Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐒𝐢𝐱

Author's Note:

Our room was a chaos of giggles, half-eaten chips, and scattered nail polish bottles. I was curled up on the bed, legs tucked under me, while Laiba, Ayat, and Inaya were sprawled across the floor. Aaliya and Nouran Api had claimed the couch, sipping iced tea as if they were royalty.

"I swear," Laiba said dramatically, tossing a pillow in the air, "this baby is already bossy. Look at Zoya's face, she hasn't even said a word in ten minutes."

I groaned, hiding my face in the blanket. "I'm conserving energy. Do you know how exhausting it is to grow an entire human?"

Inaya snorted. "Exhausting? You've been lying flat like a pancake all day."

"Exactly!" I shot back, peeking at her. "Do pancakes make themselves? No. Someone flips them. In this case, God is flipping me from side to side."

The room exploded in laughter.

"Wait, wait," Ayat gasped, wiping tears of laughter. "So, technically... Zaigham Bhai is married to a pancake?"

"More like a moody pancake," Nouran Api added slyly.

I threw the pillow at her but missed spectacularly, hitting the snack bowl instead. Chips went flying.

"Laiba!" I cried, because obviously it was her fault.

"Why me?!" she squealed, shielding her head. "I was just sitting here being pretty!"

The chaos spiraled from there. Ayat started fanning me with a magazine like I was some queen about to faint, while Inaya leaned close to my now five-month baby bump and whispered, "Baby, please give your mama a craving for chocolate cake so we can all share."

I burst out laughing so hard my sides hurt. "Don't manipulate my child!"

"Too late," Laiba grinned wickedly. "We're going to be the coolest khalas and phuphos ever. This baby will love us more than you."

I gasped in mock horror, clutching my stomach protectively. "Traitors. You're banned from visitation rights."

"Zoya, sweetheart," Aaliya cut in with a sweet smile, "you're glowing, by the way. I mean, look at you, it's kind of beautiful."

Her words were so genuine that they softened the room for a moment. My throat tightened, but before I could get teary, Nouran Api ruined it by leaning in and whispering, "Don't let it get to your head. It's just hormones."

The girls laughed again. I smacked the blanket over my head and mumbled through it, "I hate all of you."

"Correction," Laiba's muffled voice came from under the blanket too, she had crawled in beside me, hugging me tight. "You love us. And you love that we're going to annoy the baby every single day."

I peeked out, smiling despite myself.

"Nouran Api, you will find out when it's your turn. For now, go ahead and tease me all you want," I said playfully, and she blushed.

The house was unusually quiet when I returned. I pushed open our bedroom door.

And there she was.

My Zoya. Curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, the other resting protectively over her belly.

That curve under her palm wasn't just a dream anymore. It was real, visible, alive. My throat tightened as I stood there watching, the weight of it sinking into me again, the reality that in just a few more months, I'd be holding a part of us in my arms.

I loosened my tie and walked closer, every step slow, careful not to wake her. God, she looked tired. The exhaustion was written all over her delicate face. And yet, she looked beautiful. Maybe more than ever.

Leaning down, I brushed a feather-light kiss over her forehead. Then down to her stomach, where I lingered. "Hello, little one," I murmured softly against her bump. "Your father is home."

Her lashes fluttered, and she stirred, her sleepy voice spilling into the quiet. "Zaigham...?"

I froze. Straightening slightly, I smoothed her hair back. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

But she smiled, small and drowsy, her hand reaching for mine. "I don't mind."

I sank down on the bed beside her, sliding my arm around her so her back was snug against my chest. My other hand found its natural place, resting over hers, on her bump. Warmth bloomed in my chest just feeling the firm roundness there beneath my palm.

"You've been sleeping a lot lately," I whispered near her ear.

Her lips curved into a pout. "I'm always tired..." she mumbled, nestling into me.

I kissed her temple. "That's because you're carrying our whole world inside you."

She laughed softly.

My thumb stroked over her bump gently, reverently. "Zoya, do you even realize what this means to me? For years, I only thought about business, about building something that would last. And now... here you are, giving me something I never admitted I wanted more than anything else."

Her breath caught, and she tilted her head back to look at me, eyes wide and shiny. "You... wanted this? Always?"

"Always," I admitted, my voice low but firm.

Her lips trembled, and then she smiled. She turned into me, hugging me tighter, and for a long moment, we just stayed like that, breathing each other in.

When I finally tore myself away from her warmth, I bent close and murmured against her hair, "Okay, let me freshen up now, hmm?"

She nodded, a little pout tugging at her lips that made me want to stay, but I pressed a kiss to her forehead before heading into the washroom.

A few minutes later, I stepped back into the room, towel draped over my shoulders, rubbing the back of my neck as I worked the dampness from my hair. My gaze fell on her instantly. She was sitting up now, her long hair twisted into a loose bun, her fingers fussing with stray strands.

The sight did something to me, this quiet domesticity, her glowing even when exhaustion clung to her features.

When her eyes found mine, she smiled softly and stood, padding over until she was right in front of me. Without a word, her fingers reached for the buttons of my shirt, playing with them idly, twisting one between her thumb and finger.

I smiled, already recognizing the habit. "What is it, love?" I asked, lowering my head slightly to catch her shy gaze.

She pressed her lips together, pretending to think, then leaned closer and whispered as though sharing a forbidden secret: "I'm hungry..."

I arched a brow, my hand automatically resting on her hip. "Craving what?"

She finally peeked up at me, cheeks flushed. "That strawberry shortcake from Dufflet Pastries... the one with whipped cream and strawberries on top." She almost bit her lip after saying it, as though embarrassed at how specific she sounded.

A chuckle rumbled from me. "Of course. Only the fanciest cravings for my queen."

Her pout deepened. "Don't tease me. I've been dreaming about it all day."

I leaned down and kissed the pout right off her lips, lingering for a heartbeat before murmuring, "Alright, baby. I'll get it for you."

But she shook her head stubbornly, still playing with my shirt button. "No. I want to come along."

My brows lifted, amusement dancing in my eyes. "You? Out in this weather, just for cake?"

She nodded eagerly, almost childlike.

I couldn't help the laugh that slipped out as I kissed her forehead. "Ummm." Then, letting mischief color my voice, I added, "Maybe I should go alone. Bring it back and feed it to you like a princess in bed."

She gasped dramatically and smacked my chest lightly. "That's not fair!"

Her pout returned, exaggerated this time, and she folded her arms as if she wouldn't budge.

I slipped my hands around her waist, pulling her against me, and chuckled. "Okay, okay. Don't pout. You win. Go get ready, we'll go together. Hmm?"

Her entire face lit up in victory, the exhaustion replaced with a sparkle that made my chest ache with tenderness.

As she skipped away to get ready, I stood there for a moment, towel still in my hand, smiling to myself.

The drive was quiet at first, the evening city lights flickering through the windshield. Zoya sat curled toward me in the passenger seat, humming to herself. Every now and then, I'd catch her sneaking a glance at me, her smile tugging wider each time I pretended not to notice.

By the time we pulled up in front of the bakeshop, her excitement was practically bouncing off her in waves. She almost forgot her seatbelt in her rush to get out, and I had to catch her wrist.

"Slow down, baby," I teased, pressing a kiss to her temple. "The cake isn't going anywhere."

"It might!" she whispered dramatically, eyes wide. "What if someone else eats the last slice of strawberry shortcake before me?"

I chuckled, shaking my head as I guided her inside.

The display case was a kaleidoscope of colors, cakes with glossy glazes, pastries topped with fruits, tarts shimmering under the light. Zoya's eyes went wide like a child in a candy store.

"I want that... and that... oh, and maybe that one too..." she murmured, pointing to nearly everything.

"Zoya," I said slowly, narrowing my eyes in mock warning. "We came here for one thing." Knowing it might not be good for her health.

"But the baby wants options!" she countered, widening her eyes in her most innocent expression.

How could I say no? I sighed in defeat and ordered a variety of cakes and pastries, earning a triumphant grin from her.

When we finally sat down at a cozy corner table, she immediately dug into the strawberry shortcake, eyes fluttering closed in bliss. But then, to my utter horror, she reached for a slice of lemon tart and... paired it with a bite of chocolate fudge cake.

Together.

I froze mid-bite, staring. "You didn't just—"

"Mmm," she moaned happily, ignoring me. "This is so good."

I made a face, pushing my plate slightly away. "Zoya, you can't mix lemon and chocolate. It's unnatural."

She glared at me over her fork, cheeks puffed out adorably. "You don't know anything, Zaigham. It's not in my control, okay? I just... I need to have it!"

I put my hands up in surrender, fighting a laugh. "Alright, alright."

She huffed, satisfied, before taking another weird bite combination, this time, red velvet with a spoonful of mango mousse.

I groaned, covering my face with my hand. "Please, at least spare the red velvet. It didn't deserve this fate."

She leaned across the table, wagging her fork at me. "One more complaint and you don't get a bite. Deal?"

I peeked at her through my fingers, smirking. "That's blackmail."

"That's a deal," she shot back, giggling as she went for another bite.

And then, without warning, she scooped up a piece of her bizarre lemon-chocolate combo and held it out in front of my lips. "Here. Try it."

I recoiled instantly. "Absolutely not."

Her lower lip jutted forward, trembling like she was about to cry. "You won't even share my cravings with me?"

I sighed, defeated again, then, reluctantly, I opened my mouth and let her feed me.

The taste hit instantly. My face twisted, eyes narrowing, while she clapped her hands in glee. "See? Delicious, right?"

I swallowed with great difficulty, my pride the only thing keeping me from gagging. "Yes, baby. Absolutely divine. Who needs proper flavor when this exists?"

She laughed.

I leaned back smugly, sipping my coffee, when she suddenly shoved another bite of her lemon-chocolate-red-velvet disaster toward me.

"Zoya—no."

"Yes."

"Absolutely not."

"Yes, Zaigham. Open your mouth."

"Do I look like a man who doesn't value his taste buds?"

"You look like a man who loves his wife very, very much," she sing-songed.

I groaned, but of course, I leaned forward and took the bite.

The taste hit me like betrayal. My eye twitched. My jaw clenched. I forced the sweetest smile I could muster. "Mmm. Heaven."

She burst into giggles, slapping the table with her hand. "You liar! You almost died just now."

"Correction," I muttered, taking a gulp of coffee to cleanse my soul, "I did die. And my ghost is currently haunting Dufflet Pastries."

She laughed so hard she nearly toppled sideways in her chair, and I had to steady her, chuckling despite myself.

By the time we got back into the car, she was still glowing, her hands protectively on her little bump, a soft smile lingering as if she was satisfied with her chaos.

The moment the engine purred to life, she turned to me with narrowed eyes. "You liked it."

I glanced at her. "Excuse me?"

"The weird combo. You liked it."

I snorted. "Liked it? Baby, that was a crime against humanity."

She gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest. "How dare you! This is your child's first official craving creation. Show some respect."

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. "If our child inherits your food logic, we're doomed. Next, it'll be pizza dipped in orange juice."

Her eyes lit up instantly. "Wait— that doesn't sound too bad."

I whipped my head toward her in horror. "Zoya, no."

"Yes!" she said, grinning mischievously, clearly enjoying torturing me. "Tomorrow, we'll try it."

I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. "I married chaos. Pure chaos."

She leaned back smugly, folding her arms. "And you love me."

I sighed, pulling her closer across the console and kissing her knuckles. "Unfortunately for my sanity, yes. More than anything."

Her cheeks pinked.

The car ride back had been light, Zoya still laughing softly at her own silly dessert experiments. She leaned toward Zaigham, teasing, her hand resting near the gear when suddenly the headlights caught movement.

A figure lurched onto the road.

Zaigham's reaction was instant. Tires screeched, the car jolted violently, and Zoya let out a startled gasp as her hand flew to the seatbelt across her chest. The world seemed to freeze in that sharp halt before the silence settled again, broken only by the thudding of their hearts.

Without hesitation, Zaigham shoved the gear into park and threw his door open. His tall frame cut a sharp figure against the dim streetlights as he strode toward the motionless body lying on the road. Rain mist clung to his shoulders, his movements taut with restrained fury.

The woman lay crumpled, her hair veiling her face. For a moment, he only stared. Then he crouched, fingers gripping her chin with practiced control, tilting her face into the light.

His entire body stiffened.

Mahveen.

The name thundered inside him like a curse. Blood surged hot through his veins, his jaw locking so tightly the muscle ticked in his cheek. His nostrils flared as if he could barely stomach the sight of her.

Behind him, Zoya's voice broke the charged silence. "Zaigham? What happ—" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the unconscious woman.

Zaigham rose sharply, his coat shifting around him like a storm. Without a word to Zoya, he turned and stalked back to the car, rage burning in every step.

"Wait—where are you going?" Zoya hurried after him, her voice thin with confusion.

"Home," he bit out, his voice clipped, cold. "Where else?"

Her eyes darted to the still figure on the road. She hesitated, then pressed forward, voice breaking with unease. "B-but her... how can we just—"

Zaigham stopped dead. His shoulders squared, his head turning slowly, eyes narrowing like a blade finding its mark. "Don't." His voice was low, lethal. "Don't even think about saying I should help her."

The look in his eyes made Zoya falter, but still she stood her ground, her voice quieter, pleading.

"Zaigham, this is not... this is not right. How can we leave her here like this?"

Every word was met with a deeper narrowing of his gaze. His chest rose and fell sharply as though he were holding himself back by sheer force. "After what she did—" his voice thundered low, "you're still thinking about her?"

Zoya's throat worked as she swallowed. She glanced again at Mahveen, her lashes fluttering with conflict. "I know what she did. I know. But right now..." She exhaled, her voice softening with desperate insistence. "Please, Zaigham."

For a long moment, the only sound was the pitter-patter of rain. His hand dragged up to pinch the bridge of his nose, the muscles in his jaw straining. His teeth clenched so hard the veins stood out on his neck.

"Fine," he ground out finally, each letter bitten like venom.

In one swift motion, he bent, lifted Mahveen into his arms, and carried her toward the car. His steps were rigid, his entire body seething with restraint as though the very act poisoned him. With a hard shove, he placed her in the backseat, his face a mask of fury.

The rest of the drive was suffocating. The silence pressed in like a weight, broken only by the hum of the tires on the road.

Zaigham's knuckles were white around the steering wheel, his gaze locked ahead, unyielding.

Zoya sat beside him, her hands twisted nervously in her lap, her eyes flicking toward him but never finding courage enough to speak.

When the car finally rolled into the driveway, Zaigham was out before the engine had fully stilled. His movements were sharp, mechanical, as though driven entirely by fury. He circled the car, yanking open the passenger door with clipped precision.

Zoya stepped out hesitantly, glancing toward the backseat. "Zaigham—her—"

"No." His voice was steel. His hand closed around hers, firm, controlled, but careful, pulling her with him. "Not again. I'll ask someone else to bring her inside. I am not touching her."

Zoya's lips pressed into a thin line, her shoulders sagging with reluctant acceptance. She nodded softly, her gaze falling to the ground.

The heavy front door swung open with a loud creak, and the weight of Zaigham's fury entered with him. His stride was long, unyielding, every step echoing like a warning across the marble floor.

The living room was alive with quiet chatter until his presence silenced it. Deeda, his mother, Zoya's mother, and his father all rose instinctively, their eyes snapping toward him. Their gazes flickered with unease as they noticed the storm raging in his eyes.

Zaigham stopped just before the stairs, his frame stiff, his expression set in stone. His voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding to the staff.

"Bring her inside," he ordered flatly, his jaw tight. He turned on his heel and strode up the stairs without another word, leaving behind the scorch of his anger in the air.

Zoya lingered at the doorway, her hand still resting on the knob, torn between following her husband and facing the questioning stares now burning into her. Slowly, she stepped further inside, her chest tightening as her family's eyes settled on her.

"What happened?" Deeda's voice was the first to break the silence, edged with sharp suspicion.

Her mother's brows furrowed deeply, her lips tightening as though bracing for something unpleasant. His mother exchanged a quick glance with his father, who only raised a brow, his silence more piercing than words.

Zoya's throat went dry. She clasped her hands together in front of her, the weight of all those eyes pressing against her chest. "We were coming back," she began softly, her voice trembling at first. "Someone came in front of the car. We stopped... and then we saw—it was Mahveen."

The reaction was instant. Her mother's face soured in disbelief. His mother's lips parted, shock paling her features before they hardened into something unreadable. Deeda's hand slapped against her thigh in irritation, her tone cutting. "Of course. Of course it had to be her."

His father leaned back, eyes narrowing, his jaw grinding as though weighing the words he didn't yet speak.

Zoya's voice wavered, but she forced herself to continue. "She was unconscious. Zaigham... didn't want to—he didn't want anything to do with her. But I... I couldn't let us leave her there. So—so he let the staff bring her in."

A tense silence stretched, heavy and sour. The air felt sharp, charged with unsaid judgments.

Deeda scoffed under her breath. "That girl only brings ruin wherever she steps. And now she's back under this roof?"

Her mother shook her head in disapproval, eyes clouded with worry. "Zoya, you should have let it be. Sometimes kindness is the greatest mistake."

Zoya swallowed, her gaze dropping to the floor.

The room was dimly lit. Zaigham stood by the wide window, his tall frame silhouetted against the fading light, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His shoulders were stiff, every line of his body radiating silent fury.

Zoya pushed the door open slowly, careful not to make noise, her heart thudding at the heaviness that hung in the air. The moment she saw his stance, she knew. He was still furious.

She swallowed hard, gathering courage, and padded across the room. Her hands, soft and trembling, slid gently around his waist from behind, she hugged him carefully.

For a moment, he didn't move. Then, with a slow sigh, he gently unhooked her arms and stepped forward, putting space between them. Without a word, he moved toward the balcony, stepping out into the crisp evening air.

Zoya's lips curved into a small pout, her chest aching. She followed him, feet padding softly against the floor. When she reached him, he muttered low, not even turning to face her.

"Baby... please. Leave me alone for some time."

The words struck like a dull blade. Her eyes burned, but she stayed rooted, looking at his broad back, the way his shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths. Her lower lip trembled, and before she could stop herself, the sound of a small sniffle broke out.

Zaigham froze. His brows furrowed at the faint sound, and slowly, he turned.

Her face was wet, tears spilling silently down her cheeks, her eyes glistening as she tried to be brave but failed. Her sobs were quiet.

In an instant, his eyes softened, his fury scattering like smoke. His chest ached at the sight.

"Hey—hey, baby, no," he said quickly, striding forward. He cupped her face in his large palms, tilting it up to him. "Why are you crying? Hmm? Don't cry, love."

She sobbed harder, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to, Zaigham. I know she did so bad—so unforgivable. But I... I couldn't just leave her lying there all alone. On that road, unconscious. I'm s-sorry."

Her voice cracked, breaking into his heart.

"Shhh." His thumbs swept her tears away, his voice low and urgent. "No, no, baby, don't say sorry. I'm not mad at you." He pulled her into his chest, hugging her, protective, as though shielding her from the world. "I'm mad at her. You hear me? Never at you."

He kissed the crown of her head, lingering there as he inhaled her.

His grip tightened, his voice breaking the silence again, softer now.

"It's just... I've been finding her for quite some time.

Every day, every second, she haunted me because of what she did to you.

And then suddenly, she's in front of me, and.

.. all those memories of that day, everything she put you through, it came rushing back.

I can't bear anyone hurting you again, my love. Not now. Not ever."

Her sobs softened against his chest. She whispered against him, "You have never let anyone hurt me, Zaigham. You're my safe place."

His chest squeezed painfully at her words. He leaned back just enough to see her face, pressing a kiss to one tear-stained cheek, then the other. "Don't cry, baby. Please. These cheeks are only meant for my kisses, not for tears."

She gave a small hiccupped laugh through her tears, her lips trembling. He brushed his thumb across her lower lip and bent down, kissing her softly, slowly, like a promise.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I love you, okay? I can never even think of hurting you." He said softly.

"I love you more." She said with a light smile.

When we walked downstairs at 8:30 p.m., the air felt different, dense, as though it carried a weight none of us could shake off.

I clutched the banister a little tighter as Zaigham held my hand steady, guiding me down.

The dining table was already set, everyone in their places, but no one really speaking.

The clinking of cutlery was the only sound. No cheerful chatter, no laughter. Just... silence.

Heavy, uncomfortable silence.

My gaze flitted from one end of the table to the other. Deeda stared at her plate, her lips pressed tightly together. Mama was trying her best to look composed, but the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her. Taya Jaan looked unusually grim.

The only sound was the clinking of silver against china.

Zaigham pulled out my chair before sitting down beside me, his expression as stormy as it had been all evening.

I shifted slightly, my spoon untouched, when Dada Jaan finally cleared his throat, his deep voice slicing through the suffocating quiet.

"So," he said slowly, his eyes moving around the table, "are we all planning to sit here like statues, or does anyone intend to remind me that dinner is meant to be eaten, not mourned?"

A few heads lifted at that, but no one said a word.

Deeda gave him a sharp look. "You think this is the time for jokes?" she asked softly, though her tone held more weariness than anger.

"Better than sitting here pretending we don't notice the storm in this house," Dada Jaan replied dryly, setting his spoon down. "One uninvited shadow upstairs and suddenly everyone forgets how to live."

I bit my lip at his words, lowering my gaze to my plate. My heart was thudding; I hated that Mahveen's presence had done this, turned our warm family dinners into a battlefield of silence.

Zaigham, seated beside me, exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. He hadn't touched a single bite of his food either. I could feel the heat of his anger simmering under the surface.

Tayii Jaan, her voice soft but firm. "He's right. One person should not have this much power over all of us. Especially not after everything."

"Yes, but pretending as if nothing happened would be foolish too," Deeda countered, her brows knitting.

I pressed my palms on my lap, trying not to fidget. It wasn't about me, I knew that. No one was blaming me, but still, being caught between Zaigham's rage and the family's restraint made my stomach twist.

Taya Jaan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "For now, she's a patient. Nothing more. Once she leaves this house, she leaves our lives. That should be clear."

Zaigham finally spoke, his voice clipped, cold enough to freeze the air. "The sooner, the better."

I reached under the table to ease even a fraction of that fury radiating off him, hesitantly brushing my fingers against his hand, then his palm turned, large and warm, closing firmly around mine.

Zaviyaar leaned forward then, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Honestly, the way you're all glaring at your food, it looks like someone poisoned the daal. Poor chef must be crying in the kitchen thinking—'God, I just put salt, not cyanide!'"

Laiba choked on her water, coughing between giggles. Nouran Api smacked her lightly on the arm, failing to hide her own smile. Zayyan bhai shook his head, muttering, "You will never grow up, will you?"

But Zaviyaar wasn't done. He pointed dramatically at the roasted chicken in the center. "Look at it, innocent, golden, minding its own business, and here we are, staring at it like we're plotting its assassination. Kya bigaara hai is ne humara?"

This time, mama chuckled softly, covering her mouth. Deeda tried to keep her stern composure but her lips curved despite herself. Dada Jaan's serious expression cracked just enough for a small laugh to escape.

The mood, though still heavy, loosened just enough for everyone to breathe again.