Assalammu'alaikum family, friends, readers and followers of this blog.
Disclaimer ya, all the stories I write are fictional, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events are all purely coincidental. Names, characters, places and events are just the product of my imagination or just used fictitiously.
He was the kind of boy people trusted without knowing
why.
Not because he was loud or charming in a way that
demanded attention, but because he listened—really listened. When she spoke, he
didn’t check his phone or finish her sentences. He waited, as if her thoughts
mattered enough to arrive in their own time. He remembered things she mentioned
once in passing. The name of her childhood cat. How she took her tea. The way
she went quiet when conversations turned sharp.
It felt safe to be seen by
him.
They met without drama. No sparks that exploded on
contact, no love-at-first-sight stories worth retelling. Instead, it was
gentle. Easy. The kind of connection that didn’t announce itself but stayed. He
walked her home on evenings that stretched longer than planned. He asked
questions without turning them into interrogations. He never rushed her
affection, never made her feel like love was something she owed.
When she told her friends about him, she used words
like steady and kind. They smiled politely at first—until they
met him.
“This one’s different,” one of them said later,
surprised.
She already knew.
Meeting his mother came sooner than she expected. She
worried about it more than she admitted. Mothers, she’d learned, were not
always reflections of their sons. But when the woman opened the door, her smile
was immediate and warm, as though she had been waiting for her all along.
“So this is her,” his mother said, reaching for her
hands. “I’ve heard so much.”
The house smelled like something sweet baking. There
were framed photographs everywhere—school graduations, family trips, a younger
version of the boy standing proudly beside his mother. His father was quieter,
polite but distant. It was the mother who filled the room, her voice carrying
comfort and familiarity.
“You must be tired,” she said. “Sit. Eat. You’re too
thin.”
It sounded like care.
Throughout the evening, his mother spoke kindly of
her. She complimented her manners, her education, her calmness. She told
stories about his childhood that made him groan and laugh at the same time.
More than once, she squeezed the girl’s hand and said, “I’m so glad he found
you.”
On the drive home, he glanced at her nervously. “She
can be… a lot. Was she okay?”
“She was lovely,” she said honestly. “I like her.”
Relief softened his face. He
reached for her hand and held it the rest of the way.
From then on, everything unfolded as if guided by
quiet approval. His mother called her often—checking in, offering advice,
sending food over. She praised her to relatives. Introduced her proudly. Told
her, more than once, “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”
It made the girl feel chosen
in a way she hadn’t expected.
When he proposed, it wasn’t extravagant. Just him, a
ring, and a question asked with sincerity instead of spectacle. She said yes
without hesitation. His mother cried when they told her. Hugged her tightly.
Whispered, “Welcome to the family.”
The wedding was joyful. The kind where laughter came
easily and tears were happy ones. His mother stood beaming in every photo,
adjusting the girl’s veil, fixing her hair, kissing her cheek.
“You’re beautiful,” she said. “Take care of my son.”
“I will,” the girl promised.
She believed marriage would deepen what already
existed—love, trust, companionship. She believed family expanded with kindness.
She believed that a woman who smiled so warmly could not mean harm.
On their first night in their new home, as they lay
side by side in unfamiliar quiet, he told her, “If anything ever makes you
uncomfortable, you tell me. Always.”
She smiled into the darkness. “Nothing will.”
And in that moment, she meant it.
She did not yet know that safety can feel identical to
danger—until the doors close.
She did not know that some love is only gentle when
watched.
And she did not know that one day, the boy who never
raised his voice would have to choose silence—or leave.
Please leave a comment if you want to read the next chapter. :)
