Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐒𝐢𝐱

The sound of the shower running in the bathroom echoed faintly in the room, but it did nothing to drown out the storm in my chest.

I sat on the edge of the bed with his suitcase open in front of me, clothes spread around me like an accusation.

My hands moved automatically, folding his crisp shirts, aligning his ties, slipping his cufflinks into their case, but my heart... my heart was shattering with every neatly pressed shirt I placed inside.

I touched the sleeve of his black shirt, the one he wore just last week. My fingers lingered there, clutching the fabric to my chest as if it could hold me together. A lump rose in my throat.

How does a person pack away a part of herself?

My vision blurred as I carefully smoothed the shirt across my lap. That's when the thought stabbed me the hardest: He used to go on business trips before too. Of course, before our nikkah. And back then? I didn't care. It didn't matter to me where he was, how many days he'd be gone.

But now?

Now, everything has changed. He's my husband. He has become so important to me over the months that I can't...can't...even imagine living a single minute without him. And here I was, packing his things, watching the clock steal him from me.

His flight was in just two hours.

Two hours.

I blinked furiously, but a hot tear slipped down anyway, staining the collar before I quickly wiped it away. "Perfect, Zoya," I whispered bitterly to myself. "Now you're sending him with a piece of your tears too."

The bathroom door creaked, and the steam rolled out into the room. My hands froze.

He stepped out, towel draped around his shoulders, hair wet and messy in a way that made him look devastatingly gorgeous. And there I was, sitting on the floor by his suitcase, drowning in a sea of his shirts.

His gaze softened instantly when it landed on me. "You're packing for me?" His voice was low, almost disbelieving.

I swallowed hard, trying to compose myself, forcing a small nod. "Someone has to."

He walked closer, droplets of water still sliding down his neck, and crouched in front of me. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from my damp cheek. His eyes caught it, the tear I hadn't been quick enough to wipe.

"Zoya," he murmured, voice rough, "were you crying?"

I looked away, my fingers tightening around the shirt in my lap. "Why would I cry? You're just going for one month, right? Only thirty days." My laugh came out broken. "That's nothing."

He sighed, and I felt his hand cover mine, warm and grounding. "Then why do you sound like you're counting every second already?"

I bit my lip, hard. My chest ached with the truth. Because I am.

The car was waiting at the gate, headlights casting long shadows across the driveway. The driver had already loaded the last suitcase. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves.

His parents and Zoya was there.

"Take care of yourself, beta," Aahan said pressing his shoulder firmly.

Nazneen smiled warmly. "Don't drown yourself in work. Rest whenever you can."

After a few moments, they stepped inside, quietly giving them space.

Zoya's heart squeezed painfully as her eyes lifted to his. She had promised herself she wouldn't fall apart, but now that the moment was here, her strength cracked.

Without hesitation, she moved closer and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He hugged her back immediately, his embrace firm and grounding, his chin brushing the top of her head.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice low, almost a whisper against her hair.

"Take care of yourself while I'm gone. Eat on time. Don't stay up too late. No skipping meals, promise me."

Her lips curved into a trembling smile, even as her chest ached. She tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "You take care too. And don't bury yourself in work so much that you forget to eat. I won't be there to scold you this time."

His lips quirked into that devastating smile, the one that always left her breathless. "That's exactly the problem, Mrs. Khan. Without you there, I'll probably fail miserably."

Her stomach fluttered. She rose slightly on her toes and brushed a soft kiss against his cheek.

"Fee Aman Allah (In the protecion of Allah)," she whispered, her voice breaking just a little.

For a heartbeat, he only looked at her, grey eyes lingering as if he was trying to memorize every detail of her face. Then, with one last faint smile, he let go and stepped into the car.

Zoya stood at the gate, arms hugging herself, watching as the car rolled down the driveway. Through the window, his silhouette remained visible until the distance swallowed it, leaving her with an emptiness so sharp it made her chest tighten.

The house suddenly felt too big, too quiet.

The car had disappeared from the sight, but I was still standing at the gate, staring into the empty stretch of road like a fool.

Dragging my feet back inside, I tried to act normal in front of everyone. Smiles, small nods, after a soft goodnight I closed the door to our room behind me, everything I had been holding in came crashing down.

The room looked exactly the same, his shirt draped neatly over the chair, his books stacked on the nightstand, his faint cologne still lingering in the air. And yet, it already felt different.

Empty.

I sat on the bed with a thud, pressing my palms against my eyes. Just hours ago, I was packing his things with trembling hands. Now, the bed looked too big without him.

I laid back on his side of the bed, curling against his pillow as though it could replace him. The faint scent of him made my heart ache even more. My throat tightened, and I whispered into the darkness, as if he could somehow hear me:

"Zaigham, how am I supposed to do this without you?"

Silence answered me.

I pulled the blanket around me, hugging his pillow tighter. For the first time in so long, sleep didn't come easily. My body ached with restlessness, my mind replaying his words, his smile, his touch.

The house outside was quiet, too quiet without the weight of his presence.

And just like that, the first night without him began...

I woke up to the soft golden light slipping through the curtains, the quiet of the house pressing around me.

For a moment, I instinctively reached for Zaigham, only to feel the emptiness of the bed beside me. My chest tightened. Turkey was seven hours ahead, and he had already started his day there while I was just waking up.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet brushing against the floor, and tried to shake off the ache of missing him.

The first thing I did was reach for my phone. I needed to hear from him, even if it was just a small message, a sign that he was safe. My thumb hovered over the screen before I unlocked it, heart hammering.

There it was: a message from him, sent early in the morning, Turkey time.

Text: "I've reached safely. Everything is fine here. Missing you already.??"

I let out a soft breath, a mixture of relief and longing, and pressed the phone to my chest. Even a few words from him could make me feel closer, yet the ache of his absence remained.

I slid into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, trying to feel awake, but my mind kept drifting to him, the gray depth of his eyes, the way he smiled at me when he was teasing me gently.

While brushing my teeth, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair fell messily over my shoulders, my eyes still puffy from last night's sleep. I whispered softly, almost to myself,

"I miss you so much, Zaigham." My words felt tiny, inadequate for the flood of emotions inside me.

After freshening up, I took a deep breath, my thumb hovering over the keyboard before I typed.

Text:"That's good Alhamdulillah. Missing you too, more than I thought I would."

After freshening up, I went downstairs. The garden was already alive with laughter, Laiba, Rumman api, Ayat, Aaliya, and Inaya were sprawled across the bench and the lawn, talking, teasing, and clearly plotting some kind of fun.

"Finally, Zoya! You decided to grace us with your presence," Aaliya called out, smirking.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop the smile creeping onto my face. "Yes, yes. Don't act like you didn't miss me," I teased back.

Rumman api tilted her head, playful as ever. "No it's you. You've been counting the minutes until you could come out here."

"Someone was too busy sulking on someone's leaving." Laiba teased.

Ayat giggled, nudging me. "We can see that blush, Zoya. Don't try to hide it."

I groaned, letting my smile widen anyway. "Fine, maybe I did. But it's not like I'm sulking over someone being miles away," I said, though my thoughts betrayed me.

Aaliya leaned back dramatically, pointing at Rumman. "Heard that, Rumman api? Zoya's thinking of her Mr. Husband, not us."

"Not just thinking," I muttered, shaking my head, "but missing him. A little."

Inaya snorted. "A little? That's the understatement of the year!"

I laughed. The girls pulled me into their circle, gossiping, joking, teasing each other over the silliest things.

Aaliya was busy narrating some over-the-top story about Laiba's last online shopping spree while Ayat dramatically gasped at every detail.

I laughed so hard I had tears forming at the edges of my eyes.

But even amid all this, my mind kept drifting. He had become such an integral part of my life, and it was hard to imagine the world without him. I realized how much my heart had shifted, how quickly the days of casual office camaraderie had transformed into something deeper.

Something I didn't want to ignore anymore.

Rumman api leaned over, nudging me. "Earth to Zoya. You're quiet again. Thinking about your long-distance husband?"

I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop the small blush creeping up. "Maybe... just a little," I admitted.

"But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy your chaos right now."

Laiba grinned, stretching her arms behind her head. "See? Even absent husbands can't stop you from having fun."

We all laughed again, the garden echoing with our voices.

It's been three days, and I can't seem to settle.

Turkey is beautiful, the city alive, the business meetings meticulously scheduled, yet.

.. none of it matters. None of it even comes close to the quiet chaos of my home, the warmth of our house, the laughter that seems to echo in my head. ...Zoya's laughter.

I miss her. I miss her more than I thought I could.

Three days. That's all, and yet it feels like a lifetime.

I wake up and immediately reach for her, only to remember the cold emptiness of this unfamiliar room.

The pillow beside me is untouched, her scent absent, and I feel a strange hollow ache in my chest.

I've grown so used to her presence, the way she tangles words in her playful teasing, the way her eyes light up when she's laughing with the girls. I've grown addicted to it, to her.

I catch myself thinking about the little things, the smallest details that used to annoy me and now feel like lifelines.

The way she fumbles with her hijab, her little quirks when she's concentrating, her soft sighs when she laughs too hard. The way she leans back, tossing her hair, eyes sparkling, completely lost in the moment. That... is what I crave.

I keep replaying the last moments before I left.

I've never realized before how much of myself she's claimed. It's not just her presence, it's the chaos, the laughter, the warmth, the softness she brings to my rigid, ordered world.

And now that I'm here, surrounded by order, by rules, by seriousness, her absence hits me like a sharp edge.

I can't wait to get back. I need to see her. I need to hear her scolding someone, laughing too loud, teasing relentlessly.

This silence is unbearable. I've grown addicted to her chaos, her noise, her presence, her everything. And being away... being away from her is a punishment I hadn't prepared myself for.

I run a hand over my face and whisper to the empty room, almost as if she could hear me: "Zoya... I need you."

And I know, when I return, nothing else will matter. The meetings, the city, the work, I'll only care about seeing her, holding her, breathing her in. Three days is already too long. Ya Allah, I've grown so used to her... I can't wait to have her back.

I closed the door behind me with a soft click and let out a quiet sigh, leaning against it for a moment. The house was calm, the faint hum of the fan the only sound. My chest felt tight, missing him, that little ache from not seeing him for days now.

I flopped onto the bed, grabbed my phone, and couldn't resist anymore. My fingers hovered over his contact, heart thumping. It's just a call... I whispered to myself. Just hear his voice.

With a deep breath, I tapped the video call icon.

"Hello..." His voice greeted me almost immediately, a little groggy, hair slightly messy, glasses perched on his nose. My heart did a little leap. "Good morning," I said softly, trying to hide the blush creeping over my cheeks.

"Good morning, Zoya," he replied, his grey eyes crinkling ever so slightly as he smiled. "You're calling me early."

"Early?" I asked, my brows rising. "It's... 11:30 here."

He glanced at the time on his laptop and then chuckled. "Ah... 6:30 my time. Just getting some work done."

I smiled faintly, running a hand through my hair. "I thought... I just wanted to see you. Hear your voice."

His expression softened, eyes lingering on me. "I missed you, Zoya. These three days... it's killing me."

I bit my lip, looking down for a moment. Me too... I thought, then let it slip. "I... I've been thinking about you all day. Even while sitting with the girls, laughing, joking... it's not the same without you."

He leaned a little closer to the camera, resting his chin in his hand. "Even amidst chaos, you think of me?"

I nodded, feeling a warmth in my chest. "Of course. You're... you're everywhere in my mind now. I can't just stop."

He smiled, and there it was, that soft, tender smile that used to make me weak in the knees.

"You're really something, Zoya. I didn't know I could miss someone this much."

My heart fluttered. "I'm trying to be strong, Zaigham... but it's hard. I keep imagining you here, scolding me."

He raised an eyebrow, that hint of mischief in his gaze even across the screen. "Scolding you? Or just... reminding you that you're mine?"

I laughed softly, my eyes sparkling. "Maybe a little of both."

We fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, just staring at each other across the screen. His gaze felt like it could reach through the phone, and my stomach fluttered at the intensity of it.

"I can't wait to be back," he murmured. "To see your face, to feel you... to hear you laugh without the screen between us."

I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring his words. "Me too... every second here without you is so... quiet."

He chuckled softly.

He leaned closer again, eyes narrowing playfully. "Ah... so you admit you like it."

I rolled my eyes, smiling. "Don't twist my words."

I leaned back on the bed, hands clasped over my chest, imagining him here. "I hope you're taking care of yourself. Don't skip meals, Mr. Khan."

His expression softened further. "I'm... trying. But my mind keeps drifting to you."

I smiled, warmth flooding me. "Same here."

We lingered like that, sharing small stories about our day, teasing each other gently, making each other laugh even through the screen. The hours slipped by, and though physically apart, the connection felt so alive.

Finally, he glanced at the clock. "I should get ready for a meeting soon. But... promise me you'll eat something?"

"I promise," I said softly. "And you... promise me you'll take care of yourself?"

"Always," he said, his eyes locking onto mine.

He gave me one last smile, that soft, slow smile that made me ache to see him in person. "I'll call again tonight, Zoya. Until then... stay happy, alright?"

"I will," I whispered.

The call ended, and I stared at the black screen for a long moment, heart fluttering uncontrollably. I couldn't help but smile, cheeks warm, stomach fluttering, feeling that familiar pull toward him, wishing the seven-hour gap between us didn't exist.

I leaned back on the bed, closing my eyes, letting a contented sigh escape. I miss him so much... but hearing his voice like this... it's enough for now. Somehow... it makes the silence bearable.

It's been one week since he left.

The house felt louder today with everyone moving around.

I slipped into the library after lunch, pretending to be searching for a book, but really... it was the only place where no one would notice how restless I was. My fingers trailed lazily over the spines until I stopped at one—his.

The one he always read late at night when I'd be secretly stealing glances at him from my side of the bed. I pulled it out, holding it close, and a small smile curved my lips despite the heaviness in my chest.

I sat on the couch and opened the book, only to find a note scribbled in his neat handwriting on the inside page. His notes. His thoughts. His underlines. It was ridiculous how something so small could make my heart squeeze so painfully.

I remembered the way he used to sit here, head bent, sleeves rolled, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Completely unaware of how he looked, how distracting he was. And then how he would notice me watching. That sharp lift of his brow, that quiet but unmistakable dominance in his eyes.

"Zoya... concentrate on your work." His voice echoed in my head, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

I shut the book quickly, hugging it to my chest.

"I'm concentrating, Mr. Khan," I whispered into the empty library, a sad chuckle escaping me.

But the truth was, I wasn't. I couldn't. Everywhere I looked, there he was. In the corner chair he once sat in, in the half-drunk cup of coffee, even in the silence itself that suddenly felt heavier without him.

I closed my eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, letting the ache rise and wash over me like a tide. Then I shook my head, forcing a smile onto my lips, because the last thing Zaigham would want is to know I was falling apart in his absence.

Still... some part of me whispered rebelliously: But what about me?

I was on my way back from the library when I almost collided withMahveen in the hallway.

Her smirk was enough to make my steps falter. There was something unsettling in the way her eyes lingered on me, like she had been waiting.

"Careful, Zoya," she drawled, tilting her head.

"Wouldn't want you to fall... after all, you're carrying a lot these days. Responsibilities. A husband who doesn't belong to you."

My brows knitted. "Excuse me?"

A slow, poisonous smile tugged at her lips.

"Enjoying your little married life, Zoya?" she asked, her tone dripping with mockery.

I stiffened but kept my chin high. "Yes. And I don't see how that concerns you."

Her laugh was soft, bitter. She leaned closer, her words a whisper meant to sting.

"Oh, it concerns me more than you think. Because Zaigham was mine before he was ever yours. And I'll make sure he is mine again. Wait and watch, I'll snatch him from you, right in front of your eyes."

My stomach twisted, fury rising with every word. I met her gaze, steady. "Zaigham is my husband. And no matter what game you think you're playing, you'll lose."

Her smirk didn't falter. Instead, her eyes flickered down, scanning me with cruel boldness.

"You? Do you even know what a man like Zaigham deserves? What he needs? You can't give him that. Not his passion, not his desires. You're nothing but a fragile little girl pretending to be a wife."

The air around me froze. Her words cut deeper than any blade, shameless, vile, stripping away every ounce of dignity.

I had always known Mahveen's obsession ran deep, but to speak like this, to confront me with such filth, I never imagined she could stoop this low.

My hands trembled at my sides, heat crawling up my neck. She was still speaking, her voice low and venomous.

"He'll get bored of you, Zoya. And when he does, he'll come to me. Because I can give him what you never will."

Something in me snapped.

Before I even realized it, my palm struck across her face, the sound sharp, final, echoing through the hallway.

She stumbled, clutching her cheek, eyes wide in shock.

I leaned in, my voice steady though my chest heaved with rage.

"Don't you dare say his name like that in front of me again. Zaigham is mine, not yours, not anyone else's. He is my husband, my strength, and my life. You think you can poison me with your filth? Try. Try all you want. But remember this, Mahveen....when you stand against me, you've already lost."

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

I took a step closer, lowering my voice.

"Shamelessness might be your armor, but dignity is mine. And I'll protect what's mine with everything I have. Stay away from me, and stay the hell away from my husband."

The silence that followed was deafening. She blinked, stunned, her cheek still burning from my slap, her pride collapsing under the weight of my words.

The moment I shut the door of our room. I pressed my back against it, chest heaving.

Outwardly, I had been fire, sharp, unshaken. But inside? Inside I was trembling.

Never... never in my life had I imagined hearing such filthy, shameless words spoken about Zaigham. About us.

Yes, I always sensed her unhealthy obsession, the way her eyes lingered longer than they should, the way her presence unsettled me. But hearing it openly, seeing that vile hunger flash in her eyes, it was something else entirely.

My throat tightened, and before I could stop it, a tear slipped free, hot against my cheek.

What if she tried harder? What if she didn't stop?

What if... one day, her poison reached him? The mere thought of anyone even attempting to pull him away from me made my chest ache like fire.

He is not just my husband. He is my safe place, my strength, the one person who steadies me when the world spins too fast. He is my anchor. The thought of losing him, even in some ugly fantasy she conjured in her head, was unbearable.

I pressed a hand against my heart, whispering to myself as if to stitch my soul back together,

"He's mine. Only mine. And no matter how loud her poison gets, my love will always be louder."

My mind flooded with memories—tiny details that suddenly felt like shields around me.

I bit down on my lip, anger and love colliding in my veins. She could spit out all the shameless venom she wanted, obsession was her curse, but love is my truth.

And if ever she dared to cross this line again, I would remind her as many times as it took, dignity may be silent, but it never loses to filth.

To be Continued....

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