Comment zuroor karna sbh nahi to mujhsy maar khao gy

The morning sunlight filtered gently through the curtains of Yashfa's room, casting soft golden rays across the bed. She stirred, blinking her eyes open, her body still wrapped in the comfort of her blanket. For a moment, she lay still, her thoughts clouded by the remnants of sleep, the haze of yesterday still clinging to her.

But then it hit her.

Last night.

Her heart skipped a beat as the images of Azlaan's intense gaze and the warmth of his touch flooded her mind. She flushed, burying her face in the pillow. A wave of heat spread across her cheeks, and she couldn't help but replay every detail of their encounter. His whispers, the way he had looked at her, the chemistry between them that had been undeniable.

"Ugh, Yashfa, you're such a mess," she muttered to herself, embarrassed by the memories, yet helplessly drawn to them.

But then, a darker thought crept in, swiftly stealing her moment of daydreaming. The anger. The frustration. The betrayal. Her chest tightened as she remembered the way Azlaan had left without a word, without a single explanation. How he had disappeared from her life for years, leaving her wondering if she had meant anything to him at all.

The hurt and confusion, the nights she spent wondering what went wrong, feeling as if she had been tossed aside like some forgotten trinket. Why? Why had he come back into her life now, acting as though nothing had ever happened?

The warm, fuzzy feelings quickly melted away, replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How could he just show up like nothing had changed? Like her pain meant nothing?

Her hands clenched into fists as she sat up, swinging her legs off the bed. Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye, and she scowled at the girl who had allowed herself to feel vulnerable. Not again. She wouldn't let him break her again. Not after everything.

A bold resolve settled over her, and a small, rebellious spark ignited in her.

She stood up, her anger fueling her steps, she freshened up  and walked over to her wardrobe. She picked out a kurti, a very short kurti, its intricate embroidery catching the light as she pulled it over her head. The fabric clung to her figure in all the right places, but it was the pair of well-fitted bell bottomed jeans she paired with it that made her feel daring. She felt an electric surge of confidence as she admired herself in the mirror. Her curves, her boldness—it all came together.

Then, her gaze fell upon her dupatta. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, scolding her for not wearing one when stepping out. "Yashfa, A girl should always be modest, beta!"

But Yashfa wasn't in the mood to care about what anyone thought today. Especially not her mother. Especially not Azlaan.

With a defiant huff, she picked up the dupatta and tossed it back onto the bed. She walked out of the room, her chin held high and her back straight. She was done with playing it safe, with holding back.

Just as she reached the door, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway. Her heart skipped a beat. She glanced back, and to her surprise, the door next to hers opened at the same time.

Azlaan.

He stepped out of his room, looking every bit the image of a man who had it all. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal gray suit, his tie perfectly knotted, and his dark hair styled to perfection, not a strand out of place. His blue eyes met hers, and for a split second, time seemed to stand still.

Her breath hitched in her throat. His gaze was piercing, like he could see straight through her, and that arrogant smirk on his lips didn't help either. That smirk. The one that always drove her crazy.

His eyes flickered down, and then back up to meet hers, as if acknowledging the way her body tightened at the mere sight of him. The silence between them thickened with the weight of unspoken words, but his expression said it all. He was enjoying this.

The thought was a jolt to her system, and her cheeks flushed bright red as she quickly turned her gaze away. She fought the overwhelming urge to fidget with her clothes, to hide her exposed neck, but she stood tall, trying to maintain her composure.

Azlaan didn't let her off that easily. He took a step closer, his voice low, filled with an unmistakable tease.

"I love the way your cheeks become all crimson when i'm near" he asked, his voice oozing with an arrogance that made her stomach flip.

Yashfa clenched her fists, refusing to let him see how much his presence affected her. She forced herself to meet his eyes, her own anger rising once again.

"Aap shayad sbh bhul gaye hain , Azlaan, lekin main nahi" she spat, her voice thick with frustration. "Aap mujhsy dur rahain, is main hi dono ka bhala hai"

His smirk faltered for the briefest moment and a flicker of guilt passed his eyes, but then it was back, more confident than before. He shrugged, like he couldn't care less about the pain he'd caused her.

"I'm here now," he said simply. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Yashfa's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. How dare he act so casual, so nonchalant after everything he had put her through? It only made her angrier. But she didn't want to show him the depth of her emotions. No. Not today.

"I don't care aap kahan rahain aur kahan nahi, mujhsy dur rahain" she replied coolly, turning away from him and walking toward the stairs.

As Yashfa made her way toward the stairs, her back straight, her chest rising and falling with the anger she still struggled to control, she was determined to put distance between herself and Azlaan.

But before she could even reach the first step, a strong hand gripped her wrist, halting her in her tracks.

She gasped in surprise as she was yanked back toward him, her body colliding with his chest. The impact made her breath hitch, and her heart seemed to skip a beat as she felt the heat of his body press against hers.

Azlaan's arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer, possessively, obsessively. His scent surrounded her, a mixture of cologne and something uniquely him. Her hands instinctively went to his chest, but he held her firm, his hold unyielding.

His voice, low and commanding, rumbled in her ear. "Kapre badlo," he said, his tone not leaving any room for argument.

Yashfa froze, her body tense with anger. "kya?" she hissed, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he added, "You're not wearing this. Change it."

Her chest rose and fell with a mix of indignation and frustration. Her body burned with the need to break free, to scream at him. How dare he?

"Aap kon hoty hain mujhy yeh kehne waly?" she spat, pulling her wrist out of his grip with a force she hadn't known she had. "Who do you think you are, telling me what to wear and what not to wear?"

For a moment, Azlaan didn't say anything. He just stared down at her, his dark eyes smoldering with an intensity that made her pulse race.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich with arrogance. "Abhi bhi utni hi ziddi ho. Aur main tumhara kon hun yeh to tumhy acche se pata hai, nahi?"

Her chest tightened, her fury bubbling up inside her. Who the hell does he think he is?

Yashfa lifted her chin, her anger now a firestorm inside her. " nahi, mujhy nahi pata aap mere kon hain" she snapped, glaring at him. "And frankly i don't even want to be anything to you, anymore"

But Azlaan wasn't backing down. He reached for her again, this time gripping her chin with his fingers, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.

"It seems like bhula main nahi, bhul tum gayi ho ky hamara rishta kya hai" His voice was dangerously low, his eyes flickering with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down her spine. "Jo kal shaam ko hua, usse zyada karne ka bhi mujhy pura haq hai Yashfa Azlaan khan"

Yashfa could feel her heartbeat in her throat after what he had just acknowledged , her breath catching in her chest. The intensity in his eyes, the force of his presence—it made her feel both infuriated and, against her will, drawn to him.

She pushed against his chest, trying to break free, but his grip was unyielding, his body a wall of heat that surrounded her. She was trapped.

" yaad a gaya aapko?" she said, her voice trembling with sadness . " Yaad a gaya aapko ke apki koi biwi hai?" she whispered

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. He didn't respond right away, but he didn't let go of her either. Instead, he lowered his face so that their noses nearly touched, his breath warm against her skin.

"Main kabhi bhula hi nahi, Yashfi," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.
Yashfa scoffed.

"Jhoot, sbh jhoot! Konsa shauhar apni biwi ko nikkah wale din chor kar chala jata hai?! Apne to kabhi itni zehmat nahi ki ke kabhi haal puch lun!"

The words hung in the air between them, thick and charged. Yashfa's pulse raced, but she refused to let him see how his proximity affected her. She forced herself to stand her ground, even as every fiber of her being screamed to run, to escape this moment.

His jaw hardened at her words and his hands made their way on to her cheeks to wipe away the few tears that has started to fall.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Azlaan released her chin, his hand trailing slowly down her jaw before dropping to his side. "Apne kapre badlo aur aghr dupatta tumhare sar pe na dikha mujhy to mujhsy bura koi nahi ho ga."

He didn't say another word. He simply turned, walking away without looking back.

Yashfa stood there, her chest still heaving, her mind a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts. She had never felt so angry, so confused, and yet... her body still burned with an undeniable pull toward him.

She turned towards her room and decided that maybe it was best to change, the intensity in his eyes scared her and she had no force to bear the consequences at the moment.

____________

Ayaan strode into his father's study, his presence immediately commanding the space. The scent of old leather, polished wood, and expensive cigars lingered in the air, but nothing could drown out the tension in the room as soon as Ayaan entered. Jalal Yousuf Baig, seated behind his massive desk, didn't even look up immediately—he knew his son was coming.

Ayaan stood before him, silent for a moment, as if weighing the atmosphere. Jalal motioned to the chair opposite him, his hand steady, his eyes sharp. Without a word, Ayaan sat down, his posture effortlessly exuding authority, his gaze unblinking as he faced his father. Jalal, equally poised, sat back in his chair, but the intensity in his demeanor matched his son's.

The room crackled with tension, two powerful forces, father and son, staring each other down.

After a few moments, Jalal broke the silence, his voice cool but laced with a familiarity Ayaan had grown up with.

"You weren't very nice to Fairoz the other day," he said, his tone casual but with an underlying bite.

Ayaan's eyes flashed with a split second of surprise, but he quickly masked it. This was his father—he would know, no matter how carefully Ayaan tried to hide it. He didn't have to say anything—his father could read him like a book. Ayaan's gaze never wavered as he faced Jalal with the same stoic composure he'd perfected over the years.

"If he hurts my possessions, he gets what he has coming" Ayaan replied, his voice low, unwavering, but there was a fire in his words—a possessiveness that went beyond the ordinary.

Jalal's eyes gleamed, a knowing look in them, as he observed his son. He saw the unflinching determination, but also the raw, burning passion beneath it. A passion he recognized—he had once had that same fire in his own eyes when he was younger. The fire that could either build empires or destroy everything in its path.

"Tumhy pata hai na Rameez ko manana koi asaan kaam nahi hai," Jalal continued, his voice softer, but there was an edge of caution in it. "You're ten years older than her, Ayaan. She's still just a little girl—Abhi toh university shuru ki hai usne."

At those words, Ayaan's jaw clenched. He was not blind to the meaning in his father's words. But he was no longer the boy who had once dreamed of holding Hooriya's hand. No. He had outgrown dreams. He was a man now—focused, determined, and unwilling to back down.

Ayaan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he stared into his father's eyes, his voice thick with desire and an obsession that could not be ignored.

"I need her, Baba," he said, his voice dripping with raw need, his hand slamming against the desk as if to emphasize his words. "She will study after marriage too—masla kya hai?!"

Jalal felt the power in his son's voice, the way it shook the air around them. Ayaan wasn't just talking about a woman. He was talking about her—the one who had been with him since she was a little girl, the one who had grown up before his eyes and had always been the one thing he could never quite get over. The obsession in Ayaan's voice was unmistakable, and it sent a small shiver through Jalal.

He couldn't deny that the fire in Ayaan's eyes—the same fire that once burned in his own heart for Hazal—was now directed at Hooriya.

"Main tumhari maa sy bat karta hun, lekin shayad hame kuch saal intezaar karna chahiye. She's only eighteen, Ayaan," Jalal said, leaning back, his voice now heavy with concern. "She's a fragile little angel. I don't even know if she'll be able to handle your troubled personality."

The words stung Ayaan, but he did not flinch. His obsession had been simmering for years, ever since he was a child. He had seen Hooriya grow up before his very eyes, from that small, innocent girl into the woman who now haunted his every thought. He wasn't about to let her slip away from him again.

He shook his head slowly, as if rejecting every doubt that dared to cross his father's mind.

"Mujhe Hooriya chahiye, Baba," Ayaan said, his voice rough, his gaze unyielding. "Aur main usay apne tareeqay se hasil karunga, agar kisi ne bhi mana kia" His tone was calm, but it was the calm of a man who had made up his mind. A man who had loved her for too long to turn back now.

It looked as if the incident with Fairoz was the last straw, it had now unleashed a beast.

Jalal saw it—the obsessive, burning intensity in Ayaan's eyes. The way his son spoke as though Hooriya had always been his, even when she had been a little girl, so innocent, so untouched by the cruelty of the world. Jalal knew that look. He had seen it in the mirror when he had first laid eyes on Hazal.

But Hooriya was different. She was fragile, innocent. He couldn't help but wonder if she could withstand the storm Ayaan was about to unleash on her life.

Ayaan stood up from his seat, his figure even more imposing now as he took a step toward his father. His eyes were blazing, filled with a wild intensity. Jalal observed him with a mixture of admiration and concern. He had seen his son's love for Hooriya grow from a mere boyish fascination into something all-consuming, something that had become a part of Ayaan's very soul.

"I'll make sure no one stands in my way, Baba," Ayaan said, his voice low and final, his hand pressing against the desk once more, as if to cement the certainty in his words.

Jalal gave a slow, deliberate nod, his eyes never leaving his son. "I'll speak to your mother. But remember—Hooriya is not just a prize to be won. You've watched her grow up. You've known her all her life. Don't let your obsession destroy what's most precious about her."

Ayaan's gaze softened for just a moment—a flash of vulnerability, but it was quickly replaced by the burning determination that had always driven him. With that, Ayaan left the study, his mind focused solely on the woman he had loved since childhood—the woman who had always been his, the one who would one day be his, no matter what it took.

As the sun shined bright Ayaan's Porsche purred to life with a low hum, the roar of the engine matching the intensity in his chest. He wasn't in a rush. He never was, but today, there was something different—something unshakable. The moment his fingers touched the steering wheel, he thought of her. The image of Hooriya's delicate face, her soft skin, and the way she made everything feel quieter, more alive, flooded his thoughts. It had always been her.

Driving out of the gates of his house, he spotted her almost immediately. Standing there, as beautiful as ever, her back straight and poised like the little angel she was. Hooriya was staring down at her phone, so absorbed in whatever she was doing that she didn't notice him approach at first. She didn't hear the sound of his shoes hitting the ground as he walked toward her with commanding strides, his gaze fixed on her like a predator who knew he had already claimed his prey.

The moment he stood in front of her, blocking the path between her and the Range Rover, she gasped and looked up. The air seemed to still, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Ayaan's large, imposing frame towered over her, his presence undeniable. He could see the way her chest rose and fell, the nervous tension radiating off her in waves. His heart skipped a beat, the sight of her delicate face and the surprise in her eyes hitting him with a rush of possessive longing.

Without giving her a chance to speak, he reached out and took her wrist in his strong hand, pulling her gently but firmly toward him. The sudden contact made Hooriya's breath catch, her skin tingling where his fingers brushed against her. His touch was always electrifying, making her heart race even when she tried to calm herself.

He didn't speak to her at first; instead, he turned to the old driver, Fazal, and gave a short command. "Fazal Chacha, main le jaunga Hooriya ko, aap gaari parked hi rehne den," his voice calm but laced with authority.

Fazal, ever the loyal servant, nodded obediently, his old eyes twinkling with the silent understanding of what was happening. "Jee Ayaan baba," he replied, stepping back to let them through.

Ayaan, still holding Hooriya's wrist, gently guided her to the Porsche. As he opened the door for her, he looked at her with that familiar, unwavering intensity, watching her every move. There was no mistaking it—she was his, in every sense of the word. Hooriya hesitated for a second, the warmth of his gaze making her heart flutter in a way she didn't understand. She climbed in, and Ayaan slid in beside her, the car almost feeling too small with their energy filling the space between them.

As he started the car and drove, Hooriya fidgeted beside him, unable to stay still. She was aware of how close he was, the heat radiating off his body like a furnace, pressing against her. Her mind raced, trying to distract herself with the view outside, but it was impossible when she could feel the weight of his eyes on her. His gaze never wavered from her face. She could feel his steady presence, and the effect it had on her was undeniable.

Ayaan couldn't take his eyes off her, especially not now. He noticed the way she nervously shifted in her seat, the way she kept her gaze low, avoiding him. Her fingers were playing with the hem of her knee-length kurti, clearly uncomfortable. His lips curled into a small but satisfied smile. It was always the same—she could never hide anything from him, not even when she thought she could.

"Nashta kiya?" Ayaan asked, his voice suddenly soft, caring. His eyes were still fixed on the road, but there was an undeniable tenderness in his words, the kind he reserved only for her.

"Jee," she lied, the word slipping past her lips before she could stop herself.

But Ayaan's gaze flickered to her face, and he saw the small tremble in her hands, the way her lips parted as if she were going to say more but stopped herself. He wasn't fooled. He never was.

He brought her hand up to his lips, eyes darkening with a sudden, smoldering intensity. His thumb caressed her knuckles before he kissed them gently, then pulled away, his gaze never leaving hers. "Jhoot bolna bilkul nahi aata Yaan ki jaan ko... hmm?" His voice was a low whisper, each word dripping with something that made her stomach tighten, her pulse quicken.

Hooriya's breath caught in her throat. Her face flushed crimson, her heart hammering against her chest. She looked down, unable to meet his gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. She had lied, and he had caught her. There was no escape.

Ayaan smiled, watching her squirm in the seat next to him, clearly enjoying the effect his words had on her. He leaned in just slightly, his scent—rich, intoxicating—enveloping her, making her pulse race even faster. He relished in the power he held over her, but it wasn't cruel. never to her. It was an unspoken bond they had, something deeper than control. She was his, and he was hers, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

They didn't say anything else on the drive, but Ayaan's mind was a flurry of thoughts. He could feel his own desire for her mounting with every passing second, but more than that, there was something in his chest—a need that had always been there, ever since she was a little girl. His love for her had always been undeniable, something that had taken root in his heart before she even realized what she meant to him. But it had grown, evolved, and now, it consumed him entirely.

When they pulled up at the brunch spot, Hooriya's eyes lit up with surprise and delight. It was one of her favorite places, and her excitement was infectious. But she also seemed nervous, as if she was unsure about how to behave around him in public.

She shyly glanced up at him and mumbled, "University ke liye late ho jaungi... professor gussa honge phir." Her lips formed a small, adorable pout, and Ayaan couldn't help but smile.

"uski fikr tumhe karne ki koi zaroorat nahi hai," Ayaan murmured softly, leaning in to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered there for a moment, his fingers tracing the delicate skin of her neck. There was something possessive about the way he touched her, as though he wanted to keep her for himself.

He noticed the shawl she wore had slipped off her shoulder during the drive, exposing the soft skin of her collarbones. Ayaan's eyes darkened. He didn't like it. He reached for the shawl, pulling it up with a firm but gentle touch, securing it around her neck and ensuring it covered her head properly. His fingers grazed the soft skin of her neck as he did, and he frowned, disapproving of how much of her skin was visible. To him, it was a subtle sign of the way people looked at her—too much attention on her, too much admiration from everyone around her.

Hooriya's face turned scarlet as she realized he'd seen her exposed skin. She lowered her gaze, embarrassed by the sudden shift in their atmosphere.

"Better," Ayaan murmured, his voice softening slightly as he gave her a long, appraising look. There was no question in his mind—she was his, and he wasn't going to let anyone else have a second glance at her.

Once inside, they sat in a private booth, away from the public eye. Ayaan ordered all of Hooriya's favorites: warm croissants filled with rich, gooey chocolate, fluffy scrambled eggs, fruit salad with honey drizzled on top, and, of course, her beloved pancakes. He'd ordered extra sweets just for her, because he knew how much she loved them.

As Hooriya dug into her food, her face lighting up with happiness, Ayaan watched her with a look that could only be described as adoration. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and full of something deeper than affection. He had always loved her—since she was a little girl, and now that she was his, his need for her only intensified. The way she ate so eagerly, so enthusiastically, made him feel possessive, but in the most tender of ways.

While Hooriya focused on her food, the waiter, one of the young, eager staff members, couldn't help but stare at her. His gaze lingered on her porcelain like skin and the light in her hazel eyes, entranced by her beauty. Hooriya, oblivious to the attention, continued to enjoy her meal.

But Ayaan noticed immediately. His eyes narrowed as he caught the waiter's lingering gaze. His jaw tightened, and his expression darkened. Two fingers snapped, a sharp, commanding sound that broke the waiter's trance.

The waiter immediately scurried away, his face pale, realizing the dangerous aura surrounding Ayaan. His jaw clenched as his gaze flickered back to Hooriya, who was blissfully unaware of the threat that loomed around them.

Hooriya felt the shift in the air, her heart skipping a beat as she looked up at Ayaan. "Kya hua?" she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

Ayaan softened at her words, his gaze melting. "Kuch nahi," he reassured her, his voice gentle now. "Tum khao," he said, his fingers lightly rubbing her knuckles.

The rest of their brunch passed in peaceful silence. Afterward, he guided her back to the car. "Cover yourself up" he said quietly, making sure she was wrapped properly.

As they reached the university, he accompanied her inside, walking her to the principal's office. The principal's eyes widened in shock at the sight of Ayaan—the city's most powerful politician—standing there with a girl half his size, who was shyly hiding behind him.

"Please have a seat" She gestured toward the chairs. He nodded and took out the chair for his girl first and then sat himself.

The principal witnessed it all with surprise.

His presence powerful And all consuming as always.

Ayaan's voice was low, calm, but firm when he spoke. "I'm here to accompany my wife. I hope there's no problem in her being a little late?"

Hooriya flushed at his words, wife?

The principal's face paled as she realized the gravity of the situation. "Of course not, Sir," she stammered. "Yeh bhi koi baat hai Awan sahab?"

Ayaan smirked lightly and turned to Hooriya, cupping her face gently. His fingers caressed her cheeks tenderly, sending a rush of warmth through her body. "I'll see you tonight, okay? Be a good girl for me," he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

Hooriya's cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, but she nodded lightly, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

He leaned in, his lips brushing her forehead in a soft kiss. The principal watched, shocked at how tender and protective Ayaan was toward her. No one would've guessed this side of the ruthless businessman and politician.

the older woman now looked even more flabbergasted. how could a man that portrayed such a dangerous image be so delicate and gentle. especially with a little girl like that, standing infront of her.

Before Ayaan left, he turned to the principal, his voice low and the threat clearly present. "I hope you'll treat my wife with the utmost respect, Principal Sahiba."

The gray haired woman nodded fearfully.

With one last lingering look at Hooriya, he left, his figure disappearing out the door.

The principal, still taken aback, led Hooriya towards her lecture. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask please Mrs Awan" she assured her kindly, a newfound respect in her eyes for the young girl in front of her.

And as Hooriya walked toward her lecture, her thoughts were filled with the man who had just left her life in such a whirlwind. The man who had loved her since she was a little bay , and the man who would never let anything ever happen to her.

______

It was a rare day off for Alayna from university. The kind of lazy, peaceful morning that felt like a mini-vacation, where she could lose herself in her books or a few episodes of her favorite show. The soft hum of the television played in the background as she sipped her tea, tucked away on the couch in her pajamas, enjoying the slow pace of the day.

That is, until the news anchor's voice shattered her peace.

"Breaking News: A car accident involving a prominent businessman and politician in Islamabad. Sources confirm that the driver of the Mercedes sedan, license plate number 3XH-854, lost control of the vehicle on the Rawalpindi-Islamabad highway. The driver, identified as Asfandyar Saad Daryab, was rushed to the hospital in critical condition."

Alayna's breath caught in her throat. Asfandyar...

Her mind went blank, her pulse pounding in her ears. She recognized the car. 3XH-854. It was the license plate of Asfandyar's sleek, expensive Mercedes. The same one he drove so often, and the same one she had watched him pull up in countless times.

But this time, it wasn't the smooth engine or the polished chrome she was thinking about. It was the fact that he was lying unconscious in a hospital somewhere, his life hanging by a thread.

Alayna's hands began to tremble, her vision blurred as the world tilted beneath her feet. Without realizing it, she stumbled backward, crumbling to the floor, her body trembling violently.

Her head spun, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. The images of his accident, the flashes of the mangled car on the screen, kept playing in her mind like a cruel loop. She had to get to him. She had to know he was okay.

"Mama!" she cried out, her voice desperate, thin with panic.

Qainat, Samar and Hira, all in the kitchen, rushed into the living room at the sound of their daughter's frantic cries. They froze when they saw Alayna, hunched on the floor, her eyes wide and glassy, tears streaming down her face.

"Alayna, beta! kya Hua?!" Qainat asked, rushing to her daughter's side.

She grabbed Alayna's shoulders, trying to steady her, but Alayna only shook her head in frantic denial, her voice breaking. "Mama... Asfi k-ka a-accident. I—he's hurt, Mama. He's hurt. I have to go to him!" Her eyes were frantic, her words tumbling out in a rush, and she looked like she might collapse all over again.

samar's face went pale as she looked at the news broadcast, the same details confirming their worst fears.

Her son was in a car accident.

she hastily called her husband and had came to know that they had known about everything and Ayaan, Sheharyar and Faran were already at the hospital.

that was enough to calm Samar down, she then turned to qainat and nodded, indicating that everything was okay.

Qainat didn't need to hear more. Her daughter's pain, her frantic need to reach Asfandyar, told her everything.

With a quick glance at Hira and Samar , Qainat turned back to Alayna, her expression softening but still with resolve. "accha beta chalte. Alayna. We're going to the hospital now, calm down beta kuch nahi Hua Asfandyar ko."

But Mama—!" Alayna protested, her voice breaking as she struggled to her feet. She was barely able to stand; her knees felt weak, but all she cared about was getting to Asfandyar.

"Please, I need to see him. I can't breathe, I can't... Mama, main nahi reh saki unke baghair mama! Please... mujhy asfand ky paas jana hai!" Alayna's sobs were so heavy, so desperate that even Qainat couldn't bear to see her daughter in this state.

The pain in Alayna's voice broke through any reservations. Her mother, understanding the depth of her daughter's feelings, took her hands and steadied her. "We're going, beta. Hold on, we'll be there. You'll see him. I promise."

The hospital was chaos. Doctors, nurses, and family members were all frantically running around, but Alayna barely saw any of it. Her world had narrowed down to just one thing: Asfandyar. The moment she entered the waiting room, her eyes swept the crowd, and there, in the corner, were all of her male cousins.

But it was the moment her gaze met his—Asfandyar's face, pale but awake, his eyes slowly flickering open—that everything else ceased to matter.

She didn't care who was watching; she didn't care who stood in the room. She rushed to his side, her heartbeat thunderous in her chest. "Asfi! " she cried, her voice raw with relief and fear.

Her hands reached out, trembling, to touch his face, checking for injuries, her fingers lightly grazing the bandages around his head. His eyes softened when he saw her, and despite the pain in his body, a small, tender smile touched his lips.

"Naina..." he whispered, his voice hoarse, but soothing. He reached out, gently pulling her into a weak embrace, his arms surrounding her. "It's okay, main tkh hun."

But Alayna couldn't stop the flood of emotion that came with seeing him alive. She collapsed against his chest, shaking, her face buried in his shirt, her tears soaking through.

"I thought I lost you," she whispered hoarsely, her words muffled against his chest. "aghr aapko kuch ho jata, Allah maaf Kare. Don't you ever scare me like that again, Asfi. Please."

Her voice cracked with the rawness of her feelings. She was no longer the composed, poised cousin he knew. In that moment, she was just a girl who was terrified of losing him.

This was Asfandyar's lover, his ishq.

The room was silent for a few beats, everyone watching this display of emotion. all the male cousins exchanged confused glances, unsure of what to make of it. They had never seen Alayna this way—not for any other cousin.

And then it dawned on them.

This wasn't just a sisterly bond, nor cousinly affection. The way Alayna held him, the way she clung to him, her every touch desperate and searching—it was something deeper. Something none of them had seen before, something undeniable.

Qainat and Samar exchanged a look, their expressions shifting from concern to understanding, as they both silently acknowledged what they had known deep down all along.

Their children, their children were in love with each other. And neither of them had been able to see it until now.

Asfandyar slowly pulled away from Alayna, cupping her face with both hands, his eyes soft with tenderness. "Naina, meri Jaan main tkh hun" He whispered, his voice low and reassuring, his fingers brushing away the tears that still spilled down her face. "Stop crying. yeh apni itny khoobsurat ankhon pe itna zulm nahi karo"

"Asfand agar apko kuch ho jata to mera kya banta...mar jati main apky baghair"

Her words hung in the air like a confession neither of them had said out loud before. The family members in the room watched in stunned silence. It was clear now: this was no simple cousin bond. It was something far more intense, far more powerful.

Asfandyar watched their stunned faces and decided he would deal with that later, for now he would just caress his lady's hair.

'It was time to make them officia' his mind whispered.

_____________

Aoa beauties!

kya hal hain sbh ky?

I hope you guys liked the chapter!

comment kar ke zuroor batana accha!!

until next time <3

Laiba-