7| I'm Not Your Prisoner

I' M N O T Y O U R P R I S O N E R

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Anaabiya stood outside Humza's room, her fists clenched at her sides. The humiliation of being thrown out like that, of being spoken to as if she was nothing more than an unwelcome intruder, burned in her chest.

But she wasn't about to let it show. Not to him. Not to anyone.

With a deep breath, she turned away and made her way downstairs.

The house was eerily silent, the grand space feeling even larger in the absence of movement. She hadn't been given a room, and there was no way she was going to wander around in the middle of the night searching for one.

Her gaze landed on the big L-shaped sofa in the hall. It looked comfortable enough. More importantly, it wasn't his bed.

She let out a quiet sigh before making her way toward it. The plush cushions sank beneath her weight as she lay down, pulling the throw pillow under her head.

Humza wanted her out of his room? Fine. She would ask Bibi Jaan in the morning for a room of her own.

If he didn't care about keeping up appearances in front of the staff, then why should she?

And if he wanted to act like a heartless, insufferable brute, she would match his energy.

With that thought, she allowed her body to relax. The exhaustion from the long, draining day finally caught up to her, pulling her into a deep sleep.

Despite the anger still simmering inside her, she slept like a baby.

A gentle shake on her shoulder stirred Anaabiya from sleep the next morning. She blinked against the soft morning light streaming into the hall, her body stiff from sleeping on the couch.

"Wake up, child," a warm, familiar voice murmured.

She groggily opened her eyes to find Bibi Jaan standing over her, her face etched with quiet understanding.

It took Anaabiya a second to register where she was, and the moment it hit her, frustration clawed at her chest. She had overslept. Worse, she had missed Fajr salah.

A heavy weight of guilt settled in her stomach. It was only the first morning in this house, and already, she was faltering.

She rubbed her face, exhaling sharply. She hadn't even changed out of last night's attire.

Bibi Jaan didn't ask why she had spent the night on the couch. She didn't ask what had happened between her and Humza. Instead, she simply let out a tired sigh, one filled with something close to sympathy, and gestured for Anaabiya to follow.

"Come along, love. I'll take you to your room."

Anaabiya pushed herself up and followed her through the grand house, up the same staircase she had ascended the night before.

As they passed Humza's bedroom door, still firmly shut, a flash of last night's humiliation resurfaced.

Anger bubbled up again.

She clenched her jaw, making a silent decision—she would ignore him. Completely.

In this house, he was nothing to her. She would spend most of her time at school, keep herself busy, and come home only when necessary.

He didn't want her presence? Fine.

She would make sure he barely noticed she was here.

Bibi Jaan led her down the long corridor, stopping at a door at the very end. It wasn't as massive as Humza's, but it was still far bigger than what Anaabiya had ever lived in.

"This is yours," Bibi Jaan said gently, opening the door.

The room was spacious and beautifully furnished, with soft, neutral tones. The bed was neatly made, a small seating area near the window, and a walk-in closet on the side. It was grand—too grand.

"This is mine?" Anaabiya asked, barely hiding her surprise.

Bibi Jaan nodded. "I'll have someone bring your luggage here."

She turned to her, her warm eyes scanning Anaabiya's tired face. "What would you like for breakfast?"

Anaabiya rubbed her temple. "Anything will do. I'm starving."

Bibi Jaan smiled softly. "Then go take a bath, freshen up. I'll have something ready by the time you're done."

She turned to leave but hesitated at the door. When she spoke again, her voice was laced with something unspoken.

"I know it's not my place to say this," she said carefully. "And I won't tell you to forgive him for how he has treated you, or how he might continue to treat you."

Anaabiya tensed slightly.

Bibi Jaan met her gaze, her expression a mixture of fondness and sorrow. "But don't be too quick to form an opinion about him. He is not what he appears to be. He was not always like this. Humza is a man who has been shaped by his circumstances, a victim of his own monsters."

Anaabiya didn't know how to respond to that.

She knew Bibi Jaan's words came from a place of genuine concern, but she also didn't know how to make her understand that none of this mattered.

She wasn't here to understand Humza. She wasn't here to fix him.

She was here for a year. And then she would leave.

So whether she formed an opinion or not, whether she saw beyond what met the eye—it didn't matter.

Instead of voicing any of that, she simply forced a small smile.

"I should get ready for school. I'm already running late."

Bibi Jaan studied her for a moment before nodding. "Alright then."

Then, with one last lingering glance, she walked away, leaving Anaabiya standing there, alone in her new room, feeling more out of place than ever.

The weight of last night still sat heavily on her shoulders, but Anaabiya didn't have time to dwell on it.

Anaabiya sat on the edge of her bed, gripping her phone tightly, her thumb hovering over the screen. No messages. No missed calls. Nothing.

She refreshed it again. And again.

Still nothing.

A deep ache settled in her chest, pressing down like a weight she couldn't shake off. She had been waiting—hoping—that Nabiha would call. Even a single text would have been enough. Just a simple How are you? or even an annoyed Why did you do it?

But there was nothing.

Not even a sign that Nabiha cared.

Anaabiya swallowed hard, pushing back the sting of disappointment. She had known this would happen. She had known Nabiha would go back to being distant, pretending as if that night—when she had clung to her, cried for her—had never happened.

But no matter how much it hurt, Anaabiya knew one thing for certain.

She would always care.

She could never bring herself to stop.

She was the older one. The one their parents had entrusted with responsibility. And no matter how indifferent Nabiha acted now, no matter how much she pushed her away, Anaabiya would wait.

Because someday, she had to come back.

Someday, she had to understand.

Someday, Nabiha would love her back.

Until then, Anaabiya would endure it. Because that's what sisters did.

She rushed through her bath, the warm water doing little to wash away the frustration from her body. Her mind was a tangled mess of anger, sadness and exhaustion, but she shoved it all aside as she quickly dressed. She was already running late.

She put her hijab even though her hair was still damp, she grabbed her bag and practically flew down the stairs, her steps quick and purposeful as she made her way to the dining area.

And then she stopped.

Much to her dismay, he was already there.

Humza sat at the head of the long dining table, his posture relaxed yet commanding. Behind him, the open kitchen counter framed the space, giving a clear view of BibiJaan working behind it.

Anaabiya's fast pace faltered for a brief second at the sight of him, but she immediately averted her gaze.

She wasn't going to acknowledge him.

She wasn't going to look at him.

Without hesitation, she walked to the extreme end of the table—the farthest seat from him—and sat down, setting her bag on the chair beside her. She checked for all her belongings in the bag once again before zipping it up.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Humza glance up from his phone, where he had been checking his emails. He was already dressed, his hair still slightly damp from a bath but neatly combed back. Unlike last night, he looked completely put together, as if the drunk, cocky version of him had never existed.

Anaabiya ignored him.

She got up and walked straight to the kitchen counter behind him. "Bibi Jaan, I'm running late. Can you give me something quick to eat?"

Bibi Jaan, ever so accommodating, nodded and swiftly prepared a plate for her. She brought it to the table, setting it down in front of her with a warm smile before retreating from the room.

And that's when Anaabiya realized—she was alone with him.

Great.

She clenched her jaw and focused on eating, pretending he wasn't there.

But she could feel it.

His gaze.

He wasn't eating anymore. He wasn't checking his emails either. He was just watching her.

The air felt thick, charged with something unspoken, and she had to fight the urge to shift in discomfort.

Then, his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Anaabiya stilled mid-bite.

Slowly, she placed her spoon down and met his gaze for the first time that morning. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a quiet anger.

She crossed her arms, mirroring his intensity. "That's none of your business."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. His smirk was sharp, but his eyes burned with irritation.

"It is my business," he said, voice low and firm.

Anaabiya exhaled sharply, the weight of her resentment pressing against her ribs. "I was told to play the part—and I will. But what I do with my life beyond that is none of your concern."

Something dark flickered in his gaze.

He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly. "You should've read the contract properly before signing it."

Her fingers curled into fists under the table.

That infuriating smirk on his face made her want to throw her spoon at him.

Anaabiya's fingers tightened around the spoon, her knuckles turning white. She was already seething, but what Humza said next sent her blood boiling.

"You're not allowed to leave the house without my permission," he informed her casually, as if he was discussing the weather. "Security reasons."

She scoffed, shoving her plate away. "Security reasons?"

Humza leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Now that your name is tied to mine, people—certain people who don't like me—might use you as leverage. And I really don't have the time to deal with that." His eyes locked onto hers, unwavering. "For your own safety, you won't be working."

Anaabiya pushed back her chair abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor. "You can't make that decision for me." Her voice was sharp, furious. "I'm not your prisoner."

Humza smirked, infuriatingly relaxed in contrast to her rage. "No, you're my wife." He drawled the word slowly, like he enjoyed watching her flinch at it. "And as your husband, it falls on me to ensure your safety. I'm a busy man, Anaabiya, and I'd rather not be interrupted every now and then by threats involving you."

Her nails dug into her palms. She had expected him to be controlling, but this? This was suffocating.

"I don't need your protection," she gritted out.

"Good, because I'm not doing this for you," he shot back. "I'm doing it for myself." He leaned back in his chair, the picture of arrogance. "That school job of yours? Forget about it. You can join back after a year. I've already made a few calls."

Anaabiya's stomach twisted in anger. "You had no right to do that—"

"Relax," he cut her off smoothly. "No need to make a fuss about money either. A certain amount will be deposited into your account every month. Do whatever you want with it—shop, donate, burn it for all I care. Just don't waste my time arguing."

She felt like she had been punched in the gut.

For her, it was never about the money.

It was about escaping this house, escaping him, even if for just a few hours.

But of course, he had taken even that away from her.

She sucked in a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. "But.." she had only started when he interrupted

"Anaabiya," he said, his smirk vanishing, replaced by something far more menacing. "I suggest you stop testing me. You wouldn't want to miss your sister more than you already do, would you?"

Her breath hitched.

Low. So low.

Her nails bit into her skin as she glared at him with pure hatred.

Humza stood up, adjusting his cufflinks like this entire conversation hadn't just sucked the air out of her lungs. "I'll have a copy of the contract sent to you." He glanced at her, mock boredom in his tone. "Read it thoroughly. I'm already tired of reminding you what you can and cannot do."

And with that, he walked away, leaving her sitting there—furious, powerless, and trapped.

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E D I T E D on 11.2.2025