ð•ð€ð’ð‹: وصال
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وصال
ð‘‰ð‘Žð‘ ð‘™ ð‘˜ð‘– ð‘Ÿð‘Žð‘Žð’‰ ð‘šð‘’ð‘–ð‘› ð’‰ð‘–ð‘—𑟠ð‘˜ð‘Ž ð‘‘ð‘Žð‘Ÿð‘–ð‘¦ð‘Ž ð‘¡ð’‰ð‘Ž,
ð»ð‘Žð‘Ÿ ð‘˜ð‘Žð‘‘ð‘Žð‘š ð‘ð‘Žð‘Ÿ ð‘ð‘Žð‘ ð‘–ð‘›ð‘¡ð‘’ð‘§ð‘Žð‘Žð‘Ÿ ð‘˜ð‘Ž ð‘ ð‘Žð‘Žð‘¦ð‘Ž ð‘¡ð’‰ð‘Ž.
Two individuals, tied in the sacred bond of nikah before they even understood what it meant.
But then again-who has ever stood victorious against fate?
Years of silence. Years of resentment. Then finally, a decision was made-one that neither of them chose, yet both were bound to live with.
Zayrah Bukhari never imagined that life would bring her to a crossroad where she'd begin to question her own existence.
She didn't love him. But neither did she hate him.
And somewhere between that fragile line, she never even realised- when did she start praying for his heart to soften?
When did she begin hoping that maybe he could be more than the shadow he lived in?
Azmir Sultan-he had everything. Power, wealth, control. Everything except peace.
He was taught how to pull a trigger at thirteen. He learned silence before he ever learned love. And by the time he understood emotions, his heart had already been taught not to feel.
But hearts are traitors-they remember what the mind forgets. And hers? Hers didn't touch him with affection, it touched him with dua.
She never asked him to love-she asked Allah to guide.
And somewhere between the weight of his sins
and the light of her patience, Azmir Sultan began to unravel-
not for her but because of her.
For the first time, he looked at peace- not as a luxury,
but as something worth bleeding for. And maybe, just maybe, in her silence, he finally heard the call, his soul had been running from all along.