Final submissions loomed over me like a storm cloud, and so did my impending return to Pakistan. A two-week break—that's all I had. And within those two weeks, I was going to be Nikkahfied to Zavian.

It was fast, almost dizzyingly so. But my parents knew me well. If not now, then who knew when? They believed it was better for me to have a husband by my side, someone to watch over me, to be my partner in this next phase of life.

Little did they know, my soon-to-be husband was already always around.

I huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking my head before refocusing on the file in front of me. Focus, girl. You still have two weeks.

Two weeks to finish my submissions. Two weeks to brace myself for a life-changing commitment.

Aisha and Isabella had been a massive help, assisting Mama in taking my dress measurements while I buried myself in my work. They'd even helped with the design of my bridal dress—a task that should've overwhelmed me, but instead, it felt oddly grounding.

With a deep breath, I pushed my distractions aside and forced my mind back to the pages in front of me. Deadlines first. Marriage later.

At night, sleep was a luxury I could only dream of. My phone buzzed non-stop with calls from almost every female relative I had—some genuinely helpful, others a little too helpfully nosy.

I mean, seriously? Did I really need a full-blown lecture about the first night after marriage? Half of them sounded like they were auditioning for a Desi Aunties Gone Wild special.

Mihra and Nimra, on the other hand, were my saving grace. They told me not to stress—after all, my first night wouldn't be in some candlelit, rose-petaled room. Nope. It would be on a cramped airplane seat, 30,000 feet in the air, surrounded by crying babies and snoring uncles.

So romantic.

_

Just when I thought I could finally steal a few hours of sleep, my phone buzzed again. Of course. I groaned, blindly reaching for it from under my pillow. Who was it this time? Another overly enthusiastic aunt? A distant cousin who suddenly remembered I existed now that I was getting married?

I peeked at the screen, squinting at the brightness. Zavian.

I sighed, rolling onto my side before answering. "What do you want?" My voice was thick with exhaustion.

"Bad time, Mashal-e-Mehtaab?" His voice was smooth, teasing, and entirely too awake for my liking.

I closed my eyes. "Zavian, if you don't have anything important to say, I'm hanging up."

A low chuckle came through the line. "You sound grumpy, janneman."

I huffed. "I am grumpy. Do you know how many lectures I've gotten tonight? I swear, half my family thinks I need a step-by-step guide on marriage, and the other half is way too excited about things that are none of their business.

He hummed in amusement. "Let me guess... someone gave you a 'first night' speech?"

I groaned. "Don't remind me."

"Want me to tell you how ours will go?" His voice dipped lower, full of mischief.

I immediately sat up, my face burning. "Zavian!"

He laughed. "Relax, sweetheart. I just meant that you'll be too exhausted from the wedding to even stay awake."

I narrowed my eyes at the phone. "Why do I feel like you're lying?"

He clicked his tongue. "Have I ever lied to you?"

"You're too secretive to be trusted," I muttered, flopping back onto my pillow. "Now, can I sleep, or do you have another reason for ruining my peace?"

There was a pause, and then his voice softened just a little. "I just wanted to hear your voice before you slept."

My heart did a little flip before I could stop it. Stupid, stupid man.

I sighed dramatically. "Fine. You heard it. Now let me sleep before someone else calls with another oh-so-important marriage tip."

He chuckled. "Sweet dreams, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

I didn't reply, just hung up and buried my face in my pillow.

Peace? With him around? Impossible.

The exam hall buzzed with quiet tension as I scribbled the last few words of my paper. My fingers ached, my head was spinning, and all I wanted to do was throw my pen away and be done.

And finally, I was.

I placed my pen down, took a deep breath, and stared at my paper as if it held the key to my future. Maybe it did. But right now, my future wasn't just about my degree—it was about Pakistan, my wedding, and Zavian.

As soon as the examiner took my paper, I all but ran out of the hall, my heart light with relief.

I was free.

Well, not exactly. Because within a week, I'd be Nikkahfied.

—

The next few days flew by in a blur of packing, farewell meetups, and never-ending calls from home. Mama was already drowning in wedding prep, and Baba kept reminding me to rest because things would be hectic once I landed.

Yeah, no kidding.

The night before my flight, I got another call. Zavian.

I answered without thinking. "If you're going to say anything annoying, I'm hanging up."

He chuckled. "And if I say something sweet?"

I rolled my eyes. "Then I'll know you're up to something."

"Smart girl."

I could hear the hum of his car in the background, the faint wind rustling. He was probably driving again, reckless as always.

"Done packing?" he asked.

"Mostly."

"Don't forget my gift."

I snorted. "What gift?"

"The one you'll regret not bringing when I ask for it later."

"You're insufferable."

"And yet, you're still marrying me," he mused.

I sighed. "Unfortunately."

His chuckle was warm, amused. "Safe flight, Mashal-e-Mehtaab. See you soon."

_

The flight to Pakistan was long but uneventful. I barely slept, my mind too restless. By the time I landed, the familiar warmth of home settled over me. Lahore's air smelled like nostalgia—spiced chai, street food, the earth after the early morning prayers.

Mama and Baba were already waiting at the airport, their faces lighting up when they saw me

"Iman!" Mama pulled me into a tight hug, her voice thick with emotion. "You've lost weight! Are you even eating properly?"

Baba laughed, patting my head. "Let the girl breathe, Shehla."

I smiled, exhaustion forgotten for a moment. This was home. This was family.

But even as we drove back, something lingered at the back of my mind.

Zavian and his family were coming on Sunday.

And once they did, my life would never be the same.

_

On Sunday, Zavian and his family—Uncle Noraiz and Aunt Sidra—arrived, looking far too happy for my peace of mind. Not that I actually saw them.

The moment they stepped inside, Nimra, Aliha, and Mihra practically barricaded me in my room, giggling like they were running some top-secret mission.

"You're not stepping out, Iman," Mihra had declared, arms crossed.

"Not even for a second," Aliha added.

"Why?" I huffed, trying to peek past them. "It's not like I haven't seen Zavian before."

"Rules, dulhan," Nimra sing-songed, ushering me back inside.

So, that was that.

Aunt Sidra came up to meet me in my room, all smiles and warmth, while I sat there like a prisoner in my own house. And just like that, I was officially forbidden from seeing Zavian before our Nikkah on Friday.

Five days.

I groaned, flopping back on my bed.

How was I supposed to survive five whole days without at least one annoying encounter with him?

But who was I kidding?

By Tuesday night, I was already losing my mind. I had barely closed my eyes, teetering on the edge of sleep, when my phone buzzed against my pillow.

I groaned, blindly reaching for it and answering without even checking the caller ID. Who was disturbing me at this hour?

"Hello?" My voice was thick with sleep.

A deep chuckle came from the other end, smooth and far too familiar.

"Miss me already, Mashal-e-Mehtaab?"

My eyes snapped open.

Of course. Him.

"You're the one who called me," I murmured, rubbing my eyes. "So, if anything... you miss me."

A low chuckle rumbled through the speaker, rich and lazy. "Maybe I do, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

My fingers froze against my temple as my drowsiness faded just a little. I turned onto my side, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Liar. You don't miss people."

Zavian hummed, his voice teasing yet dangerously smooth. "You're right. I don't. But then again... you're not just 'people,' are you?"

I swallowed, my heart doing something ridiculous in my chest. "Flattery won't work on me, Zavian."

"Who said I was flattering you?" His voice was quieter now, softer. Like a secret slipping through the phone.

I pressed my lips together, trying not to let my smile show in my voice. "It's late. I should sleep."

"Go ahead." He sounded entirely unbothered. "But don't think I'm hanging up."

I let out a small huff. "Why?"

"I just want to hear you breathe," he said, and my stomach flipped. "That's all."

A slow smile curled on my lips, "Suit yourself," I said and placed my phone to my side. Sleep came almost instantly.

_

I shifted, my eyes fluttering open. My eyes flickered to the screen. The call was still going. Almost six hours. What the—?

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, my voice groggy as I muttered, "Zavian?"

Silence. Maybe he'd fallen asleep—

"Yes, Mashal-e-Mehtaab?"

I nearly dropped my phone. "You're still here?"

A soft chuckle. "Did you think I left?"

I pulled the blanket over my head, groaning. "Zavian, it's morning!"

"I know," he said, sounding perfectly awake, perfectly smug. "Your breathing changed."

I froze. "You—you stayed on the phone the whole night?"

"Of course," he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "How else would I make sure you slept well?"

My heart did an embarrassing flip. "You're insane."

"Insanely in love with my fiancée?" he offered lazily.

I rolled my eyes, heat creeping up my neck. "I'm hanging up."

"Go ahead."

I narrowed my eyes at the phone, already knowing his next move. "You'll just call me back, won't you?"

A pause. "You do know me well."

I groaned, flopping back against the pillows. "You're impossible."

"And yet, Mashal-e-Mehtaab, you haven't hung up."

I huffed and, without another word, declined the call. Hunh.

Barely a second passed before my phone vibrated again. Zavian Calling.

I groaned, burying my face into my pillow. Of course.

Letting it ring, I got up and stretched, heading toward the bathroom. But just as I reached for the doorknob, my phone buzzed again.

Zavian Calling.

I narrowed my eyes at the screen, contemplating my next move. If I answered, he'd gloat. If I ignored him, he'd keep calling.

A text popped up.

Zavian: Ignoring your fiancé? Tsk tsk, Mashal-e-Mehtaab. Not a good start to married life.

I scoffed and quickly typed back:

Me: Fiancé or stalker?

The reply came instantly.

Zavian: Both.

I let out a laugh despite myself.

Another call.

I sighed and picked up, putting it on speaker as I started brushing my hair. "What do you want, Zavian?"

"Ah, so you do miss me," he mused, voice as smooth as ever.

I rolled my eyes. "In your dreams."

"You were literally dreaming about me last night."

I froze, my brush pausing mid-stroke. "What?"

He chuckled. "You talk in your sleep, Mashal-e-Mehtaab. Want to guess whose name you said?"

My face flamed. "You're lying!"

"Am I?" His tone was far too amused.

I groaned. "That's it. I'm blocking you."

"Go ahead," he said easily. "I'll just show up at your house instead."

I turned to my reflection, exasperated yet... smiling. "No, you won't."

A deep laugh rumbled from the other end. "Don't test me, Mashal-e-Mehtaab. I can sneak in, and no one would even know."

I raised a brow. "Oh really?"

"Mmhmm. Want to test that theory?" His voice was rich with amusement, daring me.

I stared at the screen for a moment before my lips curled. "Sure. You have an hour, Zavian. Meet me in my room," I challenged.

His laughter was dark and confident. "An hour?" He scoffed. "That's way too generous, princess. I'll be there in ten."

With that, he ended the call, leaving me staring at my phone. A slow grin spread across my lips. How exactly did he plan to get past an entire army of forty downstairs? The thought alone made me laugh.

Shaking my head, I settled onto my bed, setting a timer. Let's see, Mr. Zavian Noraiz... just what kind of man are you?

_

The timer ticked away, each second stretching longer than the last. I stared at the ceiling, arms crossed, a smug smile on my face. He's bluffing. There's no way.

Five minutes passed. Nothing.

Seven minutes. Still nothing.

I let out a victorious hum, stretching lazily. Typical Zavian. All talk, no—

A soft click sounded from my balcony door. My breath hitched.

Slowly, I turned my head.

And there he was.

Standing just inside my room, Zavian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, an infuriating smirk on his lips. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he took in my stunned expression.

"Took you long enough to notice," he murmured, voice like silk.

My mouth parted, then shut. I glanced at the balcony doors, the locked balcony doors, then back at him. "How—?"

He lifted a brow. "That's a secret, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

I sat up, pointing a finger at him. "You—this is—this is illegal."

He chuckled, strolling toward me with a confidence that made my stomach twist. "So is breaking a promise. You said an hour. I gave you ten minutes."

My timer beeped just as he reached my bedside.

I scowled. "This doesn't mean you win."

He bent slightly, dark hair falling over his forehead as he murmured, "Sweetheart, I always win."

I scowled, stepping closer. "But how—how did you—?" I paused, my eyes narrowing before I spun around and marched toward the balcony. I pushed the doors open, stepping outside into the cool night air.

My gaze traveled down the sheer drop beneath me, my stomach flipping at the impossible height. Then, slowly, I turned back to him, eyes wide with disbelief.

"You did not just climb three stories with flat walls," I accused, my voice almost a whisper.

Zavian stood there, utterly unbothered, his smirk deepening.

I pointed at him, my mouth opening and closing as I searched for words. "Zavian, what are you?"

He tilted his head, taking slow, deliberate steps toward me. "Something you're very lucky to have," he murmured, stopping just a breath away.

I swallowed. Oh, I was so in trouble.

A sharp knock on the door sent my heart racing. Oh no.

I turned to Zavian, panic written all over my face. He wasn't supposed to be here.

His smirk only deepened, completely unbothered. Stepping closer, he dipped his head slightly, his voice a low murmur.

"Relax, Mashal-e-Mehtaab. Open the door, and whatever you do—" his fingers brushed my wrist, "—don't look back."

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my ears. Whoever was on the other side knocked again, more insistent this time.

I took a shaky breath, forcing my expression into something normal before stepping toward the door. Oh, Allah, please don't let me get caught.

I swallowed hard, gripping the doorknob, and without looking back—trusting Zavian enough—I threw open the door.

Mihra and Nimra barged in, chatting away, with little Siara perched on Nimra's hip, babbling in excitement. My heart nearly stopped. Oh no.

I stiffened, panic creeping in, but when I turned around... Zavian was gone.

Not a single trace. No open window, no shifting curtains, nothing.

I blinked. What the—?

Mihra flopped onto my bed, oblivious, while Nimra set Siara down, adjusting her tiny bangles. "Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"

I opened my mouth, then shut it.

Good question. Where the hell did he go?

Ting.

I spun around, heart still racing, and grabbed my phone. A new message lit up the screen.

Zavian: I love your reactions, sweetheart. See you on Friday 😉.

I exhaled sharply, half in disbelief, half in amusement. My fingers hovered over the keyboard before I scoffed and locked the screen.

Infuriating man.