The Ice King’S Halal Love
.
The Resilience of the East.
The Fortress of the North.
The air in the cabin was thin and recycled, but in my head, it was suffocating.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Inaya’s head rolls to the side, her forehead pressing against the cold acrylic of the airplane window. Her eyelids flutter rapidly. In the dream, she is standing in a field of volcanic ash. Irham is there, dressed in a white linen suit, but as she reaches out to touch his shoulder, he dissolves into a swarm of black birds. She screams his name, but no sound comes out—only the howl of a freezing wind.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Inaya jolts awake, her hands flying up to grip the seat in front of her. Her breathing is ragged, and a cold sweat has broken out across her brow. She blinks rapidly, the bright LED lights of the cabin stinging her eyes.
mo(fl friend)
Whoa, easy there, Inaya! You’re going to break the chair!"
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Inaya turns her head sharply to the right. Mo is leaning over the aisle, a bag of pretzels frozen halfway to his mouth. Next to him, Izza is putting down her noise-canceling headphones, her face etched with worry.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
"I’m… I’m okay," Inaya whispers, pressing a palm to her racing heart. She reaches for the cup of lukewarm water on her tray table and takes a shaky sip. "It was just that dream again. The one where everything disappears.
izza (fl friend)
"It’s the jet lag talking," Izza says, reaching over to squeeze Inaya’s hand. "Or maybe it’s just the nerves of being a top-shot news reporter who finally took a day off. You’ve been living on coffee and deadlines for three years, Inaya. Your brain doesn't know how to handle peace.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
It wasn't about work," Inaya says, her voice regaining some strength. She leans back, her eyes softening as she thinks about the ring box tucked safely in her carry-on. "It was about him. It felt like he was slipping away."
mo(fl friend)
Mo crunches loudly on a pretzel and shakes his head, looking at Inaya with a mixture of pity and amusement. "Look, I love the guy, but Irham isn't a ghost. He’s an architect working for the biggest company in Iceland," Mo says, gesturing grandly with his water bottle. "He’s probably just busy making sure the 'Ice King' doesn't fire everyone. You’re overthinking."
mo(fl friend)
Mo leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So, tell us the plan again? We’ve been flying for twelve hours and I’m losing my mind. You’re still going through with the 'Ninja Surprise'?"
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Inaya smiles, a genuine spark finally lighting up her eyes. She sits up straighter, smoothing out the wrinkles in her modest travel outfit. "Yes. The day after tomorrow is his birthday. He thinks I’m in Jakarta covering the election prep. He has no idea I’m landing in Reykjavík in less than an hour."
izza (fl friend)
"I still think we should have called him," Izza chimes in, crossing her arms. "What if he’s on a site visit in the middle of a glacier? Iceland isn't like Jakarta, Inaya. You can't just take an ojek to his office."
Inaya Zahra(fl)
That’s the beauty of it," Inaya replies, her voice full of hope. She looks out the window as the clouds begin to part, revealing the jagged, snowy peaks of the Icelandic coast. "I want to see that look on his face. The moment he realizes I’m here… that I’ll follow him anywhere. I want to tell him that I’m ready to talk about the wedding.
mo(fl friend)
Mo grins and starts checking his camera lens. "Well, I’ll be there to record it. 'News Reporter Surprises Secret Fiancé'—it’ll be the viral hit of the year. Just don't cry too much, it’ll fog up my lens."
Izza watches Inaya’s reflection in the window. She sees the hope there, but it makes her stomach twist with a strange intuition she can't explain.
izza (fl friend)
Izza pulls a small bottle of essential oil from her bag and dabs some on her wrists, inhaling the lavender scent. "I just want you to be careful, Inaya. Six months is a long time for a man to be away in a place this cold. People change. Environments change."
Inaya Zahra(fl)
"Irham doesn't," Inaya says firmly, though she avoids Izza’s gaze. She begins to fidget with the strap of her watch. "He calls me every night. He tells me about the snow, the aurora, and how much he hates the fermented shark the locals try to feed him. He’s the same man."
izza (fl friend)
Izza sighs and leans her head back. "I hope you’re right. I really do. But if he breaks your heart, just remember—I know where he sleeps, and I have very heavy boots."
mo(fl friend)
Mo laughs, kicking his feet up. "And I have the camera evidence! We’ll cancel him on every social media platform before we even reach the airport."
Jón stands behind the glass barrier at Keflavík Airport, adjusting his heavy wool cap. He holds a cardboard sign that says 'INAYA ZAHRA' in bold black marker. He watches the weary travelers trickle out, looking for the trio he was hired to collect.
He sees them before they see him. Two women and a man, looking completely unprepared for the five-degree weather outside. The one in the lead, Inaya, has a face that reminds him of a porcelain doll—delicate but carrying a strange weight in her eyes.
jon
Over here! Miss Inaya!" Jón calls out, waving his arm.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Inaya stops, her eyes widening as she spots him. She walks over, her boots clicking against the polished airport floor
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Hello! You must be Jón?" Inaya asks, extending a hand.
jon
Jón shakes it, his large, calloused hand dwarfing hers. "Indeed. Welcome to the land of fire and ice. Your friend Mo sent me very detailed instructions. He said I was to treat you like a VIP or he would write a bad review on my website."
mo(fl friend)
Mo catches up, panting under the weight of three camera bags. "It’s true! I have high standards, Jón! Now, tell me—is it always this windy? My hat almost flew back to London when the doors opened."
jon
Jón laughs, picking up their heavy suitcases with effortless strength. "This is a calm day, my friend. Wait until the storm comes."
They walk toward the exit. As the sliding doors hiss open, a blast of arctic air hits them like a physical wall. Inaya gasps, her breath instantly turning into a white cloud.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Inaya stops in her tracks, staring at the horizon where the sun is hanging low, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and gold. "It’s beautiful… but it feels so lonely.
jon
"That is Iceland," Jón says, opening the door to a massive black SUV. "It is beautiful until you are lost in it. But don't worry. I know these roads like my own heartbeat. Where to first? The hotel?"
mo(fl friend)
"The Airbnb in the city center," Mo says, jumping into the front seat. "We need to drop our gear and then Inaya needs to scout the 'Nordic Horizon' building. She’s on a mission."
jon
Jón glances at Inaya through the rearview mirror as she settles into the back seat.
jon
Nordic Horizon? You have business with the Ice King, then?"
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Inaya tilts her head, curious. "The Ice King? You mean Jazeel Al-Fathan?"
jon
Jón pulls the car into gear, the tires crunching over the gravel. "That is what the locals call him. A man with a heart of permafrost. If you are looking for a warm welcome at that building, Miss Inaya, you have come to the wrong country."
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Inaya looks at her phone one last time. No messages from Irham. She locks the screen and looks out at the passing lava fields
Inaya Zahra(fl)
I’m not there for the King," she whispers to herself. "I’m just there for my heart."
As the SUV speeds toward the city, the shadow of a massive glass tower looms in the distance, catching the last rays of the dying sun.
.
The restaurant was a cozy sanctuary of dark wood and the smell of smoked lamb. Outside, the Icelandic wind howled, but inside, the laughter of the owner and his seventeen-year-old daughter, Lana, made the cold feel miles away.
Inaya sits at the heavy oak table, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot cocoa. She watches Lana, who is animatedly explaining the local legends.
..
You have to see the Aurora tonight," Lana says, her eyes sparkling with teenage excitement. "They say if you make a wish when the green light dances, the spirits of the North will hear you."
Inaya Zahra(fl)
I think I’ve already made my wish," Inaya says with a gentle smile, glancing at her friends.
mo(fl friend)
She’s here for a birthday surprise, Lana," Mo chimes in, stuffing a piece of rye bread into his mouth. "A real-life romantic movie plot."
..
Oh, I love that!" Lana claps her hands. "Just don't get lost. The spirits here like to play tricks on travelers
Inaya laughs, but a small shiver runs down her spine. As the night progresses, she stands outside the restaurant, her camera crew—Mo and Izza—ready. She adjusts her microphone, the professional mask of a news reporter slipping on effortlessly.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
This is Inaya Zahra, reporting live from the heart of Reykjavík," she says into the lens, her voice steady and warm. "Behind me, the sky is beginning to bleed into shades of emerald. This is the National Night Party, a celebration of light in a land of winter..."
Jazeel stands in the shadows of a private garage, his arms crossed over his chest, his silhouette looking like a mountain of granite. His younger brother, Prince Elias, is kneeling on the cold floor, clutching a bruised knee and looking pathetic
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
Explain this again," Jazeel’s voice is a low, dangerous growl. "Before I lose the very little patience I have left."
...
I just wanted to be normal, Brother!" Elias groans, wincing as he shifts his weight. "The hotel needed a driver for a VIP group. I took the shift. I wanted to hear stories from people who don't know I’m a Prince. But I tripped over the luggage rack and… I think I’ve popped my kneecap."
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
You are the Second Prince of this house," Jazeel says, his eyes flashing with ice. "And you are playing servant to tourists? Have you no dignity?
...
Please, Jazeel," Elias pleads, looking up. "If I don't show up, the hotel loses its reputation, and the Palace will find out I was moonlighting. Just this once. Go in my place. The car is tinted. Just wear a mask and keep your mouth shut
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
Jazeel stares at his brother for a long, silent minute. He hates the royal theatrics, but he hates scandal more
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
Get up," Jazeel commands. "Go to the royal physician. I will handle this. But Elias? If you ever do this again, I will personally see to it that you are stationed in the northernmost outpost for a year
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
Jazeel pulls on a black face mask and a simple driver’s cap, hiding the face that is printed on every business magazine in Europe.
izza (fl friend)
Izza stands on the curb next to Inaya, shivering as the broadcast ends. "Where is the cab, Mo? I’m going to turn into a block of ice."
mo(fl friend)
Don't worry," Mo says, checking his phone. "I called the hotel management. They said they’re sending a private car because the owner likes us. Look, there it is."
A sleek, black SUV with deep-tinted windows pulls up silently. The door opens, and a man steps out. Even in a simple driver’s jacket and a face mask, he is… terrifyingly handsome. He is tall—much taller than the average driver—and his shoulders are broad enough to block out the streetlights. His eyes, visible above the mask, are the color of a winter sea.
izza (fl friend)
Izza’s jaw practically hits the pavement. She leans over to Inaya, whispering loudly, "Oh my heart… Inaya, look at him. Is he a driver or a supermodel? I think I’m in love.
mo(fl friend)
Mo rolls his eyes, pulling Izza back by her coat sleeve. "Protect your heart and your eyes, Izza. He’s just a driver. Probably has a wife and five kids."
izza (fl friend)
Izza ignores him, smoothing her hair as they approach the car. "Excuse me, sir? Are you from the hotel?"
The man—Jazeel—doesn't speak at first. He just nods curtly and opens the door for them. His movements are too graceful, too precise for a common worker.
Jazeel feels a vein throb in his temple. He is the CEO of a multi-billion dollar empire, and he is currently opening a door for a girl who is staring at him like he’s a piece of chocolate.
They pile into the car. The male friend, the one with the cameras, leans forward into the front cabin.
mo(fl friend)
So, Mr. Driver," Mo says cheerfully, "what’s your name? We like to know who is keeping us safe on these icy roads."
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
Jazeel grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. He needs a name. A fake one.
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
Jokull," Jazeel says, his voice muffled by the mask, sounding like grinding stones.
mo(fl friend)
Jokull?" Mo repeats, blinking. "What kind of weird name is that? It sounds like something you’d name a mountain or a brand of yogurt."
Inaya Zahra(fl)
It means 'Glacier' in Icelandic," the girl in the middle—Inaya—says softly
She is the only one not staring at him like an object. She is looking out the window, her reflection in the glass looking sad and tired.
Jazeel looks at her in the rearview mirror. Her voice is like velvet. It’s a contrast to the loud chatter of her friends. He finds himself watching her eyes—they aren't full of greed or excitement. They are full of something he recognizes all too well: loneliness.
izza (fl friend)
Well, Mr. Glacier," Izza says, leaning forward, trying to catch his eye, "do you always wear a mask? Is it a local fashion thing or are you secretly a ninja?"
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
I have a cold," Jazeel lies through his teeth. His anger is rising. He just wants to drop them off and go back to his fortress
izza (fl friend)
"A cold? Oh, you should try some ginger tea," Izza continues, undeterred. "Inaya, doesn't he have the most amazing eyes? They’re so… blue."
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Izza, stop it," Inaya says, her voice firm but kind. "Leave the man alone. He’s just doing his job
Jazeel feels a strange spark of gratitude toward the quiet girl. She is the first person in a long time who has treated him like a human being rather than a target.
The car is silent for the rest of the trip. The driver, 'Jokull,' drives with a strange intensity, taking the corners with professional precision. There is an aura about him—a scent of expensive sandalwood and cold air—that doesn't match the humble car he’s driving.
As they pull up to the hotel, Mo and Izza scramble out. Inaya lingers for a second, reaching into her purse for a tip.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Thank you, Jokull-sir," Inaya says, handing him a few krona notes. "I’m sorry my friends were so loud. It’s our first night here."
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
Jazeel looks at the money in her hand, then up at her face. For a split second, their eyes lock. He doesn't take the money.
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
Keep it," he growls. "Buy yourself a thicker coat. You’re shivering."
He slams the door shut before she can respond and speeds away, the tires screeching against the asphalt.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Inaya stands on the sidewalk, watching the taillights disappear. "What a strange, angry man," she whispers.
izza (fl friend)
Strange?" Izza squeals, grabbing Inaya’s arm. "He was a King! Did you see the way he looked at you at the end? I think I’ve just died and gone to heaven!"
Inaya just shakes her head, her mind drifting back to Irham. But for the first time since she landed, the image of her fiancé was replaced by the piercing, icy blue gaze of the driver who called himself a glacier.
heartbroken
The luxury apartment in the city center felt like a cage. My brother, Elias, was sitting on the sofa, his leg iced and elevated, looking like a kicked puppy
...
Please, Brother," Elias pleaded, his voice cracking. "I didn't know this was a huge package deal. It’s not just a ride from the restaurant; it’s a full travel agency contract for the week. If the hotel finds out I ghosted a VIP press group, the Palace will strip my inheritance!"
Jazeel’s hand moves faster than his thoughts. SLAP. The sound of his palm hitting Elias’s shoulder echoes through the room.
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
You fool!" Jazeel growls, his eyes flashing with a cold fire. "You are a Prince of the blood, and you are playing games with travel contracts? You have compromised your dignity and mine!"
...
"I just wanted to be normal!" Elias cries out, wincing.
Jazeel paces the length of the room, his charcoal silk robe flowing behind him like a shadow. He stops, looking out at the Reykjavík skyline. He thinks of the girl in the back seat—Inaya—and the way she looked at the snow. Something about her silence was louder than his brother’s whining.
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
Fine," Jazeel says, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I will play the role of this 'travel agency man' for one more day. But after this, Elias, you are dead to me until the spring thaw."
The morning sun in Iceland didn't feel like the sun back home; it was a pale, silver disk that gave light but no heat.
Inaya stands outside the hotel, her breath hitching in the cold. She is dressed in a soft lavender coat, her hijab pinned loosely because her hands are shaking with excitement. Today is the day before the birthday. Today, she finds Irham
mo(fl friend)
Where is our Glacier Driver?" Mo asks, checking his watch. "I hope he’s less grumpy today. I have a lot of filming to do.
The black SUV pulls up. Jazeel steps out, still wearing the mask and the cap, but his posture is different—less like a driver, more like a predator. As he reaches for Inaya’s bag, a sudden, violent gust of arctic wind sweeps across the pavement
Inaya’s hand flies to her head, but she’s too slow. The pins of her hijab catch the wind, and the silk fabric unfurls like a sail. The lavender veil flies back, caught in the air, before it tangles directly over Jazeel’s head, draping over his shoulders like a shroud
Inaya gasps, her long, dark hair suddenly cascading down her shoulders, blowing wildly in the wind. She stands there, exposed and embarrassed, staring at the 'driver' who is now covered in her scent.
Jazeel stands perfectly still. The silk is soft against his skin, smelling of vanilla and rain. Slowly, he reaches up, untangles the veil from his cap, and holds it out to her. His eyes lock onto hers—the first time he has seen her without the frame of the hijab. She is breathtaking.
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
Your veil," Jazeel says, his voice unusually soft.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Thank you," Inaya whispers, her cheeks flushing deep red as she hurriedly wraps the silk back around her head, her fingers fumbling. "I’m so sorry. The wind..."
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
The wind here has no mercy," Jazeel replies.
The drive to the city center is quiet. When they finally reach the drop-off point, Jazeel steps out to open the door. He hesitates, then looks at Inaya.
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
"If I was harsh last night," Jazeel says, the apology sounding strange on his tongue, "I am sorry."
mo(fl friend)
Mo let out a loud whistle, clapping Jazeel on the back. "Hey, hey! The Glacier is melting! Look, Mr. Jokull, your only mistake is that you’re too handsome for your own good. It makes us regular guys look bad."
Jazeel actually lets out a short, dry laugh—the first time he has laughed in months. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a plain white card with a phone number scribbled on it.
Jazeel Al-Fathan(ml)
If you need anything while you are in this city," Jazeel says, handing the card to Mo, but his eyes are on Inaya, "call this number. Anything at all
The next day, the atmosphere has shifted. The excitement has turned into a heavy, suffocating tension.
Izza watches Inaya. Her friend has given up on the hijab for the day
Her long hair falling past her waist in dark waves, a sign of her mental exhaustion. In one hand, Inaya holds a beautifully decorated cake; in the other, a single, expensive Icelandic poppy.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
This is the place," Inaya says, her voice trembling. They are standing in front of a luxury apartment complex Irham had described a dozen times.
Inaya presses the buzzer for Apartment 4B. The door is opened by a woman in her late twenties, wearing a silk robe and holding a glass of juice. She looks confused.
..
Yes?" the woman asks in English.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Hello," Inaya says, her smile forced. "I am looking for Irham. He lives here. I’m his... I’m a friend from home. It’s a surprise
..
The woman frowns, leaning against the doorframe. "Irham? I’ve lived here for a year. I don't know any Irham. There is no Indonesian man in this building
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Inaya’s face turns ashen. She pulls a photo from her purse—a picture of her and Irham at the airport. "This man. Are you sure? He said this was his address."
..
The woman looks at the photo and shakes her head. "Never seen him. Sorry." The door clicks shut
Inaya stands frozen on the landing. The cake in her hand feels like it weighs a hundred pounds
mo(fl friend)
Maybe she’s new?" Mo suggests, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Let’s check the front desk."
They head down to the lobby. The concierge, a stern man in a uniform, looks at the photo Inaya pushes across the counter.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
Does this man live here?" Inaya asks, her voice breaking. "Irham? He works for Nordic Horizon?"
...
The concierge adjusts his glasses and looks at the computer. "No one by that name is registered in this building. And Nordic Horizon hasn't rented a unit here in three years. I think you have the wrong place, Miss."
The world begins to tilt. Inaya staggers back, the box of cake slipping from her fingers. It hits the marble floor with a sickening thud, the frosting smearing across the ground like a ruined dream.
Inaya Zahra(fl)
He lied," Inaya whispers, her eyes wide and vacant. "Everything... every night on the phone... he lied about where he was."
izza (fl friend)
Izza grabs Inaya’s shoulders, shaking her. "Inaya! Look at me!
Inaya Zahra(fl)
I don't understand," Inaya sobs, hot tears finally streaming down her face. "He said he was here. He said he was lonely
izza (fl friend)
You are stupid!" Izza snaps, her own eyes tearing up with anger. "I want to slap you right now for being so blind! I told you, Inaya! I told you people change! He’s been playing you from thousands of miles away!"
mo(fl friend)
Izza, stop, she’s hurting!" Mo interjects, trying to pull them apart
izza (fl friend)
She needs to wake up!" Izza shouts. "He’s not here, Inaya! He’s not at this address, he’s not at this building, and for all we know, he’s not even in this city
Inaya sinks to her knees on the lobby floor, surrounded by the ruins of the birthday cake. She feels like a beggar again—not for money, but for a truth she was never given.
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