Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

I stepped into my room, shutting the door softly behind me. My cheeks still ached from all the smiling downstairs, the laughter, everything.

With a sigh, I reached up and started unpinning my hijab, sliding the soft fabric off my head. My hair tumbled loose around my shoulders and back, and I placed the pins carefully on the dresser. I was just about to fold the hijab when I heard quiet click of the door opening.

My heart thudded so loudly it was as if the entire house could hear it. Slowly,

I turned my head... and saw him.

Standing there, in the dim golden glow of the lamp, wearing a black shirt that clung to him perfectly.

The top buttons were open, just enough to reveal a hint of his collarbone, and the sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. His hair was slightly tousled, his jaw sharp and beard neatly trimmed, and those stormy grey eyes were locked straight on me.

For a second, I actually forgot to breathe.

Ya Allah... how can someone look this devastatingly handsome?

Before I could even move, he shut the door behind him and in two minutes, he was there. His arms slipped around me from behind, pulling me against his chest. I gasped softly.

His breath brushed against my hair as he inhaled deeply, like he was breathing me in after starving for weeks. My hijab slid from my hands as he gently, deliberately removed it completely, letting my hair fall free. Then he turned me around, and the intensity in his eyes nearly set my skin on fire.

I couldn't help it, I threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly, almost desperately.

"I missed you so much," I murmured against his chest, my voice breaking just a little.

I felt his chest rumble with a quiet laugh as he held me tighter.

I closed my eyes, soaking in the feeling of his embrace.

When I finally pulled back, my eyes searched his face, needing answers. "But... how? I mean, you didn't even hint... about coming back."

A smirk curved on his lips, subtle. "My work wrapped up earlier than expected. I could've flown sooner, but..." His thumb brushed along my cheekbone, slow, deliberate. "I wanted this. To surprise you. To see your face tonight."

My lips parted, but no words came out. All I could do was stare at him, my chest aching with emotions I didn't know how to name.

He leaned closer. "And I planned it all with Laiba and Nouran."

I laughed breathlessly.

His hand lingered on my cheek, rough and warm, as if he was memorizing the shape of me.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. For three weeks, I had thought about this moment.

For three weeks, I had stared at my phone at night, whispered into the silence, wishing he was there.

And now... here he was, so close that every heartbeat felt like it was echoing against his chest instead of mine.

"You have no idea," I whispered, my voice trembling, "how empty everything felt without you."

His thumb stilled on my cheek. His eyes, soft but burning, searched mine as though he wanted to read every thought I had hidden. "Zoya," he murmured. "I felt the same. Every silence used to eat me without your laughter in it."

I blinked, startled at the raw honesty in his tone.

Tears stung my eyes, but they weren't born of sadness, they were too full, too overwhelming, too much. I couldn't speak. So instead, I buried my face into his chest, trying to steady my racing heart.

"I never thought you'd... say things like this to me," I managed to whisper.

He chuckled softly.

"Neither did I." He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes again. "But then again, I never thought I'd find someone who could make me want to say them."

Heat rushed to my cheeks, my pulse thrumming in my throat. His gaze was too intense, too consuming, like I was the only person in the world he could see.

"Zaigham..." I breathed his name, and even that sounded like a plea.

"Hmm?" His thumb brushed across my lower lip slowly, deliberately, his expression unreadable but his eyes betraying too much.

"You scare me sometimes," I admitted.

His brows lifted faintly. "Why?"

"Because you look at me... like I matter more than anything else. And I don't know what to do with that."

He smiled. "Then don't do anything with it," he said simply. "Just accept it. Because you do."

My heart gave a painful, beautiful twist.

Silence settled between us, but it wasn't empty. I couldn't stop staring at him, the strong lines of his face, the black shirt that made him look devastating, his maddening grey eyes.

Almost without thinking, I whispered, "You're so unfair."

He arched a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Unfair?"

"Yes." My lips curved helplessly. "You disappear for weeks, come back like this..." I gestured vaguely at him, my cheeks heating, "...and then you say things that leave me with no defenses at all."

A smirk tugged at his lips, but his gaze softened even more. "Good. Because I don't want you to have defenses with me."

I swallowed hard, every nerve in me alive under his gaze.

His eyes lingered on mine, and in that silent, charged heartbeat, the air between us snapped.

Before I could even exhale, his lips brushed against mine, tentative at first, almost testing.

But then I pressed closer, desperate, answering a hunger I didn't even realize had been burning so fiercely.

The kiss deepened, slow but consuming, every second stretching endlessly. His hand slid into my hair, anchoring me as if he couldn't risk letting me pull away. My fingers clutched at his shoulders, trembling, as though I could fuse myself to him if I only held tighter.

It wasn't rushed. It was a slow unraveling.

Every tilt of his mouth against mine was deliberate, savoring, tasting.

Every breath stolen between us made my chest ache with the terrifying, beautiful truth of how much I had missed him.

By the time we finally pulled back, both of us were breathing heavily, our foreheads pressed together, lips still brushing faintly as though neither of us could fully stop.

And then—

A small smile curved at his lips, boyish and charming. His thumb brushed my bottom lip, eyes glinting with a heat that made me shiver.

"Strawberry?" he asked softly, a teasing lilt in his tone, as he tilted his head slightly, gesturing toward my lips.

My cheeks burned crimson. I bit my lip, unable to hide the shy smile that spread across my face, and nodded.

His gaze was still fixed on me, the corner of his lips tugged into that maddening smirk.

"Strawberry, hmm?" he murmured again, his voice low and teasing. "I should've guessed, always leaving your little secrets for me to discover."

I hid my face against his chest, but his chuckle rumbled through me. He tilted my chin up, forcing my eyes back to his.

"Don't hide now, Mrs. Khan," he said smoothly. "You kissed me like you wanted the whole world to disappear... and now you're shy?"

Heat rushed through my veins. I could barely breathe under his gaze.

"You're impossible," I mumbled, pushing at his chest lightly.

He caught my hand mid-push, lifting it to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across my knuckles. "Impossible, but yours."

My heart thudded so loud I was sure he heard it.

"Zaigham..." I whispered, flustered, pulling my hand back quickly, "let's... let's get freshened up now."

His smirk only widened as he leaned back against the counter, watching me scramble away, his eyes devouring every flustered movement I made.

By the time I stepped out of the washroom, towel-drying my damp hair, he was already sitting against the headboard in a simple black shirt and grey sweatpants, relaxed.

His phone lay untouched beside him instead, his grey eyes were fixed entirely on me, tracing every movement as if he hadn't seen me in years.

I froze under that gaze, my fingers fumbling with the towel.

Then, lazily, he stretched one arm out, his voice deep and calm but leaving no room for hesitation.

"Come here."

My heart skipped. My lips curved into a soft smile despite the warmth rushing to my cheeks. Slowly, almost shyly, I crossed the room and slipped into his embrace. The moment his arm tightened around me, pulling me firmly against his chest, I felt the rest of the world dissolve.

He buried his face in my damp hair, inhaling deeply, his voice muffled against me.

"Finally... after three weeks of torture."

A small sigh escaped me as I pressed closer. "It wasn't easy for me either."

His hand began to trace soft circles along my arm, deliberate and soothing.

"You don't know how many nights I stayed awake," he murmured, his tone lower now, almost confessing. "I kept telling myself work would distract me. But every time I closed my eyes, all I could see... was this." His palm pressed against my waist, holding me tighter.

I tilted my head up, stunned by the honesty in his words. "I thought Zaigham Khan didn't believe in... missing people."

His lips curved faintly, the kind of smile he never let the world see. "You thought wrong, Mrs. Khan."

My heart ached sweetly at that. I bit back a smile and tucked myself against him, letting silence stretch between us, warm and unbroken.

After a while, he tilted his head down, his lips brushing my temple. "Tell me something... did you miss me every morning too? Or only at night?"

I gasped softly at the teasing in his tone. "Every morning. Every night. Every hour in between," I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest.

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. "Good. Then I wasn't suffering alone."

We drifted into conversation, our words softer than whispers.

He asked about the smallest things, what book I had been lost in, what silly arguments I had with Laiba, how many coffees I sneaked when no one noticed.

I teased him in return, about his endless black shirts, his obsessive schedule, his terrifying glares that scared everyone. .. everyone except me.

Each time I laughed, his lips brushed the top of my head, like he couldn't help himself. Each time he chuckled, the sound vibrated through his chest where my cheek rested, comforting and intoxicating.

Just before sleep claimed me completely, his lips brushed my hair and his voice, deep and tender, whispered.

"Sleep, Zoya.."

And wrapped in his arms I drifted to my dreamland.

The morning light spilled across the room, soft and golden, brushing against her features like it was created just to portray her.

Zoya stirred beside me, eyelashes fluttering before her deep brown eyes opened slowly.

She looked at me like she wasn't sure if I was real or just a dream she wasn't ready to wake from.

I smiled faintly, leaning against the headboard. "Good morning."

Her lips curved, soft and shy. "Good morning."

Ya Allah, she didn't know what that one smile does to me.

"You feel unreal sometimes," I murmured against her hair.

She tilted her face up, brows knitting. "Unreal?"

My thumb brushed her cheek, tracing her jaw slowly. "Yes. The kind of unreal that makes me lose the lines I thought I'd never cross."

Her cheeks burned instantly, her lashes lowering.

She finally slipped out of my arms with a soft laugh, brushing her hair back from her face. "Let's get ready before we're late."

Late for what, I hadn't even told her yet. But I let her think she had the upper hand as she disappeared into the bathroom.

I was fastening the cuffs of my shirt. Her eyes caught me instantly, and I didn't miss the way they lingered.

I raised a brow, amused. "You're staring."

She blinked quickly, heat rushing to her cheeks. "I was not."

I took a slow step toward her, deliberately letting the air between us thicken. "Then why do you look guilty, Mrs. Khan?"

She bit her lip, fumbling with her bangles. "You think too much."

"About you?" I tilted my head, closing the distance until I stood just inches away. "Always."

She looked at me a little stunned. Her eyes darting to the open wardrobe behind me as if she could escape. I didn't give her the chance. My hand slid firmly around her waist, pulling her forward until she was trapped against me.

She gasped softly, her palms pressing against my chest as if to steady herself.

"Not nervous, are you?" I teased, brushing a strand of damp hair off her cheek.

Her eyes lifted, meeting mine with the faintest spark of challenge. "Maybe I am. You're standing too close."

I leaned in, my voice lowering. "Zoya, if you think this is close... you haven't seen me yet."

Her blush bloomed instantly, her lips parting in shock before she shoved lightly at my chest. "Zaigham..."

I smirked, refusing to let go. "What? I like seeing you like this. Flustered. Breathless. It suits you."

We were staring at each other until I broke the trance.

"Get ready," I said finally, my tone deliberate.

She turned, puzzled. "For what?"

"We're going out."

Her brows shot up, stunned. "Out? At nine in the morning?"

"Not at nine, Zoya..." my voice dropped low, grazing dangerously close to her lips, "...the whole day."

She tried to mask her nerves with a playful smirk, brushing imaginary creases from my shirt as though that could disguise how flustered she was. "So... Mr. Khan is taking me on a date, hmm?"

I let a chuckle, my eyes holding hers captive. "One way to put it. But a date..." my hand squeezed her waist gently, "...is for someone you're trying to impress. And you're already impressed by me, Mrs. Khan."

She gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her chest. "So Mr. Khan knows how to flirt as well?"

That earned a laugh from me. I bent closer, deliberately slow, brushing a strand of her hair back, my fingertips lingering against her skin. "Hmm... I know many more things too, Mrs. Zoya Zaigham Khan. Want me to show you?"

Her cheeks flamed crimson, her eyes darting away as she shoved at my chest lightly, breathless.

"Zaigham..."

I leaned in closer. "What?"

"Stop..." she whispered, though her lips betrayed her with a shy, irrepressible smile.

"Stop?" I repeated, pretending to consider it. My eyes dragged from her flushed face down to her lips, lingering before returning to her gaze. "I didn't even start yet."

Her blush deepened beautifully, and she turned quickly, fumbling for her pins again, muttering something under her breath. "Let me finish tying my hijab before you distract me again."

I leaned back against the wardrobe, folding my arms, watching her every move like she was the only thing worth seeing. My voice came low, teasing, rich with satisfaction. "You make it sound like I even have to try to distract you."

Her eyes widened, her lashes fluttering as she whispered back, almost in disbelief, "You're serious?"

I pulled back just enough to watch her expression, my smirk softening into something heavier.

"Deadly serious. You think I would joke with my wife about taking her out?"

That earned me a surprised laugh, the sound like music filling the space between us. She shook her head, eyes shining. "You're impossible."

I leaned closer again, murmuring against her temple, "No... I'm inevitable."

We came downstairs together, his presence heavy at my side, his hand laced in mine just enough to make me aware of him. Deeda was already seated at the head of the table, her calm smile welcoming.

"Good morning, bache," she said warmly, motioning us toward the chairs. "Come, have breakfast."

I was about to sit, when his voice came, deep, polite, and steady.

"No, Deeda," Zaigham said calmly, "we'll be out."

Deeda and dada Jan exchanged a look, then nodded in understanding, their acceptance as natural as breathing. It always struck me how easily people listened when Zaigham spoke though in a respectful way not rudely. His word carried finality, no explanation required.

I should have known peace never lasted.

Because suddenly, Mahveen pushed back her chair with far too much eagerness. "Oh, Zaigham," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "if you don't mind... could you drop me at the university?"

Zaigham stiffened beside me, but my blood... oh, it boiled. Everyone turned to look at her, stunned by her boldness. I didn't dare glance up, I could already feel the heat rising up my neck, my fingers curling into fists on my sides.

Zaigham's eyes shifted toward me. I knew it without looking, I could feel that weight. But I kept my gaze locked anywhere but at him, as if the pattern on the table was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

Then his voice came, measured. "Uh... sure."

My head snapped toward him so fast I thought it might break. My eyes widened in disbelief,Sure? My husband just agreed to that?

Mahveen's lips curved into a smile so fake it made my stomach turn. Everyone else went silent, their expressions ranging from shock to discomfort. But my face... my face was burning.

The ride was worse.

She sat in the back, leaning forward every now and then, trying to slip into his line of sight. "You look nice today, Zaigham," she said once, her tone just a shade too coy.

Zaigham, of course, gave no reaction beyond a polite hum. But my nails dug into my palm.

Then, as if she was testing me, she giggled at something he said about the traffic. "You always know the shortcuts," she commented, her eyes glittering. "So reliable."

Reliable? My jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack. Every word out of her mouth was another match thrown onto the fire already burning inside me.

And Zaigham, my infuriating husband, said nothing to shut her down. Nothing.

By the time we finally pulled up at her university gates, I was seconds away from bursting. She thanked him sweetly, fluttering lashes. When she finally stepped out, I glanced at the dashboard. It was already eleven.

So not only had my morning been ruined, but half my day too.

Zaigham's hand tapped lightly against the steering wheel as he turned the car back onto the road. His eyes flicked to me. "Zoya."

I ignored him, staring out the window, my arms crossed tightly across my chest.

"Zoya," he said again, firmer this time.

Nothing.

Finally, I heard his long exhale. "Alright then." He pulled the car smoothly into a quiet side street, parked, and turned fully toward me. His arm draped casually over the steering wheel, but his eyes were fixed on me, sharp and unwavering.

"What happened?"

I snapped my head toward him, incredulous. "What happened? You actually have to ask me that?"

He tilted his head slightly, studying me the way he always did, calm even in the middle of my storm.

"Yes. Because I'd rather hear it from your lips than assume."

My chest rose and fell quickly, words tumbling out before I could stop them. "You said yes to her. Right in front of everyone. And then you let her sit there, flirting, laughing like..." My voice broke into disbelief, "like it didn't bother you at all."

For the first time, a flicker of something stirred in his eyes. His lips pressed into a thin line.

I shook my head, looking away, muttering, "You don't even see it, do you?"

His hand moved, firm, finding mine where it had been clenched tight in my lap. "Zoya." His tone dropped low, steady. "I saw. Every word. Every glance. I noticed more than you think."

I looked at him my breath catching, my anger colliding with his calm.

"And if I didn't react," he continued, his thumb brushing over my knuckles deliberately, "it's because I don't waste energy on noise. You...my wife, are the only one who matters to me."

My heart thudded against my ribs, my lips parting as my anger began to crumble.

He leaned closer, his voice brushing against me like smoke. "So instead of burning yourself with jealousy, you should've just asked me."

I swallowed hard, my head spinning, my body still rigid. But his words... his words seeped in like fire through ice.

I hated how much he could disarm me with nothing but his calm.

But no, I wasn't letting him get away that easily.

I pulled my hand from his grip, crossing my arms. "Asked you? You think it's that simple? You think I'll just smile sweetly while someone else bats her lashes at my husband?"

His lips twitched in a smile but that infuriating calm stayed. "So you admit it then."

I blinked, heat flooding my face. "Admit what?"

"That you were jealous." His voice was low, deliberate. "Burning. Raging. Because she dared to look at me the way only you're allowed to."

My mouth opened, then closed again. I wanted to deny it, but my cheeks betrayed me, hot and crimson. He saw it, of course he did. His gaze lingered, dark and satisfied, as if my silence was confession enough.

"You're impossible," I muttered, looking away.

"And you," he countered smoothly, "are adorable when you're furious."

That did it. My head snapped back toward him, my glare sharp, but he only leaned back against the seat, utterly composed, as if enjoying every second of my turmoil.

I wanted to stay mad, truly, but the way his eyes softened, just for me...it chipped away at my resolve. And then, as if to tilt me further off balance, he reached forward, brushing his knuckles down my cheek.

"Don't ever doubt what's yours, Zoya," he said quietly. "I don't hand out pieces of myself. You have it all."

I melted inside, though I tried desperately not to show it. My chest tightened, my anger now nothing but a pile of warm ashes.

Before I could respond, he straightened, turning the engine back on. "Come on," he said simply.

"Where are we going?" I asked, suspicion laced in my voice.

His lips curved faintly. "You'll see."

The car ride stretched into comfortable silence.

Finally, he pulled into a small side street lined with trees, stopping in front of a secluded café tucked away behind ivy-covered walls. The sign was understated, elegant, nothing like the flashy places people bragged about. It was private, intimate... exactly his style.

We stepped inside, and the scent of fresh bread and coffee wrapped around me instantly. Soft jazz played in the background, and the seating was cozy, candlelit even though it was still morning.

He gestured toward a corner table, away from everyone else, of course. I slid into the seat, still a little dazed, while he settled across from me.

A waiter arrived, but Zaigham barely glanced at the menu. "The breakfast set for two," he ordered calmly, like he already knew what I wanted.

When the waiter left, his eyes fixed back on me. "Better?"

I tried holding on to the grumpiness, but my lips betrayed me, curving into the smallest smile.

"Maybe."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes never leaving mine. "You know, the way you whipped your head toward me this morning... I thought for a second you were going to strangle me right there."

My face heated instantly. "I was considering it."

His laugh was low, rough, and it hit me right in the chest. "Good. Keep that fire. I like it on you."

I ducked my head, fiddling with the napkin, my stomach fluttering as warmth replaced every trace of my earlier fury.

The two-hour drive stretched in silence, but it wasn't heavy anymore.

It was thick with a strange anticipation, the kind that kept my heart racing in uneven beats.

The city slipped away, replaced by winding roads, endless greenery, and then, suddenly, the horizon split open to the vastness of the sea.

By the time we stopped, the sun had dipped low, painting the sky in molten oranges and pinks. I stepped out, and my breath caught in my throat.

Before me stretched a private resort villa, secluded yet breathtaking. Whitewashed walls draped in bougainvillea, tall palm trees swaying lazily, and beyond it, just steps away, the ocean whispered against the shore. The salty air kissed my skin as the evening breeze wrapped around me.

My chest swelled. "Zaigham..." I whispered, unable to take my eyes off the view. "Why are we here?"

I felt him before I saw him, his warmth pressed against my back, his arms circling around my waist. His chin brushed against the side of my head, his breath grazing my ear.

"Consider it," he murmured, low and steady, "a mini honeymoon."

I gasped, twisting in his arms to face him, searching his eyes. "Mini honeymoon?"

His gaze held mine, unwavering, softened on me.

He nodded. "Yes. I want to spend time with my wife.

...the three weeks I stole from her... the ones that left her aching for me.

" His thumb grazed my cheekbone, his voice dropping, raw and honest. "I want to give them back.

To fulfill everything in these seven days. "

My heart stuttered violently. The world seemed to still, only his words echoing in the twilight.

"Seven days?" I whispered, as though saying it too loudly would shatter the spell.

"Yes," he said, firm but gentle, eyes never leaving mine. "I reserved this villa just for us. Seven days. No office. No distractions. No one but me and my wife."

Something tightened in my chest, so full it almost hurt. My voice trembled. "But... you didn't tell me properly. I didn't bring anything with me, no clothes, no—"

"Shhh." He silenced me with a soft chuckle, pressing a finger lightly against my lips. "Zoya, you speak too much sometimes." His eyes glimmered with amusement, but his voice was warm, sure. "Don't take your husband so lightly. I've arranged everything for us."

The air punched out of my lungs. For a second, all I could do was stare at him, at the man who looked at me with such unshakable certainty, such unwavering devotion. My lips trembled into a smile, the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes surprising even me.

I turned into him suddenly, wrapping my arms tightly around his torso, pressing my face against his chest. "Thank you," I whispered into his shirt, my voice breaking with the weight of it. "Thank you, Zaigham."

His arms closed around me, strong and protective, one hand splayed across my back as if holding me together. His chin dropped to rest against the crown of my head, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.

"You don't thank me," he said quietly, his voice vibrating through me. "You're mine. This is what you deserve. Nothing less."

I closed my eyes, sinking into him completely as the waves crashed in the distance and the last light of evening bled into night.

Inside the villa, everything was set perfectly, soft lights, sheer curtains swaying with the sea breeze, fresh flowers on the tables, a faint trace of sandalwood in the air. It felt like a dream stitched out of care and thought.

The villa was quiet. Just the soft hum of the waves outside and the golden wash of evening slipping through the wide glass doors.

But she was standing in the middle of it and suddenly the entire place felt alive.

Her eyes were everywhere, taking in the high arches, the carved wood, the balcony that opened straight into the horizon.

She gasped softly at the view of the sea stretching endlessly, her fingers unconsciously clutching the fabric of her dupatta closer to her chest. That sound, that small spark of awe, did something to me.

I leaned against the doorway, arms folded, just watching her. She didn't even notice me yet. And maybe I didn't want her to, because in this moment, she was utterly herself. Eyes wide, lips parted, moving with that soft, delicate curiosity that only belonged to Zoya.

"You like it?" My voice finally broke the silence.

She turned, startled, then smiled, a smile so radiant it made the fading sun look dull. "Like it? Zaigham... it's beautiful."

I walked toward her slowly. Her eyes tracked me, but she didn't step back. She never did anymore. My hand found its way to her waist almost naturally, pulling her back against my chest as we both looked out at the sea.

"Not more than you." I whispered in her ear. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she looked down, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips.

The waves roared outside, but all I could hear was her heartbeat against me, steady yet fragile.

And in that moment, I knew one thing for certain.

Everything beyond her was just scenery, and she was the only destination I'd ever return to again and again.

To be Continued.....

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