finding him

The house felt too large without Khalid in it.

Sukaina sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, as if holding herself together required effort. Her eyes were swollen, lashes wet again before the previous tears had even dried. Every sound from outside made her lift her head in hope—and every time, disappointment settled heavier on her chest.

“He hasn’t come back, Adam,” she said, her voice breaking before she could stop it. “Not even a call. Not a message. Please… please find my son.”

Adam stood near the window, his back tense, his shoulders carrying years of silence and restraint. He turned slowly to face her, his eyes softening when they met her tear-filled ones.

“I’m trying,” he said quietly. “You know I am. Khalid is not a child anymore. When he leaves like this, it’s because he needs space.”

“Space?” Sukaina let out a hollow, trembling laugh that turned into a sob. She pressed a hand to her chest. “He left angry. He left hurt. What kind of space is that? Adam, he is my only child. Every minute he’s not here feels like something bad will happen.”

She stood up suddenly, pacing the room, her fingers twisting the edge of her scarf.

“What if something happens to him? What if he’s alone, thinking he has no one? You know how stubborn your father is. You know the words he says. What if Khalid thinks we won’t stand by him?”

Adam stepped toward her, reaching out instinctively, but before his hand could touch her arm—

A cold, commanding voice cut through the room.

“Stand by him in what?”

Both of them froze.

Haidar stood at the doorway, his presence heavy, filling the space like a storm cloud. His walking stick tapped once against the floor as he stepped in, his sharp eyes immediately settling on Sukaina.

She stiffened.

Adam straightened. “Father—”

But Haidar was already speaking, his gaze never leaving Sukaina.

“This whole mess,” he said slowly, each word deliberate, “started the day you stepped into this house.”

Sukaina’s breath caught. She felt the words before she understood them, like a slap she hadn’t seen coming.

“Haidar,” Adam said sharply, moving in front of his wife without thinking. “Look at her. Can’t you see her condition? This is not the time—”

“The time?” Haidar scoffed. “There is no wrong time to speak the truth.”

Sukaina’s hands trembled at her sides. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Haidar took a step closer. “A child follows his mother. Her blood, her ways, her thinking. Khalid liking a foreign girl—defying his family—talking back to me?” He shook his head slowly. “How could it be otherwise, when his mother herself is a foreigner?”

That was when Sukaina broke.

A quiet, broken sound escaped her throat as tears streamed freely down her face. She shook her head, barely able to stand.

“I have done nothing but love my son,” she whispered. “I taught him respect. I taught him kindness. I taught him loyalty. If he loves someone, is that a crime?”

Adam turned fully to his father now, anger finally cracking through years of obedience.

“Enough,” he said, his voice firm, shaking. “You will not speak to my wife like this. Not today. Not ever. You blame her for everything because it’s easier than admitting Khalid has his own heart.”

Haidar’s eyes flashed.

“And whose fault is that?” he snapped. “If you hadn’t married this woman, if you hadn’t brought foreign blood into this house, we wouldn’t be standing here today, searching for a grandson who thinks love is more important than legacy.”

Adam clenched his fists. “You speak of legacy, but you are destroying your own family with your words.”

Silence fell—thick, dangerous.

Haidar stared at his son for a long moment, then let out a short, humorless laugh.

“So now you talk back too,” he said. “First the grandson, now the son. Truly, I have failed somewhere.”

Sukaina sank back onto the sofa, covering her face as her shoulders shook. Adam stood between her and his father like a shield.

“I will find Khalid,” Adam said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “But not like this. Not with threats and insults.”

Haidar turned away from them abruptly.

“No,” he said. “You will not.”

He raised his voice toward the hallway. “Driver.”

Footsteps approached immediately.

“I will find my grandson myself,” Haidar continued. “And I will remind him who he is, and where he comes from.”

Adam’s heart dropped. “Father, please. If you go after him like this, you will only push him further away.”

Haidar did not turn back.

“Prepare the cars,” he ordered. “Six of them.”

The driver nodded and hurried off.

Sukaina lifted her head, fear replacing her tears. “Where are you going?” she asked weakly.

Haidar finally glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

“To the house of the boy who shelters rebellion,” he said. “Farhan.”

Adam stepped forward. “You are making this worse.”

Haidar paused at the door.

“No,” he said coldly. “I am ending it.”

And with that, he walked out—leaving behind a mother clinging to fear, a father torn between loyalty and love, and a house that felt closer to breaking than it ever had before.Farhan’s living room was quiet in the lazy, careless way it always was in the afternoon. One leg stretched across the arm of the couch, phone balanced loosely in his hand, he was half-listening to a voice note, half-thinking about nothing at all.

The door burst open.

Not a knock. Not a warning. Just force.

Farhan startled so badly the phone nearly slipped from his fingers. He looked up, heart jumping into his throat—and froze.

Haidar Ali stood there.

Tall. Rigid. His presence swallowed the room whole, like all the air had been pulled out at once. Behind him, shadows of guards filled the doorway.

Farhan stood up immediately, nerves snapping to attention. His mouth went dry.

“Sir—” he began, forcing his lips into what was meant to be respect. “You’re welcome—”

“Where is Khalid?”

The question cut through the room like a blade. No greeting. No pleasantries. Just cold demand.

Farhan swallowed. His fingers curled unconsciously around the phone.

“I—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat quickly. “I don’t know, sir.”

Haidar’s eyes narrowed, sharp and unblinking. He took one slow step forward, then another, his walking stick tapping softly against the floor. Each sound landed heavy in Farhan’s chest.

“You don’t know,” Haidar repeated, dangerously calm.

Farhan nodded too fast. “I swear. He hasn’t been here since yesterday.”

Haidar tilted his head slightly, studying him. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Farhan felt sweat gather at the back of his neck.

In one sharp motion, Haidar lifted his hand.

“Bring him.”

Two guards stepped in instantly.

Farhan barely had time to react before strong hands seized his arms, forcing them behind his back. The phone slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. Panic surged through him, hot and sudden.

“Sir—please!” he blurted out. “I’m telling the truth!”

Haidar stopped directly in front of him now. Close enough that Farhan could smell his cologne, sharp and overpowering. Haidar leaned in just slightly, his voice low.

“Listen to me very carefully,” he said. “If I ask you again, and you lie to me again, I will not ask a third time.”

Farhan’s breath came fast. His chest felt tight.

“I swear on my life,” he said, the words tumbling out, desperate. “I wouldn’t hide him from you. I wouldn’t dare.”

Haidar studied his face—every flicker of fear, every tremble of the lips.

“Then speak,” Haidar said. “Slowly. Properly.”

Farhan licked his lips, his voice shaking now despite his effort to steady it.

“He… he came last night,” he admitted. “He was angry. He was hurt. We talked for a while.”

Haidar’s jaw tightened.

“And?”

“And this morning,” Farhan continued quickly, “he said he couldn’t stay. He said he needed to leave before things got worse.”

Haidar’s eyes darkened. “Leave where?”

Farhan hesitated for half a second too long.

One of the guards tightened his grip.

“The airport,” Farhan said immediately. “He went to the airport.”

Haidar straightened slightly. “Why?”

Farhan took a breath. “He said he was flying to Iran. Today.”

For the first time since entering the house, Haidar’s expression shifted—not to softness, but to something sharper. Urgency.

Iran.

Without another word, Haidar stepped back.

“Release him,” he ordered.

The guards let go. Farhan stumbled forward slightly, catching himself on the arm of the couch. His heart was pounding so loudly he could hear it in his ears.

Haidar turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“To the cars,” he said briskly. “Now.”

The guards moved instantly.

As Haidar stepped out, he added without looking back, “Follow me. No delays.”

The door shut behind him, leaving Farhan standing alone in the suddenly silent room—hands shaking, breath uneven—staring at the closed door, knowing that whatever happened next would change everything.Author’s Note 💭

Okay… can we talk about that scene?

Haidar walking into Farhan’s house like a storm, the tension, the fear, the way Khalid’s decision is now pulling everyone into chaos—this chapter is where power, control, and love really start clashing.

A few things I’d love to hear from you:

Did Haidar scare you as much as he scared Farhan?

Do you think Khalid is brave for choosing to run… or reckless?

Should Farhan have protected Khalid more, or was he right to tell the truth?

This part is a turning point. Everything is moving fast now, and the consequences are closing in on all of them.

If this scene made your heart race even a little, please vote, comment, and tell me what you think will happen next. Your thoughts honestly shape how I feel while writing the next chapter 🤍

As always—thank you for reading, feeling, and staying with these characters.