Echoes of Memory
by @mimsqueen
— Flashback — Two Months After His Recovery
The evening sun bled gold through the mansion’s glass windows. The Abdur-Rauf estate looked peaceful from the outside, but inside, peace was a performance.
In the living room, Lamia sat cross-legged on the velvet couch, flipping through a bridal magazine she wasn’t really reading. Now and then, her eyes lifted toward Ajeed, who stood by the piano, staring at the keys without playing.
“You used to play,” she said softly, breaking the silence.
He glanced at her. “Did I?”
She smiled, patient. “Before the accident. You were… romantic, sometimes annoying, but always kind.”
He nodded slowly. “That doesn’t sound like me, gaskiya.”
Her smile faltered. “You don’t remember anything at all?”
He pressed one key. The sound echoed faintly, hollow. “Just pieces. Mostly faces I can’t place. Voices I don’t recognize.”
“Not even mine?” she asked, stepping closer.
He hesitated. “I’m trying, Insha Allahu, very soon. I will.”
The answer cut through her like a paper blade.
She forced a laugh. “Well, we’ll make new memories, won’t we? Fresh ones.”
But when she reached to touch his shoulder, he flinched subtly, but enough for her to notice. He covered it with a polite smile. “I just need time.”
“You’ve had two months,” she said before she could stop herself.
He turned to her, eyes steady, unreadable. “Then maybe I need more than just that.”
From the top of the staircase, Haj. Rakiya watched, her expression carefully composed. She could sense the growing distance between them, but to her, distance didn’t matter — control did.
As long as Lamia stayed close, the past would stay buried.
— Zaya Designs —
The hum of sewing machines filled the air.
Nazneen sat in her office, shoulders tense, pretending to review sketches. Her phone buzzed for the third time in an hour. Unknown number again.
She hesitated before unlocking it.
“He remembers you.”
Her pulse spiked. She typed back quickly.
“Who is this? Ya Allah!”
No reply.
Her heart pounded.
She locked the screen, stood, and paced the room.
This wasn’t the first message. The first one came last week. The words had burned her entire night. “He remembers you.”
But what if it was true?
“Nazneen?”
She spun around. Kareem stood at the door, holding a file.
“You, okay?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something scary.”
She forced a breath. “Just work.”
He stepped closer. “Work doesn’t text you in the middle of the night. Does it?”
Her eyes flickered up sharply. “You’ve been watching me again?”
He smiled faintly. “Can you blame me for it? You’re interesting when you’re hiding something.”
She closed the file on her desk and said quietly, “You should stop trying to fix broken people, Kareem. Else, you’ll cut yourself.”
He grinned. “Maybe I like bleeding a little.”
But her expression didn’t soften. “Don’t! Pls.”
That word quite controlled, carried something dangerous. Kareem paused, realizing for the first time that the walls around her weren’t just boundaries; they were survival.
The Mansion
Ajeed stood before his mirror, struggling with the cufflinks he never used to wear. His reflection looked back at him, neat, handsome, polished, and empty.
Lamia entered, perfume first. “You look so handsome, my baby.”
He gave a small smile. “Thanks.”
“Mother says the engagement dates are almost fixed. Aunties are already sewing. I was thinking ivory gold for the ceremony or something classic.”
He half-listened, his mind drifting elsewhere. A flash of a woman laughing beside him under the rain, her scarf sticking to her hair. Then a whisper, “You’ll catch a cold, yaro.”
He blinked. The image vanished as fast as it came.
Lamia noticed his distraction. “You’re not listening to me.”
He rubbed his temple. “Sorry. I just… keep seeing things. Faces.”
Her voice softened, though her grip on the glass in her hand tightened. “Dreams, maybe.”
“No.” He looked at her, almost afraid. “Memories.”
She froze. “Of what?”
“I don’t know. Of someone.” He swallowed. “Someone important, I guess.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Then forget that someone.”
He studied her, the tension between them thick as the silence in the room. “It’s not that easy.”
“Then make it easy,” she said sharply. “She’s gone, whoever she is. You have me. Don’t you?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he walked toward the window, where the fading sunlight painted the floor amber. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
— Present Day — The Police Station
The recording tape clicked again.
Inspector Khalid leaned forward, his pen tapping lightly on the desk.
“So,” he said, “the memory loss was real. But it started coming back, piece by piece.”
Sergeant Ameen nodded. “Yes, sir. Around the time of the engagement prep. People said he started acting strangely quiet, detached. He’d stare at random things, like fabric patterns or certain perfumes. Lamia thought he was sick again.”
“Or remembering,” Khalid muttered.
Ameen looked up. “That’s also when Nazneen started receiving messages. Someone wanted her to believe he still loved her.”
Khalid’s brow furrowed. “Someone… or he himself?”
Ameen shrugged. “Could be. But, strangely, the number was traced to a prepaid SIM. Unregistered.”
“Of course it was,” Khalid said under his breath. “Every truth in this story hides behind a mask.”
He flipped to a page in the report. “What about Kareem? Any link?”
Ameen hesitated. “He was getting too close. Rumors say he and Lamia met several times privately.”
Khalid gave a short, humorless laugh. “I’m starting to think this entire city is a web of secrets, and Sofia was just the first fly to die in it.”
— Flashback Past —
The next morning, the mansion buzzed with wedding preparations. Tailors arrived. Caterers. Guests. Rakiya’s orders flew through the hallways like the wind.
In the middle of it all, Ajeed sat silently on the balcony, the sounds of laughter and music blurring into white noise. His phone vibrated with a message from an unknown number.
“Do you remember the mango tree?”
His heart skipped.
He didn’t reply.
He just stared at the screen, his breath uneven. The tree. The rain. A voice. Her voice.
He closed his eyes and the memory came rushing, sharp and vivid.
Her fingers are brushing his cheek. Her laughter when he called her Zeen.
The world tilted. He gripped the railing.
Downstairs, Lamia’s laughter echoed as she rehearsed songs and dancing, she’s planning on the wedding event, trying on dresses, and in that moment, something inside him cracked open.
He whispered to himself, “Nazneen.”
The name felt like oxygen. Like pain. Like coming home.
— Back at Zaya Designs —
Nazneen’s mother was in the sitting room, scrolling through her phone when the news came up again, “The Abdur-Raufs’ Engagement: Love or Duty?”
She sighed, muttering, “These people don’t rest.”
Nazneen stepped out of her room, fixing her scarf. “Mama, I’ll be late.”
“Again?” her mother frowned. “You need rest, Zeen. You’re turning into your father, work, work, work.”
Nazneen smiled faintly. “Work is safer.”
Her phone buzzed. Another message.
“He said your name.”
Her heart nearly stopped.
“Mama, I’ll see you in the evening.”
Before her mother could respond, she was out the door, the text replaying in her mind like a song she didn’t want to end.
— PRESENT — Interrogation Room
Khalid leaned back, exhaling deeply. “So that’s how it started. The cracks.”
Ameen nodded. “Yes, sir. It was the beginning of the end.”
Khalid’s eyes narrowed. “No. The beginning of the truth.”
He picked up the file again, tapping the photo of Ajeed and Nazneen. “Love didn’t kill Sofia, Ameen. Secrets did.”
He looked up, his voice steady. “Now, let’s find out who whispered that first message.”