you were essential for my happiness. Despite his disapproval, he brought your things into my room alongside Israr and Isar's. You remember that, don't you?"
The distance between us was suffocatingly small. Why couldn't he understand that I wasn't his "little Yas" anymore? I tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let me move even a centimeter.
"What do these memories have to do with what I said?"
Ryan laughed, his voice turning firm. "They are the perfect introduction to your answers. Most importantly: you were never like a little sister to me, and you never will be. I do not accept this class divide. Why do you insist on diving into this black sea just to drown yourself?"
His eyes searched mine. "What has happened in these ten years to make you so hard and complex? I only returned to Afghanistan every two years for a few weeks because of you. My father and brothers came to visit me every six months, but you were my only reason for coming back here. I've been back for one week, and you torture me as if you've caught an infidel. Yas, I am not a pagan that you need to convert through misery..."
He paused, then asked, "What changed so suddenly four years ago? I was restless for you, but the moment I arrived, my image of you was destroyed. I expected you to embrace me with joy; instead, you refused to see me for days, and then that cursed word 'Sir' became your mantra. I don't want to be your 'Sir.' I am your Ryan—against the whole world and all the aristocrats!"
I gave a bitter, mocking laugh. "What are you trying to prove? Put these delusions aside and look at the reality around you."
Ryan smiled gracefully. "Why search for meaning in all this emptiness? Look within yourself, Yas. Your 'lost' self is missing from your own heart, not from your surroundings."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"So that you'll put your stubbornness aside and stop hurting me. Look at what you've driven me to—at my age, I have to block your path like a bandit just to talk to you. Stop this game, Mon Coeur (My Heart)."
I couldn't accept his words. He wasn't my Ryan; he was just a nobleman. And I wasn't his Yas. Why did he keep attaching that possessive 'my' to my name? I hadn't seen him in four years, and though I had spent every year waiting for him, he hadn't come. His absence had turned my heart to stone.
"Let me go," I said firmly. "I don't want to be the gossip of this palace. I don't understand why I should matter to you. If you won't accept me as a sister, then you offer the title of friend or companion—but I don't want it!"
He watched me with that enchanting smile. Suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. I froze like a lifeless corpse. The struggle left my body.
"Yas, you don't know how much I missed you," he whispered. "You are still as small and delicate as before."
The heat of that kiss burned on my skin. The basement no longer felt cold; an extraordinary warmth flooded this purgatory, but it was a heat I wasn't used to—a heat that scorched.
"Let me go!"
The words came with a sudden surge of energy. I broke free from his hold and fled that "hell" at the speed of light. I dashed up the stairs, my breath ragged, until I reached the safety of the kitchen.
"Yas! Are you okay?" my mother asked. "How many times must I tell you not to run up those stairs? You'll kill yourself one day!"
I forced myself to stay calm. "Mother, the kitchen is on the first floor, not the third. The stairs aren't that long."
"Put your laundry away and then help with the salad," she instructed.
I hurried to the washroom, my heart still pounding. I was truly terrified of this "wild" nobleman. He was not the Ryan of ten years ago.
I returned to help Sophia with the salads. We worked in silence. Later, Masih entered to announce that the guests had arrived.
"Seven guests," Masih reported. "They want saffron tea."
"Squirrel," Masih whispered to me, "don't you want to put poison in the tea of these aristocrats? I'll help you."
"Why? Do you think I'm a murderer, Polar Bear?" I retorted.
After a brief, playful argument with Masih and a gentle scolding from my mother, I asked to go find my father in the garden. My mother agreed, telling me to return via the third-floor entrance and check the small kitchen there for dirty dishes.
I found my father on a bench in the grass and hugged him from behind.
"Where have you been all day?"
"Yas, there are guests, daughter," he laughed. "We'll talk later."
After a brief, loving moment with him, I headed back toward the palace. The architecture was strange—the third floor was connected to the lawn by a decorative staircase, allowing someone to enter the upper floor directly.
As I entered the third floor, a muffled, strange sound reached my ears. I froze. Was it an illusion? No. The sound repeated—a rhythmic, agonizing echo.
I detoured away from the small kitchen and moved toward the guest rooms reserved for "special" visitors. With every step, the sound of heavy breathing and faint groans grew louder. It sounded like someone in deep pain... or perhaps someone lost in a drunken stupor.
Yas, this curiosity will cost you your head one day, a voice in my mind warned.
I ignored it. Trembling, I reached for the handle of the first door. There was no turning back. I pushed it open.
My breath stopped. My pupils dilated, fixed on the horror before me. The scene draped the room in a terrifying atmosphere. It was so gruesome, so shocking, that my body began to convulse with a strange tremor.
"My God..."