Chapter 138: Her Dignity
Due to the continuous shivering of her legs, it was becoming harder and harder for her to
walk. She was about to trip many times, but she didn't want to embarrass herself in front of
others.
They reached the steps of the stairs, and she got nervous that she had to climb all these
stairs with these weak legs. Yet she put up her best, tightly holding the railing and climbed
upstairs, while everyone else, which included that woman and two bodyguards, climbed the
stairs with little to no effort.
She was breathless as she stepped on the ground again. Her head was feeling light already
with this minimal physical activity. Her face was getting hotter, as if she had run a
marathon.
The woman, meanwhile, inserted a code in a metallic door, and it opened as she followed
her out of the basement area. She came across a room that looked more like a store, and the
door disappeared as soon as they were out. She followed that woman out of the store, and
some stairs again came in front of her eyes.
She wanted to say that she did not have the energy to climb more, but they were already a
step ahead of her, so she tried following them to the end. From the ground floor, they were
now on the first floor.
She wondered how huge and enormous this place was. She was aware that this wasn't
Shehryaar's mansion; rather, the residence was located on the outskirts of a city, as
appeared from the large windows and the traditional interior of the abode.
"We apologize, madam. You just have to walk a little more. Your room is upstairs."
She gulped, and this time she felt the dryness of her parched throat. It felt as though
somebody had deeply pierced needles in the inner wall of her throat and extracted all the
saliva out of her mouth.
"I-I will f-follow you," her response was subtle and meek as the woman ordered the guards
that they could go now and stepped on the stairs while Sheharzaad followed her. Suddenly,
her head began to feel dizzy. The sound of her wild heartbeat magnified in her ears as the
quivering of her legs intensified. Her hands around the railing tightened as she stopped in
the middle of the staircase and held the railing with both her hands. Her limbs were weak,
so her hold on the railing wasn't tight either, as she began to fall backward without realizing
it, given the sudden dizziness hitting her. She was quick to deduce that she was about to fall,
so she sat down on the stairs, holding her head tightly.
"I can't walk," she whispered to herself with half-opened eyes. Her head was feeling too
dizzy.
It was when a palm came in front of her vision, the thumb of which cladded a ring. Her eyes
slowly moved up, only to get goosebumps rocking her body, making her eyes open wide.
She immediately tried standing up, but she fell again. Yet before the ground could hit her,
she found herself in his strong arms, holding her as they both stared into each other's eyes.
It felt like a crime to even stare directly into his eyes, so she looked down when he slid his
other hand underneath her knees and held her bridal style.
He wasn't in his usual jeans and shirt; rather, he was clad in a white shalwar-kameez and a
brown shawl laid on his shoulders. He looked subtle, soft, an angel. Like he had never laid
his hand on anyone. But Sheharzaad knew better.
Better than anyone.
In order not to fall down, she fisted the shirt around his chest tightly, like an infant would
roll his tiny digits around an elder's finger. As he carried her upstairs, she found herself
going breathless given their close proximity. Her rapid, short breaths fell on his neck as her
eyes were down, staring at her hand that had tightly fisted his shirt.
They at last reached the room when he put her down on her feet. Her position dwindled
when he held her arm to support her.
He turned her head towards him, looking at her face.
"I need an answer next time when I ask you," he told as they both entered the room.
...
The anxiety.
The depression.
And the fear of facing him again, which was mounting within her heart, was suppressed as
her hands rose to make dua'a after her namaz.
After taking a long shower, she had wrapped a white shawl around her to offer her prayer,
and now came the time to ask her Lord.
There were so many emotions within her. Her tongue had ceased to put up any words on
her lips. She was tongue-tied in that moment.
Only her throat hiccupped as a tear fell down her eye, falling on her palms.
She hadn't faced a situation like this before ever. She remembered the previous times—no
matter how hard the circumstances would become, she would always have something to
say, something to speak, to talk to her Allah.
But this time... it was so different.
There were no words.
Nothing.
Just pure tears.
Even when she tried moving her lips, no word would come out—just small tears. And she
got along with the flow. She didn't say anything. She didn't let a word out of her mouth. Only
her eyes let out the tears.
Ceaseless tears.
Small sniffles.
Hiccups...
"My dignity," she at last uttered the first word, "m-m-my respect... I don't want to ruin it,"
she tried to speak when her small hiccups had ceased.
(My dignity, don't let anyone ruin it. I can't accept someone touching me without my
permission. I just ask for one thing today—I'm offering prayers after a long time, just like
this prayer. I don't want to be anyone's—I don't want to sign that contract. I don't have the
power. In that prison, I used to wish to offer prayers, wish desperately, oh Allah. I don't
know how much time I have spent in that jail. Or maybe I have to go back in there again. I
can't do this anymore. I can't. Please save me from that contract. But what should I do?
What should I do? What should I do? I just don't want to sign that contract. Save me from it.
What should I do...)
She prayed with her heart and soul.
And then she began to cry helplessly as the thought of that contract again hit her. She didn't
realize when she had put her head on the prayer mat and when the tears had stopped
flowing and when she had dozed off.
Unaware of that someone listening to her pleas.