Chapter 8, The Twins 2
As Zainab walked, trying to locate Lukman, she misstepped at the top edge of the stairs.
Her foot slipped, and she found herself tumbling forward. In a flash of panic, she reached out, but just as she was about to lose her balance completely, a hand gripped her from behind, stopping her from falling, with all the documents in his hands flying all over the place.
Zainab's heart raced in her chest—not from the near fall, but from the shock of the person who had just caught her. She froze, unable to speak, as she found herself staring into the familiar face of the man who had just saved her.
Her breath caught in her throat. "How can this be?" she whispered to herself in disbelief.
Standing in front of her—
The scent.
His face.
As familiar as ever.
Her mind was reeling. He had been gone for so long—she had believed him to be lost to her forever. But there he was, standing in front of her, as though nothing had ever happened. As though he hadn't disappeared into the shadows of the past.
"Careful, careful please."
The same familiar voice.
How is this even possible? she thought.
"Mubarak…"
He helped her stabilize, guiding her gently until she stood properly, his hands still resting on her waist. For a moment, they just stood there, staring into each other's eyes.
"Mubarak, you are…" Zainab began to say, but her voice cracked as she broke into tears, unable to finish her sentence.
He quickly withdrew his hands from her body, looking away. "Astagfirullah," he murmured under his breath.
"What does that soppose to mean" Zainab thought
His gaze soon shifted back to the documents scattered on the floor.
"Mubarak, you're alive all these years? Why didn't you come back? Why didn't you find me? We all thought—" she broke out crying as she reached for him, but he took a step backward.
"What are you saying? I'm Mukhtar, not Mubarak," he told her, clearly annoyed. "And you should be more careful next time. Look at what you've just caused me. I have a meeting now," he complained, quickly bending down to gather his scattered documents.
Zainab was utterly shocked. She opened her mouth to say something—but a voice interrupted her.
"Mukhtar! Mukhtar, I've been looking everywhere for you," a beautiful lady, probably in her mid-twenties, called out as she approached him.
Zainab felt her heart twist.
"Halima, I'm here. These documents fell," he replied.
Halima was about to help him when her eyes landed on Zainab. "And you—who are you? What are you doing so close to my fiancé?" she interrogated sharply.
"Your fiancé?" Zainab repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief as her eyes widened.
"Yes," Halima said confidently, her tone calm but firm. "He's my fiancé."
Zainab let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Are you out of your mind?"
Zainab turned sharply toward him who was collecting some files. "Mubarak! Did you hear what she just said?" she demanded, marching toward him. "I'm talking to you—look at me!"
Without hesitation, she grabbed him by the collar, shaking him slightly. He stumbled backward, startled.
"Hey! What are you doing?" he asked, trying to free himself from her grip.
"Let go of my fiancé!" Halima yelled, rushing over and trying to pry Zainab away, but Zainab held on tighter.
Zainab's eyes blazed with fury. "So, tell me, Mubarak! Are you pretending not to know me now? Did you fake your death just to marry someone else?!" she screamed, her voice breaking with emotion.
"I'm not Mubarak! I don't even know you—please let go of me!" he protested, clearly alarmed.
"Let go of you?" Zainab repeated with a bitter chuckle. "No, I'll do better!"
She slammed her fist against his chest. "You're a traitor! A liar!"
Halima lunged at her again, trying to drag her away, but Zainab shoved her back forcefully. In seconds, the two women were locked in a full-blown scuffle.
"And you!" Zainab shouted as they tussled. "How dare you call my husband your fiancé?!"
The shouting drew attention immediately. Bodyguards came rushing in, separating the two women with difficulty.
__
Zima had just finished her prayers, the peaceful rhythm of her breath slowly settling. As she stood to fold her prayer mat, her heart skipped a beat—Lukman was standing just a few feet away, staring at her.
She gasped and instinctively stumbled backward as if she wants to be anywhere but here.
"Zara," he said softly, taking a step closer.
But before Zima could respond, the door burst open.
A man in his early thirties strode in, sharply dressed in an office suit. It was Salim Saleh—his expression unreadable, his eyes flicking from Zima to Lukman.
"Do you care to explain what you're doing in my fiancée's room?" Salim asked coldly, his gaze fixed on Lukman.
The word fiancée hit Lukman like a slap. His jaw tightened. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his patience hanging by a thread.
"It means exactly what you heard," Salim replied, stepping forward. "This woman is not who you think she is. She's my wife-to-be. We're getting married by the end of this week."
Zima froze, her lips parting in shock.
Lukman, on the other hand, was consumed with rage. Before anyone could stop them, he lunged at Salim, and the two men crashed into each other with clenched fists and fiery glares.
"How dare you call Zara your fiancée!" Lukman roared in the middle of their scuffle.
"Please you both should stopped it" Zima interrupted but no one listens to her.
Furniture tipped, voices rose—and just then, the police stormed in, pulling the men apart with force as tension crackled in the air.
____
The day dragged on longer than anyone expected. The entire family of the twins gathered at the police station, only to be met with a shocking reality. They had seen Zara and Mubarak standing right before them—yet, both denied knowing any of them.
Earlier that day, Lukman and Zainab had been brought to the police station for causing chaos at the Saleh family's home.
Their claims were simple: Zima was actually Zara, and Mukhtar was in fact Mubarak. But the Saleh family stood firm, rejecting every word.
"Zima is Zima, not Zara. And Mukhtar is Mukhtar, not Mubarak," Salim had said without hesitation.
Together with Halima and Mrs. Amira, they presented legal documents, fingerprints, and past medical reports—everything confirming that Zima and Mukhtar were who they claimed to be. According to them, both had lost their parents in an accident as children and had been raised by Mrs. Amira, who was their guardian. Salim and Halima were her biological children.
Still, Lukman and Zainab couldn't accept it.
"How can you all stand there and lie?" Zainab cried, her voice cracking.
The final blow came when Salim, Halima, and Mrs. Amira filed an official case against the entire family—Zainab, Lukman, Yusuf, Alamin, Hafsat, Atika, Barakah, and even the children: Afna, Sulaiman, Abdulhameed, and Abdulkareem. None of them were allowed to come near Zima and Mukhtar again.
The inspector called Zima first.
"Mrs. Zima, please look at these people carefully. Do you recognize them as your family?" he asked.
Zima looked at them, her hands trembling. Her lips parted, but no words came out.
Salim stepped forward, his voice soft but firm. "Tell them, Zima. Tell them you're not Zara. Tell them you don't know any of them."
Zima took a deep breath. "Yes... I don't know them," she said quietly.
The room went silent.
Mukhtar was next.
"And you, Mr. Mukhtar? Do you know them?" the officer asked.
He looked around—at their faces, at their tears. His silence hung in the air until Halima whispered, "Tell them, Mukhtar. We're your family. You don't know them."
After a long pause, Mukhtar finally spoke. "Yes... I don't know them."
The were granted a full restriction order.
This incident left everyone shaken, with hearts heavy and minds clouded by doubt. No one knew what the real truth was anymore.