๐๐ก๐๐ฉ๐ญ๐๐ซ ๐๐ฐ๐๐ง๐ญ๐ฒ-๐ ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ
"Now..." he murmured, voice low and deliberate, "can I freshen up...if you allow me?"
I blinked at him, then gasped in exaggerated shock. "Ohhh... is Mr. Zaigham Khan actually asking for permission now?"
And then... he smiled again, breathtaking, completely unfair. Yep. Great. Just found my newest addiction, and it's dangerous.
He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there just long enough to make my insides melt.
"Only from my wife," he murmured.
And just like that, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me standing there like a complete blushing idiot.
Ya Allah. This man. The same man whose one glance can make people stutter, who walks through a room and makes grown men sit straighter... and here he is asking me for permission, kissing my forehead, and smiling like that.
I actually had to fan myself. Out loud. Alone. "Get a grip, Zoya," I muttered, but my grin just got wider.
If anyone ever told me I'd see this side of him, I would have laughed in their face. Now... I'm the one laughing, because apparently, I'm living in some rom-com. And it's dangerously addictive.
I smiled shaking my head and picked up my outfit to get fresh as well.
We stepped into the dining room together, the warm clinking of cutlery and soft hum of conversation filling the air. My heart was already pounding, half from the fact that I was walking beside Zaigham, half from silently praying I wouldn't have to see Zaarib.
A quick scan of the table... and relief washed over me. No sign of Zaarib. Good. I could breathe tonight.
"Assalam u alaikum," I greeted, smiling at everyone.
A chorus of "Wa alaikum assalam" echoed back at me, accompanied by welcoming smiles. Zaigham's deep, calm Salam followed right after, resonating like it belonged in a different league entirely. Everyone replied again. He walked toward his usual seat with quiet confidence.
I moved quickly, setting his plate in front of him and serving him first, before taking my seat beside him.
My pulse slowed...until halfway through the meal when...
I froze.
A firm, warm hold wrapped around my right hand under the table. My eyes darted down, but the tablecloth hid the scene. Then I felt it, his fingers sliding between mine, locking tight, pulling my hand onto his lap.
I looked up, he was casually eating, completely unbothered.
Except his thumb... his thumb was moving in slow, unhurried strokes over my knuckles, each one sending ridiculous shivers up my arm.
Butterflies? No. This was a whole hurricane in my stomach. My cheeks warmed instantly.
"Zoya beta, can you pass the rice?" Chachi's voice cut through my daze.
I nodded quickly and tried to free my hand. His grip tightened with that quiet, unshakable possession that made my breath hitch. I looked at him, searching for some explanation, but all I found was a subtle curve to his lips as he brought another bite to his mouth.
Trying not to visibly combust, I awkwardly passed the rice with my free hand. Chachi smiled, completely unaware that my other hand was currently being held hostage under the table.
I'd just started to eat again whenโ
"Zoya, pass the chicken," Laiba called out casually with a smirk.
Internally, I cursed her in silence. Of course, Laiba. Of course, you'd pick now to play passing-passing.
Still trapped, I stretched for the dish with my other hand. He didn't loosen his hold, if anything, I felt the faintest squeeze, like he was amused by my predicament.
Then Baba cleared his throat. "Zoya, what happened to your other hand?"
I nearly choked on my water, coughing once before daring a sideways glance. He was already looking at me now, grey eyes steady, unreadable, but with that infuriating little almost invisible smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Seriously?
"IโuhโI... nothing, Babaโ" I fumbled for words, trying to think of any excuse that didn't involve outing my husband's shameless under-the-table tactics.
"What happened, beta?" Deeda asked, concern knitting her brows.
That was when he finally released my hand, slow and deliberate, like he knew exactly what that absence would feel like. My palm tingled from the loss of warmth.
Flustered beyond saving, I shot my hand up. "Here! See? Nothing happened," I said quickly, tacking on a weak laugh.
Deeda gave me a look...half suspicion, half amusement...before going back to her food.
I risked a glance across the table only to find Zaviyaar and Laiba smirking at me knowingly. My face was on fire as I ducked my head and ate my food.
I escaped the dining table the moment I could. My face was still hot. My siblings' smirks were still fresh in my mind. And his stupid smirk, ugh, that was going to haunt me all night.
I had just stepped into the hallway when a shadow fell over me.
Before I could turn, a hand brushed along my arm, firm, familiar and then settled at my waist.
Zaigham.
He stood behind me, close enough that his breath grazed my ear.
"You looked... very adorable trying to serve food one-handed," he murmured, voice low, deep, and maddeningly amused.
I spun around, glaring, which only made the corners of his mouth tilt higher. "Adorable? I almost spilled the rice on Chachi!"
"Mhm," he hummed, as if that didn't matter in the slightest. "Worth the risk."
"Worth...Zaigham!" My whisper was somewhere between outrage and disbelief.
His hand slid from my waist to my wrist, lightly circling it. "Next time, don't pull away. You'll make me tighten my grip... and then it'll be even harder for you to pretend."
I blinked, completely thrown. "Pretend what?"
"That you don't like it."
The audacity. My brain stuttered over a dozen possible replies, but all I managed was a very intelligent, "I... youโ"
He leaned in just enough to make my heart race. "Good effort, Mrs. Khan," he said, voice so calm it was almost cruel.
Then, with that rare, devastating smile, the one I'd promised myself I wouldn't get addicted to...he brushed his thumb over my knuckles and walked away.
When I stepped into our room after an hour, he was right where I should've expected him, sitting on a chair near the window, sleeves rolled up, laptop open, that focused frown on his face. The man could work for hours without moving an inch.
I sighed, my hands moving automatically to unpin my hijab. My eyes slid to him sideways, as if staring too long might disturb the intense atmosphere he carried.
It was my second day of period. And God help me... my cravings were waging a war. Ice cream. Hot chocolate. Chocolate bars. Anything with sugar and happiness in it.
I glanced at the refreshment cabinet. Empty. Except for a sad little packet of bubblegum that I didn't even like. I pouted to myself. Should I ask him? But... he'd been working all day. He looked tired. Still...
I was lost in that mental tug-of-war when his voice suddenly cut through my thoughts.
"What is it, Zoya?"
I blinked up at him, caught like a thief. "Huh?"
"You've been staring holes into that cabinet for the last two minutes."
"I... umm... nothing," I muttered, looking away.
There was a soft exhale, and then the sound of his laptop closing. He came to me, sitting down on the couch opposite mine. His eyes searched my face in that maddeningly patient way.
"You want to say something?"
I shook my head.
"What is it?" he asked again, his tone gentler this time.
My heart did that annoying fluttering thing. I always told myself I liked him better in his cold, composed mode...it was safer...but his soft side was my undoing.
"I'm... craving chocolates. Ice cream." My voice sounded small even to me.
His gaze dropped for a heartbeat to my pout, then came back to my eyes. Before I could process it, he leaned forward and pressed a peck to my lips.
My eyes went wide. "Wโwhat was that?" I stammered.
"Let's go," he said simply, standing.
"Wait." I stood too, still processing. "What was... that?" I pointed to my lips like a five-year-old exposing a crime.
He smirked, stepping closer to plant another soft peck. "You mean this?"
My cheeks caught fire instantly. "Zaigham..." I groaned, half hiding my face in my hands.
He chuckled.
After a minute of trying to recover, I placed my palm against his forehead. His brow furrowed.
"What are you doing, Zoya?"
"Checking your temperature. Where did my Mr. Cold Khan go, and who is this soft Khan standing here?"
The smile he gave me could have melted every frozen part of my soul. "Your Mr. Cold Khan is still here," he murmured. "This soft one is only for his wife."
I couldn't help it, I grinned.
"Now, let's go, Mrs. Khan." He caught my hand, grabbed his car keys, and before I could even process it, we were walking out together.
The drive felt strangely... warm. Not because of the heater, but because of him. One hand steady on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, his profile calm and unreadable. Still, every now and then, I'd catch his eyes flicker to me.
"You're quiet," he said at last.
I smiled faintly. "I'm just... thinking."
His lips quirked. "About chocolates?"
"Maybe."
That earned me a soft chuckle, the kind that was rare enough to make my chest flutter.
When we pulled into the store parking lot, he got out first and came around to open my door.
"You don't have toโ"
"Come on, Zoya," he said, tone firm but eyes carrying that trace of amusement.
Inside, we went straight to the frozen section. My eyes lit up instantly when I saw my favorite flavor. Before I could even reach for it, he leaned in and took out the largest tub available.
"Zaigham, that's... huge."
"You'll finish it," he said simply, dropping it into the cart. "If not, I will."
I bit my lip, trying not to grin like an idiot.
We moved to the chocolate aisle, and I ran my hand along the shelf. "So... how many am I allowed?"
He didn't even glance at the prices. "Add your favorites as many as you want."
"Are you sure? Because Iโ"
"Zoya," he said, just my name, but with that tone that meant don't argue.
So I started adding. One. Two. Three. And maybe a fourth for "emergency purposes." He didn't stop me.
As we neared the counter, I noticed the change. The warmth from earlier slipped away from his expression. His features sharpened, his jaw set, and his eyes went flat in that way that always made people step back a little.
The cashier greeted him cheerfully. "Good evening, sir."
He gave the smallest nod, voice low and clipped. "Bill it."
The man's smile faltered slightly under that frost. I glanced up at Zaigham, his gaze was on the barcode scanner, not on me anymore.
When the cashier told him the total, Zaigham slid his card across without a word. The entire exchange lasted less than a minute, efficient and to the point.
Back home, I skipped into the kitchen like a thief who had just pulled off the sweetest heist, clutching the tub of blueberry ice cream. I grabbed a spoon and made my way to the couch where Zaigham sat, laptop open, glasses low on his nose, that familiar frown line marking his forehead.
I plopped down beside him and popped the lid. The scent of fresh blueberries hit me, and I dug in immediately. The first bite melted in my mouth, creamy, sweet, a hint of tartness. My eyes fluttered shut for a second. Bliss.
Holding out the spoon, I offered, "Here."
Without looking up, he said flatly, "No."
I stared at him. "Come on, Mr. Khan. It's blueberry ice cream. Saying no to this should be illegal."
That got his eyes on me. One brow arched. "Illegal?"
"Yes," I said, taking another slow bite, letting him watch. "And you're missing out."
His gaze lingered on my lips longer than I expected before he returned to his screen. "I don't eat ice cream."
I tilted my head. "You don't... or you haven't had mine?"
The corner of his mouth twitched but he didn't answer.
Challenge accepted.
I scooped another bite, leaned toward him, and held the spoon close to his lips. "One bite. You won't regret it."
"Zoyaโ" he began, but I cut him off softly. "Zaigham."
That made him pause. His eyes locked with mine.
"Open," I said, my voice lower this time.
He sighed, the kind that sounded like surrender, and leaned in, taking the bite. I watched closely, almost holding my breath.
He stilled for a moment, then swallowed. "It's nice," he said, his tone somewhere between amused and warning.
I smiled slowly. "Then maybe you should have more... so you get used to trouble."
His expression shifted, just a flicker, caught off guard, before it melted into a smirk.
He shut his laptop. "You're going to regret saying that."
"I'll take my chances," I murmured, and before I could react, he took the spoon from my hand, dipped it into the tub, and helped himself, his eyes never leaving mine.
By the time we finally put the ice cream away, the house felt quiet and drowsy. My cravings were satisfied, my mood a little lighter, but my body was still heavy from the day.
We slipped into bed, the room dim except for the soft glow of the bedside lamp. I had just turned to my side when I felt him shift closer.
An arm slid around me, firm and warm, pulling me back against his chest until there was no space between us. His hand found my stomach, resting there for a second before he began rubbing slow, gentle circles, almost absentminded, yet so soothing I felt my muscles loosen instantly.
The steady rise and fall of his breathing brushed against my neck, and my eyes began to flutter shut. "You're warm," I mumbled, half-asleep already.
"Sleep," he said quietly, his voice low and close to my ear.
I smiled faintly. "You're making it very easy."
His thumb continued those lazy strokes over my stomach, lulling me into a haze. I felt him press a soft kiss into my hair before murmuring, "Good."
I didn't even remember when I drifted off, only that his warmth and the slow rhythm of his touch followed me into my dreams.
A Few days later....
The click of my heels echoed faintly as I entered Zaigham's office with a fresh stack of files.
He was at his desk, grey suit perfectly pressed, eyes locked on the screen in front of him. The air in here always felt... different. Colder. Sharper.
I placed the files on his desk quietly.
Without looking up, he said, "These should've been here twenty minutes ago."
I blinked. "The departmentโ"
He raised a hand slightly, cutting me off. "Excuses waste time, Zoya. Results don't."
Ah. Mr. Cold Khan was in the building.
"Yes, sir," I muttered, straightening the papers.
He finally looked up at me, and I swear his eyes softened for half a second before hardening again. "Also, make sure the finance report is printed for the board meeting. If the formatting is off, I'll send it back."
I muttered a meek, "Yes, sir," and buried my nose into my work.
The conference room was tense, the kind of silence where even a pin drop would echo. Zaigham's deep voice filled the space, crisp and controlled, every word calculated.
"Mr. Qureshi, your report is two days late. At Khan Enterprises, late means irrelevant. Fix it today."
The man across the table shifted uncomfortably, nodding quickly. Zoya, sitting quietly in her corner with her notepad, watched the way everyone's eyes flickered nervously to her husband. His presence alone was enough to keep the entire room on edge.
He tapped the table once, drawing silence. "Miss. Nouran, the figures from last quarter, do you have them?"
Nouran straightened, sliding a file forward. "Yes, but there's a delay in the vendor payments. I'll need two more days to close theโ"
"Not acceptable," Zaigham cut her off smoothly, his tone flat, precise. "Two days cost us leverage. Get it done by tomorrow. If the vendors resist, escalate. You know the protocol."
"Yes, Sir," she murmured quickly, eyes dropping.
His gaze shifted to the other end. "Zack."
Zack cleared his throat, nervous under that steel stare. "The marketing campaign is almost finalized. We'll launch on Mondayโ"
"Almost finalized?" Zaigham's eyebrow arched, his words slicing through. "You had a month. At Khan Enterprises, we don't deal in almost. I expect the campaign locked in by tonight. Midnight. If you need extra hands, take them, but the deadline does not move."
Zack's throat bobbed as he nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. Tonight."
Zaigham leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes scanning the room. "Deadlines here are not suggestions. They're commitments. If anyone in this room has an issue with that..." his pause was deliberate, heavy, "...say it now."
The silence that followed was deafening. No one dared to breathe too loudly.
Ya Allah, she thought, how do they survive his meetings? Even I'm holding my breath.
Zaigham leaned back in his chair, grey eyes sharp as steel. He signed the final file with a flourish, then closed it with a decisive snap. "That will be all."
Chairs scraped back, murmured goodbyes were said, and within seconds the room cleared out, leaving only him and her.
The second the door clicked shut, Zoya released a breath she didn't even know she was holding.
"You really scare them, you know that?" she whispered, eyes wide.
Zaigham didn't look up immediately, instead shutting his laptop with the same composed precision. Finally, he raised his gaze to her. The corners of his mouth curved just slightly, not enough for the world to notice, but enough to steal the air from her lungs.
"You were watching me too closely," he said, voice low, almost teasing.
Her cheeks warmed. "I wasn'tโ"
"You were," he cut her off smoothly, standing and walking toward her. Her heart raced as his footsteps echoed against the marble floor.
When he stopped in front of her, he leaned down, his face just inches from hers, and his tone softened, velvet replacing steel. "Tell me, Mrs. Khan... do I frighten you too?"
Her lips parted, but no words came out. She shook her head quickly, whispering, "No... never."
For a fleeting second, his grey eyes softened completely. He brushed his fingers along her cheekbone, a touch so tender it felt foreign compared to the man who ruled that room minutes ago.
"Good," he murmured, his thumb grazing her jaw before he straightened again, composure snapping back into place like armor. "Because for you, Zoya..." he paused, his gaze lingering, "...I only know how to protect, not terrify."
Her heart somersaulted at his words, leaving her staring up at him, speechless.
The car hummed softly as we pulled away from the office. My tie was loosened, laptop bag set aside, the day's chaos already dissolving into the background.
Beside me, Zoya sat quietly, head resting against the seat, fighting the sleep dragging at her. I watched from the corner of my eye as her head bobbed forward, then snapped back, her lashes fluttering as though she could still win against her exhaustion.
I couldn't help it, my lips tugged into a smile. She looked so impossibly... Cute. Adorable, in a way no one would ever dare associate with Mrs. Zaigham Khan.
"Come here," I murmured, opening my arm in invitation.
She blinked at me, hesitating, her gaze flickering toward the driver.
Sensing her hesitancy, I pressed the button on the panel beside me. The partition rose, cutting us off from the front seats entirely. The world outside already hidden behind tinted glass.
She smiled lightly. Without another word, she shifted, curling into my side, her small frame fitting against me as though it belonged there. Her head found its place on my thigh.
But after a moment, I noticed her shifting, uncomfortable. I looked down, and understood. Her hijab was tucked too tightly, restricting her.
Gently, I slid my fingers to the edge of the fabric and loosened it carefully. Her breath spilled out in a soft sigh the moment I did, her chest rising and falling evenly as she sank into deeper comfort.
My hand found her hair, threading slowly through the silk of it, stroking in lazy patterns. She exhaled again, the sound quiet but content, and her body grew heavier against me as sleep claimed her fully.
I leaned back, my palm resting over her crown, my thumb brushing her temple. Outside, the city blurred past unseen.
She had no idea how rare this was.
How dangerous it was, that I, who let no one close, who built walls no one could cross, kept lowering them for her without hesitation.
I tightened my arm around her instinctively, possessive, protective.
The car rolled to a halt at the gates. She didn't stir.
I glanced down, her lashes rested against her cheeks, her breathing even, soft.
I adjusted the folds of her hijab back into place, careful not to wake her, before pressing the intercom for the driver to step out. Once the door opened, I slid out with her still in my arms.
She didn't move. Not even a flutter.
A heavy sleeper, my wife.
The house was quiet, the living room dimly lit, no one in sight.
Good.
I carried her straight upstairs. Even as her weight pressed into my arms, she felt... weightless.
In our room, I laid her down carefully, my movements deliberate. Her head sank into the pillow, her lips parting slightly, still deep in dreams.
I crouched to remove her shoes one by one, setting them aside. Then, with the same ease, I slipped her hijab free, folding it neatly before placing it on the chair.
She didn't stir. Only sighed again, like a child safe at last.
I pulled the duvet up over her shoulders, letting it cocoon her warmth. For a moment, I just stood there, watching. The strongest urge rose to keep looking at her, to stay, but I bent instead, brushing my lips against her forehead. A habit I never thought I'd have.
Straightening, I loosened my shirt cuffs. Time to freshen up.
Behind me, she shifted once in her sleep, curling into the duvet as though chasing my warmth.
I allowed myself one more look. And then turned away, silent, leaving her to rest.
I woke up to the sound of silence.
Blinking, I glanced at the clock, 11:30 P.m.
My stomach growled in protest, loud enough to make me sit up with a groan.
The room was dim, shadows stretching across the walls, but it wasn't empty. Or rather, he wasn't in it.
My eyes searched quickly, only to find the other side of the bed neat and untouched.
I frowned, as I got up confused, until I went to the window.
And there he was.
Standing in the garden, dressed in a simple white shalwar kameez, hands folded behind his back, gaze lifted toward the night sky.
My heart stuttered. Realization washed over me, he had carried me here.
Removed my hijab. Tucked me in. A wave of warmth fluttered in my chest so fiercely, I pressed a palm on my racing heart.
I freshened up quickly, intending to head downstairs for food, but... my feet betrayed me. Instead, I padded quietly down, the house hushed and still, everyone asleep.
The sight of him, tall, composed, glowing faintly under the garden lights, stole my breath. On instinct, I walked up slowly, sliding my arms around him from behind.
He stiffened for half a second before I felt him exhale, relaxing into my touch.
Then he turned, his grey eyes finding mine, and without a word, pulled me in front of him and into his chest hugging me. His warmth was immediate, enveloping.
"Had a good sleep?" he asked, his voice low, smooth.
"Mhmm," I hummed, cheek brushing his chest. "But now I'm hungry."
His lips curved faintly. "Are you?"
I tilted my head back to look at him. "Did you... have your dinner?"
He shook his head once.
I blinked. "What? Why?"
"I wanted to have it with you." His voice was calm, but the weight of his words hit me straight in the heart.
I smiled as I bit my lip, whispering, "You should have eaten... it's so late."
"I can wait," he replied simply, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
I buried my face in his chest for a second to hide the silly smile that tugged at my lips.
"Okay then. Let's eat."
We walked inside, but before I could direct us to the dining table, I stopped him. "Actually... let's eat in the room?"
He raised a brow, studying me with that unreadable look of his, but then nodded. "Fine."
To my surprise, he picked up the tray himself, as we went back upstairs.
In the room, we sat cross-legged on the bed, the tray between us. I reached for a bite first, then paused, holding it out to him instead.
"Your wait ends now, Mr. Khan," I teased softly.
His gaze lingered on me, grey eyes darkening slightly, before he leaned forward and accepted it straight from my hand. My stomach flipped as his lips brushed my fingers just slightly, whether intentional or not, I couldn't tell.
I pouted, half flustered, half dramatic. "That's cheating."
His smirk was barely there but unmistakable. "Cheating... or strategy?"
I huffed. "Strategy for what?"
"For this." He leaned in suddenly, stealing a quick kiss from the corner of my lips before sitting back as though nothing happened.
My cheeks burned. I threw a spoonful of rice onto his plate to cover my embarrassment. "Eat before I starve you."
He chuckled lowly. And it did terrible, fluttering things to my heart.
We ate together, quietly, with little chaos in between, me trying to feed him more than he needed, him sneaking glances that made me blush until I had to look away.
And somewhere in the middle of that simple dinner on our bed, I realized... these were the moments I never wanted to end.
To be Continued.....
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