When heart says Qadr

The silence between them had lasted longer than either of them wanted to admit. Since the incident at Kadir's office, neither Amarisa nor Kadir had found the right words—or courage—to address what happened. She hadn't confronted him. He hadn't defended himself. The moment stood between them like an invisible wall.

He had tried to talk once. She hadn't wanted to hear it.

Now, days later, their apartment felt like two separate houses forced to exist under one roof. Amarisa stayed quiet, occupying herself with cleaning, writing lists, reading, scrolling endlessly. Kadir went to work early and returned late, always looking like he had something to say but choosing silence instead.

Then, on a quiet Friday afternoon, everything changed.

Amarisa was seated at the dining table, nursing a glass of hibiscus tea when the housekeeper walked in with an envelope.

"It's addressed to you," the woman said simply, setting it down.

There was no name on the outside. Just a thin gold ribbon tied around cream paper.

Curious, Amarisa opened it slowly.

The first card was simple:

"Not everything broken is meant to stay shattered.

Look in the hallway drawer."

She raised an eyebrow.

Was this some prank?

She stood cautiously and walked down the hallway, her steps slow, unsure. Inside the second drawer—the one usually stuffed with old keys, cords, and scattered receipts—lay a deeper golden envelope. This one smelled faintly of oud and cardamom, a scent she had come to associate with him.

"If you've made it here, then maybe, just maybe, you still want answers.

Go upstairs. Your answer is stitched in silk."

Her breath caught.

It was him.

She moved upstairs slowly, cautiously, like the walls were watching. On the bed was a large flat box, topped with a green velvet bow. Inside, carefully arranged, was a dress. Not just any dress—a deep emerald green gown, long-sleeved, flowing and elegant, modest but striking. Beside it was a matching scarf beaded delicately along the edges. There was jewelry too—simple gold earrings and a bracelet shaped like stars wrapping around a wrist.

Another card rested atop the gown:

"No pressure. Come or don't.

But if you choose to, the rooftop at 8:00 p.m. will be waiting.

PS: I saw your dream dinner on Instagram. The rooftop in Istanbul, right?"

Her hand trembled.

That post was two years old. A blurry shot of a rooftop lantern dinner in Turkey with her caption:

"One day. Rooftop. Lanterns. Warm food. Just silence and someone who listens."

She hadn't even thought he followed her back then. Had he really seen that?

She sat on the edge of the bed, unsure what to feel. Flattered? Nervous? Hopeful?

At 7:30, she was still staring at the box. She hadn't touched her face, hadn't done her hair, hadn't even showered.

At 7:50, she finally stood.

By 8:00, the apartment was quiet, the rooftop waiting.

And at 8:30, Kadir sat at a round table beneath strings of golden lanterns and blooming jasmine vines, his heart sinking with each passing minute.

Maybe she wasn't coming.

The dinner was already plated—saffron rice, grilled lamb, roasted eggplant, her favorite mint tea—still warm beneath covered dishes. He had gone through so much trouble. He'd spent the entire night before instructing the private chef, choosing the color of the table linen, making sure the scent of rose and oud was present but not overpowering. Even the playlist had been curated—soft strings and instrumental jazz, no lyrics, nothing intrusive.

And still, she didn't come.

He tapped the side of his glass, then pushed it away. He was starting to feel foolish. Maybe it had been too soon.

But just as he leaned back in the chair to call it a night, the elevator doors slid open.

She stepped out slowly, the breeze catching the edges of her scarf and gown. The light caught the subtle sparkle of the embroidery. She had paired the dress with nude heels, simple makeup, and her usual grace. But something was different—softer.

His breath caught.

"You're late," he said, his voice a little hoarse from holding it in.

"Traffic," she replied coolly, though the faint smirk on her lips gave her away.

"You look—"

"Don't," she interrupted softly, but her cheeks flushed.

They sat in silence for a while. He served her without asking, pouring her tea with a steady hand, avoiding her gaze. She picked at her food, only nibbling at first. The tension hovered until she spoke.

"You left me to figure out what happened that day on my own."

He paused, the words hitting him.

"I didn't mean to. I just—Amelie showed up uninvited. I didn't expect her."

"She looked comfortable."

"She's persistent."

"She touched you."

"I told her to stop."

"Not in front of me, you didn't."

He sighed, deeply. "I was frozen. Shocked. I wasn't expecting her."

"Why didn't you tell her to leave?"

"Because I knew you'd walk away, Amarisa. And I didn't want to hurt either of you."

A pause.

"I know that sounds like a weak excuse. But I didn't choose her that day. I didn't touch her back. I didn't let her stay longer than she did."

"Still," she said quietly, "you didn't choose me either."

The silence after that was painful.

He leaned forward. "I'm trying. I swear I am."

She raised a brow. "Trying is invisible, Kadir. Show me something."

He looked at her for a long moment, then exhaled. "Letting go of Amelie won't be easy. But I'm willing to do it. I'm willing to try—for real this time. I'm tired of hurting both of you. But especially you. I'm tired of pretending like I don't care."

She lowered her gaze.

A softer voice. "I don't want to be someone's second thought. Even if I was the first choice on paper."

He stood slowly, walking to her side. He pulled a chair and sat beside her, not across from her.

"You were the surprise. The one I didn't plan. And now I can't stop thinking about you."

She glanced at him, skeptical.

"I mean it. I've seen every Instagram post, every picture, every caption. You liked a post about a blue ring once—I found it and bought it. I didn't give it to you because I was scared."

She turned her head. "So this is you not being scared?"

"This is me being terrified but showing up anyway."

She blinked.

"I don't expect anything from you, I don't plan to replace her, i just want my own place in your heart." She looked down nervously playing with her hands.

"You do have your own place in my heart, I've just been scared to explore it, but i think I'm ready now"

"I would handle things with Amelie, I know it won't be easy, but I can't continue hurting you and her" he looked up at her face, he could see how hurt she was and it made him feel more guilty.

At what felt like a long pause, Amarisa finally spoke up

"You never asked how I got to your office," she said.

He furrowed his brow. "How?"

"Train."

He jerked back. "What?"

"Your driver was out. I didn't want to bother anyone."

"You took the train?"

She shrugged. "It wasn't that bad."

He groaned. "Remind me to teach you how to drive."

"I'm not sure you're the best teacher."

"Excuse me?"

"I've seen you drive, Kadir. I fear for my life already."

He chuckled. "Fine. But I'm still teaching you."

"You'll owe me a lot more than dinner if I survive that."

He grinned. "Deal. And if you scream even once, I'll throw in dessert."

She smiled, the kind that reached her eyes.

Then she stood slowly, walking toward the edge of the rooftop, resting her palms on the stone barrier. He followed.

"You're beautiful tonight," he said softly.

"I'm always beautiful."

"Yes. But tonight, I finally see it."

They stood in silence.

He didn't reach for her hand.

But when she reached for his, he didn't let go.

"Kadr" she called out in a quiet tone

"Yes Ama" He said, leaving her stunned, he has never shortened her name, he barely calls out her name, so it was nice hearing it.

"Would you really teach me how to drive?"He paused before replying.

"I will, but on one condition" he could see the confusion on her face, then he added

"Only if you would keep looking at me, the way you are this evening" He smiled genuinely, making her smile back and hold his hand even tighter

"We would see." She said with a small smirk on her face.