“It’s time we put an end to this,” Uncle Khalid muttered, gripping the arms of his wheelchair. He nodded slowly. “I know how far I’ve gone.” He ran his fingers through his short black hair, barely brushing his shoulders. His midnight eyes shimmered with conflicting emotions, and a weary grunt escaped his lips.
“I know—” He pressed his lips together, his gaze fixed on the tiled floor. “I know everything is my fault. And…” He looked up at Alex, his eyes glinting with unshed tears, his face paling. “I’m sorry. But we have to stop now.”
Alex sighed. Without looking at his uncle, he picked up the mug from the table, watching the steam curl into the air. The scent of tea filled his nose, but he grimaced briefly, as though the aroma irritated him. He tightened his grip around the mug, raised it to his lips, and took a slow sip before placing it back on the table. Rubbing his palms against his thighs, he turned to his uncle and studied him—the glossy sheen of his teary eyes, the tense grip on the arms of his wheelchair, the deep furrows on his forehead.
“Are you feeling guilty now, Uncle Khalid?” Alex tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as his uncle looked away. “You shouldn’t be doing this. Not now,” Alex clicked his tongue and shook his head.
His uncle nodded, his voice quivering. “I know. But when I think about it…”
Alex followed his uncle’s gaze to a framed photo on the shelf beside the TV.
“I know Isra wouldn’t have wanted this.”
Alex clenched and unclenched his fists as his gaze settled on the photo—a family portrait.
At the centre stood his mother, her smile radiant like the sun, her eyes twinkling like stars. Dressed in a traditional Indian sari, she cradled baby Alex in her arms. To her left stood his father, clad in a blue T-shirt and black, polished trousers. His arm draped over his mother’s shoulders, his smile mirroring hers. They were lovers from different worlds. His mother, an Indian woman, had married his father, a man from a land shrouded in mystery. His homeland, Valeport, was a small yet powerful island nation—unknown to many, yet rich in wealth, history, and influence. His mother had often told him how her parents had opposed their union at first. But love had made them endure. Love had given them the strength to persevere.
As a child, he had felt their love in every breath, in every touch. And they had poured that love into him. His mother never went to bed without reading him a story. His father never failed to take them out every weekend. It had been their unspoken duty, a rhythm they never missed.
They had become his world. He hadn’t realized how much until the day he lost them.
That day—he had watched. Done nothing. He should have done something, anything. But he had knelt there, frozen, tears streaming down his face, his body trembling.
Alex smirked bitterly and shook his head.
“I did nothing back then,” he murmured, his fists tightening. “Why do you want to stop me now?” He scoffed. “After everything we’ve done, what makes you think Mother wouldn’t approve?”
Alex stood, closing the distance between them. He leaned in, his face mere inches from his uncle’s, and placed a hand over his uncle’s trembling grip on the wheelchair. His lips curled slightly as he felt the heat radiating from his uncle’s hands, the unsteady rise and fall of his breath.
“You taught me this,” Alex whispered. “Why? Why should we stop now?”
Silence stretched, stretching time itself in the quiet.
His uncle slowly lifted his gaze, his head shaking as if burdened by an invisible weight.
“I want you to move on, Alex,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “Every time I look at you, I see the pain. And I…” He exhaled sharply, his head trembling. “I feel sick with regret. For everything I did. Everything I taught you. You deserve better, Rahim.”
Alex’s jaw clenched. His breath hitched.
“Don’t.” He gritted his teeth, his fist slamming onto the stool beside the wheelchair.
The mug rattled, then tumbled to the floor, shattering. Brown tea splattered across the rug, seeping into the fabric. The scent of it thickened the air, mixing with the suffocating tension in the room. Alex’s knuckles whitened against the stool as his entire body trembled.
“You have no right to call me that name,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
The first day he crossed that line—the day he did what he shouldn’t have—he had abandoned that name. His mother would never have approved of what he had done. He knew it. But he also knew there was no turning back. He had chosen a path she would never have allowed. Just as he had discarded the name she had so lovingly called him, he had decided his own fate.
And now, hearing that name from his uncle’s lips felt like a curse. It pierced his ears. It burned through his heart.
“You betrayed me,” Alex grunted. “You shouldn’t be doing this to me.”
“I’m… I’m sorry,” his uncle whispered.
Alex nodded, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I know.” He sighed, his voice heavy. “I’m sorry too.” His gaze softened, and he placed his hands back over his uncle’s trembling ones.
Alex halted as he stepped out of his uncle’s gate. He turned back, his eyes lingering on the mansion. A bitter, yet sweet smile tugged at his lips before he turned toward his black car. The raw night air tousled his hair, sent his tie fluttering, and billowed his white shirt.
He looked up at the sky—a stretch of darkness, no moon, no stars. As if the night itself was swallowing him whole.
Mother… He closed his eyes, drawing in a slow, steady breath.
I’m sorry.
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