Zavian's POV:

At least she acknowledged my proposal. That was progress.

I smirked, slipping my hands into my pockets as I watched her walk ahead, completely unaware. She thought she had a choice, that she could brush me off with her stubborn defiance.

She didn't even know.

Maybe the proposal wasn't just a suggestion anymore. Maybe it was already in motion.

A sharp ting broke the silence between us.

Iman reached for her phone, frowning slightly before answering. A polite smile graced her lips. "Asalam Alaikum," she greeted warmly, but within seconds, that smile vanished.

I watched, amused.

Her gaze snapped to mine, suspicion flickering in her eyes, but I only raised a brow, feigning innocence.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" she muttered, turning her attention to her parents on the other end.

Her father sighed, his voice firm yet resigned. "Hamza wasn't a good choice."

Her brows shot up, and I had to bite back a grin.

"How did you—?" she started before shaking her head. "That was fast."

Her eyes flickered back to me, sharp with realization.

"Your Aunt Sidra told us and..." Her father trailed off, hesitating.

Iman straightened. "And?"

"And we received another proposal. A very nice one," her father said, his tone carrying a hint of satisfaction.

Iman arched a brow, "Wow. That was... fast."

Her father chuckled. "You know him, Iman."

Her expression faltered for a split second before she schooled it into indifference. But I caught it—I always did.

Iman's fingers tightened around her phone. "I know him?" she repeated slowly, as if testing the words.

Her father hummed in affirmation. "Yes. A good boy, stable career, respectful family."

I watched as she swallowed, her gaze flickering to me for the briefest second before she looked away. "And who exactly is this 'good boy'?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Her father hesitated. "Zavian."

Silence.

I tilted my head, waiting. Her grip on the phone slackened before she cleared her throat. "Baba, is this some kind of joke?"

Her father exhaled, "No joke. We've been thinking. He's a responsible man, he knows you, and—"

She didn't let him finish. "And who suggested this?"

This time, there was a pause.

"Zavian spoke to us first," her father admitted.

"Did he? Himself?" she asked, arching a brow as she shot me a pointed look. Her voice was light, almost amused, but the sharpness in her eyes told another story.

"Did he? Himself?" she asked, casting me a raised-brow glance.

Her father chuckled. "Aunt Sidra did... but let's just say it was encouraged," he teased.

Iman's lips twitched, but she quickly schooled her expression. "Now what? Do you want me to meet him too?" she quipped dryly.

Her mother's laughter rang through the phone. "Iman, sweetheart, you meet him every weekend. You just have to consider him now."

Iman let out an exaggerated huff, though the amusement in her eyes betrayed her. "Are you sure he's a good man?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock skepticism.

"Of course he is," her father said confidently.

She arched a brow at me, her gaze assessing, challenging. I smirked, leaning in just slightly. "You heard the man," I murmured.

She exhaled dramatically, but there was no missing the way her lips twitched at the corners.

"Well, I'll think about it and let you know," she said, her tone deliberately nonchalant, but the sharp glint in her eyes told a different story.

Her father chuckled. "That's all we ask, beta."

Iman exhaled, declining the call, shifting her weight before throwing me a sideways glance. "Fine. But no guarantees."

I smirked, tilting my head. "Sweetheart, we both know how this ends."

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Zavian."

"Too late," I murmured, enjoying the way her breath hitched for just a second before she turned away.

"Come on, I'll drop you off," I said smoothly, already unlocking the car.

She folded her arms. "I can take a cab."

I arched a brow, leaning against the car. "You could, but you won't."

Iman huffed, clearly debating her options. "You're getting too comfortable making decisions for me."

"Only because you let me," I smirked, opening the passenger door. "Now get in before I decide to carry you in."

She shot me a glare but slid into the seat anyway, mumbling something under her breath about 'arrogant men'.

As I settled in behind the wheel, I glanced at her. "Seatbelt, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

"Stop calling me that," she muttered, buckling up.

"Not happening," I said, starting the car.

The air between us was thick with unsaid words as the city lights blurred past. She tapped her fingers against her knee, stealing glances at me every few minutes.

"You're too quiet," I noted, my voice low.

She exhaled, looking out the window. "I'm thinking."

"About me?"

"About how I'm going to get rid of you."

I chuckled, taking a slow turn. "Good luck with that, sweetheart."

She clicked her tongue, looking away as if debating something. Then, just as quickly, she turned back to me, her eyes sharp with resolve.

"You know what... I've made up my mind." She paused, tilting her head. "But on one condition."

I smirked, keeping my gaze on the road. "Let's hear it, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly as she looked at me. "Tell me what Mashal-e-Mehtaab means... and why you call me that."

I let out a low chuckle, my fingers flexing against the steering wheel. "That's your condition?"

She nodded, unwavering.

I exhaled slowly, my gaze flickering to her before returning to the road. "Mashal-e-Mehtaab... It means 'The Flame of the Moon.' A contradiction. A paradox. Just like you."

I felt her eyes on me, searching, waiting. I glanced at her, my smirk fading into something deeper.

"The moon is meant to be soft, calm... yet you burn, Iman. You're light, but you don't just illuminate—you scorch. And whether you realize it or not, you've set fire to everything in me."

Silence. Heavy, charged.

I turned my head slightly, taking in the way she swallowed, her fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. She had no idea what she did to me.

"The first thing you ever called me was this," she said, her voice softer now, laced with curiosity. "You didn't even know me then. You texted me when I was in Pakistan... so why? Why did you call me that even back then?"

I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, my lips curling slightly. She had no idea how deep this ran.

I glanced at her, my gaze lingering. "Some things don't need time to be understood, Iman." I leaned back, tilting my head toward her. "I didn't need to know you to recognize what you were. Some people shine differently... even from a distance."

She blinked, caught off guard.

I smirked. "And maybe, even back then... I already knew you'd be mine."

She narrowed her gaze, studying me like she was trying to piece together a puzzle. "When did you decide to call me that?"

I exhaled a quiet chuckle, my fingers tapping against the steering wheel. "Four years ago. The function... the second time I came to Pakistan."

Her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across her face. "You remember that?"

I turned my head, my gaze locking onto hers. "I remember everything about that night, Iman." My voice dipped lower, more certain. "The way you laughed, the way you looked when you didn't know I was watching. The way the lights caught in your eyes like they belonged there."

She swallowed, shifting in her seat.

I smirked. "That was the night I named you Mashal-e-Mehtaab. The night I knew I'd never forget you."

She huffed, her face flushed, clearly flustered by my words.

I smirked, leaning back as I smoothly pulled the car to a stop in front of her hostel. My fingers drummed lazily against the wheel before I turned to her, my voice low and teasing. "Now, will you marry me, Mashal-e-Mehtaab? You won't find a better man than me."

Her lips parted, a sharp retort ready—but I caught the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She knew I wasn't joking.

I raised a brow, leaning in slightly, my voice soft yet teasing. "Tell me, jaaneman," I coaxed, watching her eyes flicker with uncertainty.

She hesitated before finally whispering, "You won't ever scold me."

A slow smile tugged at my lips. "No."

She narrowed her gaze, testing me. "You won't keep any secrets from me."

I tilted my head, considering. "I'll try."

Her lips pursed before she hit me with the last one. "You won't go to these races again."

I exhaled, then nodded. "Okay."

She blinked. "Okay?" Her voice held pure disbelief.

I nodded again, biting back a grin. "Okay."

She stared at me for a moment, as if waiting for me to take it back. When I didn't, a small smile crept onto her lips.

"I'll marry you then."

And just like that, she was mine.