Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

Weddings.

Honestly? Weddings should come with a warning label.

Caution: May cause extreme panic, unexpected emotional breakdowns, anxiety attacks, and uncontrollable heart palpitations.

I let out a dramatic sigh, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Was that really me?

Because I looked... different.

Today was the day. Mehndi. My Mehndi.

And my room? Looked nothing short of a mini battlefield. There were dupattas hanging off the bedpost, open makeup kits spilling onto the dresser, tangled jewelry sets on the cushions, and shoes lying around like they'd been through war. And people, too many people.

"Laiba, how much longer? You've been tapping that sponge on my face for the past hour like I'm a literal punching bag," I snapped, swatting at her hand.

She didn't even flinch.

"Woman, hush. It's your mehndi, not a regular office day where you throw on lip balm and bounce. You're not escaping today with that 'done in five minutes' energy."

I rolled my eyes so hard I might've pulled a muscle.

In the background, Ruman Api was hovering in front of the mirror, trying to tame her dupatta like it was a rebellious pet.

See, living in a joint family had its perks. And drama.

The biggest being the weird division we had going on: Half the cousins had declared they were on Zaigham's side, and the other half were Team Zoya. It had somehow turned into an unofficial competition.

From my side, it was Aaliya, Ruman Api, Laiba, Zaviyaar, Ayyan bhai, and Rayyan bhai, my loyal squad. The rest? Betrayal. They were proudly rooting for him.

"Laiba, are you done or should I write my nikah in eyeliner while I wait?" I asked.

"And done!" she declared dramatically, stepping back. "Masterpiece complete."

I turned to look in the mirror again.

Simple, dewy, and kind of... elegant?

The makeup was soft, nude tones with a hint of gold shimmer....and it actually looked like me, not someone else's Pinterest board. I liked it.

My lehnga was emerald green, flowing and full, with small mirror work that caught the light.

The matching scarf was wrapped into a soft hijab I pinned into place while Laiba ran out to get ready, because apparently Mama had circled our rooms twenty times in the last fifteen minutes like she was running a marathon.

I picked up my earrings and started putting on the rest of my jewelry.

That's when my eyes fell on the watch.

A smile crept up on my face without warning. I could almost hear him saying, "So you show up on time for once."

Ugh.

Stupid butterflies.

"Zoya, your mehndi is today, not tomorrow. Hurry up!" Ruman Api called out from the door.

"Yes, yes, I know!" I muttered, pulling myself out of whatever soft romcom moment my brain had wandered into.

After a few more finishing touches, I stepped back and gave myself one final glance.

I wasn't gonna lie, I looked... really pretty.

And apparently, Ruman Api agreed.

She turned to me, eyes softening. "You look gorgeous, Zoya. Zaigham Bhai is going to lose all ability to function when he sees you."

I gasped and smacked her arm. "Api! Why would you say that?"

She only laughed. "I mean, it's true. Let's go. I'll call Laiba and Aaliya."

As she left, I took a shaky breath. My heart was racing like it wanted to run laps around the garden before I even stepped out.

I hadn't seen Zaigham all day.

Not that I missed him.

Liar.

That annoying little voice in my head again.

I ignored it as Laiba and Aaliya came into the room, all excited and loud.

I stood up, clutching my dupatta like it would calm me down.

Time to go out there.

Time to breathe. Smile. Pretend I wasn't secretly counting the seconds until my eyes met his.

Thunderbolt heartbeat? Check.

As we stepped into the garden, every single head turned toward me.

Why? Why are they looking like that? Oh Allah, do I have lipstick on my teeth? Is my dupatta falling? Did I forget to wear shoes?!

Panic bloomed in my chest and I instantly straightened my back, focusing hard on the floor in front of me like it was the runway at a fashion show.

One step at a time, Zoya. Don't trip. Don't fall. This is not the moment to go viral for the wrong reasons.

Laiba and Ruman Api were walking on either side of me like personal bodyguards. Their calm was so annoying.

The garden looked magical.

Fairy lights wrapped around every tree, casting a warm glow. Strings of marigold flowers hung from wooden arches, swaying gently in the breeze. Laughter echoed from small family groups already gathered.

It was cozy.

Exactly how I wanted it.

Just family. Just close relatives. No random aunty I've never met pretending to know me since birth.

I looked around, eyes scanning the fairy-lit garden, and then I saw him.

He was already sitting on the stage, one hand resting on his knee, his posture calm but... commanding, sharp.

He was wearing a matching emerald green kurta, the same shade as my outfit, with threadwork along the collar and sleeves. His hair was gelled neatly and he looked...ugh...way too good.

Handsome.

Annoyingly handsome.

MashaAllah.

Why was he matching me? Who told him to? Did he do it on purpose? Did someone show him my outfit? Was it Laiba? I bet it was Laiba. I'm going to interrogate her later.

I didn't realize I was staring until he looked up.

And his eyes, those soft, unreadable grey eyes,landed right on mine.

Oh no.

My breath caught. Like physically. It just got stuck somewhere in my throat and refused to move.

He didn't smile.

He didn't blink.

He just looked at me like the rest of the world didn't exist.

And stupid me? I just stood there like a deer in headlights.

A very pink, nervous, over-accessorized deer.

Look away, Zoya. Look. Away.

I finally broke eye contact, looking down at the ground like it had personally saved me from embarrassment.

Get it together, girl. You have whole mehndi to sit through.

I don't like chaos. I don't like loud people. And I definitely don't like overly bright functions.

But here I am.

On my Mehndi.

Sitting on this over-decorated stage with marigold flowers hanging above me like I'm part of some Bollywood set.

I had asked for something simple. Quiet. Peaceful. But of course, Mama and my sisters wouldn't hear of it. The words "lowkey" don't exist in their dictionary, especially not for their precious eldest son's wedding.

The garden was filled with people. Too many. And I was painfully aware of the lingering stares from the young women toward me.

Especially Mahveen.

I don't know what her deal is, but she's been oddly clingy lately, showing up uninvited, trying to make conversation, always too close.

She had been standing near the stage just two minutes ago until Inaya thankfully dragged her away.

Before I could relax, I heard a teasing voice from my left.

"You're getting pretty restless, bhai," Zaviyaar said, grinning like a fool.

I shot him a glare that should've been enough to shut him up.

"Oh come on, bhai. Don't look at me like that. At least let me tease you a little tonight," he said dramatically.

"Exactly! It's your mehndi!" added Zayyan.

Rayyan didn't say anything, but he was already smiling like he was enjoying the show.

"Will all of you shut up?" I muttered, not hiding my annoyance.

"Oh man, don't be mad at the kids tonight," Ayyan chimed in, chuckling as he adjusted sleeves. "You're getting married. Smile a little."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"And so are you."

His laughter died on the spot, and he glanced down, trying to hide the obvious blush creeping up his ears.

I smirked.

"It's hard to believe someone like you, who never liked chaotic ended up with someone like her."

Zaarib said out laughing, catching the thread instantly.

"Oh yes! You always hated loud, clumsy, overly talkative girls. What happened now, bhai?"

Rayyan and Zayyan chuckled, high-fiving each other like school kids.

Zaviyaar leaned forward, grinning.

"You always said you liked quiet, composed people. So what changed?"

I rolled my eyes at his words but said nothing.

Still... the image of her face crept into my mind.

The way she laughs without thinking.

Her chaotic actions.

The way she fills a room just by existing.

Ya Allah help me.

My heart thudded once, annoyingly loud. I tried to ignore it.

"She's not that bad, okay?" Ayyan defended suddenly, folding his arms with a slight frown. "Don't talk about my sister like that."

Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out of my mouth.

"Who said she's bad?"

Dead silence.

Every single one of them turned toward me like I had grown two heads.

I stared back calmly.

They were still watching me, eyes wide, mouths slightly open.

I gave them a pointed look. "What?"

Then I looked back at my phone, pretending to scroll casually.

That's when I noticed the shift in the air.

The chatter around the garden softened. A hush rippled through the guests.

There she was.

Wearing an emerald green dress, hijab pinned with such quiet elegance, her soft smile lighting up her entire face.

Glowing.

Absolutely glowing.

MashAllah.

Wait...what am I even saying?

But then her eyes met mine...

And something just—

Stopped.

My breath. My thoughts. Everything paused.

She looked... beautiful.

So beautiful.

And in that very moment, a wave of protectiveness, no, possessiveness...ran through me like a current I didn't see coming.

And just as suddenly... she looked away.

Her lashes lowered, her smile shy, a little flustered.

And I—

I smiled. Lightly. Without meaning to.

I stood up as she walked closer to the stage, careful and composed. And then she looked up again.

There was a step she had to climb.

Without thinking, I extended my hand toward her.

She paused, slightly surprised, eyes flicking from my face to my hand.

But then... she placed hers in mine.

Small. Slightly cold.

I held her gently as she stepped up. The moment was oddly... quiet. Like the noise around us blurred for a second.

"Thank you," she mumbled under her breath once she settled beside me.

I gave a small nod, not trusting myself to speak.

We sat. A comfortable silence falling between us.

Then Mama came toward us, her eyes soft and misty.

"MashAllah," she said, cupping both our faces with love.

She kissed my forehead and then Zoya's.

"You two look so beautiful together."

Zoya smiled at her gently.

Then came Deeda and both Chachis.

Deeda ran her hand over my head with affection and kissed my forehead.

"Look at both of you MashAllah," she whispered. "So much glow."

She kissed Zoya's forehead too, then turned to her with a proud smile. I noticed how Zoya leaned into her touch slightly.

Then came Chachi- her mother.

Her eyes were already brimming with tears.

She looked at us with a quiet prayer in her eyes.

"MashAllah... may Allah protect you both from every evil eye."

I offered her a small, respectful smile.

"Ameen," she whispered almost to herself, still watching Zoya with a heart that seemed to ache.

And then Chachi,our youngest aunt, laughed softly.

"Look at you looking so Handsome," she said, eyes twinkling at me.

"And Zoya you are glowing, MashAllah."

"May you both stay Always Happy."

We both mumbled. "Ameen."

One by one, relatives came, offered duas, kind smiles, warm hugs, and a few too many camera flashes.

Through it all, I sat steady. Calm.

But my eyes?

They kept returning to her.

Again and again.

She was smiling at something Aaliya said across the stage.

I was watching her.

Her profile.

Her dimples.

The way she kept adjusting the corner of her dupatta nervously.

And despite my will, despite everything I told myself before tonight....I knew one thing for sure.

I wouldn't be able to look away easily anymore.

We were sitting side by side as the line of relatives kept coming, one after the other, blessing us, smiling, hugging, handing over envelopes that I really hoped someone else was collecting.

And by now?

I was exhausted.

But the real problem?

I was painfully aware of someone stealing the most casual glances at me. Again and again.

From the corner of my eye, I could feel it.

And I was trying very hard not to let it affect me.

Trying. Failing.

I fidgeted with my dupatta, ignored it, tried looking around,anywhere but at him.

But then, my eyes fell on her.

Mahveen.

Whose eyes, by the way, were glued to my husband.

Yes. My husband.

Her expression was like watching a romantic drama in 4K.

This woman.

And suddenly, before even thinking about it...before the sensible part of me could stop the dramatic part...I moved a little closer to Zaigham.

And casually... very very casually... slid my hand into the crook of his arm.

He jolted slightly in surprise, blinking as he looked at me.

Good. Be startled.

Because not just Mahveen, oh no,half the female population of this garden was staring at him like he was the mehndi buffet.

And sorry but...mine.

He leaned in just a little. His voice was low, calm, curious.

"What are you doing?"

I didn't even look at him. Just shrugged, all innocent.

"Maybe look around, Mr. Khan. You seem to have quite a fanbase here. And all their eyes? Locked on you like hawks."

His eyes lit up with amusement.

I shouldn't have said anything. I knew that look.

"Are you... jealous, Mrs. Khan?" he asked, entirely serious.

Of course. Of course this man decided to remember how to flirt now.

I turned my face to him, my eyes narrowed, lips curled into a smile that I hoped masked the absolute chaos happening inside me.

"Yeah, I am. So what?"

A barely-there smile came on his face. Small. Subtle. But enough to send my heart into a full-blown Olympic gymnastics routine.

Then he looked straight into my eyes.

"Don't worry. I'm yours."

He paused.

"Mrs. Khan."

My brain?

Gone.

Heart?

Thudding like a drumline. Like an entire dholki band was playing in my chest.

I stared at him, blinking, unable to form a single normal sentence.

"I... uh... I mean... woh... I-I was just..."

What was I even saying?

Alien language. Not found.

I was about to invent a whole new dialect just to survive this moment.

Thankfully, the mehndi artist came toward me just in time, breaking the moment.

Zaigham politely excused himself and walked off the stage, and I exhaled like I'd been holding my breath since 2002.

I looked down, trying to hide the ridiculous smile that had taken over my face.

One mehndi artist sat beside me on the left. Another on my right. Both ready, cones in hand. My hands were stretched out like some ancient statue waiting for decor.

Also... was it just me or was I really hungry?

Like desperately-want-to-hide-a-samosa-in-my-dupatta kind of hungry.

But I stayed still, letting the artists get to work.

I was chatting with Laiba while we both got our mehndi done, I was sitting beside her, on the floor with cushion. We were mid-rant about how no one brought enough snacks to the girls' side, when the mehndi artist suddenly tapped my hand.

"Zoya, what's your husband's name?" she asked.

I blinked at her, caught off guard.

"Uh—what?"

"Should I write his name in the design?" she clarified, her tone light but curious.

I paused, heart skipping. Then gave a tiny, totally not obvious nod.

"Y-Yeah... his name's Zaigham. But, um, please write it in a way that it's hidden. Like... really hidden."

The moment those words left my mouth, I regretted it.

Because Laiba and Aaliya immediately hooted like I had just confessed my undying love on national television.

"Oh-ho! Look at her, sitting here with plans!" Aaliya said, dramatically waving her henna-filled hands.

"It's not like that," I tried to say, even though my cheeks were burning like they were personally offended by the sun.

"Uh-huh. Of course it's not," Ruman api grinned clearly enjoying herself and nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, not at all,"Nouran api added sweetly. "But your red cheeks are kind of telling a different story, Zoya."

I groaned, hiding my face behind my hands as much as I could without smudging my mehndi.

I peeked at her through my fingers, smirking. "Says the one who practically turns into a tomato every time Ayyan bhai glances in your direction."

Boom.

Direct hit.

Now it was her turn to go red, and I didn't miss the glare she shot me.

Totally worth it.

I chuckled, proud of my minor victory.

Aaliya placed a hand on her chest, dramatically.

"Ya Allah, these couples,can you two please not commit emotional crimes in front of us poor single souls?"

"Exactly. We're starving and single. Please, have some mercy," Laiba joined in, equally dramatic.

I burst out laughing.

"Well, whose fault is that?" I said, raising an eyebrow. "Go find your own grooms instead of third-wheeling mine."

They both groaned in unison.

"Nahhh, we're good, thank you very much," Aaliya said, waving me off like the idea personally offended her.

"Yeah, boys? No thanks. We'll stick to peace."

I grinned, shaking my head.

It was past 1 AM now.

The function had finally ended. I had changed back into a light, comfy dress the moment I got the chance,good riddance to that heavy torture device. But now, a much bigger problem had emerged.

I was starving.

And my hands still had mehndi on them.

In our family, there's this tradition: "The bride can't wash off her henna the whole night."

Because it's all natural and stuff.

So, no problem for the skin... just a massive problem for my stomach.

Everyone was asleep by now. Even Laiba...my last hope....was snoring like she was getting paid for it.

I haven't eaten anything since lunch. I cried internally. And now my hunger pangs were personally threatening to end me.

I was sitting alone on the living room couch like a lost baby. Lip slightly jutted out in the most dramatic pout known to mankind. That's when I heard footsteps.

A smile instantly lit up my face.

Finally! A living human being!

I was fully prepared to throw myself at their mercy and ask them to feed me.

But... my smile faded the moment I turned toward the staircase.

Of all the people on the planet, it had to be Zaigham.

Holding an empty water jug in one hand, he paused mid-step when he saw me, then walked over, frowning.

"You're still up?" he asked. "It's almost 2."

I looked up at him, and before I could even stop myself Ipouted.

"I'm hungry," I whined.

He squinted at me like he couldn't believe the obvious.

"Then eat something. Why are you sitting here like this?"

I rolled my eyes. "Wow. Thank you for the revolutionary advice, Mr. Husband. I had no idea hunger is solved by food."

He sighed. "Zoya—"

I cut him off, lifting both my hands dramatically.

"Do you see this?" I said, pointing at my henna-filled palms. "I can't eat! Because of henna on my hand. And I haven't had a single bite since lunch. I'm dying with hunger."

"Why didn't you eat earlier?"

"Because," I muttered, "I wasn't hungry then. But now I am."

Another sigh. He shook his head slightly and turned.

"Come with me," he said, walking toward the kitchen.

I followed like a very hungry duckling.

He pulled out leftover food from the fridge, quietly plated it, and began heating it. I sat on a chair at the dining table, watching him move around like he wasn't the cause of 90% of my confusion in life.

He returned with a steaming plate in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Setting it down, he pulled out the chair in front of me and sat down. He started mixing the rice, and I... well, I just stared.

There was a tiny smile on my face I couldn't shake.

He's not that bad.

Emotionally challenged, for sure.

But he cares.

Yup. He definitely cares.

I smiled to myself, probably too obviously.

"Can you not stare at me like that, Mrs. Khan?" he said casually, still focused on the plate.

I blinked. "Can you not call me Mrs. Khan like that, Mr. Khan?"

He looked up. Right into my eyes.

"Not a chance," he said softly, "not when you've got my name in your mehndi."

OH.MY.ALLAH.

Did he just—

My heart stopped. Is that legal?! Who allowed this man to flirt in the middle of the night when I'm starving and vulnerable?!

I gasped. "Who told you your name is in there?"

He tilted his head slightly, looking way too smug.

And then, very smoothly, dodged the question.

Typical Zaigham.

Without saying a word, he scooped up a spoonful of rice and held it in front of my mouth.

I blinked at him, my heart skipping, but opened my mouth anyway and took the bite.

And just like that, my brain took a time-travel trip to the first time he fed me.

So much had changed.

Except the part where I still had zero control over my heartbeat around him.

"You're not eating?" I asked between bites.

"I already had dinner," he said, picking up the glass of water and holding it up for me to drink.

I took it quietly.

Would anyone believe that Mr. Akroo Khan had a side like this? Feeding his wife silently in the middle of the night?

He brought his hand toward my lips, and I blinked at him in confusion.

"Sauce," he murmured.

Before I could even react, he wiped the corner of my mouth with his thumb, slow, casual, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Ya Allah, my heart just flipped like a fish out of water.

But what he did next?

It made my eyes widen like soccer balls. I genuinely feared they might fall out and roll under the table.

He sucked his thumb.

OH. MY. ALLAH.

Like he hadn't just done something absolutely illegal in Zoya's World.

Like it was no big deal. Like my heart didn't just stop, restart, then go into cardiac ballet.

He casually held the next spoonful of food in front of my face, unbothered, unfazed, entirely too calm for the storm he just caused in my chest.

Meanwhile, I was stuck in my own glitching system.

"Zoya," he said gently, "Hurry. You need to sleep too."

I opened my mouth slowly,reluctantly,letting him feed me the next bite, but every atom of me was screaming.

What. Just. Happened.

Why did he do that?

WHY DID I LIKE THAT?!

My face was a whole tomato and my brain was fried at this point.

Ya Allah, what is even happening right now?

What is this man trying to do to my poor, innocent heart?!

And me?

I was falling.

Just a little.

Just enough to panic.

But not enough to stop.

To be Continued......

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