Chapter 23
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Author's POV
Riffat, who had been absorbed in the yellowed pages of her spiritual books, looked up at the sudden knock on her door. Her brows lifted ever so slightly, breaking the calm rhythm of her evening reading.
She carefully slid the book aside, her fingers lingering for a moment on its soft, worn edges before she turned towards the person on the door. Then, with a graceful motion of her hand, she gestured for Zaviyar to step in.
The tall frame of her son filled the doorway. His face carried its usual restraint, yet his faint smile revealed both respect and hesitance.
“ Jii ammi aapne bulaya tha.. ”, he asked with a faint smile. His eyes flew back to the wall clock indicating that he was late for the work he had to get to.
(Yes, mother, you called me?)
Just then his mother’s gentle yet firm voice, carrying that strange blend of warmth and quiet authorityspoke, “ Haan, betho. ”, she patted the seat beside her.
( Yes, sit here... )
The cushions sank slightly under his weight as Zaviyar sat reluctantly, his restless gaze flickering towards the door then back to his mother’s expectant eyes.
“ Zaviyar beta aaj ghar jaldi aana, tumhari biwi aaj pehli baar khana bana rahi hain. ”, she said warmly, placing her hand on his fisted hand as she softly caressed it.
(Zaviyar, come home early today.. your wife is cooking for the first time.)
Her words hung in the air with weight, impossible to ignore. But Zaviyar’s jaw instantly tightened, his features darkening as if the very mention of his wife struck a nerve.
“ Yeh sab rasam itni ehmiyat nhi rakhte ammi. ”, Zaviyar’s jaw tightened, his tone clipped and dismissive. He scoffed trying to ignore her words as he tried to avoid the useless ritual.
(These rituals don’t hold so much importance, Mother.)
“ Esa kyu keh rahe ho? ”, His mother’s sigh was deep and weary. She looked at him, studying not just his words but the invisible walls around his heart. She knew it she didn't speak to him then nothing would get inside his thick skull.
(Why are you saying this?)
But Zaviyar who remained stubborn as ever, met her calm with a cold, measured tone that carried frustration beneath its surface.
“ Kya aapko sach mein lagta hai ki woh humein samajh payegi? Aapko lagta hain woh iss shaadi ko manti hain? ”, Riffat’s eyes did not waver from him but all she wanted to do was slap him right across his head to snap some sense into him.
Her voice remained calm, layered with a wisdom only years of experience could provide.
(Do you really think she will ever understand us? Do you think she even accepts this marriage?)
“ Maanti bhi hain aur tumhara maan bhi karti hain. Haan shayad uski marzi nhi thi. ”, But she wasn’t done. Her tone grew firmer, laced with conviction.
(She accepts it and she respects you as well. Yes, perhaps it wasn’t her choice...)
“ Lekin uss ladki ne apne biwi hone ka farz ada kiya hain.
Humne usse kabhi kaha ki woh apna pehnawa badal deh?
Nahi kaha. Lekin usne woh badal diya. Pta hain kyu?
Kyunki usse ehsaas hain ki woh ab tumhari biwi hain.
“, Her words cut through the silence, leaving him no room for rebuttal. Zaviyar’s lips parted as if to argue, but the quiet weight of truth pressed them shut.
(But that girl has fulfilled her duty as a wife. Did we ever tell her to change her dressing stule? No, we didn’t. Yet she changed it. Do you know why? Because she feels that she is now your wife.)
“ Haan woh puri tarha se apne aap ko nhi badal sakti. Lekin beta yeh bhi touh samjho ki usne apni har azaadi qurban kar yeh rishta apnaya hain. Woh bhi uske walid ke ek baar kehne par. ”, The words settled heavily between them.
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until she spoke again, this time with piercing clarity.
(She cannot completely change herself, yes. But son, understand this... she has sacrificed her freedom to accept this bond. And that too just because her father asked her once.)
“ Jouh ladki apne ammi aur baba ke liye itna kuch kar sakti hain, socho woh apne shohar se kitni mohabbat karegi. ”, Zaviyar blinked, his throat tightening. For the first time, her words seemed to graze his defenses, threatening to pierce deeper.
(A girl who can give up so much for her parents... imagine how deeply she would love her husband.)
But only one sentence kept ringing in his mind, ‘She was doing all this for her and her parents selfish reasons.’
“ Usne ek pal mein apni khushiyaan chhor di aur tum use ek mauka bhi nhi deh sakte. Uske paas rishton ki kami nhi thi. Nahi woh paiso ki laalchi hain. ”, Her tone softened now, transforming into something more pleading, motherly.
(She gave up her happiness in a moment, and you cannot even give her a chance? She was never short of proposals. Nor is she greedy for wealth.)
“ Meri baaton par gaur karna. Ek ladki ke dhoke ki saza dusri ladki ko mat do. Jouh beet chuka hain usse aaj ke sach ke saath mat jodo. ”, Her voice, though firm, held a tremor of unspoken pain.
(Pay attention to what I am saying. Don’t punish one girl for the betrayal of another. Don’t tie the past to today’s truth.)
“ Bas ek baar usse ek shohar ki nazar se dekho. Tumhe apni biwi se mohabbat hojayegi. ”
(Just once, look at her as a husband should. You will fall in love with your wife.)
A silence lingered. Then, as though sensing his resistance, she sharpened her tone into a half loving, half warning edge.
“ Bohot samjha liya, iske baad bhi nahi samjhe touh tumhe samjhane ki zimmedari tumhare abbu ko dungi. Aur woh samjhayenge nhi, seedha kaan pakrenge. ”, This time, the corner of Zaviyar’s lips curved into a reluctant laugh breaking the heaviness.
(I have explained enough. If you still don’t understand, I’ll leave it to your father to make you understand—and he won’t explain, he’ll pull your ears directly.)
“ Aap bhi na ammi... ”, His mother smiled knowingly on the other end, relief softening her stern expression. She had managed at least for now, to chip a little at his hardened heart.
Then, as if remembering, her voice reached him again, gentle but expectant.
“ Aur suno, Safiya ke liye kuch chudiya banwayi hain maine. Lete hue aana. Aur ek gift apni taraf se bhi laana. ”, Zaviyar’s brow furrowed, his fingers running through his hair in visible frustration.
(And listen, I’ve had some bangles made for Safiya. Bring them with you. And also bring a gift from your side.)
“ Meri taraf se? Usse pasand kya hain? “, His mother chuckled softly, her reply holding both teasing and truth.
(From my side? What does she even like?)
“ Tumhari biwi hain bhai. Uski pasand touh tumhee janoge. ”
(She is your wife, son. You are the one who should know her likes.)
Zaviyar exhaled, helpless against her insistence. “Goodbye...” he muttered, his steps carrying him toward the exit.
But before he could leave, her voice floated again, steady and deliberate, halting him at the threshold.
“ Zaviyar.... “
He stopped, turning slightly. “ Ji ammi? ”, Her words came like prophecy, simple yet laden with meaning.
“ Ek aur baat... Jis din Safiya puri tarha badal gayi, samajhna ki tumne apni biwi ko kho diya.”, she paused before looking at him expectantly as she said, “ Esa mat hone dena... ”, The statement pierced deeper than anything before. It echoed long after the line went silent, leaving him unsettled.
(One more thing… The day Safiya completely changes herself, know that you have lost your wife. Don’t let that happen.)
Zaviyar walked out of his mothers room only to crash against a soft front. He almost snapped at the person who stood in his way. Only for him to be graced upon by the sudden appearance of his wife in front of him.
He frowned before gently lifting her hand to check something. Her eyes widened as she tried to pull her hand out of his grip only for him to hold her hand tightly as he observed it. Then gently he let her hand go and walked past her leaving her shocked.
Safiya who was weirded out scratched her head looking at her husband's retreating back.
“ Isse kya hua? Pata nhi kaunsi personality disorder hain bhai sahab ko. Mujhe kya, bhaad mein jao. ”, she shrugged before she tapped her chin trying to remember what she came here for.
(What was that about? Don’t know what personality disorder Mother has. What do I care, let her be...)
She tried a lot but couldn't remember what she was here for at all and ended up with a huff. But as soon as she remembered what she was here for she ran inside to Riffat's room to ask her where different things were kept before she started her task.
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Safiya walked inside the kitchen the second time after confirming everything with Riffat.
The staff doing their respective work froze when the new young mistress of the house entered the kitchen.
Her presence instantly brought a quiet hush over the space.
The maids immediately bowed their heads a little making Safiya squeak in shock.
She gretted all of them with smiles and threatened them to never bow to her again.
This all customs were too weird for her not to mention maid who were older than her calling her madam.
“ Please don't call me ma'am, Reeda aapi. ”, Safiya said as she was chatting with all the people there.
“Shabana, could you please hand me the apron..”, she asked checking her watch.she should start with the preparation since making dinner would require time. After all not working around the kitchen for quite some time, her skills had probably gone rusty.
The maid blinked in surprise, her hands freezing mid-motion as she clutched the tray she was about to set aside.
“Bibi ji aap kitchen mein khana banane touh nhi aayi thi na..”, Shabana said making Safiya flash her a smile with a thumbs up.
(Madam, you… in the kitchen? You didn't come to cook, right? )
“Yes, I’ll be the one cooking dinner today..”, A small smile curved the corner of her lips as she walked around the counter to get the apron from Shabana's hand.
The other household helpers glanced at each other, unsure of how to react. All the staff assigned kitchen work gathered inside in line ready to help their mistress prepare dinner on her first cooking ritual. Their confusion hung in the air but before they could speak further, she raised her hand.
“You all are still here? Please go outside. Let me manage everything on my own.”, Safiya said with a smile, wearing her apron and rolling her sleeves.
Shabana hesitated, her concern flickering in her eyes.
“But....”, Before she could complete her thought, Safiya cut her off with quiet authority, her voice soft yet resolute.
“Kuch lekin vekin nhi, bas yeh batado kya kha rakha hota hain. Phir sab mujh par chorr dou.”, she said trying to be stern but everyone knew she was just pretending.
(No buts... just tell me what things are kept where, and then leave the rest to me.)
The room stilled again, her determination echoing in the silence, leaving the servants no choice but to obey. Shabana and the other maids helped her by showing her the different containers and then were shoved outside by Safiya who threatened them to not enter the kitchen till she was done.
Shabana, rida and mansi however remained glancing at her over from the window outside to check up on the lady of the house once in a while to make sure she didn't need any assistance.
Safiya huffed before removing her duppata and keeping it aside on the steel bar on the kitchen wall.
She then switched on YouTube, rolling up her sleeves with a determined breath.
Cooking wasn’t new to her, she knew the techniques, the recipes but it had been so long since she’d properly stepped into the kitchen that everything felt a little foreign.
Her hands hesitated where they once moved confidently.
She worked through the dishes one by one, occasionally fumbling with the knife or second-guessing if she’d already added the salt. Frustration bubbled up now and then, but she pushed on, determined not to let a little rust slow her down.
She kept reading the instructions, tasting yeh food in between to make sure everything was alright.
When the final dish was done, she leaned against the counter and let out a deep, relieved sigh. Sweat clung to her forehead, her arms ached and the kitchen looked like a battlefield but despite the exhaustion, a small, satisfied smile tugged at her lips. She had done it.
She wiped her hands on a towel, surveying the dishes she had somehow managed to pull together. They weren’t perfect, a little messy here and there but they looked decent, and the kitchen still carried the rich, comforting smell of home-cooked food.
She told herself it didn’t matter what anyone thought. But somewhere deep down, she knew she was waiting for one reaction in particular. She wanted him to like it. To notice the effort. To maybe, just maybe say something good. She didn't even know why it mattered so much. It just did.
She scorned at her inner conflict,wondering when she became the typical wife of a serial trying to win their husbands heart.
Just then a realisation dawned upon her.
That this whole time she had prepared the food not with the idea that it was a ritual but rather that she was making it for her. ... Husband.
She immediately picked up her phone and started searching for a therapist because whatever bloody emotions she was feeling needed to go. This wasn't her or how she is supposed to feel.
She quickly booked an appointment in two weeks before slamming her phone down. Just then a notification popped up on her phone and she immediately opened her snap to click pictures and sent them to Adhira who was already cursing Zaviyar for stealing away her bestie.
Straightening a plate that didn’t really need straightening, she took a slow breath and tried to steady the restless hope buzzing quietly under her skin.
‘ Pasand aaya touh khalenge, nhi aaya touh woh unki problem ’, she thought before walking out of the kitchen.
“ Shabana, please dining table set karwa dou. Mein thora fresh hokar aati hu. ”, she said holding the dupatta on her hand as she was feeling too hot to take it over her dress.
With that she retreated to her room to freshen up and get ready, while time ticked iln accordance for dinner to arrive.
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The long dining table stretched endlessly, adorned with silverware that gleamed under the golden chandeliers.
The faint clinking of cutlery against porcelain blended with the low hum of conversations, filling the grand dining hall with an intimate warmth.
The aromas of freshly prepared food floated through the air, weaving a comforting spell.
It was the first time Safiya had cooked for the entire family, and the anticipation in the room was palpable. She stood gracefully beside Zaviyar’s chair, her dupatta draped neatly, her posture calm yet dignified as the staff moved around serving dishes.
But unlike the past, today was different for her. For the first time, she didn’t feel like a guest trying to prove herself, nor a wife burdened by duty. Today, she stood there willingly, her heart light and content, serving not because she was expected to but because she wanted to.
She had spent the entire afternoon and evening in the kitchen preparing the food so she was in a way excited for their reaction. The table was decorated with several casseroles and hotcases.
“Waah kya lazeez khana hain. Shabaash beta.” Nauman’s voice broke the silence, his tone laced with warmth and approval. He reached out and gently patted her head in admiration, his eyes glimmering with affection.
(Wow, what a delicious meal. Well done, my child.)
A small, genuine smile spread across Safiya’s face as her eyes lowered shyly. “Thank you, Taya abbu,” she replied softly, her voice carrying both humility and joy. She leaned forward and served him some more food, her movements delicate yet eager to please.
Zaviyar, who had remained quietly observing, found his gaze drawn to her.
‘She smiles so easily at their praise…’ The thought echoed in his mind as he watched her laugh lightly at one of Kabir’s jokes, her shoulders relaxed, her face glowing with an ease he had never seen directed at him.
Her smile was.genuine, reaching her eyes, making her look… soemwhat happy.
His grip tightened around the stem of his glass as his jaw flexed. Does she even care what I think? Or is their approval enough for her?
A faint frown creased his brow when a soft cough escaped her lips.
She stood near him, her hand brushing against the glass of water.
Raising one brow, Zaviyar turned toward her, only to find her already gesturing lightly towards his empty glass.
Without fuss, she asked Shabana to hand her the jug and leaned down to fill his glass.
But just as the water touched the rim, she bent slightly, her lips close enough that only he could hear.
“Be careful... Zeher hua tou aap seedha.” She looked up with mock solemnity, her lips curving into a mischievous smirk before she straightened up and walked away, her soft laugh lingering in the air.
(Be careful… if it’s poison, you’ll go straight…)
For a moment, he froze, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. No one else would ever dare tease him like this especially not at his own table.
“Kheer touh pakdao. Woh bhi chakhe hum,” Nauman’s energetic demand drew everyone’s attention back.
(Serve the kheer as well. We should taste that too.)
Safiya, quick to respond, turned to Rida and gestured with a nod. “Not kheer. Sugar-free kheer,” she corrected politely, her tone soft but firm. “Because the doctor strictly told you to not consume any sweet dish. Right, tayi ammi? ”
(Not kheer, but sugar-free kheer, because the doctor strictly instructed you not to eat sweets.)
The statement earned an approving smile from Nauman but Zaviyar’s hand stilled midway.
His spoon clinked softly against the edge of his plate as he set it down.
She remembered every detail about his family’s health, cared enough to adjust recipes, to listen, to tend.
And yet, she had never once asked him what he liked.
‘Like you ever asked her what she liked’, his conscience sneered back. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but his eyes remained glued to her, even as she busied herself serving others.
Moments later, Riffat pushed a small velvet box toward her. “Yeh louh beta. Meri taraf se.”
(Here, child. From my side.)
Safiya immediately tried to refuse, shaking her head with insistence but Riffat’s gaze sharpened with maternal authority, leaving her no choice but to accept. “Thank you tayi ammi,” she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips, humbled and touched by the gesture.
“Bhabi, kya badhiya biryani banayi hain.” Kabir leaned back in his chair, his belly full, a satisfied silent burp escaping as he rubbed his stomach, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
(Sister-in-law, what an amazing biryani you’ve made.)
“If you say yes, we could open a joint restaurant. There’d be a huge line outside, bhabi,” he added, his brain already spinning with ideas.
Safiya laughed softly, waving her hands in mock dismissal. “Jii nhi, mein lawyer hee theek hu.”
(No, no… I’m better off as a lawyer.)
Her laughter was light, airy and contagious, the kind that lifted the atmosphere around her. Zaviyar watching silently from the head of the table could only frown. She laughs with them, free and unbothered. His fingers drummed against the table, betraying the irritation he refused to voice.
Kabir winked. “The offer still stands, bhabi.”
That was the moment Zaviyar’s gaze cut toward Kabir, sharp and dangerous.
He didn’t utter a word, but the silent warning in his eyes made Kabir straighten instantly, the humor dying on his lips.
No one else seemed to notice the subtle exchange, but Zaviyar’s message was clear, joke with anyone else but not with her.
When Riffat’s gentle voice chimed again, it shifted the tone back to warmth.
“Safiya beta, apne shohar ko nihari touh serve karo, woh uski favourite dish hain. Itni mehnat se banayi hain tumne woh.”
(Safiya dear, serve some nihari to your husband.
It’s his favorite dish, and you’ve put so much effort into making it.)
Her heart skipped a beat but she obeyed, quietly leaning forward to place the dish in front of him.
Their fingers brushed, just for a moment and the spark jolted through her like an unspoken memory.
She quickly looked away, hiding the rush of heat rising in her cheeks but Zaviyar’s eyes never left her face.
‘Why am I feeling so weird? Must be my period cramps. Because i would in no way feel butterflies due to him..’, Safiya shook her head to dismiss the thoughts.
‘She remembers what I like. She made this for me.’, zaviyar's chest tightened, though his face betrayed nothing. She didn’t expect him to notice, didn’t ask for recognition and perhaps that was what stung the most.
Khwaish leaned forward, her grin playful. “Bhai kuch tareef touh karein. Kesi bani hain?”
(Brother, say something at least. How is it?)
“Achchi hain.” His reply was curt, almost dismissive. The table erupted in laughter at his short response but inside, his heart rebelled.
‘ Good? It’s better than good. Perfect. Exactly the way I like it. But why should I give her the satisfaction of hearing it? Especially after she just threatened to poison me?’, he scoffed when he saw her glaring at him once again.
“Ese touh bhabi firse kabhi aapke liye kuch na banaye. Koi gift nhi kuch nhi,” Kabir teased again, his words muffled through mouthfuls of food.
(Like this, bhabi might never cook for you again… no gifts, nothing!)
“Meri biwi hain, mujhe pta hai... mujhe inhe kya dena hai.” Zaviyar’s voice was calm, but beneath it was a weight that silenced the laughter instantly.
(She’s my wife, I know. What I have to give her...)
The air shifted. His words weren’t loud but they carried an intensity that demanded attention, a reminder that he was not a man to be teased endlessly. Everyone else saw possessiveness but Safiya alone felt the deeper, darker meaning laced underneath.
And yet, despite the heavy undercurrent, she couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips.
His words, ‘my wife’ were enough to send a flutter through her chest. A drama addict at heart, Safiya couldn’t deny the butterflies it gave her, even if she knew better than to hold onto such fleeting moments.
[ safiya delulu hain guys ????? wese tumlogo ke hisaab se koun jyada delusional and bipolar hain lawyer sahiba ya fir lawyer sahiba ke miyan ji ??]
The playful teasing around the table dissolved the instant his words fell, heavy and deliberate.
There was no mistaking it that Zaviyar didn’t need reminders to praise her, nor instructions to shower her with affection.
He knew exactly what he was doing and beneath his sharp retorts lived a darker truth only he carried.
“Safiya, you should also eat with us,” Riffat’s gentle voice broke her little reverie, her hand motioning toward the empty chair beside Zaviyar.. Safiya shook her head softly, stepping back.
“Nhi aaj mein aap sabko serve karna chahti hu. Mein baadme khaa lungi.”
(No, today I just want to serve everyone. I’ll eat later.)
The words struck like an unexpected chord. Zaviyar’s head snapped toward her, brows narrowing ever so slightly. Serve? Since when did she say things like that? Who was this woman pretending to be his wife?
‘Chudail kab pari ban gayi’, he wondered.
“I’ll bring the kheer,” She chimed in, excusing herself toward the kitchen to fetch the bowl of sweet dish.
But Nauman, never one to miss shifts in the room’s mood, glanced at the quiet figures across the table. “Wajahat, Rabia! Beti neh itna lazeez khana banaya hain. Lekin tum dono itne chup chap bethe ho.”
(Wajahat, Rabia! Your daughter has cooked such a delicious meal, yet you both are sitting so quietly.)
Zaviyar’s eyes sharpened, instantly focusing on his in-laws as both of them sat somber, weighed down by something unspoken.
“Bhai woh business kuch problem hone ki vajah se hume kal vapis jaana parega.” Wajahat’s voice carried regret as he finally spoke making the table fall silent
(Bhai, due to some business problems, we have to return tomorrow.)
“We wanted to stay a few more days but too much time has already passed. And work can’t be postponed any longer.” Rabiya added with a sad smile, her tone gentle but resigned.
Nauman’s disappointment was evident. “We had spoken, Wajahat. Tum dono yaha rukne wale the.”
(We had spoken, Wahaj. You both were supposed to stay here with us.)
“Haan bhaijaan. Hum zaroor yaha rahenge lekin business ko sametna itna aasaan nhi hain.” Wajahat reasoned softly.
(Yes, brother. We will definitely stay here, but managing the business isn’t that easy.)
“ Haan lekin Safiya— ”, Riffat's words were cut off by Safiya who walked in with a tray full of bowls of kheer.
“Here, please try the kheer, everyone,” Safiya jumped in quickly, her cherry tone steered the atmosphere back to warmth.
“Khwaish, Kabir, you both try the ice cream. I made it especially for you two,” she added, turning to the duo with an affectionate glow.
“It’s really good,” both of them chimed with blinding happiness. She walked towards where her parents sat serving them the sweet dish.
But just as the mood began to soften, her father’s calm voice drew everyone back. “Safiya dear, we are going back to the city tomorrow.”, Her hand, mid-motion, froze as the bowl of kheer remained floating in her hand.
“But I haven’t even done any packing…”, Her voice was careful, her smile falling as her eyes betrayed the small storm brewing inside.
Wajahat gave a faint, knowing smile. “Hum se mera matlab hain mein aur tumhari ma.”
(By ‘we’, I mean your mother and I.)
Her lips parted and the tremor in her voice betrayed her heart. “Mujhe akela chhor ke touh na jaaye.”
(Don’t leave me here alone.)
The air seemed to still. Zaviyar’s fork halted mid-air, his jaw tightening as he registered her words.
“Beta business mein kuch problem hogyi hain. Abhi kaam touh nhi ruk sakta na. Aur khair hame tumhari bhi zarurat ki cheeze yaha bhejni hain.” , wajahat placed his hand tenderly over hers, trying to soothe her.
(My child, some business problems have come up. Work cannot stop. Besides, we also need to send you the things you’ll need here.)
“Haan theek hain… mein bhi chalungi,” she whispered, gaze dropping as if admitting defeat.
(Alright, then I’ll come with you.)
A faint crack echoed in the room as Zaviyar’s grip tightened around his glass, the pressure almost shattering it. The warning was silent but deafening. He looked at her seeing her eyes turning glossy makin him only feel sad for her.
“Abhi nhi beta, hume waha jaake bohot saare intezam karne hain. Fir tumhe aur Zaviyar ko touh waha aana hee hain na,” wajahat shook his head firmly.
(Not now, child. We have a lot of arrangements to make first. Later, you and Zaviyar will also have to come there anyway.)
“Okay. Dad aap loug jaaye.” Safiya forced a smile, the mask of obedience slipping into place.
(Okay, Dad, you go.)
“Mama ghar pohuchte hee meri files yaha bhijwa dein,” she quickly added, glancing at her mother.
(Mom, please send my files here as soon as you reach home.)
“Thik hain beta.”
(Alright, dear.)
“Chinta mat karo wajhhat, Rabia. Hum hain yaha. Safiya hamari beti hee hain.” Nauman reassured, placing his hand on Safiya’s head with fatherly warmth.
(Don’t worry, Wahaj, Rabia. We are here. Safiya is our daughter too.)
Everyone nodded with soft smiles. Everyone, except Zaviyar.
Leaning back in his chair, his dark gaze never left her. To the family, it was affection, reassurance, love. But Safiya knew better. She could feel his stare cutting into her, a silent claim etched in every flicker of his eyes.
She sat beside him and that's exactly when he leaned over slightly and said...
“ You are their daughter. But never forget... you are my wife first. And I don't let anything out of my sight. Safiya Zaviyar Raza Khan... ”
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Total words : 4852
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