Chapter 95

Ayleen sat stiffly on the terrace, her hands tugging nervously at her knuckles. The small space, framed by potted plants and a rusting metal railing, held a heavy silence. Across from her, Ibrahim Khan sat in the old lounge chair, a sad smile etched on his weary face.

“So, how have you been?” he finally asked, his voice breaking the silence like the first crack in fragile ice.

Ayleen paused, squaring her shoulders as she mentally filtered her response. “Just existing, you could say. How are you?”

Ibrahim gave a small nod, his smile fading. “You can see… still alive.”

Something about his tone tugged at her heart, prompting her to truly look at him for the first time. The Ibrahim Khan she remembered had been a pillar of strength, a man whose very presence exuded authority.

But the man sitting before her now was different. His once broad shoulders slouched slightly, and the sharpness in his features had softened into lines etched by stress and exhaustion.