Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

I stirred gently, the weight of sleep still clinging to my limbs, and blinked open my eyes.

She was the first thing I saw.

Curled delicately against me, tucked into my arms. Her cheek rested against my chest, lips slightly parted, her hair a soft mess that half-covered her face. Breathing slow, deep....completely unaware of what she was doing to me just by existing like this.

I lifted a hand slowly and brushed the strands from her cheek, tucking them carefully behind her ear, not wanting to wake her. Not yet.

Last night, I had pulled her close. For the first time.

And she had looked at me like she didn't quite believe it.

But if she had any idea how tightly I had been holding onto control... how easily that control had slipped when I saw him...her cousin....staring at her like he had any right...

No.

The only reason things didn't escalate last night was because I reminded myself that I'm not the kind of man who reacts on impulse.

He got lucky.

If he had taken one more step, one more glance with that expression—

I'm not sure what I would have done.

And he had the audacity to look at me straight in the eye while doing it.

I had almost forgotten we were in a house full of people.

Had to dig my nails into my own palm just to keep from reacting.

If he'd said one more word. One more joke. Let his gaze drop even a second too long—

I don't know what I would have done.

But it wouldn't have ended well.

Not for him.

As if he didn't care that she's married. That she's mine.

I clenched my jaw unconsciously.

She stirred gently in my arms. Scrunched her nose in that familiar way...like she always does when waking up. I'd memorized that without trying.

My voice came out low, still thick with sleep.

"Good morning."

She blinked slowly, sleepy eyes meeting mine. And then... a small smile. Shy. Real.

She buried her face in my chest instead of answering right away, her fingers clutching my shirt like she was holding onto something solid.

That made me smile too.

Finally, her muffled voice came through. "Morning."

Then, as if on cue, that stubborn strand of hair fell across her face again.

I tucked it back, watching her.

She looked up. "You know," she said, voice lazy, "this is really new for me."

I raised a brow. "What is?"

"This," she motioned vaguely between us, "waking up like...this. It's weird."

"I don't think weird is the word you're looking for," I said dryly.

She smirked, burying her face again for a second. "Fine. Surreal."

I let my hand rest on her waist. "Get used to it."

She lifted her head at that, eyes meeting mine again. "Bold of you to assume I won't push you out of bed tomorrow morning."

I smirked. "You can try."

She gave me a faux-serious look. "I'm stronger than I look."

That made me chuckle softly, but then my expression shifted, darkened.

"I meant what I said last night, Zoya," I said, my voice dipping lower.

"Next time someone—anyone—tries to get too close to you like that, tries to be unnecessarily familiar... I won't hold back. I'll make sure it's very clear who you belong to."

Her eyes widened. Cheeks flushed instantly.

"Possessive much?" she muttered, eyes darting away.

I didn't respond. I just watched her.

She tried to hide it, but I saw the slight smile she was biting back.

"You really like making statements this early in the morning, don't you?" she muttered.

I tilted my head, watching her. "You really like pretending they don't affect you, don't you?"

She said nothing to that. Just rolled away dramatically onto her back, throwing an arm over her face. "You're not supposed to be this calm while threatening people, Zaigham. It's unnerving."

"I'm not threatening," I replied dryly. "I'm stating facts."

"Yikes."

After a pause, I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and sighed.

"Alright, get up," I said. "Before we end up running late."

She groaned dramatically, then sat up, pulling her hair into a lazy bun with a clutch.

Even that—just that small, ordinary action—had my heart stalling.

No makeup. No effort. Just her being her.

I couldn't stop watching her.

She threw a pillow at me without looking. "Stop staring."

I caught it mid-air. "I'm your husband. I'm allowed."

She narrowed her eyes but said nothing, cheeks still tinted pink.

She got off the bed, wrapped a shawl around herself, and started walking to the bathroom.

Right before stepping in, she turned slightly, still facing away.

"You know... for someone who barely speaks, you sure know how to mess with my head."

I leaned back against the headboard, a small smile tugging at my lips.

"And for someone who never stops talking, you sure go quiet every time I get close."

She scoffed from inside the bathroom, and I heard the click of the door.

I exhaled. Long.

This woman was going to drive me insane.

I swear to Allah, this family doesn't do "quiet mornings."

By the time I came downstairs, the dining table looked like a wedding buffet.

"Laiba, pass me the butter," Zaviyaar said with a mouth full, reaching across two plates.

"It's right in front of you," Laiba deadpanned.

"Still. Pass it. It's the principle."

"Your principle is laziness," she muttered, but passed it anyway.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Nouran Api chimed in when she spotted me, her tone teasing.

"Good morning," I said, offering a sheepish smile as I slid into the only empty chair, right beside him.

Zaigham took his seat calmly.

I waited for him to settle before I poured him his coffee and quietly placed his breakfast in front of him. That was routine now. He never asked, but I did it anyway.

After that, I finally sat beside him.

"Um, Zaigham, can you pass me the teapot?" I asked casually, picking up my toast.

He nodded once, and what he did next....completely threw me off.

He reached over, picked up the teapot, and poured the chai into my cup.

My hand froze mid-toast.

Even the family paused. Like a glitch in the matrix.

Because he never did that.

Not even for himself, if we're being honest.

Layla Chachi gasped dramatically.

"Well, well! I see, I see! Marriage is clearly working wonders!" she teased, fanning herself with her napkin.

Taya Jaan chuckled from the head of the table, nodding in approval.

"Of course. This is the magic of our Zoya."

I turned bright red and instantly regretted asking for the teapot.

I muttered a thank-you without looking at him.

"So, Zoya is rejoining the office today?" Chachu asked from across the table, scooping halwa onto his plate.

"Yes," I replied, smiling.

But before I could spiral, someone else decided to be the mood spoiler.

Mahveen.

She beamed, "—you know, I'm going to Khan Enterprises today for a little visit."

Everything stopped. My eyes narrowed just slightly.

"Oh, are you?" Tayii jaan asked kindly.

"Yes," Mahveen said sweetly. "I'm applying there for the secretary position in a month or two."

Of course she was.

"Really?" Zayyan bhai chimed in, his eyebrows raised. "That's convenient. You'll get hired in a heartbeat with your confidence."

Mahveen giggled. "Let's hope so." She said as she eyed me and smirked.

I sipped my chai calmly like I hadn't just internally combusted.

Secretary at Khan Enterprises?

She couldn't possibly be that delusional.

Or maybe she could.

Because the way she looked at Zaigham just now?

Like he was the job application she wanted to submit in person.

I didn't look at him. I didn't have to. I already knew what I'd see....blank expression, but a tension in his frame that only I could recognize now.

That was the thing about him. He didn't react loudly.

But me? I wanted to throw a paratha like a frisbee.

I smiled instead.

"You'll be a great fit," I said sweetly, tilting my head. "You already know how to work hard for attention."

Mahveen's smile faltered, but only for a second.

She leaned forward slightly. "Well, I'm just going to do my best. I mean, it's not like the CEO is unapproachable or anything."

I felt Zaigham shift slightly.

"I didn't know we were hiring for that," Zaarib bhai said casually.

Mahveen smiled at me. "Oh, you know, things change fast in business."

Before I could reply, Zaigham finally spoke —

Low. Calm. And devastatingly direct.

"Office matters are discussed in the office, Mahveen."

His voice cut through the air like cold glass. "If you want to apply, come give the interview like everyone else. Get hired on your own merit."

He glanced up for the first time. No expression. Just eyes like stone.

"And just in case someone didn't tell you—" he added, "I don't do favors."

Mahveen's smile strained. "Of course not. I wouldn't expect any."

"Good," Zaigham said flatly, returning to his breakfast like he hadn't just carpet-bombed her entire morning.

If anyone ever tells you that returning to work after your wedding is easy....they're lying. Straight-up criminal level lying.

Because here I was, walking into his office my office too, technically, but let's not get cocky,trying to pretend like I didn't just wake up in his arms, with his ridiculously good-smelling cologne still haunting me.

He has already went to his office.

I adjusted the strap of my bag, pushed the door open, and stepped in.

He was already seated behind his desk, brows furrowed, a pen held between his fingers. The man was born ready for meetings. I, however, had tripped on my dupatta twice just reaching here.

"Good morning, Mr. Khan," I said in my most professional tone, trying to ignore the fact that we literally shared a bed six hours ago.

His eyes flicked up, expression unreadable. "You're two minutes late."

"Two minutes? Are we syncing our watches now?" I mumbled under my breath, walking to my desk in the corner and pretending to dig through papers I hadn't even touched yet.

"What was that?" he asked calmly, not looking up.

"I said good morning again."

Before I could even settle, he began.

"I've emailed you a list of tasks. First, I need the updated inventory log from the logistics team by noon. Cross-check it with the supplier's sheet I forwarded to you. There's a meeting with the Danish Group at 3 PM. You'll attend and take notes. I'll expect a typed summary by 5."

I blinked.

Wow. He really said welcome back, now drown. "Anything else?" I asked sweetly.

"Yes. Tell procurement to adjust the shipment schedule...they're overlapping with packaging deadlines again. Remind them that we don't run a circus here."

"Could've fooled me," I muttered.

His head snapped up. I smiled. Sweet. Innocent. Angelic.

He stared at me for a beat. Then slowly said, "Zoya."

"Yes, Mr. Khan?"

"If you're done talking to yourself, I'd like to get actual work done."

"Talking to myself is the only intelligent conversation I get some days," I replied before I could stop myself.

His lips twitched. Oh no. Was that—was that the hint of a smile? I refused to melt. I had work. I had dignity. I had—

"Do you have something to say?"

"I—nope! Just gonna...work on the thing. With the people. And the logs. I'm a professional."

I swiveled my chair toward my laptop and started typing random keys just to look busy. He didn't say anything, but I could feel his gaze on me.

Burned, actually. Like lasers.

Professional. Composed. Zoya 2.0.

I pushed the door open, rubbing the back of my neck as I stepped inside.

Home early today — Thank you, Ya Allah for the mercy of an early wrap-up shift.

My feet were absolutely killing me, and all I wanted was to drop on the bed, scroll mindlessly for ten minutes, and then maybe crash into a nap before dinner chaos started.

But my feet halted before my brain could relax.

There. Right at the center of bed.

A single white rose.

Fresh. Pristine. Delicately placed on top of a folded piece of paper.

I blinked at it.

What...?

But I walked closer, slowly, something about the whole setup making me pause.

I picked up the paper and unfolded it, my heart thudding a little louder now. The edges were unevenly torn, like it had been ripped from some old diary.

"You looked like a dream in white.But dreams aren't meant for people like him."

There was no name.

My first thought — Zaigham?

No.

No, this wasn't him.

The handwriting on the note .... it wasn't his.

I knew his style. Sharp, tidy, businesslike. This? This was jagged. Slanted. Almost deliberately careful. Too careful.

Just a tiny drawn smiley face at the end. One eye bigger than the other.

A chill crept up my spine.

Okay... what the actual hell?

I turned around instantly and pulled open the door.

"Saba!" I called out into the hallway, catching sight of one of the housekeeping staff walking past. "Can you come here for a second?"

She hurried over, blinking in confusion. "Yes, Zoya ma'am?"

I stepped aside, motioning toward the rose still lying on the bed. "Who brought this here? Did someone come into the room while I was out?"

She looked at the rose, then at me, brows knitting. "I don't know, ma'am. I didn't come upstairs at all. I've only been in the kitchen today."

"No other staff came by? You're sure?"

"I can ask around, but... no one told me anything. Maybe someone from the garden team?" she offered hesitantly.

I nodded slowly, trying to keep my face calm. "Okay. Just... let me know if you find anything."

She gave a small nod and stepped out.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, I looked back at the rose.

A white rose.

"You looked like a dream in white..."

My nikkah day.

That's what this was about.

And that line... "people like him."

My chest tightened.

I rolled the note up in my hand and took a deep breath.

"I am not some clueless soap opera girl who's going to hide this for dramatic suspense," I muttered under my breath.

This was creepy. And no amount of sarcasm could sugarcoat it.

This was hella creepy.

I turned to the mirror and stared at my reflection for a second, holding the note loosely in one hand, the white rose still resting on my bed like a silent witness.

Could it be Zaigham? My brain offered one last time.

I mean... maybe? He's not the most expressive man on the planet, and okay yes, he has started doing new things lately, random close proximity, possessive husband looks...

But this?

This wasn't romantic.

And it definitely wasn't his handwriting.

Nope. Not holding it in.

Not even for dramatic flair.

I tucked the note in my drawer. The flower was still on the bed. Not because I'm sentimental...I just didn't want to touch it again. It was starting to freak me out the longer I looked at it.

I paced my room like a lunatic in fuzzy slippers. Every creak of the floorboard outside made my head whip toward the door. But it wasn't him.

Where was he?

I checked the time. He usually came home around now. Maybe I'd casually drop the topic. Or maybe I'd just hold the note in front of him like explain this, Sherlock.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

I glanced at the screen, expecting a text from our family group.

But no.

Unknown Number.

I frowned.

There was no name.

No profile picture.

Just a message.

Text: "You looked perfect today. But perfection isn't meant to be shared."

My heart stopped.

I stared at the screen, my thumb frozen over the reply bar. I wasn't breathing. I knew that. Because I could hear the air rush back into my lungs when I finally exhaled.

What. The. Hell.

I didn't even know what part to panic over first. The fact he saw me. The fact that hewatched me. Or the fact that they somehow knew Zaigham and had the audacity to say something like he doesn't suit me.

Excuse me?

Who the hell do you think you are?

My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I typed—

Text: Who is this?

Sent.

The typing bubbles appeared immediately. I froze.

Then—

Text: "You'll see me. Soon. Love."

The message disappeared.

Literally. It vanished after three seconds.

"OH HELL NO."

This was not happening.

I stood up so fast the chair screeched behind me.

My fingers instinctively tightened around the phone as I glanced around the room, heart thudding against my ribs. The gift. The note. And now this?

I walked over to the window in a daze and yanked the curtain shut in one swift motion, the fabric fluttering angrily like it too sensed something was wrong. Then I turned to the other one and drew the blinds, each wooden panel snapping closed like a shield going up.

Who the hell was this?

I wasn't in some melodramatic soap opera...I knew that....but this wasn't normal. This was creepy. Beyond creepy.

And then it buzzed again. My phone lit up on the counter with another message from the same unknown number.

Text: "Nothing can stop me from seeing you, sweetheart."

My heart dropped.

The air felt thick, like it was pressing against my chest.

I had pulled all the blinds shut, but it still felt like eyes were on me...like someone was just beyond the veil of the curtains, watching, waiting.

The clock ticked louder than usual, or maybe that was just in my head.

I sat there on the edge of the bed, phone clenched in my palm, my legs tucked up. Every creak in the walls, every passing car outside made my spine stiffen. My mind was racing in loops...what did that message mean? Was it a warning? A threat? Was someone... here?

Then I heard the lock turn.

My head snapped toward the door. A second later, it opened.

Zaigham stepped in, his hand loosening his tie, the calmness of his presence momentarily soothing. But as soon as his eyes fell on me, his body stilled. His eyes narrowed slightly, the way they always did when he was observing something carefully.

"Are you okay, Zoya?" his voice came out low, laced with concern.

I swallowed hard. My eyes darted toward the curtained windows again before turning back to him.

And then I couldn't help it...I got up and walked straight into him.

Into his arms.

I wrapped my arms tightly around his torso and held on like my life depended on it.

He stilled for a moment, caught off-guard.

"Zoya...?" he said, his voice softer now.

His arms came around me slowly, securely, and the moment he pulled me into him, everything I had bottled up came crashing down.

My heart still raced, but in his embrace, I wasn't falling apart anymore.

I felt safe.

The moment I touched him, the moment I held him—

As if the shadows couldn't reach me here.

I broke.

Tears spilled from my eyes, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. But my body trembled with each breath as I held on to him tighter.

He didn't say anything. He just held me. His hand rested on the back of my head gently, like he knew I needed that silence.

After a moment, he walked us both to the bed. He sat down, pulling me into his lap.

"What happened, Zoya?" he asked again, this time more firmly but still soft.

I didn't answer.

I just shook my head and reached over to grab my phone, my hands still shaky. I opened the messages, ready to show him.

But...

They weren't there.

I froze.

I blinked.

The thread from the unknown number...

Gone.

Not even the number remained in my call log. It was like it never existed.

My breath hitched as my heart slammed into my ribs.

"Zaigham—" I looked up at him, panicked. "He was here. I swear—I got messages. I wanted to show you, he sent me messages, I—I—"

He gently gripped my shoulders. "Zoya. Breathe. Look at me. Take a deep breath."

"They were here—I'm not lying—he said white looks good on me and—and then he said he can see me—"

"Zoya, slow down—breathe—"

"I'm here. You understand? Nothing will happen to you like this. Not while I'm here."

I believed him.

But my hands still trembled.

"Now tell me what happened?"

He reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and brought it to my lips. "Drink."

I sipped. My hands still trembled, but the cool water steadied me just enough to speak.

"When I came in the room," I whispered. "There was a white rose waiting on the bed with a note. I thought maybe you sent it but it wasn't your handwriting. Then I got a message from an unknown number... saying things. Creepy things. Zaigham, it felt like he was watching me."

He didn't interrupt. He just watched me, every muscle in his jaw tight, eyes darkened with silent concern.

"Then I closed the blinds, and another message came. That said... 'nothing can stop me from seeing you, sweetheart.'"

Zaigham's hand clenched slightly around my waist.

"But now it's gone," I whispered. "The number, the messages. Everything. It's like it never existed. You don't believe me, do you?" My voice cracked. I moved off his lap and stood up.

"Wait. No...I can prove it. The rose. The note. They're still there." I rushed to the table in the corner, snatched up the single white rose, and the folded note still stuck beneath it.

I returned and practically shoved it in his hand. "Look. I'm not making it up, Zaigham. I swear."

He opened the note slowly. His eyes moved across the words.

His face darkened. Expression unreadable.

His fingers curled slowly around the note, the paper crumpling in his grip.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was my own breathing...sharp, uneven, too loud in the stillness.

Then he looked up at me.

And something in his eyes had changed.

The softness... was gone.

It was something else now.

Something sharper. Protective. Dangerous, almost.

"Whoever this is..." he said slowly, voice low and cold, "they're going to regret thinking they could get near you."

His tone made me shiver, but not from fear.

From safety.

From the feeling that he meant it.

I clutched my sleeves, suddenly aware of how hard my hands were trembling. I felt exposed again. My skin prickled with that sensation....like something was still watching me.

I stepped back unconsciously.

"Zoya," he said, his voice gentler now, reaching me. "Come here."

I couldn't. I couldn't move.

My knees felt weak. My heart was pounding again.

But he came to me instead.

He stepped forward slowly and pulled me into his chest again, his arms wrapping around me with more intent now...more force, more surety. I clung to his shirt, fingers twisting the fabric.

He picked me up and went to bed with me still in his arms, in his lap.

My body was shaking again. My forehead pressed to his collarbone.

"I... I don't understand what's happening..." I whispered, my voice breaking. "Why would someone...do this? What do they want from me?"

His hand came up, stroking the back of my head gently.

"Nothing's going to happen to you," he murmured. "Not while I'm here."

His palm rubbed slow circles along my spine, and that simple motion calmed me in ways I couldn't explain.

"You're safe, Zoya. I won't let anyone even breathe wrong in your direction. You hear me?"

I nodded against him, but my body still didn't believe it.

I was still cold. Still tense. Still watching the corners of the room.

"He knew what I was wearing, Zaigham," I whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him.

"He said white looks beautiful on me. How...how could they know what I was wearing?"

His jaw clenched. He looked past me for a second, eyes scanning the windows, the walls.

"I'll find out," he said quietly. "I promise."

My arms tightened around him again, and this time, I didn't let go.

"Don't leave me alone," I whispered.

His voice dropped lower.

"I'm not going anywhere."

There was silence for a while. Just him holding me. His fingers gently tracing circles on my back. My tears drying quietly against his chest.

I could feel my heartbeat slowing against his calm, steady one. His scent, the warmth of his arms, the strength in the way he held me... I felt like I was returning to myself.

Like for a moment...I was safe.

"I didn't know I'd need you like this," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

His hand slid up to cradle the back of my head.

"You don't have to say it," he replied quietly. "Just... rely on me when you need to."

I swallowed. That ache in my chest still hadn't fully settled.

"I felt like someone was watching me, Zaigham. Even now... I still feel it."

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.

"No one is watching you, Zoya," he said firmly. "You are in myembrace. You are my wife. No one can touch you here. Not while I'm breathing."

I felt the tremble in my hands start again.

He noticed.

He gently reached up, tugging my hijab open to help me breathe, but I stopped his hands with mine.

"Don't," I whispered, panicked. "Please... not right now. I—I don't want to feel exposed. It's like they're still looking."

His gaze softened immediately. His hands dropped to hold mine instead.

"Okay," he said gently. "Okay, Zoya. Relax, Hmm? I am here, with you."

He leaned down a little, brushing his thumb across the back of my knuckles.

"I'll get to the bottom of this," he murmured.

"But for now, I just want you to calm down. No one can hurt you."

I leaned forward again, resting my forehead against his chest. My fingers clutching the front of his shirt.

And I didn't let go.

I didn't move.

Not even an inch.

She was tucked into my arms now, her breath finally softening against my chest, but her body still trembled every few minutes. Like a silent aftershock of something that had rattled her to the bone.

My arms tightened around her instinctively.

How dare someone do this to her?

How dare they touch her peace? Her safety? Her light?

Whoever it was... He didn't just send a rose or a note.

He sent an invitation to death.

My fingers moved gently across her back, rubbing in slow, even strokes.

She flinched a little at first....like her senses were still raw....then melted against me again with a soft sigh.

I whispered, "You're safe."

She didn't answer.

"You're with me now, Zoya."

Her fingers curled tighter into my shirt again, like she heard me somewhere in that cloudy space between wakefulness and dreams.

Whoever that sick bastard was...whoever thought it was funny or clever to scare her like this — they were about to learn the hard way what happened when you messed with something that belonged to me.

I wasn't just her husband.

I was the line no one crossed.

And someone...someone stupid enough —just stepped over it.

My jaw clenched as I stared at the ceiling, but my hand never stopped tracing calm circles along her spine.

She shifted a little, her cheek now pressed fully against my chest, lips barely moving as she mumbled something incoherent.

She needed the rest.

I didn't.

Sleep was the last thing on my mind.

Because while she breathed evenly, safely, in my arms....I was already thinking.

Every camera angle. Every access point. Every call log. Every digital trace that could lead me to whoever dared to break her sense of safety.

He wanted a game?

He'd just invited the wrong man to play.

To be Continued....