𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫
Sunday. Finally. Freedom. Joy. Inner peace.
I was living my best life. Curled up in bed, scrolling through reels like a free woman, giggling at the reels.
Just then, Mama entered the room with the calm of a storm brewing.
"Zoya."
"Yes, dearest mother?" I said sweetly without looking up.
"Go ask Zaigham if he needs anything."
My thumb froze mid-scroll. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You heard me."
I blinked at her. "But why me?"
Mama narrowed her eyes. "Silly girl, he's your husband now. Taking care of him is your job."
I groaned. "Yes, Mama, this house tells me that every hour on the hour. Should I get it tattooed? 'Belongs to Mr. Akroo Khan' right across my forehead?"
She crossed her arms. "Stop being dramatic. He's your husband. Spend time with him. Take care of him. That's how relationships grow. How will you two understand each other if you keep acting like strangers?"
I sat up and pointed at myself. "Mama, this was a forced marriage. And now it's turning into forced caregiving? What's next, forced honeymoon?"
"Zoya!"
"Okay okay, I'm going! Happy?" I grumbled, sliding off the bed like I was off to war.
I knocked gently.
No answer.
Knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
Was he dead?
Hesitating only a second longer, I slowly pushed open the door. Empty.
"Maybe he's napping in the cupboard like a sad, angry vampire," I mumbled, tiptoeing in. That's when I heard it-
The shower.
Oh.
I glanced toward the bathroom door, then at the massive bed in the room.
"He really has the best room in this house," I whispered, eyeing the soft sheets and oversized pillows. "Ugh. Why does he get luxury when he has zero sense of joy?"
I plopped dramatically onto the bed, arms spread wide like I was a Disney princess claiming her throne.
"Fine. I'll wait here. I'm being a responsible wife. Mama should be proud."
I was lost in thoughts, imagining myself with sunglasses and coffee walking out of his room like a CEO's wife in a drama, when-
Click.
The bathroom door opened.
I turned to ask him.
"Zaigham, do you-OH MY ALLAH!"
I froze mid-turn.
Because there he was.
Zaigham Khan.
Shirtless.
Towel draped around his neck. . Hair damp. Muscles flexing. Abs shining.
Hair wet, water still dripping down his jawline like he walked straight out of a perfume commercial.
I did what any emotionally stable person would do.
I screamed. Loudly.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! Put on some clothes!" I shouted, eyes squeezed shut like my vision would betray me if I peeked. "Don't you have any shame?! Walking around shirtless in front of a girl?!"
In two seconds flat, I felt a strong grip on my arm.
Before I could react, I was pinned gently, yet firmly, against the wall. His hand clamped over my mouth.
My eyes snapped open.
His face was dangerously close. His grey eyes burned into mine, calm but intense.
I let out a muffled "mmmpphhh!"
"Stop screaming, Zoya," he said quietly, voice smooth but annoyed. "Why are you yelling like I just committed a murder?"
"Are you trying to alert the entire house or just traumatize yourself?"
I blinked. And blinked again. His body heat, his breath, his face, his grey eyes, it was all too much.
My brain short-circuited.
My heart? Doing backflips.
Me? Absolutely not okay.
I swatted his hand off my mouth. "Because you walked out half-naked! How do you expect me to react?! I'm human, not a cardboard box!"
He crossed his arms, completely unbothered. "And that human happens to be my wife. So maybe try not acting like you're witnessing a crime scene."
"I-That's not the point!" I stuttered, trying to avoid looking at his chest but failing miserably.
"This is inappropriate!"
He gave me a long, unreadable look before walking to his closet, casually pulling on a shirt like he hadn't just melted my brain.
Then casually asked, "Why are you here?"
Still mentally recovering, I fumbled, "Uh... Mama told me to come... and um... ask if you need anything..."
He nodded once. "Coffee."
I stared.
"Excuse me?"
"Coffee," he repeated, like this was the most normal thing ever.
Okay yes, maybe I came to ask him if he needed anything, but that didn't mean he'd just start ordering me around like I was his assistant.
"Who do you think I am, Mr. Akroo-I mean, Mr. Khan? Your barista?!"
He didn't even blink. "Will you get me one? Or should I ask someone else?"
His calm voice. That gaze. That deadly patience. My brain screamed NO! because if he asked someone else, Mama would gut me alive with her eyes.
So I muttered, "Fine. I'll get it."
I closed the file but didn't move.
The door was still slightly ajar from when she left, of course she hadn't bothered to shut it properly.
I should've been annoyed.
Instead... I was just still.
Her scent hadn't left.
Lavender.
Why am I even noticing it?
I ran a hand across my jaw and leaned back.
She didn't say much before barging out, just huffed and muttered under her breath about poisoned coffee or my bad attitude. Something dramatic. As usual.
I shouldn't want that.
She was loud, reckless, undisciplined.
There she was, just minutes ago that endless commentary, the way she shouted seeing me shirtless, like I had invaded her privacy. She was standing in my room, for Allah's sake.
Her wide eyes. The way her voice trembled.
The way her breath hitched when I pinned her against the wall to quiet her down.
Too close.
Her face was too close.
Soft. Startled. Beautiful.
Wait-
What the hell is wrong with me?
I sat up straighter and exhaled sharply, my voice a quiet grumble.
"This girl is walking trouble."
The knock was sarcastic. She didn't wait for a response.
She never does.
She walked in with her chin up, her confidence comically oversized, holding a mug like it was some sacred offering.
"Here. Your coffee," she declared with a mock-heroic tone. "Not poisoned. Probably."
I didn't even look at her when I took it. "Took you long enough."
She scoffed. "Wow. No appreciation, no thanks. I burnt my finger turning on the stove for the first time in my life, by the way."
"No one asked you to make it yourself."
"Well excuse me for trying to be a decent wife for once."
I sipped.
Perfect.
Exactly the way I like it. She must've asked someone how I take it.
Or maybe...
No. Doesn't matter.
I kept my gaze on the cup. "Did you put salt in it?"
Her eyes bulged. "I should have. I'll keep that in mind next time, Mr. Ungrateful Khan."
I finally looked up.
"Anything else? Or are you here to lecture me on wardrobe etiquette again?"
Her jaw dropped. "You- I- I came here because mama told me to check on you, and you're acting like I barged in here to ruin your peace-"
"You did," I replied, voice flat.
She threw her hands in the air. "You're impossible."
"And you're loud," I shot back, already glancing at the screen again.
Silence.
For a beat, neither of us moved.
I looked up.
Our eyes locked.
Her lips twitched. Like she was holding back another dramatic quip. Or maybe a laugh.
And I hated that I noticed how soft her face looked.
I hated that some stupid part of me didn't want her to walk away just yet.
"Fine!" she snapped, stepping back toward the door. "Next time make your own coffee, Mr. Akroo Khan."
I watched her go.
The door shut with an unnecessary thud.
Silence.
But not the kind I liked.
This was something else.
Empty.
Unsettling.
I leaned forward and placed the mug on the table, rubbing my temples.
It started with one throw of the shoes.
Literally.
Laiba had aimed it at Zayyan bhai for stealing her juice, but the poor chappal hit a flowerpot instead. Classic us.
"What now?" Zaviyaar groaned, tossing a cushion in the air like he was so above this.
"We play blindfold tag," I declared, dramatically flopping onto the grass like I was announcing war. "Winner gets free snacks. Losers get humiliation."
"Like you don't serve humiliation daily," Laiba muttered.
"Say that again and I'll feed you to the ducks."
"You love me."
"Not today."
In five minutes, chaos was in full swing.
"Zaviyaar, you're 'it' first," I shouted, stuffing the dupatta over his eyes and giving him a wild spin. "Count till ten and then doom us."
"One... two..." he began counting while we all SCATTERED like it was a war zone.
I dove behind a hedge. Laiba climbed the swing like she was Spider-Woman. Rayyaan bhai just lay flat on the grass pretending to be unconscious.
Zaviyaar fumbled around, arms out like Frankenstein. "I can HEAR YOU LAIBA. Get down!"
"I AM A TREE!"
"Oh my Allah," I wheezed.
We all watched as Zaviyaar hilariously caught a cushion. He hugged it like it was his long-lost cousin.
I was crying from laughter. "Bro that's not even a human!"
Zaviyaar finally managed to catch Rayyan bhai (who sneezed mid-lie down), and then it was my turn.
The cousins smirked.
I tied the dupatta around my eyes with Olympic-level drama. "You all better run, because Zoya Khan doesn't chase. She hunts."
"LORD HAVE MERCY," Rayyan bhai screamed, running inside before the game even started.
"One... two... three..."
I spun myself wildly, then launched into action. Arms out, heart full, brain empty.
I was laughing. They were screaming. Someone tripped.
And then-
I felt an arm.
A strong one.
I grinned, gripping it like I'd won gold.
"CAUGHT YOU! AHAH I KNEW IT WAS YOU ZAVIYAAR!"
Silence.
No teasing. No yelling. Just... quiet.
I ran my hand up the arm, hesitated. "Wait... when did you get biceps? Like... proper ones??"
Still no answer.
"...Why's it so quiet? Who died?"
Reluctantly, I pulled off the dupatta.
And nearly collapsed.
"Sweet potatoes," I whispered.
Zaigham raised a brow, expression unreadable. "Enjoying yourself?"
I yanked my hand back like he was a hot stove. "Y-YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!"
"I live here."
"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN A BOARDROOM OR SOMETHING!"
He took a step forward. "You were... stroking my arm."
"I WAS EVALUATING IT FOR SCIENTIFIC REASONS!"
He took one step closer. "You really couldn't tell it was me?"
"I-I was blindfolded!"
"And yet your hand took a very long tour of my arm."
I choked on air. "I WAS IDENTIFYING! I THOUGHT YOU WERE ZAVIYAAR!"
His eyes narrowed slightly. "You touch your cousins like that?"
"Okay. Now you're twisting things-"
"Seems like you're the one doing the twisting."
Behind me, a burst of laughter exploded. I turned to find the cousins peeking from behind the curtain, phones recording. Ruman api looked like she was about to pass out from laughter.
"I WILL CANCEL ALL YOUR WEDDING EVENTS," I screamed.
Zaigham sighed, deep, long, exasperated. "Why is it always you?"
"I ASK MYSELF THE SAME THING!"
He glanced down at me. Then at my hair coming out from my hijab. His jaw tightened. Something flickered in his eyes, soft, unreadable, gone too fast.
"Fix your dupatta. You're about to go viral."
I looked down.
One end of it had fallen completely off. The other was dangling like I'd survived a tornado.
I scrambled to fix it, cheeks burning.
Then he looked away.
"You can go now," he said flatly, stepping back. "Your little gang is probably watching from behind the curtains."
But just before stepping inside, he paused and muttered under his breath, "Walking disaster."
I called after him, "Love you too, Mr. Akroo!"
And I swear on mango season, I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips before he disappeared indoors.
I turned slowly to find Laiba peeking out from the curtain with Rayyan bhai behind her, holding popcorn.
"I'M NEVER PLAYING WITH Y'ALL AGAIN!" I screamed.
Laiba snorted. "Girl, you touched your man in HD and still didn't recognize him."
"TRAITORS! ALL OF YOU!"
I spun around, facing my evil cousins. "DELETE. THE. FOOTAGE."
Rayyan bhai held up his phone, smug. "We've got three angles and a boomerang."
I sighed.
I stared at my notes like they were written in French.
Red pen marks. Highlighted jargon. A tab open with cat videos because I needed emotional support.
And still, nothing made sense.
I banged my head on the notebook. "I am going to fail. I am going to get fired. Then disowned. Then meme'd in the cousin group chat."
With a dramatic flourish, I got up and dragged myself to the only person who could save me right now.
Ayaan bhai.
I knocked like a dying soul.
"Bhai," I whispered. "Save me."
He was lounging on his bed, phone in hand.
"Zoya?" he blinked at my frazzled state. "What did you do now?"
"I can't understand anything. This presentation. This report. This life. Help me."
He sat up. "Why don't you just ask your boss?"
I groaned instantly. "Ugh. No. Anyone but him."
He raised an eyebrow. "He's literally the one who gave you the task."
"Exactly!" I threw my hands up. "That's why I can't go. He already thinks I'm the mascot of chaos."
"Which you are."
"I am NOT." Pause. "Okay I am, but not tonight. Not to him."
He narrowed his eyes. "Why though?"
I opened my mouth. Then closed it.
The backyard scene played in my mind.
The way my hand was still on his arm for 4.3 seconds too long.
I blinked, shook my head violently like I was resetting a malfunctioning app.
"I just... don't wanna go to Mr. Akroo Khan," I mumbled, flopping onto Ayaan's bhai bed face-first.
He gave me the side-eye. "Zoya... don't call him that. He's your husband now. It's not right."
I groaned into his blanket like it betrayed me. "Not you too! Bhai, every person I talk to suddenly becomes an advocate for 'reminding Zoya she's married now.' I know, okay? I was there. I signed the papers. I wore the dress. I've seen the man scowl."
He snorted. "Well, then act like it."
"I am! I'm avoiding him with unmatched dedication."
"Which is immature."
"Which is self-care."
Ayaan bhai sighed, handed me my laptop. "Either go ask him for help or enjoy crashing and burning at tomorrow's meeting. Your call."
I sat up, narrowed my eyes at the screen, then at him.
Then back at the screen.
Then down at my mismatched socks.
"Fine."
I stood dramatically. "But if I go in there and he uses that tone you know, the disappointed professor meets deadpan robot tone, I'm blaming you."
"Deal."
I knocked once.
Then barged in anyway.
Because patience is for people with impulse control. And that has never been my brand.
Zaigham looked up from his laptop like I'd just walked into a classified war room.
Dark grey t-shirt, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy, glasses on.
Ugh. Why does he always look like a Vogue ad for "Brooding CEOs R Us"?
He didn't say anything. Just stared.
I cleared my throat. "Hi."
Silence.
I motioned to my laptop. "I need help."
More silence.
I blinked. "Please?"
Still nothing. Just the calm, judging eyes of a man who already knew I hadn't even tried understanding the task before arriving like a tornado in track pants.
"You are supposed to knock," he said finally, dry as ever.
"I did knock," I said, dropping onto the chair across from him. "You didn't say come in fast enough. Time is of the essence."
He stared.
I stared back.
He sighed. "What exactly do you not understand?"
"Everything." I opened the file with the grace of a raccoon opening a trash can lid. "There's these charts. These columns. This sentence that uses the word synergize. I think I'm allergic to that word, honestly."
He reached for the laptop and I handed it over like it was a cursed object.
He scrolled through the slides, his expression unreadable. I hated that about him. He could be planning a surprise birthday party or your firing, and you'd never know which.
"You haven't done the base calculations," he said, typing something fast.
"I was getting to that," I said, trying to act offended while sneakily peeking at how he did it.
"You added the same pie chart three times."
"They looked cute and symmetrical!"
"Zoya."
"Yes, husband?" I grinned with all my teeth.
He gave me a withering look over the rim of his glasses. "Do you take anything seriously?"
"Of course! I take dessert, cat videos, and avoiding your meetings very seriously."
He ignored that.
I leaned over the table. "Listen, I'm trying. I genuinely want to get better. But my brain short-circuits when things stop being visual and start being... math."
He paused, like that admission cracked something. Maybe not a smile, but slightly less murder in his aura.
"Then stop pretending you know everything when you don't."
I raised a brow. "Wow. Harsh love advice, Mr. Cold Khan."
He looked mildly offended. "Stop calling me that."
"It's catchy!"
"It's disrespectful."
I blinked. "Okay, Zaigham bhai jaan-"
"I will block your stipend."
I clutched my chest. "Threats! This marriage is a dictatorship!"
He returned to typing. "It's barely a marriage."
Ouch.
That one landed sharper than I expected. For half a second, I went quiet.
Then I shrugged. "Tell that to everyone who keeps reminding me of it like I forgot."
He didn't reply.
We sat in silence, just the sound of his typing filling the room. I watched him adjust my formatting, clean up the charts, and somehow make my jumbled mess look... actually professional.
When he finally turned the laptop back to me, I blinked.
"That was impressive."
He didn't look up. "Try being prepared next time."
I stood, saluted with sarcasm. "Thank you, my liege. Long live the Spreadsheet King."
I was halfway out the door when his voice stopped me.
"Zoya."
I turned.
"Next time you need help... just ask sooner. Not at 1:00 a.m. Like a normal person."
I smirked. "Normalcy is for amateurs."
And I shut the door behind me with a twirl of victory, a little smirk playing on my lips.
To be Continued.....