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Meher Sultan Pov
Three days.
It had been three days since my husband had locked me inside this basement.
Three days since I had last seen the outside world. Three days since I had felt the warmth of sunlight against my skin, heard the familiar sounds of life beyond these walls, or slept peacefully without waking up to the suffocating darkness surrounding me.
And now, I had stopped counting the hours.
I was lying on the dirty mattress in the corner of the room, my body curled slightly towards the wall. The thin fabric beneath me did little to protect me from the coldness of the floor. My hair was a mess, a few strands falling over my face, while my clothes had become wrinkled after days of wearing them.
The room smelled of damp walls and dust. A single dim bulb hanging from the ceiling provided just enough light to remind me that I wasn't completely surrounded by darkness.
I stared at the wall in front of me.
I didn't call for help anymore.
I didn't bang my fists against the locked door.
I didn't scream until my throat hurt, begging someone to let me out.
And I certainly didn't wait for someone to answer.
Because what was the point?
I had already done all of that during the first day. I had cried, shouted, pleaded, and even promised that I would behave if someone would just open the door. I had stood near it for hours, listening for footsteps, hoping that someone would come and take me away from this horrible place.
But no one had.
Or perhaps someone had come, but it was always the same person.
My husband.
Zaryab Rizvi.
A bitter smile touched my lips at the thought of him.
My husband.
How strange those words sounded now.
The person who was supposed to protect me had become the reason I was trapped in a basement. The person whose presence should have made me feel safe was the one I feared seeing whenever the lock turned.
I slowly closed my eyes.
I was tired.
Not just physically, but somewhere much deeper. My heart felt heavy, my head ached, and even the simplest movement required more effort than I wanted to give.
I didn't know how much longer I could remain like this.
And perhaps the worst part was that I had started getting used to the silence.
Until—
Footsteps.
My eyes opened slightly.
Someone was coming.
I recognised the sound immediately. The slow, measured footsteps approaching the basement door were familiar now. I had heard them every day, sometimes more than once.
My fingers curled against the mattress.
I quickly wiped the tears gathering near the corners of my eyes and turned my face towards the wall. Then I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep.
I knew who it was.
The lock clicked.
The door creaked open, and a little light from the corridor entered the room. I heard the familiar sound of footsteps crossing the floor. They stopped beside the mattress.
For a moment, there was complete silence.
Then the mattress dipped slightly as someone sat beside me.
I kept my eyes closed.
I could feel his presence even without looking at him. The faint scent of his perfume reached me, and my heart tightened with an anger I was too exhausted to express.
A few seconds passed.
Then I felt his fingers gently gather a loose strand of hair that had fallen across my face. He carefully tucked it behind my ear.
The gesture was so gentle that, for a brief moment, it almost hurt more than his cruelty.
How could the same hands that touched my hair so softly be responsible for locking me away from the world?
His voice finally broke the silence.
"Meher…"
I didn't move.
He paused, perhaps waiting for me to open my eyes or say something. When I didn't, he continued in a quieter voice.
"I know you're angry with me."
A faint breath escaped him.
"And you have every right to be." His words settled heavily in the room.
I pressed my lips together.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "But I can't let you go."
For a moment, I wanted to turn around and scream at him. I wanted to ask him what kind of apology this was. What did he expect me to do with his sorry? Was I supposed to forgive him because he had spoken gently? Was I supposed to forget these three days because he had tucked a strand of hair behind my ear?
But I remained still.
He stayed beside me for a few more seconds. I could sense that he wanted to say something else, but eventually, he stood up.
The mattress shifted back into place.
His footsteps moved towards the door.
Then came the familiar sound of the lock.
Click.
The door closed.
And he was gone again.
I slowly opened my eyes.
For a few seconds, I stared at the empty space beside me where he had been sitting. My fingers moved towards my ear, touching the place where he had tucked my hair behind it.
A bitter laugh escaped my throat.
I turned my face towards the closed door.
"I also will never forgive you for what you're doing to me."
My voice was weak, barely louder than a whisper, but every word carried the anger I had been swallowing for three days.
I blinked away the tears.
"You hear me, Zaryab?"
My lower lip trembled.
"I will never forgive you."
But the only answer was silence.
I slowly turned back towards the wall and pulled my knees closer to my chest.
Hours passed.
I had no idea whether it was midnight or early morning. There was no window through which I could watch the sky, no clock to tell me the time, and no familiar sound to remind me of the world outside.
My throat had become painfully dry. My lips felt rough, and my head was beginning to ache. Every now and then, I shifted on the mattress, trying to find a comfortable position, but the stiffness in my body made it difficult to settle.
I hadn't eaten anything for three days.
Not a single proper meal.
It wasn't because Zaryab hadn't brought me food. He had.
Every time he came to me, he brought something to eat. Sometimes it was a proper meal; sometimes it was just a glass of water and something light. He would place the tray near me and ask me to eat.
And every single time, I refused.
The first time, he had placed the tray on the small table and told me to eat before the food got cold. I had looked at him with tears of anger in my eyes and pushed his hand away when he tried to bring the plate closer.
The food had fallen onto the floor.
He had looked at the scattered pieces for a moment before turning towards me.
He hadn't shouted.
He hadn't even argued.
He had simply looked at me, picked up the empty tray, and walked out.
The door had locked behind him.
The same thing happened the next time.
And the time after that.
Whenever he brought food, I jerked his hand away, sometimes making the glass or plate fall. I knew it was childish. I knew I was only making things harder for myself.
But I couldn't bring myself to accept anything from him.
Not food.
Not water.
Not kindness.
Because accepting something from him felt like accepting what he was doing to me.
And I wasn't ready to do that.
I glanced towards the corner of the room. There was an empty glass lying near the wall, and beside it, a small plate that had been left there after my last refusal.
I swallowed, but my throat remained dry.
For a moment, I considered getting up and drinking the water that had been placed there earlier. My body was begging me to do something, anything, to make the weakness disappear.
But my mind kept returning to the same thought.
Why am I here?
What had I done to deserve this?
I wasn't asking for the entire world. I wasn't demanding anything extraordinary. I only wanted to leave this room. I wanted to breathe fresh air, walk without asking permission, and sleep without being afraid of the person who was supposed to be my husband.
Was that too much to ask?
I slowly pushed myself up and sat against the wall. My head rested against the damp surface, and I drew my shawl closer around myself.
My eyes wandered around the room.
The dirty mattress.
The stained walls.
The locked door.
Everything seemed to remind me that I was trapped.
I hugged my knees and rested my chin over them.
What is happening to my life?
A tear slipped down my cheek.
I wiped it away immediately, but another followed.
I missed my room.
I missed my bed.
I missed the sunlight coming through the curtains in the morning. I missed the sound of people talking outside, the little things I had never thought were important until they were taken away from me.
I even missed the ordinary silence of my home.
This silence was different.
It was cruel.
It made every thought louder.
I looked towards the door again.
Was he upstairs now? Was he sleeping peacefully while I sat here? Did he even understand what three days in this room had done to me?
Or did he simply not care?
My chest tightened.
I remembered how he had tucked my hair behind my ear a little while ago. That gentle movement had confused me more than I wanted to admit.
For one foolish second, I had almost remembered the man I thought I knew.
But then his words returned.
I'm sorry, but I can't let you go.
I lowered my head.
"Sorry…"
A small, humourless laugh escaped my lips.
"Everyone knows how to say sorry."
My voice trembled.
"But does anyone know how to stop hurting someone?"
I closed my eyes, and another tear rolled down my cheek.
I was angry with him.
I was hurt by him.
And somewhere beneath all that anger, I was frightened.
Frightened of what he might do next. Frightened of how long he intended to keep me here. Frightened that one day I might become so exhausted that I would stop fighting altogether.
But I didn't want to give up.
No.
I slowly lifted my head and looked towards the locked door.
You can lock this door, Zaryab Rizvi. You can keep me away from the world. But you cannot make me believe that what you're doing is right.
I took a shaky breath.
I will get out of here.
Even if I had to wait.
Even if I had to find the courage when I had almost none left.
I would not let this place become my entire world.
For now, though, all I could do was sit on that dirty mattress, with an empty stomach, a dry throat, and tears that refused to stop falling.
And somewhere beyond the locked door, the man I had once called my husband continued to hold the key to my freedom.
I had been staring at the ceiling for hours.
The same cracks. The same dim light. The same suffocating walls.
My body was exhausted, and my stomach had been aching for hours, but my mind refused to rest. I kept thinking about the last three days, about every time Zaryab had entered this room with food, every argument, every tear, and every time he had walked away after locking the door behind him.
And then, slowly, I began to understand something.
My way wasn't working.
For three days, I had refused to eat, pushed away everything he brought, cried, shouted, and demanded that he let me go. And what had I achieved?
Nothing.
The door was still locked.
I was still here.
And Zaryab was still in control.
A frustrated breath escaped my lips. I turned my face towards the door, staring at the metal handle.
Fine, Mr Zaryab Rizvi. If you don't understand my pain, perhaps it's time I stopped showing it to you.
A faint smirk slowly appeared on my lips.
I wasn't going to waste my remaining strength fighting with him. I needed that strength for myself. I needed to think clearly, observe things, and wait for the right moment.
First, I would eat whatever he brought. I didn't like the idea of accepting anything from him, but I wasn't going to let my stubbornness make me weaker. I needed to be strong enough to walk out of this place when I got the chance.
Second, I wouldn't argue with him anymore. No shouting, no throwing plates, no desperate questions. If he asked me something, I would answer calmly. If he apologised, I would listen without reacting.
And most importantly, I would pay attention.
Every time he entered, I would notice how long he stayed, whether he came alone, and whether he left the door open even for a few seconds. I would remember the sounds outside, the footsteps, and anything that might help me understand this place.
I didn't know how long it would take.
Perhaps a day. Perhaps a week.
But I couldn't keep doing the same thing and expect a different result.
My eyes moved towards the door again.
A small, almost wicked smile touched my lips.
Ab tumhein woh Meher nahi milegi jo har baar tumse ladti thi, Zaryab.
I slowly adjusted my head against the mattress.
You want a quiet wife? Fine. I'll be quiet.
You want me to stop fighting? Fine. I'll stop.
But it didn't mean I had forgiven him. It didn't mean I had accepted this room as my home. And it certainly didn't mean I had given up.
I was simply changing my strategy.
I would regain my strength, wait for him to lower his guard, and find a way out.
My gaze returned to the locked door.
I'm going to give you your own medicine, dear husband. But this time, I'm going to use my brain instead of my tears.
A quiet laugh escaped my lips.
No more crying in front of him.
No more wasting my strength on arguments.
And no more begging.
I was waiting for my dear husband to come downstairs.
Only this time, he wouldn't find a girl who was desperately asking him to open the door.
He would find a girl who had finally started thinking.
Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed outside the door.
My body stiffened instinctively.
A moment later, I heard the lock click. The door creaked open, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps entering the room.
Zaryab.
I slowly turned my head towards the entrance.
He was dressed in his usual office attire, wearing a perfectly tailored black blazer over a crisp white shirt. A few buttons near the collar were undone, revealing a glimpse of his broad chest. His black trousers completed the formal look, while his dark hair was styled neatly with gel. His sharp jawline, defined features and tall, well-built frame gave him an effortlessly handsome appearance.
For a few seconds, I simply stared at him.
I hated admitting it, even to myself, but he was undeniably attractive.
There was something about his appearance that could easily make someone forget what they were about to say. And perhaps, for one foolish moment, I did.
But then my eyes drifted towards the room around me.
The stained walls. The dirty mattress. The locked door.
My stomach tightened.
Don't forget where you are, Meher. Don't forget who put you here.
I quickly lowered my gaze, but apparently, my sudden silence hadn't gone unnoticed.
A faint smirk appeared on his lips.
"What's the matter, wifey? Liking the view?"
His dark, husky voice broke the chain of my thoughts.
I immediately turned my face towards the wall, pretending to be interested in its stained surface. Heat crept up my cheeks, and I pressed my lips together.
Wifey.
There it was again.
The word sent an unfamiliar flutter through my stomach, but I quickly pushed the feeling away. I didn't want to feel anything for this man. Not when I still remembered the coldness of that locked door every time he left.
Stop it, Meher. A handsome face doesn't erase what he has done.
I heard him approach. The mattress dipped slightly as he sat beside me. Soon, I heard the soft clink of utensils as he placed a tray on the table.
"I know I'm bad," he said, his voice quieter now. "You can hit me all you want, but please eat something, wifey."
I clenched my jaw.
I swear, if he calls me wifey one more time, I'll smash that stupid smirk off his face.
But I stopped myself before my anger could escape.
I had already tried shouting, refusing food and fighting him. None of it had changed anything. I couldn't afford to waste what little strength I had left.
I took a slow breath, then turned towards him and formed a gentle smile.
"First, I want to take a bath."
He remained silent for a moment. Then a satisfied smile softened his features.
"Does that mean you've agreed to live with me?"
My heart gave an uncomfortable little jump.
I nodded softly.
In your dreams, Mr. Rizvi.
I kept the smile on my lips, even though every part of me wanted to tell him that a forced agreement was not an agreement at all.
He seemed pleased with my answer. Reaching for my wrist, he gently helped me stand. But the moment my feet touched the floor, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over me.
My head began to spin.
The room blurred, and my knees felt too weak to support my weight. I tried to steady myself, but my legs trembled beneath me.
Before I could fall, his arms wrapped around me.
One arm slipped behind my back while the other supported my knees, lifting me effortlessly into his arms.
"Zaryab—"
"Careful, wifey."
I instinctively caught his shoulder, gripping the expensive fabric of his blazer.
For a moment, I felt embarrassed by how close we were. I could hear his steady breathing and feel the warmth of his body through his shirt. His familiar scent surrounded me.
But the comfort of being held lasted only a second.
I remembered that I hadn't chosen to be in his arms. Just as I hadn't chosen to be in that basement.
My fingers loosened slightly against his shoulder.
He began walking towards the door, carrying me as though my weight meant nothing to him.
I remained quiet, too weak to argue. As we made our way upstairs, I found myself studying his face. His neatly styled hair, sharp jawline and composed expression made him look almost unreal.
I remembered our wedding day.
I remembered how I had refused to marry him, how I had insulted him and made my dislike painfully clear. I had expected him to lose his temper, to say something cruel or perhaps even take revenge on me for humiliating him.
But he hadn't.
Even after the wedding, he hadn't spoken a single harsh word to me.
Why?
Why could a man who treated me so gently with his words also lock me away and leave me frightened and helpless?
I couldn't understand him.
Sometimes his touch was careful, his voice gentle, and his actions almost considerate. Yet those same hands had the power to keep me trapped against my will.
That contradiction frightened me more than I wanted to admit.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice when he stopped walking.
"We've reached, wifey."
His deep, husky voice brought me back to reality.
I blinked, looking around.
And then it hit me.
We were standing inside the bathroom of our bedroom.
My eyes widened, and I immediately lowered my face. A fresh wave of embarrassment rushed through me, turning my cheeks a deep shade of red.
Oh, Allah! I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even realise where he had brought me.
A low chuckle escaped his throat.
He carefully lowered me until my feet touched the floor.
"Relax, darling."
Before I could find a response, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against my forehead.
"I'm waiting outside."
With that, he turned and walked out, closing the bathroom door behind him.
The moment I heard the door shut, I released a breath I hadn't realised I was holding.
"Ya Allah…" I whispered, placing a hand against my chest.
My heartbeat was still fast, but I knew it wasn't simply because of his closeness. My body was exhausted, my mind was overwhelmed, and I was still afraid of what he might do next.
I covered my face with both hands, trying to steady my breathing.
Why does he have to be like this? Why can't he just let me go?
I shook my head.
I couldn't allow his gentle moments to confuse me. A forehead kiss couldn't erase three days of fear. A soft voice couldn't make a locked door feel any less like a prison.
First, I needed to regain my strength.
Then, I needed to think clearly.
I slowly removed my old, dirty clothes and stepped beneath the warm shower. The water fell over my tired body, washing away the dust and grime that had clung to me during those miserable days in the basement.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I could breathe without that damp, suffocating smell surrounding me.
I closed my eyes and let the warm water run over my face. My muscles still ached, my head felt heavy, and my legs trembled from exhaustion. I knew one shower wouldn't magically restore my strength, but it gave me a few moments away from everything.
After taking my time, I turned off the water and wrapped myself in a soft white bathrobe.
I walked towards the washbasin and stood in front of the mirror.
My reflection made me pause.
My face looked pale and exhausted. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, my lips were dry, and my hair was damp and tangled. I barely recognised the girl staring back at me.
I picked up the face wash and gently cleaned my face before brushing my teeth. The simple routine felt strangely comforting after everything I had been through.
Once I was done, I dried my face with a soft towel and adjusted the bathrobe around myself.
I looked at my reflection one last time.
You can be frightened, Meher. You can be confused. But don't let yourself forget what you need to do.
I drew a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.
Whatever waited for me outside, I would have to face it carefully.
I wasn't ready to forgive him.
And I certainly wasn't ready to trust him.
The moment I stepped out of the bathroom, my eyes fell on him.
Zaryab was sitting on the sofa directly in front of me, dressed in his black office trousers and white shirt. His legs were comfortably apart, and a laptop rested on his lap. His fingers moved across the keyboard with remarkable speed and confidence, each movement precise and professional.
A breakfast spread had been arranged on the table in front of him.
I raised an eyebrow.
Oh, so Mr. Rizvi has finally forgotten his blindness?
A sarcastic thought crossed my mind as I watched him working.
Itni professionally laptop use kar rahe hain jaise aankhon ki zaroorat hi nahi.
I almost smiled at my own thought, but the expression disappeared when he suddenly stopped typing.
His face turned slightly in my direction.
"Come here, Meher."
My stomach tightened.
I stood near the bathroom door, holding the edges of my white bathrobe together. It reached just below my knees, leaving my lower legs uncovered. Suddenly, I became painfully conscious of how I looked standing in front of him.
I should move.
I should walk towards the breakfast table, take a seat and behave normally.
But for some ridiculous reason, my feet refused to cooperate.
Meher, move! Why are you standing here like a statue?
He tilted his head slightly, as though listening to my silence.
"Are you planning to stand there all morning?"
His deep voice made me blink.
"N-no," I replied quietly.
"Then come."
He lifted one finger in a small beckoning gesture.
I hesitated.
I didn't understand why I was following his instructions so easily. Perhaps it was because I was still weak, perhaps because I was nervous, or perhaps because I simply didn't know how to react around him anymore.
Whatever the reason, I slowly walked towards him.
His face remained angled in my direction, following the faint sound of my footsteps. There was something unsettling about the way he seemed to know exactly where I was, even without being able to see me.
I stopped a step away from him.
Before I could say anything, his hand reached forward and caught my wrist. With a sudden pull, he brought me closer, and I stumbled onto his lap.
"Zaryab!"
A startled gasp escaped my lips.
One of his arms settled around my waist to keep me from losing my balance. In the sudden movement, the bathrobe slipped slightly from one shoulder.
I immediately caught its edge and pulled it back into place.
My cheeks burned.
Ya Allah! What is happening?
I tried to move away, but his arm was still around my waist.
"Careful," he murmured. "You're still weak."
His voice was close, almost too close. I could feel his warm breath against my face, and my heartbeat became embarrassingly loud.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
His face was turned towards me, his expression difficult to read. I knew he couldn't see the embarrassment written across my cheeks, but somehow that made the situation no less awkward.
I swallowed.
"Zaryab…"
"Hmm?"
"Can you… let me go?"
There was a brief pause.
Then his arm loosened, and he carefully helped me stand.
I quickly adjusted my bathrobe, avoiding his face.
Wonderful, Meher. Absolutely wonderful. You couldn't even manage to walk towards a breakfast table without embarrassing yourself.
He gave a quiet chuckle.
"Your breakfast is on the table."
I glanced towards it.
"Eat something. All of it, if you can manage. You've barely eaten in three days."
His voice had softened, but the mention of those three days brought the unpleasant memories rushing back.
The locked room.
The damp walls.
The hunger.
The loneliness.
My smile disappeared.
He seemed to notice the change in my silence.
"Meher?"
"I'm fine," I replied, a little too quickly.
He didn't question me. Instead, he reached for his laptop and closed it.
"I have some work to finish. I'll be back in a little while."
He stood, adjusted his blazer and walked towards the door.
Just before leaving, he paused.
"Please eat, wifey."
I pressed my lips together.
There it is again. Wifey!
"Zaryab?" I called before I could stop myself.
He turned his face towards my voice.
"Yes?"
I hesitated, then quietly asked, "Will you be long?"
For some reason, he seemed pleased by the question.
"Not too long."
And with that, he left the room.
The door closed behind him.
I stood there for a few seconds, listening to his footsteps disappear down the hallway.
Only when the room fell silent did I finally release the breath I had been holding.
"Ya Allah, this man…" I muttered, rubbing my forehead.
Then my attention shifted towards the table.
And my eyes widened.
There was so much food.
My favourite breakfast items had been arranged beautifully: freshly made parathas, a bowl of shami kebabs, golden seekh kebabs, a fluffy egg omelette, sandwiches cut into neat triangles, and a cup of steaming chai. A glass of fresh orange juice stood beside them, along with a few other dishes.
My stomach gave a quiet rumble.
I hadn't realised just how hungry I was until that moment.
Parathay… Shami kebab… Chai…
For the first time in days, the sight of food made me feel genuinely relieved.
I slowly walked towards the table and sat down. My legs still felt weak, so I moved carefully, making myself comfortable before reaching for a paratha.
The first bite tasted wonderful.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
Alhamdulillah.
I took another bite, then reached for a shami kebab. The food was warm and delicious, and I found myself eating much faster than I had intended.
I poured myself some chai and took a careful sip.
The warmth spread through me, making me feel a little more human again.
I tried a piece of sandwich, followed by some omelette, and then another bite of paratha. I even drank some orange juice between mouthfuls.
For a while, I forgot everything else.
But as I reached for another piece of food, my eyes drifted towards the closed bedroom door.
My expression slowly changed.
He brought all my favourite food.
I looked down at my plate.
Does he really know what I like, or is he just trying to make me forget everything?
I couldn't answer that.
Perhaps he genuinely wanted me to eat. Perhaps he was trying to make me comfortable. But neither possibility changed the fact that I was still afraid of him.
I picked up my cup of chai again.
Whatever his intentions were, I needed my strength back.
And for now, that mattered more than anything else.
Author Pov
The long corridor was almost deserted as Aiman and Aleena walked side by side towards the parking area. Their footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor, and the faint golden sunlight slipping through the glass windows gave the otherwise quiet place a warm glow.
Aiman was busy scrolling through her phone, her handbag hanging from one shoulder. Her fingers moved quickly across the screen as she replied to a message, completely unaware that Aleena had been trying to get her attention for the past few moments.
Aleena glanced at her, then at the phone in her hand.
Finally, she cleared her throat.
"Ahem!"
No response.
She tried again.
"Ahem! Aiman!"
This time, Aiman lifted her eyes from the screen and looked at her, one eyebrow raised.
"What?"
Aleena rolled her eyes.
"Can you put that phone away for two minutes?"
Aiman glanced at her phone before slipping it into her handbag.
"Ji, madam. Ab bol bhi dein."
Aleena took a small breath.
"After three days, my brother has arranged a party at our penthouse. I want you to come with me."
Aiman looked at her with interest.
"A party? What's the occasion?"
For a moment, another thought crossed her mind.
I should thank her brother properly. He saved me that day, and I haven't even had the chance to thank him.
"What's he celebrating?" she asked.
Aleena shrugged, her expression strangely uninterested.
"His success. Business success party."
Aiman chuckled.
"That's all? Your brother achieves something, and you sound like you're being forced to attend a funeral."
"Because I already know it'll be boring."
"Then why are you going?"
Aleena looked at her as if the answer were obvious.
"Because you'll be there. At least I won't get bored."
Aiman laughed.
"Oh, so I'm your personal entertainment now?"
"Exactly. Don't take the position lightly."
"Very funny!"
They both laughed, and for a moment, the conversation returned to its usual easy rhythm.
Aiman adjusted her handbag.
"Okay, I'll come. I just need to go home first, get ready, and then I'll meet you."
Aleena shook her head.
"No need. I'll go home too. I have a few things to do."
Aiman gave her a curious look.
"Since when have you become so busy?"
"Since always," Aleena replied casually.
"Right. Very convincing."
Aleena smiled but didn't explain further.
They had reached the parking area. Aiman's car was parked a little ahead, while Aleena's vehicle stood on the opposite side.
Aiman turned towards her.
"See you tonight, then."
"See you."
Aiman opened her arms, and Aleena stepped forward to hug her.
"Don't be late," Aiman warned.
"I won't."
"And don't disappear somewhere at the party. I don't want to spend the entire evening looking for you."
Aleena laughed softly.
"Don't worry. I'll be right there."
Aiman pulled away and gave her a final smile before walking towards her car.
"Bye!"
"Bye, Aiman!"
Aleena watched her friend get inside. Aiman started the engine, waved once through the window and drove towards the exit.
Aleena remained where she was, following the car with her eyes until it disappeared from sight.
Only then did she reach for her handbag.
Her phone vibrated.
She took it out, expecting another message from Aiman.
But the name on the screen made her fingers pause.
A new message.
Unknown Number:
Are you coming tonight?
Aleena stared at the screen for a moment.
Her eyebrows drew together.
Already?
She typed a reply.
Aleena:I told you I would.
The reply arrived almost immediately.
Unknown Number:I know. I just wanted to hear it again.
A faint smile touched her lips.
She quickly glanced around the parking area, making sure nobody was nearby. Then she shook her head, trying to hide the smile that had begun to spread across her face.
Yeh insaan bhi na…
Another message appeared.
Unknown Number:And don't keep me waiting this time.
Aleena's smile slowly faded into a thoughtful expression.
She looked at the screen for a few seconds before typing.
Aleena:Behave yourself. It's a party, not a private meeting.
There was a pause.
Then her phone vibrated again.
Unknown Number:You say that every time.
Aleena's cheeks warmed.
She pressed her lips together, fighting the smile threatening to return.
What does he mean by every time?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but before she could reply, another message appeared.
Unknown Number:One more thing. Don't tell Aiman about us. Not yet.
This time, the smile disappeared completely.
Aleena looked towards the exit where Aiman's car had vanished moments ago.
Her expression softened, then became thoughtful.
She knew Aiman would have questions if she ever found out. And she wasn't ready to answer them—not yet.
She locked her phone and slipped it into her handbag.
A few seconds later, she took it out again.
One final message appeared on the screen.
Unknown Number:I've missed you, Aleena.
Her heart gave a small, unexpected flutter.
She read the words twice before a shy smile returned to her lips.
This time, she didn't reply.
Instead, she held the phone for a moment, as if those few words were enough to make her forget the busy parking area around her.
Then she whispered softly,
"Tonight…"
A secret smile appeared on her face.
She finally walked towards her car, but her thoughts were no longer on the party.
They were somewhere else.
With someone she wasn't ready to tell the world about.
Whoever he was, he clearly knew how to make her smile with just a few words.
But there was something else.
Something about this secret relationship that made her careful.
She glanced towards the exit again, remembering Aiman's cheerful face.
Not yet. Aiman ko abhi kuch nahi batana. With that thought, she finally slipped her phone into her handbag and got inside her car.
The engine started, but her mind was already occupied with the evening.
Tonight, she would see him.
But who was the man behind those mysterious messages?
And why was Aleena hiding him from everyone?
Perhaps the party would reveal more than just a businessman's success.
Or perhaps it would make their secret even harder to keep.
⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎After Some Time⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎
The dim glow of the club wrapped around them like a secret, casting shadows that danced softly across the walls, creating an intimate cocoon that muffled the distant thrum of music and laughter.
she felt her heartbeat quicken as she settled onto the man's lap, her body tingling with a mixture of alcohol-induced exhilaration and anticipation. Her short, tight dress clung to her curves, the fabric almost a second skin, emphasising every contour that she was both proud and nervous to reveal.
The heat from his body radiated through the thin material of her dress, a delicious burn that sent shivers racing down her spine. She could feel the roughness of his hands against her skin, the gentle, possessive grip that made her feel both desired and safe—an intoxicating paradox. Her senses were hazy, her eyes half-closed as she allowed herself to melt into the sensation, her breath catching in her throat as his face nuzzled into her neck, lips pressing tender kisses that traced the line of her collarbone and along her cleavage.
A thrill danced through her veins, a mix of pleasure and nervous excitement, as her mind floated in the hazy space between desire and vulnerability.
In that moment, words felt unnecessary, yet his voice, low and rough, cut through the haze with a promise that made her skin flush.
"You're mine tonight," he murmured, each syllable a soft yet commanding whisper that ignited a flicker of heat deep within her core. The promise, though blurred by the alcohol's haze, was unmistakable—an invitation into an unspoken realm where boundaries blurred and only sensation mattered.
Heavy-lidded, she barely noticed when he gently lifted her, effortlessly supporting her weight as he murmured soothing sounds that she couldn't quite catch, like a lullaby meant only for her. In his arms, she felt weightless, as if floating away from the chaos outside into a quiet sanctuary where only they existed. The world shrank down to the space between them, a private universe governed by the rhythm of their breathing and the electric pulse that thrummed through her veins. Her pulse raced with anticipation and a flicker of nervous excitement, a mixture of longing and the thrill of surrender.
He pushed open a door, the click of the lock sealing them inside a room that suddenly felt like a different universe—a sanctuary carved out from the chaos, a place where time slowed and the outside world faded into a distant hum. The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the walls like silent witnesses to their private moment.
He laid her gently on the bed, hovering above her with eyes darkened by hunger, yet softened by something gentler beneath that hunger—an unspoken tenderness that made her heart flutter. Her trembling fingers reached up, hesitating for a moment before tracing the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble beneath her fingertips. Her voice was husky and trembling with raw desire as she whispered,
"I want you," the words spilling from her lips with a mixture of vulnerability and fierce longing.
His smile was slow, knowing, and full of promise as he began to peel away her dress, inch by inch, his hands gentle but deliberate, as if savoring each moment. Layers of fabric slipped away, revealing bare skin that was warm and trembling, exposed to the quiet intimacy of their shared space; her heart pounded loudly in her chest, echoing the rhythm of her breath.
Clothes fell away completely, leaving only skin—smooth, warm, and trembling—an outward manifestation of the vulnerability she dared to offer.
Their breaths mingled, breaths shallow and ragged, as they gazed at each other with a mixture of hunger and tenderness. His lips followed the words that escaped her, softly whispering how beautiful she was, words that seemed to suspend time itself. His lips traced the contours of her body, leaving gentle kisses that mapped out her skin, igniting sparks that danced along her nerves. In that locked room, away from prying eyes and the noise of the outside world, time blurred into a haze of sensation and emotion.
Words fell away entirely, replaced by the language of touch—hands exploring, lips pressing, bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Sighs and whispers became the only language that mattered, an intoxicating dance where vulnerability met desire, where boundaries dissolved in the heat of the moment. It was fleeting, yet electric—a connection forged in the quiet darkness, a shared secret that pulsed with the rhythm of their hearts and the whisper of promises made in the hush of the night.
And just like that, the night came to an end, swallowed by the haze of alcohol and blurred memories. Neither of them truly understood the consequences of what had happened. If they had been completely aware of where that one reckless night would eventually lead them, they would have never let it happen.
Author's Note
Assalamualaikum, everyone! 🤍
Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story. It truly means a lot to me. If you're enjoying the journey of Zaryab and Meher, please don't forget to vote, comment, and share your thoughts. Your support motivates me to write more.
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Fiza ali khan❤️