Chapter 17
The chapter is unedited so read at your own risk.
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Safiya's POV
“Eyes here, my dear wife.”, I suddenly felt a rush of emotions when I heard his whisper, he was only inches apart, trapping me between him and the headboard.
I tilted my head only slightly, feeling goosebumps on the back of my neck. My eyes snapped up to meet his. His gaze was dark, unreadable, intense and I hated that it made my stomach flutter.
I panicked as being subjected to such proximity made insides churn with something indescribable. My hands flew up and rested against his chest, pushing him slightly.
“Back off,” I whispered, though it sounded far less threatening than I’d intended it to be. He didn’t move even slightly. Thats when I noticed the fre space on the other side and decided to squirm away a little.
As I tried to escape , his hand shot out and he grabbed me by my arm, his fingers digging into my exposed skin as he pulled me back. I stumbled onto the bed with a gasp, falling against the mattress as he hovered over me.
What the actual fuck is wrong with him?
“Strip, Jaan.”, my eyes widened when he whispered into my ears. He grew closer, his breath fanning against the side of my face making me gulp.
I froze.
Did he just—
As he leaned down, I could feel the proximity between us leaving us only inches apart.
I could feel his intense glare even though he was not looking at me.
The contrast between his facial expressions and tone is quite obvious.
I shrieked when I felt his warm touch on my waist, his fingers slightly brushing against my exposed skin.
Bile rose to my throat as my defensive self kicked in before unintentionally ( it was intentional ) my knee shot up and hit him right where it hurts.
Direct hit. 10000/10. Would recommend!
He shrieked away groaning in pain, clutching himself as he stumbled back. I sat up immediately, watching him growl through his teeth.
He looked at me like he wanted to kill me. His nostrils flared as he tried to recover. I could almost hear him counting backwards from ten.
Will it be a crime if I kill him?
And then he strode towards me with quick steps once again.
I was pulled out of my thoughts when he cornered me once again.
I backed up instinctively, pressing myself against the bedside table.
while he glared at me, his features darkening every second as his face twisted with barely constrained fury.
“Stop this,”, I snapped trying to mask my fear. My lips pursed when I saw the corner of his lips curl up into a wicked grin.
Should I call a therapist for him?
His lips curled into that stupid smirk I already hated. “Stop what, jaan?”
“This! ”, i shrieked at him, “ Whatever this disgusting caveman nonsense is. Yes, we’re married. But I didn’t say you could touch me.”, I spat at him trying to push him off. I should probably kick him again.
Maybe I should’ve kicked him twice...
“ Permission? Do I really need your permission? ”, my eyes widened at his words. How could he say that? Was this the same calm, collected person everyone told me he was. I shivered at his words, a fear instilling in me. My hands for a second went numb at his words before fury consumed me.
“ So bold of you to assume that I care about your opinion, Safiya. ”, my heart beat quickened at his words. Would he really? Did I just marry a man who was exactly the kind I hated?
“ I’m your husband, not some stranger...”, he said with a tilt of sarcasm. As I opened my mouth to protest, he placed his index finger on my lips silencing me with a hoarse, ‘shhh’
Bitch remove your finger or I'll bite it off...
“ Don't all husbands and wives do this..”, I try to push him off, but he doesn't even stumble and only leans closer.
“ Our marriage was sudden, I don't even know you.”, I reasoned poking my index finger into his chest with grittef teeth, glaring at him back only to be surprised when he snapped back at me.
“Yeah? Who told you to act clever back there? To be the savior who would save the reputation of the family huh- ” he snapped, his voice low and laced with anger as his fingers curled tightly around my wrist.
The sudden pressure made me wince, pain shooting up my arm. My breath hitched when I heard the unmistakable sound of glass cracking. I looked down only to let out an inaudible squeak.
One of the red bangles on my wrist had shattered, crushed by the sheer force of his grip. Tiny shards now pressed against my skin, digging in deeper with every second he held on.
“I just did what I thought was right,” I managed to say, trying to pull my wrist away, only to be met with more resistance. His grip tightened, his knuckles turning white.
He leaned in slightly, eyes dark, breath hot and sharp like venom. And then his next words... they didn’t just hurt, they gutted me. I looked down only to noticed the trickle of blood from his palm due to the glass shards that now mixed with my blood.
“Tumne woh kiya hai jo tumhe apne aur apne baba ke liye munasib laga. Kya kar sakte... khoon toh akhir khoon hi ganda hota hai na.”
(You did what you thought was suitable for yourself and your father. What can one expect... blood, after all, stays filthy.)
For a second, I forgot to breathe. His words slammed into me harder than any physical blow could. His words stung more than the glass shard piercing into my skin. Like someone had stabbed me with a dagger and now was twisting it to make the wound deeper, more deadly.
I felt the sting of the glass digging into my skin as he tightened his hold even further, almost like he wanted me to bleed. The pain was real but not as real as the ache clawing inside my chest.
I looked at the man standing before me, holding my wrist like I was something disposable. My father’s choice. My so-called protector.
But all I saw was rage. Hatred that wasn't even mine to carry. This wasn’t just Zaviyar Raza Khan.
This was the twisted version of him, the one born from betrayal and pride.
The version who now looked at me not as his wife, not even as a person, but as a symbol of every wrong turn his life had taken
With great effort i finally pushed him off making him stumble anf somehow managed to compose myself. I could feel the tears gathering in my eyrs.
When I saw him approaching me once again. I panicked and picked up the nearest thing, the ceramic vase pointing it at him. I didn't think twice before I flung it at him. I wouldn't let him hurt me and think he could get off. If I shed one drop of blood I'll make sure he bleeds to death.
The vase crashed against the wall, missing his shoulder only by a centimeter making his eyes widen as I picked by the lamp next aiming it at him.
“ Pagal ho gayi— ”, he started but I cut him off with a scream.
“ Chuppp.... ”
“ Mene shaadi ki hain tumse... ghulaam nhi hu tumhari. Izzat se baat karo varna mein apni asiliyat dikhane lagi na, dou din mein Azamgarh touh kya yeh desh chorke bhaag jaoge. ”, I screamed in frustration and anger, surpressing my fear and anxiety.
( I married you... I’m not your slave. Speak respectfully or if I show you my true self, you won’t just flee Azamgarh, you’ll leave this country. )
“ Barein aayein nawab shahab... Ghoor kya rahe ho mein nhi darti tumse.”, I said glaring at him trying to intimidate him making him look at me both amusingly and with anger.
( You think too highly of yourself, bloody nawab or whatever you are... What are you staring at? I’m not afraid of you. )
Bipolar bitch!
“Nhi darti ho touh piche kyu jaa rhi ho... stay where you are. ”, Zaviyar asked approaching me with slow intimidatinh steps.
I was going to throw the lamp at him only to gasp when he flung himself at me making my knees crash against the bed frame as both of us landed on the bed.
With Zaviyar on top of me. I closed my eyes feeling the impact of the soft mattress on my back.
( Not afraid? Then why are you stepping back... stay where you are. )
“ Don't run away from me, jaan.... ”, he whispered once again, his hoarse voice making a weird heat settle in the pit of my stomach..
I turned my face away from him.
“ This is our wedding night... A night for us to be together...”, He said slamming his hand on the side of my face to balance his weight. His other hand clutched my face in a strong grip as he made me face him.
“ We don’t even know each other...”, I said pushing him off of me as I quickly got up from the bed beelining for the door to escape whatever cat mouse game we were playing.
Only to be yanked back mid-step as his fingers curled tightly around my wrist, dragging me back like I weighed nothing.
And the next thing I knew, my back slammed against the cold, unrelenting wall with a jolt that knocked the breath out of me.
Both his hands seized my wrists, pinning them mercilessly on either side of my head.
I squirmed, but his grip was like iron, like he wanted to make sure I didn’t even flinch without his say.
“Let go of my hand… it’s hurting me…” I muttered, wincing, my voice barely above a whisper as I tried shoving him off.
My fingers pushed weakly, but he didn’t budge.
I tried lifting my leg to push him away, but he had me cornered.
Even moving an inch felt impossible. The fabric of my heavy outfit tangled around my knees didn’t help.
Only if I was wearing something lighter, something that didn’t cling and restrict, maybe I could’ve fought harder.
“Le-leave me… this hurts… Za-viyar…” My voice cracked as I felt his hand slither up to my neck.
I gasped, eyes wide, feeling the pressure around my wind pipe.
It was not enough to choke me, but just enough to make me gasp for each breath.
Like he wanted to remind me who held control, who called the shots in here.
“So who asked you to marry me, huh?” His voice was bitter, venomous, every word dipped in resentment.
“You really thought I wouldn’t see through your little games? You and your family have always polluted our bloodline, staining the name we built with pride.” His words hit harder than his grip. His bloodshot eyes staring at me, daring me to defy him.
I whimpered, not from the pain, but from the weight of the disgust in his tone. His fingers around my neck tightened again, and I could feel the anger radiating off his body like heat from a fire that wouldn't go out.
“And now you want to become heirs to this empire?” He barked, the words so loud and sharp they echoed in the room, making me flinch. His lips curled in pure hatred, and for a moment, I didn’t even recognize him.
Was this really the same man? Or was I just seeing who he had been all along?
“Tell me why?” he demanded, his eyes boring into mine like he was searching for a confession.
I panicked, trying to push him, my arms struggling for release.
“It’s… Dadaja—” I started, but before I could finish, he slammed me back against the wall. His grip tightened around my neck making me gasp.
This time the impact being much harder. My head jerked from the impact, my body stinging from the sheer force of it.
“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, “don’t you dare take Dadajaan’s name with your filthy tongue. A characterless, shameless girl like you? I’d rather die than accept you as my wife.”
The words hit like a slap. No, worse... it was like he spat poison and made sure I swallowed it whole. He finally let go of my throat, and I stumbled forward, coughing and gasping, clutching at my neck as the air burned its way back into my lungs.
My knees buckled and I fell right there, like a discarded puppet. My body trembled as I bit back tears. But they were there, stinging my eyes as they threatened to trickle down.
I felt like I had failed drastically. Not just the people who raised me, but myself. My chest hurt, it burned in agony. I pressed my palm over my heart trying to soothe the ache, to slow the rush of emotions in mw.
“I don’t even want to see your face,” he growled from above, voice rising, “stay away from me, and more importantly... stay away from what’s mine. My family. My world.”
I stiffened at his words. The weight of his words settling like chains on my skin. His tone was sharp, like a blade and I couldn’t help but look up. All I saw were his shoes. I forced myself to stand, slowly.
When I finally raised my eyes, I gave him him scold stare. I wouldn't let him get the pleasure of seeing me in pain. Never...
“You chose this marriage. No one forced you. But I’ll be the one to end it,” he said, pointing a finger at me like I was filth on his doorstep. “You’ll regret it. You’ll beg for freedom. And you won’t get it.”
I didn’t flinch nor blink rather just stood there… exhausted and drained of energy to fight any longer. What was the point of explaining anymore? He had already made perceptions about me.
“Shaadi Mubarakho, biwi.”, He sneered, turning away. The venom in the last word made it sound like a curse.
He turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. My vision blurred not from tears, but fury and humiliation. Something snapped within me igniting something evil within me.
I didn’t know what came over me but the next thing I knew, I grabbed the glass of milk that had been sitting untouched on the dressjng table. I didn’t even think.
I stormed across the room, yanked the door open and there he was. Still standing right outside.
And I screamed, from the deepest of my chest,
“YOU BLOODY BIPOLAR MOTHERFUCKING BITCH!”
I hurled the glass right at his face. Milk splashed across his skin, dripping down his sherwani, soaking the expensive fabric in a cold, white mess. Without giving him a chance to recover from the shock I flung the glass at him as well. The glass hit his head making him groan in pain.
His mouth opened in shock but before he could even say a word, I slammed the door shut, I felt it hit him square in the face making a calmness spread in my chest. It felt great to my ears when his muffled groan followed shortly.
I leaned back against the door, letting it hold my weight, my heart still racing. My hand pressed against my chest as I tried to catch my breath, to calm the fire roaring inside me. The adrenaline pulsed through every vein and all I could do was close my eyes and breathe.
It was stupid, impulsive… childish even. But for some reason, hurling that glass and slamming the door on his stupid arrogant face gave me this weird, twisted sense of satisfaction.
Clutching the front pleats of my heavy lehenga in one hand, I walked forward, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat. But each step deeper into the room made my chest feel tighter. The black surroundings felt off and scared me.
I quickly reached out and flicked on every light, illuminating the room in seconds that somehow made it feel even emptier. But it was still better than the darnkess. My eyes instinctively landed on the bed once again.
It had once been decorated beautifully, with fresh rose petals arranged in a delicate heart probably by some excited staff member who thought this night would be filled with shy smiles and awkward romance.
Now it looked ruined, like everything else. The heart was destroyed from one side, the same side where I had fallen with him on top of me. The petals were trampled and crushed by our little physical argument. The other side was still intact, mocking me. Like a painful metaphor for this marriage.
With a choked breath, I slammed my hand down onto the dressing table, the sound echoing in the quiet My legs finally gave out as I dropped on the vanity chair. I stared at my reflection, the corners of my lips twitching into a humorless, dry chuckle.
What a joke.
The bangles on my wrist felt like golden shackles binding me to him. I raised my hands, staring at the red imprints they had left behind. My skin throbbed under the weight of the jewellery.
Each clink of the metal made me feel more and more trapped. The necklace resting against my throat didn’t feel like a gold neckpiece anymore. It felt like an expensive dog collar. Something that screamed possession, not love.
The tightness in my chest grew unbearable. My throat was constricting like an invisible rope was tied around it. My vision blurred.
What had I signed up for? Was this really going to be my life now? This silence, this pain, this humiliation wrapped in the name of marriage?
I began tugging the bangles off aggressively one by one. Some slipped easily, others clung to my swollen wrist. One sharp edge bangle grazed the skin, and I hissed when I saw a piece of glass still pierced into my skin from earlier.
I pulled it out with trembling fingers, flinching as blood oozed out and stained the gold. I ripped off the rest, throwing them at the mirror, one after the other, until the reflection stared back at me through a frame of scattered gold and red.
Everything was irritating. Everything around me, everything on me.
My gaze finally lifted to my reflection.
There she was. Dressed as a bride, his bride.
The bride, he refused to accept. The bride he spat on with his words, crushed with his hands.
I didn’t want him either. But his rejection…
it still hurts. It still burned deep, like a wound that wouldn’t heal soon.
The necklace was next. I gritted my teeth and yanked it off with a sharp tug irritated when it didn't open. The metal dug into the skin, leaving behind an angry red rash around my neck along with the faint outline of his fingers from minutes ago.
The veil on my head only repulsed me further. I flung it away like it had scorched me. Then came the matha patti. I picked at the pins holding it in place, each one refusing to budge. It felt like the pins were dug into my skull.
My fingers trembled with frustration as I tried again and again. My scalp burned with each failed attempt. Finally, I pulled hard at the stubborn pin only for a sharp metal pin to stab into my finger.
“Shit,” I whispered, wincing as blood trickled from the small cut.
And that was it. That was the breaking point.
I let out a loud, broken scream. A scream I had been holding inside for what felt like hours. Tears burst from my eyes in heavy, bitter streams. The kajal from earlier ran down with them, turning my tears black.
How fitting! My pain was so dramatic, even my tears looked poetic.
I slammed my palm on the dressing table and slowly lowered my head until it rested on the cold surface. I sobbed probably looking and sounding as ugly.
My body shook as I tried to control my tears. I didn't care anymore. I didn’t care how I looked, what time it was, or who might hear me. I just needed to let it out. All of it.
‘He’s the perfect guy for you.’
‘You’ll be really happy in this marriage.’
‘I still pray this becomes something beautiful, that all your wishes are fulfilled in it.’
‘Zaviyar is the one… the guy I would choose for you.’
Mom and Dad's voices echoed in my head. Each sentence, like a nail hammering into my skull. I cover my ears with my palm, trying to block them out. The pain in my head was unbearable now.
Finally, when the sobs turned to hiccups and the tears stopped flowing freely, I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand. I looked up again at my reflection.
A mess. That’s all I was.
My lipstick was smudged at the corners, my lashes stuck together from the tears, my cheeks streaked in black, and my hair a tangled disaster hanging down my back.
Then my gaze dropped to my hand and travelled to the ring adorning my ring finger. This damned ring.
My stomach twisted in disgust and horror. I wanted it gone. I grabbed the bottle of coconut oil and rubbed it on my finger, twisting and pulling until it finally slipped off. I tossed it aside like it burned.
Next came the makeup. I grabbed a cotton pad and cleanser and scrubbed off every bit of makeup from my face. Every layer and every speck. Every trace of the bride I had dressed up as tonight. I wanted her to disappear.
I wiped my face with the cleanser like I was trying to remove his touch from my skin. But even when my skin was bare, even when the jewelry was off. I still felt trapped. Still felt heavy and gloomy from inside.
I didn’t have clothes to change into. Nothing light or comforting. And I didn’t have the energy left to fight with the zip or hooks of the lehenga. So I didn’t even budge.
I contemplated whether to sleep on the bed or the couch. The bed looked comfortable but it didn't feel welcoming. The scenes from earlier haunting me so I decided to sleep on the couch.
Dragging my aching body to the couch, I plopped down with a thud, the cushion swallowing me like it knew I needed an escape. I pulled my knees to my chest, the fabric rustling but I didn’t care. My eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion taking over.
But not before I saw the same orbs again as soon as I closed my eyes but not before his darkened eyes flashed in front of me once agiam.
The last thing I saw before sleep finally consumed me was the empty bed which was still covered in rose petals. Petals that were supposed to be soft, comforting but seemed like thorns in disguise.
Thorns which were only visible to my eyes and they were laid every patiently by my dear husband...
·····
Author’s Note
So, Zaviyar comes across as a massive red flag in this chapter and that’s intentional. But before you judge only him, let’s not forget that Safiya isn’t all sunshine and cupcakes either.
She isn't wela of fragile but not the kind who are like - I'm different. I don't cry. Blah blah.
That said, this doesn’t mean I am excusing anyone’s behaviour here, especially Zaviyar’s outburst.
Zaviyar actions, the ring, the outburst, him asking her to strip or that they should consulate was his outburst and wrath. Also, his way to push her away. Similarly, Safiya kicking him was defence, throwing the vase was rage and throwing the glass was revenge..
Their actions were borderline abusive. And I want to make one thing very clear, I am not romanticizing abuse or supporting any particular side here...
What you saw was a man lashing out because he felt cornered, because his voice was unheard, and instead of using words, he used control. That’s not love. That is pain turned violent.
But he did that to push her away, to make her hate him.
Because the idea of being in any kind of relationship with her whether forced, arranged, or otherwise.
.. sickened him, and that’s his way of rejecting it.
A twisted one, yes. But rooted in years of family trauma, mistrust, and pride.
Now let’s talk about Safiya. If you’re under the impression that she’s going to stand there and take it. Let me tell you... you’re wrong. She's not weak but rather a strategist. She hit back when people least expect her to.
And to that one reader who DM’ed me saying “Why is Safiya being so submissive? She’s losing her spark & becoming spineless. Uhh, ?? if I tell you anything I'll end up revealing the plot.
So.... I’m not asking you to pick sides. I’m asking you to understand that this is a story about grey characters. No one’s perfect, no one’s purely evil, and no one gets off easy.
Keep reading. You’ll see exactly what Safiya is made of.
And believe me, you’ll wish you hadn’t underestimated her.
And Zaviyar aint a golden retriever okay... He's a morally grey character as well.