Tranquility
Kais, Michael, and I watched as the golden sun stretched its warm embrace across the New York skyline, setting the city aglow in hues of amber and honey. The river below, once a silent wanderer, now shimmered under the sun's gentle touch, its ripples glittering like molten gold.
The air was crisp and clean, laced with the scent of damp earth, salt, and the faint hum of awakening life. It was one of those rare, suspended moments where time seemed to pause—where even the city held its breath.
We sat astride our bikes, helmets set aside, surrendering ourselves to the gift of morning. There was no need for words; silence carried more meaning than anything we could've said.
"It's so beautiful," Michael murmured, eyes tracing the horizon.
I nodded, unable to disagree. It was beautiful—so beautiful that it hurt. Because in its glow, I saw her.
Ayah.
My Ayah.
No sunrise, no river, no sky could ever rival the light she carried within her. She embodied everything divine about this world—grace, gentleness, faith, and the kind of beauty that didn't fade, only deepened. She spoke often of her dream: paradise.
She longed for it as if it were written into her soul. She would do anything to reach it.
But how could I ever tell her that, while she chased the paradise she could not see, I was already standing before mine every day?How could I explain that my heaven wasn't a faraway promise, but a living, breathing woman—a girl with eyes full of constellations and a heart that pulsed with mercy?
Loving her had never been a choice. It was an honor. A miracle. A surrender.Every breath of morning air still felt like her. I inhaled, imagining her presence swirling in the cold wind, wrapping around me like a soft, invisible embrace. She was everywhere, yet nowhere at all.
Did she know I still needed her?
Of course she did. Otherwise, she wouldn't have given up the career she loved so completely—just to stand beside me. A love that selfless, that steady, was nothing short of sacred.And still, there were days when I questioned whether I deserved it.
The quiet stretched on until Kais broke it, his voice cutting through the air with its usual hint of mischief.
"Michael," he said thoughtfully, "I was just thinking about something."
Michael groaned immediately, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Don't. Please don't think. It never ends well."
Kais ignored him, his grin already forming. "No, hear me out. I was wondering…" He paused dramatically, glancing over the railing toward the water. "…what it would be like if I pushed you off this bridge?"
The words hung there for a beat, absurd and deadpan enough to break the reverence of dawn.
Michael turned his head slowly, blinking at him as though debating whether to throw Kais off first. "You absolute menace," he muttered, voice flat with disbelief.
Kais laughed, clearly pleased with himself. "I'm just saying—it's a long drop. You'd make a great splash."
The serenity of the moment dissolved, replaced by their familiar bickering—the sound of two people who couldn't exist without irritating each other.
People often asked if we were brothers. The truth? We were. Not by blood, but by something much stronger—by choice, by trust, by the kind of loyalty that can't be taught.Sometimes I thought we were closer than real brothers could ever be. Three men who once shared nothing now shared everything: silence, chaos, loss, and the rare peace that came after both.
"As much as I'd love to stay here and soak in this view," Kais finally said, stretching his arms with exaggerated drama, "I've got a job to do." He gestured toward me with that infuriating smirk of his. "I still have to interview this winner right here. And something tells me Hayat's going to kill us if we don't get back soon."
He flicked his wrist to check his watch—a million-dollar piece of art glinting under the sunlight. That was Kais for you. Where I collected cars and engines, he collected time. Each watch was a story, a symbol, a mirror of his relentless precision.
And then there was Michael.
Michael didn't care for luxury or chaos. He was still, quiet—a fortress of unreadable thoughts. He didn't collect things; he collected truths. Always watching, always one step removed, like he lived slightly beyond the reach of the world around him.
But I knew him.At least, I thought I did.
Because beneath that calm exterior, there was something else—something I had caught glimpses of but never fully grasped. A secret, or maybe a burden, locked behind his eyes.
And as the sunlight washed over the bridge and the city stirred awake, I decided that maybe tonight, or someday soon, I'd finally ask him.
No more distance. No more guessing.Just the truth.