What does your heart hide
I was surprised to find no strangers—or guests—waiting at my apartment door. My father's bodyguards stood to the side, clearing the path as I made my way home. With the cake box in one hand, I fumbled for my keys with the other, confusion creeping in. Why had my father told me to expect visitors when there were none? He was not one to joke, always a man of his word.
The key clicked, and as I opened the door, a familiar figure greeted me, comfortably seated on the sofa, watching the news.
"Kais?" I called out, setting the cake on the kitchen counter. He turned towards me with that unmistakable grin.
He wasn't supposed to be here. "Weren't you supposed to be interviewing someone abroad?" I asked, pulling the cake from the box and placing it on the dining table. His eyes brightened at the sight of the cake, and he sprang up to inspect it.
"I am interviewing someone," he replied, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, and I used the spare key that you keep under the rug."
Kais was a man who possessed strikingly sharp features: a chiselled jawline, high cheekbones, and piercing eyes that seemed to dance with a hint of mischief. His well-defined physique speaks of regular workouts and disciplined training, with a muscular build that is both impressive and agile. His movements are confident and smooth, often punctuated by a knowing smirk or a playful glint in his eye, suggesting a personality that enjoys a good-natured prank or lighthearted jest. His overall appearance combines an air of both sophistication and youthful exuberance. His dark brown hair is thick and tousled, with a natural wave that adds to his effortlessly charming look. It's neatly styled, but with a relaxed, slightly tousled quality that enhances his mischievous demeanour. The rich hue catches the light subtly, giving his hair a deep, glossy sheen that frames his face perfectly.I tilted my head, waiting for an explanation. But instead of elaborating, he waved me off. "Oh, come on, Aubrey. Let me try the cake first." Just as he reached for a slice, I slapped his hand away.
"Not a chance. I'm expecting someone," I said, and he only smiled wider.
"What if I'm the guest?" He chuckled, slapping me on the back.
I paused, realization dawning on me. "You… you're the guest?"
He nodded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"You're here to interview me?" I asked, bewildered.
Another nod. It hit me then—my father had arranged for my wife's brother to interview me about her. The weight of it settled in, and if looks could kill, Idrees would have dropped right there. But he just sat across from me, calmly eating his fifth slice of cake, completely unfazed by the daggers I was shooting his way.
I tapped my fingers on the arm of the sofa, waiting for him to finish. "How do you stay in shape when you eat so much?"
"Are you calling me fat?" he asked, feigning offence.
I shrugged. "You said it, not me." His mock indignation vanished, replaced by a smirk. After wiping his hands and adjusting his clothes, he set up a camera in the living room and positioned a pen and paper on the coffee table.
Between bites of cake, Kais explained that the interview could help boost my career, spreading Ayah's story across the world. He worked for a major corporation, one that focused on political and entertainment news with a massive audience. He had a point—my painting had yet to gain much recognition, and the exposure could be invaluable. But I knew there was more to it. For him, this was personal. He wanted to hear the story of Ayah and me, how we fell in love, how we lost her.
"I get why you're passionate about this," I said, "but you're not interviewing me right now, are you?"
He grinned, leaning back. "I leave in one week, Aubrey. You've got a lot to say, so let's not waste time."
I sighed, knowing full well how relentless the Ferdous family could be. "That's a short trip."
He shrugged. "I know. But we can't avoid this, can we? Let's start. Skip any questions you're not comfortable answering."
I couldn't help but laugh at his attempt to make it sound casual. But beneath the surface, I felt a twinge of anxiety. This wasn't just any interview. This was about her. About us. And that was a wound that hadn't healed.
Kais shuffled through his papers, glancing at the questions scribbled across them. "These are stupid," he muttered, tossing them aside.
I picked them up and skimmed through. The questions were typical, the same ones I'd been asked before. Kais was unimpressed. He started pacing, growing more frustrated by the minute.
"I can't work with this," he huffed. I was too tired to argue, so I got up and headed towards my bedroom.
"Call me when you're ready," I said, feeling the weight of the day settles into my bones.
The quiet of my bedroom wrapped around me as I shut the door behind me, a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the outside world. Here, in this stillness, I could let my guard down. I could breathe.
I stood in front of my old study desk, the lamp dimly flickering to life. The desk had once been my sanctuary, a place where I composed rhythms, not just of music but of life, love, and death. Each note I wrote seemed to carry the weight of witnessing someone slip away, leaving behind an ache that time could not erase. I could still see Alex's smile, and feel the sting of the tears in his eyes the day I lost him.
There were so many unanswered questions. *Why?* That was the one that haunted me the most. Why had he done it? What had happened to the lively, vibrant person I knew? Had the idea of suicide always lingered in his mind, or had someone else planted that seed? If only he had shared his pain… or if only I had asked. *Alex, how does your soul feel?* The words never came. Instead, Michael and I had told him to tough it out, that things would get better if he just stayed strong. We never permitted him to be weak, to be human.
Someone once told me that in chasing happiness, we inevitably stumble into sadness. Life isn't meant to be purely sweet or bitter; it's a balance. And misery, our constant companion, reminds us to reflect on the things we might otherwise ignore. Without that reflection, we lose ourselves. Joy and sorrow are two sides of the same coin, and sometimes, they come hand in hand.
In our pursuit of happiness, we forget about death—the only certainty in life. Everything else—wealth, fame, friends—is fleeting. So why do we run after them? Why do we forget to be grateful for even the smallest blessings, like the ability to think, to cry, to scream? We treat sadness like an enemy and happiness like a friend, but both are needed. One cannot exist without the other.
If only I had shared these thoughts with Alex. Perhaps things would have been different. But we don't own our souls, and neither you nor I have the right to destroy them.
The door swung open, and Idrees barged in, his face beaming. "I've got it!" he announced, breaking my train of thought.
I rolled my eyes. "Ever heard of knocking?"
He ignored me, too excited to care. "I know what to ask. I'm going to ask you about the truth of your heart."
His pride was almost comical, but I couldn't help but feel intrigued. I hadn't asked myself about the state of my heart in seven years. I'd been too afraid of what the answer might be—regret, sorrow, or something I couldn't yet face.
"The truth of my heart," I murmured as if saying it aloud would somehow unlock the answer.
Idrees stood tall, looking every bit the determined interviewer. The Ferdous family loved their praise, but this question... this one was different. It struck deep.
And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to face it.