When Fate Was Forbidden

When Fate Was Forbidden A. Amaro Contents Trigger Warning Foreword Prologue Part I Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Author’s Notes Acknowledgments This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Text copyright © 2023 A. Amaro All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author. Cover design by Books and Moods Trigger Warning This book contains aspects of abuse, religion and toxic situations. To my family, I wish I could tell you it’s me. “The coolest people I’ve ever met have the most colourful pasts, they’ve lived lives of risk, made bad choices, learned lessons, explored, and they’re not afraid of being real. Tattered tapestries, woven of similar threads, they’re my kind of people. My favourite kind of crazy.” – Stephan. L. Lizotte. Prologue ‘I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope. against happiness, against all discouragement that could be.’ -Charles Dickens, Great Expectations Taimur There she was. I could sense her before I even saw her, and for a second, I was under the illusion that she was still mine. I gave myself a moment to take in the sight of her. Still a vision, but a vision of a woman now. A breathtakingly beautiful woman at that. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Gone was the fearful yet tender girl who passionately believed in the religious scriptures, blindly letting them guide her life without questioning the outcomes. In her place was a confident and defiant woman, who made up her own rules. Nine years had seen a lot of changes in her; and probably in me. Her short brown hair fell to her shoulders, for the world to see. Then, it had been only for me. That long, raven hair wrapped firmly underneath a tight head scarf – away from prying eyes. The part of her she used to say was only mine and I loved her for it. Loved her – past tense. Now… now I despised her. I had despised her for nine years. I tried to push her out of my mind, but it had been pointless. She refused to leave. She had become a part of me, a part of my essence. Cutting her out was as hard as cutting out a piece of my soul. So, I let her stay. For me, the line between love and hate had always been blurred. I detested her, and still I knew deep down that I adored her in a way I still didn’t understand. I always had and always would. God knows why. She owned a part of me that not even I could take back. Every time I was down on my luck and ready to give up, I located the animosity deep within my soul and was back on track, determined to prove myself. There I was, rich, successful, and thriving, so why did I still feel like the poor boy she had left behind? Even as part of me longed for her, anger gripped me, and rage simmered under my skin. The physical ache of having her so close yet so far consumed me, and my mind told me to turn around, get back into my car and drive home. I had debated all morning whether to drop off the cake or send it by Uber, but my curiosity got the best of me and there I was, standing in front of the woman who broke my heart and ruined my life. As if she could sense me, she turned around, sucking the last bit of air out of my lungs. She was beautiful. Stunning. Breath-taking. Her brown hair was loose for all to see, now framing her small, cream-coloured face, soft pink cheeks and big emerald eyes. Eyes that I used to enjoy getting lost in when she was mine. When she was mine. She wore a pair of tight black jeans, fitting her like a second skin and accentuating her every curve, with a pair of striking red soled heels and a large burgundy hoody that didn’t belong to her. I knew who it belonged to. It always belonged to him. My Pearl. There was a time she hated dressing up, wishing she could be in her pyjamas all day. When her Uggs were her favourite pair of shoes, and make up was a chore. “W…W…What are you doing here, T…T…Taimur?” she stuttered. That meant she was nervous. I liked that she was nervous. I was bloody nervous, Goddammit. I was downright tense and trying my hardest not to make a scene. I knew I was going to see her when I decided to drop off the cake, but I didn’t know what I expected. Maybe I expected the same tender girl who’d held me when my father died, or maybe I expected the cold-hearted girl who never picked up my calls after I gave her my whole world. Whatever it was, it definitely was not what I saw before me. I stood in front of her for a moment, hands fisted in my jean pockets, clenching the silver charm bracelet I had once given her. The bracelet she promised she would never take off – until she mailed it back to me with no explanation. I had worn it ever since. “You invited me. Not sure why, but I am just dropping off the cake and then I’ll