6| Humza's Home

H U M Z A' S   H O M E

W O R D C O U N T: 2781

The next few days passed in a haze, blurring together so seamlessly that Anaabiya could hardly process what was happening. One moment, she was signing away a year of her life; the next, she was standing as Humza's wife, bound by law, if not by choice.

The ceremony itself was quiet, devoid of any warmth or celebration. It was a mere formality—signatures exchanged, a few prayers recited, and that was it. There was no laughter, no festivity, no sign that this was meant to be a joyous occasion.

Humza hadn't spoken a single word to her throughout the process. Not once had he met her gaze. The man who had taunted her with his sarcasm, who had wielded words like weapons to bend her to his will, had vanished.

In his place stood someone distant. Cold.

The brooding, unreadable Humza from the first day she had met him, was back, his face void of emotion, his demeanor stiff with an irritation he didn't bother to hide. And while his silence toward her was expected, what truly caught her attention was his complete lack of interaction with his father.

Anaabiya had noticed the tension almost immediately. The two men never exchanged words, never even acknowledged each other's presence. If their eyes met by accident, Humza would look away, his jaw tight, his expression like stone. Whatever existed between them wasn't simple indifference—it was deeper, something unspoken yet powerful enough to be felt in the air.

Her aunt, on the other hand, was glowing with triumph.

She had practically beamed with joy, relishing every second of the arrangement as though it were her personal achievement. She had won—secured a powerful alliance, a connection that would benefit her, and that was all that mattered. Whether Anaabiya wanted this or not was irrelevant.

Uzair, her aunt's son, was nowhere to be found. He was occupied with his job in another city, blissfully unaware of what had transpired in his absence. She had no idea how he would react when he eventually found out.

Not that it mattered.

She wasn't in love with Uzair, nor had she ever been. He was simply someone she had grown up with, a constant presence in her life. Perhaps, in some ways, she had seen him as an older brother rather than anything else. And yet, despite her lack of romantic feelings, she didn't want to hurt him. He was one of the few people she had ever trusted, and she had no idea how this would change things between them.

But if there was one person who was truly happy about this marriage, it was Rafiya Aunty.

Humza's mother had been radiant, her joy unmistakable. The love she had for her son was evident in every glance she stole at him, every proud smile she wore throughout the ceremony. She made every effort to be present, ensuring that everything went smoothly, her excitement bubbling over with each passing moment.

And for the first time since the contract had been forced upon her, Anaabiya realized something—Rafiya Aunty cared.

She wasn't a manipulator like her own aunt, nor was she someone who saw this marriage as a mere transaction. She was genuinely happy for her son, and despite everything, Anaabiya couldn't bring herself to resent her for it.

Still, none of it made this any easier.

And what unsettled her most?

Nabiha was back to being her old self.

The girl who had run into her arms that night in the backyard, whose tears had soaked into her shoulder, who had felt something—she was gone.

Now, Nabiha was as distant as ever, her walls firmly back in place. It was as if that moment of vulnerability had never happened, as if Anaabiya had imagined it entirely.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

Despite every ounce of resentment simmering within her, Anaabiya couldn't help but look.

Humza was infuriating. He was arrogant, controlling, and the last person on earth she wanted to be bound to. And yet, as much as she hated to admit it, he was also—annoyingly—the most handsome man in the room.

Dressed in a sharply tailored black tuxedo, he exuded an effortless kind of elegance. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted perfectly against the dark fabric, highlighting the broad set of his shoulders, the lean strength of his frame. The tux fit him like it had been made for him—because, knowing him, it probably had.

His hair, always slightly tousled no matter the occasion, somehow added to his appeal rather than detracting from it. He hadn't bothered to slick it back or tame it with product. It was as if he hadn't put in an ounce of effort, and yet he still looked every bit the powerful, untouchable man he was.

Anaabiya hated that her gaze kept drifting to him, hated that—despite knowing exactly the kind of person he was—she could still acknowledge just how striking he looked.

And as the evening stretched on, something about him only became more maddening.

By the time the event was over, he had discarded his tuxedo jacket, holding it casually in one hand. The top buttons of his white shirt were undone, revealing just the faintest hint of his collarbone. And worst of all, his sleeves—his damn sleeves—had been rolled up to his forearms, exposing toned muscles that only added to the effortless confidence he carried.

It wasn't fair.

No man should have the right to look better as the night went on, while she felt exhausted and suffocated by the weight of what had just happened.

She scolded herself, tearing her gaze away.

It didn't matter how he looked.

He was still Humza—the man who had cornered her into this marriage, the man who held all the power and knew it.

And yet, despite everything, a small, treacherous part of her couldn't ignore the truth.

The celebration had barely begun to settle into a steady rhythm when the shift in the atmosphere became undeniable. Murmurs quieted, heads turned subtly, and Anaabiya instinctively followed their gazes—only to find Humza, standing near the exit, his posture tense, his expression darker than she had ever seen before.

Rafiya Aunty was at his side, speaking in hushed but urgent tones. Anaabiya couldn't make out the words, but the strained set of her face, the way she reached for Humza's arm only for him to step back, told her enough.

It was an argument.

His mother was trying to stop him from leaving.

Humza, of course, looked wholly unaffected, as if the entire exchange was nothing more than an inconvenience. He barely spared her a glance as she spoke, his jaw locked tight, his fingers flexing at his sides.

Then, with a final, clipped response, he turned away, striding toward the doors without so much as a backward glance.

A few of the guests had noticed the commotion, their curious gazes lingering, but no one said anything. Perhaps they were used to it. Perhaps they knew better than to interfere.

Huzaifa followed after him, their departure swift and final. Anaabiya exhaled slowly, her fingers gripping the fabric of her dress.

So much for the perfect wedding.

A moment later, she felt Rafiya Aunty's presence beside her. When she turned, the older woman's face was carefully composed, but there was no mistaking the embarrassment flickering in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, my love," she said softly, placing a gentle hand on Anaabiya's arm. "Humza had to leave... there was an emergency at work."

Anaabiya forced a small, polite smile, but in her mind, the words twisted into something far darker.

An emergency.

Probably to kill or murder someone.

Her heart sank at the thought, a cold dread creeping through her veins.

But then she reminded herself—it doesn't matter.

None of this was real. It was all just an elaborate arrangement, a transaction disguised as a marriage. One year of pretending, one year of playing the role he wanted, and then she would be free.

So she gave Rafiya Aunty a reassuring nod, her voice calm and composed when she spoke.

"I understand."

The night stretched long, cold, and unfamiliar. Humza never returned to the reception, and as the guests slowly trickled out, Anaabiya found herself standing awkwardly in the emptying hall, uncertain of what came next.

It was Rafiya Aunty who eventually approached her with a warm smile, though there was a hint of apology in her eyes.

"Come, Anaabiya," she said, taking Anaabiya's hand gently. "I'll take you home."

Home.

The word sat heavy on her chest. Because no matter what anyone called it, this was not her home.

Still, she followed Rafiya Aunty outside, where a sleek black car was already waiting for them. The drive was quiet, filled with a silence neither of them tried to break. Anaabiya stared out the window, her mind tangled with exhaustion and unease.

And then she saw it.

Humza's house.

Or rather—Humza's fortress.

It was a sprawling estate, far grander than she had imagined. Towering gates stood tall at the entrance, lined with uniformed guards who stood like statues, their eyes sharp and alert. Beyond them, the house itself loomed—a magnificent structure of modern architecture, all glass walls and intricate stonework, illuminated under the moonlight. It was breathtakingly beautiful, yet undeniably intimidating.

"This house," Rafiya Aunty said softly, as if reading her thoughts, "was designed by Humza's father and I—with a lot of love."

Anaabiya glanced at her, seeing the quiet pride in her eyes, and despite herself, she felt a strange warmth.

When the car pulled to a stop, they stepped out, and immediately, two people rushed forward.

The first was an older woman, maybe a few years elder to Rafiya Aunty. She had a round, kind face, her gray-streaked hair neatly tied back, and her eyes held a motherly warmth.

The other was younger, maybe around Anaabiya's age, with bright, excited eyes and an energy that radiated eagerness.

"Oh, mashAllah, she's beautiful," the older woman gushed, clasping her hands together as she studied Anaabiya with affection.

Rafiya Aunty smiled. "Anaabiya, this is Bibijaan—our cook. And this," she gestured toward the younger girl, "is Maliha. She helps around the house.. You will meet the other people from the staff tomorrow."

Maliha gave an enthusiastic wave. "We've been waiting for you all evening!"

Anaabiya blinked, caught off guard by their warmth. For a moment, she had expected this house to be as cold as the man who owned it, but instead, these women made it feel... almost welcoming.

"Come, beta," Bibijaan said kindly, ushering her inside.

As they stepped into the grand foyer, Anaabiya felt her breath hitch.

It was stunning.

The ceilings stretched high, adorned with crystal chandeliers that bathed the room in a golden glow. A grand spiral staircase curled upward in the center of the hall, its intricate railing gleaming under the lights. Marble floors reflected the opulence of the space, and the walls were lined with elegant paintings and intricate designs. It was luxurious, yes—but not in an ostentatious way. Every detail was carefully curated, balanced between grandeur and warmth.

For a moment, she forgot she was here under forced circumstances.

Rafiya aunty, Bibijaan and Maliha led her up the grand staircase, their voices animated as they talked about the house, about how excited they were to have her here. She let them talk, nodding along, absorbing the details around her.

And then they reached his room.

The double doors were large, imposing, yet beautifully designed. When Maliha pushed them open, Anaabiya hesitated at the threshold.

It was exactly what she had expected—and yet, it wasn't.

The room was vast, but not unnecessarily extravagant. Dark wood furniture contrasted against deep, rich tones. A massive bed sat at the center, its crisp white sheets untouched. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline. A sleek, modern desk sat in one corner, covered in neat stacks of documents, while a large bookshelf lined another wall, filled with books and files arranged in meticulous order.

It was elegant. Masculine.

And somehow, it felt... lonely.

"Sit, beta." Rafiya Aunty gestured toward the bed, and Anaabiya hesitantly perched at the edge.

"If you need anything," Rafiya continued, "Bibijaan and Maliha are here to help. Don't hesitate to ask."

Anaabiya nodded, her fingers idly tracing the soft fabric beneath her.

"Humza should be back any moment," Rafiya added, but something in her voice lacked conviction.

Anaabiya frowned. "You're leaving?"

Rafiya gave a small smile. "Of course, beta. I live nearby."

A pause.

"You don't live here?" Anaabiya asked, confused.

The older woman hesitated for the briefest moment before shaking her head. "No."

But Anaabiya saw it. The sorrow in her eyes. The way her smile didn't quite reach them.

"I'll visit often," Rafiya assured her, reaching out to squeeze her hand gently. "And you'll be fine. Everyone here will take good care of you."

Anaabiya didn't know what to say to that, so she simply nodded.

Rafiya gave her one last warm glance before leaving the room, the door shutting softly behind her. Bibijaan and Maliha left after her.

And just like that, she was alone.

Anaabiya exhaled, glancing around once more. She was sure she wouldn't have to sleep in his bed, but where was she supposed to sleep? That was a question only Humza could answer.

So she waited.

And waited.

But exhaustion weighed heavy on her, and at some point, despite her efforts to stay awake, her eyelids drooped, and she drifted off—still waiting for the man who had dragged her into this mess.

Anaabiya woke to the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by the unmistakable scent of alcohol.

Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim lighting as she turned toward the source of the disturbance.

Humza stood near the door, his posture relaxed yet exuding an unsettling sharpness. His white shirt, once neatly tucked, was now undone at the bottom, the top buttons open. His sleeves were still rolled up, but now they looked carelessly shoved. His dark hair, usually in place, was disheveled, stray strands falling over his forehead.

But it was his eyes—cold, unreadable, and fixed directly on her—that made her stiffen.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the sight of her in his room, his bed, with an expression that was impossible to decipher.

Then, with a tilt of his head, he spoke.

"Weren't you the one who swore you'd never share a room with me?"

His voice was quiet, almost amused, but laced with something darker underneath.

Anaabiya straightened, brushing sleep from her mind. "Your mother brought me here."

He let out a slow, mocking chuckle. "Of course, she did."

She frowned. "You left in the middle of the wedding. I didn't exactly have a choice."

He took a step closer, exuding a quiet arrogance. "And now what?" His gaze swept over her, unreadable. "You're making yourself comfortable?"

She clenched her jaw. "I was waiting for you so you could tell me where do I have to sleep. I couldn't exactly ask your mother for another room."

His lips curved slightly—not quite a smirk, but something close. "How considerate."

Her patience snapped. "You know what, Humza? I don't need this attitude right now."

He took another slow step forward, his presence suffocating. "Then leave."

She shot up from the bed. "Gladly."

She made her way toward the door, ready to be rid of him for the night, but just as her hand touched the doorknob, his voice cut through the silence.

"Anaabiya."

She paused, every nerve in her body on edge.

"Don't you ever come into my room or sit on my bed again."

Her grip on the doorknob tightened, her nails digging into her palm.

She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze over her shoulder. "Trust me, Humza, I have no desire to."

His expression remained impassive. "Good. Don't get too comfortable. After all its just a year."

She didn't want to respond to him. Without another word, she pulled the door open and walked out, slamming it behind her.

Updated today because it was one of my reader's birthday and she asked me to.

Happy birthday beautiful ♥️

I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Now again please voteeeee and comment as much as you can. Make me happy 😊 and I shall do the same.

E D I T E D on 11.2.2025