Chapter 30
1721 Words
✨Where His World Touched Hers.✨
Nasir Pov
Nasir mother had hosted birthdays before. Lavish ones. Loud ones. Affairs that moved like performances—people arriving with rehearsed smiles, gifts chosen by assistants, toasts sharpened by ambition. They had never mattered much to him.
Tonight did.
Because Flora stood beside him.
The gates to his parents’ estate opened slowly, iron curling back like something ceremonial, and the car rolled forward over the smooth stone drive. Even before they stopped, Nasir felt it—the way Flora’s body stilled, the way her breath caught softly beside him.
She stared.
Not rudely. Not openly. Just… in disbelief.
The house rose before them like something unreal. Grand without being cold. Old money without apology. Tall windows glowing warmly, light spilling across the lawn, voices drifting faintly through open doors. Music hummed beneath it all—live, elegant, alive.
Flora’s fingers tightened in her lap.
“This is… someone lives here?” she whispered.
Nasir smiled despite himself. “Unfortunately.”
She turned to him, eyes wide. “This is where you grew up?”
“Survived,” he corrected lightly.
Her mouth parted, then closed. She looked back at the house, then at her dress, then at him. “I’m underdressed,” she said faintly.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You could show up in a paper bag and still make this place feel overdressed.”
She blushed instantly, color blooming from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.
He loved that.
Before the car door opened, he reached for her hand. “We’re not doing the front entrance.”
Her brows knit together. “Why not?”
“Because I’d rather you meet my sister before you meet the circus.”
Her shoulders relaxed at that.
They slipped around the back of the house instead, past manicured hedges and stone paths lit softly by lanterns. The noise dulled here. The air felt calmer.
And then—
“Nasir.”
His sister’s voice carried warmth and warning all at once.
Leila stood near the terrace doors, dressed in deep emerald, arms crossed loosely as she assessed him. Her gaze slid immediately to Flora.
“Oh,” Leila said, smiling slowly. “So this is why you’ve been missing.”
Flora startled slightly, then laughed—an uncertain sound that Leila seemed to take as a personal victory.
Nasir sighed. “Leila—”
“Don’t,” his sister cut in cheerfully. She stepped forward and took Flora’s hands without hesitation. “You must be Flora.”
Flora blinked. “Yes.”
“I’m Leila,” she said brightly. “And before you panic—no one bites unless provoked.”
Flora laughed again, this time real.
Leila leaned closer to her conspiratorially. “He didn’t tell me you were this small.”
Nasir groaned. “You’re not helping.”
“You’re fine,” Leila waved him off. “She looks sturdy.”
Flora snorted before she could stop herself, clapping a hand over her mouth.
Nasir watched the tension slide off her shoulders like a coat she’d been desperate to remove. Something eased in his chest.
He guided them into the grand living room after that.
The room was full—voices overlapping, laughter sharp and bright, glasses clinking. Family, friends, associates. Power gathered in silk and tailored suits.
Leila leaned in and pointed discreetly. “That one over there? Cousin Matteo. Don’t ask him about politics. Or women. Or money.”
Flora laughed, covering her mouth.
“That man with the beard?” Leila continued. “Uncle Renzo. Pretends to be terrifying. Cries at weddings.”
Flora’s laughter grew easier.
Nasir squeezed her hand once before releasing it. “Don’t leave her side,” he told Leila quietly.
Leila saluted. “Go accept your worship.”
He moved through the room, greeting people, accepting toasts and birthday wishes, his attention divided despite himself. His eyes kept returning to Flora—how she stood close to Leila, nodding, smiling shyly, listening more than speaking.
She looked like she belonged.
His mother found him before he could find her.
She touched his cheek, smiling softly. “Happy birthday, my son.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
Her gaze slid past him immediately. “Is that her?”
He followed her eyes. “Yes.”
“Well,” she said, pleased, “don’t just stand there.”
He brought his mother to Flora.
“This is my mother,” he said gently. “Mama—Flora.”
His mother took Flora’s hands warmly. “So you’re the reason my son has been avoiding my calls.”
Flora flushed. “I—he didn’t—”
His mother laughed. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m teasing.” Then, more sincerely, “You’re beautiful.”
Flora’s blush deepened dramatically.
“You did well,” his mother added to Nasir pointedly. “About time you brought someone home.”
Flora looked like she might melt into the floor.
The music shifted then—slower, softer.
Nasir turned to her. “May I?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know how.”
“I do,” he said simply.
He guided her onto the floor, his hand warm at her waist, the other holding hers. She stumbled once, then steadied as he moved her gently, patiently.
“Just follow me,” he murmured.
She did.
Whispers rippled through the room. Curious glances. Quiet speculation. Nasir felt them all—and didn’t care.
She was smiling. Fully. Freely.
After the dancing, after more greetings and laughter, he finally brought her to his father.
There was a shift in the room. A tightening in the air. Instinct sharpened, old and unyielding.
The moment was brief.
His father’s eyes flicked over her—measured, assessing. He nodded once.
Then his hand closed on Nasir’s arm. “Walk with me."
Nasir turned back to Flora, who was laughing softly at something Leila had said, her eyes bright in a way that still startled him.
He leaned in, close enough that only she could hear.
“Stay here,” he said gently. “I’ll be right back.”
Her smile faltered just slightly. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” he said immediately, firm but soft. He lifted her hand, brushed his thumb over her knuckles in a quiet reassurance. “You’re perfect. I just need a moment.”
She nodded, though uncertainty lingered in her eyes.
He hesitated—then added, lower, “Leila won’t let anything happen to you.”
That made her smile again, small but real.
Leila caught the exchange and waved him off with a smirk. “Go. Handle whatever brooding, patriarchal ritual you’ve been summoned for.”
Nasir exhaled through his nose, then glanced back at Flora one more time before following his father away.
Flora watched him go, fingers curling unconsciously where his warmth lingered, unaware that in that brief separation, the rules of his world were already shifting.
Nasir followed his father without speaking.
They moved away from the music, the laughter dulling as heavy doors closed behind them. The hallway smelled faintly of old wood and cologne—memories layered into the walls. This part of the house had always felt like judgment.
His father stopped near the study, hands clasped behind his back.
“You brought her here,” his father said at last, not turning around.
“Yes.”
There was no anger in the word. That was worse. His father preferred precision.
“She doesn’t belong in this world,” his father continued calmly. “She’s soft. Look at her. She startles when someone raises their voice. She watches exits like prey.”
Nasir’s jaw tightened. “She’s observant.”
“She’s afraid,” his father corrected. “And fear does not survive long around men like us.”
Nasir stepped closer. “Then perhaps men like us should learn restraint.”
That earned him a slow turn.
His father’s gaze was sharp, assessing him the way he always had—like a man weighing risk against return.
“You’ve never brought a woman home,” his father said quietly. “Not like this. Not one without armor. Not one without understanding what it costs to stand beside you.”
Nasir didn’t deny it. “That’s exactly why.”
His father exhaled slowly. “You think this is kindness. Bringing her here. Letting her taste comfort.”
“I think it’s honesty,” Nasir shot back. “I won’t hide her.”
“You will endanger her.”
Silence stretched.
Then Nasir said, carefully, “You don’t know her.”
His father studied him. “I know enough. She will be watched the moment she’s seen. Questioned. Used.”
Nasir’s voice dropped. “No one touches her.”
His father’s brow lifted slightly. “You can’t control everything.”
“No,” Nasir agreed, eyes hard. “But I can control what I allow.”
His father stepped closer now, lowering his voice. “And when she learns who you are? When she learns what your name carries? When she realizes what you’ve built is soaked in blood?”
Nasir didn’t flinch. “Then she’ll choose.”
A pause.
“Or she’ll break,” his father said. “And broken things become liabilities.”
That did it.
Nasir stepped forward, anger finally cracking through his control. “She is not a thing.”
His father held his gaze, unyielding. “That is exactly my concern. You’re already speaking like a man who has something to lose.”
Nasir swallowed hard.
“Be careful,” his father added quietly. “Men like us don’t survive sentiment. And the world doesn’t forgive weakness.”
Nasir straightened, fire steadying instead of flaring. “Then the world will have to adjust.”
His father searched his face—truly looked at him now—and for the first time, something like uncertainty flickered there.
“Take her away from this,” his father said finally. “If you care for her as much as you think you do.”
Nasir turned without another word.
As he walked back toward the light, toward Flora, one truth burned unmistakably in his chest:
His father wasn’t wrong.
And Nasir would still choose her.
Every time.
- Writer
