I walked into the house, exhaustion weighing heavy on my shoulders after a long day at university. Dropping my bag by the door, I stretched, rolling my stiff shoulders—only to pause when a familiar scent filled the air.

Curious, I followed it to the kitchen, where I found Zavian standing by the stove, completely in his element. Sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed in concentration, he moved with effortless ease, stirring something in a pan.

A smile tugged at my lips.

Leaning against the doorway, I crossed my arms. "So that's why you apologized for not picking me up today, huh?" I teased. "Trying to win me over with food?"

Zavian glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "Is it working?"

I pretended to think for a moment before stepping forward, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. "Depends," I murmured, resting my chin against his back. "What's on the menu, Chef?"

He chuckled, turning slightly to press a kiss to my forehead. "Your favorite."

And just like that, the exhaustion of the day melted away.

_

"Let's watch a cartoon movie," I suggested, already munching on my popcorn.

Zavian raised a brow, leaning back against the couch. "Cartoon?" he repeated, unimpressed. "I was thinking romance, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

I gasped dramatically. "Excuse me, cartoons are romance. Have you never seen a Disney movie?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I was thinking something more...mature."

I pouted, holding up a piece of popcorn to his lips. "Come on, Mr. Husband, let's relive our childhood. I promise you'll love it."

He sighed in mock defeat, taking the popcorn from my fingers and eating it. "Fine. But if there's no decent love story in it, I'm picking the next movie."

I grinned, snuggling into his side as the opening credits rolled. "Deal."

"Not bad," he murmured, eyes fixed on the screen, arms crossed as if he wasn't completely won over yet.

I hummed in response, too engrossed in the movie to tease him. The colors, the music, the nostalgia—it pulled me in, making the real world fade into the background.

A few minutes passed in silence, the only sounds being the dialogue from the movie and the occasional crunch of popcorn. Then, out of nowhere—

"Wait... did he just sing his love confession?" Zavian asked, sounding both amused and skeptical.

I grinned, finally turning to look at him. "Yep. And it's adorable."

He scoffed, but I didn't miss the way his lips twitched. "If I ever did that, you'd laugh at me."

I gasped, placing a hand over my heart. "How dare you underestimate me? I'd melt on the spot."

He chuckled, finally relaxing into the couch. Without thinking, I grabbed a blanket and tossed it over both of us, snuggling into his side. His arm instinctively wrapped around me, pulling me closer.

By the time the credits rolled, I glanced up at him—only to find him still staring at the screen, expression softer than before.

I smirked. "So... who's picking the next movie?"

Zavian exhaled dramatically. "Let's just watch another one of these."

Victory.

_

Three months had passed in a beautiful blur—three months of laughter, love, stolen kisses, and whispered conversations late into the night. Three months of being wrapped up in Zavian, in the warmth of his presence, in the way he made every single day feel like a dream.

And today, that dream involved window-shopping while my dear husband trailed behind me, looking as though he was being subjected to the greatest suffering known to man.

I bit back a smile as I glanced over my shoulder at him. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, his gaze flickering between the stores and me, waiting—no, praying—for the moment I declared we were done.

Little did he know, I had bought him something. A pair of sleek, silver cufflinks—something simple, elegant, and perfect for him. Paid for with my very first PhD paycheck. He had given me so much—his love, his patience, his unwavering support—and though this was just a small token, I couldn't wait to see his face when I surprised him over dinner tonight.

But for now...

"I'm hungry," I declared, spinning on my heel to face him.

Zavian's reaction was instant. Relief washed over his face as he grinned, his eyes lighting up. "Finally!" he groaned dramatically before reaching for my hand.

Before I could react, he laced our fingers together and tugged me toward the food court with renewed enthusiasm, his earlier boredom completely forgotten. I laughed as I stumbled slightly, falling into step beside him.

"You were just waiting for me to give in, weren't you?" I teased.

He shot me a sideways smirk. "I love you, Mashal-e-Mehtaab, but I love food too. And right now, food is winning."

I gasped, feigning betrayal. "How dare you?"

He chuckled, squeezing my hand. "Let me feed you first, and then I'll remind you exactly how much I love you."

My heart flipped at the promise in his tone.

And just like that, my excitement for dinner—and his surprise—grew tenfold.

_

Dinner was perfect. The restaurant was dimly lit, the soft hum of music in the background adding to the warmth of the evening. Zavian sat across from me, his sharp gaze softened by the flickering candlelight, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched me take another bite of my pasta.

"You look suspiciously happy," he noted, tilting his head.

I swallowed, trying not to give myself away too soon. "Can't a wife enjoy a good meal with her husband?"

He raised a brow, tapping his fingers against the table. "Of course. But with you, happiness like this usually means you're up to something."

I grinned, pulling my purse onto my lap. "Maybe."

His eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued but amused. "Mashal-e-Mehtaab, if this is about dragging me to another shopping spree—"

I cut him off with a laugh. "No, no, nothing like that!"

Taking a deep breath, I reached into my purse and pulled out the small velvet box, placing it in front of him. Zavian's smirk faltered, his gaze flickering between the box and me, curiosity now replaced with something unreadable.

"Open it." My voice was softer now, anticipation bubbling in my chest.

He hesitated for just a moment before picking it up, flipping it open with his thumb. His expression shifted instantly—the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something raw, something deep.

The silver cufflinks gleamed under the candlelight, a simple yet elegant design that suited him perfectly.

"I bought them with my first PhD paycheck," I admitted, watching his reaction closely. "I wanted to get you something special. Something you'd wear and think of me."

For the first time that night, Zavian was silent. He simply stared at the cufflinks, then at me, then back at the cufflinks again.

Then, without a word, he shut the box and set it aside before leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"Come here."

I frowned, confused. "Zavian, we're in a restaurant—"

"I don't care. Come here." His voice was firm but filled with something dangerously tender.

Heart pounding, I leaned forward slightly—only for him to cup my face with both hands and press the softest, most lingering kiss to my forehead.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sheer warmth of it.

When he pulled away, his eyes held that rare, unguarded emotion I only ever saw when he looked at me. "You didn't have to do this."

I smiled. "I wanted to."

He exhaled, shaking his head, a slow, affectionate smirk playing on his lips. "You're impossible.

"You love me for it."

"That I do, Mashal-e-Mehtaab." He picked up the box again, flipping it open once more. "And these... I'll wear them every day. Just so you never forget how much I do."

And just like that, the night became even more perfect.

_

A few days later, I was curled up on the couch, typing away on my laptop, lost in my work when the door creaked open.

I looked up—and my heart nearly stopped.

"Oh my God!" The laptop slid off my lap as I scrambled to my feet, my blanket tangling around my legs.

Zavian stood in the doorway, blood dripping down the side of his face, trailing from his forehead to his chin, staining the collar of his shirt.

"Why are you bleeding?" My voice came out in a frantic gasp as I rushed to him, nearly tripping in my haste.

But instead of looking concerned, he... grinned.

Grinned.

The sight sent a wave of cold panic down my spine. The way the dim light hit his face, the contrast of crimson against his skin—he looked downright terrifying.

"Zavian!" My voice rose in alarm. "What the hell happened? Stop laughing!"

I grabbed his face, forcing him to lower his head as my hands trembled, my fingers brushing through his hair, searching for the source of the bleeding.

His shoulders shook, his lips still curved into that unsettling smirk.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Why are you amused?" My voice broke, a raw mix of frustration and fear. "You're bleeding, Zavian! You're—"

His hands gently wrapped around my wrists, stopping my frantic movements. His touch was warm, grounding, but it only made my panic surge.

His voice was soft, teasing. "Mashal-e-Mehtaab, you look like you're about to cry."

"Because I AM!" I snapped, blinking rapidly. "Zavian, tell me what happened! Right now!"

His smirk softened slightly, and he let out a low chuckle. "It's just a scratch, sweetheart."

"SCRATCH?" I gaped at him, pointing at the blood trickling down his jaw. "You look like you walked out of a horror movie!"

He sighed, finally giving in. "It's nothing serious. Just a little... scuffle."

My breath hitched. A scuffle? Zavian wasn't the type to get into random fights. No, if he was bleeding, it meant something.

Something dangerous.

His hands tightened around my wrists as if he could feel my thoughts spiraling. His voice dropped, quiet but firm. "I'm fine, Mashal-e-Mehtaab. I promise."

I shook my head, biting my lip to keep it from trembling. "Then let me take care of you."

His eyes softened. "You always do."

And just like that, my panic didn't fade—but it settled. Because whatever storm he had walked through tonight...

He was home now. And I wasn't letting him out of my sight.

_

"Stop touching my hand!" I hissed, jerking away as Zavian once again tried to take the ice pack from me.

He had the audacity to smirk. "Sweetheart, I can hold it myself. You've been hovering like this for the past half hour. Stop making me feel guilty and just give it to me."

I scoffed, pressing the ice pack against the side of his head with even more force, making him wince. "Oh, you should feel guilty."

His smirk faltered as I continued, my voice sharp with frustration. "Who told you to get into random fights, huh? Do you think you're invincible? Do you have any idea what I felt when I saw you standing there, bleeding like some reckless idiot? Do you even think before you act?"

Zavian sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Mashal-e-Mehtaab, it wasn't even a fight. I just interfered—"

"Exactly! Who asked you to interfere?!" I cut him off, glaring. "Two shopkeepers fighting over God-knows-what, and you, the great Zavian, decided to step in like some hero! What if one of them had a knife? A weapon? What if something worse happened?"

His expression softened slightly, but I wasn't done.

"Do you know you have a wife waiting for you at home?" My voice wavered, my anger now laced with worry. "A wife who expects you to come back safe and sound, not covered in blood, grinning like an idiot!"

He exhaled, looking genuinely guilty now, but I didn't let him speak.

"Next time, Zavian, you walk away. I don't care if the whole market is on fire—you walk away. Because if something happens to you..." My voice broke, and I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. "If something happens to you, what am I supposed to do?"

Silence settled between us.

Then, Zavian reached out—this time, gently, carefully—and took my free hand in his. His grip was warm, steady. "I'm sorry." His voice was quieter now, sincere. "I wasn't thinking."

I sighed, shaking my head. "You never do."

His lips twitched. "That's not true. I always think about you."

I shot him a glare, but he just squeezed my hand, his smirk returning ever so slightly. "No more unnecessary fights. I promise."

I narrowed my eyes. "Good. Because next time, if you come home bleeding again, I swear I'll be the one to give you a real reason to need stitches."

Zavian chuckled, pulling me closer. "Noted, boss."