Hello my beautiful readers

Here is the part 4

Enjoy!

And thankyou so much everyone for showing so much love to my book. As a student it's little difficult to upload chapters but i will try to upload soon

Please be a little paitent. I hope you will understand.

And please do vote and comment and show your love.

I ordered the driver to start the car, my voice cold and edged with impatience. The engine growled, and we sped down the road, but my mind wasn’t here. It was consumed by thoughts of her. I should have been focused on my engagement, the future that had been forced onto my shoulders, but I couldn’t. Her image was seared into my mind, blurring everything else.

I had seen her only once, but it felt like she had cast a spell on me. The way she moved, the way she stepped forward without hesitation to help that woman, expecting nothing in return—it was maddeningly irresistible. She was different, untouched by the harshness of the world, and I found myself craving that purity, wanting to grasp it for myself.

By her uniform, I could tell she was still a student. Yes, maybe I’m older than her, but that didn’t matter to me. If anything, it only made her seem more delicate, more innocent—a contrast to the world I’m entangled in. And those eyes… God, those almond-shaped eyes with that shade of baby blue. They were mesmerizing, like she had done some kind of magic on me, pulling me in deeper every time I thought of them. How could someone’s gaze be so gentle yet so powerful?

I want her. No, I need her. I need to see those eyes looking at me, need to feel her presence beside me. It’s not just a desire anymore; it’s an obsession, a hunger that gnaws at me relentlessly. I can’t imagine anyone else laying claim to her, can’t stand the thought of anyone else even looking at her. She has to be mine, at any cost. But here I am, trapped in a forced engagement, shackled to a future that feels suffocating.

And yet, I can’t push her out of my mind. Her face, her innocence, the way she carried herself in that uniform—all of it haunts me, drives me to the brink of madness. I don’t understand why she affects me this way, why I can’t just forget about her and move on. But I know one thing—I can’t let it go. Whatever it takes, I will have her.

I was so lost in the thoughts of my Luna. Yes, she literally looks like the moon—pure, calm, eternal. There's a serenity in her that pulls at something deep within me, something that threatens to shatter the icy walls I've built.

But my reverie was broken when the driver's voice pierced through, "Sir, we've arrived." I snapped back to reality, slipping on the cold, impenetrable mask I had perfected over the years. Stepping out of the car, my demeanor shifted, shedding any trace of warmth or vulnerability.

As I approached the office entrance, the lively hum of voices, laughter, and casual chatter came to an abrupt halt, leaving behind a suffocating silence. It was as if my presence drained the room of its air. The staff straightened, their gazes dropping to the floor, fear evident in their stiff postures. Here, I am a force to be reckoned with, cloaked in an icy aura that sends chills down spines. They fear me — the boss who shows no mercy, who never reveals a hint of emotion.I may be a sweetheart to my family, but to the rest of the world, I am cold, distant, and untouchable. The elevator doors slid shut, sealing me off from the rest of the world as I ascended to the 48th floor. This space was mine alone—a fortress of privacy where only my family, closest friends, and Vivaan, my secretary, were permitted. Here, I controlled everything, from the dim lighting to the pristine order that filled every corner of the room.

As the elevator rose, I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls: unflinching, unreadable. I pressed the button, and soon enough, the doors opened, revealing my office. The scent of polished wood and leather greeted me, a quiet reminder of the power and isolation I had cultivated here.

I took my seat behind the heavy, imposing desk, settling into the silence. Moments later, a knock broke the calm. “Come in,” I called, my voice sharp and unwavering.

Vivaan entered, holding his clipboard, eyes fixed straight ahead, his posture disciplined and efficient. Without any small talk, he began rattling off my schedule: two meetings today, one at 11 a.m. and the other at 3 p.m. I gave a brief nod. The details didn’t matter; they rarely did.

Vivaan turned to leave, and I watched him with narrowed eyes, noting the unspoken relief in his shoulders. But I wasn’t done yet.

“Sharma, wait.”

I saw him freeze, a barely perceptible hitch in his breath. He turned, his gaze meeting mine, a question lingering in his eyes. I allowed the silence to stretch, knowing how it would gnaw at his composure, how it would force him to brace himself for the unexpected.

“I need information on a girl.”

The shift in his expression was immediate—a crack in his carefully maintained facade. I could feel his shock, and perhaps a hint of unease. It was understandable. I had always kept my distance, especially from people outside my circle. Emotions, attachments—they were weaknesses. And yet, here I was, shattering his perception with a request that would send anyone in my world reeling.

The silence settled thickly between us, heavy with unspoken questions he dared not voice.

VIVAN'S POV

I stood outside the boss’s cabin, feeling that familiar knot of tension in my stomach. I took a slow breath, steadying myself, then knocked. Right on cue, his voice came through the door, cold and controlled. “Come in.”

I opened the door, keeping my steps measured as I entered and greeted him with a respectful nod. He barely acknowledged me, just the usual flicker of a nod, and I quickly moved on to listing out his schedule. His gaze was intense, and as usual, I kept my eyes low, trying to maintain composure under his sharp scrutiny. His silence was always unsettling, like he could see right through you.

I finished the rundown and turned to leave, relieved to escape his intimidating presence. But just as my hand brushed the doorknob, his voice stopped me cold.

“Sharma.”

I froze, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. My mind raced—Did I mess something up? Forget a detail? Fear twisted in my gut as I turned around to face him. He was watching me, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Sir?” I managed, keeping my voice steady, or at least trying to.

He stared at me, the silence stretching so long it felt suffocating. And then, in that unnervingly calm tone, he spoke. “I need information on a girl.”

The words hit me like a shockwave. A girl? I blinked, almost certain I’d misheard him. My boss—cold, calculated, always steering clear of personal entanglements—was asking about a girl? It was so out of character that I couldn’t hide the disbelief that flashed across my face.

HAMAD POV

I could see the shock etched on Sharma’s face as my request lingered in the room, thickening the air between us. He was silent, visibly grappling with the absurdity of it—me, Hamad Malik, asking about a girl. His eyes flickered with disbelief, as if he’d just seen something impossible, a crack in the fortress I’d carefully built around myself.

For a second, he hesitated, then finally spoke, almost whispering as if he were afraid to acknowledge it aloud. “Sir… a girl?” The words hung there, suspended in an incredulous tone, and a hint of something stirred in me—a faint prick of irritation. For a fleeting moment, I almost wondered if I’d overstepped, if this small curiosity had broken something fragile within me.

“Yes, a girl.” My voice cut through his doubt, carrying a low, commanding edge that left no room for his hesitation to fester. But when he tried to press forward, asking for her name so he could begin the search, I felt myself drifting, slipping into memories I’d been trying to ignore.

My Luna. The name felt foreign yet familiar, like a song I’d heard once and couldn’t shake. Her almond-shaped eyes, as blue as a clear winter sky, had unsettled something in me I’d buried long ago. Those eyes, innocent and unguarded, framed by long lashes that seemed almost delicate, had drawn me in despite myself. Her skin had a natural, gentle glow, as if touched by the first light of dawn. And that hijab, soft and modest, wrapped gracefully around her face, spoke of a purity, a quiet dignity that felt… sacred.

In that moment, the world around me ceased to exist. I remembered how she’d rushed to help that woman, her movements filled with urgency but never panic. The woman’s ambulance had broken down near a traffic signal about thirty minutes from my home, and Luna had stepped forward as if it were the most natural thing to do, as if the chaos around her was nothing compared to the calm she carried within. She’d called out for help, unwavering, her voice soft yet unyielding. Even when the driver had shouted at her, frustrated and tense, she had merely smiled, speaking with a calm assurance that seemed to soothe the air around her.

I remembered how she’d turned to me, her gaze meeting mine with a strange, innocent confidence. “Allah will surely help you in every possible way,” she had said, and there was a warmth in her voice, a sincerity that reached past the walls I’d so carefully built. Her words felt like a quiet prayer, a blessing offered just for me, and for a fleeting second, I’d felt something unfamiliar stir—a quiet peace, something dangerously close to contentment.

I hadn’t realized a smile had softened my face, breaking through the iron mask I wore so well, until Sharma’s voice snapped me back to reality.

“Sir?” His voice was urgent, worried, as if he were pulling me out of some treacherous dream. I blinked, the image of her fading as quickly as it had come. I forced my face into its usual stoic mask, letting that brief, dangerous warmth vanish into the cold indifference that had always protected me.

“I don’t know her name,” I said, my voice returning to its familiar iciness. “But I need information on her, no matter what. All I know is that she’s a student. She helped a woman near a traffic signal about thirty minutes from my house, where an ambulance had broken down. Check the CCTV footage there, and I want the information within two days.”

Each word was slow, deliberate, a reminder of my authority. I had no intention of letting that softness linger. I was Hamad Malik. Emotions were distractions, vulnerabilities best left buried, and yet, here I was, chasing a girl I’d barely met. It felt foolish, reckless. But something in me refused to let go.

Sharma nodded, his expression shifting, determination replacing the shock that had been there moments before. I watched as he pieced together the task, his mind whirring. I had given him scraps, small, insignificant details that might as well have been needles in a haystack, yet they felt monumental to me.

As he left, a silence settled over my office once again, thick and unforgiving. The chill of my usual composure crept back, and I straightened, reminding myself of the role I had to play. But even as I tried to dismiss her memory, that faint, haunting warmth lingered, just enough to disturb the stillness I so desperately clung to.

Author's Pov In the grand Malik mansion, with its tall, intricately carved ceilings and walls steeped in years of family legacy, three couples sat together, each wearing expressions both determined and thoughtful. The air was thick with the scent of rose attar, a fragrance Sabrina, Hamad’s mother, loved to have diffused in every corner, making the place feel warm yet heavy with importance.

Hamad’s father, with a sigh and a slight frown, looked toward Sabrina, his voice carrying a note of quiet resolve. "जी सुनिये," he said, addressing her with a respectful familiarity. " humai lagta ha humai inaya ke papa ko coll karke shaadi ke baare ma baat karni chahiye (Listen, we think we should call Inaya’s father and talk about the wedding.) He paused, glancing at Sabrina’s expression before continuing. "Ye toh aap bhi jaanti hai ki apka beta kitna ziddi hai shaadi ek mahine ma nahi 15 dino ma honi chahiye" (You know how stubborn your son is. The wedding should happen not in a month, but within fifteen days.)

A murmur of agreement stirred among those gathered. Hamad’s younger uncle and aunt, who had been listening intently, nodded in unison. The uncle, eyes bright with enthusiasm, added supportively, "bhaiya sahi keh rahe hai aap" (Brother, you are absolutely right.)

Sabrina, always known for her composed grace, felt the intensity of the moment press into her thoughts. She knew this was about more than just her son’s marriage; it was about family pride, tradition, and perhaps, the hope that love could grow where it had not yet blossomed.

Sabrina nodded, her gaze fixed on her husband with a look of quiet determination. " baat toh aap sahi keh rahe ha aap inaya ke aabid ji ko coll kijiye " (You’re right. Go ahead and call Mr aabid .)

Without hesitation, Hamad’s father took out his phone, dialing the number with a slight furrow of his brow. The phone rang, the anticipation hanging thickly in the room. After two or three rings, the call connected, and Inaya’s father’s familiar, warm voice came through.

"Asalamualikum " (Peace be upon you.)

Hamad’s father straightened slightly, a faint smile touching his lips as he responded, "Walikumasalam ।" (Peace be upon you as well.) There was a respectful pause as he gathered his words, choosing them carefully.

" aabid tumse kuch zaruri baat krni ha" (Aabid , I have something important to discuss with you.)

On the other end, Inaya’s father’s tone was open and receptive, "Ji bhaisahab zarur boliye kya baat ha " (Yes, brother, of course.)

In that moment, it felt as if centuries of tradition, responsibility, and unspoken hopes passed between them, conveyed in those few simple words. This was no mere conversation but the beginning of a future, crafted carefully, one respectful phrase at a time.

I know this is a little chapter but will soon upload big chapter.

For spoilers please follow me on instagram



Nainiwrites2