She picked up the cup with her uninjured hand while keeping her injured hand on the plate, then began to pour the water.

As the water began spilling onto her hand, she felt as if she had screamed; she quickly shut her eyes and bit the edge of her lower lip.

“Hello,” he murmured, his voice gentle, as if they were already used to talking to each other.

She was shocked to realize that it really was him speaking.

“Does it hurt?” he asked again.

She didn’t respond at all, still feeling as if she wasn’t really seeing him.

He simply pursed his lips and began his task.

He removed the plate from her side along with the cup she had placed, then picked up the first aid box and set it on the center table.

He took out some PAIN RELIEVING GEL and handed it to her.

“Take it, apply it wherever it’s swollen,” he said.

She took it with both hands, opened it, and started applying it gently, covering all the swollen areas she could identify.

He motioned for her to give it to him.

Thinking he meant for her to hand over the cream, she extended her injured hand to him, believing that’s what he wanted.

He didn’t even look at what she was offering; he held her injured hand directly, and she winced, trying to pull away. He used his foot to steady hers. “Don’t try to run; sit down. I don’t want any nonsense,” he said, his face expressionless.

She returned to her seat, taking slow, heavy breaths as she settled down.

He aligned her hand and began massaging and bending it in certain ways. She quickly gasped and tried to stand, but he pressed her foot with his own to stop her.

Even at that moment, she didn’t give up; she tried to pull her hand away while silently praying.

Turab, on the other hand, disliked weakness; he hated seeing anyone feeble. He wasn’t paying attention to her cries—he was simply doing his job, firmly holding her hand.

When the situation became too much, Mum intervened. “Turab, what’s going on? Stop making her suffer. She’s not a soldier—she needs relief. Don’t hold her like that, let her relax!” she scolded, trying to pull Leeya closer.

Leeya, feeling comforted by Mum’s presence, began to calm down.

Turab, frustrated, muttered, “I’ll leave if she doesn’t cooperate and applies the cream. I can’t stand seeing her suffer like this; she acts as if she’s being tortured.”

“Mum, this isn’t about cruelty; look at how her hand is. And you came to fix her without being gentle. Naturally, she would scream.”

“Now Mum, this is why people scream—pain makes you scream. If she stops, the swelling won’t go down. But she insisted on doing the work anyway.”

Turab reassured, “See, Mum, her hand will recover soon; she won’t take long.”

The next morning, Leeya woke to find the swelling had reduced, though some pain remained. She was surprised by the improvement because she didn’t expect such quick relief.

After tidying her bedroom and parlour, she went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

“Leeya, why are you silent?” Mum asked.

“Good morning, Mum,” Leeya replied.

“Why aren’t you speaking?”

“I was in pain; that’s why I was quiet,” she explained.

Mum insisted she rest, but Leeya insisted on finishing her work.

Turab noticed she hadn’t completed breakfast. “Leeya, have you finished?” he asked.

“No, I was waiting for her to finish,” she replied.

“Who’s Leeya?” Turab asked.

“She’s the one whose hand is injured,” Mum explained.

“By God, no one’s touched her hand yet? It’s just swelling cream?” Turab exclaimed. “If she keeps working, it could lead to another problem.”

“Since she insisted, we let her continue,” Mum admitted.

Turab shook his head in disbelief.

After finishing breakfast, Leeya helped clear up and washed the used utensils. She then returned to her bedroom, washed up, and applied her personal care products.

Her phone buzzed with a message. She quickly checked it—it was from Zohal, her only close contact.

Surprisingly, she also received a message from an unknown number:

“Peace be upon you, my queen. I hope you’re well. Yesterday you looked amazing. But I noticed one of your hands wasn’t well? May Allah ease your pain, my dream girl. I missed your voice.”

Leeya stared at the message in disbelief. She tried calling back several times, but the number was unreachable. She deleted the message and continued with her tasks.

She dressed in a brown outfit that hugged her body and wrapped her niqab. She left the house quietly, knowing she wouldn’t meet anyone in the parlour at that time.

Descending the stairs calmly, she reached the dining area, sensing his scent but couldn’t tell from where it came. She proceeded to the kitchen, quietly beginning to wash the dishes.

“Can’t you greet me before coming in?” Turab said sharply.

“My apologies, Turab. I thought I already greeted you,” she replied softly, lowering her head.

She handed him juice from the fridge, then returned to continue washing dishes.

Unexpectedly, he grabbed her injured hand while she was placing the cup down. She tried to pull away but couldn’t because of the pain. She covered her mouth to stop herself from crying.

“Keep quiet,” Turab snapped. “Earlier, I asked if your hand was healed, now why are you crying? Are you lying to me?”

“I didn’t expect it would be touched. I didn’t tell you the truth because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You helped me,” she explained.

He reassured her that applying swelling cream was enough for now. “Now relax. I’ll fix it properly later. Trust me.”

Feeling encouraged, she extended her hand. He applied the medicine, carefully checking her hand, and she didn’t flinch.

After finishing, he handed her tablets and instructed her to take them and rest. She took them, relieved that the pain in her hand had lessened.

Later, Turab received a phone call about a work assignment in Kuwait, involving urgent medical assistance.

Khulud entered the room, informing him about tidying his room. He scolded her for entering without greeting and sent her off to clean the kitchen instead.

Meanwhile, Leeya, still feeling feverish, went through her day quietly, performing her duties as best as she could despite her injured hand.