٢٠

Wazir haveli,

The wind howled through the empty courtyard, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and dying jasmine. The haveli stood silent, its grand arches and intricate jharokhas bathed in the pale silver of a reluctant moon. Shadows played on the weathered walls, whispering stories of a time long gone.

Jahanara stood by the carve window, her slender fingers clutching the edges of her pashmina shawl as if it were armor against the biting cold. The shawl, embroidered with delicate gold threads, shimmered faintly under the lantern's flicker behind her. Her breath, warm and fragile. The chill seeped through the cracks, but she barely noticed.

She was waiting. For what or whom, even she couldn't say anymore. The hours had stretched thin, their weight pressing down on her like the silence that filled the haveli.

The night felt heavier tonight, as though it too was holding its breath. A car's headlights swept across the iron gate, breaking the stillness of the night. Jahanara's heart leapt, unbidden, and she leaned forward, her breath hitching.

"Usman," she whispered, the name carrying a warmth she didn't understand but couldn't ignore. Her fingers released the shawl as if the chill had suddenly lifted.Without a second thought, she hurried down the winding staircase, her bare feet barely making a sound on the cold marble.

The flickering lanterns along the corridor blurred her vision, but she pressed on, drawn by a need she couldn't name. At the threshold, she stopped just short of colliding into the figure stepping through the door. "Usman," she mumbled, her voice trembling.

"Mein hoon, Agha." The voice, familiar yet wrong, cut through the fragile hope she hadn't dared to admit to herself. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, taking in her younger brother's face. Something about his presence, his words, felt off-kilter, leaving her more unsettled than relieved.

"Usman bhai and I had a huge workload at the office. He didn't come back... still working," Agha explained, his tone apologetic yet indifferent. She nodded mutely, her throat too tight to form a response.

Turning away, she made her way back upstairs, the air in the haveli suddenly colder. Inside her room, the silence was heavier than before. She sank into the chair by the window, pulling the shawl closer once more. The disappointment in her chest was sharp, unfamiliar, and impossible to ignore. It wasn't just the absence of Usman that weighed on her; it was the realization that she had been waiting for him at all.

Next morning,

Jahanara stirred awake, the soft creak of the rocking chair breaking the fragile stillness of her room. The gray light of dawn seeped through the window, casting delicate patterns on the cold marble floor. Her pashmina shawl had slipped to one side, leaving her neck chilled, a reminder of the long, sleepless night spent waiting.

She sighed, straightening herself and brushing away the disheveled strands of hair clinging to her damp forehead. Rising, she splashed her face with water, the coldness jolting her senses. Her reflection in the antique mirror betrayed her exhaustion—the dark circles under her eyes, the faint lines of worry etched on her brow. Almost unconsciously, her steps led her out of the room. She hesitated at the doorway, her hand resting against the frame.

Why was she going to his room? She didn't know, nor did she stop to question it .The corridor was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the morning breeze teasing the curtains.

When she reached Usman's door, it was slightly ajar, as though inviting her in. Pushing it open, she froze.

He was there, sprawled on the bed, his bare back rising and falling with each untroubled breath. The morning light bathed the room in a soft glow, highlighting the curve of his shoulder blades.

The blanket clung to his lower body, leaving the rest of him uncovered. His hair was a disheveled mess, the kind that spoke of deep, dreamless sleep. Jahanara's jaw tightened, anger bubbling up in her chest. She had spent the entire night wrestling with unanswered questions, haunted by the thought of him. And here he was—sleeping as if the world owed him peace. Her fingers itched to grab the blanket, to yank it off him and demand an explanation. But something held her back—a hesitation she didn't understand, a vulnerability she didn't want to face.

She turned to leave, her steps careful and deliberate, when she felt it. A hand wrapped around her wrist. Her breath hitched, and she turned sharply. Usman's half-lidded eyes met hers, hazy with sleep but undeniably aware.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, rough with sleep, yet it carried a softness that made her falter. Her wrist burned where he held her, and she pulled it free with more force than necessary.

"Where were you last night?" she demanded, her voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. He pushed himself up, leaning against the headboard, the smirk forming slowly on his lips. His gaze was sharp now, teasing. "So you were waiting for me?" Her breath caught, and for a moment, she had no response. His tone was light, mocking, but there was something in his eyes—something that made her feel exposed.

"I wasn't, and I hate waiting" she lied, the words escaping before she could stop them. She turned sharply, her shawl brushing against his arm as she left the room, his soft chuckle chasing her down the hallway.

The weight of his gaze lingered long after she'd gone. Usman sighed, muttering under his breath, "Biwi ke nakhre." After freshening up, he headed downstairs, greeting the elders with his usual charm.

The breakfast table was set, and everyone settled into their places. Usman's gaze, however, rarely left Jahanara. She was avoiding him, her every movement deliberate, her eyes never meeting his.

"Jahan, can you pour me some tea?" he asked suddenly. Her hand hesitated as she reached for the kettle. His gaze lingered, steady and unwavering, and it unnerved her in a way she couldn't explain. As she poured, her fingers slipped, and the scalding tea spilled over his hand.

"Ah!" he hissed, pulling his hand back instinctively. "Usman!" she gasped, rushing to his side without a second thought."I'm fine," he said quickly, shaking his head as if to brush it off, though the redness on his hand told a different story.

"Jahan beta, dehan dena chahiye tha na," her mother scolded, her tone sharp but concerned. Jahanara's throat tightened, but she said nothing.

After the meal, she left the table quietly, her mind restless. Later, she found herself in his room, drawn by an impulse she didn't fully understand. He was standing by the window, speaking on the phone, his voice low and firm.

When he finished and turned, he seemed surprised to find her there. Before he could say a word, she stepped forward, grabbing his injured hand. "What are you—" he started, but his words faltered when she uncapped a small tube of ointment and began gently applying it to the burn. Her touch was light, careful, but her silence spoke volumes.

He watched her, his earlier teasing gone, replaced by something quieter, deeper. "It's fine," he murmured, but she didn't stop until she was satisfied. When she finally looked up, their eyes met, the space between them heavy with unspoken words. Usman stared at her, his hand tingling—not from the burn, but from her touch.

Jahanara turned to leave, but Usman grabbed her hand, pulling her back toward him with a sudden, deliberate force. His eyes locked onto hers, their intensity unmistakable. "Tumney toh bola tha intezar nahi karogi?" he asked, his voice low, the words cutting through the quiet. "I—I wasn't even waiting and I-I told you I hated waiting so there's no chance I was waiting for you." she stammered, her pulse quickening.

He leaned closer, his grip firm but gentle. "Toh phir raat bhar jaag kyun rahi thi?" His voice softened, but the challenge in his tone was clear.

"Main... main so nahi pai, bas," she lied, the words shaky on her lips. He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk curving his lips. He didn't believe her—she could see it in his eyes.

"Jhoot bol rahi ho," he murmured, pulling her even closer. Her breath hitched as his gaze roamed her face, then lingered.

"Wesy pyari lag rahi ho," he said suddenly, his voice dropping to a whisper."Huh?" she blinked, caught off guard.

"Meiny bola... pyari lag rahi ho," he repeated, his smile growing. Her eyes darted down to her outfit, realization dawning. She was wearing yellow—his favorite color.

She stepped back quickly, pulling her hand free, the heat rising to her cheeks. "Main ja rahi hoon," she muttered, turning away.

As she reached the door, his voice stopped her. "Suno," he called out. She paused, her back to him. "Aaj intezar karne ki zarurat nahi," he added, his tone soft, almost teasing. She didn't look back, didn't respond. But as she walked out, the faint smile on her lips betrayed her.

The morning had stretched into early afternoon by the time Jahanara found herself alone in the courtyard, her thoughts swirling like the lazy spiral of the jasmine petals at her feet. She tried to keep busy, rearranging the flower pots, but her mind wandered, trailing back to Usman's lingering gaze and the softness of his voice. A faint heat rose to her cheeks at the memory, and she shook her head to dispel it.

She didn't notice him until he was standing right beside her, his shadow falling across the jasmine bush she had been absently pruning. "Tum yahaan kya kar rahi ho?" he asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.

She straightened, brushing her hands against her kurta. "Kuch nahi. Tum?"

"Main toh tumse poochhne aaya tha ke mera intezaar karte karte thak gayi ho ya phir kuch aur ka intezaar kar rahi thi?" His smirk was infuriatingly teasing.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the faint smile that tugged at her lips. "Main kuch nahi kar rahi thi, aur tumhe koi kaam nahi hai?"

"Kaam toh hai," he said, stepping closer, his tone softening. "Lekin tumhe dekhne ka waqt nikal hi aata hai."

Her pulse quickened, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. "Mujhe jaane do. Bohot kaam hai," she mumbled, brushing past him.

As she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Later that night, Usman stood in the driveway, zipping up his leather jacket as the chill of the night deepened. The moon had vanished behind a thick blanket of clouds, and the wind carried a sharp bite. Jahanara watched from the doorway, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Itni raat ko kahaan jaa rahe ho?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

"Kaam hai," he replied, pulling on his gloves. "Tum fikr mat karo."

Her frown deepened. "Tum hamesha yeh kyun kehte ho? Main fikr karun ya na karun, tumhe farq padta bhi hai?"

He paused, turning to look at her. For a moment, his teasing demeanor faded, replaced by something quieter. "Fark padta hai," he said simply, his gaze steady. "Lekin tumse kehna mushkil lagta hai."

Before she could respond, he swung his leg over the bike and started the engine. The roar echoed in the silence, and with a nod, he sped off into the dark.

The road stretched endlessly ahead, swallowed by the oppressive darkness of the night. The trees on either side loomed like silent sentinels, their branches clawing at the sky. The faint glow of his bike's headlights barely pierced the gloom, illuminating fleeting glimpses of the cracked asphalt and the skeletal remains of the roadside shrubs.

Usman's mind was far from the road, drifting between Jahanara's guarded smiles and the unspoken tension that seemed to hang between them. He shook his head, trying to focus. The air felt heavier here, the silence almost deafening.

And then it happened.

A figure darted out from the shadows, too fast for him to react. He slammed the brakes, the tires screeching against the road, but it was too late. The impact was sudden, jarring, and the world spun violently as his bike veered off the road, crashing into the ditch.

The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the pale, ghostly light of the moon breaking through the clouds.

The phone call came in the dead of night, shattering the fragile stillness of the haveli. Jahanara's brother, Agha was the first to answer, his voice trembling as he listened. The words hit like a blow: accident, hospital, critical.

Jahanara felt the ground shift beneath her. Her shawl slipped from her shoulders as she grabbed the phone, demanding details. Her heart raced, her breath shallow as they rushed to the hospital, the world outside a blur.

In the waiting room, time seemed to crawl. Her hands were cold, trembling as she clasped them together, her eyes fixed on the door to the operating theater. Every passing second felt like an eternity.

Finally, the doctor emerged, his expression grave but not hopeless. "He's stable now. The surgery was successful, but he'll need rest."

Relief flooded through her, and she closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent prayer of gratitude.

Hours later, Jahanara was allowed to see him. The room was dimly lit, the steady hum of the machines the only sound. Usman lay on the bed, his face pale, a bandage wrapped around his forehead. The sight of him like this sent a pang through her chest.

She pulled a stool close to the bed, sitting down carefully. The window was open, letting in the cool night breeze. She reached out hesitantly, her fingers brushing against his.

His eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked at her, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Tum yahaan kyun ho? Tumhe toh intezar karna pasand nahi," he murmured, his voice weak but teasing.

Her breath caught, and she swallowed hard. "Main toh bas dekhne aayi thi ke tum zinda ho ya nahi."

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a warmth through the room. "Zinda hoon. Tumhare liye zinda rehna padega. Itni jaldi bewa thori hony doonga"

Her eyes softened, and shockedj how he casually joked about it . "Tum hamesha mazaak kyun karte ho?"

"Kyunki tum haste hue sabse achhi lagti ho," he said, his tone serious now.

She met his gaze, her heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his eyes. "Tumne mujhe dara diya tha," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Aisy mat karna dobara."

"Wada karta hoon," he said softly, his fingers curling around hers. "Ab tumhare bina jeene ka soch bhi nahi sakta."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling between them. The night breeze carried the faint scent of jasmine, a reminder of the life that continued beyond these walls. And for the first time, Jahanara felt a fragile hope stirring in her chest, fragile but undeniable.

"Aik baat bataon? Aaj pehli baar mujhe dar mehsoos hua," he confessed, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Aisa laga ke bas aaj akhri din hai, aur phir kabhi tumhe dekh nahi paunga. Jab behosh ho raha tha, meri sirf ek khwahish thi—tumhe dekh loon agar yeh mera aakhri din ho."

His chuckle was soft but filled with raw emotion. Jahanara's hand flew to his arm, and she smacked him lightly. "Aisi bakwas naa kiya karo," she scolded, her voice breaking.

"Why? Does it affect you, biwi?" he teased, though his gaze searched hers intently.

She looked at him, her heart pounding. The vulnerability in his eyes disarmed her, and she couldn't deny it any longer. With a shaky breath, she whispered, "Haan, farq padta hai."

His lips broke into a full smile, lighting up his face despite his exhaustion. "Yehi sunna chah rahy thy, hai na?" she asked, a faint smirk playing on his lips, he nodded, his smile widening. "Tumhe samajhne mein waqt lagta hai," he said, his tone teasing but warm.

She looked away, the warmth rising to her cheeks as a deep blush spread across them. Silence wrapped around them, heavy with unspoken emotions, the air thick with tension.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a soft whisper, trembling yet resolute. "I love you."

Her head snapped up, her eyes meeting his with a startled intensity. The look in his gaze stole her breath, raw and unwavering, a silent plea and confession all at once. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the weight of his words filling every corner of the room.

The night breeze drifted in, carrying the delicate scent of jasmine, weaving itself into the moment as their eyes remained locked. Time stretched, unbroken, as though the universe itself held its breath.

She knew her answer. Her heart had long since unraveled the truth she'd been too afraid to admit. She loved him—deeply, achingly—but the words caught in her throat, her courage faltering at the edge of her lips. She wanted to say it, to let him know that she loved him and that she accepted their marriage. Yet, fear held her captive, her feelings a storm within, yearning to break free.

And still, she stayed silent, her gaze speaking the words her voice could not.

Abad stepped into the room, his presence commanding as always, though softened by age. His sharp eyes fell on Usman and Jahanara, their hands intertwined, lost in their own world. He cleared his throat, a deliberate cough that shattered the fragile moment.

Startled, they pulled away, their hands falling to their sides as they looked anywhere but at him. Jahan slid off the stool she'd been perched on, straightening her dupatta.

"Mujhe Usman se kuch baat karni hai," Abad said, his tone steady. Jahan nodded silently and left, her footsteps soft as she exited the room, leaving grandfather and grandson alone.

Abad walked closer, his frail hands trembling slightly as he reached out to hold Usman's. His voice, though quiet, carried a weight that filled the room. "Tumhe pata hai na, tum mere liye kya ho? Toh khud ka khayal kyun nahi rakhte?"

Usman turned his face away, the bitterness he had been holding back spilling into his tone. "Yeh sab dikhawa kyun, dada jaan?" His words were sharp, laced with the pain of unresolved resentment.

Abad's grip tightened, his voice breaking just slightly. "Dikhawa lagta hai ab yeh, Usman? Sirf is liye ke main tumhare aur Jahanara ke shadi ke khilaf tha? Ab meri mohabbat tumhe dikhawa lagti hai?"

There was a pause, heavy and raw. Abad's weathered face softened further as he spoke, his words cracking under the weight of guilt. "Jaan ho tum meri. Main bewakoof tha. Saari zindagi bas apne naam aur izzat ke peeche bhaagta raha. Jhooti anah ke aage tumhari mohabbat kabhi dekh hi nahi saka. Abad Wazir ne kabhi kisi ke aage sar nahi jhukaya, par tum mere liye sabse badhkar ho. Apne dada jaan ko maaf kar do?"

Usman's resolve crumbled. He turned, his eyes brimming with the emotions he could no longer suppress, and clasped Abad's trembling hands in his own. "Dada jaan..." His voice cracked, but the unspoken forgiveness passed between them, bridging the gap that pride and hurt had created.

A week had passed, and in that time, Usman and Jahanara had shared several small, playful moments—most of them ending with Usman finding a way to tease her and leave her flustered. It had become his favorite pastime.

This afternoon was no different. Jahanara had finished her chores and retreated to the garden, finding solace on the swing beneath the shade of the trees. A book rested in her hands, but her mind wasn't on the words. Her thoughts wandered to Usman—his charming smile, his teasing remarks, his heartfelt confession, and the memory of their nikkah. She sighed softly, wishing for things between them to feel as simple and pure as those moments.

Lost in her reverie, she didn't notice Usman creeping up behind her. He spotted a basket of fresh flowers sitting nearby and grinned mischievously. Quietly, he grabbed the basket, tiptoed closer, and tipped the flowers over her head, scattering petals all around her.

Startled, she jumped, clutching the swing's ropes. "Who's—" she began, spinning around to face him. There he stood, grinning from ear to ear, clearly pleased with himself.

"Yeh kya harkat hai?" she demanded, though her voice held more surprise than anger.

"Biwi pe phool barsa raha hoon," he said with a nonchalant shrug, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He sauntered past her and sat on the swing, casually picking up the book she had abandoned.

Jahanara stood there, her lips pressed into a thin line, trying to appear annoyed. But the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. "Mujhe tang karne ke ilawa aur koi kaam nahi hai aapky paas?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"Filhal toh nahi," he replied, glancing up at her with a teasing smirk. "I'm still recovering, you know." He stretched out lazily, flipping through the pages of her book as if to emphasize his point.

She rolled her eyes, but as she watched him settle into the swing, her frustration gave way to a small, reluctant smile. It was hard to stay annoyed when her heart was so full.

"Lagta hai Dada Jaan ne tumhe kaafi lambi chhutti de di kaam se?" she teased, her tone light but her expression playful as she folded her dupatta neatly over her shoulder.

"Oh darling," Usman replied, rolling his eyes dramatically, "I'm my own boss. Mujhe chutti lene ke liye kisi ki ijazat ki zarurat nahi." He retorted, with exaggerated flair. Jahanara snorted, unable to hold back her laugh. She nodded indulgently, clearly not buying his theatrics.

"Impressive. I'm sure the world stops spinning when you're not around to run it. " she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear, an amused smirk tugging at her lips.

"Kya kaha tumne?" he asked, leaning forward as if daring her to repeat herself.

She shrugged innocently, brushing past him. "Nothing. Just admiring my husband."

He smirked, leaning against the wooden pillar. "Husband huh?" he teased her, her smile vanished as she realised what she said, she then turned her back to him, ready to leave from there,

"Where are you going?" Usman asked when she turned to leave, his curiosity piqued.

"You might not have any work to do," she replied, her tone teasing, "but I have plenty. I'm not used to lounging around like some Wazir men I know."

"How about I help you today?"

She stopped mid-step, turning back with an expression that could only be described as incredulous. Her eyes roamed him from head to toe, and she let out a soft laugh. "You? Help me? I think you really need some rest, Usman."

"Hey!" he protested, pretending to be wounded. "I'm serious. Main sirf madad karna chahta hoon, biwi. Kya galat hai ismein?"

She chuckled, her head shaking slightly. "Till date, have you seen any Wazir men help their wives?"

Usman put a hand to his chest, feigning deep hurt. "Tum toh aise keh rahi ho jaise hum sirf hukam chalane wale hain!"

She tilted her head, unimpressed. "Aren't you?"

His face turned mock-serious, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Toh kya? Main toh alag hoon, ek naya misaal set karna chahta hoon."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly, teasing. "Aur Mujh mein ek charm hai jo sirf tum pe asar karta hai." Her laughter rang through the room, light and melodic. "Oh, really? And what kind of charm is that?"

"Wahi charm jo abhi tumhe yahan roka hua hai," he replied smugly,

As their banter continued, a soft cough interrupted the moment. Jahanara's younger brother, Agha, leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed and a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Main disturb toh nahi kar raha?" he asked, his grin teasing, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

Usman's eyes flickered toward him, his annoyance palpable. He let out a sharp breath, his expression turning into a mock scowl. "Jab sy paida hua hai tab sy kar raha hai," he muttered under his breath, the irritation clear on his face.

"Agha!" Jahanara groaned. "Don't you have something better to do?"

"Better than watching you two?" he asked innocently. "Not really."

Usman grinned. " saale sahab, chalo aaj tumhari behen ky kaam mein hath bataty hein. "

Agha raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You're actually offering to help? Zara, ye din diary mein likh lo!"

"Shut up, Agha," Jahanara muttered, though she couldn't hide her smile.

Before anyone could say more, the sound of bangles clinking filled the air as Jahanara's younger sister, Manahil, peeked in. "Tayi Ammi pooch rahi hain, chai kaun banayega?"

"Usman bhai banayenge," Agha quipped, winking at Jahanara.

"Excuse me?" Usman shot back, though his grin gave him away.

"You did say you wanted to help,'naya misaal' set karna tha na?" Jahanara reminded him, raising an eyebrow.

By then Usman's mother entered the scene, with Jahanara's mother trailing behind her. "Yeh itna shor kis baat ka hai?" Hala asked.

"Usman bhai ka naya idea sunein tayi ammi," Agha informed, barely suppressing his grin. "Kaam mein haath batane ka irada hai inka."

Hala raised her eyebrows, amused. "Mera beta? Kaam karega? Wah, nayi baat sunne ko mili."

"Ammi, please. Aap bhi shuru ho gayi," Usman groaned, though his playful smile lingered.

"Bas, bas, stop messing with my son," Jahanara's mother intervened, smiling fondly.

Jahanara shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "I'm going to the kitchen. Jo madad karni hai, wahaan aakar karo," she said, turning to leave. But just before stepping out, she glanced back at Usman, her gaze lingering for a second longer than it should have.

Usman noticed. Straightening, he followed her.

"Yeh jo shuru hua hai, khatam kaise hoga?" Zara whispered to Agha, who simply shrugged, clearly enjoying the unfolding drama.

"Bas dekhti jao," Agha replied with a grin. "Mazaa toh aa raha hai."

In the kitchen

Usman followed her like a lost puppy. "By the way, agar tum chaho, main chai bana sakta hoon!"

Jahanara paused, glancing back at him with wide eyes. "Chai? Aur aap?"

"Haan! Main perfect chai bana leta hoon," he said confidently, a mischievous grin on his face.

She couldn't resist teasing him. "Theek hai, bana lein. Let's see if it's as perfect as your 'boss' skills."

Puffing his chest, he marched toward the stove. "Challenge accepted!"

He stood before the stove with exaggerated confidence, adding tea leaves and sugar to the boiling water. Jahanara leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with a faint smile.

"Paani kitna dala hai?" she asked casually.

Usman hesitated for a second, then shrugged nonchalantly. "Jitna chai ke liye zaruri hota hai."

She smirked knowingly. "And sugar?"

"Bilkul perfect amount," he replied, stirring the pot dramatically.

When the tea was ready, he poured it into cups and handed one to her. But instead of drinking, she placed the cups on a tray and carried them outside to serve their mothers.

Usman followed, grabbing a cup and handing it to her directly this time. With a slight gesture, he urged her to take a sip.

Jahanara obliged, lifting the cup to her lips. Her expression betrayed nothing at first, and Usman's confident demeanor began to falter.

Finally, she raised an eyebrow. "Hmm... interesting."

"Interesting good or interesting bad?" he asked, his nervousness slipping through.

She took another sip, then smiled. "It's not bad. But maybe leave the chai-making to me next time, hmm?"

Usman groaned dramatically. "Tum kabhi khush nahi hoti!"

Jahanara laughed, handing him the cup. "Still better than I expected, though. Shukriya."

He grinned at her rare compliment, taking the cup from her and sipping from it himself. For a brief moment, the teasing and banter paused, leaving them to enjoy the quiet simplicity of shared time together.

The garden was serene under the soft glow of the stars. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it the faint, soothing scent of mogra from the flowerbeds. Usman stood near the marble bench, hands in his pockets, his gaze lifted to the night sky. The air was cool, the kind that seeped into your thoughts and made you reflective.

He exhaled deeply, the weight of the day slowly dissipating. The soft glow of the haveli's lights illuminated the surrounding area, a comforting contrast to the vast, dark sky above. Turning his head, his eyes fell on the second floor of the haveli, where a particular window stood slightly ajar.

Jahanara's room.

He found himself staring at it, the faint movement of the curtain drawing his attention. His lips curled into a faint smile, as if the sight of that window alone had the power to pull him out of his wandering thoughts.

"Waiting to get a glance of my sister?" A voice interrupted, breaking the stillness. "You're getting naughty, Usman Bhai."

Usman didn't flinch, already recognizing Agha's smug tone. He turned slightly, casting a deadpan glare at the younger man.

"She's my wife. If I wanted a glance, I would've gone to her room."

Agha's cheeky grin faltered for a moment, but only for a moment. Usman shifted his gaze back to the window, pretending not to notice the mischievous twinkle in Agha's eyes.

Then, Usman spoke again, his voice lighter this time. "Aik baat batao, saale sahab. Tumhari behen ko kaise pataoon?"

That was all Agha needed. His sly smile returned, broader and brighter. "Bas yeh baat kehni thi! Suno, pehle flowers lo. Red roses, of course. Phir ek chhota sa love note likho—woh cheesy dialogues jo filmon mein hote hain, woh wala. Aur—aur ek romantic gaana gaana bhi zaroori hai!"

Usman raised an eyebrow, barely suppressing a smirk. "Gaana? Tumhare kehne par main hero ban jaoon kya?"

Agha ignored him, his excitement building. "Aur candlelight dinner bhi karna! Aap dono ke liye ek khaas table garden mein set karte hain. Aur haan, ek acha sa gift lena mat bhoolna!"

Usman let him ramble for a while, his amusement growing. Finally, he raised a hand to silence Agha, who was mid-idea.

"Hmm," Usman nodded thoughtfully, his expression mock-serious. "Achhi baatein batai hain. Lekin ek baat sun lo." He fixed Agha with a warning look. "Zyada smart banne ki koshish mat karo, warna chachi ko bata dunga ke tum yeh 'romantic ideas' leke baithe ho."

Agha froze, his confident demeanor cracking. "Arrey, bhai, kyun mazak karte ho!" he stammered.

Usman smirked, patting Agha's shoulder. "Toh bas chup ho jao."

Usman chuckled at Agha's retreating form, his gaze drifting back to the second-floor window. The curtain moved again, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw her silhouette. His smirk softened into a genuine smile.

"Tum bas intezaar karo, Jahan," he murmured to himself, stepping back into the garden's quiet embrace.

Next morning,

After breakfast, the living room buzzed with activity. The mothers were engrossed in a lively discussion about the latest jewelry designs and fabrics in the market. Manahil and Zara sat on the sofa, scrolling through their phones and chatting about a friend's upcoming wedding. In a quiet corner, Jahanara was trying her hand at a new hobby—crocheting, her brows furrowed in concentration.

Usman and Agha were on their way out to the office, walking past the living room when Agha suddenly paused. His eyes landed on Jahanara, and an all-too-familiar mischievous grin spread across his face. Without missing a beat, he darted to her side.

"Aur Jahan api," he began, his tone teasing. "Suna hai, aapko dinner pe le jaane ke plan ban rahe hain?"

Jahanara's hands froze mid-loop as she looked up at him, utterly baffled. "Kya?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion.

Meanwhile, Usman, who had been a few steps ahead, stopped dead in his tracks. His jaw tightened, and he shot Agha a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

"Chalein? Office mein kaam hai," Usman growled through gritted teeth, clearly warning him to keep quiet.

Agha, completely unfazed, winked at Jahanara and walked back to join Usman, his grin growing wider.

Jahanara, still clueless about what had just happened, turned to find her sisters smirking at her. Manahil nudged Zara with her elbow and whispered loud enough for Jahan to hear, "Lagta hai kuch interesting chal raha hai."

Zara giggled. "Haan, aur Jahan baji toh kuch zyada hi clueless ban rahi hain."

Jahanara rolled her eyes, as she returned to her crocheting, trying her best to ignore the teasing looks thrown her way.

Jahanara entered her room, frowning when she noticed a bouquet of red roses sitting on her bedside table. The petals were fresh, the fragrance delicate, but what caught her attention was the small note tucked between them.

Curious, she picked it up and unfolded the paper. The handwriting was neat, but bold.

"Aaj phir yeh gulab tumhare liye. Magar yeh mat sochna ke bas phool bhej kar baat khatam ho gayi. Yeh toh sirf shuruaat hai."

She blinked, reading it again, then scoffed. "Shuruaat? Allah khair kare."

From the courtyard below, Usman smirked as he caught sight of her reaction. She had no idea what else he had planned for the night.

The sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the garden. Usman stood amidst the chaos of rose petals, fairy lights, and candles. Agha was, as usual, talking a mile a minute, directing the setup with unrelenting energy.

"Bhai, candles idhar nahi, udhar!" Agha huffed, dramatically pointing at the table setup.

Usman gave him a flat look. "Tum mujhe batane aaye ho ya khud kaam karne?"

Agha grinned. "Main toh bas guidance de raha hoon. Apki love story perfect honi chahiye."

Usman snorted, adjusting a lantern. "Tumhari guidance se lagta hai love story se zyada shaadi ka stage tayar ho raha hai."

Agha laughed, but Usman's gaze remained serious, the weight of what he was about to do pulling him into a quiet intensity.

"Yeh sab theek hai, lekin tumhari behen ko mere jazbaat samajh aayenge?" Agha's grin faded slightly, but he quickly masked it with a playful shrug. "Bhai, apke jazbaat itne zabardast hain, kisi ko bhi samajh aayenge. Aap bas thoda drama badhao." He winked, then added with a smirk, "Aur waise bhi, aap dono ek doosre ko samajhte ho. Ab toh bas ek final push chahiye."

Usman shot him a warning look, making Agha hold his hands up in mock surrender. "Thik hai, thik hai, main chup ho jaata hoon. Apka stage- I mean garden  ready hai."

Jahanara sighed as she was practically dragged through the corridors of Wazir Haveli by her cousins. "Tum log mujhe kahan le ja rahi ho?"

Zoya tried to keep a straight face. "Bas ek chhoti si surprise meeting hai."

Jahanara narrowed her eyes. "Mujhe milna ho toh main khud ja sakti hoon."

Her younger cousin grinned. "Haan, par jab aapko pata chalega ke kis se milna hai, toh shayad bhaag jaane ka socho."

Jahanara's steps slowed. "Kya?"

Before she could demand an explanation, they reached the garden, and she halted mid-step.

Candles flickered under the soft glow of fairy lights. A beautifully set table stood in the center. Roses decorated the space, their fragrance blending with the night air.

And standing in the middle of it all was Usman, hands casually in his pockets, watching her with that unreadable expression that made her heart skip a beat.

"Tum sab ne mujhe—" She turned to her cousins, only to find them vanishing into the shadows, giggling.

She clenched her jaw. "Mujhe pehle hi shak tha."

The garden was lit up with a soft, romantic glow, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that danced on the stone walls. Jahanara stepped into the space, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the setup. The roses, the soft glow of the lanterns, and the table set for two.

She folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Yeh sab kya hai, Usman?"

He leaned casually against the table, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he looked at her. "Dinner, Jahanara."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "Agar mujhe yeh sab pasand na aaya toh?"

Usman smirked, his gaze never leaving hers. "Phir bhi, tumhe dinner karna padega. Bhook lag rahi hogi."

Her lips quirked up despite herself, half-annoyed, half-amused. "Aapko hamesha sab pata hota hai, hai na?"

Usman's smile deepened, his voice low but certain. "Tumse related har baat."

The words lingered in the air, charged with an intensity she could feel but couldn't quite put into words. The golden light bathed his face, making him look softer than usual, but his eyes... they were the same sharp, calculating eyes, always two steps ahead of her.

She exhaled, trying to shake off the sudden flutter in her chest, and took a seat with a mock sigh. "Theek hai, dekhte hain."

Usman took the seat across from her, his posture relaxed but his eyes locked onto hers, as if waiting for something.

"Mujhe toh sirf yeh dekhna hai ke tum kab maanogi," he said, his voice smooth, like it was a challenge he knew he'd win.

She frowned slightly, not understanding. "Kya?"

His voice dropped to a more serious tone, his gaze unwavering. "Ke main sirf tumhara hoon."

Jahanara's breath caught in her throat. She had known, of course, that he loved her—but hearing him say it so plainly, so openly, made it feel like a truth she hadn't fully realized before. It hit her like a wave, crashing over her, and for a moment, she didn't know how to respond.

She looked away, her fingers brushing the edge of her napkin, trying to steady herself. The quiet hum of the evening surrounded them, and the flickering candles seemed to echo the stillness in the air. "Aur agar main kabhi na manoon?" she asked quietly, the words barely escaping her lips.

Usman leaned back in his chair, his expression calm but firm. "Toh bhi, tumhare na kehne se, sach badalne wala nahi hai."

Jahanara's heart skipped a beat at the confidence in his voice. She glanced at him, her eyes searching his face, trying to figure out where all this certainty came from. "Bohot yaqeen hai aapko apne jazbaat pe."

He tilted his head slightly, his voice soft but intense. "Tumhare apne jazbaat se bhi zyada."

A silence settled between them, comfortable yet heavy. Jahanara twirled the napkin between her fingers, avoiding his gaze, her heart pounding against her ribs. She was at war with herself, her emotions tangled in a way she couldn't quite unravel. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Agar main kahoon ke mujhe samajh nahi aa raha ke kya kehna chahiye?"

Usman leaned in, his eyes locked onto hers, intense and unrelenting. "Toh bas sach keh do. Tum jo feel karti ho, woh bata do."

Jahanara hesitated, her throat tight with uncertainty. But then, with a steadying breath, she met his gaze, letting down the walls she had kept up for so long. "Agar sach yeh ho ke mujhe aap pasand hain?"

A slow, almost reverent smile curved Usman's lips, his eyes lighting up with relief and something deeper. He searched her face, as if savoring the moment he had longed for. And then, his voice, soft yet unwavering—full of the love he had never hidden.

"Sirf pasand hoon ya pyar bhi hai?"

Her breath hitched. She looked into his eyes, hoping—praying—that he could read the truth in them, because she didn't have the courage to say it out loud.

As if understanding, Usman's smile deepened, his gaze turning impossibly tender. "Toh phir, meri taraf se jawab wahi hai jo tum sunna chahti ho."

As his words settled between them, Jahanara felt her heart slam against her ribs. The weight of his gaze, the softness in his voice—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. But nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.

Usman Wazir, the man who had never bowed to anyone, the man whose pride and power were etched into his very being—slowly, deliberately, dropped to his knees before her.

Her breath caught.

She couldn't believe what she was seeing. No Wazir man would ever kneel before his wife. They had never made their wife feel so loved, so wanted—let alone kneel before them.. It was unheard of, unthinkable. And yet, here he was, his strong hands holding hers, his thumb tracing slow circles against her skin as if she was something fragile, something sacred.

"Usman..." her voice was barely a whisper, her fingers trembling in his grasp.

His eyes never left hers, dark and unwavering, full of a love so deep it made her stomach twist with something terrifyingly sweet.

"Main sirf tumhare liye jhuk sakta hoon, Jahanara."

Butterflies. Fireworks. A storm raging inside her chest.

Jahanara had imagined many things about Usman—his anger, his protectiveness, the way he made her heart stutter with just one look—but this? This, she had never even dared to dream.

Because Usman Wazir wasn't just saying he loved her.

He was showing it.

And that was more powerful than any words could ever be.

"Main izhar karne wala insan nahi hoon, Main nahi jaanta ke mohabbat ka izhar kaise kiya jata hai, kabhi lafzon se kehna nahi aaya, lekin itna zaroor jaanta hoon ke tum meri mohabbat ho. Tum ho toh main hoon, Jahanara. Tum meri zindagi ka woh hissa ho jo bina kisi shart ke, bina kisi wajah ke, sirf mera hai. Mere liye tum bohot azeez ho... itne ke shayad lafz bhi kam par jayein. Main kab ka kho chuka hoon tum mein, aur mujhe is mein koi shikwa nahi. Bas ek baat yaad rakhna—tum meri ho, aur main tumhara."

Before she could fully process his words, the night sky suddenly erupted in color—fireworks exploded in the air, lighting up the darkness with their bright hues. She looked at him, her heart racing, eyes searching his. And then—finally—she smiled, the weight of her confession settling in the air between them like the soft glow of the candles.

And as another firecracker lit up the night sky, Wazir Haveli's garden became the witness to the love story that had always been meant to happen. A story that had been waiting for the right moment, and tonight, that moment had arrived.

Jahanara's breath trembled, her fingers still entwined in Usman's strong hands, but there was an undeniable softness now, an intimacy that hadn't been there before. The world around them seemed to fade, the fireworks still exploding in the distance, but the only thing that mattered was him—the man who had so deeply pierced her heart.

Usman's words had struck her like a thunderbolt. She had never imagined he could feel this way, let alone show it so openly. She had heard of love in stories, in books, but this... this was something different. Something so real, so fierce, it made her heart ache.

She glanced down at him, still on his knees before her, and a tender smile graced her lips. But her eyes—those eyes—were filled with something more. The confession she had kept locked inside for so long was finally on the tip of her tongue.

The words tumbled out, not as a declaration, but as the truth that had been buried deep in her chest."Main... main bhi aap se  bohot pyaar karti hoon, Usman."

Her voice cracked, but she steadied herself, looking at him with a quiet intensity. "Jab aap ke saath hoon, toh sab kuch sahi lagta hai. Main... main khud ko aap mein dhoondti hoon."

Her confession wasn't wrapped in grand gestures or flowery words. It was a truth, a realization that had settled into her heart quietly, slowly, and now it was out. She had never said it aloud before—I love you.

But now, in this moment, she didn't need to say it in the same way he had. The depth in her eyes, the vulnerability in her tone, and the way she was looking at him told him everything. Her love for him was more than words could capture; it was something she felt in every fiber of her being. And in that moment, Usman knew.

Agha leaned over the balcony railing, grinning ear to ear. "Bhai, yeh scene toh filmy ho gaya!"

*Usman wasn't kidding when he said Agha jab sy paida hua hai tab sy disturb kr rha hai*

_

I wasn't sure about writing 7k words for a chapter but to end the book soon, I wrapped up Usman and Jahanara's story in this chapter. Make sure to leave comments about the chapter.

🪷