27. Faiz
CHAPTER 27
FAIZ
M y heart hammers against my ribs, faster than the frantic pace of my steps as I race through the palace halls. I fumble with my phone, hitting the contact for Tara, but it doesn’t even ring. Instead, her voicemail greeting stabs at me with its impersonal tone.
“Tara,” I say, “It’s Faiz. Please, call me back. I’m sorry… about everything. I need to talk to you.”
My parents don’t know exactly when Tara is leaving, which means I don’t know how much time I have. All I know is that I need to get to her before she walks out of my life forever.
I take the stairs two at a time, my thoughts racing. What if she doesn’t listen? What if I’ve ruined everything with my fear? What if all the apologies in the world won’t make her stay?
I find Ali in his room, surrounded by his toys and books — a kingdom far too small for a boy with dreams as big as his. His eyes light up when he sees me, like I’m his hero, not the person who’s kept him hidden away.
“Ali,” I say, kneeling down so I’m eye to eye with him. “Tara, she… is going away for a while, but I want to ask her to stay.”
“Oh.” He blinks. “Okay. I will be here. See you.”
“I was thinking… would you like to come with me to find her?”
His eyebrows shoot nearly to his hairline. “I can come too?” he shrieks.
“Yes.” My throat tightens around the word, thick with emotions I usually keep locked away. “Would you like that?”
He nods, excitement sparkling in his wide eyes. “Yes, Baba! Let’s go get Tara!”
We’re in this together, my son and I, ready to face whatever comes next — even if it’s rejection. With Ali’s hand in mine, we leave behind the safety of our gilded cage, stepping into the unknown. And for the first time in a long time, I feel alive with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, we can be a family out there in the real world.
I tell Ahmed the plan, and we climb into the car in the garage, the tinted windows ready to shield us from the journalists’ eyes. Ali bounces in his seat next to me, and I try Tara again.
Again, it goes straight to voicemail.
The palace gates swing open, and the world rushes in. Ahmed’s foot is heavy on the gas, slicing through the throng of journalists with their hungry cameras. I grip Ali’s hand tighter, as if to remind us both that this is real — that it’s happening. He looks back, his big eyes wide, a mix of confusion and awe at the sudden interest in our once secluded existence.
“Cameras, Baba,” he whispers, pointing through the tinted windows.
I nod, squeezing his hand. “Yes, they want to see you, my brave little man.”
“Will Tara see them too?” he asks.
“Maybe,” I reply, hoping to God that she will stay and see everything my life holds — the good and the ugly.
We pull up outside Tara’s apartment, the engine giving one last shudder before silence descends. It’s the quiet before the storm — a moment of stillness before the onslaught. My heart is a drumbeat in my chest, adrenaline and fear dancing a tango that I can’t control. I leave Ahmed with a nod, guiding Ali up the steps.
Her door looms before us, but it’s not her welcoming smile that greets us — it’s quiet when I knock.
Ali flits around the landing in excitement. “Stay close,” I tell him.
“Where is Tara?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” My chest tightens.
A neighbor, watering the potted ferns by her threshold, meets my questioning gaze. I see the recognition in her face — two princes, one who was a secret just yesterday — standing in front of her.
“Do you know where Tara Hague is?” I ask, choosing to ignore the elephant in the room.
“Left in quite the hurry, she did,” the woman says. “Not two hours ago. Said she was moving, going back home to the States. She was on her way to the airport.”
“Thank you,” I manage, the words tasting like ash. I don’t have time for pleasantries — we have to move, now .
Ali senses the urgency, trotting to keep pace with my long strides back to the car. There’s no escaping the glare of publicity now, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the beating of my heart, which echoes Tara’s name with every pulse.
“Airport,” I tell Ahmed, and we’re off again, the city blurring past us into abstraction.
“Are we going on a plane, Baba?” Ali asks.
“Maybe someday,” I say, ruffling his hair. For him, I will make the world limitless. But today, we chase a different kind of departure — one I’m desperate to prevent.
The airport swarms with life. People bustling, announcements chiming, the scents from the different restaurants. People stare. Gawk. Take pictures. Ali clings to my hand, his excitement a live wire sparking against my own dread.
“Big planes!” he exclaims, pointing to the glass walls showcasing the giants of steel preparing to cleave the sky.
“Very big,” I say, my voice tight. We navigate the sea of travelers, my gaze darting, searching for that familiar blond hair, the set of shoulders I’ve come to know even in silhouette.
Every step feels like wading through treacle, but Ali’s hand in mine is a lifeline, pulling me forward, urging me not to give up — not yet, not when there’s still a chance to rewrite our ending.
“Sir.” A guard steps forward as we reach security. “You cannot…” He trails off, recognizing me.
I stand a little taller. “I must pass. It is a matter of national security.”
He bows. “Of course, Your Highness.”
The guard unlocks a rope, and Ali and I pass by, people gasping and talking excitedly. If ever I’ve been glad to be a royal, it’s now. For all the troubles the position has caused me, it’s good to know there’s finally a payback.
My heart hammers, breaths shallow, as Ali and I dart through the terminal. Faces blur into a single tapestry of curiosity, but their stares slide off me like rain on glass. Once, such exposure would have been my undoing, but now, the fear of losing Tara eclipses everything else. I am bare to the world, and it feels like freedom.
“Keep close, Ali,” I urge as we weave through the crowd. The feeling of his small hand in mine is both an anchor and a compass — my son, flesh of my flesh, the hidden chapter of my life now open for all to read. The secret that once shackled me now fuels my stride.
I search the screens for any flights that are headed where Tara might be going. I assume she is on her way home, to the US, but she could be going anywhere. How will I ? —
Wait. There it is. A connecting flight that eventually leads to New Jersey. My heart jumps into the base of my throat.
“This way,” I tell Ali. “I think I know where she is.”
We reach the gate just as the final boarding call crackles through the speakers. There she stands, my Tara, poised at the threshold between staying and leaving.
“Tara!” My voice slices through the din of preflight routines, and she turns, her eyes wide with shock — a deer caught in headlights, beautiful and poised for flight.
“Please, just a moment.” The words tumble from my lips, clumsy and urgent.
She hesitates, the pain etched in the taut line of her jaw, the betrayal in her gaze deep enough to drown in. “Ali,” she finally says.
“Hi, Tara!”
“You’re… at the airport.” She smiles, though there’s sadness there.
“We came to find you.”
She bites her lip, her attention turning back to me. “I have nothing left to say, Faiz.”
“Then hear me out — if not for me, then for Ali.” My chest heaves, each breath a plea.
Tara glances at my son, her expression softening just enough to let hope seep through the cracks. She steps aside, nodding to the attendant to let others pass, granting me this sliver of time.
“Thank you,” I breathe, aware that every second she gives is a gift she doesn’t owe. Ali squeezes my hand, his silent strength my saving grace as I stand before the woman I cannot bear to lose.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. The words feel jagged in my throat, but they carve out the truth I’ve buried for too long. “I love you, Tara. More than pride, more than fear, more than anything that ever kept me from saying it out loud.”
She sucks in a quick breath, surprise flashing in her eyes, but other than that giving nothing away.
I stare into her eyes, willing her to believe, to understand. “I know it wasn’t you who told everyone about Ali. It was Hamza. I— I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. And you were right about…” I glance at Ali. “He deserves the world. The actual world. Please, don’t leave.”
Time halts; the world holds its breath. Her eyes, those pools of warmth, glisten as they fill with a sheen of tears. A moment suspended, fragile as glass.
“Faiz, I love you too.” Her voice trembles, a gentle breeze carrying a promise.
The relief is overwhelming, an avalanche of emotion that nearly brings me to my knees. It’s her next words, though, that truly anchor me to the spot.
“Seeing Ali here, with you… it means everything.”
Ali, standing beside me, reaches out tentatively. And then, as if drawn by a magnet, Tara wraps her arms around both of us. There’s a strength in her embrace that tells me we’re not just three souls colliding, but a family uniting.
“Of course I’ll stay,” she says.
People point and exclaim. Take pictures and jostle each other for a better view. But their intrusion feels distant, negligible. Because right now, in this embrace, I am whole. I am proud.
Proud of Ali, who looks up at me with a smile that could outshine the sun. Proud of Tara, whose love has been a beacon that guided me out of my darkest times. And finally, proud of myself for breaking free from the chains I thought I had no choice but to wrap around myself.
Let them snap their photos, let them roll their videos. I stand tall amid the chaos, a man reborn in vulnerability and love. This moment will be etched in time, a testament to the life ahead of us — a life no longer shrouded in shadows but bathed in the light of our courage.