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Oh my my... 1K?! ????I can't believe this story has hit 1kreads so soon.
You guys have no idea how much this means to me.
I started this story with so much love and a little fear .
.. and seeing it being read, loved, and supported like this is just overwhelming in the best way!
Thank you for every single read, every vote, and every moment you spent with my characters. You make this journey worth it.
Love you all endlessly!??
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I stomped into the kitchen like a kid throwing a tantrum. Everyone in this house was peacefully asleep... and then there's my husband who suddenly decided he needs coffee at 2 a.m.
Seriously, who does that? Who even drinks coffee before bed? People drink coffee to stay awake, and he drinks to... fall asleep. Ugh. Weird.
I yanked open cabinet after cabinet, slamming each one shut like a frustrated cooking show contestant. Half the cupboards didn't even have what I needed, but hey...anger needs an outlet, right?
"Oh, amazing job, Zoya," I muttered under my breath as I measured the coffee.
"Clap for yourself. You brought this on yourself.
You had to challenge him. You just had to act smart and hide his name in the mehndi like a secret code.
And what did you think? Huh? That he wouldn't find it?
He's Zaigham Khan. The guy has literally won Businessman of the Year three years in a row.
And you thought a little floral design was going to beat him? Please. Genius move, Zoya."
I was mid-rant, angrily stirring the coffee like it had personally accused me, whenโ
Oh sweet mother of jump scares.
I turned, and there he was. Standing by the doorway. Arms crossed. Calm. Amused. Looking at me like I was the mid-night entertainment.
"YA ALLAH!" I clutched my chest like a dramatic movie heroine. "Can you not appear out of nowhere like a ghost? I almost died!"
He didn't even blink. One eyebrow lifted slowly.
"I thought you started making a three-course meal in here," he said coolly, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward me.
"It's been thirty minutes since you left. I figured I should check before my wife falls asleep on the kitchen counter." His tone dropped a notch, all calm and teasing. "But clearly, you were... busy. Giving a full TED Talk about me, I assume?"
My brain short-circuited. "What?! No! I was... uh..." I waved the spoon vaguely at the counter. "Making coffee. Like you asked."
"Mhm." His smirk said he wasn't buying it for a second.
I shoved the mug at him. "Here. Your precious coffee."
He took it from my hand, fingers brushing mine in the process, why does that always feel like static electricity? I looked away instantly before my cheeks exploded.
He took a slow sip, and I swear it was the most annoyingly graceful sip I'd ever seen. "Perfect," he said simply, and then... walked out.
Wait. That's it?
I stood there with my jaw practically on the floor for a good five seconds before grabbing the counter for support. At least he could have said thank you. Then I rolled my eyes dramatically and muttered under my breath as I followed him back toward our room.
As soon as I entered the room, I yanked the dupatta off my head with enough aggression to scare the life out of it.
"Ya Allah, I'm so tired," I muttered, collapsing face-first onto the bed like a starfish.
A very plush bed, by the way. Soft. Comfortable. Ohโhold up. HIS plush bed.
Oh my Allah.
OH. MY. ALLAH.
I completely forgot, I'm in his room.
Why does my brain stop working when I am sleepy?
I froze like someone hit the pause button. Then, very slowly, I tilted my head up. And there he was leaning against the dressing counter. Watching me. His lips pressed together like he was holding back something. A laugh? A smirk? A judgment?
Ya Allah.
Zoya, you embarrassing little disaster. Can you do one single thing like a normal human being?!
I cleared my throat, trying to act like this was all completely fine and not the biggest humiliation of my life.
"Dear husband," I said sweetly, though my face was on fire, "once you're done... staring... could you do me a tiny favor and turn off the lights?"
Then I did the most mature thing ever, I pulled the blanket over my head and prayed for the earth to swallow me whole.
That's when I heard him chuckling.
Oh great. Amazing. Now he's laughing at me.
Fantastic, Zoya. A+ start to married life.
I ignored the mental chaos and tried to focus on the fact that I was still alive. And breathing. And under a blanket fortress. Safe.
Then the mattress dipped on the other side, and I swear my soul left my body for a second.
He turned off the lights, and suddenly the room was dark, except for the neon sign inside my chest that said PANIC and a side lamp.
My heartbeat was practically DJ-ing a rave in my ears.
I mean, of courseโduhโIt's overwhelming for me.
I peeked out from under the blanket because curiosity kills the cat but also makes me stupid. He was lying straight on his back, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting on his stomach, eyes closed like some calm Greek statue.
"Zoya," his voice came out of nowhere, low and steady, "if you're done staring, you might want to sleep too."
Oh. My. Allah. How does he always know?!
How did he even know I was looking at him?! Is there a sixth sense for husbands? Is this a thing?!
And what did I do in this very serious moment? The dumbest possible thing. I slowly extended my hand and waved it right in front of his face to test if he was faking.
His eyes flew open.
I nearly died.
"Zoya!" His tone was firm. "Sleep. Already."
I pouted, because obviously that was a little harsh response, and dramatically turned my back to him like some tragic heroine.
He sighed. "Now what?"
"What do you mean, what?" I shot back, still facing away. "First you make me drag myself to the kitchen to make coffee on our wedding night. And now you're yelling at me. I hate you."
"I'm not yelling," he said calmly, and that somehow annoyed me more. "It's already almost dawn. You need to sleep. Good thing tomorrow isn't the walima or you'd be dozing off on stage."
And just like that, my pout deflated a little. Because okay... fine. That was... kinda caring. Not that I'm admitting that out loud.
I smiled in the dark...just for a second...but of course it died the moment he added, "Now sleep. And let me sleep too."
Ugh. There it was. Classic Akroo Khan energy.
I buried myself deeper into the blanket and muttered under my breath, "Cold-hearted statue."
Still, my stupid heart didn't stop fluttering.
The shrill beep of my alarm pulled me out of sleep.
4:00 a.m.
Time for Fajr.
I snoozed it and turned, half expecting her to stir. But no, there she was. My wife. Sleeping like the world could end and she wouldn't know.
The blanket was pulled up to her nose, a tiny hand clutching the edge like a lifeline. I couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips.
I headed to the bathroom, did my ablution, and came back. She was still in the exact same position. Except now, a few strands of her hair had fallen across her face.
And before I knew it, I was moving them away. Carefully. Slowly. Her skin was warm under my fingers, soft. She shifted slightly and I instantly pulled my hand back like a guilty teenager.
Ya Allah, what is this girl doing to me?
I glanced at the clock. Five minutes left. If I don't wake her now, we'll be late.
"Zoya," I said gently, shaking her shoulder.
Nothing.
"Zoya," I tried again.
A muffled groan came from under the blanket. "Mhmm..."
That sound did things to my heartbeat I'm not discussing with anyone.
"Zoya," I said, firmer this time. "Wake up. It's time for Fajr."
Her lashes fluttered, and finally, she peeked at me with half-lidded eyes.
"What is it, Laiba? And when did you grow a beard?"
I blinked...Seriously?
"Laiba? Really?" I raised a brow.
Her brows furrowed in confusion before her eyes finally focused. And widened.
"Oh my Allah!" She shot up like someone had electrocuted her. "Why are you here?!"
I crossed my arms. "Because this is my room. Which you moved into last night. After your rukhsati. Which, by the way, you have apparently forgotten."
She blinked rapidly, still trying to process reality. Her hair was a wild mess around her face, and she looked, adorable.
Wait. Adorable? No. Get it together, Zaigham!
"Now," I continued, "Get up. It's Fajr. Before we're late."
I laid out the prayer mats while she stumbled to the bathroom like a zombie. When she came back, she was still yawning, eyes barely open, but at least awake enough to pray.
I started leading the prayer.
As soon as we finished praying, she didn't waste a second.
Blanket. Bed. Gone.
I stared at her. "You're going back to sleep?"
Her head popped out from under the blanket, hair a total mess, eyes still heavy with sleep.
"What else do you expect? I've only slept for one hour," she said, narrowing her eyes at me like I'm the villain here.
I raised a brow. "One hour is enough to function for the next five." I was just teasing her. I don't know what had gotten into me.
She looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Of course not! Do I look like some robot to you? Now hush, go to sleep and let me sleep."
She turned around and burrowed deeper into the blanket, muttering under her breath.
"I'm not a psycho who wakes up after one hour of sleep."
I couldn't help the small smile that escaped.
Classic Zoya.
Within a minute, her breathing softened. Out cold.
I leaned against the headboard, and my eyes betrayed me and went straight to her.
She was curled on her side, blanket pulled up to her chin like a child hiding from the world.
A few strands of her hair had slipped over her cheek, soft, the kind of hair you could lose your fingers in without realizing. They looked like silk against her fair skin.
Her lips were parted slightly in sleep, plump. And then there was that nose... small, perfect, carved with too much precision.
But what killed me was that expression, peaceful, innocent, and then that damn pout. Just the tiniest curve downward, making her look like a sulky kid dreaming about stolen candy.
Cute. Way too cute for my sanity.
How does someone look beautiful and innocent at the same time? How does she... do that?
I almost reached out to smooth that stray strand of hair off her face, but I stopped, curling my fingers into a fist instead.
Zaigham, stop. You're going to lose your mind before morning.
I sighed and whispered under my breath, "You need a good sleep before you do something stupid."
Turning to the other side, I shut my eyes.
I stirred, lazily blinking at the clock.
10:00 a.m.
"Wow. Bride of the year," I muttered, dragging myself up. My muscles still felt sore from yesterday's function.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring around like a lost child.
First day after the wedding, Zoya. Be mature now. Sophisticated. Poised. You're Mrs. Zaigham Khan. Not some cartoon character.
Right. I repeated that chant twice before ruining it with a yawn.
Then I heard the faint sound of water running.
Oh. So Mr. Perfectionist woke up only a little while ago. Good to know I'm not the only lazy one today.
I stretched my arms like Pink Panther in slow motion and dragged myself to the closet. I pulled out my outfit for the day, a soft blush pink kameez with delicate white embroidery along the neckline and hem, paired with wide-legged palazzo pants . Simple. Breezy. Elegant.
My eyes shifted.
Should I... pick an outfit for him?
My brain said no. My inner wifey instincts said yes. And because I clearly lack self-control, I listened to the latter.
I grabbed a white buttoned-down shirt, thinking white suits him, well, every color he wears suits him so well. I paired it with olive-green pants.
Clean. Sharp. Very Zaigham-ish. At least I think so.
I neatly laid it on the bed, stepped back, and admired my wifely gesture like some 90s drama heroine. Look at me being all responsible.
Just then the bathroom door opened.
And Zaigham walked out in a plain black T-shirt clinging to him and grey sweatpants. His hair was damp, a few drops trailing down his jawline. And for a split second, my brain froze.
Ya Allah, why?
He noticed me. Our eyes met. I smiled like an idiot. "Good morning."
He gave the tiniest nod. "Morning," he said in a voice so deep it practically echoed in my bones... and then casually walked to the closet.
That was it. No smile. Just Mr. Stoneface going about his day like a mafia boss.
I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly did a backflip. Wow. A simple smile won't kill you, Mr. Husband. You're not allergic to happiness.
Bear it now Zoya you are now stuck with Mr. Expressionless for lifetime.
I stepped out of the bathroom. As I opened my clutch, my hair tumbled down, and I started fixing it.
I felt his gaze on me.
He was standing in front of the mirror, clasping his watch, but the moment his eyes landed on me, they didn't move. Not even an inch.
I froze for a second. Then blinked.
Well... okay. Breathe, Zoya. Totally normal. It's just your husband looking at you like he's... okay, nope, not going there.
My eyes dropped to his outfit and my heart did a happy somersault. He was wearing the clothes I picked for him. And oh boy, why does he look so handsome all the time?
I tore my gaze away before I embarrassed myself.
Still. Staring.
Finally, I sighed and turned to him. "Why are you looking at me with those eyes?"
His brows furrowed slightly. "What eyes?"
I groaned. "Those eyes that are... well... looking at me!"
One eyebrow shot up. And then he did that annoying shrug, like whatever and casually turned back to his reflection as if he wasn't burning holes through me a second ago.
Seriously. Why am I even asking?
Before I could overthink more, a knock interrupted my inner meltdown.
Zaigham's voice was calm as ever. "Who is it?"
"It's me. Zayyan, bhai!" came the reply.
Zaigham looked at me for exactly one second. Then two. And my stomach dropped because, oh my Allah, I was still without a hijab.
Panic mode.
I snatched my hijab like a ninja and wrapped it around me in record time while muttering silent prayers that no one barges in.
"Come in," Zaigham finally said after my dignity was somewhat restored.
The door opened, and Zayyan came in with the world's most mischievous grin. "Hey, bhabhi. Hi, bhai."
Wait. Bhabhi?! What is happening?!
Before I could respond, he kept going. "So... everyone's waiting for you guys downstairs. And uh... if you're both done with your... ahem... time together, can we maybe eat breakfast now? We poor single people are starving, you know."
My cheeks. Were. On. Fire.
"Zayyanโ" I started, but Zayyan had already dashed out before I could finish.
I stared at the closed door, wishing the earth would swallow me whole. Slowly, I turned to Zaigham.
"You should go. I'll... fix my hijab properly and come," I said, trying to sound all calm when internally I was screaming into the void.
"You sure?" he asked, his deep voice doing things to my already fried brain.
"Yes, dear husband," I muttered with fake sweetness.
He stared at me for another second, ignoring my sarcasm completely...and then walked out without a word.
I practically skidded down the stairs like my life depended on it.
As soon as I stepped into the dining area, I plastered on my brightest smile.
"Assalam u Alaikum!" I chirped, sounding way too cheerful for someone who woke up an hour ago.
Everyone replied in a chorus, and I was about to slide into my usual seat when bam,Deeda's voice stopped me cold.
"Zoya, not there. Now that you're married, you sit beside Zaigham. And not before you serve him breakfast."
I froze. Why does this sound like a scene from some 80s drama?
"Uh... sure," I muttered, doing my best dutiful wife impression. I walked over, ignoring the way Zaigham's eyes followed me like a hawk. Why does he stare like that? For what?
And of course, Laiba and Rumman Api were already biting back laughter like this was their Netflix entertainment.
I poured tea into Zaigham's cup, careful not to spill it and embarrass myself on my first official day as Mrs. Khan, set his plate, and finally sat beside him, pretending this was all completely normal and not nerve-wracking.
And then, the devil spoke.
"By the way, Deeda," Mahveen's sugary voice floated across the table, "I always thought newly-wed brides in this family were super responsible. But Zoya? She shows up at... what? 10 a.m.?"
I blinked.
Did... she... just?
My spoon froze mid-air as my soul left my body for a quick vacation.
Before I could recover, Deeda added, "That's true. Zoya, why so late? From tomorrow, you should be down here by sharp 8."
"Of course, Deeda," I said sweetly.
But Mahveen wasn't done. Oh no, the woman was on a roll.
"Honestly," she said, looking right at me, "for someone as responsible as Zaigham, I think Zoya is... a little immature, don't you?"
Gasps. Actual gasps around the table.
My jaw hit the floor. My soul came rushing back just to yell, EXCUSE ME?!
I opened my mouth, ready to throw words sharper than this butter knife, but thenโ
Zaigham spoke.
"Zoya is not immature."
His voice was calm, but the authority in it made everyone freeze like they'd been slapped with silence.
Even me.
He set down his spoon slowly and looked straight at Mahveen.
"And however she is," he continued, his tone like steel, "she is my wife. I know what's best for me and what isn't. I don't need anyone's opinion on that."
Dead silence. I swear, if a pin dropped, we would've all heard it.
Mahveen tried to smile, but it looked like it physically hurt her. "I didn't meanโ"
"Good," Zaigham cut in smoothly. "Because this conversation is over."
BOOM.
Mic drop. My husband just casually burned the entire table without raising his voice.
Meanwhile, my heart? That thing was doing cardio inside my chest. My cheeks were burning, and I wanted to grin like an idiot, but nope, had to act classy. So, I shoved food into my mouth before I started squealing.
Inaya leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Control, bhabhi. Your blush is showing."
I kicked her under the table. She yelped. I smiled sweetly at her.
Mahveen clearly didn't know when to quit.
"But whatever it is, Zaigham... she woke up late. On her first day of marriage. How will you justify that?"
Oh no, she didn't.
The entire table went still. Forks mid-air. Cups frozen halfway to lips.
Because everyone knew one thing: If Zaigham says something, nobody argues. Not even the elders.
Tayi Jaan, bless her soul, jumped in quickly.
"Mahveen beta, just eat your breakfast. We can talk later."
Her tone was firm...code for shut your mouth before this turns into a war.
Mahveen opened her mouth again like she wanted to speak, but Tayi Jaan's look practically glued her lips shut.
Zaigham didn't say a word. Not a muscle moved on his face.
And that was the scary part.
Because when Zaigham Khan says something once. He never repeats himself. He never explains himself.
I was Sitting there like an innocent bystander who suddenly became the villain in a K-drama. My palms were sweating, my heart doing jumping jacks, and for some reason, I kept stabbing my poor pancake like it was Mahveen's face.
I sneaked a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He was still eating, like nothing happened.
His aura was deadly calm.
And then, he finally looked up.
At me.
One sharp, lingering look that said a thousand things without a single word. My breath caught. My throat went dry. I wanted to scream WHAT DOES THAT LOOK MEAN?!
But I chose wisely and at my breakfast instead.
To be Continued....
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