𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐓𝐰𝐨
I stirred awake to the soft warmth around me, something steady, safe, and strong beneath my cheek. My eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, I didn't move, I just listened. The steady thump of his heartbeat was under my ear, calm and deep, grounding me in a way nothing else ever could.
Sunlight was seeping through the curtains, brushing over his sharp features. His face looked so different when he slept...softer, calmer, the weight of the world no longer etched between his brows.
I just lay there, watching him, memorizing every line of him like he was my favorite secret.
Then, as if sensing my gaze, his lashes lifted. His grey eyes caught mine instantly, making my breath stutter.
"Morning..." I whispered, my voice still thick with sleep.
His lips curved slightly, a smile that was only for me. "Morning, love. How are you feeling?" His thumb brushed across my temple with such tenderness it made my chest tighten.
I tried to stretch, but the sting in my feet stopped me, and I winced. Before I could say anything, his arms tightened protectively.
"Careful," he murmured, voice low and commanding in that way that made me melt. "Don't even try to move too much."
I couldn't help the pout tugging at my lips. "You'll never stop treating me like I'll break, will you?" I tried to tease, but my voice betrayed how much I loved his care.
His eyes darkened, and he leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss on my forehead. His whisper brushed against my skin. "Not after almost losing you once."
Something in me cracked wide open at that, and I buried my face against his chest, my arms circling him as tightly as my weak body would allow. I could feel his hand in my hair, slow, soothing strokes that made my heart ache.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my bandaged feet stretched carefully in front of me, propped on a pillow so they wouldn't bear weight.
The soft cotton of the hoodie Zaigham had given me still smelled faintly of him, comforting and warm.
My hair was loosely pinned up, slightly damp from the gentle freshening up he had insisted on doing for me.
I traced the folds of the fabric with my fingers, remembering how he had guided me. Every touch had been precise, almost reverent, as if he was afraid of breaking me. The memory made a small, soft smile tug at my lips, though it quickly faded.
Because the quiet smile couldn't erase the weight pressing on my chest.
My own family, people I trusted, who I had thought would know me better than anyone....had seen that piece of paper and accepted it as truth.
Their eyes hadn't searched for answers, hadn't looked beyond a simple lie. They had doubted me, my character, my integrity, over something so small and maliciously convenient.
It stung in a way nothing else ever could. I clenched my fists in my lap, wishing I could shove the anger and hurt away.
And then there was Zaigham.
Even now, sitting alone with the hoodie wrapped around me, I could feel his presence lingering in the room, the way he had held me, protected me, carried me without a single word of blame or judgment. He had believed me when no one else had. He had made sure I felt safe, cared for, and loved.
I closed my eyes and let a quiet shiver roll through me, half from exhaustion, half from the ache in my chest. My heart ached with a strange, bittersweet combination of gratitude, longing, and lingering sadness.
If it hadn't been for him... I didn't even want to imagine the other possibility.
A soft sigh escaped my lips, mingling with the muted sounds of the house. I didn't notice the slight tremble in my fingers as they traced the hoodie's soft fabric again. My thoughts were a whirlwind, tugging at me, making me feel small and fragile despite everything I had survived.
I was lost in my reverie, my hands trembling slightly in my lap, fingers curling into themselves as if they could hold back the weight pressing on my chest. My eyes were closed, my head leaning back against the pillow, wishing somehow that the hurt could just drift away with my breath.
And then—
A gentle hand settled over mine, warm and grounding. My fingers stiffened, startled, and I jerked my eyes open.
Zaigham was kneeling beside the bed, his grey eyes soft, scanning my face with a mixture of concern and something deeper, something that always made my heart twist. His thumb traced gentle circles over the back of my hand, steadying my trembling fingers.
"Zoya..." His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried weight, calm and certain. "Look at me."
"I know what you've been through."
A lump rose in my throat, and my lips trembled.
His jaw tightened slightly, a flash of that protective, possessive fire I had always known. He leaned closer. "They were wrong. All of them. And none of it changes what I know, what I trust. You. My wife. My Zoya."
I blinked rapidly, tears threatening again, and he gently wiped a stray one from my cheek with his thumb, his touch soft yet grounding.
"You're not fragile, not to me," he whispered.
"You're everything. Strong, fierce, and—" He paused, a playful glint creeping into his eyes despite the serious weight of the moment. "—mine."
I took a deep breath.
My hands trembled slightly in my lap, and I felt a shiver run through me as I pulled back, though I couldn't let go of his gaze. "Can I... ask you something?" I whispered, my voice small, almost hesitant.
He nodded, sitting fully in front of me, cupping my hands in his. The warmth of his palms, the steady strength in his touch, immediately made me feel safe, even as the memories still clung to me. "Anything, Zoya. You can ask me anything."
Swallowing hard, my lips quivered. "How...you got to know that I was missing?" The words came out in a fragile rush, each syllable weighted with fear and guilt I couldn't shake.
He drew a slow breath and explained,"I found your necklace in the store room," he said softly, brushing his thumb over my knuckles again. "It was out of place, and something didn't sit right. I don't know how you take it, but my heart was quite restless."
I blinked rapidly, a lump forming in my throat. "So... if you hadn't found that... if you hadn't..."
My voice faltered, the thought too sharp to finish.
Before I could even think twice, his finger gently pressed against my lips. "Never," he whispered, low and steady, unyielding. "Never even think like that, Zoya."
My breath caught as he lifted my hand, pressing it against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat, steady, unwavering, and it made my chest ache with warmth and relief.
"I've held onto this," he continued, his thumb tracing the lines of my knuckles, "through everything, your laughter, your tears, your pain, your victories, your smallest moments.
Every piece of you, Zoya. From the day I told you I trust you, I love you.
..it was carved on stone, meant to last, meant to endure.
Nothing, not a filthy piece of paper, not a coward, not anyone in this world, can change that.
I trust you, fully, endlessly. I love you. Always."
Tears pricked at my eyes as I swallowed the lump in my throat. My voice barely reached him. "Thank you," I whispered, broken, trembling.
He cupped my face with both hands, thumbs brushing over my cheeks, and I felt my heart swell with something I hadn't allowed myself to feel fully in so long—pure, unguarded love.
He kissed my knuckles again, then brushed my temple softly with his lips, and my chest swelled at the tenderness.
I closed my eyes, letting the weight of his words and the safety of his presence wash over me.
I was sitting by the window, the sunlight spilling across the pages of my book, though I wasn't really reading. My fingers traced the spine absentmindedly as my mind wandered. Today was supposed to be Ayyan Bhai's walima.
The laughter, the celebration—it should have been all around us. But instead... everything had fallen apart. Part of me felt guilty, thinking of how this chaos had stolen the joy from his and Nouran Api's important day. I shook my head softly.
No, Zoya... don't think like that. This wasn't your fault. Any of this.
I leaned back against the chair, letting my head fall slightly, closing my eyes.
My eyes were closed, but the tears still fell silently, escaping of their own accord.
I always loved them... I always gave them my heart.
.. my Dada Jan, my Deeda... they loved me too.
So how... how could they not trust me? How could they believe that one filthy piece of paper over everything I've been, over everything I've shown them?
The thought twisted in my chest like a knife.
They had come to meet me. Twice, and I had refused. Politely. I just couldn't face anyone. I couldn't meet their eyes. I could feel the weight of their doubt pressing down on me even now. I imagined looking at them, reliving that moment of disbelief — and my chest tightened in panic.
And it wasn't just them... it hurt even more because of my siblings. They too believed it?
They also thought I could just... betray them like that? My lips trembled as I whispered the words to myself, almost disbelieving.
I sighed, letting the weight of shock sink in. I had not believed it when Mahveen had told me that everyone had accepted it. But then... when we came home, when Zaigham had stood there protecting me, I heard everything. My heart... it felt like it stopped for a moment.
Yes, I was relieved, my parents had stood by me, had believed in me.
But what about the others? The rest of them.
.. they are also my own people. They are also my family.
I am their beloved little one, right? I've always been the darling of the house.
And yet, how could they just accept something like this so easily?
How could they believe I would... that I could do. .. that?
Why? Why would they think so little of me? The question repeated in my head like a broken record. My chest ached as if the hurt had taken residence there, and I had no choice but to let it stay.
I opened my eyes slowly and wiped the tears that refused to be contained. My fingers lingered on my cheeks, damp and cold, and I whispered to myself, I cannot control their thoughts, I cannot control their doubts—but I can hold on to myself. And I will.
I looked ahead and let out a shaky sigh, my eyes settling on Zaigham, completely immersed in his office work. His pen scratched across papers, his brows furrowed in concentration, the afternoon light catching the sharp angles of his face.
He didn't notice me, silently crying. Good. I don't want to worry him anymore. He has already carried more than his share.
A small, wistful smile tugged at my lips as I watched him, my heart swelling with a mix of love, and admiration.
I set the book I had been barely reading aside and exhaled shakily, almost whispering to myself, I.
.. I want to go to bed.My throat tightened, and I forced a deep breath, glancing at him again.
He was so focused; I don't want to disturb him.
Okay, I can do this. Just a few steps. It won't hurt...
I bit my lips nervously, gripping the arms of the chair tightly as I lifted myself to stand. The moment my feet touched the floor, a sharp, searing pain shot through them.
Darn it, I hissed, stifling a cry. It felt like countless tiny needles had pierced my feet and legs, each step threatening to topple me.
I tried again, clenching my jaw, but my legs wobbled uncontrollably. I could feel my knees weakening beneath me.
No, no, no—I can't fall.
Two strong arms wrapped around me before I could even scream, lifting me effortlessly off the ground. I gasped, my heart hammering against my chest.
I slowly looked up at him and saw his piercing gaze fixed on me, sharp as a blade yet tempered with concern. I gulped.
You're gone, Zoya.
"What are you doing?" he asked in a low, measured voice.
I smiled nervously. "Uh... I was going to bed," I stammered, my voice trembling slightly.
Now you can imagine how terrifying he looked with those piercing eyes. His jaw clenched, sharp angles catching the dim light of the room.
"Zoya, why didn't you call me? When I was right here?" he asked.
I swallowed hard. "I... I just didn't want to bother you. You were working."
"Zoya." He called my name, and closed his eyes briefly, like he was taking a slow, deliberate breath to calm himself. "Zoya... you come first, okay? Not work. Next time, don't do this," he said, his tone calm yet firm, carrying a protective weight that made my chest ache.
I pouted, my lips trembling slightly with a playful whimper. "You're not going to carry me around all week, right? You will get tired anyway," I murmured in a low, teasing voice.
He raised a brow, looking so hot— Ok, Zoya, stop.
"Get tired? Zoya, what do you think is the use of these muscles if I cannot even carry my wife, huh?" he said, pointing to his biceps.
My cheeks instantly tinted pink, heat rushing to my ears.
He shook his head with a faint chuckle and gently placed me on the bed. I sank into the mattress, my legs still tingling from the pain.
He leaned back slightly "Do you want anything? Water? Coffee? Or anything else? Are you hungry?" His voice was calm, but there was that subtle underlying note of care that always got to me.
I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. "No, I'm fine. You can go back to your work. If I need anything, I'll let you know."
"You'll let me know, huh?" he said, raising a brow, giving me that knowing look. "Yeah, I saw that some moments ago," he added, eyes glinting with amusement.
I chuckled softly. "Alright... alright, I promise I'll tell you if I need anything."
He studied me for a few more moments, that stormy gaze softening just slightly, before leaning forward to press a gentle peck on my forehead. The simple gesture made my chest tighten in a mix of warmth and longing.
"Ok then." He said and went back to his desk.
The night was hushed, the only sound the faint tick of the clock and the occasional rustle of papers from his desk. The lamp threw a golden pool of light around him, and the rest of the room melted into shadows.
I lay on the bed, just staring at the ceiling. We just had dinner, he went back to his desk.
My body was still sore, but it was my mind that wouldn't rest. Every time I closed my eyes, flashes of the factory came back, cold walls, heavy footsteps, rough hands. I twisted in the sheets, clutching the blanket tighter as if it could shield me.
A sudden weight dipped the mattress. My heart jumped, and I turned my head.
"You're not sleeping," he said quietly, more like an observation than a question.
I tried to smile.
His gaze didn't waver. "I can hear you twisting around from across the room, Zoya. That disturbs me more than any file ever could."
I bit my lip, caught. "I'm fine. Just... thinking."
His hand reached out, brushing strands of hair away from my face, tucking them gently behind my ear. "Your thoughts are too loud tonight?"
I swallowed hard, my throat burning. "I can't seem to stop them."
"Then let me quiet them." He stretched out beside me, pulling me effortlessly into his chest. My cheek rested against the steady thump of his heartbeat. One hand rubbed slow circles on my back, grounding me, while the other held my hand firmly, as if daring the world to try and pull me away.
For a while, neither of us spoke. My breathing fell in rhythm with his, and the chaos inside me softened, layer by layer.
"You don't always have to be strong," he murmured against my hair. "Not here. Not with me."
That broke me in a different way. Tears slipped free, but I didn't hide them this time. He felt them dampen his shirt, and instead of pulling away, he pressed his lips against the top of my head, lingering there.
"I hate that you went through this," he whispered, voice rough, almost like gravel. "I hate that I wasn't there sooner. But you're safe now. With me. Always with me."
I clutched at him tighter, my words a muffled whisper. "Don't ever let go."
"Never," he promised, his arms tightening around me. "Not even if you push me away. You're stuck with me, Zoya."
A small laugh escaped through my tears.
The room was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner. His arms were still around me, warm and steady, and for a while I just stayed there, listening to his heartbeat. But the silence began to feel... too heavy.
"Zaigham?" I whispered into his shirt.
"Hmm?" His voice was low, almost lazy, but I could feel the alertness in it. He was never really off guard.
I tilted my face up, meeting his gaze in the dim light. "What were you like in school?"
One of his brows arched. "School?"
"Yes." I poked lightly at his chest. "Were you the quiet, serious type even back then? Or did you ever get into trouble?"
His lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smirk. "Why does it matter?"
"Because I'm trying to picture it," I said stubbornly. "And all I see is you scaring the teachers."
He gave a low chuckle, the kind that made my stomach flip. "You're not far off. I didn't talk much. But when I did, people usually listened."
I rolled my eyes. "Of course they did. You probably gave speeches like a forty-year-old businessman even at fifteen."
His smirk deepened. "And what about you? Were you always this stubborn?"
I gasped in mock offense. "Stubborn? Excuse me, I was perfectly sweet and well-behaved."
His eyes softened as he looked at me. "Sweet, I believe. Well-behaved?" He shook his head slightly. "Not for a second."
I giggled, swatting his arm lightly. "You don't even saw me back then!"
"You may be my wife now, but don't forget—back then, you were once my stubborn little cousin also."he replied simply. His gaze was too intent, too steady. My cheeks heated, and I quickly looked away, pretending to study the folds of the blanket.
"Fine," I muttered. "But I still think you were secretly a troublemaker."
"Maybe," he said, amusement flickering in his eyes. "But not half as much trouble as you are."
I gasped again, dramatic. "So now I'm trouble?"
"Undeniably," he said without hesitation. His fingers tilted my chin back toward him, forcing my eyes to meet his. "But you're my trouble."
My heart skipped so hard I thought he could feel it. I opened my mouth for a witty comeback, but nothing came out, just a quiet laugh that sounded breathless even to me.
He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips, and leaned back against the headboard, pulling me with him until I was curled up against his side.
I rested against him for a while, tracing idle shapes on the fabric of his shirt with my fingertip. My heart still hadn't slowed, and that made me nervous, restless. Finally, I cleared my throat.
"Well... I also want to ask one more thing," I murmured, still pretending to focus on the pattern I was drawing on his shirt.
He hummed in response, a low sound in his chest. "Go on."
I bit my lip, gathering courage, then blurted out before I could backtrack. "You know... you're quite... handsome." My cheeks flamed instantly. "And infuriatingly hot," I added under my breath.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the unmistakable tug of his lips—smirking. Of course. I refused to look directly at it. My blush was bad enough; I didn't need the added humiliation of his amusement.
"So," I continued quickly, forcing myself onward before I lost nerve. "How many crushes did you have during graduation?"
The silence that followed was dangerous. I finally dared a glance at him. He was watching me with that maddening calm, eyes gleaming, lips curved ever so slightly—as if he was savoring every second of my discomfort.
"Crushes?" he repeated slowly, as though tasting the word.
"Yes!" I said, a little sharper than intended. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about."
His smirk deepened. "And why does my wife want to know this?"
Heat rushed to my ears. "I'm just... curious."
"Curious?" He tilted his head, studying me. "Or jealous?"
My mouth opened, but no words came. Jealous? Of course not. Except... maybe a little. Okay, a lot. I crossed my arms, scowling. "I'm not jealous. I just want to know."
He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest where I leaned. "You're adorable when you try to lie."
"I'm not lying!" I protested, sitting up straighter, but his hand came to my waist and pulled me right back against him.
"Hmm," he drawled, pretending to consider. "Well... let's see. How many crushes..." He tapped his chin theatrically with his free hand.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're enjoying this far too much."
"Maybe," he admitted shamelessly. "Because you're blushing harder with every second."
"Zaigham!" I shoved lightly at his shoulder, but he didn't budge, not even an inch. His body was solid, unmoving, like teasing me was more entertaining than anything else he could be doing tonight.
Finally, he leaned down, his lips brushing dangerously close to my ear. His voice dropped, low and deliberate. "The truth? Not a single crush worth remembering."
I blinked, turning my head to look at him. "What do you mean?"
He met my gaze steadily, the teasing replaced with something sharper, warmer. "Because none of them ever made me feel the way you do."
My breath caught. Words deserted me entirely. My fingers clenched into his shirt just to ground myself.
His smirk returned, but softer this time, almost affectionate. "And judging by your expression right now," he murmured, "I'd say you don't need to worry about competition. You've already won."
"Fine," I said, my voice smaller than I wanted. "Maybe you didn't have crushes. But... did anyone ever... you know... confess to you?"
His brow arched slightly, a spark of amusement lighting his eyes. "Confess?"
"You know what I mean." My fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, restless. "Girls... must've told you they liked you."
A low chuckle slipped out of him. He leaned back against the headboard, watching me squirm."Now we're really getting somewhere. My wife is not only jealous—she's investigating."
"I'm not investigating," I huffed, though the heat crawling up my neck betrayed me. "I just asked a normal question."
"Mhm," he hummed, pretending to think. "Let's just say yes... a few times."
I froze. "A few?"
The corner of his mouth curled, deliberately slow. "Maybe more than a few."
My jaw dropped. "And you're so casually admitting it?!"
"Why wouldn't I?" he said, brushing a loose strand of hair away from my face. "It's the truth."
I groaned, burying my face back into his chest. "I shouldn't have asked."
His hand came up, stroking my back in slow circles. "You should've," he murmured. "Because now I get to tell you the part you're waiting to hear."
I peeked up at him, suspicious. "And that is?"
He bent closer, his marble-grey eyes darkening, his voice pitched lower. "That none of them mattered. Not a single one. Not even for a second."
Something in my chest melted, unraveled. I blinked at him, words failing me again.
He smirked softly at my silence. "But you?" He tipped my chin up with a single finger. "You matter more than everything else combined."
I couldn't look away. My heart thudded so hard it was a wonder he couldn't hear it.
His gaze softened further, almost fond. "So no more jealous questions, hmm? Unless you plan to punish me for being too irresistible."
I gasped, shoving lightly at his chest. "You're shameless."
He chuckled.
"Only for you," he murmured, pulling me right back against him.
But I was not done yet.
A wicked thought bubbled up inside me. My lips tugged into the tiniest smile.
Clearing my throat, I leaned back a little, pretending to make myself comfortable. "You know..." I began casually, as if I were about to tell some harmless story.
He hummed, eyes narrowing in quiet suspicion. "Hmm?"
I looked away, fixing my gaze on the wall as if the memory was far, far away. "Back in university... there was this one guy."
His body stilled beside me instantly. My heart flipped in triumph.
Oh, this was working.
"He, um... proposed to me." I shrugged as though it was no big deal, biting back the grin that threatened to spill.
"And he wasn't... you know... casual about it either.
He made quite the effort. Always trying to convince me to give him a chance.
Flowers, notes, even waiting outside classes sometimes. "
The silence that followed was so thick, I almost burst into laughter. I dared a sideways glance at him. His jaw was locked tight, eyes burning holes into me, and his arm around me had tensed like steel.
I bit my lip harder, both from nerves and glee.
I swallowed, my heart racing, ignoring how his eyes watched me like a hawk, something inside me wanted to push further.
He was so not taking this lightly.
"You seem... very comfortable telling me this." His voice was low, controlled, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it.
I tilted my head innocently, widening my eyes. "Well, I asked you some questions earlier. I thought it's only fair If I share, too."
His lips pressed into a hard line. For a second, I thought he was actually going to get up. His eyes swept over my face, sharp, unreadable—until they dropped to my bitten lip.
"So...?" he asked finally, voice rough. "Did you ever... consider saying yes?"
I almost lost my composure then, wanting to laugh and cling to him at once. But I forced myself to keep the act. I lifted a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. "He was... persistent. Sweet, even."
That was it. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, and the next thing I knew, he'd shifted, hovering over me with both arms braced on either side. My back sank into the pillows, my heart exploding in my chest.
His face was inches from mine, his breath warm against my lips. "Sweet?" he repeated, as if the word itself insulted him.
I swallowed, my act now tangled with a rush of heat and nerves. "Y-yes..."
I bit my bottom lip nervously.
His gaze dropped like a predator locking onto prey, eyes flicking from my lips to my face. Those marble-grey eyes, usually cool and controlled, darkened instantly, grey hues melting into dark.
He let out a quiet, almost frustrated groan.
My bravado cracked as his closeness consumed me. My lips parted, and before I could decipher, his mouth crashed onto mine—rough, desperate, claiming.
His lips moved against mine with urgency—hungry, demanding, like every ounce of control he usually carried so effortlessly had shattered the moment I mentioned someone else. The way his mouth claimed mine left no space for doubt: I was his, only his.
I whimpered softly when his teeth caught my bottom lip again, tugging just enough to send shivers shooting down my spine.
I melted. Completely. My body, my will, everything gave in to him.
His hand slid up to cradle my jaw, firm but gentle, tilting my face as he deepened the kiss. I felt myself unravel, every thought dissolving into the heat of his lips, the taste of him, the way he kissed me like breathing without me was impossible.
When I tried to catch my breath, he slowed just a fraction, brushing his lips over mine, softer now. Tender, reverent. Like he wanted to soothe the fire he'd just ignited. My heart ached at the contradiction—his ferocity and his gentleness, both tangled together in this one kiss.
Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against mine.
I dared to open my eyes, only to find his already on me. Dark, stormy grey. Unrelenting.
Watching me as if my reaction was all he lived for.
"You like playing with fire, don't you, my little menace?" he rasped, voice gravelly, his breath hot against my mouth.
I breathed, dazed, lips still brushing his.
His mouth curved into a faint smirk, though his eyes still ablazed. "You drive me insane." He kissed me again, softer this time, as though sealing the confession. "And I've never loved losing control this much before."
My heart skipped wildly, my cheeks burning hotter than ever.
Well, Zoya, you brought this on yourself.
To be Continued.....