The next few weeks passed in a blur of research work, deadlines, and long hours spent buried in books and my laptop. My schedule was hectic, leaving little room for anything else, but I managed.

This weekend, though, I was flying to Amsterdam again—just for two nights. A short trip. I'd be back by Monday morning.

Zavian, however, wasn't too thrilled about it. He didn't say much, but his silence spoke volumes. He hated the idea of me being away, even if it was temporary.

Right now, I was curled up in the lounge, sipping on my coffee, my suitcase packed and waiting by the door. The warm aroma of caffeine filled the air, mixing with the quiet hum of Zavian's laptop.

I glanced at him. He was seated across from me, completely focused on his screen, fingers flying over the keyboard. Another laptop. A new laptop.

My brows furrowed in curiosity.

I set my cup down, tilting my head. "You changed your laptop?"

Zavian didn't look up, still typing. "Mm."

I narrowed my eyes. "The last one was practically new. Why?"

This time, he finally glanced at me, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before he smirked. "Felt like an upgrade."

I raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Just like that?"

He leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly before closing the laptop with a soft click. "Just like that."

Something about the way he said it—too casual, too smooth—made my stomach twist with suspicion.

Zavian never did things 'just like that.'

"You're such a mystery, Zavian," I murmured, standing up and stretching, my muscles aching from sitting too long.

He smirked but said nothing, just watching me with that unreadable gaze of his.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes. "I'll go change, then you can drop me off at the airport." I stifled a yawn, already feeling the exhaustion creep in.

As I turned to leave, I felt his fingers wrap gently around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. I glanced back, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you sure you have to go?" His voice was quiet, casual—but there was something else beneath it. Something almost reluctant.

I smiled softly, squeezing his hand. "Zavian, it's just two nights."

His jaw tightened slightly before he exhaled, his grip loosening. "Fine. But you owe me a proper date when you get back."

I laughed, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead. "Deal."

As I disappeared into the bedroom to change, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Zavian had been acting strange all day.

And somehow, I knew—this wasn't just about my trip.

_

"Allah Hafiz," Zavian murmured against my hair, his voice low, warm.

I smiled, patting his back gently. "Allah Hafiz, Zavian. Take care... and no random fights."

He pulled back just enough to grin down at me, mischief glinting in his eyes. "No promises."

I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms. "Zavian!"

He chuckled, hands settling on my waist as he leaned in. "Fine, fine. Promise, princess. Just... call me when you land, okay?"

I nodded, my heart squeezing as he pressed a soft kiss to my cheek.

Stepping back, I grabbed my bag, adjusting the strap over my shoulder. "See you soon."

Zavian's smirk softened into something gentler, something only I got to see. "I'll be counting the hours."

_

This time, my trip to Amsterdam was different. Aisha wasn't with me. No shared excitement, no whispered conversations on the plane, no familiar presence beside me. Just me.

I landed at 9 a.m. sharp, the cool morning air wrapping around me as I stepped out of the airport. The sky was a soft shade of gray, hints of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

After collecting my luggage, I hailed a cab and headed straight to my hotel. The city passed by in a blur—tall canal houses, cobbled streets, bicycles weaving through traffic, and the soft hum of life that made Amsterdam feel like a painting in motion.

By the time I reached my hotel, exhaustion was already tugging at my limbs, but there was no time to rest.

I checked in, took the elevator up to my room, and immediately set my suitcase down. The room was modern yet cozy, with a large window overlooking the street below. I took a moment to breathe, absorbing the quiet before pulling out my phone.

Me: Just landed. At the hotel now.

Zavian: Good. Did you eat?

Me: Not yet, just about to shower. My conference starts soon.

Zavian: Don't skip breakfast, Mashal-e-Mehtaab.

Me: Yes, yes, Mr. Responsible.

I smiled at his immediate concern, shaking my head as I placed my phone down.

After a quick but refreshing shower, I changed into a formal yet comfortable outfit—a crisp white kurta, tailored black jeans, a scarf and my favorite watch. Simple, professional.

With a deep breath, I gathered my notes, slipped on my heels, and headed out.

The University of Amsterdam awaited, and so did the work I had come here to do.

_

After a long, exhausting day filled with presentations and discussions, I treated myself to lunch at one of Amsterdam's most popular restaurants. The warm aroma of freshly baked bread and rich Dutch cuisine filled the air, offering a well-earned moment of indulgence.

I took my time, savoring the meal—a delicious Stamppot with smoked sausage, paired with a refreshing glass of mint lemonade. The restaurant buzzed with soft conversations, the clinking of cutlery, and the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table.

By the time I stepped out, the crisp afternoon breeze kissed my skin, replacing the heaviness of the day with a newfound energy. Instead of wandering aimlessly, I decided to head back to the hotel.

Better to work than sit idle.

Back in my room, I changed into something more comfortable—a loose sweater and trousers I took from Zavian's side of the closet—then settled onto the couch with my laptop. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I dove into my research notes, fully immersing myself in my work.

Minutes blurred into hours. The sky outside darkened, city lights flickering to life, casting a golden glow over the streets below.

A soft ding pulled me out of my focus.

Zavian: Still working, aren't you?

Me: Guilty as charged.

Zavian: At least tell me you ate dinner.

Me: About to. Don't worry, Mr. Responsible.

Zavian: Good. And after dinner?

Me: Maybe a walk. The city looks beautiful at night.

Zavian: Not alone. Take precautions.

Me: Yes, yes, my overprotective husband.

I chuckled, shaking my head before setting my laptop aside. Dinner first. Then maybe... a stroll through the Amsterdam night.

_

After a long day, I decided to have dinner at the hotel's restaurant. The ambiance was calm, with soft instrumental music playing in the background and the quiet hum of conversations around me.

I took my time, enjoying a warm bowl of Dutch pea soup and a side of freshly baked bread. The comforting flavors helped ease some of my exhaustion, though my mind remained occupied with work and thoughts of home.

Once done, I met up with one of my colleagues for a short evening walk. Amsterdam at night was breathtaking—canals reflecting the golden glow of streetlights, bicycles rushing past, and the cool air laced with the scent of fresh pastries from nearby bakeries.

We strolled through the streets, chatting about the conference, until a small souvenir shop caught my attention. Something caught my eye—a beautifully painted ceramic windmill.

"That would look good in my kitchen," I murmured, smiling as I picked it up.

After a bit of browsing, I finally made my purchase, then bid farewell to my colleague and made my way back to the hotel.

By the time I reached my room, the exhaustion from the day weighed on my shoulders. I swiped my key card, pushed the door open, and—

A scream tore from my throat.

Before I could react, a strong hand clamped over my mouth, muffling the sound. My eyes went wide—first in horror, then in shock.

I struggled, my pulse hammering against my ribs. Who? How? My mind raced. My breath came fast and shallow.

Then, as my attacker stepped into the dim light of the room, my wild panic gave way to stunned surprise.

Because the eyes staring back at me—intense, familiar, unreadable—belonged to Zavian.

Zavian slowly released me, stepping back with a cocky smirk. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he tilted his head.

"Hello, sweetheart."

For a moment, I just stared at him, stunned. My heart was still pounding in my chest, my body tense from the shock. Then, as reality set in, anger flared.

I shoved his shoulder, hard. "Are you insane?" I hissed, breathless. "What the hell, Zavian? Do you have any idea how close I was to having a heart attack?"

His smirk deepened. "I'd say you're handling it pretty well."

I glared. "No. No, I'm not. What are you even doing here? And—" I gestured wildly at the door. "How did you get into my room without a key?! This is a five-star hotel, Zavian, not your backyard!"

He simply shrugged, completely unfazed. "I have my ways."

I crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes. "That is not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting," he said smoothly, stepping closer. "But let's focus on what really matters—you missed me, didn't you?"

I scoffed. "That's beside the point."

His gaze softened, amusement giving way to something deeper. "Not to me, it isn't."

Before I could retort, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek.

My breath hitched.

"I had to see you," he murmured, his voice lower now, almost serious. "Two nights felt too long."

I swallowed, my annoyance faltering slightly under the weight of his words.

"That doesn't excuse breaking and entering," I muttered, though my voice had lost most of its bite.

He chuckled, brushing a thumb over my jaw. "Technically, I didn't break anything. The entering part... well." He smirked again. "Like I said, I have my ways."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Unbelievable."

He grinned, pulling me into his arms. "Believe it, sweetheart."

And despite everything, despite my earlier panic and frustration, I melted into his embrace.

_

The hotel room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting golden hues across the crisp white sheets. Zavian lay beside me, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily draped around my waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns along my hip.

"You should be asleep," I murmured, shifting slightly to face him.

He smirked, his thumb grazing the fabric of my shirt. "So should you."

I sighed, tucking my face into the crook of his neck. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Mm." His chest rumbled with quiet amusement. "Yet you married me anyway."

I smiled against his skin. "A moment of weakness, clearly."

He pulled back slightly, tilting my chin up so our eyes met. "Say that again." His voice was low, teasing, but his gaze was warm—intense in a way that sent tiny shivers down my spine.

I rolled my eyes. "I said, I must have been completely and utterly smitten—"

His lips cut off the rest of my sentence. Slow. Unhurried. Like he had all the time in the world. And right then, lying there in his arms, I felt it too—that time didn't matter. That nothing outside this moment mattered.

When he finally pulled away, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my forehead, he whispered, "I love you, Mashal-e-Mehtaab."

My heart clenched, warmth blooming deep in my chest.

I placed a soft kiss against his jaw. "I love you too, Zavian."

His arms tightened around me, pulling me impossibly closer. "Good."

I smiled sleepily, my fingers playing with the chain around his neck as my eyes fluttered shut. "Go to sleep now, troublemaker."

His quiet chuckle was the last thing I heard before sleep claimed me.

_

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. I stirred, stretching lazily before realizing the space beside me was empty. My fingers brushed against something cool—a neatly folded note tucked in my hand.

Unfolding it, I read the familiar scrawl:

"Had work... I'll pick you up at the airport tomorrow. Love you."

A small smile tugged at my lips. Of course he had work.

I traced the words with my thumb, lingering on the last two. Love you.

Shaking my head fondly, I tucked the note into my suitcase—a little piece of him to keep with me.

_

The day was a whirlwind of council meetings and back-to-back conferences, each more exhausting than the last. Hours passed in a blur of discussions, presentations, and formalities, my brain constantly shifting between focus and fatigue. By the time evening rolled around, my feet ached, my shoulders were stiff, and all I wanted was the comfort of my bed.

As soon as I stepped into my hotel room, I let out a tired sigh, kicking off my heels and shrugging off my blazer. The city lights outside twinkled through the window, but I barely spared them a glance as I changed into my most comfortable nightwear.

Finally, I slipped under the covers, letting the plush mattress swallow me whole. The exhaustion seeped into my bones, my body relaxing inch by inch. I barely had the energy to check my phone, but I did anyway—my eyes scanning the screen for any messages from Zavian.

Nothing yet.

I huffed softly, placing my phone on the nightstand. He better not be in another one of his 'random fights.'

With that final thought, my eyelids drooped, and sleep pulled me under.

_

The crisp morning air greeted me as I stepped out of the airport, my suitcase rolling smoothly behind me. I adjusted the strap of my bag, scanning the crowd with expectant eyes. But Zavian wasn't there.

A small frown tugged at my lips. He said he'd pick me up.

I pulled out my phone, checking for any missed calls or texts. Nothing.

Rolling my eyes, I huffed, dialing his number. It rang. And rang. And rang.

Straight to voicemail.

I tried again, tapping my foot impatiently. Still no answer.

A strange unease settled in my chest. Zavian wasn't the type to forget promises.

I sighed, tugging my coat tighter around me as a cold breeze swept past. Maybe he was stuck in traffic. Maybe work had held him up. Maybe—

"Looking for someone?"

My heart jumped. I whirled around, eyes widening as I took in the man leaning casually against a sleek black car, arms crossed over his chest.

Zavian.

His dark eyes glinted with amusement as he watched me, clearly enjoying my frustration.

"You—!" I stalked toward him, ready to unleash my annoyance, but he only smirked, reaching for my suitcase and effortlessly placing it in the trunk.

"Missed me, sweetheart?" he murmured, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me closer.

I huffed, attempting to glare, but the warmth of his embrace and the familiar scent of him melted my irritation.

"You could've answered your phone," I grumbled, resting my forehead against his chest.

"And ruin the fun of watching you pout?" he teased.

I smacked his arm. "Unbelievable."

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Come on, let's get you home."

And just like that, the unease from earlier vanished.

_