Raha's gaze lingered on the photograph. Who was this stranger with piercing brown eyes? His warm smile seemed to hold a thousand secrets.
"Mom, who's this?" Raha asked, holding up the picture.
Amal's expression turned guarded, her voice hesitant. "Just an old friend, dear. Don't worry about it."
Raha's instincts screamed otherwise. She sensed a deep connection to this man, as if his eyes held the key to unlocking her memories.
That night, Raha's dreams were filled with fragmented images:
A warm smile.
Soft whispers.
The scent of oud.
She woke up with a start, her heart racing.
"Mom, I remember something," Raha exclaimed.
Amal rushed to her side, her face etched with concern. "What is it, dear?"
Raha's voice trembled. "A voice...calling my name."
Amal's eyes darted nervously. "That's just your imagination, Raha."
But Raha knew. This voice was real.
And it belonged to the stranger in the photograph.
Raha's determination grew. She would uncover the truth about her past and this mysterious man.
The next day, Raha began her physical therapy, struggling to regain her strength. Her mind wandered, conjuring images of the stranger.
"Who are you?" she whispered, staring at the photograph.
As she exercised, Raha noticed a faint scar on her left hand. How did she get it?
Memories teased her, just out of reach.
That evening, Raha's parents sat beside her, their faces somber.
"Raha, we need to discuss your rehabilitation," Hassan said.
Raha's heart sank. Were they hiding something?
"What is it, Dad?"
"We've arranged for you to stay with your aunt in the countryside," Amal said.
Raha's eyes widened. "Why?"
"It's for your own good, dear," Hassan replied.
Raha sensed a hidden motive. Were they trying to keep her away from something...or someone?
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