beyond the vows

chapter 3

The golden rays of the morning sun filtered through the glass walls of Shah Enterprises, casting long shadows as Musfira stepped inside the familiar building. She adjusted the folder in her hands—the designs Zaviyar had asked for—before glancing to her side at Maha Malik.

Maha, dressed in a chic yet effortlessly casual outfit, walked beside her with an easy confidence. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief as she observed the office environment.

“I expected this place to be suffocating,” Maha muttered, scanning the serious faces around them. “And I was right.”

Musfira chuckled under her breath. “It’s not that bad.”

Maha smirked. “You only say that because you work here.”

They reached the elevator, stepping inside. Maha leaned against the mirrored wall, her arms crossed. “So, what’s the boss man like in the office?”

Musfira hesitated before answering. “Intimidating.”

Maha’s smirk widened. “That’s it?”

Musfira thought about it—about Zaviyar’s intense gaze, his sharp words, the way he made people feel like they were under a microscope. “And relentless.”

Maha let out a low whistle. “Sounds like fun.”

The elevator dinged open, and they stepped onto the executive floor. As they approached Zaviyar’s office, Musfira’s heart did an involuntary skip—a reaction she quickly pushed away.

Inside, Zaviyar sat behind his grand desk, reviewing a file. He looked up as they entered, his light brown eyes sharp and unreadable.

Musfira cleared her throat and placed the folder in front of him. “The designs you asked for.”

Zaviyar took the folder without a word and flipped through the pages. Silence stretched in the room as he examined each sketch with an unreadable expression.

After what felt like forever, he finally spoke. “These are better.”

Musfira exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “So, you approve?”

He looked at her. “For now.”

Before she could respond, Maha—who had been watching the exchange like an amused spectator—finally spoke. “So, this is how you two interact? No small talk? No pleasantries?”

Zaviyar’s gaze flickered to Maha, and his brow lifted slightly. “I don’t do small talk.”

Maha grinned. “Well, I do.” She walked forward, placing her hands on his desk. “I work here now.”

Zaviyar leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “I’m aware.”

Maha smirked. “Then don’t look so disappointed.”

Zaviyar exhaled through his nose and closed the folder. “Get to work.”

Maha gave a mock salute before turning to Musfira. “See you later, Miss Artist.” Then she strolled out, leaving Musfira alone with Zaviyar.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then Zaviyar said, “Your work is improving.”

It wasn’t a compliment. Not exactly. But coming from him, it felt like one.

Musfira nodded. “I’ll make sure it keeps improving.”

He studied her for a moment longer before nodding, dismissing her. She turned to leave, but just as she reached the door, he called out,

“Musfira.”

She paused.

“Don’t be late next time.”

She bit back a smile. “I won’t.”

And with that, she left.

Afternoon: A Father’s Worries

Later that day, Musfira sat with her father in their cozy living room. The scent of chai filled the air as Ahmad Ali Agha stirred his cup absentmindedly. His features were worn but kind, his eyes reflecting a lifetime of wisdom.

“You’ve turned 24, Musfira,” he said suddenly, his voice gentle yet firm.

She looked up from her own cup, sensing where this was going. “I know.”

Her father sighed, setting his cup down. “It’s time to start thinking about marriage, beta.”

Musfira’s heart clenched. “Baba, I—”

“I won’t force you,” he interrupted softly. “But I want to see you settled. I want to know that you have someone before…” He hesitated, his fingers pressing lightly against his chest.

Musfira swallowed. Before his health got worse.

Her father had been a heart patient for years, under Haroon Malik’s care. But lately, the doctor’s warnings had grown more frequent.

Musfira reached out, covering his hand with hers. “You’re not going anywhere, Baba.”

He gave her a small, sad smile. “We don’t always get to decide that.”

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she forced them down. “I’ll think about it.”

Her father nodded, squeezing her hand. “That’s all I ask.”

Meanwhile, at a high-end restaurant, Javad Mirza and Haroon Malik sat across from Zaviyar, their expressions far too smug for his liking.

“You’re almost 32, Zaviyar,” Haroon said, swirling his drink. “It’s time to start thinking about marriage.”

Zaviyar sighed, rubbing his temple. “Not you too.”

Javad grinned. “Yes, us too. We’re tired of seeing you alone in that giant house, acting like a grumpy old man.”

“I’m not alone,” Zaviyar replied dryly. “I have Zaroon.”

Haroon raised a brow. “That boy is not company. He’s a headache.”

Javad leaned forward. “Listen, no one’s telling you to get married tomorrow. Just consider it.”

Zaviyar remained silent. He had considered it before. But marriage wasn’t just a contract—it was trust, responsibility, and vulnerability. And he wasn’t sure he had space for that in his life.

Haroon, sensing his hesitation, softened his tone. “Just think about it, my friend.”

Zaviyar exhaled. “Fine.”

Javad smirked. “That’s a yes.”

Zaviyar rolled his eyes.

Night: A Shattering Accident

Back at home, Zaroon Shah walked lazily across the busy street, his phone in his hand. He had bunked college again, escaping to spend the day with friends.

He didn’t see the speeding heavy bike racing toward him until it was too late.

The world blurred. A deafening screech. A crash.

Pain.

Zaroon’s body hit the pavement hard. People screamed. The bike skidded to the side, and for a moment, everything spun.

Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision.

Then—nothing.

A Night of Chaos

Zaviyar’s phone rang just as he was about to enter his study. Seeing an unknown number, he almost ignored it—until instinct made him answer.

“Is this Mr. Zaviyar Shah?” an urgent voice asked.

“Yes.”

“This is PIMS Hospital. Your brother, Zaroon Shah, has been in a severe accident.”

Everything around Zaviyar froze.

A chilling silence filled his chest before his feet moved, before his breath returned.

“I’m on my way.”

Without another thought, he grabbed his keys and rushed out into the night—toward the unknown, toward fate, toward whatever cruel twist the universe had thrown his way.