Ameer was different.
In a world where wealth often turned people arrogant, he remained humble.
In a time where love was treated like a game, he had never even looked at another girl.
He was pure. The kind of man who lowered his gaze, who treated every woman with respect, who never allowed himself to fall into sin.
He had everything—money, power, a name that carried weight—but he never used any of it to his advantage.
And when he loved, he loved with all of his heart.
That was why his love for Amna was not just love.
It was devotion.
It was a silent prayer whispered in the early hours of the morning.
It was the way he smiled whenever he saw her name on his phone.
It was the dreams he built, the promises he made, the life he imagined with her.
And for three years, she let him believe it was real.
But from the very beginning, she knew.
She knew she was never his to have.
She knew her father had promised her to another man.
She knew that no matter how much Ameer loved her, she would never be his wife.
And she never told him.
Not when he made dua for her after every prayer.
Not when he fasted on Mondays and Thursdays because she once told him she admired those who did.
Not when he told her, “I’ve never touched another woman. I never will. Because my heart has always been yours.”
She never told him.
And that was her greatest betrayal.
One evening, under the soft glow of the masjid’s lanterns, she finally shattered him.
“Ameer… I need to talk to you.”
He turned to her, smiling softly. “You’re nervous,” he chuckled. “Just say it, Amna.”
She looked down, her hands trembling. “I should have told you earlier… but I was afraid.”
His smile faded. “Afraid of what?”
Her lips trembled. “Ameer… I’m engaged.”
Silence.
Ameer blinked.
For a moment, he thought he had misheard.
“What?” he whispered.
“My father… He promised me to someone else a long time ago. I knew, but I—”
He took a step back, like her words had physically struck him. “You knew?”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
Ameer exhaled shakily, looking up at the sky as if searching for strength. “You didn’t want to lose me… so you let me love you?”
His voice cracked.
“You let me believe in a future that never existed?”
Her sobs grew louder. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Ameer let out a broken laugh, shaking his head. “Do you know what hurts the most, Amna?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I have never given my heart to anyone before you.”
Amna covered her face, unable to look at him.
“I have never touched another woman. Never even thought of another woman.” His voice was raw, filled with pain. “Because I thought Allah had written you for me.”
He swallowed hard.
“But you… you knew all along. And you let me stay blind.”
She reached for his hand, desperate. “Ameer, please. I never wanted to hurt you.”
He closed his eyes, his breath unsteady. “Then why did you?”
She fell to her knees. “Please… please forgive me.”
Ameer looked at her, his eyes filled with something indescribable. A grief too heavy to carry. A love too deep to erase.
And then, in a voice so soft yet so full of finality, he said:
“I already do. I forgive you. We will not have to meet in front of Allah because I forgive you.”
Amna gasped.
He wasn’t just letting go of her.
He was letting go of his right to ask for justice.
He was letting go of everything.
And that was worse than hatred.
Because it meant she had lost him forever.
She wanted to say something, to take it back, to undo the damage.
But it was too late.
Ameer turned and walked away.
And she knew—she would never see him again.
The wedding happened. The world moved on. Amna tried to as well.
But she couldn’t.
Because every night, when she closed her eyes, all she saw was Ameer walking away.
And then, one evening, she saw something that destroyed her.
She was walking through the marketplace with her husband when she saw them.
Three men, sitting by the roadside.
Their clothes were dirty. Their faces empty.
One of them laughed at nothing.
The second whispered to himself.
The third just rocked back and forth, staring at the sky.
Amna’s steps faltered.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Ameer’s words echoed in her mind:
“I have never given my heart to anyone before you.”
“Because I thought Allah had written you for me.”
And then, a horrifying thought crashed into her.
What if this was Ameer now?
What if she had broken him beyond repair?
What if he was sitting somewhere like this—lost, shattered, unable to recognize the world anymore?
Her vision blurred. Her chest tightened.
Her husband turned, confused. “Amna?”
She couldn’t answer.
She just stood there, staring at the men, feeling something inside her shatter.
Because in that moment, she understood something terrible.
Some wounds don’t heal.
Some people never recover.
Some betrayals take more than just love—they take everything.
And sometimes, the ones we hurt the most are the ones who suffer in silence—until there is nothing left of them but a shadow.
She had prayed for his forgiveness.
But now, she wished he had never given it.
Because forgiveness meant they would never meet again.
Not in this world.
And not in the next.
And that was the real punishment.