Dream Within Dream

By Fizza Younis

When the line between dreams and reality is blurred, only the insane remain sane.

Maham Malik knows things aren't always what they seem, but she isn't ready to meet a husband she doesn't have. He is a stranger to her, yet she knows him. There is something about him that's familiar to her heart. But is she ready to face the consequences of dreaming a dream that's not hers? Or will her dream turn into a nightmare?

This man will have her heart and steal her soul, and she can do nothing to stop him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fizza Younis
• Release date: Jul 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798227329202

Fizza Younis

Dr. Fizza Younis resides in the vibrant city of Lahore, Pakistan, where her journey through life has been as diverse as the tapestry of her country. With a Ph.D. in economics, she has delved deep into the intricate webs of financial theory, but it's the enchanting realms of fiction and poetry that have captured her heart. As a dedicated indie author and ardent reader, she revels in the art of storytelling, crafting narratives that transcend the boundaries of her academic pursuits. Rooted in the principles of minimalism, equality, and harmony, her writing reflects her steadfast beliefs. Her stories are both mirrors of her philosophy and windows into the lives of intriguing characters navigating the labyrinth of existence. In her world, characters come alive, and their misadventures resonate with the shared joys and tribulations of humanity. With every word, she sprinkles love and encouragement, creating a cocoon of empathy and connection that envelops her readers. Though she might describe herself as an average person leading a mundane existence, in the world of fiction, Fizza is nothing short of spectacular. Join her on a journey through the written word, where ordinary lives take on extraordinary hues, and the essence of humanity is distilled into every sentence.

Book preview

Beyond the Veil

WHEN YOU HATE SOMEONE so much that you can’t stand to see their face, and yet some dark twist of fate forces you to live in the same house. That’s a tragedy. Every time you see them, or talk to them, you are reminded of all the reasons you want to kill them. But you can’t—you won’t, because that’s not the answer to your troubles.

You remind yourself every day that this will end soon. The torture will be over once you get your life back in order. Still, somewhere in your heart, deep down, there is a dread—a foreboding. Not all will be well. That’s my life, or rather the horrible part of it. It’s not all bad, though. There are good parts, too—the ones I’m proud of and happy to claim.

Anyway, this isn’t about the good side of the story, because well, who would want to read that, right? No, this is all about the half of the story I would rather forget, but can’t.

My mobile pings, bringing me back to reality.

Come outside. Now. I’m waiting for you.

I look at the number and don’t recognize it. This is odd. I think about it for a minute and decide to ignore it. No one I know will ever message me in the middle of the night and ask me to come out. Everyone knows my fear of the nighttime. I’m safer inside, alone as I may be.

A few minutes pass, then the phone rings, and the number is the same one from earlier. I don’t answer because no sane person calls someone at two am. I don’t want to talk to anyone at this hour, but when it keeps ringing, I sigh in frustration and pick it up at last.

Hello.

I wait for the other person to speak, but there is silence. I hear nothing other than someone panting. A few seconds pass, a cat meows in the background, and a car’s horn blares, indicating that the person is outside somewhere. I’m intrigued and wait patiently for the caller to say something—anything. Another minute passes, but I don’t hang up.

Hello, I get impatient after a while. Do you have something to say, or is it a hobby to call people in the middle of the night?

Instead of answering, the caller hangs up on me. I give another sigh of frustration. Serves me right for picking up the phone when the caller ID is unknown. ‘People have too much time these days,’ I mutter, and get back to the novel I have been reading. After a few minutes, I hear another ping from my mobile. There’s another message.

You should come outside. I’m still waiting.

Switching off the lights, I stand up and walk to the window. Moving the curtains aside, I peek through them. It’s dark, but the streetlamps provide ample light for me to see the silhouette of a man standing near the fence surrounding the small front lawn. He is wearing a navy blue shirt and jeans, or maybe it’s black. Unsure, I’m still trying to figure out who he might be when, as if on cue, he looks up. I let go of the curtains and move aside. My phone pings again.

I know you’re there. Come outside or you’ll regret it.

Thinking about the words staring at me from the small screen of a smartphone, I hit reply. Who are you and what do you want? After typing the message, I pause. Biting my lower lip, deep in thought, I contemplate my next move and then send it. Almost breathless, I wait for the response, but there is none. Unexpectedly, my mobile remains silent. Wondering who the man is and why he is asking me to come outside, I do a quick check of the locks on windows and doors. Making sure that everything is locked up, I return to my bedroom.

Staying alone in a city with high crime rate has made me weary in ways I don’t care to explain. Leaving my hometown wasn’t a straightforward choice, but I have made my bed. I value my freedom too much for me to keep living with my parents. They’re controlling, manipulative, and not the nicest people in the world. Don’t get me wrong, I adore them. But I’d rather love them from afar than hate them from up close. Because when I’m with them, I don’t like them, and more than that, I dislike the person I become. As much as I miss them sometimes and long for the quiet of a small town, it’s better this way. Besides, city life has its charms.

The ringing of the phone startles me, and I almost jump out of my skin. Looking at the screen, I notice the caller ID is blocked, and I have no way of knowing if it’s the same person or someone else. As the phone keeps ringing, I debate whether to pick it up. In the end, my curiosity wins.

Hello, I say in a whisper, dreading the response. Who is this?

Is this Maham Malik? It’s a woman on the other end. Her voice is soft, but the tone is direct and professional.

Yes, and you are? not recognizing the speaker I say with caution.

I’m afraid I have some bad news. I’m calling from the hospital. Ma’am, your husband has passed away. Letting that sink in, I stand there in shock. My husband? What is she talking about? When I say nothing, the woman repeats herself. I try to speak, but no words come out. Something is very wrong with this picture. This story can’t be mine. Hello, are you still there? Mrs. Malik?

Huh? That’s the only thing I can utter. Nervous energy runs through my body, as I clear my throat. There is so much I want to say, but I don’t know from where to start. I state the fact, You must have the wrong number. I’m not married.

Before the woman can respond, the silence that ensued after my statement, shatters by breaking of glass. I scream as the shards from the broken window come flying toward me. I stare in horror as someone enters my room, and the phone slips from my hand.

The fear paralyzes me, making my heart beat faster. My breathing quickens, hearing sharpens, but I’m unable to move. Horrified, I stare at the man now striding towards me. He stops a few steps away from me. I notice how tall he is—almost a foot taller than me. His deep hazel eyes stare daggers at me. I don’t know why I focus on his eyes, but there is something striking about them.

I asked you to come outside, he chews out every word, crossing his arms over his chest as if waiting for me to explain myself.

Saying nothing, I keep staring at him. I’m shocked to my core, but he pretends as if nothing is amiss.

Clumsy as always, He sighs and picks up my phone. He doesn’t hand it to me, though. You should be more careful with your things. He places it on the bedside table. Why don’t you say something? He finally notices my silence.

I haven’t