The sound of the dhol echoed in the air as the bride sisters, Halima and Rafia, sat on the sprawling veranda of Chaudhary Villa, their hands adorned with intricate mehndi designs.
The veranda, nestled in the heart of the house, was surrounded by rooms with an open space above, allowing a clear view of the sky.
Laughter filled the space, so loud that it grated on the nerves of a man sitting on the terrace above. On that terrace, two brothers—both grooms—were seated together. One was laughing with his friends, while the other, Raza, smoked a hookah in silence.
Their father, Chaudhary Behlaaj, rose from his place and moved closer to the edge, from where he could clearly see the women gathered below.
“Ayeee, choriye apni awaaz dheere rakho,” he shouted, and the laughter immediately ceased.
(Hey, women, lower your voices.)
But their mother wasn’t about to let the silence linger. “Yoo tumko ayyashi karne se matlab hai, jao, humko pareshan na karo. Shaadi wala mahol roz thodi aane hai,” she said, laughing along with the other women, and the noise resumed despite Chaudhary’s protests.
(You just want to have your fun, don’t disturb us. It’s not every day we have a wedding atmosphere.)
Behlaaj smiled as he looked at his two sons. Tomorrow, both Ahmed and Raza would be married to his cousin Rehman’s daughters. Rehman lived in the same village, so they decided to hold all the celebrations at Behlaaj’s house.
In the Chaudhary family, it was a tradition to marry within the family, a custom that had been upheld for decades. Behlaaj felt content seeing Ahmed, full of life, enjoying the company of his friends. Raza, however, sat silently in a corner, the henna that his sister had tried to apply on his hands still absent, his thoughts far away.
Little did Behlaaj know that Raza harbored a deep unhappiness about this marriage.
The next day arrived quicker than Raza had anticipated. The nikah was performed, sealing Rafia as Ahmed’s and Halima as Raza’s. The brothers, although twins, couldn’t have been more different. Ahmed and Rafia were both the older siblings, while Raza and Halima were the younger ones. Halima was eight years Raza’s junior, while Rafia was only two years younger than the brothers.
Only Raza knew the anguish of watching the love of his life sign the nikah-nama with his brother, while Halima sat quietly beside him, a stranger in his life.
Soon, both brides were sent to their respective rooms.
Ahmed was elated to see Rafia, his best friend, now sitting on his bed. He moved to sit beside her, noticing how unusually quiet she was, her head lowered as she stared at her mehndi-stained hands.
He gently took her hand, and she inhaled sharply, biting her lip beneath the red veil.
“Qalbi, pehli baar aisa hua hai ki tum itni shaant ho. Kya baat hai? Qubool hai bolne ke baad goongi ho gayi?” he teased, a smile playing on his lips.
(My heart, this is the first time I’ve seen you so quiet. What’s the matter? Have you gone mute after saying Qubool Hai?)
That was all it took for Rafia to pull her hand away and lift her veil.
“Kitne beghairat insaan ho! Do mohabbat ke bol nahi sakte? Aaj toh aap goonge hi qubool hai mujhe.”
(How shameless can you be? Can’t you even say two words of love? Today, I’ll gladly accept you as a mute.)
Ahmed laughed, but his laughter soon died as his eyes locked onto her beautiful face. His gaze lingered on her lips, which only made her cast her eyes down in shy submission.
“I never thought I’d win you this easily, Rafia. From friends to this… we’ve come so far,” he murmured, gently lifting her chin.
“Look at me, love.”
She raised her eyes to his, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
“Do you love me?”
She nodded, and, placing her hands around his neck, she hugged him, kneeling beside him on the bed.
“I have always loved you.”
For them, it wasn’t just their wedding night—it was the continuation of a friendship that had always held the promise of something more. They talked late into the night, falling asleep in each other’s arms, content and at peace.
But in another room, Raza’s night was far from peaceful.he stepped into his room, his gaze immediately drawn to the bed where Halima sat, her red veil cascading down her form. His eyes lingered on the delicate bangles encircling her wrists, the soft clinking filling the silence.
Without a word, he moved to his cupboard, retrieving a pair of trousers and a t-shirt before retreating to the bathroom.
As the door clicked shut, Halima’s hands were clammy with sweat, her nerves heightened by their lack of interaction before this forced union.
Raza couldn’t shake the memories of calling her 'Choti'—a nickname that meant 'little one'—whenever he needed her assistance. She would appear, shyly draped in her wide dupatta, covering herself as she dutifully fulfilled his requests.
Emerging from the bathroom, he walked toward the bed, his steps slowing as he approached. A wave of disbelief washed over him as he took in the sight before him.
When Raza returned, he hesitated near the bed, the reality of his marriage finally sinking in as he took in the sight of her sitting there, waiting for him–she was now his wife.
With a heavy sigh, he opened a drawer, took out a small box, and placed it on the bed beside her before lying down.
“Yeh ammi ne diya hai tumhe dene ke liye,” he said flatly.
(Mother gave this for me to give to you.)
She looked at the box but didn’t move. Raza, irritated by her lack of response, sat up, opened the box, and revealed the beautiful bangles inside.
“Ab mujhe hi pehnana padega kya?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
(Do I have to put them on you myself?)
In a sudden burst of anger, Raza seized her veil, yanking it off her head and body. The fabric fluttered to the floor, leaving Halima exposed to his wrath. Startled, she scrambled to her feet, her entire body trembling as fear surged through her. Tears welled up in her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. The sight of her distress only fueled his frustration, and he gritted his teeth, unable to suppress his irritation.
“Come here,” he commanded, his voice edged with fury. His eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of the fragile girl before him. She was nothing like the woman he had imagined standing beside him in life. Instead of a partner who would meet his expectations, he saw a terrified 17-year-old girl—so different from the 25-year-old man he was.
Halima shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks as she attempted to wipe them away with trembling fingers. She was scared—petrified, even—but there was no escape. Raza, seething with frustration, rose abruptly from the bed. Without a word, he reached for her, his grip firm as he pulled her back toward him. She crumpled to the floor beside the bed, tears flowing freely now, her sobs barely audible as she knelt before him.
The tension between them was palpable, thickened by unspoken fears and unmet expectations. Raza’s heart twisted with a mixture of rage and resignation, knowing that the girl kneeling before him could never be the woman he had dreamed of—but she was his, nonetheless.
“Please… don’t do wrong things with me,” she pleaded, her voice shaking.
“What?” he growled, tightening his grip on her wrist, making her wince in pain.
“They… they were saying bad things,” she stammered, her eyes darting nervously.
“Who were they?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, before he roughly pushed her onto the bed.
“Please,” she whimpered as he loomed over her, but when he moved closer, she instinctively tried to pull away, only for him to grab her hands again, holding her in place.
“Who were they, and what were they saying?”
“How… How can I tell you that? It’s shameful… when I asked why they said such things, even Rafia apaa laughed at me,” she hiccuped, her fear rising with each word.
“This is the last time I’m asking you, Halima. Tell me, or I’ll really make you regret it,” he threatened, his irritation spiking at the mention of Rafia’s name.
“Please don’t do that to me, I’ll tell you everything,” she sobbed, her wide, cat-like blue eyes—so different from Rafia’s brown ones—pleading with him.
Raza found himself staring into those eyes, their proximity overwhelming as he kept her pinned beneath him.
“They… they were talking about the wedding night… saying bad things… they said you’d take my clothes off and…” she trailed off, fear rendering her mute.
“And what?” Raza’s voice softened, though his grip on her hands remained firm.
“I have no right to stop you… You will touch—”
“Chup… bilkul chup,” he cut her off, shouting in frustration.
(Shut up… just shut up.)
He pushed himself off her, sitting up on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in exhaustion.
This was why he hadn’t wanted to marry her. How could his family do this to him?
He was so close to her, so close that he could have done anything he wanted, even though she was Halal for him. But she was a child, just seventeen, too innocent to understand the world she had been thrust into. But family orders were absolute; he had no choice but to obey.
And now? Every day he’d have to control himself, to resist the temptation to touch her, because she was far too young for him. No doubt she was beautiful—he had always known Rafia was meant for his brother—but Halima… he had never imagined her for himself.
Raza stood and looked down at her, still lying on the bed, her face pale with shock.
“What have I done wrong now?” she asked meekly.
“Stand up,” he ordered, his voice flat.
She scrambled to her feet, her eyes never leaving him, waiting for his next command.
“Jao aur kapde badal kar neeche so jao, chatai bicha kar,” Raza instructed, his voice cold and detached. Halima nodded obediently, her heart pounding as she moved toward the cupboard where her belongings were neatly arranged.
(Go change and sleep on the mat on the floor.)
She carefully selected a red kameez and shalwar, along with a long, wide silk veil—the only garments she had brought with her—and retreated to the bathroom. Once inside, she quickly changed, her hands trembling as she adjusted the loose-fitting clothes. She pulled the veil over her head, covering her hair, though her heart raced with the uncertainty of what awaited her outside.
When she finally emerged, her hair now loose beneath the veil, she hesitated at the doorway. The makeup she had worn earlier was gone, washed away, leaving her face bare and vulnerable. Yet, even without the adornments, there was an ethereal quality to her beauty, her skin glowing softly in the dim light.
Raza lay back on the bed, his arms folded behind his head, trying to block out the turmoil in his mind. But when his eyes fell on her, all rational thought escaped him. For a moment, he forgot to breathe. Her face was angelic, her features soft and pure, her hands delicate as they tried to keep the rebellious veil from slipping off her head. Her small, milky-white hands, adorned with intricate henna patterns, were covered in bangles that clinked softly with her every movement.
Halima moved cautiously towards the mat, but as she walked, her shalwar got tangled in her toes, and she stumbled, falling to her knees with a soft cry.
“Ahh…” she winced, her voice barely audible as she tried to gather herself.
Raza’s instincts kicked in. He immediately sprang from the bed, closing the distance between them in an instant. He reached down, grabbing her by the elbow to help her stand. But as he pulled her up, his eyes became transfixed on her body, now more visible as the veil slipped off one shoulder. Her form was undeniably feminine, fully developed, and the way her clothes clung to her in all the right places was enough to test any man's control.
“Thik ho tum?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of concern despite his best efforts to remain composed. (Are you okay?)
“Jii… shukriya,” she whispered, her voice shaky as she avoided his gaze. She gently pulled her elbow from his hold, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and continued toward the mat, her steps hurried. Raza watched her retreat, his eyes lingering on her back, unable to look away. He finally returned to his bed, his thoughts in disarray.
Halima picked up the mat and spread it on the floor, preparing to lie down, but an unsettling feeling crept over her. She could feel his eyes on her, a constant, piercing gaze that sent shivers down her spine. She turned her head slightly, just enough to see him, and her breath hitched when their eyes met.
Raza was lying back on the bed, but his gaze was intense, burning into her with a force she had never felt before. For the first time, she saw something different in his eyes—something powerful, something overwhelming. It was more than just a look; it was an emotion that gripped her, leaving her breathless.
Before their marriage, he had never truly looked at her, never given her more than a passing glance. But now, his gaze was consuming, filled with an intensity that she couldn’t define. She followed his eyes and suddenly realized, with a pang of panic, that she wasn’t wearing her dupatta properly. Her face flushed with embarrassment as she quickly turned away, showing him her back as she fumbled to adjust the veil over her shoulders.
But even as she hid herself from him, she could still feel his eyes on her, the weight of his stare making her skin tingle. Her hands trembled as she tried to cover herself, but the air was thick with unspoken tension, a proximity that was both terrifying and intoxicating. The silence was suddenly broken by his deep, resonant voice, sending a shock through her.
“Halima…” he called, his voice low and filled with something she couldn’t place. She flinched at the sound, her heart racing, she didn't turn,her eyes wide with both fear and curiosity. The way he spoke her name, it terrified her to the core.
She flinched when his deep voice broke the silence again.
“Tumhari nazuk kamar subah hone tak akar jaayegi uper Sona ho tho so sakti ho mere bagal me,mai kuch nahi karunga,I promise”.
(Your delicate waist will stiffen till morning if you sleep on the floor. If you want, you can sleep beside me; I promise I won’t do anything.)
Her hands trembled as she heard his words.
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