When heart says Qadr

She hadn't spoken to him since the argument. The apartment still echoed with silence. Everything had changed the moment Amelie stepped into their world. Amarisa couldn't forget how easily her presence had slipped into Kadir's life — not as a stranger, not even as a memory, but as someone who still held ground. And Kadir hadn't denied it. He hadn't even tried.

This morning was quiet. Too quiet.

Amarisa stood in the kitchen pouring tea she wouldn't drink. Her wedding ring caught the morning light, glinting against the steam rising from the cup. It felt heavy today — like her finger recognized the weight of what it symbolized.

She turned toward the living room, distracted by a folded stack of his shirts on the credenza. She hadn't meant to touch his things, but the place had grown too still. A drawer had been slightly open. She pushed it in gently, then noticed the brown envelope tucked inside. It wasn't sealed. The corner lifted.

She shouldn't have, but she peeked.

Cash. Neatly arranged bills. Too much to be accidental. No note.

Her throat tightened.

She didn't take anything. She didn't even move the envelope. But something about it… hurt. He'd made a plan. For something. Without her. Without a conversation.

She didn't cry. There was no more space to cry.

Instead, she turned and started folding his blazer for the dry cleaner.

The office was unusually quiet that morning. Kadir had arrived later than usual. His meetings were stacked, and his head was pounding.

He hadn't been able to sleep.

He thought about what he'd say to Amarisa, but everything felt like the wrong place to start. Her silence had become more painful than any shouting could have been. She hadn't asked questions. She hadn't even looked at him properly since.

He forgot the brown folder on the kitchen table — the one with the signed contracts.

As he reached for his office phone to call reception and tell them he'd drive home himself to pick it up, he heard footsteps.

Then the knock.

Before he could say anything, Amelie stepped inside.

He stood quickly. "Amelie—"

"I was just in the area," she said, closing the door behind her.

He didn't like that she walked so freely into his space. This wasn't the girl he'd known before. This was someone who wasn't afraid to push boundaries.

He didn't sit. "I was about to leave, I have a meeting—"

"I know. I just wanted to say something. Two minutes," she insisted, her voice syrupy. "You look tired."

Kadir ran a hand over his face, already regretting not locking the door.

"Amelie—this isn't a good time."

She stepped closer.

Meanwhile, outside his office, his receptionist had just ended a call with the courier when she saw the brown folder left at the front desk. She remembered Kadir had asked for it earlier, muttering that he needed it urgently. She also remembered the last time she'd told him to go get something himself, he'd waved her off. But she'd seen the time.

He had a boardroom meeting in twenty minutes.

She picked up the phone and called the apartment. Amarisa answered.

"Hi, ma'am. Sorry to bother you. Kadir forgot his contract folder. Could you please bring it down? I'd have sent someone, but it's really close to time."

Amarisa didn't ask questions. She said she'd be there in ten.

The train ride was short. The wind in Manhattan was still harsh despite the sun, and Amarisa held the folder close to her chest, her fingers numb even with gloves.

She didn't expect anything.

Not a thank you.

Not a conversation.

But it mattered to her that she could still show up. Still be the person who chose dignity when the world kept nudging her toward pride.

Kadir tried to maneuver Amelie toward the door.

"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.

Amelie tilted her head. "I just wanted to see you."

"You have. Now go."

She narrowed her eyes. "You've changed."

He didn't reply.

She stepped closer — too close. Her fingers brushed his lapel.

Just then, the door opened.

And Amarisa walked in.

Everything paused.

She stood there, silent, the folder still clutched in her hands. Her expression unreadable.

Kadir's entire chest seized.

Amelie turned, not even stepping back.

"Oh," she said, too casually. "I didn't realize you had someone coming in."

Amarisa's eyes didn't move. She stepped forward calmly, placed the folder on the desk, and gave a quiet nod.

"I was told you needed this."

Her voice was smooth. Her gaze did not linger on Amelie, nor on Kadir. She turned around and walked out with the same grace she came in.

Not a single harsh word. No accusation. No anger. Just… silence.

And somehow that was worse.

She didn't cry on the way home. She didn't even blink too hard.

It wasn't what she saw. It was what it meant.

She didn't know Amelie, but she didn't have to.

The ease. The positioning. The fact that Kadir didn't say anything — not even to explain.

She returned home, placed her shoes neatly at the door, and began removing the dishes from the drying rack. The click of porcelain calmed her more than it should.

Kadir didn't move for almost five minutes after she left.

Amelie had the audacity to stay standing there like nothing happened.

"I should go," she finally said. "She's pretty. Quiet, but pretty."

He didn't reply.

When she left, he closed the door behind her with too much force.

He should've stopped Amarisa. Followed her. Said something.

But shame had frozen him.

He hated the idea of being caught with Amelie.

Even if he had done nothing.

He hadn't cheated. He hadn't even touched her.

But he'd been slow. He hadn't prevented it either.

He picked up his phone, stared at it for minutes.

Didn't call.

That evening was still.

Amarisa was in the living room reading. A book she wasn't actually reading.

Kadir walked in and paused at the threshold. The space between them felt heavy. Tired.

He sat across from her.

She didn't look up.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually.

She turned a page.

He swallowed. "It wasn't what it looked like."

She finally looked up. "You didn't try to stop what it looked like either."

He exhaled through his nose.

"I didn't know she was coming."

"And you didn't ask me if I was okay after," she said softly. "You let me leave. You let me wonder."

There it was.

The quiet breaking.

His chest felt hollow. He wanted to say something that made sense. But there wasn't anything.

"I didn't want to hurt you," he said, lamely.

"You already did."

Another silence.

"I just brought the folder," she said, standing. "Don't worry about it."

She turned and left the room.

He stayed seated, jaw clenched, fingers digging into the armrest of the couch.

He hated himself a little in that moment.

They didn't talk for the rest of the night.

They didn't argue.

They didn't share a meal.

They didn't sleep in the same room.

But the distance between them was no longer quiet. It was buzzing with words they weren't brave enough to say.

And when Amarisa lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling, she let the tears fall — silent and brief.

She hadn't expected a fairytale.

But she had expected the truth.

And Kadir? He sat on the edge of his bed, alone in the dark, wondering when he'd stopped being the man who fought for what he loved… and became the man who let it slip away quietly.