❞𝕯aania!"

I gasped, the sound nothing short of pure terror, the likes of which I never thought I'd hear from my mouth. Ghazanfar, clothed in an obsidian black suit and matching dark arrogance approached me, a slick tongue and pure poison running through his veins.

"Daania," he sighed, and then talked with a tone so nonchalant it could only be lethal. "How have you been my dear cousin? It's nice to see you so well."

"What is the meaning of this Ghazanfar?"

My fists tightened at my side, feeling the men on either side of me close in. I was so far away from my home, in a darkened alley, without any protection.

Stupid, stupid.

This was a naive beginner's mistake. In my rush to get out of the house, I'd forgotten that I still wasn't safe.

"What was the meaning of having me thrown in jail?" he asked, examining his nails as though he'd wondered about the weather. "We are family and yet, you, no not you," he corrected."Your husband had me rotting in jail. If it weren't for Bibi and her connections, I would have died there."

I stood paralyzed, but steady in the truth, trying to find an out."You deserve much worse than that Gahzanfar," agitating him wasn't the best way forward but I could not help myself.

"I only took what was mine," he stated like he couldn't fathom why I didn't automatically understand. "You belonged to me."

"I belong to myself," my skin prickled, going cold with his presence and the implication of his words.

"Is that what you tell yourself when you live with him? That you belong to yourself? Is that why he had you trapped in his house?" he sneered, his impatience with me causing the cancerous acid of his soul to finally leech out. "Oh, didn't think I knew about that did you? Didn't think I'd know about your little marketing campaign, the poses, and the photographs?"

With a quick tip of his head, I found my arms held by two giant men who appeared from the shadows behind me. Ghazanfar stepped forward, taking up the space I took back.

"You're making a mistake."

Ghazanfar doesn't tower over me. I don't know what makes me so afraid I can't move. The glint in his eyes, maybe. Or the sickening scent of all his ego and power. His fingertips meet my cheek, and then he brushed a lock of hair away from my face. His gaze traced my features like he was seeing me for the first time. He stared at me, his eyes darkening from the unchecked rage of a wild predator."I'm done with her, shut her up."

I was too slow. Everything took longer than it should. My limbs took too much time to move and the world went dark.

My breath was hot against the fabric suddenly covering my face. I tried to scream through the fabric, but a hand clamped over my mouth and nose. I couldn't breathe. Someone had my upper body and another set of arms quickly wrapped around my legs, carrying me like a rolled-up carpet. I thrashed and tried to kick, but they had me immobilized. My heart raced and my lungs screamed for air. The hand still held my face in a tight grip, jamming the fabric into my mouth, covering my nose. I wiggled and writhed, but there were hands everywhere holding me down.

Tying my legs. Binding my wrists.

Finally, the hand covering my face eased and I sucked in a lungful of air. I couldn't see, but I was lying on a hard surface. I heard the distinct sound of a door closing and suddenly I was moving.

I couldn't see, had no idea where I was or how many men surrounded me, and I had a probably-loaded gun pointed at my brain. I just wanted to survive the next few minutes. I didn't struggle while they retied me to the chair and the bag was unceremoniously yanked off my head.

I blinked a few times, the low light glaringly bright to my starved eyes.

Two men with guns stood nearby and I caught sight of at least two more disappearing through an open door. Maybe they were going to stand guard outside. I strained against the ropes, but they rubbed painfully over my skin. My ankles were tied to the chair, as were my arms. Another rope wound around my chest, over my upper arms. There was no way I was going to wiggle myself out of them. I was bound tight.

"Fuck you, you insignificant piece of shit," Ghazafar's eyes widened in surprise at my show of anger. Understandably, since he'd always seen my docile, obedient side. "What do you think you're doing? Kidnapping me? Have you lost your mind!"

He snarled, and without even flinching, spun and slapped me across the face. My head rang with the brute force of the slap but I recovered, the anger in my veins dulling the pain slashing across my cheek.

"No, I've finally found my mind. The one you'd enchanted you, little witch," he explained, calmly wiping the blood of my split lip from his ring. The same ring that was worn by my father. The same ring that was known to be a sign of honor for the men in my family. The bitter irony of the action wasn't lost on me. "You rejected me and my proposal, nearly ruining the family name. Do you know the pain Bibi went through when I was in jail? The whispers she had to endure? The way I was treated in jail? The food they served me?"

I stared at him silently, convinced he'd lost his mind.

Ghazanfar looked around at the dilapidated room, tapping his finger on his chin, and took a few steps closer. "You're a witch, an enchantress, someone who made a fool out of me. How could you marry him Daania? How could you choose a monster over me?"

"Ghazanafar," he didn't react to my voice, his eyes turning crazed. "Listen to me, you're making a mistake. This doesn't end well for either one of us."

"It doesn't end well for you," his eyes narrowed into severe green slits. "I didn't want to do this, but the boys, you know how it is. It's not good for my reputation."

"What boys?"

"The one's at the club."

"Your golf buddies?" he nodded and then chuckled to himself. "Are you serious? You've kidnapped your cousin, someone who shares your blood, to appease your golf buddies?"

"Be glad that's all I did," at this point, the pain was forcing me to drift from consciousness, drift into the blackness that surrounded this man and everything he touched, and I wondered if he might just end up killing me here and now."Wake up," I blinked from the water he threw at my face, the shock snapping me out of the blur. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Don't," I muttered, my brain fuzzy. "He won't spare you."

"Oh I'm counting on that," he unscrewed the small-cap to the yellow bottle in his hand, all the while my heart pounded in the background, but it was as though I was already dead to him. "He'll try to come after me and he'll lose more than just his life," he continued, his voice irritatingly soothing.

I tensed, the sluggishness making it hard to concentrate."What do you mean?"

"Your husband has a lot of enemies, a lot of people have scores to settle. They'll take care of him. You die here and his reputation goes down the drain. There's a stigma attached to his name. He'll be unfit to lead Mughal Co.," he went on, disregarding me like I hadn't spoken at all."There's so much you don't know. So much that's happening. So many more people involved."

Another man came forward and doused the area around me in liquid, in a damning circle. Several of the other men dumped the same liquid everywhere over the warehouse.

"Ghazanfar, you're being unreasonable. This is madness," I yelled, the more I struggled against the ropes, the more it hurt. But I couldn't just sit here doing nothing. I twisted my wrists, wincing as the ropes rubbed against my raw skin. Even though I couldn't hear myself, I felt the burn in my lungs and the agonizing pain leeching across my arms with each movement and every breath. He didn't grace me with a reply, and there was nothing I could do but watch - watch as they doused the area, until Ghazanfar stood at the end of the warehouse, a match stick in his hand, ready to burn me and the warehouse to the ground.

"You should reconsider my offer Daania and all would be forgiven," his voice resounded from somewhere in front of me but I couldn't concentrate. Not on the match, not on his face. The unreal pain I felt in my chest made that impossible. A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.

I could bear that this was the end for me.

But I couldn't bear that this would be the end for him.

I couldn't bear the thought of leaving this world, knowing it would go after Taimoor.

He was not a monster.

I didn't have the strength to move or face him. For him, I waited for the second choice. I waited because I wanted Taimoor to survive.

The silence swelled until it almost pressed against my eardrums. A few minutes later, wondering why he hadn't finished, I finally opened my eyes, and I realized Ghazanfar was gone.

He was gone because the second option was right in front of me.

Death.

Destruction.

The match withered and lit the oil up with a terrific blaze and I stifled a scream and sagged; my shoulder socket burning from the pain. Panic flooded my system, and I fought, throwing my head back and kicking, bucking, but I was not strong enough. He'd done it. The cold, cruel bastard - the pawn who wanted to prove himself to his posturing idiot friends - had set me on fire.

The chair fell to the side, but as I choked on the air my lungs desperately craved the smoke was too heavy and too thick for me to do anything except curl back down to the floor and gasp. The smoke was heavy and thick, assaulting my throat and burning the ash directly into the lining of my lungs. My head throbbed as I painfully peeled my eyes open. The smoke seared my reality into my brain.

I was going to die.

Tearing my eyes from the sight of smoke and ash billowing into the ceiling, I tried to lower my head to the ground, inhaling the colder, denser air. My eyes were starting to adjust to the smoke, but it was still hard to make anything out, just shadowy shapes moving through the room. Men with guns drawn. Someone grunted like they'd been hit in the gut. They grunted again, followed by a thud. Then a second of silence.

Another grunt, this time on the other side of the warehouse. A thud. Silence.

The outline of a large man rose in the center of the warehouse. My head whipped to the figure, eyes wide and ears begging to believe what they'd just heard. Oh my god. Please let it be-

"Daania," Taimoor roared my name as he bent his arm in front of his face and barreled through the red-orange burning barricade.

My heart pounded and my eyes brimmed with tears.

"Taimoor," his name rushed from my lips as his gaze tipped up to mine. I choked violently, hacking out pieces of my lungs with each heavy heave. "Taimoor."

He rushed over and crouched next to me, his eyes doing a quick sweep. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head. Tears broke free from the corners of my eyes, leaving hot trails down my cheeks. "No. How did you find me?"

He reached up to wipe the tears with his thumb. "Scorpio."

"What?"

"I'll explain later."

He produced a swiss army knife from his pants pocket and went to work freeing me from the ropes.

"He was going to burn me-" he cut through the rope binding my left ankle and looked up, meeting my eyes, his hands coming to rest on my cheeks.

"I want you to focus little dragon. Can you do that for me?"

I nodded, my body shaking, tears falling uninterrupted from my eyes. As soon as the ropes fell through, I rushed towards him, falling on my knees as he reached up and pulled me to him, holding me against his frame, breathing me in.

And through the ash, I felt him.

I caught the beat of his heart against the smoke-streaked skin of his neck. I saw the fine sheen of sweat that allowed the dirt and ash to cling easily where it touched. I saw how the scars on his face appeared much redder, angrier, as though the proximity to the fire had reignited them.

"Daania," his lips moved against my hair, hands moving up and down on my back.

"You came for me," I murmured thickly, my hands roaming over him, his shoulders, his arms, settling on his back, wanting to believe he was here. That he was real, that he cared.

"Always," there was a loud crash and both of our attentions turned toward a horror that we couldn't see. "We have to get out of here," he said roughly, pulling me to my feet.

A small cry escaped as I caught sight of his hand, the inside able to leave a perfect handprint of black and blood. And yet, he took that without word or sound as though it was just a flesh wound.

"Your hand," I exclaimed, cupping a hand over my mouth.

"No time, we have to get out," he grunted, hunching a little, his body fighting against the fire and the ash. His voice was different. A razor's edge. Sharper than I'd ever heard before. I gulped and blinked away tears, ignoring the pain in my right ankle, hobbling along next to him.

The night sky lit with flames was visible through the open roof, just next to a small blaze near the far end of the floor.

"There," I said, limping and pointing towards the small opening.

"You're not going anywhere Daania," deranged green eyes captured mine, and for the second time in my life, I felt truly terrified. I was looking true evil in the face. The monsters were real, and they didn't live in my head. What existed in front of me was scarier than anything my mind could conjure. Ghazanfar blocked our way, the malice in his tone reached somewhere deep down where I was still capable of one last rational thought.

"Taimoor," I screamed, trying to warn him. The grey orbs of his eyes widened and Taimoor pushed me behind him, reacting immediately and driving a fist into Ghazanfar's nose. Blood sprayed everywhere, splattering Ghazanfar's face, making him howl with pain.

"I told you to stay away from her," he drove his fist into his kidneys, a quick series of sharp blows. "Told you that I was always watching," Ghazanfar finally realized what was happening and threw his whole strength into blocking the blows, but it was too late. Taimoor delivered an uppercut to his face, impairing his vision. He was missing easy shots, and although he carried more muscle than Taimoor, he didn't have the instinct or the stealth.

With unerring precision, Taimoor slammed a left hook into his side, and a rib broke through the skin. It snapped. He screamed. He got his hands underneath him and started to push up but Taimoor didn't give him a chance, the constant hits were too much for him, and he folded.

"You didn't fucking listen," he swept his leg, and there was another satisfying crunch. Ghazanfar toppled, and Taimoor stomped the knee, and all three of us felt it crack like an egg under his heel. "How dare you touch her? How dare you even look at her?"

"Let me go, please, let me go," Ghazanfar was begging, bawling, trying to crawl away.

The air was red, and my lungs were choked. My ears were ringing. Taimoor didn't say anything. He drove a fist into his chest and he made a sound like a wounded animal. Taimoor's control was paper-thin. He grabbed Ghazanfar's hair, wet with blood, and dragged him off the ground, slamming his face repeatedly until it came up mashed beyond all recognition.

Taimoor looked me in the eye and my heart thudded. Cracked. A heartbeat of fear. Another one of recognition. The black in his eyes blazed with fury he did not bother to suppress.

The truth cut through the haze like a knife. This was the beast everyone was scared of. This was the heir to the Mughal empire, the ruthless man who'd fought for his inheritance with blood. This was the person he became to protect his siblings and his secrets. I thought it was all an act. I thought he was only pretending to be angry. That it was skin-deep. A performance. And sometimes it was. But this was not it.

Taimoor's jaw worked, overshadowed by the violence in his eyes. The deep, animal need. The inane control and the aura. He was practically vibrating with it. That was what you saw when you were confronted by royalty. And Taimoor was a prince if I'd ever seen one. A dark, vicious, vengeful prince who had the license to kill.

And then, as if all the strength had been leeched from his body, he sagged to the ground-

"Taimoor!"

"Get out of here," he bit out through pain-clenched teeth."Security is out there. Find Akbar, he knows what to do. He'll keep you safe."

"I'm not leaving you," he glared at me, his eyes filled with pain and I watched the pain in his body finally overtake the determination in his soul. Silent sobs wracked me as tears streamed down my face - not because I'd almost died, but because of the torture, he had endured to save me. Knowing his past, his trauma, and the scars he'd carried, he'd braved the fire for me.

My feet rushed towards him and I wrapped his arm around my neck, his head falling onto my shoulder. I felt him pushing. I felt him fighting. Because that was who he was- he was the man who would not give up until he saw me safe.

Only now it was my turn to see him safe.

Groaning, I rose us both up with a strength I didn't know I possessed.

"Come on Moor, work with me."

"God, I've wanted to hear that for so long," he answered, sounding ragged and scorched, leaning away and shifting his weight to his feet.

"We get out of this and you'll hear it every day," I replied, urging him forward, our steps faltering as he became weaker and faded in and out. Each time he sagged into me, I thought we might both go down. But still, my strength persisted.

"Sir, sir," Akbar yelled, his voice becoming clearer as we moved towards the edges of the abandoned property. My lungs soaked in the fresh air with rapid gasps and I dragged in the air not to save myself, but to find my voice.

Voices sounded and someone moved around but all I could see was Taimoor. All I could feel was his pain. His desperation, his body against mine. I stared into the middle distance and belted at the top of my lungs. "Help me."

Black suits. All I could see were the black suits. Six men-no. Eight. Ten? A lot of men in dark suits moved around the area, moving fast. Security. Akbar was here with security.

A row of black SUVs waited for us at a secluded location at the side of the building.

Did he bring a whole elite fighting squad?

Akbar rushed towards us, his hands catching his boss around the waist, his face pinched with worry. A man clad in black held the door open, his gaze unwavering as Taimoor regained his balance and stubbornly helped me in without looking at me.

I, on the other hand, couldn't take my eyes off him. It hurt to see the way his jaw tightened as he climbed into the SUV and the series of quick short breaths he took.

"Ma'am, are you okay?"

The heartache from the memories of Taimoor's face tackled relief and spread itself across my chest in an aching layer. No, I wasn't okay. But I would be once he was.

"I'm fine Akbar, let's get Taimoor home."

༻✺༺

We arrived back at Mughal House with a six-person team that escorted us from the warehouse site right up to Taimoor's rooms. A crowd greeted us. Men in dark suits were all over the foyer. Aziz. Mrs. Khan, who gasped, and started to come forward. Her face changed when she saw my expression, taking a reluctant step back and rushing ahead to open the doors. Slowly, both Akbar and I managed to get Taimoor up to his rooms with Akbar on his right, and me on his left.

Exhausted, Taimoor didn't mutter a single word of protest but collapsed on the bed, resting his head on the pillow his whole body relaxing.

A man with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and the half-unbuttoned look of a person who had traveled in a rush but was used to that rush. Used to emergencies. A protective instinct snapped and howled. Dr. Jamshed, escorted by Aziz, met my eyes steadily while I stared at him. I didn't want them seeing him like this. I didn't want this to be happening at all. I stared at him looking for proof. Proof that he was good. That he wouldn't hurt Taimoor. And I couldn't decide, because I knew better now.

Beautiful people could be monsters, could be murderers, rapists, they could even set someone on fire to satisfy their ego. Doctors with calm expressions, their hands folded neatly in front of them, could be poised to do anything. As hard as I tried, I couldn't get my breathing to calm. Every inhale came in choppy waves, barely filling air into my lungs before it was gone again.

"It's okay ma'am, he's here to help," Akbar gently intervened, guiding the doctor towards Taimoor, his tone firm and his motions frantic.

I stepped aside, and let him check him, watching him over the doctor's shoulder. Taimoor answered the doctor's questions, his stormy eyes pinned on mine for as long as he could. The nurse put an IV in his hand, hidden behind my back, and their voices floated over my head. Names of drugs. Intervals and plans. Akbar consulted between the three, his calm demeanor helping calm the storm of emotions in me.

We hadn't been exposed to the smoke for enough damage to be done to our lungs, but just to be in the clear, both Taimoor and I were under observation for the next couple of days.

He had experienced enough pain to keep most of it out of his expression, but this close, I saw all the small, tense places in his face relax. I knew when the painkillers hit because Taimoor's pupils expanded. The black pushing at the grey in his eyes. I saw the hazy relief.

It was heartbreaking watching it happen.

"Mrs. Mughal," I stared at the peace on his face, my fingers lightly running over his bandaged hand. Nothing mattered as much as feeling him breathe. In and out."Can I talk to you for a moment?"

I nodded and followed him out.

It felt wrong to leave the room. Painful in a way it shouldn't be. I tried to shake it off and failed, leaving the door open, my body still poised to rush back to his side.

"Are you feeling okay Mrs. Mughal?"

"I'm fine," he'd already given me the creams that I was supposed to apply, my ankle was in a brace, forcefully put by the nurse. I didn't know what else he could possibly do.

"You seem to be very stressed," if I couldn't see my clothes, I'd know by the way the staff had blanched when they looked at me. It was a nightmare. I knew I looked beside myself, in my plain kurta shalwar, streaked with dirt, blood, and ash. I must look like a walking nervous breakdown. I get my hand up to my jawline and lips, skimming my fingers over the skin there. I didn't have to look into the mirror to know it was peppered with bruises - I could feel the sensitive spots where Ghazanfar had hit me.

"I'm perfectly fine doctor. How's my husband?"

"You must know about his back," I nodded."The stress of the... events, has taken a toll on the scars."

Alarm bells rang in my head. "The scars?"

"They're aggravated. The scar tissues on his back were never properly healed," his kind eyes urged me to understand the seriousness of the situation. "The nerves under the scars have been twisted and very often, cause him pain."

More pain. What did he do to deserve this? "What can I do?"

"You'll have to be very strong Mrs. Mughal. I've given him some very strong drugs, and I expect that the antibiotics will help fight the fever he'll be experiencing in the next couple of days."

The quiet bled into the room, thickening the air. Making it hard to breathe. The firmness in the doctor's expression softened as he gathered his minimal tools and papers, putting them in the quintessential leather doctor's satchel, and discreetly let himself out of the room. All my emotions fought each other to be the biggest one. Relief that Taimoor was alive delivered a knockout blow to the sudden fear that came with hearing the doctor's words.

The couch caught me when I fell into it.

There was a mini-riot inside my heart.

Taimoor was not the only one I was worried about.

My parents and Nazia had no idea where I was. And I had no idea what was going on with them. I scrambled for my phone and then realized that it was probably abandoned on a street somewhere.

"Akbar?"

Someone from the household staff stepped away to the side, silent, keeping his eyes off mine, standing guard outside the door. "Yes ma'am?"

"Can I borrow your phone? I need to call my parents."

"Of course ma'am," he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a shiny new phone. "You'll find that your home number is already in my contacts."

"I don't even want to know why," I said, my voice strung tight with worry, my brain still not functioning properly.

"When you're done with that call ma'am, it would be prudent to call Mr. Affandi as well."

"Is he okay?"

"The stress of your kidnapping caused Ms. Zeenia to go into early labor. They're both in the hospital right now."

"Who told her?"

"Mr. Taimoor," of all the things to tell your heavily pregnant sister.

"Does she know about him?"

"No, only Mr. Affandi does," he turned away from me, frowning. A worried crease lined his forehead. Worried about what? A new panic folded itself over the one already making my heart pound.

"Is someone with them?"

"I believe Mr. Affandi's parents are with them."

"I'll do that. Oh and Akbar?" I kept my tone level like we were having a normal conversation, but the dead silence in the hallway meant that they could hear me. "This stays in the house. Let everyone know that not a single piece of information leaves these walls. Nothing about Taimoor and nothing about me, is that clear?" my voice echoed in the room. My temper was getting away from me. Just a little. None of this would have happened if someone had kept their trap shut. How did Ghazanfar find out about my location? Who were those men who were after Taimoor? Who was Ghazanfar alluding to? The thoughts came in a flurry of incoherent and irrational chaos. I had no time to think if such a thing were possible only to fear that it was.

"Understood ma'am."

"Thank you."

He left me with my husband, closing the door just as I picked up the phone and called my parents.

"Hello?" my body vibrated with emotion and hearing Mama's voice almost knocked me down.

"Mama, it's me," and then because I was still in a state of shock, I added."Daania-"

"Where are you? Where did you go? Your father's been out looking for you! We've been beside ourselves," panic and hysteria crept into her tone, processing the information in between staving off the need to reassure herself and to gather what I was saying.

"I-" how was I supposed to phrase this? "Ghazanfar kidnapped me," I said this last part so carefully, my tone slow and measured. "And then he tried to burn me."

"Where are you?" she asked with a low voice once I'd detailed the whole ordeal to her.

"Mughal House."

"Good. Stay there, I'll handle this from now."

"No Mama, I'll handle this from now."

"What do you mean?"

"I have to-" I couldn't go home, but I couldn't go anywhere, else either. I couldn't leave Taimoor. I would not. There was no way to explain this to anyone. No way to tell them that my need to be with Taimoor wasn't as simple as the history we shared or the contract we'd signed. It felt like a spell. Like gravity. Some power much larger than I was, pulling at my bones, pulling at my heart. "Just trust me."

"I do, but I can't let you fight this all alone. You're still my daughter and that bastard and his mother deserve to face the consequences of their actions," even as she spoke, my mind assessed the little intricacies I could now see. Turning over Ghazanafar's words and implications. The gaps in the plan.

"I'm not alone," Taimoor was a powerful man. Physically. Financially. Every other way. But right now he was vulnerable and he needed me. "All I want is for you to stay safe. They've assigned a security detail to your house, call Baba and text me on Taimoor's number when he's home. Nazia has his number, I gave it to her in case of an emergency. Oh, and Nazia will have someone follow her to and back from the university, it's only for a little bit, but please, for my peace of mind, just agree to this."

"As you say. Take care of yourself," she hummed though it seemed to be just a noise used to clear her throat to make way for her to speak."I'm proud of you Daania, meri bahadur beti. Fight back and win."

"I will," I swallowed over the lump in my throat. "Let me know when Baba's home."

"Love you beta."

I dropped into the large chaise, glad to be off my unsteady legs, and dialed the next number with my heart in my throat. The call connected with a fumbling clatter like he'd dropped the phone.

"Hi," I got up and paced to the window. Why did I ever think I could sit for this? "How is she? How's Zeenia?"

"Thank God you're safe! She's good," lie. This couldn't be anything but a lie. He sounded stressed and tired, and he was trying to put up a brave front."My parents are here and the doctors say that everything is stable."

"That's good, right? And how are you?"

"Better than either one of them,"a beat, as if he'd taken a ragged breath and my heart clenched with sympathy. His wife was in the hospital, his child was in danger and his best friend was bedridden from a fight. "How are you? How is he?"

"He's doing well. Very well," I said finally, gaining control of my voice. Someone had to be the one in charge, the one in control."Do you need anything?"

"No, the staff here is very helpful. Zee had planned for an emergency," I could see him now, a hand in his hair, pulling it tight."Don't worry about us, focus on yourself, focus on him. We need the two of you, your niece needs the two of you."

"We need you too," I breathed into the phone, my eyes squeezed tight, hands shaking. "We can't wait to meet her. Let me know if you need anything, you know you can call me anytime."

"I know, it'll be fine. Take care," he whispered, the pain in his voice making my chin quiver, my heart in my throat. God. Why? Couldn't I get through one conversation without crying?

"You too," I glanced at Akbar, he was back, standing near the doors, his eyes on Taimoor."Thank you."

"No need to thank me," Akbar replied smoothly, his eyes failing to conceal his surprise."Do you need anything?"

"No."

"I'll send for breakfast."

I didn't reply and went to him as the door clicked shut behind Akbar.

True to his word, ten minutes later, Mrs. Khan brought me a cup of tea and a mini bottle of orange juice, pancakes, and berries. It was just past the early hours in the morning when I finished.

A hollow pit opened in my gut.

The food had done nothing to fill it. Taimoor was going to be okay. He had made it through. He was resting while the painkillers worked. Three hours after the antibiotics had kicked in, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, taking hot towels away from his forehead and replacing them with cool ones. His eyes snapped open, and I knew instantly that he did not know where he was.

Taimoor blinked, looking down at me, and his whole body released a violent tension.

"You," he took a huge, pained breath. "You haunt me."

"What?" I whispered, slowly stroking his hair. "Moor?" Taimoor stared at me like I was a stranger. Like he'd never seen me before. Like I didn't hold him in my arms and save his life.

"I can't stop seeing you in my dreams," he was wracked with shivers now, his eyes unfocused, but he reached for me anyway. My pulse thundered in my neck all the way to my heart, racing at the contact. Pain glimmered in there, hidden behind the steely beauty of those eyes, not concealed behind a haze of antibiotics and my throat went tight.

I swallowed my questions and placed the towel on his forehead.

He was obviously in pain. Delirious from it.

And I wanted him back. I wanted it so much that I felt like a ghost, trailing through the room. I would choose fighting with him every day over this silence. All that intensity and heartbreak. All of it.

There was the quiet, when he slept, through most of the night and the next day. And then. The middle of the night, during a long stretch of pitch-dark. The second day, after Dr. Jamshed's injection and another IV, my fingers typed a message of congratulations to Zeenia and Affandi on the birth of their daughter. Zeenia still wasn't aware of Taimoor's condition, and both Affandi and I had agreed to let her know in due time, as soon as she was ready. We had no idea when she would be ready. When Taimoor would decide to wake up.

I lay down, half of my body on the bed, my fingers near his, the rest of me sprawled on the floor, his breathing following me into my dreams. Every time I couldn't hear him I jolted awake, staring at his tall, strong body stretched across the mattress. Fighting his fever, which burned and burned and burned. I was barely-asleep. Almost there. Too tired to move another towel.

I just needed a minute to close my eyes.

Something jostled the bed. I woke up and peered into the darkness.

My prayers tumbled out on top of one another, I didn't dare stop. Didn't even dare to move.

Please let him be okay. Please let this not mean the worst. Caught between heartbeats, waiting, tears welling up in my eyes. Damn it. I was not going to cry, but it was all so close to the surface.

A breath echoed in my ears. It was the first regular one he had taken in hours.

Taimoor pushed himself up on his elbows, staring at me. It was the same assessing look he gave me the first time we met. Like he saw right through me, right through the shaken bravery to the aching uncertainty beneath. I reached for him at the same instant he reached for me. His grip on my hand was so tight that it hurt, but I didn't want him to let go, not yet.

"You're home now," I whispered, meeting his eyes, grey-streaked darkness waited for me, clear as the night sky. All my thoughts tangled up in a knotted mess. How was I supposed to think, when he was so beautiful and I was so relieved he was fine? "You're okay."

My thoughts were in a shouting match. One shrieked that I should run before he had the chance to stop me. Another commented that this was bullshit. If I wanted to run, I would have done that while he was unconscious. No. I'd been running back to him since I'd escaped my house. I got up to call for Akbar, to let him know he was well and truly back.

"Don't leave," he said into the stillness, and there was such longing in his voice, such ragged tiredness, that it almost took me out.

"Not leaving, just calling Akbar."

He fell back into the bed, and after a minute, Akbar rushed inside, closely followed by Mrs. Khan.

"So glad to see you well sir," Taimoor nodded, wincing as he shifted to get into a better position. "The doctor advised a hot shower to ease your muscles after the fever had broken, would you like me to-"

"No," all three of us flinched at the coldness of his refusal. "I'm fine."

"Taimoor, you have to do what the doctor's said," I gulped down my frustration and stifled it. Suffocated it. I was not fighting with him right now. I would not cause him any sort of pain.

"I'll take a shower, but I don't need any help," Akbar stared at me, his eyes pleading. What did he want me to do? He wasn't listening to his butler, why would he listen to me?

"Okay," I said, my tone placating, and asked Akbar and Mrs. Khan to leave, telling them to send up some food in a couple of hours. They exited, their gazes wary and their shoulders down, probably tired beyond belief, worried about him. "You shouldn't have been so harsh, they've been worried sick."

"I don't want to lean on them."

"You have to lean on someone Taimoor," I coaxed my voice to sound normal, persuasive.

"I'd rather it be you," my heart stopped and then restarted. He wanted to lean on me. He wouldn't go with them. I felt a shift in the room. A release of breath.

Only me. So I had to be enough.

I put my hand in his and helped him up from the bed. This tiny thing, this infinitesimally small act, turned my knees boneless and weak. The world didn't have quite this much air before, did it? I couldn't get enough of it. Maybe my lungs had constricted while he was unwell.

We made it to his giant bathroom and he didn't wait for me to leave before unbuttoning his pants and letting them fall to the floor, clad only in his boxers, letting out a long hiss as he stepped under the spray and let the hot water work its magic. Blushing, I turned around as soon as he stepped in, ready to leave but Taimoor clasped his fingers around my wrist, tugged, and pulled me into the stall with him, the shower spray engulfing us both.

My heart stopped. My knees wobbled.

Butterflies fluttered to life inside in my stomach. Scared ones. All frantic wings and too-fast beats. I blinked under the water, breathing wild and uninhabited, and the rest of the world dissolved away.

"What are you doing?" the words slipped out, just like me, to fall to pieces as soon as there was an ounce of safety.

His hands gripped my upper arms, hauling me against the stone of his body. My body reacted to him the way it always did, with a blind and insatiable desire for more, more, more. Dark, demanding eyes bored into mine, as he took my face in his big hands, hands so large that they engulfed the sides of my face, I nearly wept for how steady they were. He was warm, and he was here. I'd missed him so much. His touch. His presence. The dark ferocity of him and the rawness of his emotions.

"What are you-" he shushed me, sharp and quick, and I took it for the gift it was. He was giving me this. He was giving me the comfort I was seeking. The connection I needed.

I stayed with him in the water, my wet clothes clinging to the both of us. Taimoor ran a hand over my hair and then worked his fingers through, untangling the knots, shampooing them. It was a lazy, domestic movement, a little pointless because I was still dressed and he was in his boxers, but as the seconds passed and the more aware of him I became, we relaxed. Ever so often, his arm tightened around my waist and pulled me in closer, my head on his chest, his on the top of my head. Tension was strung through his body. It had been there since the moment he had opened his mouth to tell me that I should leave. That was what had been singing in the air all this time. Strain and worry and something else. My fingers caressed his smooth frame, feeling the knots of tension in his shoulders relax under the water and my touch. That strain ebbed away slowly. There was only soft, warm relief. The rush of water over our skins. Diamond droplets clinging to Taimoor's hair.

I clutched the towel tightly to myself when I left the bathroom. Taimoor had already changed into a pair of pajamas, still bare chested, giving me some time to myself. Stepping into his walk-in wardrobe, I looked at the pair of clothing he'd left for me, his shirt, and a pair of his shorts. Shorts that came down to my calves. I debated wearing my own clothes, currently spread out to dry on the side of the enormous marble bathtub, but that would be counterproductive. Pulling his clothes on, stomach dipping from nerves, the blush I'd been fighting burning hotter until my neck and my cheeks caught fire.

Seconds had never passed so fast.

Tiptoeing into the room, my bare feet sank into the plush carpet as I made my way to him.

Our eyes met across the room and I padded my way to the bed, curling up on the opposite side, sliding under the covers. Silently, he turned out the lights and got into bed next to me, easing himself down on his stomach, facing me.

Starlight showed through the windows so I could see him. One blink and he was reaching for me, his hand settling on my face. One thumb brushed over my cheekbone, the tips of his fingers meeting my still-damp hair, as his left hand moved from where it rested to wrap it around my waist. I swallowed and fought the urge to close my eyes against the feel of his arm there.

He was questioning me, giving me the chance to stop him with his eyes. I didn't.

There was something to human connection. One look had me feeling like I was on the edge of a precipice, waiting to jump. The way he touched me was its own distraction. Only now, his gaze drank me in, like I was something rare and refined. It felt as though he was relearning what it meant to be human and to feel for another. Buried beneath all of his carefully crafted persona and conceit, there was a man that wanted companionship, affection—acceptance. That's what all humans wanted. He made it hard to notice what parts of him were giving up because even the way he relaxed was a cover. He was trying to hide something from me, and he couldn't. Because I knew what he was hiding.

I could feel his heart.

And it was pounding.

༻✺༺
I do not endorse violence. But I do endorse swift justice. Blame it on my love for Batman 😁 So, pacing? Thoughts? Feedback? Their connection?  The way their relationship changed?

I just watched 'Aik hai Nigar' and my feelings are all over the place. It's a telefilm based on Pakistan's First Female Three Star General ⭐️ It's on YouTube, if you have the time, check it out 🥺

The next update will be on Sunday ✨
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