She woke up to an empty room; she was alone, and a pang of disappointment hit her as she realized he hadn't come. Rising from the bed, she freshened up and sat down again, scanning the room around her-it remained untouched and lifeless, as though it hadn't seen him at all.
Feeling restless, she decided to go out. The night was quiet, and she draped her shawl over her head before stepping out. She spotted Rafia in the kitchen, busily instructing the servants about dinner preparations. Halima quietly took a seat at the dining table, watching the scene unfold. Rafia didn't notice her at first, but one of the women finally caught Halima's gaze.
Halima recognized most of the household staff; she'd visited often before her marriage and memories of her childhood began flooding back. She remembered how Rafia used to bring her here, chatting with Ramsha, while she would play with Shireen, the daughter of one of the servants. Shireen, however, had married young-at only fifteen-and now lived away from the village.
As Halima's thoughts wandered, she noticed a new face among the servants. Curious, she narrowed her eyes and asked, "Aap kon hain?"
(Who are you?).
The girl looked back at her blankly, fumbling for a response, "Woh... mai..."
(I....)
Before the girl could finish, Rafia turned and smiled, cutting her off. "Isko Raza laaya hai Delhi se, bechari ke gharwale marr gaye dange mein," she explained, gesturing for the girl to get back to work.
(Raza brought her here from Delhi. Her family died in the riots.)
Halima couldn't take her eyes off the girl-she was strikingly beautiful. Rafia noticed Halima's fascination and leaned in with a mischievous smile. "Pata hai maze ki baat kya hai?" she said, laughing, catching Halima off guard.
(Do you know what the funny thing is?)
Halima's thoughts drifted to that day when Raza had left her room, leaving her with a strange mix of emotions about this girl. Her heart raced as she wondered, How can she be this beautiful?
"Isska bhi naam Halima hai," Rafia said with a laugh, watching as Halima's expression turned from curiosity to shock.
(Her name is also Halima.)
"Yeh kaise ho sakta hai?" Halima asked, stunned, but Rafia nodded, confirming it with a playful blink.
(How is that even possible?)
"Aye ladki... tum apna naam badal lo!" she declared in a sudden surge of jealousy, her voice sharp, and the servant Halima looked at her in confusion.
(Hey girl... you should change your name!)
The servant girl tilted her head in mild annoyance and asked, "Aap kon hain?" She eyed the unfamiliar girl in front of her, noting her youthful appearance and the shawl that concealed any visible jewelry.
(Who are you?)
In that moment, the servant girl assumed she was dealing with a mere child, as Halima's face seemed chubby and innocent, almost too pure to be married. Just as Halima was about to respond, Raza entered the kitchen. His gaze first landed on the servant Halima, as the real Halima sat at the dining table with her back turned to him.
Raza called out, "Halima..." and the servant girl straightened up instantly at the sound of his voice. Halima, seated at the table, turned around, her voice faltering as she saw Raza's eyes on the other girl.
"Ji..." the servant girl replied, moving closer to him, her face lighting up with a shy smile as she looked at Raza.
(Yes?)
Watching this, Halima felt a twinge of jealousy but gathered the courage to ask, "Kya hua?" catching Raza's attention.
(What's going on?)
He glanced at her, and a flicker of guilt crossed his face as he remembered past moments with her. His gaze lingered, studying her soft features, and for a brief second, his eyes rested on her trembling lips. Closing his eyes, he exhaled, searching for words, but ultimately turned back to the servant girl.
"Halima..." he pointed to her, and she looked between Raza and Halima, her smile unwavering as she waited for his next words.
"Ji, koi kaam hai?" she asked, her tone oddly familiar, as though she'd known him much longer than she had. This behavior irritated him.
(Yes, is there something you need?)
"Aapko batana tha ki maine baat ki hai mere ek pehchan wale se," he started, ignoring the his wife's growing distress. "Aap padhi likhi hai, aapko angrezi aati hai toh aapko mai school mein teacher ki naukri dilwa deta hun. Wahi ke taraf se aapko ghar bhi milega aur yeh yaha naukar bann kar ghar ka kaam karne se behtar hoga."
(I spoke to someone I know.— Since you're educated and know English, I can arrange a teaching job for you at a school. They'll provide housing, and it'll be much better than working here as a servant.)
The servant girl's gaze softened, but she responded with something unusual in her eyes, "Par main yaha zyada behtar mehsoos kar rahi hun," as if trying to establish some claim on the space.
(But I feel more comfortable here.)
Raza's eyes finally shifted to Halima, who, heartbroken, took a step toward the door,he wanted to make her jealous but never wanted to bring the sarvent between them. Seeing her tears, he called out impulsively, "Chaudharyain, suno toh zara..." leaving everyone, including the servant girl, startled.
(Listen, Chaudharyain...)
Halima froze, turning back to find his eyes locked on her, filled with an unspoken intensity. Rafia let out a small cough, grinning knowingly as the servant girl's earlier question seemed to answer itself in the air between Halima and Raza.
Raza cleared his throat and spoke gently, "Mai kamre mein jaa raha hun. Aap chai bana kar le aaiye," he instructed, his voice barely masking the emotion beneath it. Halima blinked in surprise but nodded, still in shock, unable to form words.
(I'm going to my room. Bring me some tea, will you?)
He moved closer, lifting her chin with surprising tenderness, and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. Then, glancing back at the servant girl, he spoke directly to her, "Aapko yaha naukri karni ho ya waha, mujhe koi dikkat nahi hai," he said, almost dismissively. "Maine toh bass aapke acche ke liye kaha tha. Kab tak aap yaha padi rahengi? Agar aapko naukri nahi karni hai toh behtar hoga ke aap shadi kar lein. Mera ek dost hai, uski biwi nahi rahi. Agar aap chahein toh baat chalaun?"
(If you want to work here or there, I have no issue. I only suggested it for your benefit. How long will you stay here? If you don't want the job, then maybe marriage is a better option. I have a friend whose wife has passed away. Shall I suggest a match?)
The girl looked shocked but replied calmly, "Mujhe thoda waqt dijiye sochne ke liye. Mai aapko jald bata dungi."
(Please give me some time to think. I'll let you know soon.)
He nodded, patting Halima’s cheek lightly with a smile before leaving the kitchen.
Halima looked down, closing her eyes as she gathered the courage to meet Rafia’s gaze. When she looked up, Rafia gave her a warm smile. "Haaye, sharmati hui kitni acchi lagti ho—bilkul chukandar jaise."
(Oh, you look so lovely when you blush—just like a beetroot.)
Halima narrowed her eyes, her expression wounded as she walked toward Rafia. “Aap mujhe chukandar keh rahi hain? Chee! Kitna ganda hota hai.”
(You're calling me a beetroot? Ew! That's so gross.)
Rafia only laughed, and Halima sat at the table, instructing that same servant to make tea.
“Kal bade abba aur amma jaa rahe hain phirse shaadi mein; parson aayenge,” Rafia said with a playful glint in her eyes.
(Tomorrow, elder father and mother are going to another wedding; they’ll be back the day after.)
The two talked, and Halima gave Rafia a hint that Raza was angry with her. Rafia knew exactly what to do.
Leaning close, she whispered, “Ladko ko unki biwiyon ko chuna bohut pasand hai. Tum kahi bhi apni marzi se usse chuo aur wo pighal jaayega—seduce karo usse.”
(Men love it when their wives touch them. Touch him somewhere, however you like, and he’ll melt—seduce him.)
Halima looked at her, confused, about to ask what "seduce" meant when the servant handed her a cup of tea. Halima swiftly nodded at Rafia, indicating she was going, and took the tray from the servant with a smile, thanking her. As she left, the servant watched her back, a glint of resentment in her eyes.
Halima hesitantly opened the door to the bedroom and stepped in slowly, finding Raza sitting on the bed, engrossed in some paperwork.
She walked toward him hesitatingly and stood in front of him, glancing around nervously, avoiding his gaze.
He stacked the papers and placed them on the side table, then took the tray from her hands and put it on the bed. “Aao, baitho.”
(Come, sit.)
Clenching her hands, she sat slowly in front of him, her eyes fixed on the tea cups. She watched his long, masculine fingers wrapping around it,her gaze lingering as he brought the cup to his lips. Suddenly, she felt her lips go dry, and she nervously licked them. His lips curved into a faint smile, pulling her out of her thoughts.
Their eyes met, and she froze. His gaze held a possessiveness, an authority, reminding her that this wasn’t just her room but theirs. She could feel her heartbeat fluttering in her stomach, a sensation that made her realize tonight might be that night. But then she shook off the thought, remembering Rafia's advice—she had something to discuss with him.
“Kya puchna hai, pucho,” he said, noticing her hesitation,he understood everything just by look on her face.
(If you have something to ask, go ahead.)
She blinked, her eyes widening slightly, marveling at how he could read her thoughts. “Woh… aapne…” she stammered, her tangled thoughts making it hard to form words.
(Um… you…)
“Nahi, maine woh nahi kaha tha. Amma abba ne sirf tumhe yaha laane ke liye woh jhooth kaha tha. Mai tumhe nahi sambhal paraha hun, tumhe kya lagta hai mai kisi dusri ko laa kar marna chahunga?”
(No, I didn’t say that. Mother and Father just lied to get you here. I can’t even handle you; do you really think I’d bring in someone else to torment me?)
Relieved, she nodded like a small child, not wanting to dwell on the thought of such a possibility, and decided to let it go.
“Mujhe kal ke liye maaf kar dijiye,” she said softly, her voice filled with guilt. Recalling Rafia's advice, she slid closer to him, moving the tray aside, and placed her hand gently on his thigh.
(Forgive me for yesterday.)
Raza looked at her,a flicker of surprise in his eyes.Sensing her nervousness despite her calm exterior. Her hand trembled slightly, betraying her hesitation.
He set his cup back on the tray and placed his hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Sorry, mai bhi thoda zyada gussa ho gaya tumpar”
(I'm sorry, I got a bit too angry with you too).
“Tum?” she asked, surprised. “Aap abhi bahar toh mujhe 'aap' keh kar bula rahe the?”, glancing down at his hand covering hers. The warmth of his touch spread through her, a tingling sensation in her veins.
("You? Weren't you addressing me as 'aap' just a while ago?").
“Bahar tum meri biwi aur Chaudhrain ho, gaav ke hone wale sarpanch ki biwi ho,” he explained, a hint of pride in his voice. “Kamre mein tum sirf meri Halima ho, bas”
(Outside, you are my wife, the Chaudhrain, the soon to be sarpanch's wife. But here, in this room, you are just my Halima.)
He brought her hand closer to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm while looking into her eyes.
Her eyes dropped instinctively, and she slowly withdrew her hand. “Acha, maine abhi aapko aise chua toh aapko kaise laga?” she asked, hesitantly.
(So, when I just touched you like that… how did it make you feel?)
He raised an eyebrow. “Aisa laga ki finally tum mujhe apna samajhti ho. Kyun, aise kyun pucha tumne?”
(It felt like you finally see me as yours. Why? Why are you asking?)
She looked up at him, a question lingering in her gaze. “Aise kyun laga aapko?”
(Why did it feel that way to you?)
Instead of answering, he took her hand again and slowly removed his shawl and then dupatta. She glanced away in shyness, a fleeting urge to stop him flickering in her mind, but she resisted—she didn’t want to see him disappointed,She had seen enough disappointment in his eyes yesterday.
Taking her hand, he gently ran his fingers over her golden bangles, “Ye sone ke kangan ko tumne mujhse bina puche apna haq samajh kar pehen liya, kyuki ye tumhari cheez thi,” he murmured. “Tum hichkichayi nahi aur na hi tumhe ye batane ki zarurat padi ki tumne ye le liya hai.”
(You wore these gold bangles without asking me because you knew they were yours. You didn’t hesitate or need anyone’s permission.)
He continued, his voice filled with depth, “Waise hi mai bhi chahta hun ki tum mujhe bhi is kangan ki tarah chuo aur haq jataao, kyuki mai sirf tumhara hun, Halima. Mai kabhi bhi kisi aur ka nahi hounga, tumhare alawa, jaise ye kangan hai”
(In the same way, I want you to touch me and claim me as yours, just like these bangles. Because I am only yours, Halima. I will never belong to anyone else, just like these bangles only belong to you.)
Halima’s cheeks warmed at his words, her heart swelling with an emotion she hadn’t fully understood until this moment.
She blinked up at him, slowly withdrawing her hands, her gaze drifting down to the golden bangles that adorned her wrists. A hint of doubt lingered in her eyes as she softly asked, “Matlab... Aapne abhi mera shawl utara bina kisi jhikhak ke, aap aisa kisi aur ke saath nahi karte mere alawa, toh iska matlab aap mujh par apna haq samajhte hai?”
(So...you just removed my shawl without hesitation. You wouldn’t do this with anyone else, so does that mean you consider me yours?)
He nodded with conviction. “Maine pehle hi tumhe kaha hai mujhe haq hai… Aur tumhara mujh par bhi. Iss puri duniya mein sirf main akela insaan hoon jo tumhe ‘biwi’ keh sakta hoon. Mere aur tumhare amma abba ke bacche hain, wo mere alawa unko bhi apna beta aur beti kehte hain. Ahmed kisi ko bhi bhai aur behen keh sakta hai par ‘biwi’ nahi; uske liye sirf Rafia hai. Waise hi mere liye sirf tum ho.”
(I’ve told you before, I have a right over you...and you over me. In this whole world, I am the only person who can call you ‘wife.’ Our parents have many sons and daughters, but they call them their son and daughter too. Ahmed may have siblings, but only Rafia is his wife. Just as, for me, only you are my wife.)
She blinked, his words sinking in. Without realizing it, she murmured, “Mujhe aapko seduce karna hai…”
(I have to seduce you…)
Raza froze, stunned, wondering if he had heard her correctly. “Kya kaha?”
(What did you say?)
Looking at him with innocent eyes, she repeated, “Mujhe aapko seduce karna hai. Rafia ne kaha ke mai aapko seduce karoon.”
(I have to seduce you. Rafia told me I should seduce you.)
He stared at her, disbelief and amusement blending in his gaze and he slid closer to her. “Tumhe matlab pata hai?”
(Do you even know what that means?)
She hesitated, then shrugged shyly and nervously looked at him this close. “Nahii… main puchne wali thi, magar wo chai le aayi toh main yahi aa gayi socha aapse pooch loon.”
(No..I was going to ask, but sarvent brought the tea, so I came here thinking I’d ask you.)
Raza leaned closer, his face filled with barely contained laughter, and shook his head in frustration. What nonsense was her sister teaching her?
“‘Seduce’ ka matlab lubhana hota hai. Matlab, agar koi ladka ya ladki yeh chahe ki saamne wala unse pyaar kare, toh wo usse seduce karta hai,” he explained, gently lifting her chin with his fingers, making her look up at him with a pounding heart.
(‘Seduce’ means to entice. It’s when a person wants the other to love them, so they try to draw them in.)
“Matlab agar main aapko seduce karun, toh aap mujhse pyaar karenge?” she asked, blinking as her hand moved to his wrist, holding the hand that cupped her chin.
(So, if I seduce you, will you love me?)
He gave a faint smile, his voice low. “Pyaar toh waise bhi karta hoon… Par wo wala pyaar dusra hai. Wo jo miya-biwi ke beech hota hai, raat mein, woh chahiye tumhe?” He leaned closer, their faces just inches apart, his gaze heavy.
(I already love you… but that’s a different kind of love. The one that happens between a husband and wife at night. Is that what you want?)
She blinked rapidly, her face turning a deep shade of red as she managed to murmur, “Aap jo chahenge…”
(Whatever you want...)
His eyes traced her lips, then her entire face, a hint of amusement in his expression. “Rehne do, tum darr jaaogi aur wahi kal wale khwaab dekhogi,” he teased, his tone laced with a gentle taunt, watching her eyes widen in surprise.
(Leave it be—you’ll get scared and have those same dreams as last night.)
She wanted to avoid the conversation, but he wasn’t willing to let it go. This wasn’t something to ignore; he needed to clear the air.
“Main nahi dekhungi ab wo khwaab… Pakka,” she said innocently, and his heart couldn’t help but flutter at how genuinely naive she seemed.
(I won’t have that dream again… I promise.)
He smiled softly but then his expression grew serious. “Phirse mujhe kahogi ki mujhse door rahiye… kareeb mat aao… chale jaao…” he reminded her of everything that had happened yesterday, his tone heavy with the weight of those words.
(Are you going to tell me again to stay away... not to come near you... to leave...?)
Her palm instinctively moved to his lips, as if to stop him from continuing, her eyes filled with hurt as she shook her head in denial.
He gently removed her hand from his face, his fingers now trailing toward the collar of her sweater.
She shivered internally, her breath catching as his touch brushed the delicate skin near her collarbone.
He unbuttoned the first button of her sweater, his fingers dangerously close to where she could feel the heat rise in her chest. She held her breath, afraid that the slightest movement would cause her breast to graze his fingers.
His gaze never wavered from hers, knowing full well that she was struggling, trying not to let him see how uneasy she was. She wanted him to believe that she wasn’t afraid, that she was fine with him being this close.
Unable to maintain eye contact any longer, she looked down at his hands, watching as he undid the last button of her sweater. She winced in embarrassment, her cheeks flushing as she instinctively pulled her arms closer to her body.
The dress she wore had a deep neckline, hugging her figure tightly, and it had a zipper running down her back, the tension between them thickening with every movement.
As the sweater slipped fully off, his gaze traveled down her collarbone, and then, unable to resist, lower still. His breath caught in his chest as he took in the sight of her deep neckline, the curve of her cleavage gently exposed to him.
It was almost unbearable for him to continue; he could feel the tension building, knowing this was a delicate moment. He understood the risks, but he wanted to take things slowly, to ease her into the inevitable. He wanted to make sure that when the time came, when she would finally be his, it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for either of them.
Only fifteen or sixteen days were left before she turned eighteen, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that age was nothing more than a number. She was still so fragile in his eyes, a child he had watched grow up. The thought of making love to her was daunting, considering the innocence she still held. But he knew his own desires too well—there was a constant pull inside him.
"Sweater utaar do..." he said, his voice soft but firm. She hesitated only for a moment before slowly slipping it off, her eyes meeting his as she did. He didn’t look away.
(Take off the sweater...)
"Abhi toh mujhe dekhna hai meri biwi mujhe kaise seduce karti hai," he teased with a mischievous grin wanting to ease the tension, grabbing her hand as her face turned bright red.
(Now I want to see how my wife seduces me.)
She stood still, her face a mixture of innocence and nervousness. He smirked at her discomfort, but there was something almost endearing about it.
"Accha, ab batao kuch aata hai?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She simply shook her head, her nerves getting the best of her.
(So, do you know anything?)
He chuckled lightly. "Accha, ek kaam karte hain. Kyu na main tumhe bataoon ki mujhe kya pasand hai, aur tum wo sab karo roz?" he suggested, with a playful hint of mischief.
(How about this: I tell you what I like, and you do it every day?)
Her curiosity piqued, she met his eyes. "Aap mujhe batayenge?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
(You’ll tell me?)
He nodded, his gaze intense. "Abhi shuru karen phir?" he asked, leaning closer to her. She paused for a moment, but then answered softly, "Jii..."
(Shall we start now?—Yes.)
He smiled, the warmth in his eyes never leaving. "Accha, pehli baat toh ye ki tum mere saamne dupatta ya kuch bhi nahi odhogi, aise hi raho," he said, his voice dropping with an edge of command. She shyly nodded in agreement.
(First things first: You won't wear a dupatta or anything else in front of me, just like this.)
His eyes roamed her body shamelessly. "Aao aur mere upar baith jaao, jaise dere par baithi thi," he said,his voice holding hunger–of her, his words brazen as he invited her closer.
(Come, sit on me, just like you did at dera.)
Her heart pounded in her chest, and she swallowed hard, feeling a rush of nervousness. It felt strange, like she was caught in a dream she couldn’t wake from—he was giving her instructions, and it almost seemed as if he were her teacher in this bizarre scenario.
She stood up, and he leaned back against the headboard, positioning himself in the center of the bed with his legs stretched out in front of him.
She stepped forward, her movements hesitant, as she placed her legs on either side of his. He took both of her hands and placed them on his shoulders. His heart hammered in his chest as he wondered what he was doing. Part of him wanted to stop, but the other part, the one that couldn’t look away from her delicate figure and the innocence in her eyes, urged him to stay in this moment.
Her grip on his shoulder tightened, and she shivered when she felt his muscular rough hands settle on her waist. Her body went rigid, a clear reaction to his touch. He felt the way her body stiffened, but then, gently, he applied pressure to her waist, guiding her to sit on his lap.
Her breath hitched, her mouth parting in shock as her eyes widened as she met his gaze. She felt a dizzying sensation wash over her, as though his eyes were pulling her in deeper, making her lose herself in them.
She swallowed nervously, her hands trembling as she tried to adjust herself on his lap. But a wave of discomfort hit her as she realized just how close they were. The feeling of her butt pressed against his front made her all too aware of the hardness beneath her, a stark reminder of how much his body posture had changed. It wasn’t the same as before—what was once subtle, now felt impossibly intense.
The quiet tension between them was thick, each second drawing them closer to something neither could turn away from.
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