ZERLISH'S POV

I walked forward, and every step he took back only made me bolder.

By the time we reached the door, I had him pinned under my body.

I grabbed his face, turned it toward the door, and with a swift kick to his ass shoved him out.

"Get out!" I yelled, slamming the door shut. "Kahi aur jaake soo jao, mereko shaqal na dikhana!"

From the other side, his voice boomed.

"Tumhare irade mujhe theek nahi lag rahe... jitne time mein back deke rakha tha, utne time mein tum kapde pehen sakti thi!"

"Zaydaan..." I screeched, half-angry, half-horrified at my own boldness.

"Sorry," he said softly and then... silence. I guessed he had left.

I sank to the floor, crouched by the door hugging my knees, my cheeks burning with second-hand embarrassment.

Mein nahi ja rahi hoon ab neeche khana khane I decided to slide the lock across.

I checked the room, stripped off the ridiculous lingerie, tossed it aside, and pulled on fresh, comfortable PJs.

I gathered everything else in both hands and flung it haphazardly onto the sofa, feeling a small rush of control in the chaos.

Finally, I unlocked the door and collapsed onto the bed, burrowing under the comforter.

My hair was still wet, heavy and cold against my back, but I didn't have the energy to dry it.

My eyes closed, exhaustion dragging me under.

The world outside melted away, leaving only the quiet hum of the room and the distant memory of his smirk.

...........

As usual, my sleep broke in the middle of the night not from a nightmare, not from any sound, just... awake.

I reached for my phone only to remember: I didn't have it.

Then I saw a figure emerging from the balcony, moving with silent precision.

My pulse jumped.

I sat up on the bed.

"Sorry... I didn't mean to wake you," the familiar voice said. My brain immediately recognized it as Zaydaan.

"Time kya hua hai?" I asked groggily.

"2:22 a.m.," he replied.

I sighed.

Mera kuch nahi ho sakta.

He came closer and gently checked my forehead. "Fever toh nahi lag rahi hai," he noted.

"I don't," I said, plopping back into the pillows.

"Mujhe phone kab mil rahi hai wapas?" I asked irritation, threading my voice.

He reached into his pocket and handed it over casual as if this was normal.

"Tracker ya hack toh nahi lagaya h na mere phone pe?" I asked suspicion rising.

He shook his head. Denial.

If anything is on it, I'll find out myself... after all it's him who needs me, not I.

He went to the washroom and came out with a hairdryer.

"Baal sukha lo, gile hain abhi bhi," he said.

I ignored him scrolling through reels pretending not to care.

He snatched the phone from my hands.

"Baitho chup chap," he commanded.

I obeyed.

"Tai chali gayi kya?" I asked.

"Haan... unka dinner bana ke kaam khatam ho jaata hai. Chali jaati hai. Subah 9 baje ayegi, shaam 8 baje chale jaayegi kal se," he informed me.

"9 to 8 kyun?" I asked frowning.

He switched on the lights and plugged in the hairdryer.

Whirrrr.

Then he switched it off for a moment.

"Most of the time main ghar pe nahi hota, office hota hu. Toh woh 9 baje aake 12 baje chali jaati hai, dinner bana ke" he said "Uss side turn karo" motioning me.

I turned to give him my back.

He started drying my hair, each warm gust brushing against my damp strands.

A few moments of silence passed, punctuated only by the hum of the dryer.

"Asked her to leave as she does... no need for overtime. I will cook dinner myself," I muttered.

"Okay," he said softly.

As he dried my hair, I realized just how much time it would take.

My hair was long, knee-length, thick, and full of volume.

Every strand seemed determined to resist being tamed.

The lower portion, where the hair met my neck and shoulders, was the hardest.

That area never dried quickly, no matter what I did.

I shifted slightly, trying not to squirm too much under his hands, but the warmth of the dryer against my damp skin sent little shivers down my spine.

"chordo sukh jyega woh part kal tak khud se" I muttered, annoyed and helpless.

He didn't respond, focused entirely on the task.

Each stroke of the dryer, each movement of his hands guiding my hair, made my heart beat faster, though I tried to pretend I wasn't affected.

I was bored.

I grabbed my phone, thumbs dancing across the screen kya dekhu, kya dekhu?

A stupid thought popped up:

Mera husband karta kya hai? Part-time kidnapping ke alawa.

I typed his name into Google: Zaydaan Azhar.

Wikipedia opened like a little blade of light.

I checked the photos, the headlines.

"Samne baitha hua h insaan or uski information online dhoond rahi ho? Wow," he teased from my back.

I shot back defensive before thinking.

"Pehli baat toh tum piche khade hue ho... N I just thought not to annoy you with my stupid questions."

He tilted my head back and his face was above me. His expression looked annoyed already.

"Do you think I look inapproachable?"

I nodded faster than I meant to.

He reached out, slid my head gently so he could study my face like it was another interesting file.

"I'm unapproachable and I hate talking much... That's why," I said, softening the edge.

He sighed.

Then, like he'd handed me permission, he said,

"Ask what you want to know about me."

"What do you do?" I asked trying to sound casual.

"Business."

"Which?"

"Real estate.... buying, selling, rental."

I nodded, storing that away. He seemed to expect more.

"Bas itna hi jaana tha?" he prodded as if coaxing a confession.

I kept poking.

"Ghar pe kaun-kaun hai?"

"Mom, dad, chhota bhai, and chhoti sister."

Another thought hit me and I blurted, "Unko pata hai tumhari side business kidnapping hai?"

He laughed, the sound low.

"Tumhe mein kidnapper lagta hu?"

"Lagte toh tum gunda mawali ho." I shot back.

He bumped his forehead into the back of my head in a ridiculous, human gesture that made me want to smack him and somehow smile.

"Zerlish, mein kya karu tumhara?" he asked suddenly, unnaturally serious.

"Mujhe jaane do," I said before I could stop myself.

He froze, like I'd thrown a stone into still water.

For a beat there was actual silence.

"Mujhe garmi lag rahi hai, heat se..." I babbled because saying anything else felt impossible.

He clicked off the dryer.

The room filled with the hush of the night, my phone screen glowing between us like a tiny, powerless sun.

He sat on the bed leaning back casually.

"Tum jaage kyun ho?" I asked.

"Kaam kar raha tha... isliye," he replied.

I just nodded trying not to sound too curious.

"Kaam ho gaya hai toh soo jao," I suggested.

"Ab maan nahi kar raha hai sone ka," he muttered, and I rolled my eyes.

"Yahan mein nind ke liye taras rahi hoon, tumko maan nahi kar raha, sahi hai," I said slipping off the bed.

My feet touched the cold floor, and I almost jumped back under the covers.

"Slippers hain kya?" I asked shivering slightly.

He didn't answer, just gave me a pointed look. 'Iss side hain' his eyes seemed to say.

I crawled across the bed like a cautious cat and finally found them fluffy squirrel-shaped slippers.

"Yeh itne cute slippers kaun laya?" I asked.

"5 no., size walon ke liye aise hi slippers milte hain," he said casually.

I glared at him.

"Shahbaz bata raha tha aisa," he added trying to shift the blame.

"Shahbaz?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Mera bodyguard," he replied clearly unbothered.

I nodded muttering to myself and left the room.

Downstairs..... the dimmed lights welcomed me no need to flood the kitchen with brightness.

I wandered quietly searching for the kitchen.

Finally, I found it.

I searched for the switch... and nothing I found.

Then, automatically, the lights flicked on.

My heart jumped so violently I could swear it tried to escape my chest.

I turned around and saw him leaning casually against the door frame, phone in hand.

"Kuch chahiye?" he asked.

"Bhook lagi hai," I said scratching the back of my neck nervously.

He stepped forward and started dishing out the leftover food for me.

Biryani and korma he hitted on the microwave.

He even tried to make roti for me, but I stopped him with a small shake of my head.

Biryani and korma is enough.

He plated it neatly and set it down on the dining table, then sat beside me phone back in hand like nothing had happened.

I took a deep breath and said bismillah, then began eating.

As two three bites left on the plate.

"Do your parents know about me?" I asked cautiously between bites.

He froze mid-scroll and for the first time that night he looked serious.

"Not yet..." he admitted pausing as if weighing his words. "I was thinking... how to tell them."

"What did you plan?" I asked, curiosity peeking through my nervousness.

"Nothing yet... trying to keep you hidden for a while," he said quietly.

I only nodded eyes on my plate, pretending the biryani was the most interesting thing in the world.

"What about yours?" he asked after a pause.

"I'm..." my voice caught before I could finish.

I stared at the empty plate.

"I'm orphan now." I finally let it out, still not looking at him. "So... it doesn't matter to me."

Silence. A heavy one.

Then his chair scraped softly against the floor.

He stood up, walked around and without a word, lowered himself beside me. His arm slid around my shoulders, pulling me into his warmth.

"I'm here... Zerlish..." his voice was low, almost a whisper, the kind that cracks through the walls you build. "Your one and only family."

His lips pressed against the crown of my head soft, deliberate. I clutched his shirt with my left hand, burying my face into his stomach like a child.

He didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just stayed there solid, warm, and strangely gentle for the man who scared half the city.

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A few days have passed... and he's still coming home late.

By the time he returns, my sleep is already done for the night.

Khud ba khud aankh khul jaati hai tahajjud ke waqt... iss se badi rehmat aur kya hogi tum par?

Sometimes he doesn't come back until dawn. And sometimes right when I finish my Fajr ki namaz I hear the main door open.

At afternoon,

After lunch, I walked to the living room to digest my food and my boredom while scrolling reels.

When My phone buzzed.

The screen flashed his name.

Zaydaan.

I let it ring thrice before answering.

"Hello."

"Kya kar rahe ho?" his deep voice came calm but tired.

"Khaana kha ke uthi hu," I replied

"Ek help chahiye thi," he said, voice lowering a little.

"Hmm... batao?"

"If you're free, come to my office. Warna raat ko baat karte hain..."

"I'm free."

"Ek sec... driver bhejta hu."

He muted the call and in the meantime I didn't waste time I went upstairs to change.

"Hello" his voice came again.

"sun rhi hu... kaam batao pehle?" I demanded.

"Phone pe nahi bata sakta.... amne samne baat karte hein"

"Okay"

The call ended just like that.

I opened the wardrobe and picked out a white wide-leg pant with a black half polo tee.

Paired it with gold accessories, small hoops, a few bracelets, rings and my five-inch pencil black stilettos.

I didn't need any makeup since my eyes were already done with surma.

After a shower, it's just become a habit. Mine jo chah ke bhi na Chhote.

I applied moisturizer, SPF, and CC cream mixing everything together in my hand before putting it on my face. Tint and lipstick shade: caramel brown.

Alsi logo ke jhugard ki kaami nhi hoti h.

Then came the daily struggle 'bag kaunsa lu?'

Black or white?

A knock interrupted my dilemma.

"Come in," I said, pretty sure it was Nazma tai.

"Bacha, driver aa gaya hai aapko lene ke liye."

I smiled, holding up both bags.

"Konsi lu?"

She squinted, then pointed.

"White."

I nodded, slipping my essential phone, tablet, earphones into the white one. The laptop refused to fit.

After a dhum-dham-packing. I wore my abaya over the outfit.

My hair was open underneath, tucked away.

I fixed my hijab cap, wrapped the scarf and the pointed inverted V (^) in front refused to stay right, but I was already late.

Toh bass, jaise hai waise theek hein. I tied my niqab and stepped out.

"Main jaa rahi hu, Nazma tai. Assalamualaikum!"

" walaikum assalam, khair se jaana," she replied smiling.

I hurried into the car and instantly regretted it.

I'd sat on my own hair.

Uwaahhhh

Now I couldn't even lift the abaya or fix it.

Jaise taise shaky shaky karte hue kapron ke upar se baalon ko pakda, side kiya aur finally baith gayi.

I recited Safar ki dua softly, and let the car roll forward.

I reached the office.

The security guard opened the door for me and I nodded respectfully.

As I stepped into the lobby, I dialed his number.

"Kahan aau?" I asked.

"Sit on the sofa, I'm coming to receive you..."

Before he could finish, I ended the call.

Bas, zyada formality ki zarurat nahi.

I took a seat on the sofa, scanning every single detail of the lobby, the marble floor, the minimal décor, the faint smell of Oudh and air freshener.

Everything screamed money and discipline...

A few minutes later, a man at least seven months pregnant who looks like he hasn't delivered his baby in three years came in with a group of employees for their water break.

They started giving me those side looks.

I ignored them.

TBH, I'm used to this kind of staring.

And then, of course, one had to open his mouth.

"Itna hi parda karna hota toh ghar pe hi raha karo," he muttered to his colleagues, not-so-quietly.

I smiled beneath my niqab and looked straight at him.

"Agar ghar pe hi rehna hota" I said loud enough for the whole waiting area to hear,

"toh parda naam ki cheez banate hi nahi Allah Ta'ala."

Silence.

I could feel the man's embarrassment radiating through the entire lobby.

His colleagues shifted awkwardly, pretending to check their phones.

I crossed my legs, picked up my phone, and went back to scrolling like nothing happened.

A girl in a pencil skirt walked in, and almost immediately, he and his colleagues started staring.

Her discomfort was obvious; her subtle expressions gave her away.

I didn't hesitate.

"Parda sirf aurat par farz nahi hai," I said, my voice carrying just enough to reach everyone, "MARDHON ko apni nazron pe bhi honi chahiye."

He didn't say a word at first.

He pressed his phone.

"Security."

A few guards arrived promptly.

"Kis-kis ko andar aane dete ho office pe aaj kal?" he asked, tone low.

And then he walked in.

Zaydaan Azhar.

Dark suit, cufflinks catching the light, that same calm authority in every step.

The pregnant uncle straightened immediately, tucking in his non-existent stomach.

His colleagues vanished faster than a Wi-Fi signal during load-shedding.

Zaydaan's eyes found me instantly like they always do.

That sharp gaze softened for a split second before he looked at the man.

"What happened here?" he asked in a calm voice... too calm.

The man fumbled.

"N-nothing, sir. Just... water break."

"Hmm." Zaydaan's tone carried that weight, that could either mean you're safe or start writing your resignation letter.

Even in the quietest lobby, he filled the space. I adjusted my posture without looking at him directly.

But my heart? Well, that refused to behave.

"You're fired." I stood up calm, letting the weight of my words hang in the air.

The pregnant uncle and his pride almost exploded.

"How dare you... who do you think you are?" he sputtered, his face turning red, trying to contain his fury.

"I don't dare to fire you, Mr... but it's your behavior harassing half of the female staff here that's unacceptable," I said authority sharp in every word.

"Boss, she's lying... I didn't harass anyone!" he sputtered trying desperately to defend himself.

I shot Zaydaan a look sharp enough to make him flinch, then turned that same warning toward you.

Fire him now, my eyes said, or I'll fire you myself.

Zaydaan walked out of my sight, moving toward the receptionist, giving calm, quiet orders.

"Haha... boss ignored you... and just walked away," one of his colleagues whispered, smirking.

"Who do you think miss, you have the power to fire me? Who are you, for whom the boss will even listen?" the man sneered, trying to regain his ego.

And then before I could respond Zaydaan's hand wrapped around my waist, catching me completely off guard.

"Let me clarify the hierarchy for you, since you seem confused," Zaydaan's voice was low, smooth, and utterly menacing. He barely glanced at the man, his focus entirely on me.

"Who is she?" Zaydaan continued, his grip tightening protectively. "She's the woman who signs my paychecks, controls my assets, and manages my entire life."

He then turned his cold gaze squarely onto the colleague, the introduction a lethal understatement.

"I am Zaydaan Azhar, her legally married husband."

"Therefore, any disrespect shown to her is a direct attack on me. She's the person you should be trying to impress, not antagonize."

"And if you don't step away from my wife right now, I will personally ensure you're not just fired, but blacklisted from every major company in this city. Am I clear?"

He paused for a beat, delivering the final blow.

"You have exactly thirty seconds to gather your things and exit the premises before security is called, and your final paycheck is mailed to your lawyer."

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