Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐓𝐰𝐨

One second, she was sitting there, almost at ease, and the next, the color drained from her face like someone had pulled the ground from under her.

Her hand froze mid-reach for her glass, phone tilted toward her in the other.

She didn't blink, didn't breathe.

"Zoya."

She didn't answer. Her gaze was locked on the screen, as if it had swallowed her whole.

I leaned forward, my tone sharper. "Zoya."

That broke her trance, just enough for her to glance at me. Her lips moved, but no sound came. And then... she turned the phone toward me.

The image glared back at me, her in our room, in my chair, reading a book. Hair loose, falling over her shoulders. No scarf. No dupatta. Glasses perched on her nose, her neck and the curve of her jaw bare in the sunlight.

And the caption, printed in thick black letters beneath the photo:

"What's the point of silk if no one gets to touch it?"

Something inside me snapped.

I had never... never seen her like this in public. I knew what it meant to her, the care, the boundaries, the dignity she'd guarded since she was a child.

And now... someone had reached into our space, into my space, and dragged her out into theirs.

I forced my voice low, but the weight in it made her flinch. "When?"

She swallowed hard. "Just now. It... it didn't disappear this time."

That only made my blood boil hotter. No vanishing act. No trace wiped clean. They wanted me to see it. Wanted me to know they'd been there, close enough to breathe the same air she did.

The glass in my hand shattered before I even realized I'd squeezed it, shards biting into my palm. The sharp sting of glass didn't matter. The coppery scent of blood didn't matter. All I could see was that image, that violation.

Her eyes were still fixed on the phone when the sharp crack of breaking glass cut through the air.

She flinched hard, her head snapping toward me.

"Zaigham—!"

Before the shards even settled on the tablecloth, she was already reaching for my wrist. Her fingers wrapped around it, urgent, her nails lightly scraping my skin as she tried to turn my palm upward. The mint liquid dripped from my hand, tinged red where it mixed with blood.

"You're hurt—" she breathed, her voice tightening as if the sight itself burned her. "The glass—look at your hand!"

But my gaze didn't waver from hers.

"That bastard thinks he can walk into the walls of my life," I said slowly, each word carved from ice, "and leave with something that belongs here."

Her hold on me faltered just a fraction, her breath catching, not because she didn't understand, but because she did.

She tried again to pull my injured hand toward her lap, her other hand already fumbling for a napkin, but I caught her fingers mid-motion. My grip was firm, steady, even as blood ran in a thin, deliberate line down to my wrist.

"This isn't about a photo," I told her, my voice low, the rage under it steady and controlled, "it's about someone thinking they're safe while they trespass where they shouldn't. I'll show them how wrong they are."

Her lips parted, maybe to argue, maybe to plead.

I flagged the waiter over without looking away from her, my tone clipped and cold. "Bill. Now."

She didn't release my wrist until the waiter approached. And even then, she only let go slowly, her thumb brushing over the streak of red one last time, as though her touch could erase the wound.

They thought they'd rattled her.

All they'd done was give me a reason to kill them mercilessly.

I was still reeling from the way the glass had shattered and the sudden heat of panic in my chest when Zaigham's eyes darkened.

The quiet restraint he always carried was gone.

What stood in front of me now was something far sharper, colder, like a blade unsheathed.

He stood up so abruptly that the chair behind him scraped against the floor with a harsh screech.

Before I could find my words, his hand wrapped firmly around mine, pulling me up.

"Zaigham—" I started, breathless. "Where—?"

"We're leaving," he said, not even glancing at me as he strode toward the exit, his grip unyielding.

By the time we reached the car, I found my voice again. "Zaigham, your hand—"

The driver stepped forward, but Zaigham only held out a hand.

"I'll drive."

The moment the door shut, the engine roared to life.

The city lights flickered past the car windows as Zaigham gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might crack, eyes dark and unyielding as the streets blurred by.

I reached out softly, "Zaigham, please slow down..."

But he didn't respond. The red lights, the honking horns, the traffic—it all seemed to fuel his rage instead of taming it. The car weaved aggressively through the lanes, speed climbing with reckless precision.

My heart hammered painfully against my ribs, fear knotting tight in my chest.

Finally, the towering glass building of Khan Enterprises came into view.

Zaigham didn't wait for me to open the door. He burst out of the car like a storm unleashed, storming through the lobby with a fierce intensity that sucked the breath from the room.

Heads turned; whispers stopped. The usual hum of the office was replaced by a heavy silence, thick with tension.

I hurried after him, struggling to keep pace with his long, furious strides.

Without hesitation, he went straight to his cabin and slammed the door behind him.

I stood outside for a moment, gathering my courage, then stepped inside.

Zaigham was pacing near the large window, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His face was hard, twisted with anger—something raw and wild I had never seen before.

Suddenly, his fist crashed down on the desk with a sharp crack. Papers scattered, the desk trembled, and his chair clattered to the floor.

I froze, breath caught in my throat.

"This..." he growled through clenched teeth, "this son of a bitch thinks he can break her. But he doesn't know who he's messing with."

He ripped a stack of papers in half, frustration boiling over.

I stepped closer, arms trembling as I slipped around him, resting my cheek against the rigid line of his back.

His whole body shook beneath my touch, torn between fury and the fragile calm I tried to offer.

"My heart is pounding," I whispered, voice shaking. "Please... calm down, Zaigham. I'm scared."

He stiffened for a heartbeat, then slowly turned in my arms. His eyes softened, rage melting into fierce protectiveness.

"I never meant for you to see this side of me," he said, voice thick with emotion.

"But what else can I do, Zoya?" He pulled me close, voice low and intense. "That despicable man got into my room. Took pictures of my wife like that, without shame, without fear."

His voice cracked, fury spilling over.

"If I find him... once I find him, I swear, Zoya... I will make sure he pays. No mercy. No second chances."

Zaigham finally sank into the heavy leather chair, his body still taut but retreating from the storm's peak. His injured hand rested on the armrest, bleeding faintly where the glass had sliced deep, the crimson stark against his skin.

I sat down beside him, my heart hammering painfully against my ribs as I pulled the first aid kit closer.

My hands shook violently as I peeled back the cuff of his shirt, revealing the ragged wound beneath.

Every careful motion felt impossibly slow, each breath I took thick with dread.

A sharp sting of helplessness cut deeper than the wound itself.

Tears welled up suddenly, blurring my vision, threatening to spill over before I could stop them.

"What... what is happening?" I whispered brokenly, voice raw with panic. "Why... why is this happening to you? To us?"

I swallowed hard, but the tremor in my voice betrayed the storm inside.

"Zaigham," I choked out, voice cracking, "now you're hurt... because of me. Because I'm here. Because of this."

His fierce eyes locked onto mine, unflinching, but behind that storm I saw something I hadn't dared hope for before—an unexpected softness.

"Zoya," he said quietly, voice thick and low, "none of this is your fault. You've done nothing wrong."

But the weight of the chaos crushed down on me, and I couldn't stop the tears from falling.

They slid down my cheeks, cold and relentless, a silent confession of my fear and frustration.

He reached out without hesitation, his large hand cupping my face, his thumb brushing gently along the trail of my tears.

The touch was soft but fierce, a promise unspoken.

"You don't have to carry this alone," he murmured, voice steady but laden with feeling. "Let me carry the burden. Let me protect you."

His words made something ache deep in my chest...pain wrapped in comfort, raw and fragile.

I closed my eyes, leaning into his hand, trying to anchor myself against the chaos swirling around us.

After a long pause, I slowly opened my eyes and looked down at his injured hand.

Tentatively, I pressed a gentle kiss to the swollen knuckles, the warmth of my lips a fragile shield against the cold reality.

Zaigham sat alone in the dimly lit room, the city's fading glow casting long shadows over his sharp features.

His presence filled the space like a storm contained, a silent force poised to unleash.

One hand clenched a stress ball, the subtle motion masking the storm raging beneath his composed exterior.

The window beside him framed the night, a silent witness to the moment that had shifted everything. That very spot, where the stalker's lens had captured Zoya in a way none of them had ever imagined possible, was now the epicenter of his scrutiny.

His eyes, dark and unyielding, scanned the glass as if it held the answers themselves. Years of ruthless discipline, unrelenting control, and a mind sharpened like a blade were at work, dissecting every detail of that photograph replayed endlessly in his mind.

He saw the faint reflection of the room, the angle of the shot, the position of the chair, small, almost insignificant clues that would have escaped any ordinary eye. But not his. Not Zaigham Khan's.

His breathing was slow, measured, each inhale and exhale a metronome for the chaos threatening to break free inside. The stress ball squeezed rhythmically in his grip, a reminder that every ounce of rage was contained, harnessed for precision rather than destruction.

His aura, the intangible but palpable force that commanded respect and fear, radiated from him like heat from a flame.

A traitor cloaked in family ties, masquerading as kin while pulling the strings from the shadows.

Zaigham's jaw clenched, muscles tightening like coiled steel. The fire in his eyes blazed brighter, a cold fury tempered by unbreakable will.

I sat at my desk, fingers squeezing the stress ball, trying to channel the restless storm inside me. The memory of that photo, the way it was taken, the violation of it, burned behind my eyes.

Then something hit me, sharp as a blade, something I missed in the heat of the moment earlier.

Without a word, I stood and walked over to where Zoya was sitting on the bed, her face pale and still.

"Give me your phone."

Zoya's confused eyes met mine, but she obeyed. I unlocked it quickly, my heart pounding beneath my calm exterior.

Then I saw it, the picture was gone.

Damn it.

I cursed under my breath, frustration and rage simmering just below the surface. No surprise....that cursed system made sure nothing stayed on her phone.

Without wasting a second, I moved to my laptop. I opened WhatsApp Web and pulled up the chat. There it was, the picture, clear as day, staring back at me from the screen.

My blood boiled.

"Bloody bastard."

I looked at Zaigham in shock as he cursed. He never curses unless he was really mad.

"Zaigham, what happened?" I took a step toward him, but he was already moving out of the room.

"Oh no..." I rushed after him. "Zaigham! Zaigham, wait, Zaigham, at least tell me what happened!" I called as we descended the stairs.

He was walking so fast I almost had to run to keep up.

Taya Abu and Baba were sitting in the living room, discussing something. The moment they saw Zaigham's face, both of them stood up.

"Zaigham, beta, what happened?" Baba asked, stepping forward.

I trailed him closely and came to stand beside him, still breathless. Even I don't know what's happened to him all of a sudden... he saw a picture and just reacted like this.

"Where is he?" Zaigham's voice was low but deadly, each word precise, like it was cutting through the air.

"Who, beta?" Taya jaan asked, stepping forward with a frown.

"The same filthy bastard who had the audacity to even think about my wife," Zaigham said, seething, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with restrained fury.

At his loud voice, the entire family began gathering in the living room, the tension thickening instantly.

I stood frozen, my palms clammy, my throat tight.

What clue did he just find? And knowing.

.. knowing it was someone from this very house, my heartbeat quickened until it felt deafening.

Any second now, when that name leaves his lips, every ounce of trust I have in that person will shatter completely.

"Zaigham..." I spoke meekly, my voice trembling.

Baba and Taya jaan exchanged a confused glance.

"Zaigham beta, who are you talking about? What are you saying?" Taya jaan asked, his tone tense.

Everyone was confused.

Even me.

Before I could even blink, Zaviyaar, Zayyan bhai, Ayyan bhai, Rayyan bhai, and... Zaarib bhai stepped into the living room.

Zaigham's grip on my hand tightened for a fraction of a second, then he suddenly let go.

And then, like a storm breaking without warning, he lurched forward.

The sound of his fist connecting with flesh was deafening.

I froze.

"Z-Zaarib bhai?" I whispered.

"You filthy bastard! You think you can do this and I wouldn't find out?!" Zaigham's voice thundered, venom lacing every word. His punches came hard, merciless, each one heavier than the last.

Chachu and Taya jaan tried to step in, but Zaigham shoved them away with a force that made them stumble back.

"Let me go!" he roared. "How dare you put your filthy eyes on my wife! I'll kill you today, do you hear me?! I won't leave this bastard breathing after this!"

The room erupted, gasps, shouts, chaos everywhere.

By now, Zaarib bhai's face was bloodied, his head snapping with each blow. My heart was hammering so hard it hurt.

Zayyan bhai and Ayyan bhai rushed in, grabbing Zaigham by the arms, dragging him back with all their strength. But he was still fighting, still straining to get free, eyes locked on Zaarib like a predator denied his prey.

"WILL SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!" Taya jaan's voice boomed across the room.

"You should be asking him!" Zaigham shot back, jerking his chin toward Zaarib. "Ask him what filth he's been doing behind everyone's back!"

Dada jaan's deep, steady voice cut through the uproar. "Zaigham beta. Explain. Now. Why are you beating Zaarib like this?"

Zaigham's breathing was sharp, but his words came with icy clarity. He told them everything from the very first note... to the vile messages... every single disgusting thing that's been happening.

A stunned silence fell over the room.

I looked down, unable to meet anyone's gaze. Humiliation burned through me as tears spilled, no matter how hard I tried to hold them back. Mama was suddenly there, catching me before my knees gave out, holding me tightly.

Across the room, Rumman and Laiba stood frozen, eyes darting between Zaigham, Zaarib, and me.

And Zaigham... he was still pulling against the hands restraining him, his chest heaving, every muscle in his body coiled with fury, like if they let go, he would tear Zaarib apart without hesitation.

Author~

Everyone in the room was so stunned, so paralyzed, that for a moment it felt like no one even remembered how to speak.

"How are you so sure... that it was Zaarib?" Arham's voice finally broke the silence, low but sharp.

Zaigham scoffed, a sound dripping with venom.

"Because this fool made one mistake. The last picture he sent to Zoya, he forgot to hide his own reflection in the windowpane." His voice rose into a shout, the fury vibrating through the air.

"Show me the picture! I don't believe this. Zaarib can never do something like this!" Arham defended, his tone fierce. Zoya's head snapped toward him in shock...of course he would defend his son.

Zaigham's eyes burned. "I cannot show you the picture, Chachu... because Zoya is not fully covered in it. But if you truly doubt me, I will show it to chachi right now." His voice was ice, each word deliberate.

He signaled to a house-help. "Bring my laptop."

Every heartbeat in the room seemed to echo. Nobody moved, nobody breathed. The tension was suffocating.

The maid returned, placing the laptop in front of him. Zaigham opened the file, his jaw clenching hard enough to crack bone. He turned the screen toward chachi, who stood pale and rigid among the rest of the women.

As her eyes fell on the image, her hand flew to her mouth. She stumbled back a step, a sharp gasp leaving her lips. The other women, craning to look, recoiled in disgust as they read the caption.

Slowly, deliberately, Zoya's father, Dada jaan, and Ayyan stepped forward to see it for themselves. Their faces transformed, shock igniting into pure, blistering rage.

"How could you, Zaarib?" Layla's voice trembled, disbelief etched in every syllable.

"Zoya is like your sister. Didn't you feel a shred of shame before doing something so vile?" She stepped forward, her hand swinging before anyone could stop her, striking him hard across the face.

Zaarib lifted his head, his voice low but defiant. "She is not my sister."

Layla's eyes narrowed. "What did you just say?"

"I said, she was never my sister! Not then. Not ever. I've always loved her...only her. Thought about her, wanted her. And what did you all do? You married her off to Zaigham! Why, maa? Why would you do this to me?" His voice broke, but the madness in his eyes only deepened.

"When her nikkah with Zaigham was announced, I came to all of you. I told you I wanted to marry her. You didn't listen! What does Zaigham have that I don't?" His words were spit out like poison.

"Then I decided... if Zoya can't be mine, she will belong to no one. And even now, she's mine. Only mine."

The room exploded into chaos.

Zaigham lunged forward, breaking past Zayyan and Zaviyaar's grip. His fist slammed into Zaarib's face once, twice...relentless, brutal.

"You dare—" another punch—"look at my wife like that? You dare speak about her with your filthy mouth?!" His voice was thunder, his rage unrestrained. "I will kill you with my bare hands!"

Zaarib's head snapped back with each blow, blood trickling down his lip. Zoya's sobs broke the air, her hands trembling so badly she could barely wipe her tears.

"Zaigham! Stop! Control yourself...he'll die!" His father's voice roared across the room.

"I came here to kill him, abu, don't stop me!" Zaigham's voice cracked with the force of his rage as Zayyan and Zaviyaar grabbed his arms, straining to hold him back.

"Let me go! Let me go before I tear him apart!" Zaigham's body thrashed in their hold, his chest heaving like a man possessed.

Then Arham stepped forward, his face ashen. Without warning, his hand came down hard across Zaarib's cheek.

"You disgust me," Arham's voice was shaking with fury. "Did you even think...once...that you have sisters of your own before doing something this vile?"

Aliya and Ayat lowered their heads, tears spilling as they turned away, unable to bear the shame.

Every single person in that room was crushed beneath the weight of the truth. Hurt. Betrayed. Broken.

And in the middle of it all, Zaigham's eyes never left Zaarib, not for a single second.

I don't even know how to put into words what I'm feeling. My chest felt like it was caving in, my breaths coming in shallow, shaky bursts. I couldn't believe it... someone I had trusted my entire life... someone I calledbhai... had been playing such a vile game with me behind my back.

It was as if every flashback from years past slammed into me at once—

The way he used to watch me silently.

The casual touches I dismissed as brotherly affection.

Every laugh, every conversation now felt tainted, rotten.

I shivered, bile rising in my throat.

And now... remembering those disgusting messages... my stomach twisted. Had he been looking at me like that all along?

I stepped toward him. My tears were pouring, hot and relentless. He was sitting there, blood running down the side of his face, eyes darting between me and the floor. For a second, our gazes locked. I wanted to look away... but I didn't.

"Z-Zaarib bhai," I said, my voice breaking, but my tone cutting like glass.

"Do you even know what the word bhai means?" I let out a bitter laugh. "No... of course you don't. If you did, you'd never—" I choked on my own words, my body trembling with disgust.

"I spent my whole life believing you were my protector. My safe place. And this... this is what you do? Why?!" My voice rose, cracked. "Why did you destroy twenty-two years of trust, of respect, of everything I thought you were?!"

He flinched, but I didn't stop. My hands grabbed his collar, jerking him forward.

"You disgust me. Every single word you wrote to me, every vile thought you had, do you even realise what you've done?! Do you know what you've taken from me?!"

I swallowed hard, voice trembling. "Since I was a child, nothing has been more important to me than my hijab, my space, my dignity. And you... you had the audacity to invade it." My eyes burned, my voice shaking with rage. "How am I supposed to ever look at you again without feeling sick?"

He stared at me for a long moment, then... he actually reached for my hand, I jerked back.

"Zoya... no, please. It's not what you think. I... I did all that because I love you. I've always loved you, Zoya. Please, trust me—"

"Love?" I spat the word. "Do you even know what that means? Love doesn't look like this! Love doesn't crawl into the shadows and poison someone's life!" My voice rose into a scream.

"Do you even know what the word love means?!" I shouted. "People in love don't do such disgusting things!"

"Why not?!" He snapped. "If you wanted to get married so badly, you could have married me instead! Zaigham, what does he have, what does he have that I don't?!"

"After all, you used to call him bhai too, didn't you, Zoya? But in the end, you became his wife. Where did your shame go then?" he said.

The room went deathly silent. My stomach turned in pure disgust. He took a step forward, reaching for me again—

And then—

A blur.

A sharp CRACK.

Zaigham's fist collided with his face so hard that the sound echoed through the walls.

"Shut up! you bloody bastard!," Zaigham growled, his voice low, deadly. "You dare to touch her? right in front of me?!"

Before I could react, Zaigham twisted his arm sharply, there was a sickening sound of bone giving way, and Zaarib screamed. My heart jumped into my throat.

"Zaigham!" I cried, grabbing his arm, but he didn't even hear me. He punched again, each blow harder than the last, his breath coming in deep, furious bursts.

"I'll kill you, Zaarib. I swear on my last breath, I'll—"

"Zaigham, stop!" I sobbed, tugging at his arm. "Please! He's not worth it, he'll die, Zaigham, please!"

My voice cracked so desperately that he finally froze, panting. He looked at me, his eyes still blazing, then stepped back, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might snap.

"Take him away," Zaigham barked, his voice ice-cold. "Or I will finish him."

Zaviyaar and Zayyan bhai didn't waste a second, dragging Zaarib out of the room. I collapsed onto the sofa, my face in my hands. I could still feel the filth of his words on my skin.

Mama was there in seconds, wrapping her arms around me. "Beta... beta, look at me."

I couldn't. I just shook my head, sobbing into her chest.

"Zoya, please... forgive us," I heard Chachu's voice. Chachi was beside him, her face pale and eyes swollen.

I shook my head weakly. "This isn't your fault," I whispered.

Baba knelt down in front of me, his eyes full of worry. "Beta... all this happened, and you kept it to yourself? You didn't tell anyone?"

"N-no... Baba... Zaigham was with me. Every step. From the very first message... till now... he never left me alone." My eyes flicked toward Zaigham.

Baba looked at him then, his expression softening. He placed a hand on Zaigham's shoulder.

"You've protected her when I couldn't. Thank you, beta."

I didn't have the strength to answer more questions. My head felt heavy, my body numb.

Zaigham seemed to understand without me saying a word, he excused us both, guiding me upstairs, his hand steady on my back.

And the moment we stepped into the room, my legs gave way.

The door clicked shut behind us with a soft, final thud.

I stood frozen, the muffled noise of the living room replaced by an almost deafening silence. My chest rose and fell too fast, my throat still raw from screaming.

Zaigham didn't speak. He didn't even look at me right away.

He just... stood there. Back to the door, jaw tight, one hand flexing like it was still itching to hit something. His breathing was slow but dangerous, like he was controlling it on purpose.

I wanted to say something. Anything. But my voice refused to work.

And then... he started walking toward me.

When he stopped in front of me, the distance between us was barely a breath. His eyes, dark, unreadable, scanned my face. For a moment, he didn't speak, and I almost wished he would yell just to break the tension.

Instead, his voice came low. Too low.

"Do you have any idea," he said, each word clipped, "what it took for me not to kill him right there?"

I swallowed hard. "Zaigham..."

His hand came up, not roughly, but not gently either, gripping my chin and tilting my face toward him. "No. You don't get to calm me down right now. You think I'm angry because of what he said? No, Zoya... I'm angry because for weeks, you've been carrying this... alone."

"I—" My voice cracked. "I didn't want to cause problems in the family—"

"Family?" His tone sharpened, eyes narrowing. "You still call him family after what he's done?"

I froze. My heartbeat slammed in my ears.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice deepening.

"You are my wife. And there is no man, no friend, no cousin, no so-called brother, who gets to breathe in your presence with that kind of filth in his mind.

I don't care if it means turning this house upside down, burning every bridge we have, I will do it without hesitation. "

The raw certainty in his voice sent a shiver down my spine.

"Zaigham... I don't want you to destroy yourself over me," I whispered.

His thumb pressed against my jaw, firm. "You still don't understand. You're not 'over me'. You are me. You think I can separate what's yours from what's mine?"

My breath caught. His eyes softened just slightly, not with calm, but with something deeper, something almost terrifying in its intensity.

Then, without another word, he pulled me into his chest. The movement was strong, almost crushing, his arm wrapping around my waist like he was anchoring me in place.

I felt his heartbeat against my cheek, steady, but hard.

His lips were close to my ear when he finally said, low and dangerous, "If he had touched you, Zoya... there wouldn't have been enough left of him to bury."

I didn't reply. I couldn't. My body just melted into him, tears spilling silently while his hand stayed splayed protectively at my back, holding me as if letting go wasn't an option.

To be Continued....

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