Chapter 20
Author's POV
"Bhabi! Bhabi! Bhabi!!" Kabir and Khwaish's voices echoed across the open space, their cheers ringing like a stadium crowd as Safiya hit the bull's-eye again.
Zaviyar's men continued cheering for Safiya behind Zaviyar, without letting him notice them. The men were impressed by their Sahiba proving to be as compatible and strong like their Sahib.
They watched awe-eyed as she fiercely used the weapon without flinching. Her skills were flawless and impressive.
Safiya lowered the rifle with a flourish, grinning wide before fist-bumping both Kabir and Khwaish. Then with pure smug and mischief, she turned to Zaviyar who even though a little impressed watched with a blank face.
He didn't react just shook his head at their antics, the corners of his mouth twitching as if fighting off a smirk. The smug look she wore like armour... it amused him. And he would love breaking through that armour.
"So, what do you have to say now, Nawab sahab?" Safiya turned toward him, eyes sparkling with victory. She held the rifle, and placed a hand on her hip..
Zaviyar nodded acknowledging her skills, sharp and ruthless. Much better than many of his men yet he found something lagging.
Zaviyar didn't answer and strode towards Safiya with quick steps. He simply held the rifle, his hand sliding over hers before he turned her swiftly without much effort making her shocked. He slowly stepped behind her, his front attached to her back, close yet maintaining his distance.
And as if the moment was a blur he lowered his head to her level, his head inches away from her. Without even blinking he pushed her hand to shoot at the target and landed perfect hit after hit.
The bullet ended up in the same place everytime. He clicked his fingers of his left hand and the target started moving and yet he was able to hit the Bulls eyes everytime.
"You were okay but...", he whispered into her ear. His voice trailed as he reloaded with smooth precision and fired several more times. Every shot landed in the same place as hers, dead center and layered bullet holes until they looked like one.
Safiya couldn't help but look at him through the corner od her eyes. It was no lie that she was feeling nervous in his arms, the way his one hand clutched over hers tightly and curled around hers on the trigger.
The way his subtle lightly brushed with the side of her head, his musky scent enveloped her mind and senses. She was unaware of how shocked everyone was seeing Zaviyar be so close to him that too in presence of everyone.
" This motherfucker is making sure to rub it in my face that he is married, huh? ", Agastya said with a smirk before sending a picture of Zaviyar with Safiya to their two other friends.
Safiya's jaw dropped, her triumph melting into a frown. She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. She almost felt her legs going hello when his body detached from hers, she almost stumbled back had it not been his hand at the small of her back.
Of course. He couldn't just appreciate her skills. he had to show off to her, feed that endless male ego. No doubt he was good but still.
"Just that you still have a lot to learn.
.. stop hesitating before shooting and you will be much better.
" Zaviyar added casually, setting the rifle back on the stand.
Safiya's glare could've burned through steel.
She huffed out loud ready to throw hands at Zaviyar who appeared to be as cool as the snow on the mountain top.
"Leave it, bhabi, bhai hates losing," Kabir chimed in, clearly sensing the tension.
If Zaviyar hated losing, Safiya was his mirror image. She would rather choke on her pride than admit defeat.
"Certificate se qabiliyat ka nahi, bas course complete karne ka saboot milta hai," Zaviyar tossed over his shoulder as he walked toward Agastya, who was leaning against a tree, murmuring into his phone.
(A certificate doesn't prove capability, just that you completed the course.)
Safiya's eyes narrowed at his retreating back. She wanted to argue but she could already feel a headache on the way. The late night fight they had, the toll of the day and everything they had experienced.
"Ishu, agar main kabhi tumhare bhai ko zeher khila doon toh chalega?" she asked sweetly, her tone dripping with the kind of sugar that could melt into pure venom.
(Ishu, if I ever poison your brother, will that be okay?)
"Aap bewa ban jaayengi... aur ammi ko bura lagega," Khwaish replied matter-of-factly, like she was stating the weather, making Safiya nod thoughtfully as if considering the logistics of the idea.
(You'll become a widow... and mom will be sad)
"Yeh toh main bhool hi gayi..." Safiya gasped theatrically, her gaze dropping to her bare ring finger. She'd completely forgotten to wear the ring. And truthfully? She didn't plan to. Why should she wear the ring when it doesn't even belong on her finger? Even her husband diesnt belong to her....
(Oh right, I forgot...)
"Can I tell you something, Aapi?" Khwaish's tone turned suddenly serious.
"Hmm, go on..." Safiya replied distractedly, still glaring holes into Zaviyar's back.
"Ab touh aap bhi Napoleon ki grand daughter-in-law ban gayi..." Khwaish smirked, then bolted before Safiya's brain fully processed the insult.
(You've now become Napoleon's granddaughter-in-law as well...)
"You wait- I'll show you... making fun of me like that!" Safiya took off after her, both of them breaking into loud laughter and shrieks as they disappeared into the garden path.
From a distance, Zaviyar and Agastya watched them. Agastya's eyes fixed on Khwaish's laugh, Zaviyar's gaze locked on Safiya's every move.
"Good thing Zulekha ran away herself, otherwise the poor girl would've had to be kidnapped unnecessarily..." Agastya smirked, clearly baiting him.
"Don't just say that carelessly anywhere. It's good she ran away and we didn't have to do any of that," Zaviyar muttered, leaning back against the tree. His tone was firm, but his mind drifted to the wreckage of his original plans.
"What's the use though? You ended up married either way." Agastya's eyes flickered knowingly. He swore he could see the smug smile threatening to slip from Zaviyar's ears.
"But bhabi really is very sweet..." Agastya continued, just to see Zaviyar snap his head around, a permanent scowl cutting into his features.
"What are you staring at-?" Agastya started, catching Zaviyar still watching Safiya from across the courtyard.
"Pyaari nahi, aafat hai woh. Jahan jaati hai, apne saath tabahi leke jaati hai..." Zaviyar's voice was low, laced with something unnameable.
(She's not sweet, she's chaos. Wherever she goes, she carries the storm with her...)
"Toh tu kaha ka Tees Maar Khan hai? Tu hain touh kadwa karela hee, Itni pyaari ladki mil gayi, ehsaan faramosh hai tu.
.. bhool gaya uss chudail se ho rahi thi teri shaadi?
" Agastya reminded him pointedly of the mess he'd narrowly avoided.
(And who do you think you are? You are also like bitter gourd.
You got such a lovely girl and you're still ungrateful.
.. forgot you were about to marry that witch?)
The truth was, Zaviyar had known from the beginning that Zulekha wasn't a saint. They had never approached the Ahmed's with marriage in mind. it was Mr Ahmed who brought the proposal, and refusing would've jeopardized their bigger plans.
Zulekha had planned to run away long before the engagement, and in case she changed her mind, Agastya's men had been ready to snatch her. But Safiya? She wasn't part of the plan. She was a wildcard, the most unexpected plot twist in his life.
Now, watching her laugh so freely with Kabir and Khwaish, he couldn't decide what she was to him. Wajahat's words about her, the way she challenged him without hesitation, the flashes of innocence, he didn't know which version of her to believe.
"Upar wale ne bhi kis bandar ke haath mein angur de diya..." Agastya muttered, wrinkling his nose when he noticed Zaviyar still lost in thought.
(I don't know why god even gave grapes into a monkey's hands...)
"Mera dimaag kharab mat kar, waise hi subah se sir dard kar raha hai..." Zaviyar said with an eye-roll as both men started walking toward the garage.
(Don't mess with my head, I've already had a headache since morning...)
"Toh bhabi se kehta, woh daba deti..." Agastya teased, climbing into the jeep.
(Then you should've asked bhabi, she would've pressed it...)
"Haan, daba deti... mera gala..." Zaviyar muttered, closing his eyes as the engine rumbled to life.
(Yeah, she would've pressed... my throat...)
But even with his eyes shut, he couldn't keep her out of his head. the way she had curled up on the couch last night, the way she had stumbled into him this morning, the spark in her eyes every time she challenged him.
Had it been any other girl, they would have scurried away from him. Crying in misery but everytime he tried to hurt Safiya with his words, try to push her away, she would come back at him with the same intensity and ruthlessness.
All this and she was still laughing and smiling around him, pretending that everything between them was alright? Is she being selfless or is this another pretense. He wondered.
It was all really confusing. As the jeeps pulled away from the mansion Zaviyar watched Safiya from the rear view mirror. Her glowing face appearing in it, making him stare at her in a trance.
What are you really, Safiya Shah? What are your motives?
______________________________________
( A few days before Reception )
Nauman and Wajahat had gone to another village to invite some of their distant relatives for the reception, the ones who couldn't make it to the wedding but still had to be part of the celebrations.
The guest house was slowly filling with people, conversations blending into one another, and the dining hall glowed under the chandelier's golden light.
Zaviyar entered the hall in his usual commanding stride, his presence immediately noticeable.
Waqas trailed behind him, clutching an iPad and whispering about the new trouble regarding the stock that should have been delivered by now.
His voice was hushed and hurried like he didn't want the others at the table to overhear the business talk.
Zaviyar like always carried an aura of authority. The staff muttered greetings as he passed by them to which he only nodded.
Without sparing much of a glance at anyone he moved straight to the head of the table, pulled out the chair and sat down.
His long fingers drummed once on the table as Waqas leaned down to explain the problem and within minutes Zaviyar had given him two or three solutions in that clipped no-nonsense tone of his.
After dismissing him with a slight tilt of his chin, he finally switched off his phone and slid it into his pocket.
That's when his eyes fell on the empty chair beside him.
The seat to his right, her seat now. Safiya's.
It was strange. For someone who hated to admit it, he noticed her absence instantly.
Everyone else was already present talking quietly in hushed whispers.
their cutlery untouched as the servers stood still by the side. Only Safiya was nowhere in sight.
He didn't even get the time to think more about it before she walked in. A little late as always. Her heels clicking against the marble and her phone glued to her ear. Her tone was brisk, professional and her brows furrowed as she spoke into the phone clearly still discussing work.
Zaviyar who had been doing his best avoiding her since the past few days almost couldn't break his gaze away from her.
She walked in draped in white and blue, the kind of white that mocked purity and the kind of blue that whispered calmness he could never find around her.
The fabric flowed around her frame unbothered and free.
Hsi eyes followed her as he found it hard to look away from her. She was truly looking mesmerizing in the attire.
He told himself he despised her, her arrogance, her sharp tongue, her habit of never bowing to anyones rules.
But as she adjusted the fall of her dupatta over her shoulder, the intricate patterns trailing like art against her skin something traitorous twisted in his chest. The dress was just fabric and print, yet on her it was something else entirely.
Her long hair spilled over her back, a few strands brushing against her cheek, he hated it. He hated how badly he wanted to push the strands back just to see her properly.
He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze away, but it was useless. She had already ruined his calm without even trying. That was her curse, walking into a room and making him forget for a split second why he loathed her.
However, Zaviyar was too busy staring at her to notice her words. The dupatta slid slightly as she moved revealing the curve of her wrist, the fall of her bangles chiming softly. His knuckles tightened on the armrest of his chair. No one else noticed his unrest.
Because the more he looked, the more he realized something unforgivable... he hated her. But in that dress, he hated himself more for wanting her.
" You either trust me with the documents or you don't, Mr Patil. ", she spoke with authority her voice calm and composed yet could make anyone shudder. Everyone's eyes travelled to hers as she approached the dining area.
She hung up finally but instead of walking towards him, she began pulling out the chair near Khwaish at the farthest end of the table. That's when Riffat's voice cut through the air, warm yet firm,
"Safiya, apne shohar ke saath betho, beta."
( safiya, sit with your husband. )
Safiya's hand froze on the chair. She pushed it back in with a small sigh and without protesting,walked towards the head of the table.
She nodded absentmindedly, more out of courtesy than obedience and sat down beside Zaviyar.
But her attention never lingered, her fingers were already back on the phone, typing furiously.
She had a looming hearing in court, files yet to be studied, documents to be prepared for Rathod's case along with the annoying Patil's. The best client when it came to extracting money from but the worst when it came to trusting their lawyer.
Work wasn't something she could brush aside no matter where she was, not even here, not even in this suffocatingly traditional environment. Her entire being was pulled in two directions, the obligations she had married into and the life she had built for herself.
The weight of the case she had been handling was showing. Her eyes looked a little tired and her shoulders a little heavy. She clicked her tongue to the inside of her cheek, frustrated at the client's stubbornness.
She rolled her eyes when she saw him staring at her intently. He had almost disappeared since the past few days, getting into a habit of disappearing while she was in the bathroom in the morning and came back really late at night.
Not like it mattered to her, she got the time to adjust to the room and to her life.
She could do whatever she wanted without having to be cautious of his unwanted presence.
But it was funny to her how it was completely fine and normalised when the man prioritised their work even after marriage.
But as soon as a woman would do it, she would be claimed to be selfish and unworthy.
A sudden sharp kick under the table made her jolt. She raised her head instantly, eyes flashing in annoyance, only to see her mother looking at her with soft, doting eyes that silently pleaded for her attention.
Safiya's lips parted to argue but something about that gaze made her give in. She slid her phone to the side and only then noticed that the servers were still waiting. Nobody had touched their food yet.
The silence made her shift uncomfortably. That's when Riffat leaned slightly, her voice sweet and calm but filled with meaning, "The wife always serves her husband the meal and only then do others start eating."
Safiya stared at her like she had grown two heads.
Her jaw tightened and she turned sharply towards Zaviyar, only to find his expression mirroring her own.
Annoyed and Irritated as if he hated it more than she did.
Now she regrets complaining about him never showing up and chickening out.
At least she didn't have to serve him like a bloody slave. ..
Now she understood why he never appeared at the dining table after their marriage. He was avoiding this sick custom.
Her phone buzzed again with a message from Mr Rathod. The silence that followed in the room was palpable. Her mind screamed of deadlines, hearings and strategies.
The faster she got done with this the faster she could leave.
She opened the hot case in front of her, her hands moving mechanically.
She served him the chapati, then the curry, then poured tea into his cup.
The act felt suffocating. Why? Why did women always have to bow their heads in the name of tradition?
Why was duty always a word tied to her gender?
She looked at her mother who was looking at her with a pleading look. She looked around, trying not to snap at anyone as the staff around watched. She felt a piercing feeling in her throat making her gulp.
Suppressing her frustration, she placed the ladle down and muttered, almost to herself, "You all can start eating, I'll eat afterwards."
Without even glancing up, she returned to her phone, her fingers typing even faster, almost as if venting her irritation onto the screen.
The rule of everyone dining together was one of the house's many strict traditions. The men being an exemption like always.
In theory, it was meant to promote family bonding. But when Safiya looked around, she didn't see bonding. She only heard the occasional clink of forks against china dishes, the silence of forced manners, and an invisible weight of expectation pressing down on her shoulders.
And then without warning her phone was lightly taken out of her hand. She gasped softly, ready to snap at whoever dared but froze when her eyes landed on him.
Zaviyar.
He slipped the phone into his pocket as casually as if it belonged there.
"What-" she began, but her words were cut off when he placed a plate in front of her. His movements were precise, almost too calm as he served her the chapati and curry with that straight, unreadable face of his.
The others at the table stared in disbelief, their eyes wide, their forks pausing midair. It wasn't just unexpected, it was unheard of.
"Zaviyar, you should eat. The servers will serve her-" Rabiya, Safiya's mother's shocked voice rang out but Zaviyar cut her off firmly, his gaze still fixed on the food.
"If she can do it for me, then so can I."
He didn't look up nor explain. Just carried on serving her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He was about to serve her the mixed veg dish wheh he froze feeling her palm on the back of his hand.
"Nhi khana mujhe- ", she stated shaking her head. Only for him to continue serving her, " Tabiyat kharab hojayegi aur phir kaam bhi nhi kar payengi aap. "
She kept staring at him through her lashes, wondering what had possessed him.
'When did bro become a green flag.', she thought and lightly pinched her skin to know if it was real and let out a little inaudible yelp.
"Eat, then do your work. Khayal rakha karo apna... " he said simply before turning to his own plate, his attention snapping back to the meal like the conversation hadn't even happened.
Safiya blinked at him, perplexed and her mind whirling with questions. Why? Why was he doing this? What was this sudden shift in his demeanor? She had expected coldness, indifference, maybe even irritation but not this.
She looked around the table, Khwaish and Kabir had faint teasing smiles while Rabiya and Riffat ahd hesitant smiles. But when her eyes travelled back to Zaviyar she saw him indifferent like always and that's when it clicked to her-
' She was his wife in front of the world but a stranger in the bedroom... '
Around them, whispers spread like wildfire. The Nawab had served his Begum. A rare, almost scandalous practice in their world. And within hours, the story would travel across the haveli, slip into hushed gossip and ripple through the entire village.
But not everyone at that table wore awe on their faces. Somebody, quietly seethed in silence and was far from happy about this.
_____________________________________
Safiya sat in front of the mirror in her reception dress, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger she was still trying to recognize.
She was already looking beautiful in her cream-white lehenga, embroidered with delicate silver threads and shimmers.
A matching mathapatti rested on her forehead, framing her face in a way that made her look regal, almost untouchable.
The jewellery shimmered faintly, every crystal seeming to mock her unrest. The room's chandelier light fell on the stones of her attire, and she looked ethereal, like a bride carved straight out of a faurytale.
She lowered her gaze, only for her eyes to fall on her mehendi-clad hands. The deep red shade had now darkened into something that felt permanent, stubbornly clinging to every line of her palm like a brand. Her heart sank when her eyes caught the small scribble of his name hidden in the designs.
Zaviyar...
His name was written away so intricately that anyone else would've missed it but to her, it screamed louder than anything else.
She felt branded, claimed like her skin had been written over.
The realization twisted inside her, she wasn't her own anymore.
She belonged to someone whether she wanted to or not.
With a sharp inhale, she shook her head as if trying to shake away the suffocating thoughts. Clicking her tongue in irritation, she tugged lightly at the necklace around her neck. The heavy jewellery itched against her skin, making her feel caged rather than adorned.
Suddenly, the door burst open with a loud bang.
The jolt almost made her drop the pouch in her lap.
Her heart skipped when she saw Zaviyar stepping inside.
He filled the room with his presence in an instant.
He was dressed in a cream-colored attire that mirrored hers, the cut sharp and regal, his posture exuding the unyielding authority he carried everywhere.
His hands were tucked into his pockets casually but the permanent scowl on his face seemed etched into his very skin.
His eyes landed on her calm, sharp and wordless.
She hated the way her chest tightened at the sight of him. He surely looked good, even handsome, too handsome for her liking. But that handsomeness felt like a noose around her neck. It suffocated her instead of drawing her in.
Not only were the media invited tonight, but also some of her distant relatives. The thought of going out hand in hand with him in front of everyone made her feel trapped all over again.
She rose from her chair slowly, the lehenga weighing her down and bent to pick up her pouch from the vanity table.
But her breath froze in her lungs when she looked up again.
He was right behind her. Too close. Watching her with an intensity that made her feel stripped bare.
His gaze burned into her skin, branding her more than the mehendi ever could.
That's when she noticed something glinting faintly in his hand. Her. A gold waist chain dangled from his hand.
Her heart shifted in her ribcage. He hooked his arm beneath the layers of her lehenga, careful not to touch her skin.
Yet despite his restraint, her body shivered when his fingertips accidentally grazed the side of her waist before he quickly withdrew them.
The chain settled against her waist, its delicate pull pressing into her skin.
She swallowed hard and dared to look up at him through the mirror, only to find his eyes shut tightly as though this act was more burden than intention.
A strange rush of cool air touched her back, exposed without the veil she had yet to drape.
The moment made her feel bare, vulnerable in a way she hated.
As soon as he fastened the hook, he stepped back immediately, putting space between them. Safiya turned to look at him with disbelief, her heavy lehenga resisting every move as she spun around to face him.
" What is this now? " she asked, brows raised, arms crossing firmly against her chest.
" The gift which I should have to my wife on the wedding night... " he replied flatly, his voice as sharp as glass, though his eyes flickered to the chain adorning her waist before returning to hers.
Something shifted in her chest at those words.
A throb, a sudden ache she couldn't explain.
Yet her mind snapped back fast another materialistic thing, another burden disguised as a gift.
Not for her, never for her. It was supposed to be Zulekha's yet again.
And now it was thrown at her like a hand-me-down compromise.
Her lips curved into a bitter smirk. " Wife? Why give it to me when you don't even consider me your wife? "
His jaw clenched. " Good. You know your place. Make sure it stays that way. " His words lashed out like venom, making her teeth grit so hard her jaw hurt.
Her fingers instantly reached for the chain at her back, fumbling to undo the clasp but his calloused hand shot forward and caught her wrist. Twisting it firmly, he slammed her back against the mirror. The loud thud reverberated through the glass.
" You don't understand words, right? " His face was dangerously close, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly. " You are my wife in front of the world.
You are not Safiya Shah anymore. You are Safiya Zaviyar Khan.
.. Not just a mere girl running after her dreams and chasing stupid passions.
Do anything you want but it shouldn't affect me or my name.
" His harsh tone cut into her like a blade, every syllable heavy with command and possession.
Her lips curled in rage, eyes flashing fire. " Just because my name changes doesn't mean I will too, you dimwit. Are you sure you didn't fall on your head when you were an infant? Because I can see some damage in your brain already. You're insane. "
Her insult hit him like a spark to dry wood. His jaw tightened, fury flashing in his gaze. Without a word, he pressed his hand over her mouth, muffling her voice into muffled protests. Her wide eyes glared at him, struggling, but he only leaned in closer.
" You still haven't witnessed my insanity, dear wife, " he whispered darkly before finally pulling back letting her suck in a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Her hand instinctively lifted to wipe her lips, anger flooding her veins. But before she could speak, his eyes fell on her bare ring finger. A small healing cut marked the skin, a reminder of the slip when he'd forced the ring on her at the nikah.
With a sigh, he pulled out a velvet box from his pocket. Her brows furrowed in confusion. He opened it slowly to reveal a gold ring, a large diamond embedded at the center.
It screamed wealth, power, luxury but only to the world. Because to her it only meant submission, humility and entrapment. Everything about it was loud and extravagant, and yet it left her lips curving into a dissatisfied pout.
He took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger with precision this time, no mistake, no blood. It fit perfectly, sitting there like it had always belonged. It made her wonder how he got to know her size.
She looked up at him sharply, catching the way his eyes burned into hers as his thumb brushed against the outline of the ring. The touch was deliberate, slow, caressing the band as if sealing something unspoken.
His lips curved, his voice dropping low almost tender, yet dripping with mockery, with irony so sharp it cut.
" Never remove this ring, Mrs. Khan. When you wear it, remember you wear my name as well. "