Chapter 6: Rumors and Resentments
444 Words
The Malik business empire was powerful, and the spotlight often followed its heir, Ayaan. With that attention came whispers — about his cold marriage, his strange wife, and the growing rumors that something was "wrong" in their home.
At a corporate event, a colleague leaned over to Ayaan with a smirk. “Your wife... she’s quite the actress. Always smiling, always proper. She must be trying hard to win you over.”
Ayaan’s jaw tightened. “She doesn’t act for anyone.”
“Oh?” the man laughed. “Seems like she does.”
That night, those words echoed in Ayaan’s mind. The laughter. The assumption. The way people saw Zoya — either as a weak woman or a manipulative one.
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He returned home late, frustrated. Zoya met him at the door with a shawl. “It’s getting cold outside.”
He took it silently, then stared at her. “Why do you always act like you care?”
Her smile faded just slightly. “Because I do.”
“Is it a game to you?” he snapped suddenly. “Making me look like the villain while you play the saint?”
Zoya took a step back. “I’ve never tried to shame you, Ayaan.”
“Then why do people think you’re some sort of angel suffering under me?” he said bitterly. “Is that what you want them to believe?”
“No,” she whispered, eyes wide. “I don’t want anyone to think badly of you.”
Ayaan turned away, fists clenched. He hated the shame rising in his chest — not because of her, but because part of him feared her love was real. And if it was real, he had no excuse left.
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The next day, Zoya didn’t greet him.
She didn’t bring tea.
She didn’t smile.
For the first time, the silence came from her side.
And it unsettled him.
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At dinner, she placed his plate quietly and turned to leave.
He spoke without thinking. “Why didn’t you wait tonight?”
She paused. “I thought maybe… my care was becoming a burden.”
His heart beat faster.
She turned slightly, just enough for him to see the sadness in her eyes. “But for the record, Ayaan… I’ve never played games. I’ve only ever wanted your peace.”
She walked away, leaving behind the soft scent of jasmine and a silence filled with guilt.
---
That night, Ayaan sat at the table alone.
He ate everything.
Slowly.
Wordlessly.
And when he finished, he looked at her empty chair, and whispered to no one, “Why does she love me?”
- Writer
