Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐒𝐢𝐱

Zoya's eyes fluttered open, the darkness of the room pressing down like a weight. Her body felt heavy, her heart heavier.

She could still feel the sting of his words, the sharp edge of his anger from earlier. For a long moment, she stayed frozen under the blanket

A soft scrape of movement beside the bed made her shift slightly. Zaigham's voice broke the silence, low and careful.

"Zoya... wake up."

She didn't respond. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, cold and distant, as if he wasn't even there. Her lips pressed together tightly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a glance or a word.

"I brought you something to eat," he continued, softer this time, almost pleading. "Come on... just a little. Please."

Her chest tightened. She pulled the blanket closer around her, shrinking into herself. No, she wasn't ready. Not yet. She wouldn't let herself give him the warmth of a smile, not after the way he had unleashed his anger earlier.

Zaigham knelt beside her, his hand hovering over her shoulder before he settled it lightly, careful not to startle her. "Zoya... please. Just a little. I don't want you to sleep hungry."

She turned slightly, enough to make her eyes meet his. Just hurt flashed in her eyes. And then, without a word, she pushed past him and walked to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her.

He remained rooted on his spot, heart aching.

He had expected this.

She's angry... she's hurt... and it's all my fault, he thought, the guilt clawing at him

Zoya came out of the bathroom, hair damp and slightly messy. She gathered it into a loose clutch at the back of her head, pressing it gently for a moment before letting it fall softly around her shoulders. The room felt quiet, heavy with the remnants of earlier tension.

She lowered herself onto the bed in front of Zaigham, sitting cross-legged, her plate of food beside her. She picked up a piece and took a slow, careful bite, her mind still tangled with the sharp sting of their argument earlier.

Her eyes drifted to him. He was struggling with a piece of roti in his injured hand, trying to tear it into smaller pieces without wincing.

Her chest tightened at the sight. Without hesitation, she took a piece of roti from her plate dipped it in curry and, leaning slightly forward, fed him directly.

"No... I can—" he started softly, but his words faltered when her sharp, unwavering glare met his eyes.

He swallowed hard, cheeks flushing slightly, and opened his mouth, letting her feed him in quiet compliance.

Zoya took another bite herself, then returned to feeding him, moving deliberately and slowly.

Each time she held the morsel for him, her fingertips brushed lightly against his lips that sent a quiet jolt of warmth through her.

Masking her emotions, she continued.

A sudden cough escaped him, sharp and unexpected. Without thinking, Zoya leaned forward and pressed the glass to his lips, her eyes scanning him for any sign of pain.

He drank, slightly embarrassed, but she didn't flinch, her movements calm, careful, and utterly natural.

Zoya finished the last bite, setting the plate gently on the bedside table. She picked up a napkin and dabbed at her lips, trying to compose herself.

When she looked up, she caught Zaigham staring at her. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she raised an eyebrow in silent question.

He tilted his head, his gaze soft, and motioned toward his lips. Zoya rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile threatening her lips. Leaning forward, she took the napkin and carefully wiped his lips, her touch light and deliberate.

"Zoya..." he began softly, voice low and thick with emotion, "I... I shouldn't have—"

She didn't let him finish. Without a word, she quietly gathered the plates and stood, moving with careful, deliberate steps. Her back remained turned to him.

He wanted to call her back, to apologize properly, to feel her near again, but she walked past him and headed downstairs with the dishes, her movements precise and quiet, leaving only the faint echo of her footsteps behind.

He followed quietly, careful not to startle her, his gaze never leaving her form. She moved with purpose, carrying the plates and cutlery, setting them down in the kitchen without a glance his way. Her jaw was tight, lips pressed into a line, and her eyes avoided his, sharp and unyielding.

"Zoya," he began softly, his voice low, careful. "I... I'm sorry."

She didn't look at him. Not a flicker of acknowledgment. She rinsed the plates, her movements steady, controlled, almost as if she were keeping a barrier around herself.

"I shouldn't have... let my anger—" he continued, but her silence was louder than any interruption could be.

Finally, she turned slightly, just enough for him to see the hard edge in her eyes. "......" No words, just the weight of her gaze, strong and unyielding.

Zaigham swallowed, feeling the ache in his chest deepen. He took a careful step closer. "I never wanted to hurt you, Zoya. Not like that. You... you didn't do anything wrong."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She turned away slightly, returning to the dishes, stubborn and silent, refusing to give him the comfort of acknowledgment.

His chest tightened further. "I—" He paused, trying to measure his words. "I hate that I let my anger fall on you. I—"

She didn't respond. Her silence was sharp, almost painful, but Zaigham understood.

After the dishes, she turned and walked ahead of him, steady and silent, leading the way upstairs.

When they reached the bedroom, Zaigham stopped at the doorway, letting her step inside first.

He closed the door gently behind them and took a careful step closer.

"Zoya..." His voice was low, almost pleading. "Please, hear me."

She didn't answer. She set herself on the edge of the bed, folding her hands neatly in her lap, eyes averted away from him.

The silence between them was thick, almost suffocating, but Zaigham moved slowly, wanting to close the distance without alarming her.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. All the tension, the hurt, the humiliation—it exploded inside me like wildfire.

"Don't!" I snapped the moment his hand moved toward me. My body jerked instinctively, away from him, away from the touch that I both craved and feared. "Don't you dare touch me!"

Zaigham froze, but I couldn't stop. The tears I had been holding back spilled over, hot and relentless, streaming down my cheeks. "How could you?" I whispered, voice trembling, then rising into a shout.

I pressed my hands against my face for a moment, trying to catch my breath, but the sobs came anyway.

My chest heaved.

"You think I would ever... ever do something to hurt you? To ruin you?" My voice cracked, sharp and desperate.

"I've done nothing but love you! Do you even hear me? Do you even know how much it hurts that you think... that you think I could betray you like that?"

I stood, pacing a little.

My hands trembling, voice breaking with every word.

"I trusted you! I trusted you with everything, Zaigham!

And then you..." I swallowed hard, tears streaming down my cheeks, ".

..you said those things! You said you regretted marrying me!

Do you even know what that means? Do you even understand what it does to someone you claim to love? "

Zaigham's face softened slightly, but his chest heaved with his own mix of guilt and frustration.

"Zoya... listen, I didn't mean it the way you think..."

"Didn't mean it?" I cut in sharply, stopping in my tracks, my eyes blazing.

"Do you even hear yourself, Zaigham? Every time you're angry, every time you're frustrated, you throw it at me! 'I regret marrying you.' Do you have any idea how that feels? How much it cuts? How easily you destroy me with words you don't even think twice about?"

He took a slow step toward me, voice quiet. "I know, I know it's wrong, and I hate myself for saying it. I... I don't mean it, Zoya. You have to believe me. My anger... it isn't about you. You haven't done anything wrong."

I shook my head violently, tears slipping freely now. "Not about me? Then why does it always land on me, Zaigham? Why do I always end up crying because of your words?"

"You know, Zaigham... even after you told me to leave in that moment, I didn't. Do you know why?

Because I know how bad your temper is...

every time you get angry, you hurt yourself.

But how was I supposed to know that all of that would fall on me, Zaigham?

What did I even do?" I sobbed, my voice breaking.

"I—" He stopped, running a hand through his hair, frustrated, I don't know if at me or himself. "I lose control sometimes, and I... I let my anger speak before I think. I regret it the moment it leaves my lips. I never... I never mean what I say to hurt you, Zoya. You know that."

"Do I know that?" I whispered, my voice breaking as I clutched my chest. "Do I?

Because it doesn't feel like it. It feels like every time you are mad, you remember only that you have the right to throw me into your anger.

That you can hurt me however you want because.

.. because I love you. And I... I can't help it, can I? "

His eyes softened further, anguish clear in his gaze. "No... you're right. You shouldn't have to bear that. I—I am so sorry, Zoya. I hate that I have made you feel like that. I hate myself for it. Please... you have to know I never mean it."

I sank to the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sheets, sobs wracking my body. "I can't... I can't just forget, Zaigham. I can't pretend it didn't happen. Every time I hear it, it echoes inside me, and I feel... shattered. I feel like I'm not enough for you, and it... it hurts too much."

Zaigham knelt slowly in front of me, his hands hovering near mine, as if careful not to push me further away.

"You are more than enough, Zoya. You have always been more than enough.

My words... my anger... they are my failure, not yours.

I swear, I will never let you feel this way again.

I can't... I can't lose you to my own foolishness. "

I looked up at him, eyes red and raw, a mix of heartbreak and longing swirling inside me. "Do you even understand how it feels, Zaigham? To hear the one person you trust, the one person you have given everything to... say that they regret being with you?"

"I do," he whispered, voice tight with emotion. "I feel it now. I feel the weight of every tear you have shed because of me. I promise you, Zoya... I never want to hurt you like this again. Never."

I let out a shaky chuckle, wiping my tears roughly. "Promise, Zaigham? Do you remember... you broke your promise. I— I had asked for a promise before, but... you broke it."

He looked at me, glassy-eyed, voice trembling. "Please, Zoya... please forgive me, baby. I... I am so sorry."

"No, Zaigham," I said, my voice barely a whisper, but firm. "I can't. How can I trust that you won't do it again? It's twice now... twice you've said you regret marrying me. Tell me, Zaigham... do you really? If yes—" I drew a shaky breath "t-then leave me."

I forced the words out, my chest tight.

He froze, stunned, blinking rapidly. "W-what?" he stammered, voice cracking.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Yes, Zaigham. I... I can't keep hearing that. Isn't it better to leave the person you regret marrying?"

I watched him, and my heart clenched as I saw him shaking his head almost like a child.

His grey eyes were glassy, overflowing with unspoken pain, and it pierced me to see him so broken.

Without warning, he lowered his head onto my lap, his chest heaving against my knees.He began to sob—real, raw sobs I had never heard from him before.

"No... Zoya, please," he choked out, voice thick with grief. "Please don't say this. I... I did not mean it. I swear, I said it in the heat of anger. Please... don't... don't ever talk about leaving me. I love you... so much."

My own tears fell freely as I felt his head trembling against me. Slowly, I lifted my hand and ran my fingers through his hair, holding him close, feeling the raw vulnerability he had never shown before.

The man who always appeared unshakable, in control, fierce and untouchable... now let me see the pieces he had hidden, the depth of his love, and the regret that haunted him.

"Zoya... you have no idea..." His voice wavered, thick with emotion. "How much I've worked... how many nights I stayed awake, thinking, planning... pushing this company to be one of the top three. Every deal, every client, every risk... it all... it all matters so much."

He trembled against me, tears soaking into my shirt. "And this deal... I gave everything I had for it. The Turkey trip, the presentations, the late nights... I worked so hard, Zoya. I felt humiliated, broken, like a failure after today... like I failed not just the company, but... us. I failed us."

I felt his words, each one cutting into my heart, each one weighted with love and regret.

Without thinking, I lifted his face in my hands, thumbs brushing the wet streaks of tears from his cheekswhich now disappears in his beard. His red, glassy eyes met mine, pleading and raw.

"Zaigham..." I whispered, voice trembling, "look at me."

His eyes met mine as I held his gaze.

"Please, promise me you will never say that again. Never make yourself—or me—hurt like this."

He shook his head frantically, lips trembling. "I... I promise, Zoya. I swear... I'll never say it again. I didn't mean it... never."

I let out a soft chuckle, trying to ease some of the tension, and pressed my forehead against his. "I... I forgive you," I murmured.

His body froze for a moment, like he couldn't believe my words. Then, almost childlike, he whispered, "You... you forgive me?" His voice was thick with disbelief, with hope, with desperation.

I nodded, eyes shining, lips curved in a soft, reassuring smile. "Yes... I forgive you. Always. I love you, Zaigham."

He let out a shaky laugh, as he rose on his knees, burying his face into my neck. "Thank you... thank you so much, baby. I love... I love you more than anything." His arms tightened around me, trembling slightly.

I ran my fingers through his hair, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart finally syncing with mine. "I love you too... so much," I whispered, letting the words wrap around him, holding him as tightly as he held me.

"I don't deserve you," he muttered against my shoulder, voice hoarse, "but I... I'll spend every day trying to make it right. I'll never hurt you again. I swear... I swear it, Zoya."

I lifted his face again gently, cupping his cheeks. "Zaigham... you're human. And humans make mistakes. But what matters is... you care, you love, and you're willing to fight for us. That's why I love you."

His eyes glistened with tears, and he leaned forward, pressing a long, lingering kiss to my forehead, then my eyes, my cheeks, full of everything he couldn't say. "Thank you... thank you for forgiving me. I... I'll never take this... or you... for granted ever," he whispered, voice shaking.

I smiled as he hugged me again.

I pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his grey, tear-streaked eyes. My hands stayed on his shoulders, grounding him. "Zaigham... listen to me," I whispered, voice gentle but firm.

"What happened today... this deal... it doesn't define you. It doesn't erase all the hard work, the late nights, the sacrifices you've made for this company."

He looked down, still trembling slightly. "But... I failed, Zoya. Everything I worked for... everything I built.... it feels like it shattered in a day."

I shook my head, leaning closer. "No, it's not shattered. You're human, Zaigham. Mistakes, setbacks—they happen. One deal doesn't erase the years of effort, the vision you've built, or the respect you've earned."

His lips trembled, a soft sigh escaping him. "I just... I hate feeling so powerless, seeing it all crumble..."

I cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing against his wet cheeks. "I know, Zaigham... I know it hurts. But you have to remember, every challenge, every failure... it doesn't lessen your strength. You're brilliant, driven, unstoppable. Today doesn't take that away from you."

He blinked at me, glassy eyes searching for reassurance. "You really mean that?"

"I do," I said softly, a small, determined smile on my lips. "I've seen how much you've built, how much you've poured into this company. Today's deal... it's just a moment. It doesn't define you. And it certainly doesn't change how much I admire you, Zaigham, how much I love you."

His shoulders loosened, the tension in him slowly melting. He let out a shaky breath. "You... you really think I'm still... strong? Even after today?"

I leaned forward again, pressing my forehead against his. "I don't just think it... I know it. You've overcome so much before, Zaigham. This is just another challenge. And I'll be right here, every step of the way."

He pressed his forehead gently against mine, a soft, warm smile tugging at his lips. His arms wrapped around me tightly again, holding me as if letting go was impossible. I felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against me, the tension of the day slowly melting.

"Thank you so much, baby," he murmured into my hair, his voice low and husky, laden with gratitude and relief. "Thank you... for being here... for seeing me... for everything. I... I don't know what I'd do without you."

I leaned into him instinctively.

His hands moved over my back in slow, comforting motions, each touch a silent apology, a promise, and a reassurance all at once.

"I'll always be here, Zaigham," I whispered softly, feeling the weight of his vulnerability.

"Always."

He nuzzled his face into my hair again, soft chuckles escaping him between murmurs. "I love you, I love you.

After sometime he pulled back.

Our foreheads rested against each other when his lips brushed mine in a featherlight kiss, trembling.

I felt the ache in him, the storm that had only just begun to calm. Before he could pull away, I leaned in again, pressing my lips to his with deliberate softness, trying to ease the weight on his chest.

He kissed me back, deeper this time, his hand coming up to cradle my jaw as though I might vanish if he didn't hold me. My heart thudded painfully against my ribs.

If this was all I could give him—my comfort, my love—I would give it a thousand times over.

Two Days Later....

The house was buzzing. Not just buzzing — it was an actual circus. Strings of fairy lights hung half-done, trays of sweets kept arriving, and workers ran from one end of the lawn to the other while shouting instructions. And where was I? Absolutely nowhere near useful. It was Mehndi day.

I was sitting cross-legged on the swing with Laiba, Aaliya, and Ayat, trying to see who could balance the most books on their head without them falling.

"Don't move, don't even breathe!" Aaliya hissed, holding her phone up to record as I balanced three wobbly novels that looked ready to collapse.

"Four!" Laiba cheered, carefully placing another one on top.

Ayat was already in giggles, her two having tumbled into her lap. "This is ridiculous!"

"Correction," I said with mock dignity, sitting as still as a statue, "this is art."

Across the lawn, Zaviyaar had his camera raised, catching our shots like some National Geographic documentary. "Rare footage of the Khan cousins inventing new ways to disgrace the family."

"Shut up, Zaviyaar!" we yelled in unison.

Meanwhile, Rayyan Bhai was testing the mic on stage. "One, two, check. Mic testing... Zoya, your book crown looks fantastic from here. Truly, a queen of disasters." His voice boomed across the lawn, making everyone turn.

"Rayyan Bhai!" I gasped, ducking as the books toppled, while the others burst into laughter.

"Perfect," he grinned, "the bride's mehndi will officially have a reading contest."

I tossed one of the books straight at him, which he caught midair and held up like a trophy, earning applause from Zayyan Bhai. "Skills," he said, fist-bumping him.

We were still laughing when Mama walked past, arms folded. She stopped dead at the sight of me.

"Zoya Khan."

Uh oh.

She tapped her foot, eyes narrowing. "Care to explain why half the flower baskets are still lying there untouched while you are busy balancing novels on your head?"

"Mama—" I started.

"No, don't Mama me. You're not a child anymore. You should be helping, not sitting here making a fool of yourself."

Before I could argue, Ruman api leaned over from behind me. "She's supervising, Mama. Very important job. Supervising the 'Book Balancing Olympics.'"

The girls giggled, and I smacked her arm. "You're the worst."

The air shifted.

The laughter, the chatter, all of it dimmed.

Deeda had entered.

She walked with slow, deliberate steps, her shawl draped neatly over her shoulders, her gaze steady and piercing. When her eyes landed on me, I felt my spine stiffen.

"Zoya," she said, her voice deceptively soft, almost too calm.

I scrambled to stand from the swing, smoothing my dupatta nervously. "Y-Yes, Deeda?"

Her eyes swept over the hall, the trays still uncovered, the workers moving in confusion. Then back to me.

"Look around you," she said, her voice gaining steel. "The house is in chaos, work left unfinished. And where are you? Sitting with books on your head like a child."

My chest tightened. I dropped my gaze.

"You are not one of them anymore," she continued, her hand gesturing slightly toward girls, who stood frozen.

"You are the eldest daughter-in-law of this house.

That title carries weight, Zoya. You are expected to set an example, to act with dignity.

Every eye in this household will look at you and measure your worth.

Is this what you wish them to see? Immaturity? "

Her words hit me like stones. My throat closed up, guilt prickling under my skin. The laughter that had bubbled out of me minutes ago felt foolish now, embarrassing. My fingers twisted in my dupatta as I nodded faintly, unable to meet her eyes.

"You must learn," she pressed on, her tone sharper now, "that responsibility does not wait for convenience. A daughter-in-law is not a guest. She does not pick and choose when to act. She leads. She carries this family's honor in every gesture, every word, every step."

Her gaze was unrelenting. "Tell me, Zoya, is this the legacy you wish to build?"

My stomach dropped. The girls shifted uncomfortably. No one dared speak. My eyes burned, but I forced them down, staring at the ground as if it might swallow me whole.

And then—

"Deeda."

His voice cut through the silence. Calm. Steady. But firm.

Zaigham.

He had just entered, dressed in a black Shalwar Kameez. His eyes, unreadable, were fixed only on Deeda.

"With respect," he began, his voice smooth but carrying an edge, "we do not employ workers to let the family shoulder their duties. They are here to manage preparations. That is their responsibility."

The cousins' heads turned toward him in unison.

He stepped closer, his tone deepening, respectful but immovable.

"And as for Zoya, she will not be burdened with household duties before her time.

Until she is ready, she has no business carrying responsibilities.

When it is time, she will step into that role.

But for now—" his gaze flicked toward me, lingering just long enough for my breath to hitch, "—she is exactly where she belongs. "

A chill ran down my spine. My heart thudded hard in my chest.

The silence that followed was heavy, electric. Deeda's eyes stayed on him, sharp and searching.

Then she spoke again, her tone firmer, almost scolding.

"How much time does she need, Zaigham? A month? A year? Responsibilities don't wait for age. She is already the elder daughter-in-law of this house. That title is hers whether she accepts it or not. She should know her place and rise to it."

Her words sank deep into me, burning. My hands clenched tighter around my dupatta. I wanted to speak, to defend myself, but the weight of her voice and the truth behind it kept me frozen.

But Zaigham... he didn't flinch.

"The title," he said steadily, eyes locked on hers, "was imposed on her, Deeda. She did not willingly choose it. If you may remember—" his tone sharpened just slightly, "—it was sudden. Yet she never complained. Not once."

The air stilled. His words were respectful, but they cut like steel.

"So I believe it is now our duty to give her the time to adapt, until she is ready to carry responsibilities herself. Forcing them on her before she is prepared will only break her spirit. And that, Deeda, is not what this family stands for."

The room was thick with tension. My heart thudded against my ribs, breath caught between shame and awe.

Deeda's brows furrowed, her sharp gaze flicking from him to me and back again. For a long moment, it felt like she would argue further, but then, her lips pressed thin.

"Hm." It was a sound halfway between disapproval and reluctant silence. She finally turned away, leaving the words hanging heavy in the air.

Zaigham looked at me for a moment our eyes met he gave me an assuring glance and walked away.

The instant they left. Rayyan Bhai whispered dramatically, "Protective husband mode: activated."

Zayyan Bhai smirked. "Not just protective...brutally logical too. Only Zaigham Bhai could debate Deeda and survive."

"Survive?" Aaliya laughed. "Forget survive. He won. Look at Zo, glowing like a rescued damsel."

"Shutup." I muttered mock glaring at her, when inside my heart was blooming.

Later that evening, the whole house buzzed with laughter, dhol beats echoing from the courtyard. Zoya slipped quietly into their room, finally getting a moment away from the chaos.

She sat in front of the mirror. Her fingers moved with a kind of nervous focus, sliding the jhumka into her ear, the gold and green shimmer swaying gently as she pinned it in place.

She adjusted her hijab carefully, tucking it so that the earrings showed just right, the delicate frame of her face brightening with the touch.

The dupatta was next. She lifted the sheer fabric, emerald and gold speckled, and draped it carefully across her shoulder, pinning it down. For a moment she just stared at her reflection, brighter, draped in colors that almost matched the glow of her skin.

And then the door opened.

"Are you ready, bab—"

Zaigham's voice cut off mid-sentence.

He stopped at the threshold, his gaze locking on her. She sat there, bathed in soft golden light, the sequins on her dupatta catching like scattered stars. His silence said more than words ever could.

Zoya, startled, turned to him.

Her eyes swept over him once, twice. White kurta pajama, and that deep green waistcoat fitting him so perfectly it made her heart skip.

His hair, dark and slightly tousled, his jaw sharper under the light. Handsome wasn't enough for him...he looked regal, hot all at once.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Zoya lowered her gaze quickly, pretending to fuss with the pleats of her dupatta, but her fingers betrayed her—they trembled faintly. She could still feel the weight of his stare, the way it seemed to trace over her as if memorizing her.

Zaigham finally stepped inside, slow and deliberate. The door clicked softly shut behind him, enclosing them in a stillness that felt too loud.

"You..." he began, but even his voice faltered before he steadied it. His throat shifted, and he exhaled, almost as though buying himself a second. "...look beautiful, sweetheart."

The words were quiet, but they carried a depth that made her heart thud.

Her lashes lifted just enough for her eyes to meet his in the mirror. He was right behind her now, his reflection standing tall. Their eyes held for a breath too long before she looked down again, heat blooming across her cheeks.

"Thank you," she murmured, voice so soft it almost disappeared in the space between them.

Zaigham's lips twitched—the faintest curve, but enough to show he'd heard every syllable. He leaned one hand lightly on the back of her chair, close enough that she felt the nearness of him.

For a moment, he just stood there, watching her fix the last pin in her dupatta, her delicate fingers moving with care. His gaze lingered on the way the emerald fabric framed her, how the earrings shifted when she tilted her head.

Zoya finally stood, smoothing her dress, flowing around her like a soft cloud. She dared one glance at him and found him still watching.

This time, she didn't look away immediately.

Her eyes traced over him slowly, the broadness of his shoulders, the quiet authority he carried without trying. "You..." she whispered before catching herself, her voice breaking halfway.

Zaigham tilted his head slightly, as if waiting.

"You're only noticing that now?" he murmured, his tone low, teasing but edged with sincerity. "Or is it just today that I finally managed to impress my wife?"

Her breath caught, her eyes widening as heat rushed to her cheeks. The smirk tugging at his lips grew faintly as he leaned closer, his voice brushing against her ear as he whispered.

"For the record... you're stealing all the attention tonight, Mrs. Zoya Zaigham Khan."

Neither of them moved to break the moment, but somewhere in the courtyard below, the beat of the dhol echoed louder, reminding them of the world outside.

To be Continued......

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