The boutique buzzed with activity as Zaina sat at her corner desk, flipping through swatches of fabric. It had been a month since she started working with her mother, and she was slowly beginning to find her rhythm. Her bridal designs had already caught the attention of a few clients, and for the first time, she felt like she might belong in the world of fashion.

Still, the lingering insecurities hadn't completely left her. Whenever someone complimented her work, a voice in her mind whispered that it wasn't good enough, that they were only being polite.

"Zaina," her mother called from across the room, holding up one of her latest designs. "Mrs. Rahman wants to order this lehenga in blush pink for her daughter's wedding. She absolutely loves your work."

Zaina's lips curved into a small smile, though her heart raced. "Really?"

Zainab nodded, her eyes shining with pride. "You've done something beautiful here, beta. I'm so proud of you."

Her mother's words should have eased her nerves, but instead, they heightened them. She was proud of her—what if Zaina failed her?

That afternoon, Zaina decided to step out for some fresh air. She wrapped her shawl tightly around herself as she walked down the busy street near the boutique. The cool breeze brushed against her cheeks, soothing her frayed nerves.

But her brief moment of peace was shattered when she heard a familiar voice.

"Well, if it isn't Zaina."

She froze, her heart sinking as she turned to see her ex standing a few feet away, leaning casually against a lamppost. His smirk was as cruel as she remembered, and the sight of him brought back a flood of painful memories.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice low but steady.

He shrugged, taking a step closer. "I just wanted to see how the 'perfect' Mrs. Azaan Khan is doing. Looks like you've got quite the life now."

Zaina clenched her fists, forcing herself to stay calm. "Leave me alone."

"Why? Afraid I'll say something your perfect husband doesn't know?" he sneered. "You're still the same, Zaina. Hiding behind someone else's shadow, hoping no one sees the real you."

Her chest tightened, her breathing growing shallow. She wanted to walk away, but her feet felt rooted to the ground.

"Face it," he continued, his voice dripping with malice. "You can't run from what you are—a nobody."

Before she could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"Zaina, jaan-e-man, tum theek ho?" (Zaina, my love, are you okay?)

She turned to see Azaan approaching, his expression a mixture of concern and barely concealed anger. He placed a protective hand on her back, his presence immediately calming her racing heart.

Her ex's smirk faltered as Azaan fixed him with an icy glare.

"Is there a problem?" Azaan asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"No problem at all," her ex said quickly, raising his hands defensively. "I was just leaving."

Azaan didn't move until the man disappeared from sight. Then, he turned to Zaina, his hand sliding up to her shoulder.

"Tum theek ho?" he asked again, his voice softer now.

She nodded, though her eyes were filled with unshed tears. "I... I'm fine."

"You're not," he said gently, cupping her face in his hands. "Mujhse baat karo." (Talk to me.)

Her lips quivered as she let the tears fall. "He said I haven't changed. That I'm still nothing."

"Bas," (Enough,) Azaan said firmly, his thumb brushing away her tears. "He doesn't get to decide who you are, Zaina. You are extraordinary. Tum meri zindagi ho." (You are my life.)

Her voice trembled. "What if he's right? What if I'm—"

Azaan cut her off by leaning closer, his forehead resting against hers. "He's not right. You are strong, talented, and beautiful. And you're mine. Aur main tumse har din zyada pyaar karta hoon." (And I love you more every single day.)

Her tears turned into soft sobs as she leaned into his embrace, his arms wrapping around her like a shield against the world.

"Main hamesha tumhare saath hoon, jaan-e-man," he murmured. (I am always with you, my love.)

That evening, Azaan refused to leave her side. After bringing her home, he guided her to the couch and placed her favorite blanket around her shoulders.

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a tray of hot chai and her favorite chocolate biscuits. He sat beside her, holding the cup to her lips when her hands trembled too much to steady it.

"Piyo," he said softly. (Drink.)

She took a small sip, her heart warming at his tenderness.

As they sat in silence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet pouch. "I've been holding on to this for a while," he said, opening it to reveal a small, worn bracelet.

Her breath caught. "That's... mine."

"I found it years ago," he admitted, slipping it gently onto her wrist. "I kept it because it reminded me of you. Even then, you were unforgettable."

Tears filled her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of gratitude.

"Why do you do all this for me?" she whispered.

"Because I love you," he said simply, his eyes shining with sincerity. "Aur tum meri sab kuch ho." (And you are my everything.)

The next morning, Zaina woke to find Azaan already awake. He was sitting on the bed beside her, gently running his fingers through her hair.

"Good morning, jaan-e-man," he said with a smile.

"Good morning," she replied, her voice still husky from sleep.

"Ready for a new day?" he asked, holding up the hairbrush. "Let me braid your hair first."

As he braided her hair with practiced ease, he leaned down and kissed the crown of her head. "Whatever happens today, just remember—you're amazing. And I'm always in your corner."

Her heart swelled with love, and for the first time in a long time, she believed it.