Page 18 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

“Here,” he says as he returns, kneeling before me.

His fingers are deft as he cleans the cut, his touch careful not to cause more pain. His face is close, too close, and I can’t help but be taken in by the rich brown of his eyes, the flecks of gold that hadn’t caught my attention before.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice softer now, a whisper designed just for me.

“Only a bit,” I admit, and I’m not just talking about the sting on my skin. My heart feels like it’s been pricked too, swelling with an ache that’s sweet and terrifying all at once. The space between us shrinks, filled with the danger of a live wire.

He looks up at me then, and there’s something in his gaze that steals the breath from my lungs. Does he feel this too? This pull that tugs at all the reasons why something between us could never work?

His hand is steady as he places a bandage over the cut, but when his fingers brush against mine, they tremble ever so slightly. We’re close enough now that I can feel his breath, warm against my cheek. Our eyes lock, and the world falls away, leaving only the possibility of what could be.

In this infinite second, I think he might lean in, close the distance completely…

But the moment shatters as Amina walks into the room, humming softly to herself. She heads straight to the coffee pot.

“Good morning,” she greets us cheerfully, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. And just like that, the spell is broken.

Faiz stands abruptly, stepping back as if the proximity burns him. He avoids my gaze, focusing instead on some distant point over my shoulder.

“Morning, Amina,” I manage to say, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

Amina pours herself a coffee, continuing to hum, while I’m left trying to piece together the fragments of something that felt like it could have been real but that’s also left me wondering if it was all just wishful thinking.

The awkwardness fills the room, and while Faiz has taken his seat, he’s looking everywhere but at me. Grasping for some conversation to break the tension, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Ali could benefit from some fresh air,” I suggest. “He’s recovering well, but he needs air and sunshine. Perhaps a trip to the park would do him good.”

Faiz’s reaction is immediate, a bolt of tension through his frame that I feel as if it were my own. “He will go to the beach next week,” he states flatly, and I see the steel walls slam down behind his eyes.

I freeze. Why is he so resistant to Ali going to a park? Surely, no one there will even think that he is Faiz’s son. Why would they? “But Faiz, he can’t be cooped up here forever.”

“He won’t be,” he retorts, the edge in his voice cutting short any further protest. “And that is my matter to worry about. You are his doctor, and that’s all.”

Silence hangs heavy, and Faiz seems to shrink into himself, his earlier warmth now replaced by a cold front. “I have a video meeting,” he announces abruptly, standing.

I watch, heart sinking, as he strides away, each step taking him further from the intimate moment we shared. Amina sits across from me, her features softened by the morning glow, her eyes reflecting a world of understanding and patience. It’s just us now, Faiz gone, his presence lingering like a shadow on the wall.

“He is like that sometimes,” she says.

I sigh. “Apparently so.”

“Do not let it get to you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

Her lips pull thin, and she looks away, confirming that she knows exactly who I’m referring to.

“Does Ali ever really get to leave this place?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper. The question feels heavy, laden withimplications I’m only beginning to understand. “Or was Faiz just saying that about the beach?”

She considers her words, and I can tell she’s weighing truth against loyalty. “He does, but it’s a rare occasion,” she admits, her gaze flickering down to her hands as if the answer lies within the lines of her skin. “We’ll go next week, yes. But Faiz… he never comes along.”

I nod, feeling a pang of sorrow for Ali. My heart aches for him, this boy growing up surrounded by walls and known by so few people. I think of my own childhood, the loneliness that clung to me like a second skin, shaping me into the woman I am today. A woman who, sometimes, I wish I weren’t.

“It’s no way to raise a child,” I say, more to myself than to Amina. “All the staff in the world can’t replace the simple joy of making a friend.”

Amina meets my eyes, and there’s a silent acknowledgment that passes between us — a shared concern for a little boy who’s inherited a gilded cage. “He’s bright, well-educated,” she offers, as if trying to balance the scales. “But yes, Tara, you’re right. He needs more than these walls can give.”

I let out a sigh, wishing that I could argue more but knowing it’s no use. Faiz is the authority when it comes to Ali, and as far as I know he’s doing nothing illegal. I feel trapped, caught between my professional boundaries and the urge to wrap Ali in my arms and show him the world — the vast, vibrant world he’s been denied.

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