*Chapter 2: Two Stories*
Before Dawn
At exactly 4:00 AM, Zeenat Muhammad was already awake. She moved quickly, slipping into the bathroom to take her bath and perform ablution. As always, she began her day with nafilah prayers, whispering her supplications in the stillness of the early morning.
After that, she set to work. The house needed cleaning—at least the parts she was allowed to touch. She carefully avoided the bedrooms of the family members, knowing better than to cross that boundary. By the time she was done, she moved straight to the kitchen, preparing the morning dishes before stopping for Fajr prayer.
This was Zeenat's routine. It had been for as long as she could remember. At just twenty years old, she carried the weight of responsibility in a house that never truly felt like home. Ever since her mother left, this was how life had been.
It was easier when her brother was around. He never let her overwork herself—either stopping her or helping when he could. But it had been a week since he left for work, and she was alone again. He had asked her countless times to come with him, but she always refused. I can manage, she had assured him.
Now, as she packed her food for the day, she quietly placed meals on the dining table for her stepmother, Mrs. Raliya 46, and her stepbrother, Umar 27.
But instead of appreciation, all she received were sharp glares from her stepmother and stepbrother. Zeenat met their gazes briefly before lowering her eyes. She had long learned that no matter how much she did, it would never be enough for them.
So, Zeenat had long stopped expecting kindness from them.
Zeenat adjusted her niqab over her black jilbab, the dark fabric flowing effortlessly around her. The contrast against her light skin made her features stand out even more.
She turned toward the door, ready to leave, when her stepmother's voice stopped her cold.
"You won't be going to work today," Mrs. Raliya announced.
Zeenat paused, gripping the strap of her bag. She had long known her stepmother disapproved of her working—anything that deprived her of independence seemed to bring the woman satisfaction. But today, there was something different in her tone.
"Why, ma?" Zeenat asked, turning to face her.
Mrs. Raliya smirked slightly, arms crossed in victory. "Because Haider is coming today. He wants to finalize your marriage as soon as possible."
Zeenat's stomach twisted.
She should have left with her brother. She had thought staying back was the right choice—she didn't want to trouble him, didn't want to take a break from work. She had convinced herself she could handle things on her own.
But now, she regretted it.
Since her brother's departure, Haider had been coming almost every day, despite her clear refusals. She had told him she wasn't interested. She had made it clear she didn't want to see him again. But he didn't care. And neither did her stepmother, who had been pushing this marriage for over a month now.
Zeenat never knew exactly why.
Haider wasn't a decent man. And Mrs. Raliya knew it. Yet, she was determined to see this wedding happen.
Zeenat's pulse quickened. She was running out of time.
"I told you, I don't want to marry him," she said, her voice steady but firm.
Mrs. Raliya's expression darkened. "That's not your decision to make. Your brother isn't here to protect you anymore."
Nowhere to Run
So that was it.
They thought they could do anything to her just because her brother wasn't around.
Zeenat turned sharply, heading for the door. She had tolerated years of mistreatment, swallowed every insult, and endured every cruelty—but this? This was where she drew the line.
She couldn't stay in this house anymore. Not until her brother returned.
Just as she reached for the handle, a firm grip yanked her back.
She gasped as she was spun around, her heart hammering in her chest.
"Where do you think you're going?" Umar's voice was cold, laced with mockery. "You don't have a choice, sister."
Zeenat's stomach tightened.
Behind him, Mrs. Raliya folded her arms, shaking her head in disbelief. "Did this girl just try to rebel against me today?" she asked, stunned.
Umar smirked. "Looks like we're about to make Haider the happiest man today, Mom." He turned his gaze back to Zeenat, his grip tightening. "In fact, the marriage is happening today."
Zeenat's breath hitched.
No!.
She wasn't just being forced—this was a transaction. And now, she was sure of it. They had something to gain from Haider. That rich, spoiled, arrogant brat who treated even them like his servants.
"Let me go!" Zeenat struggled, desperately trying to break free from Umar's grasp.
But his grip was like iron.
She needed to get out. To run. To escape.
But where?
And how?
Zeenat acted on instinct. She bit into Umar's hand with all her strength.
"Ahh!" He yelped, jerking away in pain.
She staggered back, about to hit the ground—when a strong grip caught her.
Her breath hitched. She looked up.
Zayd.
Her 31-year-old brother. Her protector.
Relief washed over her, but only for a moment.
Zayd quickly steadied her, his grip firm. Then, his gaze lifted to Umar, sharp and dangerous. A silent warning.
Umar stiffened under his glare, but Zayd, as always, said nothing.
He didn't punish Umar. He didn't confront their stepmother. He only held Zeenat's hand and walked out with her, his silence as heavy as ever.
Zayd had always obeyed his father's dying words: "Don't let this house fall apart. Take care of everyone. Respect everyone." His father never wanted him to live apart from the family or leave the house behind.
But that obedience had always come at the expense of his sister. There were countless times when Zayd had thought about leaving with her—taking Zeenat somewhere far from the suffocating environment they lived in. Yet, his father's final wish always held him back, making him hesitate year after year.
And, How long will I keep choosing loyalty over her peace? Zayd wondered, the weight of that unspoken promise pressing heavily on his chest.
Sometimes, Zayd had spoken up. But never enough to change anything.
And staying together hadn't helped at all. Only Allah knows if those two would ever change.
As they reached the car, his voice broke the silence. "I'm sorry, Zeenat, for not being here with you."
"No problem, brother," Zeenat assured him with a soft smile. "Welcome back."
"Thank you, my dear. Now, let me take you to work," Zayd said as he unlocked the car.
They both worked at the same company, but she hadn't expected him back today. He'd told her it would be a two-week trip.
"You finished early?" she asked as she fastened her seatbelt.
"I did," Zayd replied, starting the engine. "I worked in haste just to come back to you."
Her smile faltered as she looked down at her lap. It had been horrible without him. The house had become suffocating, and fear had settled in her chest every single day. But now, with Zayd beside her, she finally felt a glimmer of relief.
After a few minutes of silence, Zayd's voice broke through her thoughts.
"I promise you, Zeenat. No one will marry you off against your will. Not while I'm here, insha Allah."
She gave a small nod but said nothing. Relief washed over her.
Zayd cleared his throat. "But currently… don't you have someone decent in your life?"
He wasn't sure why the question slipped out, but a part of him wondered if marrying his sister off to a decent man might finally ease the burden he carried.
Zeenat turned to look out the window, her fingers tightening around the edge of her hijab. "No," she answered softly.
He didn't press further. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the road, his jaw tightening slightly.
Zeenat leaned back in her seat, her thoughts drifting.
She had met many suitors over the years. Some seemed genuine, others less so. But for some reason, it never worked out. They came into her life, stayed for a while, then left—without explanation, without closure.
Allah knows why, she thought as the car moved steadily through the streets.
The drive to the office was quiet, with Zeenat keeping her eyes on the passing streets, trying to push away the tension from earlier.
By 7:30 a.m., they arrived at Ahmed Global Enterprises, a towering structure of glass and steel that reflected the morning sun. The company, founded by Mr. Abbas Ahmed, specialized in real estate development and international trade, with a reputation for excellence across the country.
She thought her brother would drop her off and leave, but to her surprise, he parked the car and stepped out alongside her.
"I need to make a quick report," Zayd said as he adjusted his cufflinks.
As usual, Zeenat removed her niqab and tucked it into her bag before heading toward her office, in line with the office laws.
Heads turned as she entered.
Only if I could also wear my niqab here as well, she thought.
She walked past several colleagues, ignoring the mix of admiring, curious, and resentful stares that followed her every move.
She was a beauty with both grace and brains.
On top of Zeenat's striking good looks, she had initially joined the company to complete her service year. However, due to her brilliance and unwavering commitment, she was retained as a permanent staff member. Punctual, hardworking, and meticulous, Zeenat was known for giving her best in every task. This dedication earned her admiration from some and envy from others.
Meanwhile, Zayd took a different path toward his office.
Just like Zeenat, Zayd had the same effect on people. The difference was that no one dared to stare at him openly, given his position as part of the management team. His posture was confident and composed as ever, commanding silent respect with each step he took.
____
That Evening
Zayd sat opposite Mr. Abbas Ahmed in his office, his expression calm but curious.
Earlier, the company had held a meeting where Zayd and his project team presented their final report, officially concluding their latest project. After the meeting, Mr. Abbas asked him to follow him to his office.
Now, Zayd listened as Mr. Abbas showered him with praise and blessings, though he felt uncomfortable with the attention.
Zayd had been working with Mr. Abbas for the past eight years, contributing significantly to the company's growth with his skills and dedication. He was one of the most trusted employees—someone who valued quality work over excessive profit. Because of this, Mr. Abbas often entrusted him with the company's most critical projects.
But this time, the reason for the meeting wasn't just to praise him.
"Do you have someone in your life? Someone you intend to marry?" Mr. Abbas Ahmed asked bluntly, trying to find the right words.
He already knew Zayd wasn't married—his records at the company confirmed that much. And this question had been on Mr. Abbas's mind for the past few years.
"No," Zayd replied, his brows furrowed in confusion. He had no idea why Mr. Abbas would ask such a personal question out of the blue.
Mr. Abbas felt a wave of relief. He opened his mouth to continue when a knock at the door interrupted him.
"Come in," he called, already guessing who it might be.
The door opened, and Zeenat walked in, carrying a tray with a steaming cup of tea.
"I'm sorry for interrupting you, sir," she apologized softly.
"No, you don't have to apologize. And beside,I was the one who called you," Mr. Abbas responded with a warm smile.
She greeted him respectfully, and he answered with the same warmth before she carefully placed the cup on his desk.
He took a sip. "Your tea tastes even better today, Zeenat."
Zeenat had been making tea for Mr. Abbas ever since the day he showed up at the office with a sore throat. Her brother had mentioned his discomfort, and she had taken it upon herself to prepare a soothing tea. Mr. Abbas had enjoyed it so much that he continued requesting her tea long after his throat had healed. And with his kindness and appreciation, Zeenat never grew tired of the task.
Mr. Abbas wanted to speak with Zayd and Zeenat privately, but it was already late. He leaned back in his chair, deciding it was best to wait until the next day.
"Zeenat, I wanted to talk to you about something," he said kindly. "But I think it's late now. Insha Allah, we'll discuss it tomorrow morning." Mr Abbas said trying to dismissed her kindly, so he could talk to Zayd and not keep her waiting.
"Alright, sir," Zeenat responded respectfully, preparing to leave.
Just as she turned toward the door, Zayd stopped her.
"Wait, Zeenat." He reached into his pocket and handed her his car keys. "Since it's already late, you don't have to wait for me. I think you should go home now."
Zeenat gave a small nod of understanding and took the keys from him.
Mr. Abbas's gaze followed the interaction, his curiosity growing.
"Do you know her?" he asked, his tone laced with surprise.
"Yes, she's my sister," Zayd replied simply. He could keep secrets from others, but not from Mr. Abbas.
Mr. Abbas's brows lifted slightly. No one in the company knew about their relationship. Zeenat had insisted on keeping it that way—she didn't want to build her career under the shadow of her brother's success. She was determined to carve her own path and earn recognition for her own work.
While Zayd was known as Zayd Muhammad, his sister went by the name Zeenat M. Ibrahim. The difference in surnames had kept their relationship hidden until now.
So, they're siblings... Mr. Abbas thought, his brows lifting slightly in surprise.
This just made things easier for me. How did I not know all this time? No wonder they were both exceptional at their jobs—dedicated, disciplined, and brilliant. If only their parents were around—they would have been so proud of how their children turned out, Mr. Abbas thought.
He had found out about their parents when he once planned to visit Zayd's family to commend his outstanding work. That day, Zayd had quietly informed him that his father had passed away and his mother had been missing for years. The weight of that revelation had stayed with Mr. Abbas ever since.
"Since he's your brother, I think you should stay," Mr. Abbas said, his tone light and pleasant, though his heart was racing. He prayed they would accept his offer; it wasn't going to be an easy conversation. "I want to talk to both of you."
Zeenat hesitated for a moment, then quietly moved to sit beside Zayd, across from Mr. Abbas. Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her handbag as nervous curiosity swirled in her chest.
What could he possibly want to talk to us about? she wondered.
Just like earlier, Mr. Abbas repeated the question he'd asked Zayd.
"Zeenat, do you have someone in your life? Someone you're considering for marriage?"
Zeenat's head snapped up, her eyes widening in shock.
The question caught her completely off guard.
Even Zayd, who had thought nothing could surprise him after so many years at the company, turned to Mr. Abbas with raised brows.
Zeenat swallowed and lowered her gaze. Her cheeks flushed as she shook her head nervously. "No... I don't," she answered softly.
Mr. Abbas felt a wave of relief wash over him.
It had been three months since he last spoke to his children about marriage. They hadn't acted or said anything about it, probably assuming that his silence meant he had forgotten. In fact, they had even gone back to the US to stay with their mother again.
But now, Mr. Abbas knew it was time to act instead of talk. He believed that having these two individuals stay close to his children might help them reconnect with their roots—and perhaps even unlearn the corrupted mindset they had adopted. He had been praying about this decision for months, hoping it was the answer he had been seeking.
His biggest challenge now was whether the two people sitting before him would agree. But he had prayed about that, too.
"I would like to propose a marriage to both of you," Mr. Abbas said, his voice steady as he broke the silence.