Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞

I stacked the empty dishes onto the tray and got up from the bed.

"Coffee?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

His eyes softened. He simply nodded.

I carried the tray downstairs quietly, the hush of the house pressing in from all sides. It was almost eerie how silent it was, only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft hiss of water beginning to boil.

I set the tray down and tied my dupatta loosely around my shoulders, not bothering to pin it. No one was awake. Just us.

As I measured the coffee and stirred the spoon, my thoughts wandered.

How had everything changed so much?

Just months ago, he was this untouchable man. Reserved. Sharp. Someone who lived behind walls I couldn't even imagine crossing. Even after marriage, I thought those walls would remain. His silence, his control, it always kept me at a distance. I used to wonder if I would ever truly know him.

But then... life had shifted. Fear, uncertainty, shadows from outside had crept into mine. And instead of letting me face them alone, he had stepped closer.

He carried my weight, held me when I was scared, noticed the smallest things, my cravings, my hesitations. The same man who once terrified me with his calm authority now made my chest flutter with his quiet tenderness.

A small smile tugged at my lips as I stirred the steaming mug. Maybe this was how relationships grew, not suddenly, but in these quiet, ordinary moments where he unknowingly left his armor behind.

My smile faded into a sharp inhale when strong arms slipped around my waist, pulling me back against him.

I gasped softly, almost spilling the spoon. My back stiffened, but only for a heartbeat, because his warmth, his scent, the weight of his hold melted every ounce of tension in me.

"Zaigham..." I whispered, my voice trembling with surprise. I tilted my face just slightly toward him. "Why are you here?"

"Because you are here," he answered simply, his tone low, his lips brushing against my hair. He rocked me gently from side to side, caging me in with an ease that made my pulse stutter. "And because I missed you. Today, I got so little time with my wife."

My heart stopped for a second before racing even faster. The words weren't grand, not dramatic, but from him, they were everything.

I swallowed, trying to regain my composure. "Oh really? Someone was very strict in the office today."

"Yes," he admitted without hesitation, his voice rougher now. "Because that was office. And this..." his grip around my waist tightened, pressing me back against his chest, "...this is home. My home."

The way he said it, calm but unyielding, made my stomach twist with something dangerously sweet. It was like a claim, a reminder that I belonged here, with him.

I turned my head slightly, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. "So Mr. Khan only knows how to soften when he crosses his threshold?"

A low chuckle vibrated against my back. "Don't push your luck, Mrs. Khan. You know how easily I can switch back."

I tried to smother a smile. "I've noticed," I teased, "you frown at everyone except me."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe because everyone else exists for work. You exist for me."

The words knocked the air from my lungs. My grip on the counter tightened. "You—" my voice faltered, and I quickly looked down, desperate to hide how warm my face had gotten. "You say such things so easily now."

"Not easily," he corrected softly, his lips brushing my side of head. "Only truth deserves to be said."

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to calm the rush of butterflies in my stomach. My voice was weaker when I said, "And what truth is this?"

His answer came without hesitation, each word heavier than the last. "That the hours I spend with you don't feel like hours. They feel like moments. And when those moments end, I want them again."

My chest ached at his honesty. It was raw. Unpolished, and it shook me even more.

Then his one hand slid up from my waist, brushing my hair to the side. And before I could recover from his words his lips touched the curve of my neck.

I almost dropped the spoon. A violent shiver shot through me.

"Zaigham..." My voice broke. I tried again, softer, breathless. "Zaigham, what are you doing?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he moved lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the side of my neck, slow and purposeful.

Each one sent fire through my veins. My hands gripped the edge of the counter for balance, my knees dangerously weak.

My head tilted back against his shoulder as if I had no control of my body.

He kissed again, lingering, his breath warm against my skin.

I could barely breathe. "Zaigham..."

He ignored the plea, his lips curving faintly against my skin like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. My chest rose and fell too fast.

Then—

The sharp acrid scent hit us.

I gasped, breaking away in panic. "The tea!"

I rushed forward, fumbling to snatch the kettle off the stove. My heart hammered against my ribs, not sure whether it was from the near-disaster or from him.

I spun on him with a glare that was far too weak to hide my red cheeks. "Look what you did!"

He leaned lazily against the counter, eyes gleaming, lips tugged into a smirk. "Well... someone seemed to be enjoying it."

Heat rushed to my face. "I was not!"

He arched a brow, smug. "Then why are you blushing so much, Mrs. Khan?"

I turned away instantly, biting my lip to stop a smile from escaping. My hands trembled slightly as I poured his coffee and my tea, pushing his mug toward him without meeting his eyes.

We carried our mugs out into the garden, the night air cool against my skin. Everything was quiet, the house asleep, and the only sound was the faint clink of porcelain when I set my cup down on the bench.

I tucked one leg beneath me, crossing the other over the edge of the bench, turning sideways to face him. He sat there so effortlessly, his posture relaxed, one hand loosely holding the coffee while his gaze was fixed straight ahead.

The faint light from the lanterns fell across his profile, sharpening the lines of his jaw, catching the angle of his nose, glinting in the strands of his hair. Some hair fell on his forehead.

My eyes trailed over him without permission, the way the white traditional kurta hugged his shoulders, the way his hand flexed lightly against the mug, even the curve of his lips when he swallowed his drink.

There was something so dangerously handsome about him in this quiet moment. Even more than usual.

I was so caught staring that I didn't notice the corner of his mouth twitch. He didn't even look at me when he spoke, his tone maddeningly calm.

"Come sit in front if you want, dear wifey. Stare all you want."

My eyes widened, my breath catching. Heat flushed across my face so quickly I nearly dropped my cup. He hadn't even turned to me, he just knew.

I scrambled for composure, forcing a lightness into my voice I didn't really feel. "Well... my wish. I can stare at my husband however I want."

That word, husband, rolled off my tongue with a confidence I hadn't realized I carried until now.

And then his eyes met mine. Suddenly. Without warning.

It was like the ground shifted beneath me.

His gaze was sharp, steady, unrelenting.

I tried to hold it, to prove I could match his intensity.

But the longer his eyes stayed locked with mine, the harder it became.

My chest rose too quickly, my lips parted against my will, and before I could stop myself, I looked away, smiling helplessly, shyly, like a teenage girl.

But inside, my thoughts tumbled in chaos.

How did one man hold so much power without even moving? How could he undo me completely with just a look?

He didn't let me escape so easily. His voice came low, threaded with amusement.

"Shy now? After so boldly admitting you can stare at your husband whenever you please?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, my finger circling the rim of my cup. "I wasn't shy. I just... finished looking."

He gave a quiet huff of a laugh. "Finished? I don't think so. You barely started."

My head whipped toward him, startled. He still wasn't laughing outright, but the way his lips curved, it was worse. That quiet, knowing smirk, like he could see straight through me.

"You think I don't notice?" he murmured, turning slightly so his body angled toward me now.

"The way your eyes linger. The way you hold your breath without realizing. Zoya... you don't hide very well."

Heat crept up my neck and I wanted to protest, but his gaze pinned me down again. I fiddled with my mug just to have something to hold onto. "Maybe I don't want to hide."

That made his expression shift. Softer. More dangerous somehow.

"Good. Because I'd rather you never did."

The silence stretched, thick with something that made my chest flutter wildly. He leaned back slightly, sipping his coffee as if the words hadn't just stolen mine.

I finally found my voice, though it came out quieter than I intended. "You're awfully confident, aren't you?"

"Confident?" He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "No. Just certain. My wife has every right to look at me as much as she wants. And..." He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting, "...I like being looked at by her."

I froze, stunned by how easily he said it. How casually he dropped words that made my heart somersault.

I watched her fumble with her cup, cheeks flushed, lashes lowered like they were trying to shield the storm inside her. The night was quiet, but she wasn't, every small gesture of hers, every uneven breath, it spoke louder than words.

And then... she looked at me again.

Not the timid glances she usually tried to sneak when she thought I wasn't aware. This time, she held me in her gaze, open, unguarded, like she'd decided something.

I tilted my head slightly, amused, waiting for her to drop her eyes first. She always did.

Except she didn't now.

Instead, she set her mug down slowly, her hands trembling just faintly. My brow arched. "What is it?" I asked, my voice deliberately calm, steady, though I felt something stir inside me.

She didn't answer. She just shifted closer, the soft rustle of her dupatta between us, her eyes flicking once to my lips before darting back up to meet mine.

My breath stilled.

"Zoya..." My tone was a warning, or maybe it was a plea, I wasn't sure.

And then she closed the distance.

Her lips touched mine, hesitant at first, like she wasn't sure. But the moment the warmth of her mouth brushed against me, something inside me snapped. My hand moved instinctively, cupping her jaw, holding her still as if afraid she'd retreat.

For a second, I froze. My Zoya. My shy, stubborn, soft-hearted wife, initiating this. And then I lost control.

When she finally pulled back, her lips parted, her eyes wide with the same shock mirrored in my own chest, I couldn't stop the low laugh that escaped me. Not mocking. Just... stunned. A sound I didn't recognize coming from myself.

"Zoya," I murmured, brushing my thumb against her lower lip, still warm. "You—" I shook my head slightly, unable to finish. For the first time in a long time, I had no words.

She smiled, nervous, glowing, breathtaking. "You talk too much sometimes, Mr.Khan."

I let out a slow breath, my forehead nearly touching hers now, my voice rough.

"And you... don't talk nearly enough. But when you act..." I paused, smirking faintly, "...you leave me undone."

Her cheeks burned deeper as she hugged me hiding her face in my chest

I woke up to sunlight slipping through the curtains, warm against my face. For a moment, I didn't move. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, my lips tingling with a memory that felt both unreal and unforgettable.

I kissed him.

The realization made my stomach flip. Me....who always hesitated, always overthought...had crossed the line I thought I'd never have the courage to, we had both been caught off guard.

I rolled onto my side slowly, heart drumming. He was sitting up on the edge of the bed, already dressed in a white shirt and trousers, sleeves rolled perfectly, wristwatch gleaming. The sight made me smile involuntarily. How could he look so gorgeous all the time.

"Good morning," I said softly, my voice still heavy with sleep.

He turned at once, his eyes landing on me, and I swear there was something different there. Softer. Warmer. "Finally awake," he said, but there was a faint tug at the corner of his lips, as if he was trying to hide a smile.

I sat up, my eyes narrowing playfully. "You're dressed already? Do you ever rest, Mr. Khan?"

He leaned slightly, bracing one hand on the bed, his gaze steady on me. "Rest doesn't come easily when someone keeps stealing my sleep."

My cheeks heated instantly. "I—"

He cut me off smoothly, his voice lower now. "Last night, Zoya." His eyes flickered over my lips before locking on mine again. "You surprised me."

I bit my lip, unsure what to say. My heart was racing, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. "Was it... bad?"

His silence stretched for a heartbeat too long, and I felt panic rising, until he finally exhaled through his nose, the faintest smile tugging at him again.

"Bad?" He shook his head once, leaning closer, his tone carrying that controlled intensity of his.

"No, Zoya. It was reckless. Unexpected. And the best thing you've done to me."

I dropped my gaze, hiding my smile, feeling my chest bloom with warmth I couldn't contain.

The smell of parathas and omelets greeted me before I even reached the dining hall.

We entered the dining room. Dada jan sat at the head of the table, reading glasses perched on his nose as he sipped tea.

Taya Jaan and Tayyi Jaan were already seated.

Chachu, Chachi, and Nouran api with Rayyan bhai and Rumman api were scattered around.

Laiba was fussing with Zayyan bhai, while Ayaan was already halfway through his plate.

Mama and Baba went to Pakistan to attend a wedding.

"Ah, finally the star couple arrives," Rumman api teased, waggling her brows as everyone chuckled.

I flushed instantly, sliding into the chair beside Zaigham. He, of course, was unbothered, calmly reaching for the tea pot.

Laiba leaned over and whispered dramatically, "Zoya, please teach your husband not to be this intimidating at breakfast. His silent aura is killing the vibe."

I nearly choked on my water. "Laiba!"

Nouran api chuckled. "Laiba, stop pulling Zoya's leg. She already looks pinker than the strawberries on the table."

Zaviyaar narrowed his eyes. "Hmm. Why does Zoya look so... suspiciously happy?"

I kicked him under the table. He yelped, "Ow! What was that for?"

"Because you deserve it," I muttered, cheeks burning, while everyone laughed again.

Zaigham's lips twitched in the faintest smile.

"Laiba, pass me the paratha," Ayaan bhai said.

But Laiba smirked, ignoring him. "Aray, why don't you ask Nouran bhabhi to pass it? Seems like you only listen to her nowadays."

Ayaan bhai rolled his eyes dramatically, while Rumman api laughed. "True, bhai."

The whole table chuckled, and Nouran api hid her smile behind a bite of toast.

Everything felt... good. Warm. Family laughter, the safety of his hand against mine under the table, his quiet presence beside me.

And then—

Taya Jaan cleared his throat. The sound instantly hushed the table. His eyes landed on Zaigham.

"So, Zaigham beta... when are you leaving for Turkey?"

As his words registered, the fork slipped from my fingers.

I turned sharply toward him, my smile fading in an instant. Turkey? My heart sank, throat tightening as I looked at him for an answer. He stiffened almost imperceptibly, shoulders squaring, but his gaze remained locked on his plate.

At last, in that calm, deep voice of his, he replied, "By evening, Abu. The flight is already booked."

The words sliced through me. Evening. Today. He had known. He had planned. And I... I was sitting right here, finding out with the rest of the family like a stranger.

Why didn't he tell me?

Am I really so insignificant in his life that my knowing doesn't matter?

We spent the entire night together, and he couldn't utter a single word about this?

I forced myself to breathe, to keep my face composed while laughter and chatter resumed around the table as though nothing had shifted. But for me, everything had. My heart thudded painfully, my chest too tight to sit there any longer. I jerked my hand out of his grip.

"I—excuse me," I whispered, pushing back my chair.

"Beta, eat your breakfast," Chachi's gentle voice stopped me mid-step.

I swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. "I'm done, Chachi. I don't... I don't have any more appetite."

And before the sting in my eyes betrayed me, I slipped out of the dining hall.

I sat on the bed with a thud, clutching the dupatta at my chest as if it could hold the storm inside me. My throat burned. My mind refused to process it.

Turkey. Today. He was leaving. And I... his wife... was the last to know.

The door opened softly a few moments later. His footsteps crossed the room.

He crouched down in front of me, close enough for me to see the quiet conflict flickering in his eyes. "Zoya... I was jus—"

"What, Zaigham?" I cut him off, my voice cracking before I could stop it. "You're leaving for Turkey and you didn't even tell me?"

For the first time, his eyes lowered. That unshakable man, lowering his gaze in front of me. His silence was worse than anything.

He reached up, cupping my face gently. His thumb brushed away a tear I hadn't even realized had fallen. "I'm sorry, Zoya," he whispered.

I turned my face away, more tears spilling.

"Why?" My voice broke, bitter and sharp.

"Because I have no importance in your life, right?

Why would you even tell me, Mr. Khan?" My lips trembled as I laughed bitterly.

"Being your wife, I was supposed to know this first..

. but I'm the last person to know. You know what. ..forget it."

I stood up abruptly, but before I could take a step, his hand wrapped around my wrist. He pulled me back toward him, his strength against my frailty, until I stumbled onto his lap.

"Don't," he murmured, his arms holding me in place. "Don't ever say you have no importance in my life."

My teary eyes met his, searching desperately. His fingers brushed my wet cheeks, wiping them away with a care that broke me further. He pressed a long, lingering kiss to my forehead.

"Zoya," he said quietly, but with a force that settled deep into my bones, "you are above everyone in my life. There's no decision, no deal, no journey where your shadow doesn't follow me. I didn't tell you... because this happened so suddenly."

I stared at him, breathing unevenly. His honesty stung even more.

"It's a business trip," he continued softly. "And I'm going for one month."

"One... month?" My voice cracked, horrified. My heart squeezed painfully, and more tears blurred my sight.

He nodded, his forehead lowering to touch mine. His breath mingled with mine, warm and steady, anchoring me when everything inside me felt like it was collapsing.

"But how?" I whispered, broken. "How will I live without you for one month, Zaigham?"

His arms tightened around me, almost desperate now. "I know... it's cruel for me too, Zoya. Do you think I can even imagine a moment without you? I can't. But it's important. It's a deal... for the company, for our future. I have to go."

I closed my eyes, breathing him in, hugging him tighter as if I could stop time. My face buried in his neck, I whispered into his skin, "Can't I go with you?"

He pulled back, his thumb caressing my cheek tenderly, his eyes soft in a way he rarely let anyone see.

"I could have taken you with me. Allah knows I want you there.

.. every moment. But I'll be buried in work most of the time.

I wouldn't be able to give you even a second, and that. .. would be even more unfair to you."

I pouted through my tears, lips trembling. "I don't care. I just... I just want to be where you are."

A small smile tugged at his lips, though his eyes still burned with restraint.

He leaned in, brushing his nose lightly against mine.

"And you think you being away from me won't kill me too?

" he whispered. "Every morning without you, every night without you will feel like a punishment.

But if I take you there only to neglect you, that would be worse than distance. "

I whimpered softly, hiding my face against his chest again. His hand stroked my hair, his other arm wrapped tight around my waist as though he was memorizing me for the time he'd be gone.

"Zoya," he whispered against my temple, "do you even realize what you've become to me? You're not just my wife. You're the only home I know."

I lifted my head at that, staring at him with wide, teary eyes. His gaze didn't waver. My heart gave in completely.

"Then don't leave me," I breathed. "Please."

He kissed the corner of my lips softly, tenderly, and then held me so close I could feel every beat of his racing heart. "If there was even the smallest way out of this, I'd take it, Zoya. But some wars... I have to fight."

I closed my eyes, letting more tears fall, clinging to him as though my grip could chain him to me.

Her tears soaked through my shirt, and every drop was a wound on my chest. I wanted to tell her to stop, that it hurt me more than it hurt her, but how could I silence the very pain I had caused?

I tilted her chin up with gentle fingers, forcing her to meet my eyes. Her lashes were wet, her lips trembling.

"Zoya," I whispered, my thumb brushing her bottom lip, "I need you to be strong for me. Just for one month. Can you do that?"

Her brows furrowed, a silent protest forming in her eyes. I leaned closer, my forehead pressing against hers. "Because if you cry like this every night I'm away, I won't survive there. I'll throw everything away and come back to you."

She looked at me with those pleading eyes, and I swore I felt my resolve crack. "You'll forget me there," she said in a trembling whisper.

That broke me. My hand cupped her jaw, firm but tender, forcing her to see the fire in my eyes.

"Forget you?" I murmured, my voice rough. "You're in every breath I take, Zoya. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't forget you for a second. Do you understand?"

Her breath hitched, her cheeks flushed despite her tears. For a heartbeat, silence stretched between us, filled only with the sound of our breathing.

And then she did something she did last night that turned my world upside down, she leaned in, closing the gap, her lips brushing mine with a hesitant, trembling boldness.

My hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss that tasted of salt and desperation.

Her fingers fisted my shirt, clinging to me as though her life depended on it.

Our lips moved together, slow at first, then urgent, like we were trying to drink in all the feelings, all the longing we'd be deprived of for the next thirty days.

When I finally pulled back, she was breathless, her cheeks flushed pink. I kissed her forehead again, lingering there, letting my lips whisper against her skin.

"One month," I murmured, "and then I'll come back straight to you. That's my promise."

She nodded, but her eyes were still glassy. "And if I can't survive without you?" she asked in a broken voice.

I smiled faintly, my thumb wiping away the fresh tears. "Then survive for me. Because I'll be counting on you every day."

Her arms wrapped around me again, tighter than before, her face buried in my neck. And I held her back, silently memorizing the warmth of her body, the rhythm of her breath, the feel of her heartbeat against mine, everything I'd have to carry with me across oceans.

To be Continued....

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