Chapter 10
Author's POV:
The night had fallen heavy over the Malik mansion. Yet inside Rayyan and Aayat’s room, another storm brewed silently.
Aayat sat at the edge of the bed, clutching her dupatta like a shield, tears flowing unchecked.
Her voice trembled, breaking in places as she whispered, “Sab mujh par shaq kar rahay hain Ray… aur toh aur mere abu aur bhai be. Aur tum…” she paused, biting her lip, “…tum toh mujh par bharosa karte ho na ray.”
Her words cut through Rayyan like a blade.
He strode forward, kneeling before her, his gaze fierce yet tender.
“Aayat, suno. Main tum par shaq kar hi nahi sakta.
Tum meri aayat ho, meri zindagi ho, duniya kuch be kahay aayat, mein janta hoon meri aayat masoom hain wo kabhi kuch galat kar hi nahi sakti. "
Her tears doubled as she buried her face in his chest. His arms wrapped around her protectively, as though shielding her from the cruel world outside that chamber. “Main sabse lad lunga, Aayat. Tum bas apni aankhon se yeh aansu hata do. Tumhari izzat ki hifazat karna meri zimmedari hain."
Rayyan kissed her forehead softly, his lips lingering there. Aayat clutched his kurta like a drowning soul clings to driftwood. That night, she fell asleep in his arms. But Rayyan? He stayed awake.
His eyes stared at the ceiling, but his mind was a battlefield.
Why her? Why are these accusations tied to my wife?
Could it be…? He instantly shook the thought away, angry at himself. No. Aayat is not like that. She can never betray me. She is innocent.
And yet, the faces of his family, their doubts, their whispered words—all clawed at him.
He clenched his jaw, fists tightening by his side.
“Main haar nahi manunga… mujhe sach ka pata lagana hoga kay ramsha sach mein jhoot bol rahi h ya usey koi galat fehmi hui hain. aur mujhe apni aayat per bharosa rakhna hoga.”
But deep down, fear crept in. Not fear of betrayal, but fear of losing her trust, fear of seeing her break under pressure, fear of becoming helpless when she needed him the most.
--
Lunch time
The dining hall carried the weight of silence. Rayyan sat at the head of the table, his posture strong but his face unreadable. His mother tried to create normalcy by asking Aleena if she wanted more parathas, but her voice shook slightly.
One chair, however, stayed empty—Aayat’s.
“She left early for college today,” Aleena explained softly.
Rayyan only gave a small nod, but inside, he felt uneasy. His chest felt heavy, as though the storm from last night hadn’t passed but only gathered strength.
And then—footsteps echoed.
Ramsha entered.
Her poise was deliberate, her dupatta draped with elegance, her eyes sharp with hidden satisfaction. She walked straight to Rayyan, ignoring everyone else.
“Assalamualaikum.” Her voice was calm, but laced with venom.
Rayyan’s eyes darkened. “Tum yahan kya kar rahi ho?”
Ramsha tilted her head, feigning hurt. “Main tumhe yaad dilaane aayi hoon ke kal raat ko tumne sab ke saamne mujhe neecha dikhaya. Tumne meri baat ko jhoota qarar diya, sirf apni biwi ki tarafdari ke liye. Rayyan, kya tumhe lagta hai main itna gir jaungi ke jhoot bol kar tumhara aur aayat ka rishta bina wajah kharab karugy? Tumhari bewi...”
Rayyan stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. His tall figure towered over her. “Ramsha, bas. Agar meri biwi ke khilaaf ek lafz aur kaha na… toh main tumhari zubaan kheench kar nikal dunga.”
The family gasped. Shagufta looked at her son with wide eyes—she had never seen him this furious.
Ramsha, however, smirked faintly, her confidence unwavering. She slowly pulled an envelope from her purse, holding it out. “Agar tum itna hi bharosa karte ho apni biwi pe, toh yeh dekh lo. Yeh tumhari Aayat ki asal chehra hai.”
Rayyan snatched the envelope, his hands trembling ever so slightly though his face betrayed nothing. His chest tightened as he ripped it open.
Photographs slipped out, scattering across the polished marble floor.
Rayyan’s breath caught.
Aayat. Laughing. Smiling. Walking beside a young man, she is holding his arm. Another photo—both entering a small house together. Another—her eyes meeting the man’s, both smiling as though sharing a secret world.
The room fell silent, the air choking with disbelief.
Rayyan’s hands froze mid-air, his heart hammering inside his chest. His mind screamed—This can’t be real. This isn’t my Aayat.
But his eyes couldn’t deny what they saw.
Shagufta bent to pick up a photo, her hands trembling. “Yeh… yeh meri Aayat hai?” Her voice cracked.
Shahbaz gripped the edge of the table, his face pale. “yeh ladki jise humne beti kaha… aisa kaise kar sakti hai…”
Aleena’s tears spilled as she whispered, “Nahi… yeh sach nahi ho sakta.”
Then came Aayat’s father’s anguished cry, his voice breaking, “Nahi… yeh meri beti nahi hai. Yeh meri Aayat nahi ho sakti. Allah, ye sach nahi hain. yeh kya sabit karna chahte ho ramsha tum?”
Saad’s face was twisted in pain, but Huzaif’s rage ignited like fire. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Rayyan stood still.
On the outside—stone. Silent. A statue carved from fury and grief.
On the inside—a storm.
Every heartbeat felt like a hammer against his chest. He wanted to rip the photographs apart, throw them in Ramsha’s face. But something chained him. Doubt. The most poisonous enemy.
He clenched his jaw, his breath ragged. His mind screamed at him—Say something, defend her! But his lips refused to move. For the first time in years, Rayyan Malik—the man who commanded empires, who silenced boardrooms, who led men with fear—was silent.
The main doors creaked open again.
Aayat walked in, humming softly, her books pressed against her chest. Her face carried the freshness of innocence, her smile like a beam of light after a storm. For a fleeting second, she looked untouched, unaware of the chaos waiting.
But as her eyes swept the hall—family gathered, tense faces, the photographs scattered at Rayyan’s feet—her smile faltered.
Her steps slowed. Her voice trembled. “Kya… kya hua? Sab yahan kyun hain?”
She moved toward Rayyan instinctively. But before she could reach him, a hand gripped her arm roughly.
SLAP!
The sound cracked through the hall like lightning.
Aayat staggered, clutching her cheek, her eyes wide with shock. She turned slowly, tears brimming.
Huzaif stood before her, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing with fury. “Tumne humari izzat mitti mein mila di, Aayat!” he roared. “Tumne humein sabke saamne zaleel kar diya!”
Aayat’s voice broke, her lips trembling. “Huzaif… bhai… main… maine kuch bhi galat nahi kiya. Allah gawah hai, ap kal wali baat pr itna yakeen kyu kr rahay hain,jhoot hain wo.”
Saad stepped forward, his voice cutting. “Phir batao, Aayat. Kaun tha woh aadmi? Jis k saath muskurati hui chal rahi thi. Uske ghar kyun gayi?”
Her tears fell freely, her entire body shaking as she turned to each face. Her father’s sorrowful eyes, her mother’s trembling hands, her brothers’ anger, and Rayyan—oh, Rayyan—standing still, his eyes locked on hers.
She whispered brokenly, “Main jhoothi nahi hoon… yeh sab galat hai. Rayyan… tum to mujh par bharosa karte ho na?”
Rayyan’s jaw clenched. His fists were so tight his nails cut into his palms. His heart screamed—Say it, Rayyan! Tell her you trust her. Pull her into your arms in front of everyone!
But he didn’t move.
Because the photographs on the floor glared at him, mocking him, whispering doubts in his ears.
And in that silence, Aayat’s tears deepened. Her last refuge—her husband’s faith—hung by a fragile thread.
The storm had broken.
And Rayyan Malik, the man who never bowed, stood trapped—between his love and the world’s cruel evidence.