The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the curtains of their bedroom, bathing the room in warm hues. Zaina stirred awake, her cheek resting against the plush pillow. The faint scent of roses lingered, and when she opened her eyes, a single white rose rested on her bedside table, accompanied by another handwritten note.

"For my bravest girl—another day, another masterpiece waiting to be created."

A smile played on her lips as her fingers grazed the note. It was the little things Azaan did that left her heart fluttering in ways she couldn't fully explain.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Azaan appeared, carrying a tray laden with breakfast: warm parathas, omelet, and her favorite chai. He was dressed casually, the soft gray of his kurta complementing his deep brown eyes.

"Good morning," he said, his voice low and soothing.

"Good morning," she replied, sitting up as he placed the tray in front of her.

"I see you found my note," he said with a teasing grin, settling on the edge of the bed. "Do I get bonus points for creativity?"

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"Impossible to resist, maybe," he quipped, winking.

Zaina rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile.

Azaan's Endearment

As she ate, Azaan leaned back against the headboard, watching her with quiet intensity.

"You know," he began, his tone thoughtful, "I've been thinking."

"That sounds dangerous," she said, trying to hide her curiosity behind a playful smile.

He chuckled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered, tracing the curve of her cheek.

"I've been trying to find the right word for you," he said softly. "Something that captures who you are to me."

Zaina blinked, her breath hitching at the sudden intimacy in his tone. "And?"

"Jaan-e-man," he said, the words rolling off his tongue with a tenderness that made her chest tighten. "It means 'soul of my heart.' Because that's what you are, Zaina. My heart beats for you."

Her eyes filled with tears, her voice trembling. "Azaan..."

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. "You don't have to say anything, jaan-e-man. Just let me be here for you."

She closed her eyes, her tears spilling over as she nodded.

Later that day, Azaan surprised Zaina with a drive into the countryside. The weather was perfect—cloudy skies with a hint of rain in the air.

As they drove, Azaan reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small box.

"What's this?" Zaina asked, glancing at him curiously.

"Open it," he said with a mischievous grin.

Inside was a delicate silver anklet with tiny bells that jingled softly.

"It reminded me of you," he said. "Elegant, unique, and impossible to ignore."

Her cheeks flushed as she traced the intricate design. "It's beautiful."

"So are you," he replied, his voice earnest.

The moment hung between them, charged with emotion. Before Zaina could respond, a light drizzle began to fall, the raindrops creating a rhythmic patter on the car's roof.

"Let's get out," Azaan said suddenly, pulling over to the side of the road.

"In the rain?" Zaina asked, incredulous.

He nodded, stepping out and holding the door open for her. "Trust me."

Hesitantly, she stepped out, the cool rain soaking through her dress. Azaan extended his hand, pulling her into the open field beside the road.

"Have you ever danced in the rain?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.

She shook her head, laughing softly. "Never."

"Then let's fix that," he said, spinning her gently.

At first, Zaina felt awkward, self-conscious about her every move. But as Azaan twirled her again, his laughter warm and infectious, she let go of her inhibitions. The rain washed away her fears, the world around them fading until it was just the two of them.

When he pulled her close, her heart pounded in her chest. His hands rested lightly on her waist, his touch grounding her as they swayed to the rhythm of the rain.

"Jaan-e-man," he murmured, his gaze locked on hers.

She looked up at him, her lips parting as she tried to form words. But none came, so she simply nodded, her tears mixing with the rain as she leaned her forehead against his chest.

The peaceful days didn't last long. A few weeks later, Azaan received a message from a private investigator he had hired to keep tabs on Nida and her associates. The report confirmed what he had suspected: Nida had been trying to dig up dirt on Zaina, hoping to use it to humiliate her publicly.

It was the final straw.

Without hesitation, Azaan confronted Nida in her own world—a high-profile charity gala where she mingled with the city's elite.

Dressed in a sharp black suit, Azaan cut through the crowd with ease, his presence commanding attention. He found Nida standing near the bar, her laughter grating as she entertained a group of socialites.

"Nida," he said, his voice sharp and authoritative.

She turned, her smile faltering as she saw him. "Azaan. What a—"

"Enough," he said coldly, stepping closer. "I'm not here to play games."

The people around her fell silent, their eyes darting between the two of them.

"What are you talking about?" Nida asked, her voice laced with false innocence.

"I know everything," Azaan said, his gaze piercing. "The messages. The threats. Your pathetic attempts to dig up her past. It ends now."

Nida's expression darkened, but Azaan didn't give her a chance to respond.

"If you ever so much as whisper her name again, I'll make sure everyone here knows the truth about you. Every lie you've told, every cruel thing you've done—it'll all come out. Do you understand me?"

Her face paled, her bravado crumbling under the weight of his words. "You wouldn't—"

"Try me," he said, his tone icy.

She swallowed hard, nodding reluctantly.

"Good," Azaan said, turning on his heel. He walked away without a backward glance, his only thought on returning to Zaina.

That evening, Azaan found Zaina in their living room, her sketchbook resting on her lap. She looked up as he entered, her eyes searching his face.

"Where were you?" she asked softly.

"Taking care of something," he said, his tone lighter now. "It's handled."

Zaina frowned, but before she could ask further, he sat beside her and pulled her close.

"Jaan-e-man," he murmured, his voice filled with tenderness. "You're safe now. No one will hurt you again."

Her head rested against his shoulder, her heart full as she let his words sink in.

For the first time, Zaina believed it.