19| Mutual Feelings Darling

M U T U A L F E E L I N G S

D A R L I N G

W O R D  C O U N T: 2828

Hello Joonams! ♥

We meet again. I couldn't stop myself from updating.

Are you guys enjoying the story?

Vote and comment lovely people. ☺

Humza's grip on Anaabiya's wrist was unyielding as he dragged her across the marble floor, his pace relentless. Her footsteps stumbled in a desperate attempt to keep up, but he didn't slow down. He didn't loosen his hold.

"Let me go, Humza!" she shouted, her voice laced with fury and panic.

He ignored her.

His jaw was set, his expression a mask of cold determination as he pulled her down the dimly lit hallway. The few staff members on the first floor who had dared to linger quickly averted their gazes, too fearful to intervene. Even Bibijaan, who had tried to protest, had been forcefully taken away by the guards at his command. She was on her own.

Anaabiya's pulse pounded violently. She twisted her arm, clawing at his fingers in an attempt to break free, but it was futile. His grip only tightened, his fingers digging into her skin like iron shackles.

When they reached her room, Humza shoved the door open with unnecessary force and pushed her inside. The moment she stumbled forward, he slammed the door shut and bolted it, sealing them in.

A chill ran down her spine.

She turned to him, breathless, her heart hammering. "What are you trying to do?"

A dark chuckle escaped his lips.

And then—he began unbuttoning his shirt.

Her body stiffened.

Something about the way he did it, so slow, so deliberate, sent warning bells ringing in her head.

Step by step, he advanced. Step by step, she retreated.

Her breath came in quick, shallow pants as her back met the cold wall. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.

"I swear, Humza, if you take one more step—"

His smirk was wicked. "Or what?"

Panic surged within her veins. She couldn't stay here. She needed to get out.

Without thinking, she bolted toward the door.

But she never made it.

Before her fingers could even graze the handle, his arms wrapped around her waist, yanking her back against him. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as her body collided with his chest.

His grip was firm, unyielding, as he turned her around with ease.

"What are you running from?" His voice was low, taunting. His gaze burned into hers, dark and unreadable. "You should know by now, Anaabiya—you'll never be able to hide from me."

"You're insane," she spat, struggling in his hold.

And then—suddenly—her world tilted.

A startled cry tore from her throat as he lifted her effortlessly, slinging her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

"Put me down, you psycho! Let me go!" she screamed, pounding her fists against his back, but he didn't so much as flinch.

His strides were purposeful, unwavering, as he carried her across the room.

She thrashed, kicked her legs, did everything in her power to break free, but his grip was ruthless.

Then, before she could process what was happening, she was flung onto the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath her weight as she bounced slightly against the soft sheets. But she had no time to recover—because the moment she tried to sit up, he was already there.

Hovering.

Towering.

Straddling.

Her breath hitched.

He was too close.

Far too close.

Panic coiled in her stomach, her pulse erratic. Her hands flew to his chest, shoving him with all her strength. "Get off me!"

He didn't move.

"Cheating women like you should be taught a lesson." He spat.

Her body trembled—not just with fear, but with anger. With helplessness.

Her already loose hijab had slipped off, the fabric pooling onto the bed beside her. Silken strands of her hair cascaded over the pillow, framing her face in disarray. For a fleeting moment, Humza simply stared.

Something in his expression flickered—something dark, unreadable.

Anaabiya's breath caught in her throat, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled beneath him. But he held her wrists in a single, unwavering grip above her head, his strength effortlessly overpowering hers.

With his free hand, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the strands of her hair.

She stiffened.

His touch was slow, deliberate, as if he were memorizing the texture, as if he had never touched anything like it before. He twirled a lock around his finger, watching how it slipped from his grasp like silk.

Anaabiya's entire body tensed, rage and humiliation colliding inside her.

"Don't touch me." Her voice was low, shaky, but filled with defiance.

His gaze snapped to hers, unreadable, unwavering.

A smirk—wicked and knowing—curled at the corner of his lips.

"I'll do whatever I want, my house, my bed, my wife," he murmured, his fingers tangling deeper into her hair. He gave a slight tug, forcing her to meet his gaze head-on. "And you? You'll remember who you belong to."

Her blood boiled.

"I don't belong to you. You're disgusting," she spat, her eyes blazing with fury.

He chuckled, a dark, amused sound, but there was an edge to it—something possessive.

"You should've thought about that before slapping me. I will teach you a good lesson."

She yanked against his hold, desperate to free herself, but it was no use. He was immovable, a force she couldn't escape.

His fingers drifted lower, grazing the side of her neck. A shudder ran through her body, whether from anger or fear, she didn't know.

Humza grabbed her jaw tightly and crashed his lips to hers in a bruising and penalising kiss. She tried to turn her head away but his solid hold on her jaw stopped her from doing so.

He continued to take advantage of her. His mouth crushing her's in a harsh and grating kiss. She couldn't help but cry profusely. She was helpless. She couldn't move, couldn't fight.

He licked her lips demanding entrance but she sealed her lips tightly, not willing to allow him even when he tried to lick her mouth open.

A sharp cry ripped through her when he bit her lower lip sharply. Taking advantage of it, he dipped his tongue in her mouth.

She didn't want to give him any satisfaction and pleasure from her reaction but that proved to be vague and fruitless when he caressed her tongue with his.

Her eyes were wide open, full of unshed tears while his was absolutely shut, like he was savoring the moment. A feeling of disdain filled her stomach and caused it to momentarily spasm.

He didn't release her mouth from his control, even when she bit on his tongue sharply. All she heard was a moan and he only deepened the kiss, claiming her mouth as if it was his rightful possession. His kiss was purgatory, relentless and unforgiving. There wasn't a single spot in her mouth that he didn't explore.

She felt disgusted by her own self. She moaned in protest but he didn't stop. She began to grow lightheaded and dizzy again. The depletion of oxygen forcing her into darkness. She wanted to remain conscious. She moaned and moaned and pushed his bare chest until he finally pulled away.

Almost instantly, she inhaled sharply, desperate to fill her lungs with air. Both of them were left breathless, panting as if they had just run a marathon.

He gazed at her as if he had just unearthed the eighth wonder of the world, while she looked back at him with nothing but raw hatred. He had no right—none at all—to do this.

But he wasn't done.

His eyes darkened with intent as he began closing the distance again, his breath warm against her skin. Panic surged through her, and in desperation, she turned her head to the side, her voice breaking as she pleaded, "Please... no!"

And so he paused.

He had forcefully taken away her first kiss.

Anger began to seethe through her veins and her hands curled up into a fist.

Then, without a second thought, she began pounding her fists against his chest—one after the other, striking his shoulders and torso with every ounce of strength she had. Blow after blow, she hurled her fury at him, her breaths ragged, her voice a mess of incoherent words. Yet, he didn't stop her. He just laid on top of her, letting her unleash her rage, unmoved by the storm she was drowning in.

"You are a monster." Her hands began to ache but she didn't stop.

Another punch, but this time he held both her hands before it could touch his shoulder. His full body weight now rested on her and he was quite heavy.

"Stop being childish. This was to punish you. You asked for it.. Remember?" He said. She again began to move her wrist to set herself free.

"I hate you," she hissed, her voice laced with venom, eyes burning with uncontained fury.

"Mutual feelings, darling," he sneered, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. "But I must say, I'm honored to be your first."

Disgust churned in her stomach. The audacity. She wanted to spit in his face.

She refused to let him have the satisfaction. "You're wrong. You weren't my first." A slow, taunting smile played on her lips as she watched his expression shift. She enjoyed the way his smirk faltered for a split second.

"You're lying." His grip on her wrists tightened almost painfully, as if trying to wring the truth out of her.

"I'm not. Why would I?" she challenged, eyes gleaming with defiance. "You weren't my first kiss." She wanted to kick him, but for now, her words would do the damage.

His jaw clenched. "Hah! You don't even know how to kiss. This was your first. I'd bet my life on it." His smirk returned, but there was something darker beneath it—an unspoken irritation. He had probably done this to enough women to know the difference. The thought made her stomach churn with even more revulsion.

"Then go ahead and die, because I'm not lying." She cocked her head slightly, voice laced with mockery. "It's not that I don't know how to do it. I've done it plenty of times. I'm just not attracted to you." She leaned in just enough for her next words to sting. "Being in your arms disgusts me."

A thick, suffocating silence settled between them.

Without another word, he finally pulled away, his movements rigid with barely contained fury. Reaching for the nightstand, he snatched her phone and shoved it into his jeans pocket. She wanted to fight, to snatch it back, to do something—but exhaustion weighed her down like chains. Maybe some other day.

She watched as his hands curled into fists, knuckles white with tension. His strides were slow but heavy as he made his way to the door. Unbolting it, he stepped out without so much as a glance in her direction. The first few buttons of his shirt hung undone, his breath still uneven.

For a moment, she thought he might turn back, might do something worse.

But he didn't.

Instead, he left—leaving behind the wreckage of what he had done.

She drew in a shaky breath, sobs wracking her body as tears streamed down her face. When would this nightmare end?

Her trembling fingers brushed over her swollen lips, as if trying to erase the memory, the violation, the unbearable weight of what had just happened.

When will Allah's help come?

She wondered how Uzair was—if he was even conscious, if he was in unbearable pain. The uncertainty gnawed at her, making her chest tighten with dread. How would she even find out about his condition? She had no way of knowing.

Guilt clawed at her insides. This was all because of her. He had come to save her, yet he was the one who had nearly lost his life. He was the one suffering. And for what? Because he cared. Because he had refused to leave her behind.

And now, he had almost lost his own life in the process.

A soft knock on the door startled Anaabiya, but before she could respond, the door creaked open, and Bibijaan and Maliha rushed inside. Their faces were etched with worry, their eyes scanning her as if to make sure she was still in one piece.

"Oh, my poor child," Bibijaan breathed, her voice trembling with guilt as she hurried to Anaabiya's side. She cupped her face gently, her warm, wrinkled hands starkly contrasting the cold emptiness Anaabiya felt inside. "I'm so sorry, my love. A thousand times sorry. We should have done something—we should have stopped him."

Maliha sat beside her, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "We only came after we saw him leave. He grabbed his car keys and stormed out—he looked furious, Anaabiya. We were so scared for you."

Bibijaan shook her head in despair. "I will talk to Rafiya about this. She needs to know what her son has done."

"No!" Anaabiya panicked, grabbing Bibijaan's hands tightly. Fear coiled in her stomach like a living thing. "Please, no. You don't know what he's capable of. If you tell her, if anyone interferes—he will make them pay. I can't let anyone else suffer because of me."

Bibijaan's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes glistening with helplessness. Maliha reached for Anaabiya's hand, squeezing it tightly. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

Anaabiya tried to nod, to reassure them, but the truth was, she felt like a shattered doll. She probably looked like one too. Her hair was disheveled, her hijab undone, her eyes swollen from crying, and her lips—she didn't even want to think about that. The bitter reminder of what had just happened lingered there, burning like a fresh wound.

She swallowed hard, trying to muster a response, but all she could do was lower her gaze, feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable.

Bibijaan gently stroked Anaabiya's hair, her touch warm and comforting. "I will try to find out about Uzair's condition, my dear," she promised. "I'll ask the guards. Someone must know something."

Anaabiya's teary eyes locked onto hers, gratitude shining through the pain. "I will never forget this, Bibijaan. I don't know how to thank you."

Maliha hesitated, biting her lip before finally speaking. "Do you... umm... do you have feelings for Uzair?"

Bibijaan immediately shot her a stern look. "Maliha! That's not something she needs to answer right now."

But Anaabiya, surprisingly, did. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe? He was the only one who ever made me feel safe. The only person who truly cared, who was willing to sacrifice for me. No one else in my life has ever done that. Doesn't that mean something?"

Bibijaan and Maliha exchanged a look before Bibijaan sighed, her voice gentle but firm. "My dear, Young minds often confuse love with gratitude. Maybe you're just confused too. Your heart has been longing for love for so long that you're holding onto the first person who showed you kindness."

Anaabiya let the words sink in, her confusion deepening. "But... isn't that love? What else is love if not this?"

Bibijaan shook her head, her eyes kind yet wise. "Him loving you doesn't automatically mean you love him too, Anaabiya. Love isn't just gratitude or relief—it's something deeper. And only you can figure that out in time."

After Bibijaan and Maliha left, Anaabiya sat with her thoughts, her heart heavy and her mind a whirlpool of confusion. Was what she felt for Uzair truly love, or was it merely the overwhelming relief of finding someone who cared when she had nothing left? Her chest tightened as she thought of him—his bravery, his selflessness. But could love truly bloom from desperation, from fear? She wasn't sure anymore.

The more she pondered, the more the lines blurred, until the emotions tangled in her chest, leaving only doubt in their wake. Was she grateful for the only person who had ever truly seen her, or was it something deeper, something that meant she was capable of feeling love after all?

As the night stretched on, Anaabiya couldn't help but wonder if she would ever find the answers.

For now, all she could do was pray for Uzair's safety.

As for Humza, she couldn't bring herself to think of him, though his haunting presence lingered in her mind, casting shadows over her night.

For the people who don't know what Joonam is, it is a persian word which means 'my everything'

Sorry I am obsessed with the word.

who wants Humza's POV next?