The air outside was colder than before, or maybe it was just me. My fingers clenched around my bag strap as I followed him to his car, my stomach a tangled mess of nerves.
Zavian didn't say a word as he unlocked the doors. Just slid into the driver's seat, waiting. I swallowed and got in, adjusting my scarf as if that would somehow shield me from the intensity radiating off him.
The engine rumbled to life, and we pulled onto the road, silence stretching thick between us. I shifted uncomfortably. My mind was still spinning from the whole rishta conversation, and his presence wasn't exactly helping.
"You're awfully quiet," he finally said, his tone deceptively casual.
I let out a slow breath, keeping my gaze fixed on the road ahead. "Just tired."
"Or overthinking," he countered.
I stiffened but didn't reply. Of course, he saw through me. He always did.
His fingers drummed against the steering wheel. "So, Hamza Khan, huh?"
There it was. The storm I'd been dreading.
I swallowed hard. "Not your business."
He chuckled—low, dark, and edged with something possessive. "Mujhe koi farq nahi padta tum mujhse door bhaagne ki kitni koshish karti ho, Iman..." His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles flexing. "Tum sirf meri ho. Aur main yeh baat kisi aur ko yaad dilane mein ek second bhi nahi lagaoon ga."
(I don't care how much you try to run from me, Iman... You're mine. And I won't hesitate for even a second to remind anyone of that.)
A shiver ran down my spine. His voice was quiet, but it carried weight, a promise—or maybe a threat.
"You can't just claim me like that, Zavian." I shook my head, forcing my voice to stay steady despite the warmth flooding my face. "I'm not something you can own."
His grip on the wheel loosened slightly, but his gaze flicked toward me, unreadable under the dim streetlights. "No?" His lips curled in a slow, knowing smirk. "Then why does it sound like you're trying to convince yourself?"
I shook my head, forcing my gaze away. "I don't know what you want from me."
He tilted his head, studying me like I was something fragile yet entirely his to break. "I think I'm being quite bold, Mashal-e-Mehtaab." His voice was smooth, laced with a quiet kind of danger. "I want you. With me."
My throat dried. My body burned with heat that had nothing to do with the temperature inside the car. "This is not how this works." My fingers curled into fists. "You're just... I don't know... obsessed or something. And you're quite good at showing that."
A low, dark chuckle left his lips, sending chills through me. "Obsession?" His fingers flexed on the wheel before he turned to me, eyes hooded, intense. "It's more than that, Iman."
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a near whisper—intimate, dangerous. "Obsession fades. This... this is something you'll never escape."
"Then what is this? Be more specific" I said annoyed.
His lips curved, slow and deliberate, like he was enjoying this. Enjoying my frustration.
"Specific?" His voice was dangerously soft, laced with something dark. "You really want me to put it into words, Mashal-e-Mehtaab?"
I crossed my arms, ignoring the way my pulse spiked. "Yes. If you're going to make insane claims, at least back them up."
His gaze darkened, his fingers tapping against the wheel as if debating something. And then he leaned in, just enough for me to feel the weight of his presence, the heat rolling off him in waves.
"This," he murmured, voice deep and deliberate, "is possession, Iman."
My breath hitched.
"This is knowing that no matter where you go, who you meet, or how far you run, you'll always be mine. This is more than obsession. It's fate. It's inevitability." His eyes burned into mine. "And sooner or later, you'll stop fighting it."
I shook my head, looking away. "I don't want to get into things like this."
He hummed, low and deep, like he had expected that answer. "Then I'll marry you."
I snapped my head toward him, eyes wide. "What?"
His fingers flexed on the steering wheel, his jaw ticking as he turned to face me fully. "You heard me, Mashal-e-Mehtaab." His voice was calm—too calm. "If that's what it takes to make sure no one else even thinks of having you, then fine. I'll marry you."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "You can't just say things like that!"
He tilted his head, lips curving. "Why not? It's the simplest solution. You don't want to be involved in 'things like this'? Fine. Be involved with me instead."
I gaped at him, struggling for words. "You—you're insane."
He chuckled, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his touch burning. "And you're mine."
I swatted his hand away, grumbling under my breath. "Sure you will."
Zavian only chuckled, the sound deep and knowing. "You think I'm joking?"
I crossed my arms, looking straight ahead. "I think you're delusional."
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something lethal and soft. "You'll see, Mashal-e-Mehtaab. When I make up my mind about something, I don't stop until I have it."
A shiver ran down my spine, but I masked it with an eye-roll. "Sounds exhausting. Maybe you should reconsider."
His smirk widened, a hint of something dark flickering in his gaze. "Not a chance."
I exhaled sharply, turning to glare at him. "You can't just marry me to prove a point."
He tilted his head. "Who said anything about proving a point? I just don't like the idea of you meeting someone else. Let's call this... a precaution."
I gaped at him. "A precaution?"
Zavian nodded, the streetlights outside casting shadows across his sharp features. "You're mine, Iman. And I don't share."
My pulse raced. "This isn't how things work, Zavian. You can't just decide something like this on your own."
His gaze softened, but there was steel underneath. "Then tell me no."
I opened my mouth—then shut it. Why couldn't I just say it? Why did my tongue refuse to form the words?
Zavian smirked like he already knew the answer. "Exactly."
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to look away. "You're impossible," I muttered.
Zavian didn't respond immediately. Instead, he let the silence stretch between us, his presence unnervingly heavy. The car slowed as we approached my apartment building, and I felt his gaze burning into me.
As soon as he parked, I reached for the door handle, desperate to escape whatever spell he was trying to cast over me. But his hand shot out, gripping my wrist before I could move.
"Zavian," I warned, my voice barely above a whisper.
He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around my wrist for just a second before he let go. "Go inside, Iman. But don't forget what I said."
I swallowed. "I'm not yours, Zavian."
His lips curved into a smirk, but there was something dark in his eyes. "Not yet."
I glared at him, yanking the door open and stepping out. My heart was pounding against my ribs as I hurried toward the entrance of my building, but I couldn't resist one last glance over my shoulder.
He was still watching me, his expression unreadable. Then, just as I was about to disappear inside, I heard him murmur—low, certain, and dangerous:
"You're not meeting him."
I shut the door behind me, pressing my back against it. My breath came out in uneven bursts.
This was going to be a problem.
_
Next week, as I stood in front of the mirror tying my hair, I felt the weight of several pairs of eyes watching me intently.
Aisha sighed, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall. "Is this really a good idea?"
I let out a breath, shaking my head. "I have no idea."
Isabella raised a brow, tilting her head. "You do realize your dear Zavian isn't going to let this slide, right? The man is unhinged when it comes to you."
I huffed out a laugh, grabbing my earrings. "Well... maybe it's a guilty pleasure, but I kind of want to see what he does. I mean, who even proposes like that? So casually. Like it's inevitable."
Aisha scoffed. "Because to him, it is inevitable."
I rolled my eyes but bit back a smile. "I never even thought he was this interested in me."
Isabella snorted. "Girl, are you blind or just in denial?"
I paused, my fingers hovering over my earring clasp. My stomach flipped, but I forced out another laugh. "I'm just... curious, that's all."
Aisha exchanged a knowing glance with Isabella.
"Curious," Isabella repeated, smirking. "Sure, let's go with that."
I grabbed my bag, forcing myself to move despite every bone in my body screaming otherwise. I didn't want to go. Even Zavian had told me not to—no, warned me not to. His words still echoed in my head, low and sharp, carrying a promise I wasn't sure I wanted to test.
And yet, I couldn't say no.
I adjusted my dupatta, inhaling deeply. "I should get going," I muttered, more to convince myself than anyone else.
"Think again, sweetheart," Yuki said, fixing me with a pointed look. "I'm honestly surprised you haven't received another warning message yet."
She crossed her arms, watching me like I was walking straight into a battlefield—because, knowing Zavian, I probably was.
"I don't have any other choice but to go," I sighed, adjusting my bag. "I've already received dozens of messages from Mama and Baba."
Yuki scoffed. "And yet not one from Zavian? Suspicious."
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe he's finally letting it go."
"Or maybe," Isabella smirked, "he's just waiting to strike when you least expect it."
_
