Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

I didn't sleep much.

Even though I was in his arms all night...warm, strong, safe...something inside me kept tugging at my nerves like a loose thread. The kind that doesn't stop until the whole thing unravels.

I sat up, quietly slipping away from Zaigham's arms so I wouldn't wake him. He hadn't slept all night, I knew.

I felt his heartbeat under my cheek long after I pretended to drift off. So when I saw him finally asleep after Fajr, I didn't have the heart to stir him.

Now it was 7:30 a.m. I was mostly dressed. My hijab was still in my hand.

Zaigham was in the shower.

I stood at the full-length mirror by the dresser, fixing my sleeves when my phone buzzed on the bed behind me.

I didn't look at it at first.

Just another calendar reminder probably. Or the usual "don't be late" alarm I'd been ignoring since university.

But then it buzzed again.

And again.

My fingers stopped at my wrist.

A strange stillness seeped into the air.

I turned slowly, picked up the phone, unlocked it, and froze.

Unknown Number

Text: You look beautiful today, Zoya. White suits your skin... But blue? Blue is even better, love.

My entire body went cold.

My eyes shot toward the bathroom.

The water was still running.

Zaigham...

But I didn't call him.

Instead, I turned sharply to the window.

Nothing.

The curtains were drawn, same as last night.

I looked toward the door. Still locked.

My fingers trembled as I tried to screenshot the message, but—

Privacy setting enabled.Screenshot blocked.

What?

My lips parted in horror. I tried again.

Blocked.

And then — just like that — the message disappeared.

Gone. Like it never existed.

I stood there, phone in hand, pulse hammering in my ears.

No. No no no. I wasn't imagining this. I wasn't overreacting.

This was real.

The fear was real. The words were real.

I quickly opened my keyboard and began typing.

The three dots appeared almost instantly.

Like he had been waiting.

My hands trembled as I clutched the phone.

My breath hitched.

No.

This couldn't be someone just trying to scare me.

This... this was real obsession.

I looked around the room again.

Where? From where was I being watched?

I suddenly felt exposed in my own skin.

Like every layer of clothing wasn't enough.

My chest heaved. My hands grew clammy. My legs nearly gave way.

I stumbled backward and sank to the edge of the bed, covering my mouth with one hand to stop the panic from erupting.

I didn't even realize Zaigham had stepped out of the bathroom until I heard his voice behind me....calm but laced with concern.

"Zoya?"

I whipped around.

He was standing there in a fresh white shirt, towel rubbing the dampness out of his hair. His eyes immediately scanned my face.

"Are you alright?"

I nodded too quickly. Too unconvincingly.

"I-I'm fine. Just a little dizzy." My voice cracked on the word fine.

He narrowed his gaze, stepping forward.

"Come here."

"I'm okay," I whispered again, standing up.

But I didn't meet his eyes.

And that was the first sign he picked up something was off.

He reached forward and gently took the phone from my hand.

He didn't speak at first.

Just walked toward me, every step measured and calm...but his eyes were anything but calm.

I turned my face slightly, pretending to focus on adjusting my hijab again. My fingers were fumbling more than fixing.

But then...

"Zoya," he said quietly, holding my hand.

I hesitated.

I placed my hand in his.

His fingers closed gently around mine, warm and grounding.

"Zoya..." he began again, his tone steady, deeper this time. "Do not think that I don't believe you."

My heart stopped for a second.

He looked me straight in the eye. "I do."

Tears instantly prickled behind my lashes. But I held them in. I had to.

"But you have to promise me something."

I blinked. "What?"

He raised his hand and gently cupped my face, his thumb brushing under my eye.

"Don't hide anything from me. Please." His voice was soft. But there was a raw edge to it, like something inside him was barely being held back. "Not from this day forward. Not even for a minute."

I swallowed, my voice breaking, "I— I didn't mean to. I just—"

His hand stayed steady against my cheek. "Tell me what happened."

I did.

"There were... messages again," I whispered, barely getting the words out. "Right when you were in the shower. From that same unknown number."

His brows furrowed. Slightly. Just slightly. But his eyes never left mine.

"I tried to screenshot them, I swear I did, but it blocked it. Said some privacy setting or something— and then—"

I sucked in a breath, my chest tightening.

"Then the messages just vanished. Like they'd never been there."

He didn't interrupt.

He didn't react.

Just listened.

But the pulse ticking in his jaw said enough.

I looked down, ashamed for some reason I couldn't explain. "I didn't want to upset you. You already didn't sleep. And I thought if I could just...if I could figure something out—"

His hands were on both my shoulders now.

"Zoya," he said firmly. "Look at me."

I looked up, eyes swimming.

"You are not supposed to carry this on your own. Don't ever do that again. If anything...anything, feels wrong, you come to me. You don't wait. You don't second-guess."

I nodded, lips trembling.

"I believe you."

That's all it took.

Just those words.

And I was crying again.

He pulled me into his arms again, tighter this time, as if trying to shield me from everything I couldn't see.

His hand stroked my back in slow circles, calming the storm inside me.

"We'll figure this out. Whoever this is... he'll regret ever breathing in your direction."

I shivered against his chest, but his hold didn't loosen.

If anything...it grew fiercer.

And right then, I knew, whoever was on the other side of that screen...

Had just picked a fight with the wrong man.

She walked beside me as we headed downstairs.

Her steps were slower than usual. The usual quiet grace was there, but something about her posture was just... heavier.

I noticed the slight tug she gave her sleeves, the quick check of her hijab in the hallway mirror.

She was holding herself too tightly again.

We stepped into the dining area.

But all noise seemed to take a pause when we entered.

"Laiba, pass the—oh!" Mama's gaze shifted toward us, then straight at Zoya.

Haneen Chachi, looking her up and down. "Zoya... are you okay, beta?"

Zoya gave a soft smile and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine, Mama."

She didn't look convinced. "You sure? Your eyes look all... swollen. And puffy. Like you cried all night."

Zoya laughed, a little too quickly. "What? No, no...I got shampoo in my eyes while washing my hair. Burned like crazy."

Laiba spoke. "Wow. Must've been that industrial cleaning shampoo. You look like someone made you cry in a drama serial."

Zoya rolled her eyes, "Thank you for your kind words, Laiba."

"Anytime," Laiba said with a grin, stuffing toast in her mouth.

I sat down next to Zoya and quietly poured her tea.

Her fingers wrapped around the cup too quickly, like she needed grounding.

Zoya smiled tightly at their teasing. She was trying, I could see that.

But I could also see the way her gaze kept darting to the window, then to the hallway, then to her phone, then back to her tea. Over and over again.

I didn't say anything.

Not now.

But I was watching. Closely.

Whatever was happening....whoever was behind those messages, they had shaken her.

And I wasn't going to rest until I fixed it.

Because Zoya didn't deserve fear in her mornings.

She deserved peace.

And if the world wouldn't give it to her...

Then I will become her peace.

Even if I had to break it to do so.

I didn't ask her anything else that morning.

Not at the breakfast table. Not in the car. Not even as we stepped into the office and she quietly slipped into her corner desk, headphones in, eyes on the screen, a little too focused.

But I didn't need to ask.

This wasn't just anxiety.

It was fear.

Real.Personal.Targeted.

And that... made something in me twist.

I opened my laptop, but I didn't go for emails.

I opened a private system.

Untraceable. Built by one of my oldest, most trusted tech security contacts.

No HR. No admin. No family.

This wasn't going through protocol.

This was me.

Zaigham Khan.

Her Husband and protector.

I typed in a silent request for a detailed scan, not just Zoya's phone activity, but all network access points in our home's vicinity. Anything anonymous. Anything using cloaked IDs. Even pinged Bluetooth signals.

Someone had messaged her, twice.

Then erased it.

Then watched her

Then vanished.

Cowards always vanish when it's convenient.

But not from me.

I leaned back in my chair, eyes fixed on the screen as the scan began. My fingers tapped the desk once. Then twice. Then stilled.

She didn't deserve to live looking over her shoulder. She didn't deserve to panic every time a phone buzzed or the doorbell rang.

If this was something deeper, I'd bury it before it touched her again.

And when Zoya finds out what I'm doing, she might be angry.

But I can live with her anger.

I can't live with her fear.

Not anymore.

My screen pinged.

The scan results weren't complete, but something had already flagged.

One unknown device.

Not registered under any of our household IPs.

Not linked to Khan Enterprises' employee devices either.

I clicked the details.

MAC address masked. VPN layered. Disposable SIM pinged from within 100 meters of the house, at 10:04 p.m. last night.

Exactly when she had hugged me.

Exactly when her phone had lit up.

I clenched my jaw, leaning closer. Whoever this was, they weren't stupid. Every attempt to track the device location came up scrambled.

But they made a mistake.

They were close.

Too close.

And I don't take kindly to people sneaking around my home.

My eyes flicked to the security cameras I'd had installed after our marriage. I opened the feed, rewound to the time of the ping, outside the main gate.

There.

A figure in a hoodie, blurred under the poor lighting, back to the camera, just standing across the street. No movement. No attempt to come closer. Just... standing.

Watching.

My hand curled into a fist.

I took a breath, slow and deep. Not now. Not here.

Zoya didn't know I had these systems in place. She didn't need to. Not yet. Not until I had something concrete.

But I knew one thing now.

Someone, somewhere, had decided it was okay to try and get close to what's mine.

I opened a secure channel and typed a message to my contact:

"I need a real-time trace. Whoever this is, I want their identity. No matter how many firewalls they hide behind."

I hit send and closed the lid of the laptop gently.

"Zoya," I said calmly, "come here. There's something I want to discuss."

Not about work.

About security.

She'll say it's too much. She'll say I'm going overboard.

But this wasn't overboard.

This was war.

I had written the same date three times on the same page.

Ya Allah.

I shut the planner slowly, pressing my palm on it like it would help my brain reset.

It didn't.

The office was quiet except for the soft hum of the central AC and Zaigham's keyboard clicks behind his desk. I was tired of acting normal. I was tired of pretending I hadn't seen what I saw.

But what did I even see?

A message that vanished.

A number that didn't exist.

A white rose with a note no one delivered.

I inhaled slowly. No, Zoya. You're not losing your mind. You know what you saw. You read that message. You read both.

My hands went cold just remembering.

I looked toward Zaigham. He was focused, calm, scribbling something in his black notepad, like always. In control, composed. I don't even know how he manages to keep his expression that neutral all the time. Meanwhile, I was barely breathing.

I blinked back the stupid sting in my eyes and looked down again. My hands were shaking.

You have to pull yourself together. This is just a bad phase. You're okay. You're not alone.

Just then, his voice cut through my thoughts.

"Zoya."

I looked up, startled.

"Come here," he said. "There's something I want to discuss."

My heart dropped.

She walked with that quiet hesitation again, her steps soft, hands folded, eyes holding that same distracted haze they'd carried since last night.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, stopping a few feet from the desk.

I nodded once. "Sit."

She blinked, surprised at the directness, but obeyed.

I didn't speak at first. Just studied her face. Her expression was guarded. Alert.

I hated that look on her.

She deserved softness. Not fear.

"I didn't mean to scare you," I said finally, tone calm. "This isn't bad. I just... need to talk to you about something important."

She tilted her head slightly. "What kind of important?"

"Security," I replied simply.

Her brows drew together. "What—like at the office?"

I paused. I wasn't ready to show her the footage. Not yet. Not until I knew more.

"No," I said. "At home. Around you."

I saw her body tense immediately. Like she knew where this was going, but didn't want it confirmed.

I leaned forward, folding my hands loosely. "I've been running background systems on the house since our wedding," I admitted. "Nothing invasive. Just quiet protocols, things that scan for unknown networks and unregistered activity around the perimeter."

"You mean like... hackers?"

"No. Not just that." I paused. "Devices. Movement. Anything digital that doesn't belong."

She looked at me in the eye.

"And?"

I took a slow breath. "Last night, when you got that message... something else happened at the exact same time. A masked device pinged from close. Within a hundred meters of the house."

Her lips parted slightly.

I kept my voice level. "It's gone now. Whoever it was used a VPN, probably a disposable SIM too. But I've already escalated the trace. We'll find them."

Silence fell between us for a beat too long.

Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "So I wasn't imagining it."

"No," I said. "You never were."

She swallowed hard. I could see it all over her, the shiver she tried to suppress, the instinct to look over her shoulder even in broad daylight.

My jaw clenched. I stood up slowly and walked around the desk, then crouched in front of her chair. Close enough to anchor her again.

"You're not alone in this, Zoya," I said, quietly but firmly.

She nodded shakily.

"And one more thing," I added, holding her gaze. "From now on, you're not going anywhere alone. Not even to the office pantry or out front without letting me know."

She blinked. "Zaigham, isn't that—?"

"Excessive?" I cut in, softly. "Yes. But necessary."

Her lower lip trembled, just a flicker, and she exhaled. "Okay."

I reached up and brushed my knuckles gently against her cheek. "You're safe now."

She nodded again. But I could see the weight of that word on her shoulders.

Safe.

I tried to focus.

Tried to do what I was supposed to. Check emails. Review files. Make notes on what Zaigham asked me to revise. But even as I sat there, only a few feet away from him...my fingers trembled slightly on the keyboard.

Every noise outside the office made my heart skip a beat. Every soft ping of a notification pulled my gaze instinctively toward the screen.

It was like my body refused to believe I was safe, even though he had just promised I was.

Just breathe, Zoya.

My phone buzzed again.

I flinched.

It wasn't loud, just a soft vibration on the corner of my desk. I glanced at Zaigham, he was on a call, his tone stern, voice low.

I turned the phone toward me.

Unknown Number

1 new message

I unlocked the screen hesitantly.

And froze.

It was a picture.Of me.

Wearing this exact outfit. The shot was taken from behind, maybe from the hallway glass, or through some reflection. It was from the pantry. This office glass was not transparent from the outside.

My breath left my lungs like a punch to the chest.

And then —

Another message.

My phone nearly slipped from my hand.

Panic surged through me like a wave crashing against a fragile dam.

I stood up so fast my chair made a screeching noise across the floor.

Zaigham turned immediately.

"Zoya?" His brows furrowed, voice sharp. "What's wrong?"

I didn't answer.

Couldn't.

I rushed toward him like my body was acting on its own. By the time I reached his side of the desk, my hands were already trembling, phone still clutched tightly in my grip.

He stood quickly, catching me by the arms.

"Zoya," he repeated, this time more urgent. "What happened?"

I looked up at him, eyes wide, my voice barely a whisper. "There's... another message."

His expression darkened in an instant.

I shoved the phone toward him, but—

It was gone.

The photo. The text. Everything.

Just like before.

"No—no no no—" I scrolled, tapped, swiped, reopened the messaging app. "I swear it was just here—Zaigham, I saw it, it had—"

He gripped my shoulders gently. "Zoya—"

"It was a photo of me! Taken here! At this desk—just now—someone's watching us right now, I—"

"Zoya. Look at me." His voice was firm, low, steady, but I could see the storm behind his eyes. "Take a breath."

I blinked hard, but the tears came anyway. Not out of sadness, but sheer frustration. Panic. Exhaustion. Fear.

He guided me to the sofa against the cabin wall and sat beside me, his hand on my back.

"You're not imagining this," he said softly.

"I don't understand how it keeps disappearing," I whispered brokenly. "Am I going insane?"

He shook his head. "No. You're not. You're being watched. And whoever this is — they know what they're doing."

I swallowed.

He leaned in closer, brushing a tear from under my eye with his thumb. "You're safe here. I promise you. I won't let anything happen to you."

"But it's happening," I whispered. "Even now."

He didn't respond.

Not immediately.

But I felt the subtle shift in his body. The tension in his muscles. His grip tightening slightly, not on me, but around the situation.

His eyes flicked to the office glass wall.

To the hallway.

And then back to me.

"We're leaving early today," he said. "Now."

She had fallen asleep, finally.

I watched her for a long while from the armchair in our bedroom. The bedside lamp cast a warm gold hue over her face, but I didn't need light to know she was exhausted.

I pulled out my phone, opened a secure app. Scrolled. Chose a vendor. A package. No branding. No names.

Surveillance kit. Infrared. Audio. Motion-sensitive. Internal and external.

She doesn't need to know,yet. Not until I understand the scope of this madness.

I sat down again beside her on the bed.

She stirred slightly, murmuring something in her sleep. I leaned in just enough to hear. Her lips trembled. Her brows furrowed. She was dreaming again, no, not dreaming.

Reliving.

I reached out and ran my hand gently over her back. Her breathing evened.

Someone was pushing boundaries. Watching her. Us.

And they were smart.

The kind of smart that knows when to disappear. When to erase. When to play the victim's mind against them.

But I've dealt with people like this before.

In business. In legal warfare.

This? This was personal. And when it's personal, I don't play clean.

It was just past 2 a.m.

The house was silent. I sat in the study, the soft glow from my laptop screen casting shadows across my face.

The surveillance system was already online. Five hidden cameras, two in our bedroom, one in the hallway outside, one covering the garden, and one near the main gate.

I hadn't told her yet. I would. But only when I had something to show.

I clicked open the timeline for earlier that evening.

Nothing unusual for the first ten minutes. Zoya folding laundry. Checking her phone. Freezing. Paleness washing over her face. Her head jerking toward the window.

The message must have come then.

I fast-forwarded. She rushed out of frame. I switched to the hallway camera.

There, she hurried down the corridor, barefoot, Straight to me.

My jaw tightened. That panic... it hadn't left her face for hours.

I switched again, this time to the outside camera.

It had a small range, limited to the garden and gate. The wind rustled the trees. Empty lawn. A cat ran across once. Nothing.

Then, the timestamp blinked: 08:09 PM.

Movement.

Near the back wall. A tall shadow. Someone, cloaked in black. Motionless.

The figure stood just behind the wall that led to our side garden. Still. Watching.

My hands clenched into fists on the desk.

I leaned back in the chair, the tension in my spine refusing to ease. My gaze stayed fixed on the still frame. Zoomed in. The silhouette remained blurred, tall.

My jaw clenched.

You're not just watching her anymore. You're taunting me.

No one gets to do this to her.

No one walks away.