Title: Crimson Whispers
The silence of early dawn was wrapped in the fading echoes of the Azaan. Zahira bent over the lower drawer, her hands searching gently until they found the soft white earbuds. She plugged them in and handed one to Aryan, the other resting in her own ear. She smiled faintly, resting her head on his shoulder.
"I want to feel this music with you and our baby," she whispered.
Aryan looked at her with warmth softening his eyes. Whatever strange unease had crept into his heart the previous night now melted into the silence of this beautiful moment. He pressed play, and the melody filled the air—a soft instrumental lullaby that seemed to speak only to them.
Zahira soon fell asleep in his lap, her breathing gentle and slow. Aryan watched her peacefully resting, bathed in the pale blue light of dawn, while the Azaan stopped echoing in the distance. A deep peace settled in the room.
As the first rays of sun filtered through the curtains, Aryan gently shifted her head to a soft pillow, careful not to wake her. He kissed her forehead, tucked the blanket around her, and left to get ready for work.
The room remained still and warm in his absence. Zahira didn't stir for hours.
When she finally woke, the wall clock showed it was already noon. Light poured through the windows. She was alone.
Then, the doorbell rang.
She opened the door to find Elyas and Sajiya standing with bright smiles and hands full of wrapped gifts.
"We just wanted to check on you and the baby," Sajiya said.
Zahira gave a gentle smile, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
"I'm so sorry, guys, but I have to go to the hospital. I have an appointment," she lied softly.
Sajiya nodded understandingly. "Don't worry. The baby's health comes first. We'll visit again another day."
As soon as they left, Zahira shut the door, rushed inside, and got ready. She was restless—eager to be near Aryan.
She reached the office shortly after.
Aryan was reclining on the couch, flipping through a magazine. He looked up in surprise when she entered.
"Wow… I didn't expect you here. You should've been resting at home," he said, standing up.
"I had a good sleep," Zahira replied, walking up to him. "And when I woke up… I just started missing you. So I came."
Aryan smiled, placing his arm around her waist. "I'm glad you did. I was bored here anyway. Let's go out. Want to grab lunch?"
She nodded eagerly. "I didn't eat anything this morning. I'm starving."
"I know a good new place near the highway," Aryan said. "Let's go there."
Zahira didn't care where they went. She just wanted to be with him. To be close. Always.
They got into the car and headed down the sunlit road toward the outskirts of the city.
But halfway there, things changed.
Out of nowhere, a dark SUV blocked their path. Aryan hit the brakes hard.
Several masked men emerged, armed and dangerous. One of them—clearly the leader—walked up to the window and knocked with his gun.
"Give us everything you have," he growled. "Or I'll shoot."
Aryan raised his hands calmly, turning to Zahira. "Don't do anything. Let me handle this."
Zahira's jaw clenched, her eyes burning—but she nodded.
Aryan opened the glove box and took out his wallet, his expensive watch, and handed over both his and Zahira's phones.
"Take all of it. Just don't hurt my wife," he said.
The leader smirked, but before Aryan could react, another thug snuck behind him and smashed an iron rod against his head.
Aryan collapsed unconscious.
Something inside Zahira snapped.
She trembled—then stopped breathing altogether for a moment.
Her eyes turned molten red.
"You hurt my Aryan?" she whispered, her voice eerily calm. "You dare?"
The air turned cold.
What happened next was a blur of screams and blood.
The gang never stood a chance.
Minutes later, Zahira drove Aryan back home. She had scratches and wounds on her arms, her lips bleeding, her breath sharp and short. But she didn't care. Aryan was still alive.
As the evening sun dipped beneath the horizon, Aryan slowly stirred on the bed. His eyes fluttered open and found Zahira lying beside him, her head resting gently on his shoulder.
He gasped. "Zahira… what happened? Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"
"Yes," she said softly, faking a tear. "They tried to kill me. But then the police came. They arrested them. We were lucky."
Aryan held her tightly. "Thank God… thank God you're safe."
But something didn't add up.
Later that night, while Zahira was asleep, Aryan turned on the television.
The news bulletin screamed in red:
> BREAKING NEWS: The notorious organ-smuggling gang has been found dead.
"Their bodies were discovered scattered in the woods. Every limb dismembered—legs severed, heads crushed, arms torn apart. The authorities are still investigating the cause of death. It's unlike anything we've ever seen..."
Aryan stared at the screen in disbelief.
"This… this isn't what Zahira told me," he whispered.
He turned to look at her.
She was murmuring in her sleep. Whispering.
"If anyone hurts him… I will destroy them all..."
A chill ran down Aryan's spine.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently.
Then, without another word, he slipped out of the room and out of the house.
But where was he going?
Was he starting to suspect the truth?
Did he now believe Zahra—the spirit—still lived within Zahira?
Or was he just trying to escape the confusion, clear his mind, and find answers before it was too late?
To be continued…