chapter 9
1037 Words
Zaviyar’s POV
The evening air was crisp as Zaviyar pulled his car into the driveway of Ahmad Ali’s house. The warm glow of the lights spilling through the windows gave the place an inviting feel—different from the cold, structured environment he was used to.
Beside him, Zaroon let out a low whistle. “Feels like we’re about to get interrogated.”
Zaviyar shot him a look. “It’s just dinner.”
Zaroon smirked. “Yeah, sure.”
Pushing past his brother’s teasing, Zaviyar stepped out of the car. Ahmad Ali was already waiting for them at the entrance, his eyes warm as he patted Zaviyar’s shoulder.
“You brought Zaroon. Good.” He turned toward Zaroon. “How are you feeling now, beta?”
Zaroon shrugged. “Still breathing.”
Ahmad Ali chuckled, ushering them inside. Zaviyar followed, the warmth of the house settling over him. It was different from his own home—less like a museum, more like a place meant to be lived in.
As they settled in the living room, Ahmad Ali leaned back, his expression thoughtful.
“You remind me of your father.”
Zaviyar stiffened slightly, his fingers curling around the teacup that had been placed in front of him.
“I still remember when Alam first introduced you to me,” Ahmad Ali continued, a nostalgic smile forming. “You were barely five—staring at me with those same serious eyes.”
Zaviyar said nothing. He rarely spoke about his father. It wasn’t that he didn’t miss him—he did—but grief had always been something he carried in silence.
“He was a good man,” Ahmad Ali said softly. “A loyal friend. We built a lot together.” His voice dropped. “I miss him.”
A familiar ache settled in Zaviyar’s chest, but he simply nodded.
Before the silence could stretch too long, a soft clinking sound interrupted them.
He turned his head—and there she was.
Musfira.
She placed a tray on the table, her delicate fingers adjusting the cups. Dressed in a soft pastel-colored dress, she looked different in this setting—more at home, more at ease. But what held his attention were her eyes. Deep, black pools that held too many unspoken emotions.
For a moment, her gaze flickered to his, and something shifted in the air.
She quickly turned to her father. “Baba, should I bring anything else?”
Ahmad Ali smiled. “Come, beta. Sit with us.”
She hesitated before taking a seat opposite Zaviyar.
As the conversation flowed, Zaviyar found himself watching her without meaning to. She wasn’t outspoken like Zaroon or Javad. She wasn’t loud or demanding. But there was something about her presence—something unassuming yet impossible to ignore.
Then—the topic changed.
Ahmad Ali set his cup down, his expression shifting.
“Zaviyar,” he began, his voice calm but firm. “You’re thirty-one now, almost thirty-two.”
Zaviyar’s grip on his cup tightened.
“You’ve built your empire,” Ahmad Ali continued. “You’ve made your name. But life isn’t just about work, beta.”
Zaviyar already knew where this was going.
Musfira stiffened beside her father, her fingers gripping the edge of her dupatta.
“I’m saying… It’s time to think about marriage.”
The weight of the statement settled between them.
Zaviyar exhaled slowly. He should have seen this coming.
Ahmad Ali leaned forward slightly. “I won’t pressure you. I just want you to consider it. And—” his eyes flickered toward Musfira, “—if you’re willing, I’d like you to consider Musfira.”
For a second, Zaviyar said nothing.
He wasn’t surprised by the suggestion. It was practical, logical even. But it was also… unexpected.
His gaze drifted to Musfira. She was looking down, her posture stiff, but he could see the way her breathing had changed—slightly uneven.
Would she even want this?
Would he?
He had spent years keeping emotions at arm’s length, burying himself in work. Marriage had never been a priority. But now, faced with the reality of it—**the possibility of Musfira—**he found himself… considering it.
Slowly, he looked back at Ahmad Ali and nodded.
“I’ll think about it.”
Ahmad Ali smiled, satisfied.
But beside him, Musfira sat frozen.
And Zaviyar couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking.
Musfira’s POV
The moment the words left her father’s mouth, Musfira felt the air shift.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, her mind scrambling to process what had just happened.
He had asked Zaviyar to marry her.
Right there. So easily. As if it was just a simple suggestion.
She kept her gaze down, her fingers gripping the edge of her dupatta as she waited for his response.
She didn’t know what she expected.
A refusal? An excuse?
But instead—
“I’ll think about it.”
Her breath caught.
The room seemed smaller, the walls closer. The weight of those four words pressed against her chest.
She forced herself to keep still, to keep her expression unreadable. But inside, everything was unraveling.
She hadn’t thought about marriage. Not like this.
She had always imagined she’d have time—time to figure out what she wanted, time to let things happen naturally. But now, that time had been stolen from her.
She lifted her gaze, cautiously meeting Zaviyar’s eyes.
He was calm. Too calm. His face gave nothing away.
And yet… there was something there.
Something undecipherable.
Her fingers curled tighter against the fabric of her dress.
She had known Zaviyar as her boss, as Zaroon’s older brother, as the man who carried himself with quiet authority. But the idea of knowing him as… a husband?
It felt impossible.
And yet—it was now a possibility.
After dinner, when she finally found herself alone in her room, she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands.
Zaviyar Shah.
Her potential husband.
Her heart thumped at the thought.
She didn’t know if she wanted this.
She didn’t know if he did either.
But one thing was certain—her life would never be the same again.
- Writer
