Here goes the chapter one of my favourite ones- the target is 1k votes and 900 comments because the chapter is long- so complete the target then only ask for the chapter-â¨
A soft, feather-light sensation tickled my cheek, pulling me from the depths of sleep. I stirred slightly, reluctant to leave the warmth of my dreams, but the sensation persistedâslow, deliberate, and undeniably gentle.
My lashes fluttered open, and the first thing I saw was Sufiyaan, sitting beside me, his eyes brimming with tenderness as he traced a single rose along my skin, trailing from my cheek down to my jawline.
A sleepy smile crept onto my lips as I took in the sight of himâhis tousled hair, the hint of mischief in his eyes, dressed in black shirt and pants and the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
He leaned closer, placing a soft, lingering kiss on my cheek. His lips were warm, sending a shiver
through me despite the morning's coziness.
"Good morning, my beautiful wife," he whispered, his voice deep and laced with affection, before handing me the rose.
I raised an eyebrow, my fingers brushing against the delicate petals as I sat up, leaning my back against the pillow. My gaze wandered around the room, and my breath hitched.
The entire room was transformed into a breathtaking sea of red roses. Bouquets adorned the bedside table, the dresser, every visible corner, while rose petals covered the floor like a bed of love.
The soft scent of fresh roses filled the air, wrapping me in its intoxicating fragrance. My eyes widened in surprise as I turned to look at Sufiyaan, my heart pounding at the overwhelming display of love.
"Yeh sab kya hai, Sufiyaan?" I asked, confusion and wonder laced in my voice.
(What is all this, Sufiyaan?)
He smirked, leaning back on one elbow, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Phool hain, andhi ho gayi ho kya mere pyaar mein?"he teased.
(They're flowers. Have you gone blind in my love?)
I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't help but smile at his playful response.
"Andhi toh main ho gayi hoon,"I shot back, shaking my head.
(I have gone blind,)
"Kahin pagal na ho jaun tumhare is over pyaar ko dekh ke. Yeh sab kyun? Koi khaas baat hai aaj?" I questioned, my voice softer this time.
(I might just go crazy seeing this overdose of your love. Why all this? Is there something special today?)
His expression changed instantly, the playfulness giving way to something deeper, something more intense. He reached for my hand, intertwining our fingers as he brought it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss on my knuckles.
"Haan, hai na khaas,"he murmured, his eyes locked onto mine.
(Yes, of course it's special,)
"Aaj humara pehla din hai as a couple in love. Pehle hum ek rishtay mein bandhe thay, lekin aj hum ek doosre ke dil se jude hain. Toh yeh din special toh banta hai na?" His voice was filled with sincerity, with an undeniable warmth that melted my heart.
(Today is our first day as a couple in love. Before, we were bound by a relationship, but today, we are connected by our hearts. So doesn't that make today special?)
A lump formed in my throat as I took in his words, his love, his effort. It wasn't just about the roses or the grand gestureâit was about him, about the way he saw me, cherished me, loved me in ways I had never imagined.
"Mujhe pata hai tumhe roses pasand hain,"he continued, cupping my face with both hands.
(I know you like roses,)
"Aur mujhe tum pasand ho. Tumse zyada, kisi cheez se bhi zyada."
(And I like you. More than anything, more than anyone.)
Tears welled in my eyes, but they weren't of sadness. They were of gratitude, of happiness, of love so deep that words could never fully capture it. Without thinking, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him, resting my head on his shoulder.
His arms encircled my waist, holding me close, as if he never wanted to let go. I felt his heartbeat against mine, steady and strong, a silent promise of forever.
In that moment, surrounded by the scent of roses and the warmth of his embrace, I realized somethingâI wasn't just his wife in name anymore. I was his in love, in soul, in every way that mattered.
And that, more than anything, was the most beautiful thing of all.
As I held onto Sufiyaan, his warmth wrapped around me like a comforting cocoon. I could feel his steady heartbeat against mine, and for a moment, I just wanted to stay like thisâsafe, loved, and undeniably his.
But of course, Sufiyaan being Sufiyaan, couldn't let the moment stay quiet for too long.
He shifted slightly, resting his chin on my head. "Hala, mujhe ek baat batao..."he murmured.
(Hala, tell me something...)
I pulled back slightly, looking up at him. "Kya?"
(What?)
His lips twitched into a smirk. "Tum ro kyun rahi ho? Itna handsome husband mil gaya, khushi zyada ho gayi?"
(Why are you crying? Did you get too happy after getting such a handsome husband?)
I gasped, swatting his chest. "Uff, Sufiyaan! Tum ek romantic moment bhi serious nahi reh sakte?"
(Ugh, Sufiyaan! Can't you stay serious in a romantic moment for once?)
He laughed, catching my hand before I could hit him again. "Aray baba, tumhe rota dekh ke tension ho gayi thi. Mujhe laga shayad roses se allergy ho gayi hai."
(Oh God, I got worried seeing you cry. I thought maybe you had an allergy to roses.)
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Haan, mujhe roses se nahi, tumhari bakwaas se allergy ho rahi hai."
(Yeah, not to roses, but to your nonsense.)
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Meri biwi toh full nakhrey wali nikli."
(My wife turned out to be so high-maintenance.)
I huffed dramatically, crossing my arms. "Haan toh? Tumne shadi ki hai mujhse kisi aam ladki se nahi, Hala Sufiyaan se."
(Of course! You didn't marry just any girl, you married Hala Sufiyaan.)
His expression softened as he heard me say my full name like that. "Hala Sufiyaan..." he repeated, as if savoring the words. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, he added.
"Suna tumne? Tumhari awaaz mein kitna pyaara lagta hai yeh naam."
(Did you hear that? This name sounds so beautiful in your voice.)
I felt my cheeks heat up. "Bas, bas! Ab over-melodramatic mat bano."
(Enough, enough! Don't become overly melodramatic now.)
He suddenly leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "Toh phir ek aur naam try karein? Hala jaan... Hala meri jaan..."
(Then should we try another name? Hala jaan... Hala, my love...)
My eyes widened, and I pushed him away, hiding my face in my hands. "Sufiyaan, stop it! Tumhe subah subah zyada romance charh gaya hai!"
(Sufiyaan, stop it! You're being way too romantic this early in the morning!)
He laughed, enjoying my embarrassment far too much. "Meri biwi sharmati bhi hai? Yeh toh naya talent hai!"
(My wife actually gets shy? That's a new talent!)
I peeked at him through my fingers and stuck out my tongue. "Mujhe breakfast chahiye, bas! Romantic talk baad mein."
(I want breakfast, that's it! Romantic talk can wait.)
He dramatically placed a hand on his chest. "Aray, pehle romance, phir breakfast? Matlab mujhe second priority?"
(Wow, romance first, breakfast later? That means I'm second priority?)
I smirked. "Haan, kyunki tumhe banana nahi aata. Ab jao, aur mujhe kuch achha sa khilao!"
(Yes, because you don't know how to cook. Now go and get me something nice to eat!)
He sighed dramatically. "Meri pyaari biwi sirf romance nahi, bhook bhi bohot rakhti hai."
(My dear wife doesn't just have romance, she has a huge appetite too.)
I rolled my eyes, laughing as I got out of bed. "Aur tum sirf romance nahi, drama bhi bohot karte ho!"
(And you don't just do romance, you do a lot of drama too!)
He grabbed my hand, pulling me back for a quick peck on the forehead. "Theek hai, drama baad mein, pehle breakfast. Par ek shart pe."
(Okay, drama later, breakfast first. But on one condition.)
I raised an eyebrow. "Kya shart?"
(What condition?)
He grinned. "Main breakfast lekar aunga, par tumhe mujhe 'best husband ever' kehna padega."
(I'll bring breakfast, but you have to call me the best husband ever.)
I groaned. "Uff, Sufiyaan!" (Ugh, Sufiyaan!)
He wiggled his eyebrows. "Main sun nahi raha hoon."
(I can't hear you.)
I rolled my eyes playfully but gave in. "Theek hai, best husband ever."
(Fine, best husband ever.)
He beamed. "Acha, ab jata hoon. Warna tumhare nakhrey sunte sunte phir mujhe hi bhook lag jayegi."
(Alright, I'm going now. Otherwise, listening to your demands, I'll get hungry myself.)
Laughing, he went out of the room. I got up with a smiling face, feeling lighter, happier, and completely in love with my over-the-top, hopelessly romantic, and utterly adorable husband.
I walked inside the washroom realising I would be late for work, I changed into a purple length frock.
My morning had turned into a chaotic mess. I had woken up late, my surgery was scheduled soon, and instead of getting ready in peace, I was running around like a headless chicken.
Applying lip gloss with one hand, searching for my hospital ID with the other, and trying to dry my half-wet hair all at onceâit was a disaster.
Just as I was about to grab my bag and rush out, I heard a low chuckle.
I turned sharply to find Sufiyaan standing by the door, arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.
The soft hues of dawn painted the sky in shades of gold and pink as I stood near the balcony, a gentle breeze caressing my face.
Dressed in a half-white kurta that belonged to Aairah's father, I couldn't help but smile.
The fabric hung loosely around me, and I recalled how she had burst into laughter the moment she saw me wearing it.
Her laughterâpure, uninhibitedâwas the kind of sound I wanted to hear for the rest of my life. If wearing these oversized kurtas meant seeing her smile like that, I would wear them forever.
There was something so peaceful about being near her, something that settled the restlessness inside me. The world outside was still waking up, but my heart had been wide awake ever since she had walked into my life.
Just then, I heard the delicate jingling of anklets. A sound I had unknowingly started associating with her presence.
Instinctively, I turned my head, and there she wasâmy angel. Dressed in a flowing white dress, she looked ethereal, almost unreal.
Her open hair danced with the morning breeze, strands occasionally brushing against her face as she walked towards me, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee.
A whisper escaped my lips before I could stop it. "O, tıpkı bir rüya gibi." I murmured in Turkish, captivated.
(She is just like a dream.)
She frowned slightly, placing the cups on the table before coming to stand beside me near the railing.
"Taso har wakht da se sanga khwari she?" she asked in Pashto, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.
(Ap har time kaise ache lag sakte hain?" |How can you look good al the time|
I frowned this time, narrowing my eyes. "Kya kaha apne?
(What did you say?)"
She tilted her head innocently. "Wohi jo apne kaha,"
she replied, mischief glinting in her eyes.
(The same thing you said)
My lips curved into a knowing smile as I reached for her, gently holding her forearm and pulling her closer. A small gasp escaped her lips, and I felt the quick rise and fall of her chest as she looked up at me, wide-eyed.
Raising my other hand, I tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her soft skin.
"Aap mujhe tang kar rahi hain, Aairah?" I whispered, my voice dropping lower as I leaned in slightly.
(Are you teasing me, Aairah?)
Her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink, and I smiled at the sight. She looked away for a moment, biting her lower lip in a failed attempt to suppress her shyness.
"Apne bhi tou mujhe tang kiya, Hayaan"she mumbled, crossing her arms with a small pout, making my heart clench at how effortlessly adorable she was.
(You also teased me, Hayaan),
I chuckled, reaching out to gently tug at the end of her dupatta. "Mein kya soch raha tha, Aairah... kyun na ap mujhe Pashto sikhadein aur mein apko Turkish?" I suggested, watching her expression closely.
(I was thinking, Aairah... why don't you teach me Pashto, and I'll teach you Turkish?)
Her eyes widened slightly as if my request had caught her off guard. Then, to my surprise, she quickly shook her head.
"Nahi," she said firmly.
(No)
I frowned. "Kyun nahi?"
(Why not?)
She bit her lip again, an unconscious habit of hers, and this time, my patience slipped. Before she could react, I reached up and gently pulled her lip free from her teeth. Her breath hitched, her eyes darting to mine.
"Don't do that," I murmured, my thumb barely grazing the corner of her lips.
I tilted my head slightly, my gaze fixed on her as I tried to read the hesitation in her eyes. The morning breeze played with the loose strands of her hair, making her look even more delicate, yet there was a certain stubbornness in the way she avoided my eyes.
"Aur mera jawab deinâap uncomfortable hain agar mein apki language seekhun toh?"My voice was soft, laced with curiosity, as I watched her fingers toy with the edge of her dupatta.
(And answer meâare you uncomfortable if I learn your language?)
She hesitated, her grip tightening around the delicate fabric, as if searching for the right words. For a moment, it seemed as though she wouldn't answer at all. But then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she finally spoke.
"Nahi... uncomfortable nahi... bas ajeeb lagega."
(No... not uncomfortable... it'll just feel strange.)
I arched a brow, intrigued by her choice of words. "Ajeeb kyun?"
(Strange why?)
She let out a small sigh, her gaze dropping to her hands as she traced invisible patterns on the soft material of her dress. There was something almost shy about the way she spoke, as if she was revealing a secret she hadn't meant to share.
"Bas... jab mein apke bare mein akele mein baat karti hoon tou ap nahi samajhtay, tou mujhe koi farq nahi parta. Par agar ap seekhnge..."she paused, hesitating before finally looking up at me, her eyes filled with a quiet kind of mischief.
(It's just... when I talk about you alone, you don't understand, so it doesn't matter to me. But if you learn...)
"Tou phir mein kaise karungi baat phir?"
(Then how will I talk about you?)
A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I caught the underlying meaning behind her words.
"Matlab... ap meri burayi karti hain?" I asked, my tone teasing, but my gaze locked onto hers, watching for a reaction.
(Meaning... you talk bad about me?)
Her eyes widened slightly, and a soft, embarrassed flush crept up her cheeks before she quickly turned her face away.
"Nahi!" she protested, but the way she tucked her dupatta over her shoulder, her fingers gripping it tightly, told me otherwise.
(No!)
I chuckled, leaning in just slightly. "Toh phir kya karti hain? Meri tareefain?"
(Then what do you do? Praise me?)
She pursed her lips, looking like she was debating whether to answer. Then, with a small, defiant tilt of her chin, she shrugged. "Wou toh pata chalega jab ap seekh lenge."
(That, you'll find out when you learn.)
I laughed softly at her clever response, shaking my head.
"Toh iska matlab hai kuch na kuch baatain hoti hain,"I mused, watching as she quickly glanced away again, her blush deepening.
(So this means there is something being said,)
Unable to help myself, I reached forward, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her skin for just a moment longer than necessary.
"Ab tou mujhe aur bhi seekhna padega,"I murmured, my voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone.
(Now I'll have to learn even more,)
She exhaled a shaky breath, her eyes flickering between mine as if trying to decipher something in my expression.
Then, after a long pause, she finally admitted in a whisper, "Phir mujhe bhi Turkish seekhni padegi."
(Then I'll have to learn Turkish too.)
A slow smile spread across my lips.
"Toh shuru karein?"I asked, raising a brow.
(Shall we start?)
She bit her lower lip, hesitating.
Without thinking, I reached forward and gently pulled her lip free from her teeth with my thumb.
"Don't do that, Aairah," I whispered, my voice unintentionally husky.
She gasped softly, her breath catching for just a second.
For a moment, the world around us fadedâthe chirping of the birds, the rustling of the morning breeze, even the distant hum of life waking up.
It was just us.
She quickly turned away, flustered, her hands fidgeting once again. "Phir bhi ajeeb lagega," (It'll still feel strange,) she muttered under her breath.
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Ajeeb tou yeh hai ke aap mujhse chhupa rahi hain ke akele mein meri kitni tareef karti hain."
(What's strange is that you're hiding how much you praise me when you're alone.)
Her jaw dropped slightly as she turned back to me, her cheeks burning. "Main aisa kuch nahi karti!"
(I don't do anything like that!)
I smirked, thoroughly enjoying her reaction. "Pakka?"
(Are you sure?)
She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Bilkul."
(Absolutely.)
I leaned in just enough so she could hear me. "Toh phir seekhna shuru karein?"
(Then shall we start learning?)
She looked at me, her gaze uncertain yet soft, as if battling between her shyness and something else she wasn't ready to name. Then, after a few seconds, she sighed and shook her head with a small, defeated smile.
"Aap bohat ziddi hain, Hayaan."
(You're very stubborn, Hayaan.)
I grinned, my voice turning softer. "Aur aap bohat khoobsurat hain."
(And you're very beautiful.)
Her breath hitched, and she quickly lowered her gaze, her fingers toying with her dupatta again. But I caught the tiny smile that she tried to hide.
Maybe it would feel ajeeb (strange) to her now.
But I would make sure that one day, the idea of us speaking the same languageâunderstanding each other's unspoken wordsâwould feel like the most natural thing in the world.
"Kitna funny lagega jab aap Pashto mein bolenge, Hayaan!"Aairah giggled, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
(It'll be so funny when you speak Pashto, Hayaan!)
I watched her, my own smile growing wider at the sight of her laughter. There was something about the way she found joy in the smallest things that made my heart feel lighter.
"Acha? Toh aapko lagta hai main Pashto nahi bol sakta?" I raised a brow, pretending to be offended.
(Oh? So you think I can't speak Pashto?)
She shook her head, still laughing. "Nahi, bol toh sakte hain... bas soch raha hoon kaisi lagegi sunne mein!"
(No, you can speak it... I'm just thinking about how it will sound!)
I crossed my arms, tilting my head slightly. "Bas dekhti jao, Aairah. Ek din aapko Pashto mein itni behtareen baatein bolunga ke aapko sharm aajayegi."
(Just wait and watch, Aairah. One day, I'll say such beautiful things to you in Pashto that you'll be shy.)
Her laughter softened, and she bit her lip, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Dekhna chahti hoon."
(I want to see that.)
I smirked. "Challenge accepted, begum."
She rolled her eyes, shaking her head playfully. "Allah khair kare."
(May God protect me.)
I chuckled, leaning in slightly. "Waqt aane dein, phir mat kehna ke maine warn nahi kiya tha."
(Just wait for the time to come, then don't say I didn't warn you.)
She blushed but quickly covered it up by looking at the sky.
The air carried the scent of fresh morning dew, blending with the faint aroma of coffee, but all I could focus on was her.
She was right here, close enough that I could hear the soft rhythm of her breaths, feel the warmth radiating from her presence. The world was quiet, peacefulâbut nothing compared to the peace I felt with her.
I reached out without thinking, gently gathering a few strands of her hair between my fingers. The silky strands slipped through my touch, carrying the scent of jasmine and something uniquely hers.
I brought them closer to my face, inhaling deeply, letting the familiar scent wrap around me like a comforting embrace. It was intoxicatingâsoft, warm, something that made my heart slow and my mind quiet.
"Aairah, mujhe apke baal bohat pasand hain," I confessed, my voice hushed with honesty.
(Aairah, I really like your hair,)
She looked up at me instantly, amusement dancing in her deep, expressive eyes. A small, knowing smile curved her lips.
"Mujhse bhi zyada?" she asked playfully, tilting her head slightly.
(More than me?)
I chuckled, shaking my head. Instead of answering, I cupped her face in my hands, my thumbs tracing the soft skin of her cheeks.
Her warmth seeped into my palms, and I couldn't resist the urge to lean in. I pressed my lips gently against her forehead, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
A soft sigh escaped her lips, her body relaxing under my touch.
"Apse zyada kuch nahi pasand... aur apse judi har cheez pasand hai mujhe," I murmured, my lips still brushing against her skin.
(There's nothing I love more than you... and everything connected to you,)
Her breath hitched, and as I pulled away, I saw the deep blush creeping up her neck, coloring her cheeks a shade of soft pink. Flustered, she took a step back, lowering her gaze before quickly grabbing the coffee cups from the tray.
She handed me one and took a sip from her own.
I didn't drink mine. Instead, I kept my eyes locked on her, watching the way her fingers curled around the cup, the way her lips touched the rim delicately.
She raised an eyebrow at me in silent question, but I only smirked.
Without breaking eye contact, I set my cup down in the tray and reached for hers.
She stiffened slightly, watching in surprise as I held her cup just above her hands. Then, without hesitation, I brought it to my lipsâsipping from the exact same spot where her lips had touched.
Aairah gasped softly, her grip tightening around the cup. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out.
She just stared at me, her eyes wide, her breath uneven.
Then, after a heartbeat, she slowly raised the cup to her lips againâdeliberately sipping from the same spot where mine had touched.
My chest tightened at the simple yet intimate act.
She didn't look away as she did it. Our gazes remained locked, the moment stretching between us, filled with an unspoken connection deeper than words.
The distant sound of the Azaan broke the spell.
The soulful call to prayer echoed in the air, filling the space around us with tranquility.
Aairah gently placed the cup aside, and with slow, practiced movements, she reached for her dupatta, draping it over her head.
As she closed her eyes, listening to the call of prayer with complete devotion, I found myself unable to look away.
She was mesmerizing.
The way the soft morning light touched her face, the way her eyelashes fluttered slightly, the serene expression she woreâshe looked like she belonged to a world untouched by chaos. A world of purity and peace.
As soon as the Azaan ended, she opened her eyes, looking at me with something unreadable in her gaze.
She hesitated for a moment before reaching for my hand. Her fingers touched mine firstâsoft, hesitant, as if she was unsure.
Then, slowly, she intertwined them, locking them securely.
The warmth of her touch seeped into me, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
It was such a small act. Just holding hands. And yet, it felt like the most intimate thing in the world.
"Hayaan, kya aap mere saath shukrana ke nafil padhengay?" she asked, her voice laced with quiet hope.
(Hayaan, will you recite the voluntary prayer of gratitude with me?)
I squeezed her hand slightly, offering her a soft smile. "Zaroor... Khuda ka shukar bhi toh karna hai ke usne apko meri zindagi mein bheja,"
(Certainly... I must also thank God for sending you in my life)
I whispered truthfully.
Her lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, she just stared at me, as if processing my words. Then, slowly, a smile bloomed on her lipsâshy, touched, something soft.
She stood up, disappearing inside for a moment before returning with two prayer mat. She spread it carefully on the floor, standing a step behind me as we both prepared to pray.
As I bowed down in submission, a strange sense of peace settled in my chest.
Praying beside her. Thanking the Almighty for her. It felt right. The moment we finished our prayer, a serene silence settled between us.
The world outside continuedâbirds chirped, leaves rustled with the morning breezeâbut in this space, it was just her and me, wrapped in a quiet peace I had never known before.
I turned my head slightly, watching her as she lowered her gaze, her lips moving in silent prayer. There was something about the way she looked in this momentâpure, devoted, lost in her connection with the Almighty.
A deep warmth spread through my chest, tightening around my heart.
Then, slowly, Aairah raised her right hand for dua.
Without thinking, I did the same.
And just as naturally, our hands found each other in the middle. Our palms connected, fingers lightly touching, as if drawn together by something beyond us.
The warmth of her skin against mine sent a soft shiver through meânot from cold, but from the weight of the moment.
It was such a simple act. And yet, it felt more intimate than anything else.
I didn't close my eyes. I couldn't.
Not when she was right there, with her lashes lowered, her lips parted in whispered supplication. Not when the morning light painted golden shadows on her skin. Not when she looked like the most beautiful prayer ever answered.
"Ya Allah, Aairah ki jo bhi dua hai, usko qubool karna," I murmured softly.
(O Allah, whatever Aairah prays for, accept it)
She inhaled sharply, her fingers trembling slightly against mine. And when she finally opened her eyes, they locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a slow, deep ache through my chest.
I could see the emotions swirling thereâgratitude, surprise, something unreadable. Something I wanted to understand.
Aairah didn't say anything.
She simply turned her hand slightly, shifting it until her fingers fully intertwined with mine.
I swallowed hard, feeling something inside me unravel.
Thisâthis connection, this quiet understanding, this unspoken somethingâwas unlike anything I had ever felt before.
When our dua was finished, we didn't let go immediately. We sat there for a long time, our hands still joined, our breaths falling into the same rhythm.
And in that moment, I realizedâthere were a million ways to say I love you without ever speaking the words.
And this?
This was one of them.
After a few moments, Aairah shifted. Instead of moving away, she slowly came closer and sat in front of me, her back resting against my chest.
Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around her instinctively, holding her close.
She let out a small breath, as if settling into the warmth of my embrace, her head resting against my shoulder.
The world around us faded.
The only thing that remained was the soft sound of birds, the distant rustling of leaves, and the rhythmic beating of our hearts.
She traced patterns on my hand with her fingers, lost in thought. I didn't stop her.
"Hayaan?" she whispered after a while.
"Hmm?"
"Kya aap hamesha mere saath rahenge?"
(will you always be with me?)
I tightened my hold on her slightly, pressing my lips against the top of her head.
"Jab tak ap chahenge" I promised.
"As long as you want."
Aairah slowly opened her eyes, she turned her head her gaze lifting to meet mine. There was something in her expressionâsomething soft, something deep, something I wanted to drown in.
My grip on her hand tightened slightly, not to hold her back but just to feel her, to reassure myself that she was real. That this moment was real.
I exhaled slowly, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Aairah... main bohat khush-kismat hoon ke aap meri zindagi mein hain," I admitted, my eyes searching hers for something I wasn't sure of.
(I am very lucky that you are in my life)
She blinked, slightly startled, as if she hadn't expected my words. But I wasn't done.
"Mujhe lagta hai ke aap mujhe kisi naiki ke badle mil gaye hain... shayad dil se ki hui sachchi dua ke badle."
"I feel like I have received you in return for a good deed... perhaps as an answer to a sincere prayer from the heart."
Her breath hitched.
I saw itâthe way her lips parted slightly, the way her fingers trembled just a little against mine, the way her chest rose and fell in a stuttered rhythm.
For a long moment, she didn't say anything.
She just looked at me, her eyes reflecting something raw, something she wasn't sure if she wanted to say out loud.
Then, slowly, she lowered her gaze, blinking rapidly as if trying to compose herself.
"Aap..." she started, her voice softer than ever. "Aap aise baatein kyun kehte hain?"
(You, why do you say such things.)
I smiled.
"Kyunke ye sach hai," I murmured, lifting our joined hands slightly, brushing my thumb over her fingers.
(Because this is the truth)
She shook her head, exhaling a shaky breath, and for the first time, I saw her struggle to hide a smile. A soft, overwhelmed smile.
"Aapko nahi pata, Hayaan..." she whispered, her voice so quiet I barely heard it. "Mujhe bhi aksar yehi lagta hai."
(You don't know Hayaan, but I often feel the same way
I felt something shift inside me.
Something deep. Something irreversible.
Before I could say anything, she gently pulled her hand away, only to place it on mine againâthis time, palm to palm, fingers spread between mine.
A silent acceptance.
I turned my hand slightly, wrapping my fingers around hers once more, anchoring her to me the way she had unknowingly anchored me to her.
And as the morning sun cast golden light around us, I realizedâthis was it. This was home.
The lecture droned on, but I wasn't paying attention. My focus was entirely on the girl sitting in front of meâmy wifeâwho was so determined to pretend I didn't exist.
Noor sat straight, her head slightly tilted as she listened attentively to the professor, completely oblivious to me. Her long, silky hair cascaded over her shoulder, a few strands brushing against my desk.
I smirked. Perfect.
Without thinking, I reached forward, lightly twirling the end of her hair between my fingers. It was soft, smoothâjust like I remembered.
She didn't notice at first.
I leaned back slightly, my fingers playing with the strands lazily, enjoying this small act of defiance. Noor was so focused on her lecture, her pen moving effortlessly across the notebook, unaware of what I was doing.
But then, she suddenly stiffened.
I felt her body tense as she realized something was off. Her hand froze mid-sentence, and for a second, she didn't move.
I smirked, waiting for her reaction.
Slowly, she turned her head slightlyâjust enough to shoot me a glare from the corner of her eye. Her expression was unreadable at first, but her gaze dropped to my hand, which was still toying with her hair.
And then, I saw itâher eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing in warning.
Busted.
I grinned, my fingers still holding onto the strand. I raised an eyebrow at her, as if challenging her to say something.
Her grip on her pen tightened, her knuckles turning white.
"Zeeshan, haath hatao," she whispered harshly under her breath. I chuckled softly, shaking my head.
"Remove your hand)
"Main tou bas lecture sun raha hoon, Noor. Tumhe koi problem hai?" I whispered back.
(I am just hearing the lecture, do you have any problem)
Her lips parted slightly in disbelief, then pressed together into a thin line. She exhaled sharply, shifting in her seat, trying to move her hair away from my reach.
I let goâonly to reach forward again a few seconds later and flick a strand back over her shoulder, just to tease her.
She tensed again, her shoulders rising in frustration. This time, she turned fully, her eyes burning with silent fury.
"Zeeshan, main maar doongi tumhe," she whispered furiously.
(Zeeshan I will kill you)
I bit back a laugh, leaning closer. "Maar lena, par pehle class khatam hone do."
(you can kill me, first let the class get completed
Her nostrils flared, but before she could respond, the professor called her name again. Noor turned back quickly, composing herself before answering, though I could see the slight stiffness in her posture.
I smirked, leaning back, enjoying our closeness, enjoying how easy it was to get under her skin.
She wanted to act like nothing had changed?
Too bad for herâI wasn't going to let her forget.
As soon as the lecture ended, Noor wasted no time in gathering her things and rushing out of the classroom.
I smirked Run as much as you want, Noor. I'm here to stay right behind you.
Without hesitation, I followed her, completely ignoring the confused looks my friends threw my way. Hamza even tried to stop me midway.
"Bhai, tu itna Noor ke peeche kyun ja raha hai? Koi naya scene hai?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"Bro, why are you going after Noor so much? Is there some new story unfolding?"
I just shrugged, smirking. "Scene ban raha hai."
I didn't wait for their response. My focus was solely on Noor as she walked into the library, weaving her way through the aisles. She didn't realize I was following herâyet.
And then I saw her.
Standing on a stool, reaching up to grab a few books from the top shelf.
I sighed, shaking my head. Kya zaroorat thi isko yeh sab karne ki? Did she not realize how easily she could fall?
Concern took over my amusement as I walked up to her, standing beside the stool with my arms crossed.
She sensed my presence before looking down at me. Her expression immediately twisted in irritation.
"Tum yahan kya kar rahe ho? Aur Kis cheez ka intezar kar rahe ho?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"What are you doing here? and What are you waiting for?"
I smirked, leaning slightly against the bookshelf. "Tumhare girne ka... apni baahon mein."
"For you to fall... into my arms."
She froze.
For a second, she just stared at me, her fingers still gripping the edge of the book she was pulling. Her eyes widened slightly, processing what I had just said.
I saw the exact moment the shock turned into frustration.
"Zeeshan!" she whisper-yelled, her cheeks slightly flushed.
"Tum... tum na bilkul besharam ho!"
"You... you are absolutely shameless!"
I chuckled, tilting my head. "Besharam? Main toh sirf fikar kar raha hoon. Tum gir sakti ho, Noor. Aur agar girna hi hai, toh meri baahon mein girna best option hai, nahi?"
"Shameless? I'm just worried. You could fall, Noor. And if you're going to fall, falling into my arms is the best option, don't you think?"
She let out an exasperated sigh, gripping the book tightly before stepping down from the stool. I instinctively held my hand out, just in case she stumbled, but she shot me a glare.
Noor, being Noor, refused to take my help. She was stubborn like that.
"Mujhe tumhari madad nahi chahiye," she muttered, stepping off the stool on her own.
(I don't need your help.)
I sighed, shaking my head. Ziddi ladki. She was so determined to prove she didn't need me. But before I could respondâ Her foot slipped.
It happened in a split second. The book in her hand tumbled to the floor as she lost her balance.
A small gasp escaped her lips, her arms flailing slightly as she started falling backward.
But before she could hit the ground, I moved instinctively. My arms shot out, catching her just in time. She landed against my chest, her body pressed close to mine as I held her securely. For a moment, everything else faded.
Her hands gripped my shoulders before slowly sliding up to clutch my neck tightly. I could feel her quickened breaths, the way her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt.
Noor's wide eyes met mine, shock flickering in their depths.
I smirked slightly. "Kaha tha na, girne wali ho?" I murmured, my voice low.
(I told you? you're going to fall)
She blinked, as if just realizing what had happened. And thenâjust like I expectedâher shock quickly morphed into frustration.
"Zeeshan, chhodo!" she hissed, trying to push away.
(Zeeshan leave me)
I tightened my hold just a little, not letting go so easily. "Pehle thank you toh bolo," I teased.
(Say thank you first)
Her jaw clenched. "Mujhe neeche utaaro!" she demanded, struggling against me.
(Put me down)
I chuckled, pretending to think. "Agar main tumhe chhod doon aur tum phir se gir jao toh?"
"What if I let go of you and you fall again?"
"Zeeshan!" she whisper-yelled, her cheeks slightly pink.
I sighed dramatically. "Theek hai, theek hai." With that, I slowly set her back on her feet, making sure she was steady before letting go.
(Fine fine)
She immediately stepped back, straightening her dupatta and fixing her hair as if trying to erase the last few seconds.
I smirked, stuffing my hands into my pockets. "Aaj toh meri baahon mein girne ka experience bhi ho gaya.
(Today, you got the experience of falling into my arms as well.)
She shot me a deadly glare. "Tum bilkul besharam ho."
(You are totally shameless)
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Aur tum bilkul meri ho."
Her eyes widened, and for once, she didn't have a comeback.
I grinned, turning to pick up the book she had dropped before handing it to her. "Agle time, madad lene mein problem mat karna, Mrs. Sikandar."
Noor snatched the book from my hand, huffing as she turned away and walked off quicklyâprobably before she did something impulsive, like throw it at me.
I chuckled to myself, watching her go.
Noor could run, she could deny, she could glare at me all she wanted.
But she was mine.
And she'd have to accept it sooner or later.
-
The energy in the stadium was electric. The roar of the crowd, the pounding of my heart, the adrenaline coursing through my veinsâit was everything I lived for.
The football match was in full swing, and I was giving it my all, every move calculated, every pass precise. I had already scored for my team, pushing us closer to victory, but exhaustion was creeping in.
I signaled to the coach for a substitution, and as I jogged towards the sidelines, my eyes instinctively searched the crowd.
And there she was.
Noor.
Sitting with her friend, pretending to be indifferent, as if she didn't care. But she was here.
She had no reason to be here if she truly didn't love me. She could deny it all she wanted, but her presence was proof enough. For a fleeting second, our eyes met.
My breath hitched, anticipation surging through me. But as quickly as it happened, she turned her head away, pretending as if she hadn't been looking in the first place.
A small smirk tugged at my lips. Still stubborn, huh?
The crowd erupted in cheers, girls screaming my name, chanting for me, but my focus wasn't on them.
My legs felt heavy with exhaustion, but I ignored it as I made my way towards the sitting areaâtowards her.
I didn't stop to think.
I didn't care about the eyes watching me, the murmurs of confusion spreading among my teammates and the audience.
I walked straight to where she was sitting, lowering myself onto the bench right beside her.
Noor tensed.
I could feel the shock radiating from her without even looking. The conversation around us faltered, eyes widening in surprise, but I paid no attention to them.
I leaned back, exhaling slowly, my arm resting casually on the back of the bench, dangerously close to her. The scent of her perfume mixed with the crisp evening air, and for a moment.
The moment I sat beside Noor, I felt the tension radiating from her. She didn't move, but I could tell she was uncomfortableâprobably annoyed that I had the audacity to sit here. But did I care? Not one bit.
I leaned back slightly, my arm still resting on the bench, my fingers lightly brushing against the fabric of her sleeve. She was stiff, pretending I didn't exist, but I wasn't about to let her ignore me.
"Mujhe laga tumhe meri parwa nahi hai," I murmured, just loud enough for her to hear over the noise of the stadium.
She didn't reply, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
I smirked. "Lekin phir bhi yahan ho?"
Her fingers curled into her lap. A moment passed before she finally turned slightly, her expression unreadable. "Main kisi aur waja se aayi hoon."
I let out a chuckle, shaking my head. "Haan, par meri taraf bhi dekh rahi thi."
She looked taken aback, her lips parting slightly, but she quickly composed herself. "Zyada mat socho," she muttered, turning away again.
I leaned in just a little, lowering my voice. "Tumhe dekhna toh tha, chahe jo bhi wajah ho."
She inhaled sharply, her body going rigid for a moment before she finally turned to look at me, her dark eyes filled with something she was desperately trying to suppress.
Before she could say anything, the announcer called my name, reminding me that I had to get back to the match.
I stood up, stretching my arms before looking at her one last time.
"Noor..." I said, making sure she was paying attention. She glanced up, her expression guarded.
"Tum jitna bhi chhupo, sach badal nahi sakta. Tum yahaan ho, kyunki tumhe farq padta hai." Her eyes widened slightly, but before she could react, I walked back onto the field, my smirk growing as I felt her gaze burning into my back.
As soon as I stepped onto the field back, I refocused on the match. My team needed me, and I wasn't going to let them down. The ball came to me, and I moved swiftly, dodging the defenders, my body working on instinct.
The crowd was chanting my name, and I felt the rush of adrenaline as I prepared to strike again.
But then, my eyes flickered toward the sitting areaâtoward her. And my entire focus shattered.
Some guy was standing beside Noor, talking to her. That wasn't the problem. The problem was his hand.
His hand was on her shoulder.
I watched as Noor subtly tried to push it away, her brows furrowed in discomfort, but the guy wasn't moving his hand.
Something inside me snapped.
My grip tightened on the ball, my jaw clenching. My blood boiled as I watched the scene unfold, my vision blurring with rage.
The guy was too closeâway too close. Noor was trying to move his hand, but he wasn't getting the hint.
I had seen enough.
Instead of aiming for the goal, my fingers adjusted their grip on the ball, and without a second thought, I changed my target.
With all the strength I had, I launched the ball directly at him.
A sharp thud echoed across the field as the ball hit him square in the face.
The entire crowd gasped. Screams erupted from the audience.
But I didn't care.
I smirked.
The guy stumbled back, clutching his face in shock, and Noor's eyes widened in disbelief. She turned to look at me, her expression frozen somewhere between shock and anger But I wasn't looking at her.
I was looking at him.
The message was clear. "Haath hatao."
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