THE SCARLET DHOW (Malik's Story) - Chapter 3: Tides of Deception

Malik couldn’t remember when the seed of doubt first took root—perhaps it was the way Aida once flinched when a phone rang. Or how she never let him take her photo, never let him walk her to the edge of town. The town knew her, yes—but only in shadows.

Still, his body betrayed his logic.

Days were molten with want. She would show up at the beach house wrapped in nothing but an oversized linen shirt, the wind teasing its hem as she brought him mandazi and whispered Kiswahili lullabies into his neck. Nights were primal—raw silk sheets tangling around limbs, wine-stained lips, whispered vows that never made sense by daylight.

“I want to live in this house with you,” she once murmured, tracing the outline of one of his restaurant sketches with a salt-wet finger. “I want us to build something beautiful together.”

But even in that moment, Malik noticed the ring mark. A faint pale band on her finger, usually covered by coral bangles or varnished nails. She caught him staring and kissed him to shut him up, her body a soft cage around his suspicions.

Still, they grew.

One morning, Malik followed her.

Not out of malice—he told himself—but because the gnawing wouldn’t stop. He saw her walk into a curio shop, greet the owner with practiced warmth, then disappear behind a curtain.

And then… a man followed.

Older. Regal in his stride. Wedding band glinting like judgment under the morning sun.

Malik’s gut twisted.

He waited. An hour. Two. When she finally emerged, her lipstick was redder, her scarf tighter. She didn’t see him.

He walked back to the beach alone.

That night, she came with passion like a storm. Tore at his clothes. Kissed him until he thought his mouth would bruise. And he let her. God, he let her.

But something inside him had snapped.

Later, as she slept curled into his chest, Malik stared at the ceiling, numb. His hand rested on her back, not to hold her, but to keep her from slipping further into whatever lie they’d built together.

And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t dream of her.

He dreamed of Nairobi.
Of clean slates.
Of his rooftop restaurant, bathed in sunset gold.

The tides were turning. And they carried Malik's heart with them—away from her.



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