Chapter 24

The university’s annual fundraiser was a glittering affair, a world away from the quiet intimacy of Zia and Aleena’s home. Aleena looked stunning in a deep emerald gown, her arm linked through Zia’s as they navigated the crowd. He, in a sharply tailored Babar riga, was the picture of a confident, accomplished academic.

It was then a voice, like a ghost from a forgotten life, sliced through the hum of conversation. “Yaya Zia? My God, is it really you?”

Zia stopped, his head tilting. “Aroush?” The name was a relic, dusted off from a closed. . .