Vows Of Vengeance

Chapter 36

This chapter isn't edited so read at your own risk.

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Safiya's POV

"Punishment?" I asked, rather loudly, my voice cracking somewhere between disbelief and irritation.

I turned around sharply, facing him with a shocked expression, only to find him stepping closer, deliberately, like a man who knew exactly what effect his nearness had on me.

The distance between us shrank in seconds.

He lowered his head, his eyes locking onto mine with a hazy, unreadable glint.

Before I could make sense of it, his hands slid around my waist. I sucked in a breath, my heart slamming against my ribs when his fingers grazed my bare skin. Heat pooled under his touch, the teasing strokes along my sides that made my muscles tighten and my breath hitch embarrassingly.

"I have a lot of responsibilities, Safiya. All my life, I have shouldered these responsibilities, but you..." he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with a softness I wasn't used to. I couldn't help but squint, my eyes the way his fingers tips touched my skin making the spots burn.

"You are more than a responsibility to me, Safiya. I've started caring for you, something I promised myself I would never do.", His fingers slipped into my hair, threading through it gently while his eyes travelled across my face.

"If you care for me, then stop hiding things from me.

" I whispered. He nodded slowly, almost reluctantly, before pulling me closer.

My stomach tightened, my heart stumbling as he dipped his head.

I closed my eyes, half-prepared for something else entirely, only for him to rest his forehead on my shoulder instead.

His voice came out low, rough against my skin.

"I want to, but it's just... just that-dada-jaan always told me how to mask my feelings.

I don't like to speak too much, nor explain myself to people.

", His hot breath fanned against my collarbone, sending a shiver trailing down my spine.

The spot where his forehead rested burned, and the featherlight brush of his hair against my bare shoulder made it worse, made everything too real.

I couldn't help but rest my hand on his shoulder, and somehow found his muscles tense where my hand landed. He had grown stiff just from a slight touch of my hand.

"That is because you by default assume that everyone should listen to you, and follow your decisions, and mind you that has been happening here for quite some time.

We are worlds apart, Zaviyar. I have told you time and again that I cannot change myself.

" I said, trying to remain calm yet failing to ignore the butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach.

His fingers played absently with the ends of my hair, twirling strands around his fingers like he had every right to.

"I don't want you to change. I used to hate your voice, your tantrums, and your habit of replying to everything.

But somewhere or the other, I have started to crave the exact same thing.

" he whispered, his lips dangerously close to my collarbone.

He might have been pouring his heart out but honestly?

His proximity wasn't helping my ability to process any of it.

And somehow, between all those butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and his proximity tantalizing my senses, i let my fingers trace up, to the back of his hair.

"You deserve better, Safiya~. I have done you wrong from the very start.", i could feel the shiver in his voice, the hair on his back straightened just from my fingers slowly caressing the back of his head.

"And will you let me accept that something, more like someone better?" I asked, rolling my eyes, though my chest tightened while waiting for his answer.

"I would have, in fact I had already let you go.

But you are after all destined to me and I am not stupid enough to give up on my destiny.

" His voice was steady, stubborn, almost annoyingly assured as his arms remained firm around my back.

I almost... Almost! pushed him back when u found him sniffing around my neck. Was he sniffing me?

But then when I backed away just a little, my eyes fell over his cheek, a little red from the slap i had bestowed upon him.

Guilt washed over me. I regretted every assumption, every accusation and the slap.

Yes, that slap. That counted as physical abuse and I felt it like a weight pressing down on my chest.

"I-I'm sorry..." I whispered, my fingers nervously fiddling, and catching the back of his hair only for him to jolt away from me, shocking me.

"Heh? Kya kaha?"

( Huh? What did you say? )

He asked with a teasing innocence that made my brows knit together. There was no way he didn't hear me, we were practically breathing the same air.

"So-sorry."

The instant the word left my mouth, Zaviyar froze like he had seen a ghost. Then, without warning, he pulled out his wallet, took out a stack of notes, circled it around my head dramatically and set it aside to give away later.

"Nazar lag gayi hain shayad kisi ki, warna meri lawyer sahiba, aur sorry."

( Someone's evil eye must be on you, otherwise my lawyer madam... and saying sorry? Impossible. )

I frowned and fought the smile tugging at my lips, as he called me, "my lawyer sahiba"

"Mein aapki kabse hogayi, nawab sahab?", I asked, stepping away and heading toward the dressing table. Of course, I wasn't surprised when I sensed him following me like a shadow.

( Since when did I become yours, Nawab sir? )

"Jabse iss rishte ki baat hui hain tabse.", He whispered, standing behind me again, too close. So close that the heat radiating from his body seeped straight through my skin. I hated how much I liked it and how badly I wanted to lean back into him.

( Since the moment this alliance was decided. )

"Zaviyar, eww. It sounds so wrong. Mat karo, ekdum pedophile lagte ho."

( Zaviyar, eww. It sounds so wrong. Don't do that, you sound like a complete pedophile. )

His love-sick expression twisted into instant disgust and God, he looked adorable.

He looked cute. So absurdly cute.

........................

Author's POV

"Zaviyar, eww. It sounds so wrong. Mat karo, ekdum pedophile lagte ho.", Safiya's voice was full of disgust, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. Zaviyar's face twisted instantly into pure offence, his brows shooting up as he stared at his wife like she had personally insulted his ancestors.

(!Zaviyar, eww. It sounds so wrong. Don't do that, you sound like a pedophile.)

'Pata nahi kya kya sochti rehti hain yeh.' (God knows what all she keeps thinking.) he thought, rolling his eyes, trying not to dignify her imagination with a response.

"Hamesha mood kharab karna zaroori hain?", he grumbled, frowning at her.

(Is it necessary to always ruin the mood?)

Safiya turned around instantly, her teeth gritted, fire flashing in her eyes as she shot back without missing a beat.

"Hamesha cringe baatein karna zaroori hain." She matched his tone effortlessly, her sass sharp enough to slice through steel.

(Is it necessary for you to always talk cringe?)

"Aaj kal ke bachcho ko har baat cringe kyu lagti hain?", he muttered under his breath.

(Why do kids these days find everything cringe?)

"Oho, barein aayein baba adam ke zamane ke.", she mocked, sticking her tongue out at him.

(Oh look, someone from Adam's era is talking.)

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, giving her a glare that was meant to intimidate but honestly, it barely grazed her.

"Hato saamne se, gussa hu mein ab tumse.", she declared dramatically, pushing him aside and marching toward the washroom like an offended queen.

(Move aside, I'm angry with you now.)

"Mere kareeb kyu aarahe ho?", she snapped when she saw him following her.

(Why are you coming near me?)

Before she could take another step, she let out a small squeak as she felt him right behind her his presence was warm and towering. His hands remained behind his back as he leaned in, lowering his head to her ear.

"Kyuki jaan, biwi se dur rehna gunnah hain...",His hoarse whisper brushed against her ear, sending a shiver all the way down her spine.

(Because darling, staying away from one's wife is a sin...)

Safiya felt her face heat up instantly, her legs genuinely threatening to give way beneath her.

"Yeh jaan-shaan na bulaya karo, m-mujhe pasand nahi... Aur tum itne paas kyu aarahe ho? Thoda dur rehke bhi baat kar sakte ho na.", she stuttered, fumbling to open the bathroom door.

(Don't call me jaan-shaan, I don't like it... And why are you coming this close? You can talk from far away too.)

But before she could slip away, she suddenly felt herself turned, her back pressed against the door as it shut behind her. Heat engulfed her as she looked up into Zaviyar's smirking face, his hands caging her in with deliberate slowness.

"Tum kyu peeche jaa rahi ho? Jaha ho wahi raho...", he murmured, leaning in closer. She flattened herself against the door, heart racing.

(Why are you moving back? Stay right where you are...)

"Ye sab-" she tried to protest, but he cut her off, voice low.

"I was really hurt today. How will you compensate for that, ha?", Her throat dried. "Wh-what do you want?" she whispered. He tilted his head, giving her a smile she did not trust.

"Will you give me anything I want?", She nodded nervously. His smile turned victorious.

"A kiss."

"Heh?" she squeaked, eyes widening.

"You heard me. Give me a kiss."

Her breath hitched. His closeness, his scent, his gaze, the way his arms wrapped around her, it messed with her thoughts. With trembling fingers, she grabbed his collar, pulled him down and on her tiptoes pressed the quickest, softest kiss on the tiny freckle on the bridge of his nose.

Then jumped back like she'd touched fire.

Zaviyar just... froze.

"Yeh kiss touh nahi thi...", he said, staring at her like she had committed a crime.

(That wasn't a kiss...)

"Jitni mili hain utne mein hi khush rehna seekhe.", she retorted, trying to push him away but her fingers, out of habit, began playing with the button of his kameez.

(Learn to be happy with what you get.)

Her small pout, flushed cheeks and stubborn glare made her look unbearably cute.

'I wish I could bite her cheeks, they look like cherries.' he thought, swallowing hard.

His hands clenched at his sides as he tried to hold himself together.

"Tell me one thing...", Her voice snapped him out of his trance.

"What?"

"What if you were engaged to another girl? Then you would have to marry her?" Safiya asked, folding her arms and waiting for his answer.

"When I ask you something, give me a reply." she said, snapping her fingers in front of his face.

"Zulek-", He started, but she shot him a glare so sharp it nearly sliced his soul. He gulped and stopped immediately.

"Kisi dusri ladki ka naam liya touh tumhari zaban kheech lungi...", He nodded so fast one might think his life depended on it.

(If you take another woman's name, I'll rip your tongue out...)

'Paanch foot ki hain, lekin mujhe dara dhamka ke rakhti hain...', he thought miserably.

(She's five feet tall, but she keeps threatening me...)

'Isse gun dikhane ka bhi fayda nahi. Kya pata konsa dohra pad jaye aur mujhe hi goli maar de yeh.'

(Even showing her a gun is useless. Who knows which switch flips and she shoots me instead.)

"Jaan, are you on your periods?" he asked sweetly. She scoffed.

"Obviously. Ab hamare beech aisa kuch hua toh nahi na ki mujhe 9 months periods na aaye." (Obviously. It's not like something happened between us that I'd miss my periods for nine months.)

He stared at her, with raised eyebrows, his head already hurting from her replies.

"Safiya... I think we should postpone this event. You should get some sleep seriously. Should I bring you some medicine?", He slid an arm around her waist, guiding her gently toward the bed.

"Kya matlab tumhara? Mein sanki hu?"

(What do you mean? Am I crazy?)

"Jao yaha se. Mene baat hi nahi karni tumse. Jao, woh kya naam hain uska-Zulekha, Shafaq, aur jo bhi chudail hain tumhari life mein unke paas. Bewafa kahi ke!", She turned dramatically, storming off.

(Go away. I don't want to talk to you. Go to Zulekha, Shafaq, or whichever witch is in your life. Cheater!)

"Suno toh..." he tried. But she whirled around, eyes blazing.

"Jaan, suno meri baat.", He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, straight into his chest.

(Darling, listen to me.)

"Dur hato, nahi karni mujhe baat.", she muttered, pushing him.

(Move away, I don't want to talk.)

" tum rouh kyu rahi ho? ", he panicked, his voice trembling slightly as he leaned closer. His brows knitted in confusion and fear as if the sight of her tears punched a hole straight through his chest.

(Why are you crying?)

" jaan, yaha dekho. Kyu rouh rahi ho? Kya hua? ", he murmured softly, holding her face gently between both his palms. His thumbs brushed away her tears with almost desperate tenderness, the warmth of his touch trembling against her cold, damp cheeks.

(Love, look here. Why are you crying? What happened?)

" Pakka? Hasoge touh nhi na? ", she asked in a small voice, her lips jutting out, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

( Promise? You won't laugh, right?)

" Mein touh khoobsurat bhi nhi hu. Koi mujhse kyu pyaar karega zaviyar. ", she whispered, her voice breaking at the end.

(I'm not even beautiful. Why would anyone ever love me, Zaviyar?)

Her gaze dropped to her lap as painful memories flashed through her mind, the judgmental stares, the whispered insults, the cruel laughter of those women who thought her skin, her features, her existence were flaws.

" Yeh sab kisne kha? ", he asked, jaw clenching, his voice low with controlled anger even as his fingertips continued caressing her face with utmost care.

(Who said all this?)

" Yeh pucho kisne nhi kha? ", she muttered bitterly, turning her face away, the weight of humiliation pressing onto her shoulders.

(Ask who didn't say it?)

" Tumhe lagta hain ki tum badsurat ho? " he asked with warmth, making her snap her head up, immediately shaking it in denial.

(You think you're ugly?)

" Bilkul nhi! Mein touh ekdum hoor jesi sundar hu... Magar... ", she said, her voice turning softer as her fingers began fiddling with the buttons on his kameez. She pressed her forehead lightly against his chest, almost as if seeking strength from his warmth.

(Of course not! I'm beautiful like a fairy... but...)

" Then? " he whispered, urging her to continue, his hand moving to rest protectively over her head

" Lekin tum aur tumhare so called gaon-vale and family ke loug touh wahi sochte aur kehte hain na. Aur tumhe bhi mein kyu hee pasand aungi, after all I am not even beautiful like Zulekha or Shafaq. ", Her voice wavered, pain seeping into every word.

(But you and your so-called villagers and family think that way, right? And why would you ever like me anyway? I'm not even beautiful like Zulekha or Shafaq.)

" Why would you like me? Why would anyone like me? ", Her vulnerability sat on her tongue like a trembling confession, her lashes fluttering as she fought to hide her hurt.

" You are the most precious and beautiful person to me, sweet heart. ", His voice softened to a whisper, almost reverent, as if the truth itself was sacred.

" Maska touh nhi lga rahe na tum? ", she asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes despite the faint tug at her lips.

(You're not buttering me up, right?)

" Kyu tum maan gayi? ", he teased gently.

(Why, are you convinced?)

" Nahi... ", she mumbled stubbornly, looking away.

(Nope...)

" Look at me, jaan. ", His tone deepened, warm and coaxing, pulling her gaze back to his.

" Neeche aake baatein kiya karein, mere galeh mein dard hone lga hain. ", He tried to lighten the moment, rubbing the back of his neck dramatically.

(Bent down and talk, my neck is starting to hurt.)

" Ab theek hain... ", she muttered, wiping her face quickly, trying to gather herself.

(Now it's fine...)

" Kya tumhe sachme lagta hain ki I'll love another girl or I have feelings for someone else? ", His voice dipped into a raw, honest seriousness that made her blink.

" It's not that I'm scared of you falling for other girls, Zaviyar. I'm not that insecure but I surely don't believe that you have any feelings for me. ", Her voice was calm, worse than anger, worse than fear.

He inhaled deeply and then let every buried truth spill out of him like water breaking a dam.

" How can I not have feelings for the one who my eyes have started searching for in a room full of people?

For someone who even though she claims to hate waiting for people but still waits for me at the dining table even though she's hungry.

How could I not have feelings for someone who at some point I thought I would marry when I grow up, Safiya?

I know you might think this is rubbish but circumstances changed everything.

I hated the way you had turned out to be, loud and outspoken because I was not used to it.

I am not used to the way you challenged my authority but somehow, without even realising I started craving that noise, your presence, your perfume, your eyes and the way you call for me.

", His voice remained firm yet shaky and he looked away for a moment as if ashamed of how much he was revealing.

" I am not a good person. But I want to be the one you look at always. I hate it when you even glance the other way. Marriage isn't a joke to me but I was blinded by the hatred infiltrated into my mind."

He exhaled shakily, then continued, every word heavier and truer than the last.

" I don't even know when it started. Maybe it was the way you always walked ahead of me, but somehow, you still slowed down when you thought I wasn't looking.

Maybe it was the way you pretended not to care, yet remembered every little thing about me.

Maybe it was the way you would insult me without hesitation but still made sure to wait for me at dinner, and my food was hot.

I don't know, Safiya. I really don't. I just know that somewhere in all that chaos, I stopped hating you.

And trust me, I tried not to. I tried holding on to the irritation, the anger, the resentment because at least those were simple.

Those made sense. This... whatever this is.

.. doesn't. I am not able to understand my feelings for you.

I'm not saying I'm in love with you. I'm not giving this a name I'm not ready for.

But I can't lie anymore, not to you, and not to myself.

When I walk into a room, my eyes look for you before anything else.

When something good happens, you're the first person I want to tell.

When something bad happens, you're the person I somehow expect to find beside me even though I know I have no right to expect that.

", his words made something twist inside me, making my insides heat up.

His hands, engulfed her cheeks, holding safiya's face with love within his palm. She should have gotten irritated as he was ruinng her skin care but she didn't give a damn at this moment.

" You're being corny and cliché and i hate to admit it, but i like it. ", she mumbled looking away.

" And the worst part? You get under my skin without even trying.

Also, that you make me feel things I don't want to feel.

Things I can't explain. Things I can't shut off.

Things that don't fit into the rules of this marriage of convenience at all.

", Safiya stared at him, eyes wide, breath caught in her chest.

" Zaviyar.... ", Her voice trembled..

" Hmm? "

" Tum confess kar rahe ho ya meri burai? " ,She asked with pure disbelief.

(Are you confessing your feelings or insulting me?)

" Mene itna kuch kha aur tumhe bas itna hee sunayi diya.... ", he huffed..

(I said so much and that's all you heard?)

" Haan touh ese kon confess karta hain... Sadu kahi ke... "

(Well who confesses like this... you grumpy man...)

" Areh ab gussa mat karo.... ", he reached to hold her hand, but ended up grabbing her pallu.

(Hey, don't get angry now...)

" Gussa nhi hu... Kuch batana tha tumhe. Follow me. " (I'm not angry... I needed to tell you something. Follow me.)

" Yaha khade raho. ", She ordered, her expression suddenly turning serious, before she walked ahead and he followed still holding the end of her saree, like an obedient husband.

(Stand here.)

" Heh? " (Huh?) Zaviyar looked confused, his brows furrowing.

" Yaha khade raho. ", she repeated firmly, lifting her saree pleats as she climbed onto the bed.

(Stand here.)

She almost stumbled but Zaviyar rushed forward, catching her waist and steadying her carefully. Once she was upright, she turned to him, eyes blazing with a strange mix of anger and possessiveness.

She grabbed his collar abruptly, pulling him closer, forcing him to look up at her, his wife who was now taller only because of the bed, yet intimidating enough to weaken his spine.

She leaned in until their foreheads met, their breaths mixing, their noses brushing in a charged closeness that could melt steel.

" Tum sirf mere ho, and I hate sharing what is mine okay. ", she said through gritted teeth, her voice low, dangerous and intoxicatingly fierce. A shiver ran down Zaviyar's back as he stared at the enchanting, furious woman in front of him.

(You are only mine, and I hate sharing what belongs to me, okay?)

" Sirf aapka. For me women are like men now. ", he confessed nervously, raising his hands as if surrendering to her wrath.

(Only yours. For me, women are like men now.)

" Heh? Kya? ", she asked, baffled, her eyes widening and crossing slightly in confusion. The moment the words registered, her expression darkened, turning even more feral as she glared at him like she was ready to strangle him and kiss him at the same time.

(What?)

" Tumhe chhorke i mean. ", he said instantly, tripping over his words as he corrected himself, almost yelping the clarification before she could misinterpret it.

(Except you, I mean.)

Safiya narrowed her eyes at him, stepping closer with the kind of slow, dangerous grace that made Zaviyar straighten his back. Her fingers grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him up.

" I've heard that a lot of unmarried girls obsess over you.

Aajke baad koi zarurat nhi hain itna style maarke ghar se nikalne ki, theek hain?

Parde mein rha karo, mujhe pasand nhi ki dusre aurton ki nazar tumpar jaaye.

Aur itne tight fitted clothes bhi pehenna allowed nhi hain tumhe, samjhe.

... ", She gritted her teeth while fixing the strands of his hair, her eyes lingering on his handsome face.

Then her hand slid to his cheek, caressing it slowly, her touch tender even as her jealousy burned bright.

(I've heard unmarried girls obsess over you. From today, there's no need to dress so stylishly and leave the house, okay? Stay in veil; I don't like other women looking at you. And you're not allowed to wear such tight clothes, understand?)

Inside her mind, words curled like secret smoke, 'Kuch bhi kaho, bada hee sundar shohar mila hain mujhe. Bas zaban thori see kadwi hain.'

(No matter what, I've gotten myself a very handsome husband. Only his tongue is a little bitter.)

She smiled to herself but the smile looked so eerily intense that a shiver bolted down Zaviyar's spine.

" Samajh gaya jaan, aap kahein touh mein naqab kar leta hu. ", He answered with a smile, utterly enchanted by how fiercely possessive she was being. If anything, it only turned her more irresistible.

(Understood, love. If you say so, I'll even wear a veil.)

" Areh haan, sahi kha. Abse tum parda karke jaana, mujhe ekdum pasand nhi ki mere shohar ko koi aur dekhe bhi.

You are mine, and I don't share what's mine Zaviyar.

", She declared like a queen issuing a royal decree, and he swore she had never looked hotter.

Her eyes blazing, dominance radiating off her in waves.

(Yes, exactly. From now on, you go in veil. I don't like anyone even looking at my husband. You are mine, and I don't share what is mine, Zaviyar.)

" Ab gussa shaant hua aapka? " he asked softly, noticing she had finally gone quiet. His hands slid around her waist, steadying her as he gently helped her down from the bed. She nodded, a tiny, shy movement.

" Hmmm... ", She murmured, her eyes dropping shyly, as if suddenly embarrassed by her own possessiveness.

'isse pakke dohre parte hain, default setting hee galat hain. Baap ka asar lagta hain.', he thought shaking his head.

'Iske mood-swings touh bohot khatarnaak hain.', He mentally noted never to provoke his wife during her periods.

(Her mood swings are extremely dangerous.)

Safiya grabbed his hand abruptly, dragging him toward the bed with surprising strength. She made him sit on the edge before sliding her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, her breath fanning against his lips.

" Tum sachme mere ho na? ", She asked again, her insecurity peeking out as she looked into his eyes.

(You're really mine, right?)

" Kyu tumhe koi shaq hain? ", He slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her so close that she stood between his legs, caged securely in his hold.

(Why? Do you doubt it?)

" It's hard for me to trust anyone, Zaviyar.

My mood swings, my personality. Will you really be able to handle me?

Without getting tired? The very reason my previous relationship didn't work was because he didn't like my outspoken personality.

", She whispered, fingers absentmindedly playing with the strands of his hair.

" You, and your mood swings. I can handle both.

. I don't know who was there in your past, but it didn't last which means it was never meant to last. ", He said quietly before bringing her hand to his lips.

He kissed it gently, then pulled out the ring she had thrown earlier and slid it back onto her finger with slow reverence.

" Don't ever open it, Safiya. ", He whispered, raising her hand and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her temple. He entwined his fingers with hers as if knotting their fates back together.

" I guess I too have started feeling something for you, my sadu nawab.. ", Safiya said with a sudden burst of boldness. Before he could react, she leaned down, planted a quick kiss on his cheek and bolted away like lightning, leaving him completely stunned, his mouth slightly open.

Safiya practically flew across the room, her heart thundering inside her chest. She pressed herself against the closet door, palms covering her heated face as she tried to calm the wildfire blazing through her.

But her frantic breathing paused when her eyes fell on the open photo album lying on the counter. One photograph had slipped out, lying separately, almost like it was demanding her attention.

She walked toward it slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force. Destined to be his since she was a little child... huh?

The irony twisted her lips into a humorless chuckle.

She picked up the photograph gently, brushing her thumb over the glossy surface.

As much as she resented the past, she couldn't deny it anymore, her feelings for Zaviyar had grown roots far deeper than she expected.

She had tried, consciously or unconsciously, to give this relationship a chance.

Something had shifted and nothing could undo that now.

Even so, her heart whispered. This was a dark past... better forgotten. But a chilling thought crept in. And what happens when the real dark past reveals itself? Will anyone still accept her?

Safiya shook her head sharply, refusing to spiral. She closed the album and set it aside.

But her eyes went back to the photograph.

A younger version of him sat beside her.

Her, unaware of the camera. And him, looking at her with a softness, a pure childlike adoration that did not match the complicated, jagged edges of their current reality.

If only they had met differently.

If only life wasn't a web of responsibilities and expectations.

If only his resentment toward her father didn't taint everything.

If only he hadn't been so cold, so cruel in the beginning.

If only...

Then maybe loving him wouldn't feel like stitching a wound with trembling, bleeding fingers. Then maybe love would've been soft.... maybe love would've been easy.

But destiny had chosen chaos for them.

And here she stood, caught between the past that tied them to each other and the future that terrified her. Safiya leaned the back of her head against the door and closed her eyes.

Unaware that on the other side of the very same door. Zaviyar leaned against it too, mirroring her, their backs touching through the wood, their breaths syncing unknowingly, their hearts beating the same unanswered question:

" Kahi yeh ehsaas mohabbat touh nhi? "

(Could this feeling... be love?)

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Author's POV

Safiya stared at Zaviyar's broad back from behind the velvet curtain as he addressed the crowd outside, his voice steady and authoritative carrying the weight of generations.

She stood hidden behind the thick velvet curtains of the Diwan-i-Aam, a grand fortress-like structure built over decades to handle the public matters of Azamgarh.

Sunlight filtered through the intricately carved jharokha, casting patterned shadows across the marble floor.

It was a place where countless decisions had shaped the fate of Azamgarh, its pillars whispering old legacies, its arches echoing centuries of power. And today, she stood in its heart, feeling impossibly small.

Her palms were slick with sweat. She wiped them nervously on the pleats of her saree, the fabric cool against her clammy skin. Each passing second made her heartbeat thrum louder as if marking time toward something she wasn't prepared for.

" Safiya, waha jaake tumhe kuch riwaaz karne honge. Bas woh karlena theek hain? ", Riffat's voice came from beside her, gentle but firm.

(Safiya, once you go there, you will have to perform a few rituals. Just do those, alright?)

Safiya nodded, though her mind was far away. She barely processed the instructions but nodded anyway.

Riffat then adjusted the shawl over her head, covering her hair with practiced familiarity and then walked out with a group of women trailing behind her. Safiya wondered if she took would have to cover her head.

Left alone for a moment, Safiya slipped her phone out of her clutch with trembling fingers. She opened WhatsApp and snapped a quick picture of herself. She sent it to her friends before she could second-guess the impulse.

The reply came instantly.

And Safiya exhaled, for the first time in minutes, grateful for even the small tether to normalcy amid the suffocating grandeur around her.

Adira:

- Babes tu agar Mughals ke samay paida hoti touh teri beauty ke upar jung ho jati

[Translation: Babes, if you were born in the Mughal era, there would've been a war over your beauty.]

Aur woh thora sakt dikta hain lekin itna bura nhi hain

[Translation: And he looks a bit strict but he's not that bad.]

????? Bhai yeh touh ishq murshid hogayi

[Translation: ????? Bro, she has become love-sick.]

Dekh jeeju ko kese defend kar rahi hain

[Translation: Look how she's defending brother-in-law.]

[Translation: My heart kept crying out in pain.

I was punished for love-what sin did I commit?

That I was ruined.

Yes, ruined.

I was destroyed in your love.]

?? Nhi kar rahi defend bhag yaha se

[Translation: ?? I'm not defending him, get lost.]

Aur yeh ahaan ko sadma lag gaya kya

[Translation: And what's wrong with Ahaan, did he get shocked or what?]

A

Adira:

Padhayi kar rahi hu. Iss baar NET clear nhi hua touh puchhka ka stand lagaungi

[Translation: I'm studying. If I don't clear NET this time, I'll open a pani-puri stall.]

Translation : till now how many slaps has he got? ]

Translation : so less. ]

Ahaan:

Areh yarr tum loug ko kya malsa hain

Itni achchi body banayi hain, dekhlo

[Translation: what is the issue with you guys? I have such a good body, enjoy ogling it. ]

Ladke mein shakal na surat na

[Translation: The boy has neither looks nor charm.]

Me:

Mein nhi deh rahi koi bhi pic, woh view mere liye fixed hain

[Translation: I'm not giving any picture, that view is reserved only for me.]

Adira:

Me when bhagwan ji me when

[ Translation : me when god, me when ]

Ahaan changed the group name to Ahaan only fans

Safiya couldn't help the small laugh that slipped out as she scrolled through Ahaan's pictures.

He had always been this outrageously over-flirty guy.

He was way too dramatic, loud, and shameless to a point where even compliments felt like performances.

Honestly, it was a miracle to her that someone like him was still single and had never dated anyone.

She shook her head fondly, still amused, when she looked up from her phone, only to let out a sharp, startled shriek.

Standing right in front of her, tall enough to block half the light, was Zaviyar.

His gaze was fixed on her. No, on the phone in her hand, his expression was unreadable but intense enough to make her heart skip.

He moved closer without a word, standing infront of her with his arms crossed, leaning just enough to read the text on her screen.

His presence alone was overpowering, a storm she hadn't realized she had invited so casually.

" Yeh koun hain. ", he asked, gritting his teeth as a dangerous glint of possessiveness flickered through his eyes, subtle but sharp enough to be felt rather than seen.

(Who is this.)

" Oh, that's Adira and Ahaan. " she replied quickly, as Zaviyar simply nodded, pulling his own phone from his pocket and then without warning plucked her phone right out of her hand effortlessly.

" Oi, mera phone vapis karo. ", she snapped, jumping up in an attempt to reach it, only to be reminded, yet again that her husband was a giant who always, always had the height advantage. She huffed, glaring up at him but he didn't even flinch.

(Hey, give me my phone back.)

'aadmi nhi khamba hain', she huffed trying to snatch the phone from him. Zaviyar, held her wrists with his hand and smirked seeing her trying to wiggle out of his grip.

A moment later, he finally returned her phone but only after he had already started typing aggressively on his own screen, his fingers moving with alarming speed like a man on a mission she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

A wave of dread rolled through her as she watched him, her stomach twisting. Ya Allah, what if he's calling Ahhan? What if he's threatening him?

Hands trembling slightly, she looked down as Ahaan's messages began popping up one after another, each bubble like a tiny explosion of panic on her screen.

I just received 1 lakh rupees from @safs miyan ji

[Translation: I just received 1 lakh rupees from @safs miyan ji]

?? Bhai tu jeeju ke saamne mat aana tujhe woh sachme chinwa denge, unki wife ko yeh ashleel pics dene ke gunah mein

[Translation: Bro, don't come in front of jeeju, he'll seriously get you chopped up, because you sent his wife such shameless pics.]

Safiya giggled softly, the sound barely leaving her lips before her phone was suddenly snatched away by Zaviyar.

He pocketed it with the casual authority of a man who didn't need permission for something that already felt like his.

Leaning down, lowering himself to match her height, he whispered against her ear with a warmth that made her breath hitch, "Mere saath bhi ese has liya karo.

", he said. His tone that of a jealous man.

(Laugh like this with me too.)

"Mera mood nhi hain.", Safiya muttered, turning away with a small huff, ready to walk off with whatever dignity she could collect.

(I'm not in the mood.)

But before she even took a step, she felt a sudden tug. Her entire body froze as she stumbled slightly and instinctively clutched her pallu to her shoulder. Heat rushed up her cheeks in a rosy wave as she whispered, flustered and conscious of her surroundings, "Ch...chodein. koi dekh lega."

(L-Let go. Someone will see.)

"Kya dekh lega?", he asked, tone teasing but edged with curiosity.

(See what?)

"Yahi ki tum-", she began sternly, whipping around to scold him for pulling her pallu in broad daylight.

But the words died on her tongue the moment she saw him laughing, actually laughing as he pointed toward the plant beside them.

Her pallu was stuck in the sharpened tip of the long green leaf, fluttering like a helpless prisoner.

(That you-)

" Seekho, ek paudha bhi tumse jyada romantic hain. Chale hatein... ", she muttered slapping away his hand that sneaker it's way upto her side.

( Learn something from this plant, it is more romantic than you. Now move out of the way..)

"Pallu na sahee, aapko touh kareeb kheech hee sakta hu.", he murmured, and before she could respond, he tugged her toward him. She collided against his chest, her soft front pressing into the warmth of him, her eyes widening as her breath tangled with his.

(Even if not the pallu, I can still pull you close.)

His fingers moved slowly, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. The barest brush of his fingertips grazed the edge of her earshell, sending a ticklish shiver racing down her spine. She didn't know if he felt it, but she felt everything.

"I know I might sound really toxic to you at this moment," he said, pulling her closer, close enough that she wondered how any more closeness was even possible. His face rested on her shoulder, the soft warmth of his breath fanning against the sensitive skin of her neck.

"I'm a very possessive man, Safiya. I don't like when you look at anyone except me.

When your eyes admire someone, a man or woman.

I hate it. I want your eyes only on me. I'm yours, look at me as much as you desire.

" he whispered, every word sinking deep into her stomach, twisting into a churning, breathless sensation she didn't know how to fight.

" I don't see anything worth looking at ", Safiya said with a shy glint in her eyes, making his eyes widen before he whispered with a smirk, " Let's get a room first, sweetheart and then I'll make sure that your eyes remain on me.

", zaviyar, said ready to pull her only for her to shriek and pull away from him.

Safiya turned her face away, flushing a deep shade of red as she tried desperately to avoid his gaze.

But before she could gather herself, she gasped as his fingers traced the curve of her waist in a featherlight touch that made her knees weak.

Zaviyar finally pulled back, guiding her gently to sit on the nearby couch.

Outside, muted voices and distant conversations drifted through the open space. They had a few stolen moments to themselves. And in that quiet, Zaviyar reached into his pocket and pulled out a payal. Safiya's eyes widened instantly.

"Yeh touh mera hain. Aaj kho gaya tha.", she said, shocked. It was one of the gold anklets Riffat had gifted her, a set she was supposed to wear today but had misplaced in the morning chaos.

(This is mine. I lost it today.)

Before she could process further, a few maids arrived silently, each carrying large brass thalis cushioned with red silk cloth. They stood respectfully at a distance, waiting, unwilling to disturb the couple lost in their own world.

Without a second thought, Zaviyar kneeled down on one knee before her. Her breath hitched again as he gently lifted her foot, placing it carefully over his left thigh.

"Zaviyar, stop. Agar kisine dekha fir baatein banayenge", she whispered urgently.

(Stop, Zaviyar. If someone sees, they'll talk.)

He lifted his gaze to her, calm and sure.

"Kiski itni jrurat." (Who would dare.)

Safiya's eyes widened as he lifted the side of her saree pleats slightly, watching in disbelief.

Zaviyar traced his fingers lightly around her ankle and a shiver shot up her spine.

His touch was slow and teasing. He slid the payal around her ankle with such care that the soft clinking sounded almost musical.

Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest.

He then stood up and looked at his wife, whose face had turned bright red as she looked away from him.

'Mene touh pedicure bhi nhi kiya tha, nakhun gande ho rakhe the. ', her mind was screaming in utter panic but she maintained a calm expression.

She stood stiff when Zaviyar closed the distance between them and placed a soft kiss on her crown, making her feel rats doing summersaults inside her stomach.

"Chaliye, chalte hain.", he said, intertwining his fingers with hers. He pulled her along gently, slowing his strides so she wouldn't struggle to keep up. Safiya had taken out her phone from his kameez, and given him a grin when he turned to glare at her.

Then she took a quick picture of them, before posting it as her story with a short caption,

Caption : guess who's scared of losing me ??

Safiya knew it was too corny, but she couldn't help but smile coyly, while staring at the picture.

Soon, they stepped outside together. Safiya blinked rapidly as the sudden brightness engulfed her but her eyes adjusted quickly.

That's when realisation dawned upon her that a massive crowd stood gathered, watching her.

The cheers grew louder as they walked forward, hands still linked. Men and women bowed before them. The weight of their respect or expectation pressed on Safiya, making her feel strangely exposed. Zaviyar lifted his hand, signaling them to rise again.

As Safiya scanned the crowd, her gaze landed on an old man at the far corner. He looked influential with a stern face, sharp posture. He glanced at the couple and then immediately snapped his head away as if merely looking at Safiya physically pained him.

He stepped forward, stopping beside them. Then, in a harsh whisper dripping with judgement, he said, "Sar par kapda kyu nhi hain inke. Gair mardo ke saamne be-parda nhi ghumti hamari ladkiya. Aur yeh touh Azamgarh ki maa ki jagah lene Jaa rahi hain."

(Why isn't her head covered? Our women don't roam unveiled before strange men. And she is going to take the place of Azamgarh's mother.)

Safiya's eyes widened at the audacity.

"Excuse me, uncle. Mein yeh bas formality ke liye kar rahi hain. Mujhe koi shoukh nhi iss gaon ko adopt karne ka. And I'm fully clothed, how is that be-parda exactly?"

(I'm doing this only as a formality. I have no desire to adopt this village. And I'm fully clothed-how exactly is this being unveiled?)

The old man snarled, "Ladki hoke zubaan mat chalao. Nawab sahab aap kyu chup chap khade hain, apni biwi ko sambhalna nhi aata kya aapko. Aapke saamne aapki biwi humeh zaleel kar rahi hain aur aap yu chup hokar sab sun rahe hain."

(Don't talk back when you're a girl. Zaviyar why are you standing quietly, can't you control your wife? She is insulting me in front of you and you're just listening.)

"Toub zaleel hone vali baatein na kiya karein uncle.", Safiya smiled sharply.

(Then don't say things that get you insulted, uncle.)

Zaviyar's voice came steady, firm. "Meri biwi apni mariyada jaanti hain.", He squeezed her hand, thumb brushing gentle calming circles on her skin.

(My wife knows her dignity.)

The old man's anger doubled. "Yeh hain inki mariyada? Bado se ese baat karna-"

(This is her dignity? Speaking like this to elders-)

Zaviyar raised his hand slightly, and the man went silent instantly. From the corner of her eye, Safiya saw Riffat and Nauman chatting elsewhere, far enough to not witness any of this. The perfect opportunity.

She faced the old man again with a deceptively sweet smile.

"Aapki Umar ka lihaz kar rahi hu varna mera pta nhi aap zaroor be-parda hojaoge.", The man clutched his chest dramatically and looked away.

(I'm respecting your age, otherwise I swear you'd be the one getting unveiled.)

Zaviyar held her back slightly, leaning closer, whispering softly, "Aap shaant hojaye."

(Calm down.)

" Zaviyar, if you can't take my side then shut up and let me handle my own battles.", she snapped making him gritted his teeth before turned away but not before saying, " Everything is not handled with arrogance and a loud voice safiya."

Just then, Riffat approached, her voice warm but formal.

"Safiya, tum apne shohar ko yeh pehnaogi.", She pointed toward the maids holding the covered brass plates.

(Safiya, you will make your husband wear this.)

'Kyu? Inke haath kat gaye hain kya. ', she frowned but nodded, turning toward Zaviyar, properly facing him.

(Why? Did someone cut his hands off? )

[ Trigger warning : The upcoming scenes might be triggering or disturbing. In no way, is this glorified by the author! ]

Riffat removed the cloth from the first plate, revealing a stunning white Rajputana-style turban, its folds pristine and glowing softly under the warm lighting of the room.The fabric shimmered with heritage, each crease telling stories of courage long buried in time.

The atmosphere itself shifted with the unveiling, as though the ghosts of ancestors stood nearby, watching, approving.

The old man began speaking, his voice loud and resonant, "Yeh pagdi hamari purkhon ki sirf shaan nahi thi, yeh unki pehchaan, unki izzat aur unki saugandh thi.

Jab tak yeh pagdi unke sar par tikki rahi, tab tak unhone na kabhi kisi ke saamne sar jhukaya, na apni talwar, aur na apne zameer ko.

Is pagdi ne unke saath jangon ki raatein dekhi hain, darbaaron ki roshni, aur woh lamhe jab riyasat ka faisla sirf unki himmat par tikka tha.

Is pagdi ki her moad mein, her parat mein, hamare purkhon ka wqar, unki jeet, aur unka khoon chhupa hua hai.

", The way that old man uttered each word, steeped in old-world traditions made the crowd fall into a hush as though time itself had paused.

(This turban was not just the pride of our ancestors, it was their identity, their honour, and their oath.

As long as this turban sat on their heads, they never bowed-neither their head, nor their sword, nor their conscience.

This turban has witnessed the nights of war, the brilliance of courts, and those moments where the fate of the kingdom rested solely on their courage.

In every fold of this turban rests our ancestors' dignity, their victories, and their spilled blood.)

His voice wrapped around the hall like an ancient chant.

Safiya, meanwhile, looked at him dumbfounded, internally muttering, "21st century mein ese baat kar rahe hain jese ki abhi yeh jung ladne jayega.

Paagal vaagal hain kya yeh loug. Democracy gaya tel lene, inse yeh karwalo pehle.

", She rolled her eyes, her expression a silent plea for modernity in the middle of medieval dramatics.

(In the 21st century they're talking like he's about to go fight a war. Are these people crazy? Forget democracy, let these people do this first.)

Stepping forward, Safiya delicately picked up the turban. The fabric was softer than she expected yet held a certain weight like responsibility woven into cloth. She looked up at Zaviyar, realizing she could barely reach his height.

Before she could rise on her toes, Zaviyar instinctively bent his head toward her.

That small, unspoken gesture of familiarity broke something soft in her chest. A faint smile touched her lips as she adjusted the folds carefully onto his head, the intimacy of the moment sharply contrasting the grandeur around them.

Before Riffat could continue, a curt voice sliced through the air, "Nawab sahab, apna sar upar rakhein, sir jhukana begairati hain.", The man's sharp whisper grated through the solemn atmosphere.

(Nawab sahab, keep your head up, lowering it is dishonour.)

Zaviyar turned, his eyes cold, so cold that the reprimand died in the man's throat instantly. Silence swallowed him whole.

Safiya bit down a laugh, her heart fluttering like a misbehaving bird. Inside, she swooned, "Hayee, kitna hot hain mera shohar. Ek look mein bolti band kardi iss kawwe ki.", She winked at Zaviyar discreetly, admiration shining openly in her gaze only for him to stiffen and then glare at her too.

(God, how hot my husband is. One look and he shut that crow up.)

Riffat lifted the cloth from the second plate, revealing a majestic Mughal darbar shawl, rich velvet embroidered with gold threads that shimmered like captured sunlight.

The man then spoke again, voice filled with ceremonial pride, "Yeh sirf kapra nahi, taaj-poshi ki riwayat ki nishaani hai.

Iski narmi mein hamare buzurgon ki duaein basi hoti hain, aur is ka wazan sirf dhaagon ka nahi, zimmedariyon ka hota hai.

Jab ek Khan isay o?hta hai, to woh sirf riyasat ke waris nahi rehte, balke apne qaum ki umeedon ka hamil ban jaate hai.

Yeh unhi kandhon ko sajti hai, jin par takdeer hukoomat likhti hai.

Aaj se, yeh shawl Khan'o ke waris ke jism ka libaas nahi, uski shaan, uska farz, aur uska qasam hai. "

(This velvet shawl is not merely cloth, but a symbol of coronation tradition.

Its softness carries the prayers of our elders, and its weight is not of threads but of responsibility.

When a Khan drapes it, he is no longer just the heir of the kingdom, but the bearer of his people's hopes.

It rests on those shoulders upon which destiny writes the script of rule.

From today, this shawl is not just attire for the heir of the Khans, it is his pride, his duty, and his oath.)

Safiya stared at him with a deadpan expression. "Yeh louh history teacher phirse shuru hogaya, isko koi silent karo."

(This history teacher has started again. Someone silence him.)

Meanwhile Zaviyar was far too absorbed in glancing at his wife, beautiful in her saree, gold glinting off her skin to even notice her glare. His eyes mesmerized, as if her presence momentarily erased the centuries of tradition swirling around them.

Once the speech ended, Safiya placed the heavy shawl over Zaviyar's shoulders. The fabric draped over him with effortless regality, transforming him into a figure carved straight out of ancestral tales, a man born for command, dignified even in stillness.

Under her breath, she muttered, "tumhe touh mein dikhaungi, ghar chalein bas. Nawab sahab."

(I'll show you once we get home. Nawab sahab.)

Her gritted teeth made Zaviyar break into a quiet sweat. Trying to soothe her imaginary anger, Zaviyar mumbled to himself.

"Chocolate khila dunga, tab iska dimaag shaant hojayega."

(I'll give her chocolate; then her mind will calm down.)

The old man beside them clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed at the couple completely lost in their private world in the middle of a ceremony centuries older than both of them.

The third plate was uncovered next. Inside lay a Rapier-tulwar, its handle carved with ancestral precision, its blade gleaming with a lethal beauty. Safiya's breath caught when she touched the hilt, the weapon was heavier than she expected.

The man's voice deepened as he recited, "Yeh talwar sirf lohe ka wazan nahi, hamare purkhon ki ghairat, unka jazba aur unki dastaan hai.

Iski dhaar par woh saari jungain likhi hui hain, jo hamare buzurgon ne riyasat ke liye ladhi, aur us khoon ki laal garmi chhupi hai jo sirf apni mitti ke liye bahaaya jata hai.

Yeh talwar na kabhi zulm ke liye uthi, aur na kabhi na-insaafi ke liye.

Jis haath ne isay pakda, us haath ne hamesha sach ka saath diya, aur jis kalai ne isay ghumaaya, us ne hamesha apni zameen, apne logon aur apni izzat ki hifazat ki. "

(This sword is not just the weight of iron-it is the honour, passion, and story of our ancestors.

Its blade carries the memory of every war fought for the kingdom, and within it burns the red heat of the blood shed only for one's soil.

This sword never rose for tyranny, nor for injustice.

The hand that held it always stood with truth, and the wrist that wielded it always protected the land, the people, and the honour entrusted to it.)

The man continued with a reverence that seemed carved from time itself, "Iski talwat jaisi seedhi dhaar mein aql aur tehzeeb ki narmi hai, aur talwar jaisa hamare lahu ki jungjiroori mehak deta hai.

Yeh do silsilon ka milap hai, wazahat aur wqar ka, tehzeeb aur tazyanat ka, sabar aur shiddat ka.

Aaj yeh talwar iss gaddi ke zehnasheen ko di ja rahi hai, taake woh samajh le ke unke haath ab sirf lakiron ki taqdeer nahi likhenge, balki riyasat ki hifazat bhi karenge.

Is talwar ki dhaar usko yaad dilati rahegi ke jahan lafz kaam aa jayein, wahan talwar nahi chalti, aur jahan dushman had kar jaaye, wahan yeh hi talwar uska jawab hoti hai.

Aaj se is talwar ka bojh unki kalai par, aur iski izzat unke dil par hogi.

Jab tak yeh talwar unke paas rahegi, tab tak woh na kabhi haq se peeche hatega, na jung se, na dushman ki nigahon se.

Yeh talwar unka sehm bhi hai, aur unka sahara bhi.

Unka waada bhi, aur unka waraq-e-fateh bhi.

Aur jab ek Khan isay apni pehli pakad deta hai, to yeh talwar bhi un par apni purkho wali barkat barsati hai, ke woh kabhi na hikmat mein kamzor pade, na himmat mein. "

(In the sword's straight-edge lies the softness of wisdom and civility, and the scent of battle runs through it like the blood of our lineage.

It is the union of two legacies-clarity and dignity, refinement and bravery, patience and intensity.

Today this sword is given to the successor of this throne so he may understand that his hands will no longer just write destiny on lines, but guard the kingdom as well.

This blade will keep reminding him that where words can resolve, swords should not be raised; and where enemies cross their limits, this sword is the only answer.

From today its weight will rest on his wrist, and its honour on his heart.

As long as it remains with him, he shall never retreat from duty, from war, or from the enemy's gaze.

This sword is both his fear and his support, both his oath and his page of victory.

And when a Khan holds it for the first time, this sword blesses him with the strength of his ancestors that he may never falter in strategy or courage.)

Safiya admired the weapon for a heartbeat longer, her breath stilling.

She handed it to Zaviyar, something inside her stirred.

His fingers wrapped around the hilt with a calm assurance that stole her breath like the sword had finally found the hand it had long been waiting for. He looked born to command it.

Finally, Riffat unveiled the fourth plate. Resting inside was a pair of pristine white royal juttis, embroidered with vintage Mughal patterns that whispered history with every delicate thread.

Safiya blinked, stunned. Of all things, she had not expected shoes to hold ceremonial value in the midst of swords, shawls, and ancestral oaths.

Riffat caught her expression, "Kya hua? Yeh jutti louh, aur Zaviyar ko pehnao."

(What happened? These shoes,go on, make Zaviyar wear them.)

The man recited the final verses with unwavering devotion, "Yeh jutti sirf pairon ka libaas nahi, yeh un raahon ki yaadgar hai, jinke nishaan hamare purkhon ne is zameen par chhode.

Inhi juttioon mein kharay hoke unhone jungon ka faisla kiya, aur inhi mein chalte hue unhone riyasat ko izzat aur insaaf se chalaya.

Is jutti ki har silai mein us mitti ki mehak basi hai jise hamare purkhe apna khoon de kar hifazat karte aaye.

Yeh jutti us zameen ka paighaam hai jo hamesha unke qadmon ka bojh uthaati rahi, aur bada dil rakhti rahi.

Jis tarah pagdi sir buland rakhti hai, aur talwar haath ko taqat deti hai, uss tarah yeh jutti yaad dilati hai ke uske qadmon ka rukh hi riyasat ki taqdeer banega.

Jahan woh chalega, wahan uske log unki umeed dekhenge, aur jahan woh rukega, wahan riyasat ki saansein tham jaayengi. "

(These shoes are not merely footwear; they are reminders of the paths our ancestors walked upon this land.

Standing in them, they made decisions of war, and walking in them, they guided the kingdom with honour and justice.

Every stitch carries the scent of the soil our forefathers protected with their blood.

These shoes are the message of the land that has always borne their weight and held their legacy.

Just as the turban keeps the head high and the sword strengthens the hand, these shoes remind that the direction of his steps shapes the destiny of the kingdom.

Where he walks, his people will see hope; where he stops, the kingdom's breath will pause.)

Zaviyar's head snapped toward the plate, eyes widening.

He recognized the juttis instantly, the same pair his grandfather had worn with pride.

Memories flooded him of his grandmother bending down with devotion, slipping them onto his grandfather's feet while he declared it a necessary ritual for any man who carried responsibility.

Zaviyar swallowed hard, the weight of nostalgia pressed against his ribs.

Safiya stared at the shoes, then at him, her shock evident. Riffat leaned closer and whispered, "Safiya, yeh ek rasm hain. Aaj se Zaviyar apni takhti sambhalega, aur isme tumhe uska saath dena hain."

(Safiya, this is a ritual. From today, Zaviyar will take charge of the takht, and you must support him in this.)

Safiya folded her arms.

"Usse jutti pehnake? Sorry but mein yeh nhi kar sakti."

(Make him wear shoes? Sorry, but I can't do this.)

"Lekin-" (But-)

"Nhi ammi. I can wear that myself.", Zaviyar said as he stepped forward, reaching for the shoes.

(No, Mother. I can wear them myself.)

But the man halted him with a disapproving hand. "Aap kyu karenge yeh, yeh ek aurat ka kaam hain."

(Why would you do this? This is a woman's duty.)

Zaviyar's jaw clenched and his voice thundered through the hall, "Meri biwi meri izzat hain. Aur meri izzat kisike saamne nhi jhukegi, mere saamne bhi nhi."

(My wife is my honour. And my honour will not bow in front of anyone, not even in front of me.)

The room froze. People had seen Zaviyar angry before but never like this, never defending his wife with such ferocity that even the air dared not move. Whispers died and everbody's heads lowered. A collective shiver passed through the hall.

A male staff member quickly came forward, took the shoes from the plate and kneeled to place them on the ground.

He reached for Zaviyar's current footwear but Zaviyar placed a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

Without breaking eye contact with the man who had insulted his wife, he bent down himself, removed his shoes and stepped into the juttis, owning the moment with a king's dignity.

Safiya watched, torn between exasperation and disbelief at the centuries-old ego floating around the room. She sighed, rubbing her forehead, silently wondering if these people lived in a different timeline altogether.

Riffat sighed too, amusement and old memories mixing in her eyes. There were whispers, hushed and quiet. Women who were shocked to notice the change and already made a preconceived notion that the lady of their nawab was indeed very cunning and probably had done some black magic on the Khan.

Whereas, some men stood baffled and outrageous as they felt the power dynamics slipping. They had always taken the example of the nawab, and tried to live their lives like them. But with how the nawab behaved, the women would also ask for their husbands to show them the same amount of respect.

The crowd then turned toward the large structure draped in velvet. At a gesture, the servants pulled the cloth away, revealing the grand throne. Carved in dark ancient wood, towering with authority, it stood like a silent witness of generations.

Zaviyar felt a movement inside his chest. This was the throne his grandfather sat upon, the throne from which he settled disputes, commanded respect and bore the weight of countless lives.

He remembered sitting on its armrest as a child, listening to stories listening to the promise that one day, it would be his.

The man began again, his voice trembling with devotion, "Yeh woh takht hai, jis par hamare purkhe sirf baithte nahi the, apne saanson se is dharti ka bojh uthaate the.

Is par baithkar unhone faisle kiye jo naslon ki taqdeer badal dete, jung rokti aur aman laati, aur kabhi kabhi unke apne dil ko bhi chhiroon kar jaati.

Is takht ne unke har faisle ki garmahat mehsoos ki hai, insaf ka bojh, riyasat ka ghumaan, logon ki umeedon ka wazan.

Yahan baithkar unhone kabhi apni khushi ka socha nahi, sirf apni kaum ka socha.

Jab tak ye takht unke neeche tha, tab tak unhone na kabhi dushman se dar dikhaya, na kabhi apne logon se mooh modha.

Is takht ki lakdiyon mein ab bhi, unke iraadon ki sakhti aur unki rooh ka wqar basa hua hai.

Yeh wahi jagah hai jahan baithkar hamare purkhe zimmedariyon ke pahar ko halka karte, aur faislon ki bijliyon ko giraane se pehle khud par jhelte. "

(This is the throne upon which our ancestors did not merely sit, they carried the weight of the land with every breath.

From this seat, they made decisions that changed generations, halted wars, brought peace, and sometimes tore their own hearts apart.

This throne has felt the heat of their judgments, the weight of justice, the pride of the kingdom, and the hopes of the people.

Sitting here, they never thought of their happiness, only their people's.

As long as this throne stood beneath them, they never showed fear to an enemy nor turned their backs on their own people.

Even now, its wood holds the strength of their intentions and the dignity of their souls.

This is where they lightened the mountains of responsibility and bore the lightning of decisions upon themselves before it could strike the world.)

As the hall fell into a reverent silence, every eye remained locked on Zaviyar, standing tall before the ancient throne. The old man's voice echoed across the marble floor, heavy with history and authority.

" Aaj, jab tum is takht ke paas kharay ho, to yaad rakhna ke yeh sirf kursi nahi, riyasat ki rooh hai.

Is par baithte hi aadmi badal jata hai, uske jazbaat nahi,.

uski soch badalti hai; uski zindagi nahi, uska maqsad badalta hai.Aaj se yeh takht tumhara hua, aur is dharti ki har dua aur har aankh tumhari taraf dekh kar faisla karegi.

Aaj se tum sirf waris nahi, riyasat ka saaya, iske paa-band,iska rakhwala ban gaye ho.

Azamgarh ka har ghar ab tumhare qadmon ki aahat sunega, aur har raah tumhare faislon ki raushni se jagmagayegi.

Is takht ka bojh halka nahi hota, magar jisne isay apna maana, usne hamesha itihas mein apna naam a-maran likh diya. "

( Today, as you stand near this throne, remember that it is not just a seat, but the soul of the kingdom.

When a man sits on it, not his emotions but his thinking changes; not his life but his purpose transforms. From today, this throne is yours, and from today every prayer and every eye of this land will look to you for decisions.

You are no longer just an heir, but the shadow, the duty-bound guardian of the kingdom.

Every home in Azamgarh will hear your footsteps, and every path will shine with the light of your decisions.

The weight of this throne is never light, but the one who accepts it writes his name in history forever. )

His words carved themselves into the air like prophecy as Nauman stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Zaviyar's shoulder. The gesture wasn't mere tradition, it was an unspoken passing of power, of legacy, of an entire empire now resting on one man's shoulders.

Then, with a sudden shift, the man's gaze moved to the woman standing slightly behind, Safiya, who hadn't expected to be addressed, let alone held up as a pillar of strength.

" Aur iss lambi safar mein aapki sabse badi taaqat aapki biwi hogi, jo hamesha aapke peeche khadi rahegi, aapke har girti cheez ko samet kar, har khaali jagah ko seench kar, aapke kandhon se bojh halka karti rahegi. Aur iss takhti ko apna Naya waris bhi degi. "

( And in this long journey, your greatest strength will be your wife who will always stand behind you, gathering every falling piece, filling every empty space, lightening every burden from your shoulders. And also give an heir to this throne. )

Safiya blinked, caught off-guard. 'But when did I sign up for this?', she wondered, tilting her head slightly before shrugging with silent irritation.

She felt weirded out with how the only thing expected from her was achild as though she was a baby producing machine.

From the other end of the platform, Riffat straightened her spine like a commander giving final orders.

" Jao Zaviyar apni gaddi par betho. "

( Go Zaviyar, sit on your throne. )

And then his gaze swung at her, the wife, the outsider according to some, yet today placed in the very center of a centuries-old ritual.

" Aur Khan ki biwi, khan ke peeche khadi hojaye, jaise ek saathi, ek humraaz, jo apne shohar ke har qadam par uska sahara banti hai.

Ek achchi biwi woh hoti hai jo sirf baat nahi maanti, balki samajh ke maanti hai, jo shohar ki behtari aur uski izzat ko apni zimmedari samajhti hai.

Jab shohar kisi mushkil mein ho, to biwi uske liye deewar ban kar khadi hoti hai, aur jab woh faisla kare, to biwi apni soch aur duaon se us faisle ko mazboot banati hai.

Tumhara har qadam, har soch, uski ijazat, uski behtari aur tum dono ki mustaqbil ki hifazat ke liye hogi.

.Biwi ki quwwat un lafzon mein nahi hoti jo woh bolti hai,.

balki un duaaon mein hoti hai jo woh chup chaap maangti hai,.

aur un hauslon mein jo woh bina shor machaye deti rehti hai.

aapki wajah se uski zindagi mein sukoon aayega, aur aapki soch se uske faislon mein roshni. "

(And the Khan's wife stands behind him like a companion, a confidante, someone who becomes her husband's support with every step he takes.

A good wife is not the one who merely obeys, but the one who understands before she obeys; the one who considers her husband's well-being and his honor as her own responsibility.When a husband faces hardship, the wife stands like a wall beside him; and when he makes a decision, she strengthens that decision with her thoughts and her silent prayers.

Every step you take, every thought you hold, must be for his permission, his benefit, and the safety of your shared future.

A wife's strength does not lie in the words she speaks, but in the prayers she quietly makes, and in the courage she gives without making noise.

Because of you, peace will come into his life and because of your wisdom, light will enter his decisions.)

Safiya's jaw tightened. She felt the patronizing tone pierce through her skin like needles. Her fingers curled, her body stiffened and for a moment, she genuinely considered kicking the stick he used as support, so that he would fall face first.

Zaviyar finally spoke from the side to one of the men standing there, breaking his long silence.

" Safiya, ke liye ek chair leh aao. ", ( Bring a chair for safiya. )

But the man nearly shrieked in horror, snapping back with venomous conviction,

" Auratein kabhi bhi apne shohar ke barabari par nahi beth ti.

Aapko uske peeche hi khadi rehna hoga. Ek achchi biwi ka kaam aage badhna nahi hota, balki apne shohar ke qadam ke peeche qadam rakhna hota hai.

Ghar ki aurat tabhi kamyab hoti hai jab woh apni zindagi ka har faisla shohar ki ijazat se, aur uski behtari ko samajh kar leti hai.

Biwi ka farz hota hai chup reh kar sunnna, aur shohar ka farz hota hai faisla karna.

Aur Safiya, riyasat ke aadab mein biwi wohi hoti hai jo apne shohar ke iraadon ke aage apni marzi ko daba deti hai.

Tumhara kaam bas itna hai ke tum uske liye sukoon ka ghar banao, aur uske raaste mein apni soch ya apni zidd kabhi na lao- kyunki mardon ka raasta auraton ki baat se nahi badla karta. "

( Women never sit at the same level as their husbands.

You're meant to stand behind him. A good wife's duty is not to move ahead, but to place her steps behind her husband's.

A woman of the house succeeds only when every decision in her life is taken with her husband's permission and with his well-being in mind.

A wife's duty is to stay quiet and listen, and a husband's duty is to decide.

And Safiya, in the etiquette of this kingdom, a wife is the one who suppresses her own will in front of her husband's intentions.

Your only job is to create peace and comfort for him, and never bring your own thoughts or stubbornness in his path because a man's path is never changed by a woman's words.)

Her blood boiled, not with ordinary anger but with a fire that could melt iron. Her eyes flashed, her posture straightened, and she stepped forward with the kind of authority people are born to fear.

" Aap jo baat kar rahe hain na... woh aadab nahi, purani soch ka bojh hai.

Aur main yeh bojh na apne kandhon par uthaoongi, na apni agle naslon ko uthaane doongi.

Aurat ko peeche khada dekhna aapki aadat ho sakti hai, meri kismet nahi.

Aurat agar shohar ke barabar nahi baithi, toh uski izzat kam nahi hoti, lekin shohar ki soch zaroor chhoti pad jaati hai.

Aap kehte hain biwi ka farz sunnna aur mard ka farz faisla karna?

Toh sun lijiye, faisla bhi main karti hoon.

Aur mera faisla yeh hai ke main kisi mard ki saaya ban kar nahi jee ungi.

Aap kehte hain aurat apni marzi daba de.

.. Main kehti hoon, meri marzi, mera haq hai.

Aap kehte hain aurat ko mard ke raaste se hat jaana chahiye.

... Main kehti hoon, agar raasta tang ho jaye toh main naya raasta khud bana leti hoon.

Aap ko lagta hoga ke aurat ki zubaan band ho kar hi ghar banta hai, Lekin sach yeh hai ke ghar tab bikharta hai jab aurat ki zubaan, uska haq, uski soch, sab kuch chup kara diya jaye.

Aur mein peeche nahi khadi hongi. Kyunki mein peeche khade logon mein se nahi, balki un logon mein se hoon jinke peeche log khud se khade ho jaate hain.

Aap ko shayad pasand na aaye, magar ek baat yaad rakhna, Aurat kisi ki zidd se nahi, apni izzat se pehchaani jaati hai.

", she said, her each and every word strong.

Her words and stance made some people whisper about her being too outspoken while a few looked at her with admiration.

( What you're talking about isn't respect, it's the weight of outdated thinking.

And I will not carry that weight on my shoulders, nor will I let the next generations carry it.

Maybe you're used to seeing a woman stand behind a man, but that is not my destiny.

If a woman doesn't sit equal to her husband, her dignity doesn't lessen but the man's mentality definitely shrinks.

You say a wife's duty is to listen and a man's duty is to decide?

Then listen carefully, I decide too. And my decision is that I will not live as any man's shadow.

You say a woman should silence her own will.

.. I say my will is my right. You say a woman should step aside from a man's path.

.. I say if the path becomes too narrow, I create a new one myself.

You may think that a home survives only when a woman keeps her mouth shut.

But the truth is, a home breaks the moment her voice, her rights, her thoughts are forced into silence.

.And I will not stand behind anyone. Because I am not among those who stand behind others, I am among those people behind whom others choose to stand.

You may not like it, but remember one thing, A woman is not known by a man's stubbornness. .. she is known by her own dignity.)

A stunned silence swallowed the hall. Her voice still carried in the air like the aftermath of a storm.

The man opened his mouth again, furious, " Yeh ladki kese hamari Khanum ban sakti hain, yeh khud- "

( How can this girl be our Khanum, she herself- )

But Zaviyar's voice cut through the hall like steel drawn from a sheath,

" Bas... Mein tabse tumhari baat sun raha hu kyuki mujhe tamasha nhi chahiye.

Yeh biwi hain meri, aur iske khilaaf mein ek lafz nhi sununga.

Woh meri izzat hain, mera guroor hain. Jouh mard apni biwi ki hifazat nhi kar sakta woh begairat hota hain.

Mard ki shaan yeh nhi hoti ki uski biwi uske peeche khadi rahe.

", Zaviyar didn't need to scream, his words were spoken clearly.

(Enough... I was listening only because I didn't want a scene. She is my wife, and I won't hear a single word against her. She is my honour, my pride. A man who cannot protect his wife is shameless. A man's dignity does not lie in keeping his wife behind him. )

A soft gasp escaped Safiya before she could stop herself. Pride swelled in her chest like a rising tide, warming every inch of her with a fierce, unexpected emotion. Zaviyar, the man who once upheld every ancestral rule had today broken every one of them for her.

Before she could fully process it, she felt Zaviyar's fingers wrap around her wrist, firm yet gentle, guiding her forward. The world seemed to pause, breaths held, whispering stilled as he pulled her with him.

In the next moment, Safiya found herself seated on the throne-like chair, her heart pounding in her throat, while the hall erupted in shocked gasps. Flower petals began to fall from above, drifting around her like a soft blessing she never asked for but suddenly felt worthy of.

Zaviyar stood right beside her tall, unwavering, proud their hands still intertwined as if declaring to the entire riyasat:

This is my wife. My equal. My throne is incomplete without her.

Zaviyar's voice rose above the murmurs of the crowd, steady and commanding, his presence exuding a sense of power that silenced every whisper in the courtyard.

" Aaj se yeh kursi inka mustahiq muqaam hain.

Aur aaj se yeh gaon inhein ussi adab aur waqar se dekhega jis se tum sab mujhe dekhte aaye ho.

Yeh meri biwi hain- magar sirf nisbat ki wajah se nahi, balkeh is liye ke inmein iss riyasat ke bojh ko uthaane ki basirat aur himmat dono maujood hain.

Main sab ke saamne wazeh kar raha hoon inhe tazeem farz hogi, unke alfaaz mey wazan hoga aur unke faislay riyasati ahmiyat rakhte honge.

Aaj se iss gaon ke har mamlay mein in ki roshni, inki rai, aur inki rehnumayi laazim hogi.

Jo bhi inke saath be-adabi karega, samajh le, woh seedha meri had se takra raha hoga.

Yeh gaon ab inki taraf ruju karega- Sirf is liye nahi ke yeh meri biwi hain, balkeh is liye ke ino ne apni qeemat apne amal se saabit ki hai. "

( From today, this seat is her rightful place.

And from today, this village will see her with the same respect and dignity with which you all have seen me.

She is my wife- not merely by relation, but because she has the wisdom and courage to bear the burden of this kingdom.

I am making it clear before all of you: she deserves respect, her words carry weight, and her decisions hold royal significance.

From today onward, her insight, her guidance, and her light will be essential for every matter of this village.

Anyone who disrespects her will be colliding directly with my authority.

This village will turn to her- not because she is my wife, but because she has proved her worth through her actions. )

The words settled heavily in the air, like a decree carved into stone. Every villager stood stunned, some in awe, others in disbelief, and Safiya felt her chest tighten at the unexpected pride swelling within. Though she didn't understand half the words he said.

But the silence cracked instantly.

" Yeh sab hamare usuloon ke khilaaf hain, aur mein yeh hone nhi deh sakta... "

( This is against all our customs, and I cannot allow this... )

The old man's voice boomed in anger and before anyone could react, Safiya saw something glinting sharply in the light, a metallic flash cutting through the air. A knife! Thrown straight at her.

Her breath hitched and her body froze. Time blurred into slow motion as gasps broke across the courtyard. The man who had thrown it was immediately tackled by several guards, but the blade had already been launched, spinning toward her like fate etched in steel.

She squeezed her eyes shut-

And then felt a pair of strong arms cage her, shielding her completely.

She opened her eyes with a gasp.

Zaviyar stood in front of her, his back turned to the incoming weapon, his body the shield, his breath steady though she could feel the tension running through him like live current.

Fear didn't just touch her, it drenched her. Her heartbeat hammered painfully in her ears, her fingers trembling as she clutched his clothes unconsciously.

She watched, with her mouth open as she watched Zaviyar leaning. She could notice the slight stagger in his form and for a second it scared her.

Nauman held onto Riffat who was almost on the verge of loosing her consciousness, panicking as she saw her son drenched in blood. Kabir immediately went towards the man, holding him by the collar along with Waqas.

People screamed. Guards pinned the old man to the ground as he thrashed and spat venom.

Safiya, shaken to her core, shot up from the chair and without thinking threw her arms around Zaviyar, burying herself in his chest. She didn't know why she reacted like that but the terror of almost losing him, of watching him take a knife for her it cracked something open in her.

Zaviyar pulled her closer by the waist, one hand stroking her back in quiet reassurance, even as pain seeped through his posture. Safiya didn't notice at first, not until she broke the hug and stared down at her palms, smeared with red.

Her breath caught painfully.

" Zaviyar, you are bleeding. " she whispered, her voice trembling as she circled behind him with frantic hands. The fabric near his side was torn, soaked with spreading crimson. The knife had grazed him deeply enough to cut through skin.

Her eyes filled instantly. " You are bleeding, please let's go. W-we have to bandage that up. This is all m-my fault. "

Her words cracked mid-sentence, tears spilling freely as she pressed her shaking fingers near the wound, terrified at the sight of the blood trailing down his side.

But the chaos wasn't done yet.

The old man shouted over the guards restraining him, hatred dripping from every syllable:

" Esi ladki ko Khanum banane se achcha hain maar dalo. Mera bas chalta touh gala ghot deta mein iss ladki ka- "

( It's better to kill such a girl than make her Khanum. If it were up to me, I would strangle her- )

Before he could utter another word, something dark snapped inside Zaviyar.

He swung the shawl off his own shoulders and wrapped it tightly around Safiya, covering her entirely as though shielding her from filth itself. And then, with a sudden, violent precision, he snatched a rifle from one of his men and pointed it straight at the old man's forehead.

The entire courtyard froze.

No one dared breathe.

Safiya, startled, rushed to his side, her payal chiming desperately as she caught his arm, her hands trembling but firm as she stroked along his forearm, grounding him.

" Tumhe chot lagi hain..abhi gussa mat karo. ", She spoke softly yet firmly, her fingers easing the rifle downward inch by inch.

( You're hurt... please don't be angry right now. )

Zaviyar's head whipped toward her, fury blazing in his eyes but when her gaze met his, sharp and commanding in its own right, he stopped. As if her stare alone anchored him.

She turned to a servant.

" Call the doctor and get first aid ready, okay. "

The rifle was now in her hands. She held it with surprising steadiness.

Then she pointed toward the pinned man.

" Le jao inhe. "

( Take him away. )

Waqas hurried forward instantly. Safiya understood the situation better than anyone expected, hurting an influential elder publicly would only bring unnecessary accusations on Zaviyar. She wasn't going to let anyone twist his act of protection into tyranny.

Zaviyar nodded at the servants.

" Aap inn cheezon par apna haath rakh de, fir hum ghar jaa sakenge. "

( Place your hand on these things, then we can go home. )

The gifts, clothes, groceries, money, sweets were brought forward. Together, their hands touched each item, sealing the customary offering.

Soon, they were seated in the car and Safiya's dam finally broke loose, she couldn't stop sobbing.

Her hands pressed a handkerchief on the wound at his side, her entire body trembling each time she saw a new blot of red.

She hated the silence he sat in, hated the way he quietly endured pain without a sound.

Something in her chest twisted painfully.

" Zaviyar? "

Her voice cracked as she leaned into him, hugging him again, her palms flattening over his chest as if ensuring he was still there.

Her tears soaked through his white kameez.

Zaviyar's hand rose gently to caress her hair, his touch soft, soothing, protective.

He didn't know what exactly had scared her so deeply but he held her until her shoulders stopped shaking.

" You have to take care of yourself Zaviyar, nhi touh mein tumse naraaz hojaungi. "

( You have to take care of yourself Zaviyar, otherwise I will get angry with you. )

He nodded, watching her worry over him with a tenderness she didn't realize she was showing.

" Don't hurt yourself, ever. "

He couldn't help the faint smile tugging at his lips.

" Jesa aap kahe madam ji. "

( As you say, madam. )

She hugged him again instantly, her arms tight, her body soft against him and this time, Zaviyar allowed himself to close his eyes, savoring the moment as if storing it in his soul.

'Chalo, isi bahane, thora pyaar se touh baat kiya isne', he thought lightly, warmth blooming in his chest.

(At least because of this injury, she spoke to me with some affection.)

He didn't mind the pain anymore, not when it brought her closer and especially not when her touch felt like home.

And they sat, safia's head resting on his shoulder while his head rested on her head, and her hugging him with worry and fear.

" I'm sorry you got hurt because of me, and had to listen to that bastard. ", he whispered, caressing her hair while her head rested against his chest. He noticed how goosebumps rose on her skin, her hands were shaking. She was still scared.

" I'll protect you from everything Safiya, always and forever. ", he said and placed a soft peck on her temple.

I'll protect you! Even from me...

______________________________________

Also, updated one chapter because my next paper is on 23rd DEC. Uske baad I'll update more. Abhi romance ke saath saath plot bhi chalu hoga, ?????? dheere dheere realise horaha hain ki. I don't write good romance because I end up writing funny scenes ?? but i can't help it.

If you've got any queries, feel free to DM me on Instagram at @arnoirverse

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