𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧
Now I was getting ready. Again.
Barely an hour of rest after Ayyan bhai's nikkah and here I was back in the chair, staring at my own face, trying not to spiral.
The makeup artist was working her magic while my mind was just... not cooperating.
There were too many emotions crashing into each other inside me.
Because this wasn't just any function.
This was my Rukhsati.
And even though our nikkah already happened, even though I'd signed the papers and heard the words, today felt different.
Because today, I'd be shifting into his room.
Into his life.
I was officially becoming Mrs. Zaigham.
My chest felt tight with nerves. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Would it feel different? Would he be different? Would I?
I sighed quietly.
Nobody tells you how overwhelming it is. Everyone just says "smile and sit on stage, you're the bride!"
But the truth is... you feel everything. All at once.
Love, fear, hope, sadness, panic, butterflies... the whole dramatic emotional buffet.
I was overwhelmed. Like, weirdly emotional overwhelmed. My eyes burned and I blinked hard.
Why was I about to cry?! Was this normal? Should I be worried?
The makeup artist stepped back and nodded. "All done."
I turned to the mirror.
And... wow.
It barely looked like me. But somehow still did.
I looked older. Softer. Like a version of myself I wasn't used to seeing.
That's when Rumman api stepped into the room, quietly walking over to help with my hijab. She adjusted the deep maroon silk gently around my face and shoulders, her fingers careful not to smudge the makeup.
I didn't say anything. But she could probably feel the way I was breathing too fast. Because without a word, she leaned down and hugged me from behind, her arms wrapping around me like an anchor.
"What happened?" she whispered near my ear. "Hey... brides don't cry, okay? You're just moving from one room to another."
A tear slipped anyway.
I laughed through it. "Yeah, well... apparently, I'm dramatic."
Laiba stepped in just then, eyes wide as she saw me.
"Okay first of all, you look insanely pretty," she said. "Second, do not even think about crying. That makeup artist fought for her life over your eyeliner."
That made me snort.
"I'm trying, okay? But my tear glands are not cooperating."
I carefully stood up, letting the weight of my maroon lehnga settle. The fabric shimmered as it caught the light. Layers and layers of deep maroon with gold accents wrapped around me, my hijab matching perfectly, with a heavy dupatta draped over it all.
I looked like a bride from a Pinterest board.
Which was terrifying and kind of cool at the same time.
Just then, the door opened and Mama, Baba, and Ayyan bhai walked in.
And just like that, the emotions came back full-force.
Mama's eyes were already glistening, Baba's lips were pressed into a tight smile, and Ayyan bhai had that awkward emotional grin boys do when they're trying not to cry.
"My daughter," Baba whispered, his voice soft. "MashAllah... you're looking so pretty."
I rushed into his arms and sobbed lightly.
"Baba..." I said, voice catching.
"Shh... Beta," he said, rubbing my back. "I know what you are feeling. But don't worry. He's a good man. He will take care of you. Even if he's a little... tough sometimes, he's responsible. Caring, in his own way."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
Then Mama hugged me tightly. "Ok enough, you're not going that far. Don't cry like we're sending you off to Mars."
I let out a little laugh.
Then came Ayyan bhai. He pulled me into a warm hug. "MashAllah," he said dramatically, stepping back to look at me. "I barely recognized my own sister today. Looking like a whole queen."
Then he grinned.
"Lowkey worried for Zaigham bhai though. How's he going to survive you?"
"Bhaiiii!" I smacked his chest, half laughing, half crying.
"Excuse you, I am a gift."
He just laughed and kissed my forehead. "A very loud, dramatic gift."
Just then Laiba and Rumman api joined in and we had one big chaotic emotional group hug. All sniffles and giggles and whispered "Stop crying, your nose is getting red."
It was one of those moments. The kind I'd remember forever, with my heart fluttering and my eyes stinging.
Because even with the nerves and the chaos and my very real fear of tripping on stage.
I was ready.
Zaigham was already seated on the stage, composed, surrounded by cousins and siblings cracking jokes and tossing playful remarks.
But none of it really registered.
Because beneath that calm, unreadable expression, his eyes were moving... subtly, quietly... scanning the entrance.
Looking for her. Again and Again.
And then, she appeared.
Escorted by Laiba and Rumman, Zoya stepped into the open space, and for a split second, everything else blurred around her.
His breath hitched.
That maroon dress, the shimmer of her dress under the lights, the delicate hijab framed so perfectly, like she'd just stepped out of a painting.
She wasn't just beautiful. She was breathtaking.
A soft wave of something hit him, something too big to name. He couldn't put it into words, but his chest tightened, just slightly. Because today, she wasn't just Zoya. She was his bride.
And not just on paper. Not just in name.
Tonight... she was stepping into his world. Into his space. His room. His life.
She was about to become a permanent part of his every day, of his mornings, his nights, his routines.
And for a man like Zaigham, who never showed too much, never said too much, that was everything.
Zoya, on the other hand, was chaos in motion.
She was smiling and laughing nervously, her eyes wide as she held onto Rumman's wrist just a little too tightly, like she was about to sprint or pass out, not sure which.
Her free hand clutched the edge of her dupatta as she whispered something to Laiba that made both girls giggle.
She wasn't gliding like some graceful bride in a movie - no, this was Zoya.
She tripped slightly on the edge of her lehnga, muttered something under her breath, tried to recover with a fake confident smile, and then blushed furiously when she realized he was watching.
Zaigham didn't say a word. But his gaze didn't waver for a second.
Not when she avoided looking at him.
Not when she tried to fix her dupatta for the sixth time.
Not when she finally reached the steps of the stage, and hesitated.
For a heartbeat, her eyes met his.
And the world stilled.
Her heart thudded so loud she was convinced someone would hear it. Her palms were sweating, her stomach flipping, and her brain was screaming: Walk. Just walk. Act normal. Breathe. He's just a man. A very tall, serious, hot and handsome man who is now your husband.
As I looked at him, his eyes locked onto mine.
And okay, wow.
I know I've seen him in suits, button-downs, and that intimidating CEO vibe... but this?
This was something else entirely.
That black sherwani, the rich maroon turban, the way it sat perfectly on his head like it belonged there. Like he'd walked straight out of some royal portrait.
He looked... handsome. No. Beyond that. If "unbearably handsome" was a real term, I'd use it right now.
And just like yesterday, he quietly stretched his hand out toward me.
My heart launched itself into cardio mode. I placed my hand in his, and immediately noticed the contrast. His hand was steady. Warm. Large. And mine? Shaking. Cold. Possibly clammy. Great.
He helped me onto the stage with the same unreadable expression on his face, but I swear his thumb brushed just slightly across my knuckles.
Whether that was an accident or not, I had no clue. But my brain short-circuited anyway.
I sat beside him, doing my absolute best to look like a composed bride and not someone who was internally screaming "I'm sitting next to my husband in front of literally EVERYONE!"
The camera guy wasted no time.
Flashes started going off like fireworks and I smiled like my jaw was being held hostage.
Relatives took turns approaching the stage, offering prayers, placing gifts, stuffing envelopes into our hands like we were donation boxes.
And through it all... my husband?
Stone cold. Poker-faced. Expression set to: "I'm attending a corporate merger, not my wedding."
Seriously, could this man smile just once?
Since he wasn't showing gratitude with his face, clearly it was my job to be the walking talking representative of bridal grace.
Which meant, nonstop smiling.
My cheeks were literally twitching.
In the whole time I did not find Mahveen, where is she? Well nevermind.
"Someone tell Zaigham bhai he can blink, the camera doesn't bite," Rayyan bhai said, flopping next to us with the biggest grin.
Laiba leaned in from the other side, fake-whispering loud enough for the whole hall to hear, "Zoya, blink twice if you think bhai is looking handsome."
"Oh my Allah, stop," I muttered, cheeks on fire. I didn't know if it was the heat from the overhead lights.
"Guys, leave her alone," Rumman api said, laughing, "Her smile is already twitching. She's at her maximum limit."
Zaviyaar leaned on the edge of the stage with a dramatic sigh, "Imagine being this serious on your own rukhsati. I swear, if this were me, I'd be crying tears of joy."
Zaigham threw at him a cold glare which shut him up immediately.
"I bet Zoya's already thinking about where she's hiding snacks in his room," Ayat added, making Inaya burst into giggles.
"Please. She's probably memorized everything already," Nouran api grinned, sipping her drink.
I covered my face with my hand. "You are all the worst."
Zaigham just sat there, letting it all happen, the barest twitch of amusement in his eyes, and that made it worse.
Because he was enjoying this.
I elbowed him lightly, whispering under my breath, "Any plans to help me survive this?"
He didn't look at me. Just said, "You're doing great."
Wow.
Dinner was over. The guests had been fed. The hugs had been exchanged. And now... it was time for rukhsati.
Which was hilarious, honestly. Because rukhsati just meant... walking upstairs. Climbing a flight of stairs and entering a room.
That was all.
No grand departure, no crying crowds, just Laiba and Aaliya guiding me to a room I technically already knew existed.
Zaigham had disappeared a few minutes ago, muttering something about an important call.
Of course he had.
I walked into the room and paused.
Okay... wow.
The lights were dimmed to a soft golden glow.
The bed was draped with delicate white netting, soft petals scattered across the sheets.
Candles flickered from the corners of the room, casting little shadows across the cream walls.
Fresh roses placed in a shape on the side table, and the faintest scent of vanilla hung in the air.
Everything was soft, warm, and annoyingly romantic.
I didn't know where to look.
"Oh my Allah," Laiba whispered dramatically behind me. "This room is straight out of a movie."
"I call dibs on stealing these candles," Aaliya said, dropping onto the couch.
"Alright, come on, madam. Sit," Laiba nudged me toward the bed with a grin.
So I did.
Sat right in the middle of the bed, crossed my legs casually, and flopped back onto my hands like I was at a sleepover.
Both of them just stared at me.
Seconds later, Mama, Tayi Jaan, and Nouran Api walked in behind them. The look on Mama's face nearly made me snort.
"Zoya. What... what is this? How are you sitting?"
"What?" I blinked. "How else am I supposed to sit?"
Mama walked over, adjusting her dupatta like she was preparing for war. "You're not here to binge-watch dramas with your friends. Sit properly. Back straight, hands on your lap."
"Seriously?" I looked at her with the widest eyes I could manage. "That's a real thing? I thought that was just in TV shows."
"Yes, seriously," Tayi Jaan said, chuckling softly as she helped adjust my dupatta. "You're a bride, not a cricket commentator."
I let out the loudest sigh of the night. "I have to pose too now?"
Mama gave me a look.
"And please," I mumbled, scratching near my neckline, "can I just change already? This dress is itchy and I think my body's giving up."
Mama looked like she wanted to smack a pillow. "What am I going to do with this girl?"
That earned a chorus of laughter from Nouran Api, Laiba, and Aaliya.
"You can't change yet," Tayi Jaan said kindly, smoothing out a crease on my dupatta. "Wait for Zaigham. After that, you can get comfortable. Your casual outfits are already placed in the cupboard."
I groaned. "Fine. But if I get a rash from this embroidery, I'm blaming everyone here."
Mama just kissed my head and shook hers.
Tayi Jaan stood up. "Okay, now you rest a bit. We will check on the remaining guests downstairs."
"Come on, girls," she called out as she headed toward the door.
Laiba and Aaliya were the last to leave. But not before they gave me matching, dramatic grins and exaggerated winks.
I glared at them. "Stop looking at me like that!"
"You look like you're about to faint," Aaliya whispered.
"You look like you want to faint," Laiba smirked.
"Out. Both of you," I hissed, tossing a cushion their way.
They giggled all the way out the door.
Ugh.
How much longer was he going to take?
My legs had officially gone numb. I could barely feel them anymore, but of course, I just sat there, upright, poised, "bridal." I groaned internally.
This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I'm a human, not a wax statue.
Just then, I heard the soft click of the door.
Finally.
He walked in.
His hair looked slightly messy, his turban now in his hand instead of on his head, and without saying a word, he reached back and locked the door.
Wait. Why is he locking the door?
Our eyes met. He looked at me calmly, walked over to the side table, and gently placed the turban down.
"Where were you?" I asked instantly, glaring at him. "Do you even know what I've been through? I can't feel my legs. I've been sitting in this exact same posture for the past half hour. I swear, they're just... gone."
He glanced at me, completely unbothered. "Who told you to sit like that?"
My jaw dropped. "Excuse me?!"
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Your precious mother-in-law. She positioned me like I'm a mannequin in a bridal boutique."
He didn't even blink. Just came to sit in front of me, loosening his cufflinks and removing his watch like we were in some kind of casual Tuesday situation.
"Hm," he murmured.
That's it. Just hm.
I cleared my throat, sitting up straighter. "Anyway, forget all that. Where's my gift?"
He raised a brow without looking up.
I held out my hand. "I want my wedding gift. The one the groom gives the bride on the wedding night. Where is it?"
He looked at my hand... then my face... then back to my hand.
"What gift?"
I gasped. "My gift. My mu dikhai!"
He leaned back just slightly and looked entirely too casual. "I've seen this face since childhood. What exactly do you want me to give you for it?"
I blinked. Slowly, my jaw dropped. "You. Did. Not. Just. Say. That."
"I did," he said, completely unapologetic.
My mouth hung open in disbelief.
He looked at me like he was bored of the conversation. I looked at him like I wanted to throw a cushion at his head.
I stood up abruptly. "There's no point talking to you. Honestly. What was I even expecting? A necklace? A surprise? A little effort? That's on me."
As I turned to walk away, he tilted his head.
"Where are you going?"
I turned just enough to glance at him over my shoulder.
"Oh, I don't know," I said sweetly. "Maybe to hell. You coming?"
Without waiting for his reaction, I stormed over to the wardrobe, yanking it open to find my casual outfit.
Behind me, I heard a quiet chuckle.
Of course he found that funny.
I swear, this man is impossible.
I picked out a simple lavender shalwar kameez from the wardrobe, something light, soft, and comfortable.
When I stepped back into the room, he was still sitting there on the edge of the bed, just...watching me.
I ignored his gaze like a professional.
"I need to remove my jewelry and unpin this dupatta first," I said, tone dry enough to match the desert. "You can go and change in the meantime."
He didn't say anything. Just studied me for a moment like I was some puzzle he couldn't quite figure out.
Then finally, without a word, he got up and walked over to the wardrobe.
I rolled my eyes. Wow. Romantic award of the year goes to Mr. Cold Khan. What exactly was I expecting? Rose petals? A hidden diamond ring? Fireworks?
I muttered all that under my breath as I unpinned the ten-thousand-pinned dupatta. My arms ached. This thing weighed more than my expectations.
Thank God I had worn my hijab, no dramatic hairstyle to deal with. I loosened it carefully and let out a quiet sigh as the tightness eased from my scalp. My hair was in a messy bun under the scarf.
I draped the hijab loosely over my head again and reached for the wipes to remove the layers of makeover-slash-paint from my face. My skin could finally breathe again.
And just as I was rubbing off the last bit of lipstick, I heard the door click.
I looked up at the mirror and nearly forgot how to blink.
Zaigham stepped out, hair still damp, wearing a black tank top and sweatpants. He was drying his hair with a towel, and as he moved, his biceps flexed.
He was looking smoking hot. Wait what?! Zoya Shut it!
I didn't even realize when he came up behind me. My heart did though, it did a full somersault.
"Drooling are we, Mrs. Khan?" he asked, smirking through the mirror.
I turned my face instantly, cheeks flaming. "Nope."
"Really?"
"In your dreams," I snapped, trying way too hard to sound unaffected. I clutched my lavender dress and marched toward the bathroom like I wasn't a complete mess inside.
I shut the bathroom door with a dramatic sigh.
Zoya, get a grip.
As I finished my shower, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection like it held all the answers.
Was I really going to go out like this?
Without my hijab?
I'd never done that in front of any man since I started wearing it. Not once. Not even by accident.
But then again... he wasn't any man. He was my husband.
Still, I hadn't taken it off in front of him even after our nikkah.
Now I was tired. Sleepy. And seriously, who even sleeps in a hijab?
My brain kept going back and forth like a dramatic courtroom argument.
"Zoya, relax," I muttered to myself. "It's just hair. And he's literally your legally wedded husband. Stop overthinking."
With a deep sigh, I let my jet-black waist-length hair fall freely down my back, running the towel through the damp strands. I avoided the mirror this time. My brain was already doing the most.
The bathroom had two doors - one leading to the wardrobe area and one to the bedroom. I took the wardrobe door and stepped inside, still toweling my hair.
Once I was done, I caught my reflection again. My long hair fell straight, sleek, and, unnecessarily dramatic.
I rolled my eyes at my own reflection. "Relax, you're just going to sleep, not shooting a shampoo ad."
Throwing a dupatta casually over my shoulders, I took a deep breath.
"Let's go, Zoya. Don't be awkward. Just walk in like a normal person."
I pushed the door open and stepped into the bedroom.
He was leaning against the headboard, phone in hand, scrolling or texting or being mysterious - whatever he usually did.
But the moment I entered, his gaze snapped up.
And locked on me.
From head...To toe.
His grey eyes scanned my face like I was suddenly in 4K Ultra HD.
Instant internal chaos activated.
Oh my Allah, why did I think this was a good idea?
I could feel the heat rising up my neck.
He didn't say anything. Just kept looking.
Like he was trying to memorize something.
I immediately looked away and pretended to care very deeply about the floor.
The moment she stepped out, I looked up-
And it may sound cringy, but it felt like time stopped.
I couldn't breathe. For a second, I genuinely forgot how to. My chest tightened, like my lungs didn't know what to do with the air anymore.
Her hair... was down.
Jet black, damp from her shower, falling past her shoulders in long, natural waves. She wasn't wearing her hijab. And for the first time in all these years, I was seeing her like this, fully, openly.
No layers.
I'd seen her as a child, yes. Before she began wearing hijab. But that was a lifetime ago, a version of her that barely belonged to memory now. Since then, she had never taken it off around anyone. Not even once. Not even with me after the nikah. That quiet boundary of hers was always there.
I respected it. I valued it.
And maybe that's why this moment hit me so hard.
Because now, here she was completely herself, without walls, without pretense, without any warning, walking into the room in a simple lavender suit, her hair drying naturally as if it wasn't undoing me from the inside out.
I stared.
I didn't mean to. I just couldn't look away. Like she spellbound me.
She had no idea what she was doing to me. No clue how painfully beautiful she looked. Her features, bare and honest. Her hair, sleek and soft. Her eyes, briefly flicking toward me before quickly looking away, as if she could feel the weight of my gaze.
She was about to walk past me, still visibly annoyed, probably still mad about the whole "no gift" thing...when I gently reached out and held her hand.
She froze.
Her eyes shot to mine, then flicked down to where my hand was holding hers.
There was a flicker of confusion in her gaze, and beneath it... a softness she was clearly trying to hide.
I remembered the pout she gave me earlier when I said I didn't bring any gift. Of course, I was joking. I knew about the tradition. I had the gift. I just didn't tell her because... I don't know. I wanted to see her reaction.
Maybe I just liked getting a rise out of her. Maybe I just liked her.
"Sit," I said simply.
She narrowed her eyes, clearly suspicious, but sat down on the bed anyway. "Can you hurry up? I'm sleepy and whatever you're planning, please make it quick," she muttered with her usual drama.
I almost smiled. Almost.
Ya Allah, she looked cute when she was mad.
Who even was I right now, thinking all these things?
Without saying anything, I walked to the wardrobe, opened the drawer, and pulled out the slim velvet box. When I returned, she was sitting on the bed with crossed arms and the grumpiest expression like I'd just ruined her bedtime.
Good.
She needed to be slightly off guard for this to work.
I walked over and sat down beside her and held out the box to her.
She looked at it, then at me. "What's this?"
I shrugged casually. "Your Mu Dikhai."
Her eyes widened like I'd dumped a bucket of cold water on her. She gasped again.
This girl gasps at everything.
But then, right on cue, she smiled. That big, toothy, beautiful grin she always tried to hide behind sass. Her dimples showing up.
She practically snatched the box out of my hand and opened it immediately.
The way her eyes sparkled when she saw it... yeah, that made it worth it.
Inside lay a delicate diamond necklace, with a small floral diamond pendant in the center.
Minimal. Graceful. Elegant. It reminded me of her the moment I saw it.
"It's... so beautiful," she whispered, looking up at me like I'd just handed her the moon.
I looked at her for a beat. The grin, the excitement, the softness in her eyes. I didn't know one person could carry this many versions of themselves at once.
And then, before I could prepare....she threw her arms around me in a hug.
It was clumsy, impulsive, too fast, completely her.
Her small form pressed against my chest and for a second... I froze.
But then I smiled a little... and hugged her back.
It felt nice.
"Thank you so much," she said, her voice muffled against my bare shoulder.
"You're welcome, Mrs. Khan," I said quietly.
She giggled.
And I swear....that sound did something to my heart I wasn't ready to admit yet.
Did... did Mr. Khan really just give me a Mu Dikhai gift?
No, seriously, did that actually just happen? Someone pinch me. No, wait-don't. I want to stay in this dream.
The pendant was so, so beautiful. Delicate. Minimal. But there was this graceful charm to it, like it belonged in a romantic movie or something. As soon as I pulled away from the hug, I held it out toward him, still wide-eyed.
He looked at me, a little confused.
And raised an eyebrow.
Of course. Of course he did. I think that eyebrow of his has more attitude than most people I know.
"What?" he asked, that calm voice of his just making me more impatient.
I cleared my throat. "Put it on me."
For a second, he looked actually taken aback. Not dramatically...but like a flicker of surprise just crossed his face.
"Uh... okay," he said slowly, taking the pendant from my hand.
I stood up toward mirror and turned around so he could reach. And then...then...he gently brushed my hair to the side, and his fingers grazed the back of my neck.
And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.
Bad idea. Very bad idea, Zoya. Who told you to be this bold? Whose idea was this?
Goosebumps shot up across my skin and I mentally cursed my entire existence. I could practically feel the blush climbing my cheeks.
Through the mirror, I dared a glance at him. And there he was already looking at me.
With soft eyes, Focused. Calm. Like he was memorizing something without realizing.
The height difference suddenly felt very, very real. He was taller, obviously, but standing behind me like that made me feel tiny and ridiculous and weirdly safe, all at once.
He finished fastening the clasp and backed away slowly, barely muttering a soft, "Done."
I went toward the mirror, staring at the necklace now resting along my collarbone. It sparkled just a little under the light. It looked elegant. Feminine. Like it was meant to be mine.
Of course it does, I thought, cheeks warming again. My husband clearly has stupidly beautiful taste.
I smiled to myself.
Then turned to him with an innocent blink. "So... is this the part where you say something poetic about how I look?"
He gave me a look.
I threw my hands up in defeat. "Fine. I'll just assume you're internally praising my eternal beauty."
He almost smiled.
And coming from him, basically meant I won.
As he settled down on the bed, he reached out to turn off the bedside lamp, but I quickly stopped him.
"Wait!"
He turned to look at me, clearly not expecting that. "Now what?" he asked, his expression completely neutral.
I grinned and scrambled over to sit cross-legged in front of him, my excitement building. He watched me like I'd grown two heads.
"You're not allowed to sleep just yet," I declared confidently, holding my hands out in front of him.
"Why?" he asked, still so calm. Unbothered. Zero reaction. As usual.
I beamed. "Because you have to find your name in my mehndi."
He blinked. "Seriously?"
"Yes. And if you can't find it," I added dramatically, "you'll have to take me out for ice cream. Right now."
His eyes narrowed. "Right now? As in... at 2 a.m.?"
I shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Yup. You seem nervous, Mr. Khan. Is that because you know you won't be able to find it?"
That got his attention.
"Who said I won't find it?" he said, voice low. "I never lose."
"Oh?" I said, tilting my head with a mock-challenging smile. "And if you do win...which you won't, but if...what do you want?"
He smirked slightly. "What do I want? I already have a very dramatic wife."
I gasped. "Excuse me! Beautiful. The word is beautiful. Say it right."
He rolled his eyes, but there was the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"Fine," I said, raising my hands like I was making an oath. "If you win, I'll do anything you ask. Happy?"
"Anything I say?" he asked, now fully invested.
I nodded with all the confidence I could fake. "Yup. Deal?"
"Deal," he said, and immediately took my hand, eyes scanning my mehndi like a seasoned detective.
I watched smugly, knowing he wouldn't find it. I had asked the mehndi artist to hide it carefully, tucked between the petals of a big floral swirl.
But then-"Found it," he said.
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Here," he said, holding my hand up and pointing to the exact spot where it was hidden.
My jaw dropped. It hadn't even been a full minute!
"No way! That's cheating!"
He shrugged. "Nope. You just underestimated me."
I huffed, internally mourning the ice cream trip that could've been. "Okay fine... what do you want, Mr. Husband?"
He looked at me for a long second before suddenly leaning in, slow and confident.
Huh?? Wait WHAT is he doing?!
I instinctively leaned back, eyes wide, heart going into panic-flutter mode. Then I panicked further and shut my eyes.
Oh my Allah. Oh my Allah. I'm not ready for this. What is he doing? Why is he so close? Zoya you absolute clown, you walked right into this-
"Coffee," I heard him say, voice low but amused.
My eyes snapped open.
"WHAT?"
He leaned back, smirking now.
"Coffee, Zoya. I want coffee."
I stared at him like he'd just asked me to knit a sweater using moonlight. "Are you serious right now?! Who asks their newlywed bride for COFFEE at 2 a.m.?!"
He just shrugged, smug as ever. "I don't recall any negotiation clause in our deal. You said anything."
I groaned dramatically. "Ugh. I hate you."
"Too bad," he said, folding his arms behind his head. "I heard that."
"I didn't try to hide it," I mumbled as I dragged myself off the bed like a tragic soap opera heroine. "You're lucky I'm cute."
I swore I saw his smirk widen as I stomped toward the door.
"Don't forget without sugar!" he called out.
"You'll be lucky if I don't poison it," I muttered.
To be Continued....
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