"kitna zaroori hai ab meri khatir tu."

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YELLOW beams of light spilling from the autumn sun permeated from the large transparent window and poured on her face.

Iman stirred and the curtain of her eyelids slowly lifted up; drowsy gaze descending on the face of the man slumbering just few inches away from her.

Zain.

A dream―Iman mused as she hazily peered at him through her lashes.

She had dreamt of him in the past week; more than once because he was constantly on her mind ever since he had left her in her house. And that's how she always saw him in her dreams; leaving.

Away from her.

There was always a distance between them.

He was never this vivid, this real, and this close to her in her drea-

The notion shoved her into consciousness and all remaining traces of sleep flew out of her eyes as they snapped wide open and her body wiggled back in bewilderment.

Lifting her head from the pillow and hoisting herself up, she let her astonished gaze wander around the unfamiliar matte walls surrounding her before it landed back on the man sound asleep next to her.

Her heart lightly thumped in her chest as her brain finally provided her the reminder that she was in her husband's room. In his bed.

Iman didn't know if it was a sense of security, of belonging, that she felt at that moment but she found herself leaning back into the bed. She rested her head against her folded elbow and swiveled her body to his side―letting her eyes fall on his face.

Softly, her gaze roamed over his relaxed features; slipped down to the curvature of his neck; paused on the sinews of his forearms and absorbed the deep rise and fall of his chest as he took in slow breaths.

And when it slid back up to his serene face, she realized how much she loved this moment―this moment she was sharing with him; this moment he was so unaware of.

Lying next to him―face to face―in a room bathed in sunehri hues of seher; redolent with the smell of lilacs and roses and lilies enwreathing the bed; steeped with the soft sound of his breathing that matched the rhythm of her heartbeat.

It felt warm and sweet and peaceful.

Seconds twirled into minutes as she kept looking at him and eventually, her dreamy gaze turned admiring as she took in all sides of his features―light and dark―soft and rugged―he was so beautiful.

Her awe-laden irises traced the dark and defined stubble covering his jaw, his chin and his neckline and she wondered how it would feel to run her fingers along his bearded jaw, how would it feel to-

Iman froze.

And when she realised her hand was almost about to reach out to touch his face, her eyes went round and mouth went dry.

Her body and her pulse, both surged up as she moved away from him and sat on the bed―feeling a charring heat forming right where the seashell pendant he had gifted her last night dangled―her heart.

Her heart that was now pounding violently in her chest.

Was she seriously about to stroke his face?

Squeezing her eyes shut and shaking off her thoughts, she opened them with a conviction to get up and take a shower.

Taking a shy glance at him from the corner of her eye one last time, she swivelled around, climbing out of the bed, and footed toward the ensuite bathroom.

She spent a good chunk of her time under the streaming hot water; rinsing her dark locks and ridding her head of the dark thoughts that had taken over her earlier.

Enrobing her body in a new set of clothes, she crawled back into the room, sprinkling the hardwood flooring with the drops of water dripping from her wet hair.

As she stepped toward the bed, she saw Zain was now lying flat on his back―still sound asleep―with the blanket thrown down and spliced up at his feet.

Wasn't he cold? she pondered as she looked at his sprawled frame clad in a measly half-sleeved black t-shirt. She didn't understand how he could he wear such flimsy clothes in the freezing cold of January.

Stepping forward in a hushed and chary manner as to not wake him up, she clutched the hem of the futon and proceeded to draw it upon his frame. She was barely half-way done when she felt an unexpected, steel-like grip on her wrist and before she could draw her next breath, her body was yanked from the floor and pulled into the bed in one inhumanly fast movement―eliciting a startling gasp out of her as her back hit the mattress.

A breathless moment passed before her vision readjusted and she saw the reflection of her terror-stricken face in the dark orbs of the man who was now looming over her and had her hands and body pinned to the bed with a strident look dominating his traits.

But the next instant, his expression shifted.

The scowl knitting his brows loosened, the tautness of his jaw relaxed and the glowering look in his eyes moulded into surprise as his lips parted and he whispered out, "Oh, it's you."

Zain blinked.

He blinked again and when his brain fully registered the situation, he exclaimed, "Shit. Shit!"

Immediately losing his rough grip on her dainty wrists, he recoiled back and created a reasonable amount of space between them.

"I'm so sorry, Iman. I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" he asked anxiously, husky-morning voice laced with lamentation.

It took Iman a few seconds to heave back the oxygen he had knocked out of her back into her lungs and recollect her thoughts―the latter, however, seemed improbable at the moment because she failed to make sense of what had just happened.

Not even having enough strength to move her limbs, she just lied there motionless with her heart hammering in her chest and sputtered out, "What was that... w-why did you do that?"

Zain flinched―raking a frustrated hand through his inky mane. "God, how do I explain this..."

But the woman staring at him with her wide, incredulous eyes demanded an explanation so he pulled in a rough, nervous breath and began tentatively, "It's just that I... I've spent the last few months among dangerous men involved in vile crimes. My job was to gain their trust but I obviously couldn't trust them so I had to be alert all the times, ready to attack and defend, even when I was asleep."

Iman mutely looked at him as her mind absorbed the words spilling from his mouth.

"So, when I felt your presence near me, I guess my fight-or-fight reflexes kicked in and..." he trailed, momentarily chewing on his bottom lip before continuing, "and this happened. I'm sorry."

Iman blinked; taking her time to let his explanation cast away the cloud of perplexity hovering over her head and when her mind cleared, she muttered in a small voice;

"You must've had a very hard time dealing with all that."

"Yeah." He was now propped on his elbows, looking at her with a tiny smile playing on his lips. "But I survived. I always do."

She returned the smile with a genuine―and grateful―one of her own.

With her heartbeat now tamed and steady and the strength imbued back into her limbs, she was about to rise up but her small effort was impeded by yet another one of his abrupt actions.

"Hey Iman, I didn't hurt you, right?" Zain scooted closer―involuntarily closing the barely-there distance between them.

And her heart rate spiked again as she felt the blazing heat of his body against her.

"No, you didn't," she whispered weakly, lowering her gaze and the moment she did, she felt the weight of his sturdy form slowly sinking into her.

And drowning he was as he drank her in, without realising the position they were in, without realising that she was not lying next to him anymore but beneath him.

Moving closer had been a fatal mistake because the sight he hadn't had the chance to appreciate earlier had now captivated him.

The sight of his beautiful wife sprawled in his bed had captivated all of his senses.

Her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks; her cheeks smeared with a faint shade of red; her slightly parted rosy lips and the damp wisps of her black hair tantalisingly sticking to her collarbones.

Oh lord.

He wanted to brush those midnight tendrils away with his fingers and put his lips in the cavity between those divine collarbones.

The heady scent―a fusion of citrus and mint and vanilla―exuding from her hair and body; it was the smell of his shampoo and bodywash.

He inhaled sharply.

The more he looked at her, breathed her in, felt the heat of her skin on his skin; the greater the fire of arousal blazed in his veins.

"Zain, you are..." Iman's breathy trail fanned his ears.

"I am..." he drawled in a daze―not waiting for her finish the sentence and not caring about it either.

All he knew in that moment was that he was.

He was enticed beyond words.

"You are crushing me."

Zain was jarred out of his trance by her sudden avowal.

His half-lidded eyes snapped open as he swerved his head and his gaze skid across their pressed bodies―more like his enormous frame sheathing her delicate one.

As if electrocuted by the realization of his unintentional action, he lurched back and sat up straight, wheezing out, "I'm so sorry, Iman, I didn't realize and I just―oh god, I'm so sorry!"

The breaths Iman had been holding in the cave of her throat finally got a chance to release themselves and fill back her system. Without wasting another second, she sat upright on the bed with the curtain of her wet hair covering the sides of her heated face.

"It's okay," she mumbled in a low voice, keeping her eyes pinned to the satin creamy sheets.

But after a few erratic heartbeats, she dared to steal a glimpse of him and when she did, it became so hard to contain the smile so eager to bloom on her lips.

He was now sitting at the far corner of the bed with his feet attached to the floor and his hand listlessly threading through his hair―a deep shade of red painting the nape of his neck and tinting the tips of his ears.

Embarrassed Zain was something she found extremely amusing to watch.

But she had no idea about the endless mental groaning and torture going on inside his head at that moment because this was absolutely not how he had imagined the first morning of their wedding to be like.

Good fucking job, Zain! he cursed himself under his breath. Not only you attacked her like an animal the moment you woke up but almost crushed her underneath you! Dammit, dammit-

"Zain."

Her dulcet voice efficiently silenced the lambesting of his conscience and he instantly turned his eyes, body and attention toward her, "Yeah?"

"I just remembered something," Iman mouthed in a dead-serious tone.

Zain swallowed.

He hadn't done some other shady thing to her in his sleep, right?

"What is it?" he asked wryly.

"Why did you yell ow ow it hurts when I fell on top of you that nigh-" Iman's enthusiastic start took an abrupt stop when the implication of the words sunk in. "I-I mean when I lost my b-balance and crashed into yo- no...when I accidentally stumbl-"

Her shoulders dropped as she corked her mouth and exhaled a frustrating sigh.

"Yeah yeah, go on," Zain prodded, leaning against the headboard and crossing his arms over his chest―a smirk now tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You know what I am talking about!" she said in a single breath and then pursed her lips into a pout.

And that elicited the most sonorous laugh out of him that ricocheted around---as warm and honeyed as the rays of sunshine glazing the walls of the room.

"God, you are so cute, Iman!" he gushed―making her heart skip a beat.

"And to answer your question; when you fell on top of me that night, you literally smashed your little fist into my stab wound and then you clutched my shirt around it tightly, so ow," he iterated dramatically, "it did really hurt."

"What? Did I really do that? I am sorry," she murmured innocently. "And oh god, I didn't even ask about your wound, is it okay now? Has it healed?"

"Yeah," he intoned, looking at the cure of all his wounds and miseries sitting in front of him―with him. "All my wounds have healed now."

"I am so glad."

Her lips curved into a smile―meeting the tender one hovering on his own.

"Did you get hurt that night because you were on an undercover mission?" Iman asked―a sudden burst of curiosity spurting in her mind.

"I got hurt because my cover was blown and honestly, at one point I thought my head would get blown as well." A frisson of terror coursed through his spine as he harked back to the ugly brawl. "It was a miracle I made it out alive that night."

"What!? That sounds so scary," she exclaimed, traits twisting into sheer concern. "Does your work includes undercover missions only?"

"No, this was actually the second time I went undercover because it was a very complex investigation case regarding the drug mafia," Zain enlightened her. "I was a normal officer who did typical police duty until I was recruited into the special unit two years back. Since then, I only work on special cases that are assigned to me."

"And what are they like?"

"Criminal cases that require thorough investigation." He shrugged. "Could be about murder, theft, terrorism, gang-operations, keeping tabs on criminal activities, gathering intelligence."

"Your job sounds very dangerous," Iman mumbled―fine lines of fret suturing her face.

"That's exactly why I love it," he replied with a feisty grin.

"But Zain, you shouldn't work on cases where your life is at risk." She couldn't help but mutter out because the thought of him getting hurt again made her chest tighten.

His grin deepened as he hoisted a playful brow and asked, "Kyun, tumhe fiker hai meri?"

"Of course hai! Bohot hai! I care about you. I don't want you to put your life in danger."

The reply was instant and festooned with a surprising fervour that seeped into Zain's chest and warmed all the chambers of his heart.

But because this was Zain and he couldn't let go of any chance to tease her, he placed his hand on his warmth-infused heart and took a dreamy sigh, "That was so passionate Iman, I loved it. Can you say that again?" he implored, dark orbs sparkling with a devious glint.

"Zain!" she yawped, heart accelerating and heat ascending all the way from her neck to her face. "Ek toh main itni serious baat kar rahi hoon aur tum ho kay!"

Riled and flustered, she sprang to her feet and stared him down with a tiny glower hovering between her brows before turning around to walk away but before she could, his large hand caught her wrist.

He rose from the bed and tugged her toward him, making her face him as his hand slid down her wrist and enclosed around her palm.

Iman gulped―feeling her pulse quicken as she stood close to him---the shafts of light peeping through the transparent wall colouring their silhouettes in a pearly glow.

"Thank you for caring about me but I want you to trust me," he whispered, deeply looking into her eyes. "Trust me, that no matter what case I work on and no matter how many dangers I face, I'll come back." He gave her hand a tender squeeze. "I'll always come back to you."

Wordlessly, she stared at him and let the warmth of his touch and the endearing solidity of his vow calm the whirlpool of anxiousness and uncertainty inside of her.

And it did, like always.

His presence so soothing, his satiny gaze so full of assurance―how could she not trust him?

Rotating her hand that he was gently holding in his grip, she coiled her pinky finger around his larger one and murmured, "Don't you ever forget that."

A hearty chuckle broke out of Zain's lips at the gesture before he locked his finger with hers and sealed the pinky pact. "I won't," he affirmed.

Before the endearing moment could stretch, it was interrupted by a loud knock on the door―prompting them to unfasten their intertwined fingers as Zain whirled around and padded to the door while Iman just stood there, watching him unlock it.

She watched him indulge in a brief conversation with a servant before he left and he endeavoured to close the door but before he could, a golden ball of fur suddenly darted inside the room, startling Iman and eliciting a high-pitched screech out of her as she stumbled back and collapsed on the bed with a thud.

"Oh my god it's a cat!" she hollered as she looked at the furry feline on the floor, hissing at staring at her with it's gleaming blue orbs.

Zain's deep chuckle rang in the air as he footed toward it and knelt down, picking up the furball. "C'mere you little intruder."

His frame rose as he held the kitten in his arms and Iman noticed how it instantly let out a soft mewling sound and nuzzled into his chest.

"Iman, meet Jupiter," Zain said, stroking the little animal's white-golden belly.

A burst of giggles flew out of her mouth. "You named your cat after a planet?"

"Did you just laugh at my awesome taste in names?" Zain sent a mild glare her way and then quirking a brow, he ranted, "And do you even know about the significance of that planet? It's because of Jupiter's strong gravitational pull the earth is safe from comets and asteroids. It swings them out before they can reach earth and protects it from catastrophic collisions!"

She leaned back and tilted her head, looking at him with an amused smile dangling on her lips, "Seems like you know alot about stars."

"I do," he bit out haughtily. "But I'll share more knowledge with you later. Right now, I'm gonna go take shower and leave Jupiter here so you two can bond."

A frown replaced the smile on her face as she straightened up and shook her head. "No no, take him with you!"

"No way! I'd rather take you with me."

Zain said nonchalantly and delightfully watched her face turning into the same colour of pink she was clad in.

Iman was rendered speechless―and a blushing mess.

She could feel the blistering heat swathing her countenance and it was amplified by that dark and devilish and inflammatory stare of his hooked on her face.

Gaping at him for a few seconds, she finally found her voice and shot, "Zain tumhe sharam-"

"Aaj tak kabhi nahi aayi."

Zain cut her off unabashedly and her jaw further slipped down as she gawped at him for a second before clearing her throat and turning her head to the side.

"Just... just leave your planet―I-I mean your cat here and go shower. Just go!" Iman rambled, avoiding eye-contact and shooing him away with her hands.

His deep, mirth-laced laughter infused the air but she didn't look up at him until she felt him drifting closer.

"Jaisa tum kaho," Zain intoned, bending forward and placing the little creature on the bed.

"Pat his head like this, he likes it." He told Iman as he stroked the kitten's little head and she watched in fascination how the furball purred in contentment.

"And you, Jupiter, get along with my wife, okay?" Zain tapped the cat's small chin with his finger before sliding his gaze back up and looking at his grey-eyed beauty with a wide grin.

Iman held his gaze and that delightfully mischievous grin while she tried her best to ignore the butterflies flapping in her belly.

After a beat of a moment, he straightened up and freed her from his stare, turning around and padding toward the bathroom―leaving Iman with a fluttering heart and the golden feline on the bed wagging it's tail and watching her curiously with it's brilliant azure eyes.

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After a few minutes of getting ready and a few failed attempts of Zain trying to convince Iman to pet Jupiter, the couple walked out of the room and swam down the stairs―meeting a lively Fatma Awan in the lounge awaiting them.

Greeting her son and daughter in law with an affectionate, nayi subah mubarak, she conversed with them for a while before proposing that she show around the house to Iman because she hadn't had the chance to last night.

She happily agreed and tagged along with her while Zain made a beeline for the dining room where the head of the family, his father, was seated with his eyes pegged to the paper he held in his hands.

The technology might have replaced the conventional newspaper but not in the Awan house.

It had always been a morning ritual for his father to survey through at least four to five local and newsprint and because of him, Zain had also developed a habit of starting his mornings with a copy of newspaper, a hot cup of chai and exchanging opinions on the current political affairs with his father over the breakfast table―whenever they both were at home, that is.

"Morning, Baba," Zain greeted as he dropped down on the chair adjacent to him―reaping a distrait nod from his father who was engrossed into reading.

Zain discerned an acute frown knitting his father's light brows and a hue of distress contouring his face.

"Is something wrong? You look disturbed," Zain asked worriedly.

Dropping his wide shoulders and unfastening his eyes from the paper, Shahnawaz heaved a sharp intake of breath and slid the printed copy toward his son.

Zain instantly picked it up and his eyes skid across the bold headline of the article his father was reading.

The epidemic of street crime has once again engulfed the city of lights. Karachi police remains helpless and unable to deter the sharp rise of violent crimes as armed crooks keep freely loitering around the streets. The rising incidents of violent mugging presents a big question mark on the poor performance of the police who has failed to protect the lives of citizens.

"The articles just keep pouring in," Shahnawaz expressed dejectedly. "The press keeps calling me to comment on the situation."

"The stats of snatching incidents are dangerously alarming though," Zain commented as he finished going through the whole article. "If we don't bring the situation under control quickly, public distrust and insecurity in our institution will become more prevalent, along with vigilante justice."

"I know," Shahnawaz sighed. "I've decided to set up a special force to combat this menace. It will be deployed in the crime sensitive areas. There will be strict patrolling and checking. The CM has also called a meeting today so we're going to discuss everything in detail and devise an effective strategy."

"I see." Zain nodded, folding the newsprint and putting it aside on the table. "Baba, there are also many gangs operating from inside the prisons, I think a clean-up operation is needed for that as well."

"You are right. There's so much work to do." His father swiped a weary hand across his face.

"We will get through this, don't worry." Zain tried to assure his father, reaping a reluctant but hopeful nod from him.

"In sha Allah. I don't want our department's already bad image to get worse and really want the citizens to feel safe again," the Inspector General expressed sincerely.

Zain shared his father's concern and the conversation dragged on as they exchanged various thoughts and suggestions vis-à-vis the crimes plaguing their city until a feminine figure showed up.

"Good morning, gentlemen!"

Zunyra's silvery voice drenched the air as she entered the room and dropped her green sweatsuit-clad frame onto the chair placed on the left side―eyes glued to her phone and willowy fingers dancing on the screen.

"Zunyra, beta no phones at the table," warned Shahnawaz in a sharp yet gentle tone, making her gaze swing in his direction as she batted her eyelashes at him innocuously.

"Just checking a mail, Baba," Zunyra lied straight through her teeth and ducked her head to continue her scrolling session on Instagram.

"Zain." The inspector general veered his attention back to his son. "I talked to bhaisahab yesterday and told him about your nikkah."

"Oh." Zain shifted in his seat, taking an uneasy pause before mumbling, "Did you... tell him everything? I mean the reason behind-"

"Of course not, I'm not stupid." His father severed his sentence in a gruff voice. "Besides, he was already very shocked and upset to know we went ahead and did everything without them so I just made an excuse."

The mention of their extended family residing in London seized Zunyra's interest as she glanced up from the screen and swerved her head to her father.

"I know, Baba. Sohaib also called me yesterday when we were at the nikkah and started asking me about all the details and oh my god, Aisha was totally losing it in the background,"
she hissed and then her dusky gaze skated to the other side of the table where her brother sat as she apprised, "She's so going to kill you when she gets here, bhaiyya."

Zain groaned, closing his eyes and murmuring, "Ya Allah rehem."

"They're coming next week," Shahnawaz announced―making his eyes snap open and his jaw drop.

"What? Next week?" Zain exclaimed in astonishment.

"Yeah. We're going to hold a small reception then and invite all the close friends and relatives," his father told him solemnly.

"Looks like I have a lot to deal with next week." Zain puffed out his cheeks and slouched in the chair.

"Better sharpen your defenses and get your best dress out, bhaiyya." Arsal's amused voice ricocheted around as he walked in and plopped down next to Zunyra.

Just then, the Inspector General received an important call and he knew he wouldn't be able to talk in peace with all three of the siblings surrounding him so he got up and strode out of the room with the phone attached to his ear.

Few minutes of siblings conversing with each other had passed when Iman returned after the exploration of her new house and her shy yet visibly relaxed form sunk into the chair next to Zain.

"Morning," Zunyra uttered, deliberately stretching the vowel and adding the next word mournfully, "Bhabhi."

Iman looked at the brunette sitting across the table, sporting a look as dark as her eyes and angled as her brows―radiating a forbidding aura.

So, she greeted her back with a meek smile and sealed her lips because conversing with her further didn't seem like a wise idea to her.

"Bhaiyya, did you know Zuny and Omer go the same university; in fact they are classmates."

Arsal's loud and brusque disclosure made Zunyra's eyes spill out of her sockets as her head snap toward him so fast she almost felt her neck crack.

"Really!?" Zain exclaimed, swinging his floored gaze to the woman seated beside him. "Wow, Iman did you hear that? What a coincidence."

"It really is," she replied, mirroring the surprise shimmering on his face.

While Zunyra gave a death stare to her cousin who sat there unaffected, with a kittenish smile plastered on his face. Did he really have to blurt it out? Of course she knew it wasn't something that could stay hidden but she was certainly not in the mood to discuss this particular information first thing in the morning.

Turning his attention back on his sister, Zain leaned forward with a gleam of curiosity in his black eyes as he spoke;

"Hm, so Zuny, it doesn't seem like you are friends with him. You didn't even say anything when I introduced you guys yesterday."

"They're frenemies," Arsal stated impishly.

"Don't act like you said something smart, Arsal," Zunyra chastised―her glare intensifying.

"I was born smart," the hazel-eyed boy preened.

A dry scoff fled her lips. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Jokes on you, I've insomnia."

Zunyra paused for a second.

"Well then I hope this delusional thought cures your problem," she spat coldly.

Arsal clicked his tongue in disapproval. "That comeback lacked bite, Zuny."

"I agree. Arsal clearly won there," Zain piped in, thoroughly entertained by their banter and beside him, Iman couldn't hold in her smiles after witnessing the exchange as well.

"That's not fair, Bhaiyya," Zunyra whined. "You're supposed to take my side!"

"I'm always on the right side," Zain replied, gesturing with his hand before he reverted back to the earlier topic, "But seriously Zuny, do you and Omer really not get along?"

Zunyra almost ugh-ed out loud.

Exhaling out a frustrated breath, she stated in a sour tone;

"It's not necessary for me to get along with every classmate of mine, Bhaiyya." And then a shadow of resentment crept upon her face as she huffed, "And besides, that guy doesn't even talk much, he's a total nerd. Always has head buried in books."

Zain's forehead creased at the blend of sourness and irritation coating his sister's tone but before he could comment on it, his wife's soft and small voice glossed the air.

"Omer is actually quite reserved," Iman mumbled, her grey gaze resting upon the incensed brunette. "It takes some time for him to open up to people."

A sardonic smile floated on Zunyra's plump lips, "Well that's great bhabhi," and then it vanished as she narrowed her eyes and shot in a flat tone, "But I don't really care."

"Yeah, she doesn't care at all." Arsal's frisky voice echoed again, alerting Zunyra. "It's like not like she talks about hi--"

"Arsal!" Zunyra hollered loudly. "That's enough lip flapping for today." She gave him a grave look laced with a deadly warning. "Give your mouth some rest."

Arsal rolled back his lips into his mouth, nodding his head with a teasing glee swirling in his caramel irises.

"You both give it a rest!" Fatma Awan's raucous command cut through the air as she paraded inside with a duo of housekeepers pulling the trolleys loaded with beverages, fruits and desi delicacies.

"Stop your bickering and have breakfast." Fatma's order made a transitory quietness descend on the room.

Zain―like an addict―quickly grabbed a steaming cup of chai from the tray, mixing two spoonful of brown sugar into it, and Iman noticed how his traits perked up and a blissful sigh that escaped his lips after taking a sip.

"Iman, this is for you." Fatma's statement softly fell on her aural, making her veer her attention from her husband to the lady of the house.

Her lips parted and eyes twinkled as she looked at the bowl of fiery hot chickpea gravy and a platter lined with fried and crispy golden flatbread, green chutni and pickles.

"Zain told me you really like puri chohlay so I specially made it for you," Fatma told her warmly.

Iman's heart melted at the lovely gesture by her mother in law but what made it jump inside her chest was him.

She turned her head and looked at Zain.

Her mind whisked her back to the morning she had spent in that apartment with him. He had brought puri chohlay for breakfast and that's when she had told him it was one of her favourite dishes.

The edge of his lips―his lips that were around the rim of the cup he was sipping his tea from―curled up slightly and the next moment, his charcoal eyes fell on her.

Their gazes met and entangled.

A fleeting moment of shared memory―a silent conversation between their eyes.

It brought a beam to her face.

Swerving her brightened face to her mother in law, she intoned in the most sincerest voice, "Thank you so much, Mama."

"Thank me later and taste it first," Fatma instructed perkily, beckoning to the dish as she added, "Tell me how it is."

So she did. She tasted it and it almost made her swoon when the flavour of crispy puri dipped in the zesty curry melted into her mouth.

The Inspector General soon joined them back and the spacious dining room shone and bustled with pure smiles, silly bantering, sips of tea and a few stolen glances.

It was the most warmth-filled, healing and delicious morning breakfast Iman had ever had.

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The midday sun was at its highest peak, ruling the stark blue skies of Karachi with the mighty rays spilled and spread all over, mitigating the chill of winter.

In the urban milieu of the south district of the metropolis stood a majestic haveli―a resplendent architectural spectacle of classic and contemporary design with a colour palette of brown and russets. The intricate mouldings, exposed brick walls and several carved windows exhibited the subtlety of the present; and the wooden jharokas, recessed archways and railings evoked an image of the past.

Inside one of the many lavish and opulently furnished rooms of the residence, a tall and willowy woman in her late-fourties raised her head from the prayer mat, whispering duas and turning her head to perform the salam―completing the zuhr prayers.

Folding the mat, she stood up and loosening the dupatta wrapped around her head, she trudged toward the rustic wood shelf decorated with framed pictures of her precious son and daugter.

She picked her phone from the same shelf and was about to dial down a certain number when the door of her room clicked open, making her veer her head in the direction as her monolid ebony eyes fell on the person she was just about to call.

"Haider."

Sobia Khan whispered as she saw the light of her eyes, her son, stepping inside the room in a languid manner. She placed the phone back on the shelf and whirled her frame fully toward the man standing by the door.

"Finally, you're back," she said in a relieved voice, earning no reply from him as he stayed rooted to the spot, making a tendril of uneasiness spread in her chest.

She was used to his late and ill-timed returns because of the nature of his work but what she was not used to was his current countenance; his uncharacteristically ruffled disposition; and the heavy silence hanging in the space between them.

A smothering moment passed before his legs moved and he took a heavy, numb step forward.

His mother's gaze prowled around his features and she told herself that the swollen skin around his red-rimmed eyes was probably due to the sleepless nights he had spent working on his project.

Another step.

She told herself that his dishevelled hair, his sunken shoulders, the loosened tie around his neck and the smear of dirt on his shoes was probably because he hadn't gotten any time to fix his appearance.

Another step.

She told herself that the grim indentations on his face were because he had overworked himself over the week.

But before she could further convince her anxious heart, her son bridged the gap and his hollow figure leaned into her as his head dropped on her shoulder and arms wound across her frame.

A shallow gasp breathed past her lips as her son hugged her, held onto her like he didn't have any strength to hold his ground.

"Haider!" she cried out once she got over her initial shock of his abrupt action and wrapped her arms around him. "What happened?"

"I lost her again." His low, miserable voice echoed against her aural.

"Who?"

"Iman." A broken whisper. "She ran away from me again, Ma."

"Haider what... what are you talking about?" Sobia floundered, sheer worry coiling in the pit of her stomach as held her son in her arms.

Another dreadful moment of silence befell them and the longer it stretched, the more her mother's heart clenched in her chest.

And then it ended as Haider separated himself from the embrace and finally looked into her worry-coloured eyes.

"Iman got married yesterday," he told her in a hollow voice.

Shock dyed Sobia's pale brown features. "What!? To whom?"

"To that damn cop," he said through gritted teeth―the veins in his temples sticking out and throbbing visibly at the mere act of mentioning him.

His mother's bafflement deepened as her eyes widened. "How can that happen? How can her father let that happen-"

"He made it happen!" Haider roared, curling his fists at his side. "He arranged the wedding!"

"Unbelievable," Sobia muttered dazedly. "What's wrong with this family? After such humiliation, how can they even think of allowing something like that?"

Haider remained quiet and lowered his eyes as he sucked in a coarse, woeful breath.

And his mother felt the pain.

She felt the pain brewing in his eyes that he was trying to conceal with the dark wings of his lashes; the pain that was etched onto his dry and pale lips; the pain weighing him down and not letting him stand tall and straight like he always did.

"Haider, come sit here." She grabbed his forearm and propelled him to follow her, meeting with no resistance from his side as they both plopped down on the bed.

Sobia had never seen such a profound display of melancholy and vulnerability on his face.

And what was more surprising was the fact that he wasn't hiding it, rather he was showing it, sharing it with her.

Haider had always been emotionally closed off; he didn't like sharing his feelings and kept others at bay―including his own family. His mother had always felt like there was a glass wall between them.

Today, she felt like it had finally shattered but that didn't bring any solace to her because her son looked just as crippled and broken as the invisible shards of that wall now swathing them.

Taking a deep breath, she broke the saturnine silence;

"I always thought Iman was chaste and decent. I still can't believe she turned out to be a woman with such a bad characte-"

"She isn't." Haider interjected sternly and then the cadence of his voice lowered―like his spirits―as he whispered, "She is not a woman of bad character. She didn't know that guy. She didn't have any relationship with him."

He swallowed the aching lump in his throat as he recalled the conversation he had had with Iman's brother last night. He had rung Amir Bakhtiyar because his phone was riddled with countless missed calls from him over the week which Haider had ignored.

Amir, then, had told him everything that had happened last week.

About that cop's clarification of his relationship with Iman; his threats and his departure from their house.

And about Ashfaq Bakhtiyar's decision; Iman's refusal; and then her eventual acceptance.

All that information was like an excruciating rub of salt on his festering wounds―specially finding out that Iman didn't have any relationship with that police officer; that she wasn't lying that day when he had confronted her.

"What?" Sobia blinked in surprise. "Then why did she run away with him if she didn't even know him?"

"Because she didn't want to marry me." He dropped his head.

"That's even more messed up, Haider. It doesn't acquit her or lessen the graveness of what she has done."

"I know." His head rose and veered to her, eyes suddenly alight with a blend of desperation and distress. "And I should hate her, right? But why can't I? Why can't I even bring myself to be angry at her? Why does it hurt so bad, Ma? Mjhe itna dard kyun horaha hai?!"

Raw anguish dripped from his tone, twisted and tightened the veins in his throat and burned in his eyes.

"Haider you..." his mother trailed off, completely struck by the veritable shade of emotions marring his face. "Are you... in lov-"

"Don't say that word." Haider didn't let her finish.

Haider despised everything that made a person feel weak and powerless.

And that word, that emotion, was the most deadliest, the most lethal weakness.

It could cripple the toughest; could drive the sanest go mad; could bring the strongest to his knees.

But even though he had stopped his mother from voicing out that word and even though he was never, ever, ever going to admit it out loud, he knew.

He knew.

In all the walls of his bleeding heart, it was her name that was carved in red.

It was her name that echoed.

It was her name that hurt.

Iman. Iman. Iman.

She had managed to raze down the boundary he had created around his heart―cruelly so.

She had pierced her way into his heart.

She had tore it apart.

"Haider, listen to me." His mother took his grief-stricken face in her gentle hands and made him look at her. "This is a phase, you'll get over it. You deserve a much better woman, Iman was never worthy of you. You need to forget her and move on."

"Forget her? Move on?" he parroted out sardonically.

"I know it's easier said than done but-"

"It's impossible!" He sprang up to his feet and thundered. "Neither will I forget her, nor will I let her forget me!" he declared unequivocally.

"Haider no please, you're better than that." She called after him, scrambling to her feet and taking a step forward, eyes pinned to his turned back.

He peered at her over his shoulder and stated in a cold and clipped voice,
"It's a shame you don't know you own son, Ma." And then he gyrated to her with a chilling and ruinous look in his onyx eyes as he hissed, "I'm worse than that. What's mine remains mine, no matter what!"

"She's not a thing," Sobia stressed in a pointed tone.

"That's the thing, she's not a thing," he bit out. "She's the person I had chosen to spend my life with. How can someone just steal her from me?"

"She belongs to someone else now, Haider." His mother tried to show him the mirror again. "She just wasn't written in your destiny-"

"I am the master of my destiny!" he cut her off with a sharp roar. "I'm not depended on it, I control it and write it the way I want."

"Haider please, why are you not understanding-"

"You are wasting your breath."

Coldness swept into his eyes and leaked into his tone, chilling the air around them. "You know I only listen to myself and do what I want to do."

And he knew what he wanted to do.

He was going to have a meeting with Iman because he had so many things to say to her; so many questions to ask.

And he was going to make sure she answered each and every one of them.

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A/n: *wipes her sweat, blood and tears* I'm so happy I managed to keep the monthly-updates tradition alive and posted this chapter before Oct ends. :') Writing this one gave me one hell of a hard time. Hah, who am I kidding? Every chap makes me cry blood!!!

Lemme know how it was though. *Insert your thoughts here* tell me what you like and dislike and what's gonna happen next. I CRAVE FEEDBACK.

This chapter is dedicated to my stunning fair maiden, the prettiest, the absolute sweetheart herondalevibes HAPPY BIRTHDAY IN ADVANCE my love! And I don't really wanna say this chap is your bday gift because you deserve a much better and amazing gift but this is my humble attempt to bring a smile on your face. You already know but, lemme just yell it out anyway; I LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU.

Alright, now Zain bhaiyya ne bohot mazay karliye guys, I'm gonna send him back to work now so he can fight the criminals and save Karachi. :P
Follow me on Instagram @ _zinu13 if you wanna see more of Iman and Zain and Haider.

I'll see you in the next chapter titled: DRIVE ME CRAZY.