The blood had mostly dried.
Leonardo sat on the cold floor of the dusty guesthouse, back pressed against the crumbling wall, his black shirt clinging to the bullet graze on his shoulder. He'd removed his jacket and ripped the sleeve to clean the wound, but it was a poor job. The pain was bearable. The silence, less so.
He'd been hunted before. Trapped. Shot. But never… seen.
Until now.
He didn't know her name—just the shape of her in the light. The sound of her humming. The movement of her fingers as she wrote in her book, utterly unaware of the man bleeding behind the wall.
She had looked like something from a forgotten life. A life he might've lived, if not born into hell.
Leonardo De Luca was the last person who should've been in Pakistan. But betrayal had a smell—and when his own blood brother sold him out to a rival family, he barely escaped Milan alive. His contacts had scattered him across Europe, but Lahore was the last place anyone would think to look for the son of the most ruthless Mafia Don in Italy.
His handler here—Azfar—was a nervous smuggler who owed him money and favors. He had stashed Leonardo in the abandoned guesthouse and warned him not to leave, not to speak, not to be seen.
But how could he not have seen her?
She was sunlight. Everything he'd never touched without burning it.
He didn't even know what she had written. But her fingers danced over the page with a tenderness he hadn't seen in years. His world had been contracts and corpses. Hers seemed to be ink and jasmine.
His world took. Hers… gave.
And he was already craving more.
Flashback — Milan, Two Years Ago
"Heart is for the weak," his father growled, fingers curled around a glass of bitter liquor. "You hesitate—you die. You feel—you lose. You want to protect someone? You bury them before someone else does."
Leonardo hadn't flinched. He never did in front of his father. He was raised on discipline, bruises, and blood. His heart had been cauterized before he could even learn to trust it.
He had women, yes—ones who moaned his name and forgot his face.
But love?
No. He didn't believe in fairytales. He believed in control. Obedience. Fear.
Until a girl in a beige scarf walked barefoot through his mind and refused to leave.
Present — Lahore
Leonardo stood at the edge of the wall the next afternoon, half-hidden behind old vines. He told himself it was just for a moment. Just a glance to confirm she was real.
She was in the garden again. White cotton flowing around her like mist. Her scarf fluttered in the breeze, soft and effortless. She bent slightly to feed a kitten from a small bowl, whispering something in Urdu.
He didn't understand the words, but the tone…
It was the first time in years he'd heard a voice that made him want to listen.
He shifted, the movement making him wince. He knew this was foolish. Dangerous. But he couldn't look away.
That's when she looked up.
Not at him—just toward the sky. A plane passed overhead, a slow streak in the blue. She lifted her hand in dua, and Leonardo froze.
The gesture was gentle. Reverent. Intimate.
He'd seen people pray before. But not like that. Not like someone who truly believed the heavens were listening.
He leaned his head back against the wall and exhaled.
What the hell was happening to him?
That night, he couldn't sleep.
His wound throbbed, but it wasn't the pain that kept him awake.
It was her.
He didn't even know her name, and yet she had rearranged the architecture of his silence.
The garden was quiet. From his darkened corner window, he could just make out the light in her room. Soft. Golden.
She was still awake.
He could see her silhouette behind a sheer curtain. She sat by the window, writing again. Always writing.
He imagined walking up to her.
What would I even say?
"Hi, I'm Leonardo. I've killed men, laundered millions, and now I'm hiding behind your house watching you like a madman."
Yeah, real charming.
He rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to get out of this country, not fall in love with the first girl who didn't flinch at life.
But it was already too late.
The worst part?
He didn't want to leave.
The Next Day
Azfar returned with bandages and news.
"They're sniffing around," he muttered, nervous eyes scanning the hallway. "I paid two cops. But you need to disappear soon."
Leonardo was only half listening. "Who lives in the house behind this one?"
Azfar blinked. "What?"
"The girl," Leonardo said. "The one in the garden."
Azfar stiffened. "You've been watching her?"
Leonardo's gaze turned sharp. "Answer the question."
Azfar lowered his voice. "That's the imam's daughter."
That stopped him cold.
"She's… what?"
"Her father is the local imam. A respected scholar. She's young, quiet. Teaches kids in the neighborhood. Known for her modesty. They call her Noor. Means 'light' in Arabic."
Leonardo stared out the window again.
Noor.
The name tasted like honey and fire in his mouth.
"You need to stay away from her," Azfar added quickly. "She's not for your kind."
Leonardo said nothing.
He already knew Azfar was right.
But his heart whispered something else:
She is everything I never believed in—because no one like her ever existed in my world.
Later That Evening
Leonardo limped down the corridor, pain shooting up his arm as he moved. He should've been resting. But he couldn't.
Something had shifted inside him.
He watched Noor from afar again. This time, she was sitting under the tree with a child on her lap, teaching him to pronounce letters. Her patience was unshakable. Her smile rare—but when it came, it stayed like a secret blessing.
He wanted to deserve it.
For the first time in his life, he wanted to be good.
Not for power. Not for penance. Not for fear.
But for her.
Midnight
He stood alone in the garden, her garden, long after she had gone to bed. He shouldn't have. He knew it.
But he wanted to feel what it was like to stand where she did.
He walked slowly among the flowers she had touched, listened to the wind she had prayed into.
He stood under her window, looked up at the light that had just turned off.
And whispered to the stars:
"Noor…If God is real…If He listens to someone like me…Then let me protect her.Let me deserve her.Let me become someone she would not have to fear."
He didn't know how long he stood there.
But for the first time in years, Leonardo De Luca felt something break.
Not his bones. Not his control.
But his curse.
And maybe… just maybe…
His redemption had begun.