When heart says Qadr

The morning sun filtered gently into the room, golden and slow, like it, too, wasn't quite ready to face the day.

Amarisa blinked, unsure of where she was — until the soft rhythm of breathing beside her reminded her.

Kadir.

She was curled in the same bed.

In his arms.

Their bodies weren't tangled, but they were close enough that she could still feel the lingering warmth from where she'd slept on his chest the night before. Her scarf was still in place, but her heartbeat picked up as the memories crept in — the panic, his comfort, and the surprising safety she'd found in him.

She shifted carefully.

Kadir stirred and blinked awake. His arm fell away without a word.

He didn't look surprised. Just quiet.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"You don't have to be," he replied, sitting up. "You were shaking."

A silence followed.

Not sharp.

Just cautious.

She sat on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap. He stood and walked to the window, not meeting her eyes.

"I'll shower first," he said.

"Okay."

And just like that, the spell of the previous night melted. The distance returned, politely cloaked under the weight of their mutual uncertainty.

The rest of the day passed in a kind of quiet avoidance.

Not intentional — not cruel. They were just… trying to give each other space.

They ate breakfast at different times. Amarisa spent her afternoon sketching patterns in the sand by herself. Kadir went to the small library near the lounge, thumbing through pages without really reading.

When they returned to the villa for the late afternoon rest, they spoke briefly about dinner.

"There's a lounge gathering by the firepit tonight," Kadir said, not looking up from the resort brochure.

"You want to go?"

"Just to sit. Get out of the room for a bit."

"Alright."

Later that evening, they both dressed simply. He wore a light shirt and slacks. She slipped into a flowing kaftan, modest and breezy, her scarf pinned softly.

They weren't trying to impress each other.

They weren't even trying to be anything.

Just two people figuring out how not to live in silence.

The lounge area outside the main building was serene — round bamboo mats under warm lantern light, low cushions scattered, and soft instrumental music floating beneath the night sky. The ocean's hush was in the background, and couples chatted quietly over fresh drinks and spiced pastries.

They sat side by side, but not touching. Not too close. Not too far.

"Peaceful," Amarisa said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," Kadir replied. "Better than sitting in that room."

She gave a small smile, then took a sip of her drink.

That's when the host stepped up.

"Evening, everyone!" the woman chirped. "We've got something fun tonight — a little surprise: The Couples Compatibility Game! Let's see how well our honeymooners know each other!"

Amarisa blinked.

Kadir gave a small huff of disbelief.

"You didn't say this was part of it," she said under her breath.

"I didn't know," he replied. "We can leave—"

"No," she interrupted quickly. "We're already here. It's fine."

They didn't move.

The host passed around tiny chalkboards and markers, encouraging laughter and play.

"Let's start with something easy!" she said. "What's your partner's favorite dessert?"

Amarisa hesitated.

"Do you even eat dessert?" she whispered.

"Rarely," Kadir muttered. "Guess something."

She scribbled fruit tart.

He wrote dark chocolate mousse.

They both held up their answers.

Wrong.

They glanced at each other.

Kadir shrugged. Amarisa gave a small smile, not disappointed — just amused.

Next question: Who is more likely to apologize first after a fight?

Amarisa answered me.

Kadir answered her.

Right.

She looked at him in surprise.

"Why me?"

"Because you already think you're always wrong."

That made her chuckle unexpectedly.

"That's not funny."

"You laughed."

"Touché."

Question after question, they weren't the most compatible. But they weren't strangers either. Somewhere between misguesses and half-smiles, a soft awareness started to grow between them.

Who wakes up earlier?

Who's the better cook?

Who would survive longer in the wild?

They didn't win.

But they stayed.

They even laughed once.

When the final question came — What's your partner's biggest fear? — Amarisa put down her board slowly.

"That's not for tonight," she whispered.

Kadir glanced at her.

He considered saying something. Anything.

About the woman he once promised. About the truth that followed him here.

But instead, he wrote nothing.

Just set his board aside and folded his arms.

"We don't have to share everything," he said softly.

"Not tonight," she agreed.

After the event ended, they didn't return to the room immediately.

Kadir suggested a walk.

Amarisa accepted without hesitation.

They followed the trail past the fire-lit poolside, through the garden paths, and onto the quieter stretch of beach where the moon cast silver shadows over the sea.

"I'm glad we stayed," Amarisa said, her voice barely louder than the waves.

"Yeah. I didn't think we would."

"It wasn't bad."

"No."

They walked side by side, feet brushing the sand.

"Do you think we're failing?" she asked after a pause.

"At what?"

"Being married."

Kadir stopped walking.

He turned to her.

"We didn't write the rules," he said. "We're still reading the pages."

She tilted her head.

"That sounds poetic."

"I wasn't trying to be."

They both smiled, faint but real.

The moonlight softened her features. Her eyes looked tired, but less guarded.

"I didn't think this would ever be… bearable," she confessed. "But I don't hate it."

He studied her face for a long second.

"Neither do I."

They sat on a large flat rock for a while, watching the waves come and go. Not touching. Not saying much.

But not leaving, either.

"You almost said something earlier," she said.

"I did."

"But you didn't."

He exhaled.

"Because it wouldn't have helped."

She nodded once.

"I'm not ready for everything. But I'm not running anymore."

"Good," he said.

They stood after a while.

Walked back in silence.

And for the first time, silence didn't feel like distance.

It felt like understanding.

That night, she lay in bed while he settled on the couch again.

No panic. No nightmares.

Just quiet breathing and the echo of the waves.

They were still strangers in many ways. Still guarded. Still cautious.

But for now, the silence was something they could share.

Final Line:

They didn't plan to play the game. They didn't plan to stay. But they did. And even if nothing was confessed, something still shifted — a beginning shaped in silence, not promises.