7

Noor

It had been five days.

Five mornings of sitting on the floor beside Dawood.

Five afternoons of quiet meals, messy sketch sessions, and a few unexpected moments where he let his hand brush against mine without recoiling.

He still hadn’t said a single word to me.

But in his silence, I had begun to understand things I never would’ve believed.

Like how he tilted his head when I whispered Saleh’s name.

How he traced a stethoscope onto paper every time I mentioned doctor.

And today, for the first time, he touched my hair.

Not roughly.

Not curiously.

Just… lightly.

Like he was trying to see if it was real.

I froze, my hands stilling mid-sketch.

Then I slowly turned my face to him and whispered, “You’re really smart, you know that?”

He didn’t react.

But his foot tapped the ground once.

A cue.

That meant he liked it.

Bakhtiyar, who had been silently reading in the corner, looked up.

His gaze was unreadable. Intense.

He had been watching us more closely every day. Offering tea, fresh fruit, tiny advice like “Don’t give him the red crayon; it makes him agitated.”

Sometimes he’d just sit quietly, listening to our one-sided conversations.

Sometimes, when I’d forget myself and laugh softly at Dawood’s sketches, I’d catch Bakhtiyar staring.

Not in a lecherous way.

In a way that made me feel exposed. Seen. May be I am overthinking, he is just possesive for his brother around a stranger.

Today, when I reached for Dawood’s fallen sketchbook, our hands touched—mine and Bakhtiyar’s.

He didn’t pull away immediately.

His fingers brushed mine like a question.

I pulled back.

That evening, I helped Dawood put away his scattered crayons.

He was humming again—something tuneless, soft, but peaceful.

Bakhtiyar walked us to the front lawn where Dilan was speaking to someone on the phone, her eyes sharp but lips curved when she saw us.

Dawood clung to my scarf like a child with his favorite blanket.

“You can go rest in the blue room,” Bakhtiyar said quietly. I denied Saleh was waiting for me.

My eyes met his.

Concern.

Real.

Unhidden.

“Thank you,” I said, stepping away.

But just as I turned to go, I heard Dawood’s tiny, breathy voice.

He wasn’t looking at anyone. Just staring at the sky.

“tani Maa.”

The word shattered something in me.

I turned around.

Dilan froze.

Bakhtiyar stared at him in disbelief.

But Dawood wasn’t looking at me.

He was just… smiling at the clouds.

Still, my knees went weak.

Because that was the first word he had spoken in front of me after our first meet.

...

I knelt beside him on the floor, gently wiping his chin where the saliva had started to drip again. His thumb was tucked deep in his mouth, lips pursed tightly like he was hiding from the world behind it.

He looked up, eyes glassy but focused—on me. I smiled, trying to make my voice gentle.

“Dawood ... I have something to tell you.”

He blinked slowly, thumb still in his mouth.

I sighed inside. Twenty-eight years old and this habit—it made strangers uncomfortable. But more than that, it pained me. I wanted him to be seen for who he was, not mocked for how he looked.

I reached for his hand softly.

“Can we keep this here?” I said, lowering his hand from his mouth and pressing it gently to his chest. “Just for a while. I want to see your smile.”

He hesitated, lips quivering, then reluctantly let go. The skin around his mouth was red from pressure, damp with drool. I wiped it again.

Then I whispered, “You’re going to college.”

His entire face froze. Confused. Still. Then—

“Col... leg?” he repeated, voice slurred but excited.

“Yes, Dawood ,” I nodded, smiling through the ache in my chest. “Atatürk Medical College. The one you drew that big gate of, remember?” I picked up the old sketch he’d made. “You’re going. Soon.”

His lips parted, and for a moment I thought he might cry. But instead, he did something else—he squealed. A high, broken laugh that echoed through the room.

He clapped twice, fumbling with his phone.

“No no—wait—Tani maa ! Tani maa  ko bolna!” he stammered, scrolling and pressing her name with shaky fingers.

I tried to stop him. “Dawood, maybe later—”

But he was already calling.

He lit up, his whole face bursting into that lopsided, gummy grin that made the world seem gentler. He reached for the phone lying near the pillow, unlocked it with his thumbprint, and shakily dialed a number he had memorized like a prayer.

“Tani maa !” he shouted the moment she picked up, almost bouncing. “Tani maa , I go college now! Big college! Big big building! Doctor college!”

There was a pause. Then her voice—soft, full of love—came through the speaker.

“Really? My moon’s going to be a doctor?”

Dawood giggled, nodding furiously though she couldn’t see him.

“I wear bag! And shoes! And shirt with button!” he said proudly, then his face fell a little. “But Noor say no thumb…”

I quickly turned away to hide my smile.

Tani’s voice turned serious—but gentle. “She’s right, jaan. Doctors don’t suck thumbs. They fix them. Hmm?”

Dawood thought hard, then pressed his thumb against his lips one last time… and dropped it.

“Okay,” he whispered. “No thumb now. Promise.”

I reached for his hand and held it, squeezing it once.

And for that one second, in that little room that smelled of crayons and chai, he wasn’t just Dawood with his challenges.

He was Dawood, the boy who just promised to let go—because he was growing into the man he never thought he could be.

Tani ( still on call)

“Hello? Dawood? Mera bachha?

Dawood

He held the phone to his ear with both hands, still rocking.

“Taniii... Maa I college! Noor... say... me college go!”

His words melted together, barely sentences. But his joy—his joy was unmistakable.

I watched, heart tightening. This boy... this man... who sucked his thumb and drooled like a toddler,

He looked at me with wet eyes, a gummy grin spreading across his face.

“Noor say... thumb not good,” he added seriously into the phone, pointing at his chest like he was confessing. “Noor... clean dawood... teach dawood.”

I laughed—embarrassed and moved all at once.

He turned to me again, and before I could stop him, the thumb crept back into his mouth.

Maybe not today.

But soon.

....

Dilan

“Tum pagal ho gayi ho kya?”

Rubab’s voice echoed through the wide hallway, her heels clicking furiously behind me.

I kept walking toward my study. “Lower your voice. This isn’t your home rubs.”

“Oh really? Because it feels like a circus now. You hired a random girl off the street to live in this house with Dawood?”

I stopped.

Turned.

“She’s not random. She’s capable.”

“She’s poor. That’s what you mean. You saw sympathy in her face and now you want to turn her into Florence Nightingale?”

“She’s gentle. She doesn’t treat Dawood like a project,” I snapped.

Rubab folded her arms. “She’s a survivor. I get it. But that doesn’t mean you dump our nephew’s life on her shoulders like some kind of redemption mission.”

I felt heat rise in my throat. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why?” Rubab demanded, her voice lowering with exhaustion. “we  have money, Dilan. We could afford three therapists, a certified caretaker, even a behaviorist. Why Noor?”

I inhaled slowly.

“Because Dawood smiled at her.”

Rubab blinked. “So?”

“You haven’t seen him in years, Rubab. You don’t know what that smile cost him,” I said. “It took months to get him to make eye contact with a stranger. Noor walked in, and within ten minutes he gave her a sketch.”

Rubab sighed, her tone softening just a bit.

“And you trust that?”

“I trust him.”

There was a silence.

“She’s broken, Dilan.”

“So is he,” I said. “Maybe they’ll learn how to heal each other in ways the rest of us failed to.”

Rubab didn’t answer.

But I knew she wouldn’t win this argument.

Because Dawood had made a choice.

And for once, I was going to let him choose.

Rubab stepped forward, lowering her voice but sharpening her tone.

“You’re playing with fire, Dilan. He may be different… but he’s still a man. And Noor—she’s beautiful. You really think this is fair? You want to keep them under one roof with no boundaries? No protection?”

Dilan looked at her in disbelief.

“You think I don’t see that? You think I haven’t thought about it every single night since she came here?”

Rubab’s eyes darkened.

“I just don’t want another Neha Batra.”

The name hung in the air like poison.

Dilan’s jaw clenched.

“she was a bitch who used him, Rubab. Who took advantage of his innocence ,Don’t you dare compare Noor to her.”

Rubab’s voice cracked.

“I’m scared for him, Dilan. You don’t understand—what neha did, it destroyed him in ways none of us could undo. He stopped eating. Stopped speaking. Do you remember the seizure in the shower? Do you remember me holding him while he screamed like his skin was peeling off?”

Dilan swallowed hard, her hands curling into fists.

“Yes. I remember. And I also remember that none of us noticed in time what she was doing to him.”

Rubab shook her head.

“Noor is not a professional. She’s damaged, traumatized, God knows what she’s been through. I’m not saying she’s evil, Dilan. But she’s not safe. Not for him.”

“Neither is this life where he’s treated like a patient instead of a person,” Dilan shot back. “Noor sees him. Really sees him. Not like a ticking time bomb, not like a burden. When he spilled juice on her dress, she didn’t flinch. She just cleaned it and smiled.”

Rubab’s voice trembled, her last card thrown with raw desperation.

“And what happens when he starts… wanting things? Feeling things? You’re not just putting a girl in his Life—you’re giving him hope. And if she leaves…”

Dilan’s eyes turned ice-cold.

“Then we deal with it. But I won’t keep him numb just because we’re scared of what might happen if he feels.”

Rubab stared at her for a long second.

“You’re crossing lines, Dilan.”

Dilan leaned closer.

“No. I’m redrawing them.”

Rubab leaned against the doorframe of Dilan’s study, arms crossed tightly, her voice lower now—colder.

“Fine,” she said. “You won’t send her away. You won’t get a professional. You won’t listen to me.”

Dilan didn’t look up from the file she was pretending to read. “Correct.”

A beat.

Then Rubab said it.

“At least get them married.”

Dilan’s eyes snapped up.

Rubab stepped further in, shutting the door behind her.

“If you’re so confident in her character, and so trusting of his instincts—then do a nikah. A simple one. Quiet. Legal. So if… God forbid… anything ever happens—there’s no sin. No shame.”

Dilan stood up now, slow and tense.

“Is that what you’re worried about? That he’ll touch her one day and it won’t be halal?”

Rubab didn’t flinch. “I’m worried he’ll want to. And then either destroy himself with guilt… or ruin her life without even understanding what he’s done.”

There was silence. Only the clock ticking.

Dilan’s voice dropped. “You think he’ll hurt her.”

“I think he’s human,” Rubab said. “And I know what men are like when they’re not taught what to do with their desires. Noor is soft, gentle, beautiful—touchable. And he’s around her all day. He’s already calling her noor. He watches her like a child watches candy.”

Dilan clenched her jaw. “He’s not a predator.”

Rubab raised her hands. “I didn’t say that. But hormones don’t come with labels. And desire doesn’t care about IQ scores or mental delays. What if he wakes up one night and—”

“Enough,” Dilan snapped. Her voice trembled.

Rubab stepped back, letting her silence do the rest.

After a long pause, she added softly, “This is not about morality, Dilan. It’s about safety. Boundaries. Dignity. If you truly believe Noor belongs in his life… then make it right. Protect her. Protect him.”

And before Dilan could speak again, Rubab quietly opened the door and left, leaving behind a s

torm she knew had only begun to brew. she walked away, heels echoing powerfully through the marble floor, leaving Rubab in the silence of her fear.

But the argument wasn’t over.

Because this wasn’t just about Noor.

It was about the ghosts neither of them had buried.

---

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Show some love guys 🥺