Chapter 34: 30. 𝗦𝘂𝗵𝗮𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗶, 𝗴𝗵𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗮 𝗿𝗮𝗵𝗮 𝗵𝘂 𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗻..

❛ Ishq ke mod mude hai jab se,

Hosh, hawaas ude hai tab se..

Ishq dil ke dar pe yu aaya tha,

Haa aaya tha, ishq aaya tha..

So hum nazar utarein..

Haye re, hum sadqay tumhare...! ❜

Third Person's POV:

Altan punched in the passcode to his... no, their bedroom, the thought of sharing the space with his now wife making his lips twitch slightly. The room, which once was entirely his, now carried the sweet weight of a shared reality.

As he stepped inside with the trolley of food, his expression hardened, the door clicking shut behind him. An hour earlier, Riza had called him from the corridor's landline, informing him that Mallika Aanam was refusing to enter the bedroom, insisting instead of sleeping in the room she shared with Seyran. Altan had been ready to storm over and set things straight, but Arya stepped in, taking charge as Altan was already burning in pits of envy and rage after the exchange of conversation with Sulaiman. With a soft tone and endless reassurances, Arya had managed to calm Mahoor down, coaxing her into the bedroom. She eventually agreed, worn out and simply longing for sleep.

As Altan strode towards the bed, his steps gradually slowed when Mahoor came into view. He froze, taking in the sight of her sprawled in a rather awkward position. She had only managed to remove her veil which still rested on her head and half hanging in the air, before succumbing to sleep, her head slumped against the headboard, one leg stretched out flat while the other was propped awkwardly over it, hanging in the air. The scene was both amusing and endearing, stirring something within him.

Before he could stand there and admire her beauty for an eternity, the thought of her sleeping with lenses jarred him back to reality, snapping him out of his dreamland.

He quickly moved towards her, lowering himself in front of her to wake her, but he hesitated. Even though she was his wife now, he knew Mahoor loathed even sharing the same air with him. The last thing he wanted was to stir things up and cause more issues when all he desired was to win her heart.

He looked at her face, noticing how calm and deeply asleep she was. “Neend mein hai, kuch nahi kahegi,” he murmured to himself.

Gently, he tapped her bicep and whispered softly, “Mahoor Jaan,” his voice barely above a whisper, yet tender. It was a tone he had started to practice solely for Mahoor's sake, as his usual rough, bold, and commanding voice would hardly make him approachable to her.

At her lack of response, Altan shook Mahoor once more. This time, she jolted awake, her eyes flying open in shock as she found Altan's face inches away from hers. Without a moment's hesitation, she quickly reached under her lehenga and pulled out a pan which she asked Riza to bring to the room, ready to defend herself.

She lunged at Altan with the pan, but he dodged her attack effortlessly, stepping back just in time. Undeterred, Mahoor stood up, gripping the pan with both hands, holding it high in the air as she shouted, “TERE BAAP KI AISI KI TAISI! NAZDEEK KAISE AAYE MERE AAP?” She swung the pan at him again, but Altan swiftly caught it, stopping her in her tracks.

He glared at her as she wriggled in his strong hold, trying to free the pan from his iron grip. “Pagal ho gayi ho? Kya harkat hai yeh!”

She squirmed in his hold, trying to free the pan from his iron grip. Through gritted teeth, she retorted, “Aap mere qareeb kaise aaye, haa? Zabardasti ke shohar bann baithe hain, iska matlab yeh nahi ke AAP CHANCE DHOONDTE RAHE MUJHSE LIPAT NE KE!”

Having enough of her trying to free the pan from his clasp, Altan deadpanned, “HILNA BANDH KARO!” Mahoor instantly ceased, her eyes widening in shock. The room fell silent, the tension thick as she stared at him, struggling to process his commanding tone. He held her gaze, unyielding and resolute, as if daring her to defy him further.

“Main tumhare qareeb nahi aa raha tha. Tum lens pehen kar soyi hui thi, tumhe infection ho sakta tha, isiliye utha raha tha main tumhe neend se.”

“Awaz dekar utha sakte the na? Uss mein haath lagane ki kya zarurat thi?”

Altan's lips pressed into a thin line as he spoke with a taunting edge, “Aur yeh jo tumhari ungli mere haath ko choo rahi hai, iska kya matlab nikalu?”

Mahoor glanced up and her eyes widened, realizing her fingers were tightly gripping his, one hand on the pan, the other on the handle. She looked back at him, “Ab main kahu? Tum apna chance maar rahi ho mujhpe?”

She recoiled her hand in disgust and stepped back, “Psycho mafia, faltu khyal hai aapke!”

Altan's nostrils flared with anger as he dropped his hand to his side, still gripping the pan. “Mental actress! Tum ho mera khyal. Toh apne baare mein fizool baatein mat karo.”

Mahoor placed her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at him. “Aap mujhe mental keh rahe hain?”

“Tumne mujhe Psycho Mafia kaha!”

“Mai keh sakti hu kyu ke aapki harkatein hai hi aisi.”

He rolled his eyes, his voice tinged with sarcasm, “Main bhi keh sakta hu kyun ke tumhari bhi kartootein aisi hain.” He shot a glance at the pan before looking back at her, “Fry pan kaun apne lehenga mein lekar sota hai? Duniya ka aathwa ajooba ho tum.”

Altan moved towards the food trolley, trying to distract himself, but Mahoor wasn't one to let him off easily. She smirked, following closely behind him, “Isiliye nazar padi na aapki mujh pe? Varna agar kuch khaas nahi hoti toh mere zabardasti ke shohar ban ke nahi khade hote aap.” She playfully stuck her face out from his right side, batting her lashes with a mischievous grin, “Aise hi aap mere fan nahi hain.”

Altan's left eye twitched as he clenched his jaw, fighting the smile threatening to break through. She knew exactly how to make his heart race, and it frustrated him just how much she affected him.

He grabbed a plate and began to fill it, his voice laced with annoyance as he muttered, “Mujhse baat mat karo tum. Naraz hoon main tumse. Kabhi Sulaiman, toh kabhi fry pan,” he harshly put the spoon in the bowl, earning the clinking sound, “Mera khoon jalati rehti ho har waqt.”

Mahoor raised her eyebrows at his audacity to be upset with her. Seriously? She couldn't believe it- he was acting like a typical love-struck husband who had married his wife with her full consent.

“Zara yaha, meri taraf mudna,” Altan placed the plate down and turned towards her as she commanded. His face revealed his inner emotions, unguarded for once, unlike the usual dead-serious expression he wore to mask his true feelings. She was surprised to see him so bare in front of her, vulnerable in a way she hadn't expected.

“Aww, mere zabardasti ke shohar mujhse naraz hain?” Mahoor teased, but Altan didn't answer-he just gave a slight nod.

Mahoor scoffed, “Toh mujhe ghanta farq nahi padta, main nahi manane wali aapko. Raho naraz,” gripping the lehenga in her hands, “Huh!” She moved towards the dressing table while Altan ran his hand through his curls in frustration.

He turned around and looked at her reflection in the mirror as she removed the veil from her head and began taking off her earrings. He huffed, “Maine kabhi nahi socha tha hamari pehli raat aisi hogi.”

Mahoor's hand froze, and she swiveled around on the stool to get a proper look at him.

She tilted her head to the side and asked, “Toh aapko kya laga tha?” She picked up the veil from the ground and placed it over her head, covering her face with the transparent cloth.

Holding the edges of the veil, she continued, “Toh aapko kya laga tha aapke saath,” she slowly began to lift the veil and sang teasingly, “Suhagraat hai, ghunghat utha raha hoon main.” The veil paused at her forehead as Mahoor grinned broadly, shaking her head slightly. “Wala moment hoga?”

Altan watched her, dumbfounded, as Mahoor's smile faded. She replied seriously, “Toh dharti pe wapas aaye apne delulu planet se. Kyunki aise scenarios hone se rahe humare beech.”

Altan's jaw tightened as he blew out a frustrated breath. “Jao, yaar. Mujhe tumse baat hi nahi karni.”

Mahoor turned around, calmly removing her jewellery. “Na karein, jaise mujhe ghanta farq padta hai agar yeh mujhse baat nahi karenge toh.”

He marched over to her, stopping just behind her. “Ye 'ghanta,' 'ghanta' kya laga rakha hai tumne?” he demanded, his voice low and stern.

For a moment, Mahoor felt a flicker of fear at how quickly his mood shifted from being upset and frustrated to outright anger. His tone sent a chill down her spine, but she masked her reaction, pretending it didn't affect her.

“Aap toh mujhse baat nahi karna chah rahe the, na? Ab bahane dhoond rahe hain mujhse do bol bolne ke liye, haa?” she taunted.

“Mera mann, mera faisla, meri marzi!” he snapped back.

Mahoor calmly removed her maang tika, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. “Mera muh, mere shabd aur” - she paused, a sardonic smile playing on her lips, she yelled- “MERI MARZI!”

Altan rolled his eyes at her statement while Mahoor busied herself with unpinning the bun in her hair. Altan remained rooted in place, watching her as she slowly undid her hair. His intense gaze made her even more frustrated, especially as the pins seemed never-ending. His goo-goo eyes following her every move only made her want to pull her hair out in exasperation.

She yanked out a pin and slammed it on the table, “Kya hai! Ghoor kyu rahe hai?”

Altan shrugged with feigned innocence. “Main kaha ghoor raha hoon?” He smirked, his eyes twinkling. “Mai toh bas khuda ki haseen takhleeq ko nihaar raha hoon.”

(Takhleeq: Creation)

Mahoor tugged at her earlobe and scowled at him through the mirror. “Aap mujhe takli keh rahe hain?” She picked up a pin and, spinning around in her seat, threw it at him. Altan caught it effortlessly. “Himmat kaise hui aapki?”

Altan closed his eyes, tilting his head to the left as he inhaled deeply, trying to exhale his anger away.

He opened his eyes, “Tumse baat hi nahi karni chahiye, saara romantic mood off kar deti ho.”

“Aapne mujhe takli kaha, aur ab keh rahe hain main romantic mood off kar deti hoon?”

Altan began to unclasp his watch as he sauntered towards his closet. “Change karlo, phir khana khate hain saath,” his voice trailed off as he disappeared into the closet.

Mahoor angrily threw more hair pins in his path as he vanished into the closet, yelling, “Takla, ganja, ujda chaman tu hoga, tera baap hoga, mushtande!”

“CHIKKI JA, MENTAL ACTRESS! EDA HI CHIKKI KI JAA. BATHROOM TAK AWWAZ AANI CHAIDI AE! UTTHE VI TERI MITTHI AWWAZZ MERE KANNA TAK PAHAUNCHANNI CHAIDI AE.” he shouted back.

(CHILLATI REH AISI, MENTAL ACTRESS! BATHROOM TAK AWAAZ AANI CHAHIYE, WAHAN BHI TERI MEETHI AWAZ MERE KANO TAK PONCHNI CHAHIYE!)

Mahoor clutched her head in her hands, fingers digging into her hair as frustration boiled over. A scream tore from her lips, raw and filled with the exasperation that Altan seemed to effortlessly draw out of her. Just a few minutes with him, and she was already on the verge of losing her mind. It was too much to bear. The mere idea of being stuck with him, day in and day out, felt like a slow descent into madness and now, the thought that she had to endure his presence until... Shh...

She began to remove the pins from her Mahoor began to remove the pins from her hair, trying desperately to shut her mind off from the dreadful reality she found herself in. As she pulled out the first pin, she started to rant, more to herself than anyone else.

“Role karne chali thi spy ka, jisme male lead ki biwi banna tha second lead hokar, par yaha toh sahi mein kisi ki biwi ban gayi hu main!”

She huffed in frustration, yanking another pin out. “Inky pinky ponky is my main character's background music with the periodic appearance of moye moye.”

The absurdity of her situation made her want to scream again, but instead, she just pulled out another pin, her ranting the only thing keeping her from completely unraveling.

“Aur ye aadmi 'tu' karke baat kar raha hai mujhse. Bade chahne ke daave karta hai, aur badtameezi dekho iski,” she grumbled, pausing to yank out another pin, her irritation bubbling over. She shrugged, her voice taking on a mocking tone, “Toh kya hua agar maine tu se baat ki, yeh andha hai na pyar mein, toh tehzeeb se baat kare na!”

She looked at the pins scattered on the dressing table and her face scrunched in irritation, “Saare pino ka jhaad laga diya hai kya mere baalo mein? Haath dukh gaye khudaya mere nikaalte nikaalte inhe!”

Suddenly, everything around her went silent. The background noise of the fan and insects faded into an unsettling hush as she stared at the pins in her hand for too long. The silence felt like sharp needles pricking her skin, and before she knew it, her mind slipped into memory lane, dredging up emotions she thought she'd buried long ago. The inner turmoil began to swell, tightening its grip on her heart.

Mahoor sat on the chair, slowly removing the pins from her hair after the exhausting dance performance. Her fingers were sore, and she was beginning to regret the elaborate hairstyle that seemed to be held together by an endless number of pins. Just as she was about to give up, she heard a familiar laugh behind her.

“Mere bina ye pins nahi nikalne wale tere sir se,” Robin chuckled, leaning against the doorframe with a teasing grin.

Mahoor rolled her eyes and huffed, “Muh kya dekh raha hai mera, nikaal inhe yaar. Hamesha 50-60 pins toh mere sir mein yeh sasti hairstylist daalti hi hai.”

Robin chuckled again, walking over to help her. “Mujhe laga tu kahegi local hairstylist,” he teased, gently starting to remove the pins from her hair.

Mahoor leaned back tiredly in the chair, grateful for the assistance. “More like jugaadu and cheap parlour wali didi did my hair, jo apna college hire karta hai,” she grumbled, her exhaustion evident in her voice.

Robin nodded in agreement, “Ch*tiya college hai bhai, ek semester mein itne l*ude lage hai, aage dekh kya hoga.”

Mahoor hummed in response, closing her eyes as she let him work on her hair. The gentle tugging on her scalp was almost soothing, a welcome relief from the chaos of the evening. After a moment of comfortable silence, Robin spoke up.

“Tu kabhi kisiko apne baalon ko haath lagane nahi deti, upar tak ki Ayan aur Vaani ko bhi nahi. Sirf Seyran hi permitted hai. Toh mujhe kyun yeh special treatment milta hai?”

Mahoor clicked her tongue, half-smiling with her eyes still closed. “Koi special treatment nahi hai. I just don't like it when people touch my hair, bhai. Whenever they do, their first comment is always about how silky and shiny it is! Nazar lagti hai yaar. It's not just about nazar, you know? It's about trust.” She chuckled dryly, continuing, “Matlab ke shakal toh hai hi bandaro jaisi, par sirf baalon ki ek shine aur silkness pe hi gumaan hai. Takle pe itne baal toh hai nahi, yaha waha se sir dikhta rehta hai. Par phir bhi sab haath lagate rahenge toh wo shine aur silkness bhi udd jayegi.”

Robin couldn't help but laugh at her words, and with a playful glint in his eye, he slapped his hand lightly on the back of her head. “Kutte, kyu maara?” Mahoor exclaimed, turning around to smack him on the stomach, though it didn't do much harm.

“Kuttiya, itni pyari shakal rakh kar khud ke baare mein aisa kehti hai. Kaha se sochti ho itna kachra?” Robin shot back, feigning offense.

Mahoor gave him a sarcastic smile. “Tumhare saath ka asar hai.”

As Robin removed the final pin, he scowled. “Behen ki lalli, behave. Varna sir mein ghusa dunga pin.”

Mahoor glared at him through the mirror, “Behen ke chuze, lappad laga ke Mars ki tour na karadi toh dekhio.”

Robin burst into laughter, unable to hold back. “Kara de yaar, vaise bhi yeh dharti maa se main ugta gaya hu. Mars maa ki baari ab.”

They both dissolved into a fit of laughter, the tension of the night melting away in the comfort of their familiar banter.

Mahoor's eyes welled up with tears as the memory washed over her. After every dance performance, it was always Robin who gently removed her hair pins, knowing how her hands ached after just a few. He'd been with her since eleventh grade, standing by her side through every milestone, every success, and every failure. Robin was more than just a friend; he was like a mother to her, always deeply concerned for her well-being, more so than even Ayan or Vani could ever be. Their bond was something words could never fully capture-it was a connection she could only feel, an unspoken understanding that ran deep within her soul.

Her phone would have been overflowing with messages from Robin by now, each one laced with his familiar worry. Her absence would've surely struck a nerve in him, setting off a barrage of calls and texts. But now, being here, she knew with a sinking heart that she'd never see Robin in person again. The reality of it weighed heavy on her chest. She had been fortunate enough to see Ayan, but the chances of seeing Vani and Robin again were slim to none. She was trapped in this place, for how long, only the Lord knew.

Mahoor wiped away her fallen tears, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out another pin. With a tired sigh, she let her hand drop onto the desk, her head slumping down onto it in exhaustion. “Ya Allah, koi toh farishta bhej do, jo ye pins nikaale. Robin ne bigaad diya tha isiliye ab aadat nahi, haath dukh rahe hai,” she mumbled, her voice heavy with weariness and longing for the comfort Robin used to provide.

Before she knew it, exhaustion claimed her, and she slipped into a slumber, her hand still resting at the table.

Time passed, and she drifted in and out of consciousness. Suddenly, the peace shattered as Altan's loud voice pierced through the room, “UTH JAO, MALLIKA!”

Mahoor jolted awake, her hair spilling down her back as she lifted her head, startled. She blinked rapidly, trying to get her bearings. Altan stood there, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Tum hamesha itni jaldi so jati ho ya sirf mere liye ye saari special harkatein karti ho?”

Mahoor shot him a glare, rubbing her eyes, “Shor machane ka bohot shauq hai aapko? Kya masla hai?”

Altan smirked, “Masla? Mera masla tum ho. Itni masoomiyat se neend mein bhi farishton ko madad ke liye bula rahi thi. Uth ke khud sab kaam kar lo toh farishton ki zarurat nahi padegi, samjhi?”

Mahoor rolled her eyes, not in the mood for his banter. “Farishtay mere liye nahi, aapke liye chahiye honge. Aap toh bas zehr ghulne aaye hai.”

Altan's eyes gleamed mischievously. “Haan, zehr hi toh hoon. Tumhari neend kharaab karna meri favorite hobby ban gayi hai.”

Mahoor huffed, standing up to go freshen up, “Bas, aur zehr mat gholein. Mera mood kharab mat karein!.”

She walked towards the bathroom, still annoyed with him, but as she reached the mirror, something caught her attention. Her fingers instinctively went to her hair, running through the now loose strands. There wasn't a single pin left. Confused, she frowned, “Maine toh saare pins nahi nikaale the?” She brushed it off, assuming she had done it without realizing.

As Mahoor disappeared into the bathroom, Altan's eyes stayed fixed on the door. His expression turned from mischief to hard, as usual in a micro second but beneath that gruff exterior, his feelings ran deep. He slowly brought his hand forward, revealing the small pile of hair pins he had removed with meticulous care while she slept.

Altan's jaw clenched, a storm of emotions swirling in his chest. His voice, barely audible, held a fierce determination, “Mera sab kuch ho tum, Mahoor. Chahe tumhe zabardasti kar ke hi kyun na hasil kiya ho, tumhare liye kuch bhi karna... mera farz hai.”

He stared at the pins in his hand, his grip tightening around them. There was no softness in him, only the raw, possessive emotion that had driven him to bind her to him, no matter the cost. He might have forced her into this marriage, but in these small, unseen acts, it was clear- Mahoor was the center of his universe, and he would do anything to keep her close, even if she never knew the lengths he'd go to for her.

•♡•

Mahoor stepped into the closet and immediately halted. She blinked in disbelief, taking in the vast space before her. It was as if she had walked into another bedroom-the closet was the same size as Altan's room, large enough to fit three regular rooms within it.

She slowly twirled around, her wide eyes taking in the vastness of the room. With a hint of amazement in her voice, she muttered, “Khokho, kabaddi, hockey, football, basketball... sab araam se zameen pe lait ke khel lu!”

Each clothing had a huge section where it seemed like a hundred of every variety of clothing piece-shirts, formal pants, jeans, and sweatshirts-hung in pristine order. The subtle hues and vintage style of the shirts immediately gave away that this man always dressed in an old-money fashion. Every piece exuded a timeless elegance, refined and classic, as if each item was handpicked for someone.

To blow her mind away, he had a section dedicated entirely to his pathanis and kurta salwar, all crisply arranged. His wardrobe was an overwhelming display of dark colours, but white stood out as the most luminous shade. Another section was filled with an elegant collection of shawls, mostly in shades of white, cream, black, and olive green.

“Ye aadmi ke zindagi mein andhera hi andhera hai, itna dark. Gora hai, pastels pehne na, accha lagega. Dark colours hum dull skin, walon ke liye chodein.”

She inspected the colours thoughtfully, her tone turning suggestive. She turned her gaze back to the white shirts, her eyes narrowing into a glare, “White ke layak toh ye banda hai nahi, meri zindagi itni kaali kar di hai aur khud safed badal ban ke ghoomta hai.”

Her voice carried a mix of sarcasm and bitterness, the weight of her emotions reflecting in the way she stared at the pristine white, as if it mocked the chaos he brought into her life.

Her gaze landed on a unique section made entirely of glass, piquing her curiosity. With slow, deliberate steps, she sauntered toward it. As soon as she reached the display, she froze, her breath catching in her throat. A loud gasp escaped her lips as her hand instinctively flew up to cup her cheeks.

Before her lay a dazzling collection of impossibly expensive watches and cufflinks, each more luxurious than the last. “Mere purwajo ke saare badan ke purze bhi bech diye toh bhi inn mein se chaar ghadi na aaye.” she muttered, eyes wide in disbelief, momentarily stunned by the extravagance.

She carefully slid the glass door away, her delicate fingers tenderly picking up a watch. As her thumb gently caressed the dial, her eyes widened at the sight of the brand logo—Bulgari. A soft gasp escaped her lips. There wasn't a single watch in his collection that cost less than five lakhs. It was becoming clear that Altan didn’t just own luxury; he indulged in the kind of opulence where even the smallest accessory started at a million, at least.

She immediately placed the watch back in its spot, recoiling her hand in fear. “Agar ye giri ya in watches ko kuch hua, toh ye pahadi gora meri aankhein, kidney, phepde, kaleja bech kar inki bharpayi karega.” Her gaze shifted from the watch to the cufflinks beside it, their diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, and rubies shimmering under the light. Mahoor's face twisted in a cry, “Kitna ameer hai yeh! Iske paas toh asli heere, jauhraat bhi hai!” Her face turned serious as she muttered, “Par faida kya?” She poked at the glass over the cufflinks and spat bitterly, “Dil toh koyla hai mushtande ka.”

She backed away from the glass and began scanning the room for her belongings. The left side of the closet was entirely filled with Altan’s things, while the right side was hers. She strode towards it, her heavy dress trailing behind her, and the sight of her lingerie stopped her in her tracks. Her mouth fell open as the realization hit her like a brick.

“Isey ab mere kacche banyaan bhi dekhne milenge,” she muttered in disbelief.

She clutched her head, “Ye kaise nikal gaya mere dimag se? Saath bed bhi share karna padega, raat din yeh aadmi ka muh dekhna padega. Saath khana bhi thoosna padega,” she muttered, panic rising as she began biting her nails. “Aur pappi bhi lene ki try karega, gale padne ko bhi dekhega. Tab kya karungi mai?”

She shook her head vigorously, “Haye! Nahi, nahi. Kuch aisa karega toh iska postmortem kar dungi main.”

The thoughts weighed heavily on her, and she realized shutting her mind off might be the only way to cope. Grabbing her necessities, she headed straight to the bathroom for a long shower, hoping the water could wash away her fear and doubts.

•♡•

Mahoor emerged from the closet dressed in an old, worn-out t-shirt and a pair of cartoon pajamas, her spectacles sitting on her nose’s bridge, looking both comfortable and out of place in the grand room. Her hand gently rubbed a towel against her wet scalp, while water droplets slid down her long black tresses.

Altan immediately stood up, a subtle sense of reverence in his movements. He had already closed the windows, aware of the freezing Lahore night air. He knew she would ice up in the cold if left exposed, and despite his stern exterior, he always ensured her comfort, even in the smallest ways.

Mahoor's hand froze mid-rub as her gaze landed on Altan. He was standing tall behind the coffee table, dressed in nothing but an undershirt—what she would call a banyan—and a salwar. The table in front of him was filled with plates of food, an unusual sight in itself, as if he'd been preparing for her all along.

“Mujhe mera phone chahiye.” Her voice cut through the silence, calm but direct. She wasn’t in the mood for any games tonight.

Altan's brow twitched as he met her gaze, but he said nothing, waiting for what might follow.

“Ab hogaya na aapke mann ka, toh ab meri sunein. Mera aur Seyran ka phone wapas karein kyun ke passport toh aapne dena nahi hai,” Mahoor's voice was sharp, her eyes demanding as she crossed her arms.

Altan’s gaze flicked toward the right side of the sofa. Mahoor followed his glance, spotting the two cellphones resting on the cushion, silently indicating that he was about to return them.

“Bhook lagi hogi tumhe,” he said, his voice deep, but almost casual, “pehle kuch kha lo, phir apna phone le lo.”

She was starving, but she wasn’t about to let him win. Submitting to his request felt like losing ground, and that she couldn’t afford.

“Nahi. Pehle phone, phir pait pooja,” she replied firmly, eyes locked on him.

Altan sighed softly, knowing there was no point in arguing further. He knew her well enough by now—she wouldn't back down. He knew he couldn’t win against her, nor did he really want to. With a resigned sigh, he picked up the phones and, striding towards her, handed them without a word.

Mahoor grasped her iPhone 11 as if it were a precious artifact. Her fingers curled around it protectively, pressing it to her chest like he had just handed her her firstborn. The thought of being separated from it terrified her, especially since she was still paying off the installments.

Altan, watching her cling to the phone with such intensity, couldn’t help but scoff internally. ‘Yaha insan apni jaan dene ko tayyar hai, aur begum sahiba ki jaan toh ek bejaan cheez mein qaid hai.’ His lips twitched in a snarl, but he didn’t comment on it further.

“Aao,” he gestured towards the sofa, “Khana khaa lo.”

Mahoor shot him a stink eye, daring him to say anything. Before Altan could respond, she quickly moved to the coffee table, piling her plate high with everything that looked remotely tasty. Satisfied with the assortment, she made her way over to the bed, plopping down casually with her legs crossed, the plate resting in front of her.

Altan gawked at Mahoor, completely baffled. In all of his thirty-one years, he’d never even considered eating food on the bed—let alone the sofa. Today, though, he was making an exception, only because of her. Normally, his dinners were a sacred affair at the dining table, but his wife had him questioning his very sanity.

“Yaha couch pe baith ke khao. Bed sone ki jagah hoti hai, waha baith ke khana nahi khate,” Altan's voice was firm, but he couldn’t hide the frustration laced within.

Mahoor, unbothered, stuffed a large morsel into her mouth, barely pausing as she mumbled through the food, “Mweri marzi mai kwaha bi bawith ke khawu.”

Altan raised an eyebrow, his patience thinning with every passing second. “Pehle khaa lo, phir bolo,” he muttered, annoyingly.

Mahoor gulped down the food, locking eyes with him before speaking again, “Meri marzi. Mai jaha chahu waha baith ke kha sakti hu, aur main apna comfort dekh rahi hu. Aapne jaise kabhi dekha hi nahi ho khud ka araam.”

Altan stared at her, silently wondering how anyone could challenge him like this and get away with it. How could anyone crawl under his skin, stir up his every nerve, and still somehow make his heart race and bring him peace at the same time? But here she was, completely unfazed by the storm she caused inside him, casually eating on the bed as if she had the whole world at her feet.

In that moment, Altan couldn’t decide if he was more infuriated or enchanted by her audacity.

“Thike, khao kahi bhi baith ke. Vaise bhi ye haveli ka har kona tumhara hai toh mai kaun hota hu aitraaz karne wala.”

Mahoor stopped chewing, her eyes narrowing in a sharp glare directed at Altan. He shrugged innocently, pretending not to notice the fire in her gaze. Calmly, he moved toward the table and picked up a plate that was already filled with food—he had prepared it for her earlier, but judging by the way she devoured the food, she must have been too famished to even glance at it.

At least, that's what he told himself to ease the subtle sting of rejection.

They ate in silence, the tension thick between them. Altan remained seated on the couch, his gaze frequently drifting towards Mahoor, who focused on her plate without saying a word. He couldn’t help but compare the present to the past—the lively meals in Hyderabad where she was always so chatty, even in the middle of dinner. Her silence now gnawed at him, stirring memories that made his heart ache. She was distant, far from the girl who used to fill the air with her laughter, and he didn’t know how to bridge that growing gap.

Mahoor walked over, filled her plate again, and didn’t even spare Altan a glance as she fiddled with her phone, desperately trying to get some network.

She sank into the bed, the plate of food still in front of her, her frustration evident. “Network kyu nahi aa raha hai yaar!” she muttered, slamming the phone down beside her.

Altan, watching her, couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. She was so engrossed in her irritation, her focus solely on that damn phone.

Mahoor's gaze flickered to Altan, who was watching her with a hint of smile while chewing his food. She narrowed her eyes.

“Mujhe problems mein dekh ke aapko hamesha hansi aati hai, hai na?” she accused, her voice laced with frustration. “Woh batteesi control karne ki zarurat nahi, daant phaad ke hasiye na! Mujhe bhi dekhna hai, shaitan haste hue kaisa lagta hai.”

She shoved a bite of food into her mouth, chewing with exaggerated aggression, her eyes still fixed on him.

Altan's face bloomed into a full, charming smile, and for the first time, Mahoor noticed the dimple that appeared on his right cheek.

“Tum kabhi mujhe psycho mafia bulaati ho, toh kabhi shaitan,” he said casually, leaning forward to add salad to his plate. He glanced at her, his tone dropping to something softer yet playful, “Pata hai? Log unhi ko nicknames dete hain jinhay woh pasand karte hai.”

His words hung in the air, but Mahoor gripped her plate tighter, a sarcastic grin curling on her lips.

"Haa," she nodded, chewing the last morsel before getting up from the bed. She made her way to the coffee table and bent down to place the empty plate on it. “Jaise Haider bhaiya,” she threw the words intentionally, but the shift in Altan’s expression was immediate.

The sarcastic grin on her face morphed into a genuine one as she watched the smile drain from his, his jaw tightening visibly. She straightened up, clapping her hands, “Haider bhai wala nickname aap ke liye mera favourite hai,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Sochti hu ab se har dafa yahi bulaya karu.”

Altan’s silence was palpable, but the storm in his eyes said more than his words ever could. The salad started to taste bitter after her jab, and he averted his gaze from her to the food in front of him. “Hogaya na tumhara khana, ab jao sojao. Shayad sote waqt tum itni zehrili baatein nahi karti hongi.”

Mahoor wiped her hands with a tissue, her expression unfazed. “Abhi toh shuruaat hui hai, aage aage dekhein hota hai kya.”

Altan remained silent, thinking it was wiser to let it slide this time. Mahoor, picking up the phones, strode toward the door, raising questions in his mind.

“Kaha jaa rahi ho?”

Without sparing him a glance, Mahoor punched in the door's password and opened it. “Jahannum mein,” she replied, slamming the door behind her, leaving Altan glaring at the now closed door.

Mahoor marched toward the room where she and Seyran used to stay. Jabbing the password into the panel, she muttered under her breath, “Har kamre mein jaise Ali baba ka koi khazana rakh hua ho vaise passwords laga rakhe hain,” clearly frustrated with unlocking doors at every turn. With a soft click, the door swung open.

Entering the dimly lit room, her gaze softened at the sight of Seyran, sound asleep with little Jihan snuggled by her side. Mahoor quietly approached them, placing Seyran's phone gently on the nightstand. Leaning down towards Seyran’s peaceful form, a tender smile graced her lips as she kissed her temple softly. Then, turning her attention to Jihan, she placed a gentle kiss on his chubby cheek, warmth filling her heart.

Mahoor considered slipping into bed beside them, craving the comfort of their warmth, but she knew Altan too well. He would storm into the room, creating a scene about how she was his wife now and should be sleeping with him. The thought of him making a fuss and waking Jihan, only for the little one to struggle falling asleep again, made her sigh. It was better for her to avoid that mess altogether. Casting one last affectionate glance at Seyran and Jihan, her heart heavy, Mahoor quietly exited the room, heading back to Altan’s.

She entered Altan's bedroom, finding everything impeccably in place—there wasn’t even a trace of the food trolley left, and the bed looked as though it had never been touched. It was clear he had tidied up every last crease.

The closet door creaked open, and the Shaitani Badshah himself emerged, his gaze landing on her with one eyebrow raised. “Aa gayi jahannum se?”

As she started braiding her damp hair into a loose braid, she muttered, “Keh sakte hai ke jannat se jahannum mein aayi hu.”

Altan didn’t seem to register her words, his eyes fixed solely on her hair, now damp and untended. His concern flickered instantly.

“Baal sukhe nahi hai tumhare, khule rehne do inhe,” he ordered, the firmness in his tone barely masking his worry.

“Jaise maine aap ki baat maan leni hai," Mahoor muttered under her breath, her fingers still searching for a rubber band. “Vaise bhi sir sukh gaya hai, bas baal halke geele hain, lightly bandhe hai, kal tak sukh jayenge,” she added while rummaging around.

Altan moved closer, pulling out his hand with a scrunchie between his fingers. “Isko dhoond rahi ho shayad?”

Mahoor's eyes flickered to the scrunchie, and without hesitation, she snatched it from his hand. Altan's lips curled into a smirk, amused at her fiery response, watching her as she turned away to tie her hair.

He made his way to the right side of the bed and flopped down, opening the drawer of the nightstand with an air of purpose.

Mahoor’s anxiety spiked as she saw him preparing to settle in next to her. Her hand fidgeted, clenching and unclenching as she struggled to find the words to address the situation. She knew he was a man who wouldn’t miss a chance to be close to her, and his ego would likely interfere with any attempt she made to avoid this confrontation. The thought of what he might do only intensified her nervousness.

Determined to avoid any potential arguments or ego clashes, Mahoor resolved to take the couch instead.

As Altan stood up from the bed and turned around, Mahoor took a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to speak. ‘Kyu phatt rahi hai bhai teri? C'mon Mahoor, kar har maidan fateh,’ she mentally encouraged herself.

“Aap…” Mahoor began, but Altan cut her off. “Tum bed pe araam se so jao, main couch pe sojaunga.” He picked up his pillow and walked over to the couch, settling himself on it while Mahoor stared at him in stunned silence.

‘Hein?’

It was actually shocking to her because Mahoor expected him to imply that he’d sleep on the bed with her because it was his room and all this belonged to him, or at least to start a fight about how he had the right to sleep beside her. But none of that happened. Instead, he surprised her by offering her the entire massive queen-size bed without a word of contention. The unexpected gesture left her in stunned silence.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Khud hi sun liya, accha hai, warna aaj World War Three honi thi,” she muttered to herself, removing spectacles, she placed them on the nightstand. As soon as her back hit the bed, exhaustion washed over her, and Mahoor quickly slipped into a deep slumber, not caring about her surroundings or anyone else.

Altan gazed at her sleeping form from the couch, the soft glow of the night lamp being the only light in the room. His insomnia was severe, and he had always preferred the darkness, though it often failed to bring him rest. Despite his own discomfort, he knew Mahoor was afraid of the dark, so he kept the lights on for her, ensuring she could sleep peacefully without any fear.

He waited. He waited for her to drift off to sleep. Under his breath, he counted each second, every minute stretching longer than the last. Exactly after thirty-three minutes, he rose silently from the couch and made his way towards her, the quietness of the night amplifying each step he took.

He stopped right beside her sleeping form, his eyes narrowing in the dim light. Bending down slightly, he waved his palm in front of her face, making sure she was truly asleep. If Mahoor woke up and found him so close, she’d undoubtedly jump to the wrong conclusion, twisting his presence near her into something else entirely. Better to be cautious than get tangled in her whirlwind of misunderstandings.

He stood straight, his gaze softening like a molten iron in fire, his entire body relaxing as he watched her sleep in their bedroom. Now that he was her husband, he at least occupied the right to admire her as much as he pleased but then again he was afraid of the nazar. It all felt surreal—just a few weeks ago, she had been a stranger he’d fallen for at first sight, and now, she was his wife, and he, her husband.

His eyes lingered on her peaceful face. She looked so beautiful, so serene. He never imagined that one person could hold so much power over him, enough to have him willingly throw himself at their feet—and he didn't mind, because that person was Mahoor.

He slowly raised his hands, circling them around her head, then snapped his fingers near his temples to rid her of any evil eye, negative energy, or ill wishes.

A small, soft smile graced his lips as he placed his hand over his heart, feeling the tenderness grow within him, “Ab toh hum sadqay tumhare hai, Hoor.”

He sat down on the floor and rested his head near her feet. “Meri jagah yahi hai tumhare qadmon mein. Jab tumhara mann chahe, apne dil ka ek kona de dena, main wahi apna thikana bana lunga,” he said softly, trying to touch her feet over the comforter but withdrawing his hand, “Kyuki mera ghar toh tum ho.”

He kept gazing at her for hours as if she was the moon, illuminating his dark world with all her light. He knew she'd feel uncomfortable with him sleeping beside her. He was her husband and she was his wife, but that didn’t mean he’d impose himself on her. He had her now, but he would wait until she was ready to accept him fully, even just to hold her hand.

For the first time in twenty-two years, his eyes felt heavy as the weight of sleep finally came bearing down on him. His relentless insomnia, which had so often kept him awake through countless nights, didn't intrude this time. The simple act of being near her, even in his restless state, provided a sense of peace he had never known before.

As he closed his eyes, he felt an unusually calm wash over him. After two decades of no solace, his mind and heart had finally found a place to rest. They had found a home.

A home at her feet.

•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•

How are you all??

The reason behind the late update is that I recently got a teaching job at a school near my house and have been assigned to first grade. The kids are cute but hella mischievous; itne shararti dil karta hai utha ke khidki se phenk du ek ek ko kyunki sunte hi nahi. But it's nothing I can't control ;) The cutu babies come running to me with their complaints and always say, “Teacher, teacher,” which makes me laugh. Once, a boy wasn’t listening to me, and when I made him stand up and asked him to go out of the class, tears welled up in his eyes and he shook his head. He looked so adorable, man! I swear to god, my facade of an angry teacher broke, and a smile graced my lips. I started laughing at his face, and he burst into loud wails seeing me howl like a mad woman. I think even the kids sometimes wonder ki kis namune ko hamara teacher bana diya gaya hai!

I missed Mahoor and Altan so much. Even at work, I keep wondering about these two, and when I come home after work, I write three-four paragraphs daily because my day always feels incomplete without them.

How was the chapter? Kya hoga ab agle chapter mein? Bombs phootenge sab par aage kya chapters mein, kyunki... expect the unexpected here ;)I'll be back soon. Please keep waiting, supporting, and don’t give up on me and this story. That’s all I want from you all for now <3