"aazma le mujhko yaara, tu zara sa kar ishara."

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INKY eyes cracked open against the golden rays of the sun.

Zain awoke from his little zizz, uncurling his arms and holding out his palm to block the dazzling rays that made him squint.

Leaping to his feet, he threw his head back and stretched his arms as the crispy air filled his lungs, rejuvenating his senses.

Zain loved December mornings.

Basking in the winter sun with his eyes closed as the sweet sting of cold air kissed his skin and the glorious feeling of apricity covering him―nothing could be better than that.

He relished in the burning cold and waking up early today had provided him the perfect chance to do so. After taking a shower, he had slipped into the balcony and hadn't realized when he dozed off while soaking up the sun.

Gratified, he strolled forward but the moment he entered into the lounge, his eyes fell on the the slumbering form of Iman plowed on the chair before him; her hand resting against the surface of the table and her head leant over it.

A smile swam on his lips as he took a few hushed steps forward―wondering how she ended up there―until his frame was stationed close to her.

Placing his left hand at the table, he bent lower as he let his gaze ski over her delicate features. Her hair was tied but a disobedient tendril had managed to escape and was wavering across her cheek.

His hand automatically reached out to her and before he knew, he was stroking it out of her her face―tucking it behind her ear softly.

His hand lingered there as he absorbed the unobscured view; her folded eyelids protected by those sooty wings of her lashes contrasting beautifully against her champagne skin, and the look of content painted on her face.

What was she dreaming of looking like a dream herself?

The thought aroused a tingling rhythm in his heart as he kept peering at her in a heady trance. Seconds prolonged and his surroundings slowly started to dim; the chirping of birds waned into silence, the dewy scent of morning air evaporated and he completely got lost into another world.

A world where it was just him and her. Where the only sound was of her steady breathing and his thumping heartbeat; where the only smell that lingered in the air was the charming floral scent she exuded.

And right then, he was compelled to confess that there was something better than the feeling of apricity.

Iman.

This moment.

He could forever bask in her presence.

His hand was still frozen close to the wisp of hair he had secured behind her ear and it ached to glide across her skin. Could he...

No. No! He shut his eyes tightly.

And the moment subsided as he unfolded his eyes and slumped back into the reality, rolling his fingers into a ball of freaking restraint for the hundredth time and lightly smacking his forehead with his curled fist.

But then, his eyes noticed a fallen eyelash on her cheek. He caged his lower lip between his teeth as his treacherous hand rolled forward and he tenderly removed it from her cheek---his fingers brushing her skin for a fleeting second before his hand retreated.

Exhaling deeply, he unclamped his left hand off the table and straightened himself―ready to walk away―when a strong waft of wind came bursting from the balcony and rustled a particular piece of paper on the table.

The sound successfully seized his attention and his eyes narrowed as he tried to inspect the sheet tacked under Iman's palm. Slowly and very carefully―as to not wake the sleeping beauty up―he pulled it out of her grip and brought it up to get a clear look and when he did, his breath got stuck in his throat.

No fucking way!

It was a sketch of him. Him.

His heart screeched and thundered wildly in his chest as his eyes roved over the drawing he held in his hand. His glance twirled back and forth between the art and the peacefully asleep artist. He was in awe of how impeccably she had captured what her eyes saw on the paper.

What she saw, he gulped.

Certainly she must've taken a good look at him while drawing and this simple damn thought of her stormy eyes trailing over him drew his breath, his very soul, out of his body.

The magnitude of effect she had on him was revolting. The fluttering sensation he felt in the pit of his stomach was revolting.

Was he getting fucking birds or butterflies in his stomach now?

The form of the woman before him stirred, making him immediately expel the breath he had been holding and compose his pitiful self as he watched her arise from the realm of sleep.

She raised her arm; her head swivelling in his direction and the moment her grey gaze fell on him, he had already replaced the look of impassion with a knavish smirk.

"So, you drew me like one of your french boys, huh?"

The dramatic spread of her eyes in utter horror like she had seen a ghost, and the descent of her jaw to the floor only amused him and lengthened his grin.

She looked like she badly wanted to disappear.

And oh how right he was.

Iman really wanted to teleport to another planet―specially after receiving the french boys remark from him with that lascivious expression on his face.

How could she fall asleep before hiding that sketch or tearing it into pieces or burning it to cinders!? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Wait, if she hadn't done it before, she would certainly do it right now.

Narrowing her eyes and locking them on the target, she leapt to her feet in a quick moment and extended her little claws to snatch the paper but Zain was obviously way nimble and taller than her. He simply raised his arm to the ceiling and sadly, she didn't have enough height to reach there.

Her frustrated frame fell back and she fused her brows into a scowl as she growled, "Give it back to me, Zain!"

"Why?" Zain blinked innocently, hand still in the air. "I think it's specially for me."

"It's not! I-I was just trying to draw the outside view."

"I don't see anything but my good looking self on it," he caroled and then tilted his head smugly. "Ah, so you think I am the view?"

A flush washed over her traits but she refused to let him overpower her and held his stare. "Don't f-flatter yourself and give it back."

"I don't need to, you've done enough flattering here," he said, wagging the paper. "I mean, look at the all the details of my face, my bod―"

"Ahhh, fine whatever keep it!" she screeched like a kitten with crimson cheeks, making him bite down on his lower lip to control his laughter.

"Oh, that I will," he drawled in a husky voice, further deepening the tinge of red on her face as she stared at him open mouthed.

This devil, Iman hissed internally. Snapping her lips in a hard line, she took a step back, stomping her foot on the floor to express her vexation but her foot slid forward on the slick tiled flooring―causing a loss of balance. 

As her frame vaulted backwards and a startling gasp fled her lips , Zain  moved quicker than light and his right hand snaked around her waist―the portrait skimming out of his left hand as he stopped her descent.

"You fell on me that night," he murmured, holding the stunned beauty in place. "Did you just fall for me now?"

The teasing gleam swirling in the dark pools of his eyes; the feeling of his soft yet firm grip around her waist made her heart jump in her chest and for a few moments, she was unable to blink, breathe or say anything.

When she did finally gather her scampered wits, she could only manage to voice out a weak, "L-Let me go, Zain."

Iman would've never imagined he would comply instantly. Before she could bat an eyelash, he released his grip on her waist and since she wasn't back on her feet, her body plummeted to the floor.

But she never hit it, because with the same speed he had complied to her demand, he caught her again with his arm wounding around her waist and hauling her body up. Her hand involuntarily fisted the fabric of his shirt; her chest heaving up and down in rapid speed as she stared at him in utter surprise.

This time, he held her a bit closer, a little tighter.

She could feel the heat of his touch seeping in through the clothes and kindling a trail of fire that blazed through her spine and spread throughout her body.

"You should choose your words carefully, beauty," he whispered friskily and her heart was ready to burst out of her ribcage.

Zain straightened himself and helped her get back on her feet, unclasping his hand from her waist and creating something between them that he was starting to loathe with a burning passion―distance.

She was a blushing mess; her eyelashes touching her scarlet cheeks and the tendrils of hair that had gotten out of the bun framing the sides of her face.

The sight did something to his heart. Each and every andaaz of her did something to his damn heart and the sweet whisperings coming from it were not so faint anymore. He was starting to comprehend them now.

He noticed the shifting of her toes but before she could run away like a shy squirrel, he quickly called out to her.

"Iman." Her lashes swept upwards. "When you said you couldn't study what you wanted because of your father, you meant art didn't you?"

A wave of surprise casted over her features and her frame went rigid. She stared him for a long moment before her lips moved. "Yeah," she intoned in a small voice and the next moment, she spun on her heels to walk away.

She had barely taken three steps when she was again halted by his voice.

"Wait."

Iman whirled back and saw him hiking towards her.

"Give me your hand."

Her countenance ruffled at his demand and her face twisted into a  grimace. "What? Why!?"

Zain rolled his eyes."Hath manga hai tumhara, rishta nahi."

Her eyes slightly widened; lips parting briefly to retort but she closed her mouth and extended her palm out to him in a reluctant manner as she eyed him suspiciously.

Zain stepped forward and raised his right hand―his thumb and index finger pressed together forming a small circle. Extending his hand, he broke the circle and brushed the pad of his finger on her palm, freeing the fibril he had captured from her cheek and had it secured between his fingers all this time.

Iman blinked incredulously at the tiny eyelash he had placed against her palm. What was―

"It's yours."

He cleared her confusion before she could express it verbally and quickly walked back to the table to pick the sketch that had fallen from his hand while catching her. He picked the paper and footed back, slowly passing by Iman who was still staring at her palm and biting on her lower lip.

He stopped, turning towards her and leaned into her ear. "Make a wish."

A heatwave crawled her face as his hot whisper tickled the shell of her ear and the sound of her breath hitching in her throat was so audible that she was sure he heard it.

She knew how close he was and yet, yet she dared to swerve her head in his direction and face him.

He was only a breath away from her and the realization didn't let her puff out the breath she had been holding. His dark eyes almost looked earthy brown in the daylight and there was something so deep and electrifying in the way he was looking at her that she could've sworn she saw his pupil dilate for a fleeting moment before he blinked and stepped back.

A tiny grin hovered on his lips as he freed her from his gaze and turned straight, ambling away while she stayed rooted on the spot.

She breathed.

Grazing her blazing cheek with her left hand and looking at the eyelash in her palm, she felt like the dream she had earlier was perhaps, not a dream at all.

The daylight fluxed into a tangerine hue that coloured the coils of the sea as the sun gradually skidded down the horizon. On the sandy shore, a tall figure strolled alongside the golden fluttering waves, his eyes as mellow as the sunset and the movement of his body fluid.

Zain felt intoxicated and it was the khumar of her presence that had engulfed his senses and made him feel like he was floating in space.

There was a certain kashish, a powerful gravitational pull he felt towards her ever since he had seen her and it was slowly leaving him powerless.

And he didn't even mind it.

Her sunheri eyes; when glossy tugged at the strings of his heart; when downcast shyly melted his heart, and when staring at him set him on fire.

She was the cause of his beqaraari and also the cause of rahat he found when she was near him.

His dil had provided him all the answers he had been asking himself. The reason why he was willing to do anything for her; why he wanted to protect her and pull her into his arms where he would never let any anguish or pain reach her.

Mohabbat was the answer to all his questions―to all the emotions he had been feeling.

Lut gaya tha wo pheli hee mulaqaat mein.

It was surreal because he had never even thought of this love thing, let alone falling in love at first sight. But it happened. It had simply happened and he didn't want to deny such a beautiful feeling.

His steps halted on the shore and he turned towards the calm bed of the ocean reflecting the evening sky. A smile formed on his lips as dreams began to take wings in his imagination. Could he tell her about his feelings? Would she accept? Was it possible for them to be toge―

The eerie sensation of a metallic object poking at his back made him stiff and instantly alerted all his senses. If he wasn't wrong―and there were very slim chances of that―it wasn't just any object, it was...

His body veered around and his eyes fell on a man he didn't recognize standing a few feet away, holding a gun in his hand and focusing the aim towards him.

And when his eyes scrutinized his surrounding, he noticed big and burly man number two, three, four, five and six gathered around him with weapons in their hands.

Who the hell were these mood killers?

"Now, that's not a very nice way to greet someone," Zain bit out sarkily,  irked by their sudden appearance but equally alarmed and ready to act.

The danger-strangers remained quiet but another masculine voice, cold and biting, reverberated in the air.

"Stealing someone's bride on their wedding day is not very nice either."

Zain swerved his head in the direction and saw a tall male figure strutting towards him. Clad in a steel blue lapel vest layered over a white collared shirt and tailored pants, his attire surely painted a picture of a refined man but his grim demeanor screamed otherwise. Hair neatly gelled back with a stray lock falling on his forehead and flinty onyx eyes set upon him, he stopped in front of him and tilted his head up.

Zain scowled, not recognizing the man standing before him. As the sun behind his back disappeared into the horizon, his mind recalled what he had said earlier and then a sudden realization dawned.

"Haider?" he questioned, hoisting his brow.

"As much as I hate to hear my name coming out of your filthy mouth, yes, it's Haider Ali Khan," his venomous confirmation sizzled in the air.

Iman had mentioned something about Haider having a hunger for power but right now, Zain could only see a thirst for blood in his dark eyes and it was, without a doubt, for his blood.

"Honestly, I really wanted to meet you at least once," Zain hissed.

A sneer dominated Haider's countenance as a sinister gleam rioted in his eyes.

"In that case, I'm very pleased to fulfill your last wish."

As the words left his mouth, the men surrounding Zain lifted their weapons, fingers closing on the trigger and their eyes locked on the target―on him.

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A/n:                  

ZAIN AWAN

Thankyou so much for your patience guys, I really hope this chapter was spicy enough.

*Kindly insert your thoughts here*

and vote bhai! Vote. -_- IF YOU READ AND LIKE THE STORY, ATLEAST GIMME A STAR.

This chapter is dedicated to the gorgeous and insanely talented sssournothings  because it's very special to me and so is she.

Also, since I'm absolutely obsessed with Haider and his dressing, here's a picture of him from today's episode mouahahah.

Any idea what's going to happen in the next chapter? *SmirksSmirksSmirks*

I'll see you very soon.