The apartment was unusually warm when Aarib stepped inside.
He loosened his tie, slipped off his coat and froze.

A sharp frying sound echoed from the kitchen.
Something sizzled.
Something burned.
And a storm of mixed spices hit his nose.

He rushed toward the kitchen. Half worried, half horrified and stopped at the doorway.

The sight was… unbelievable.

Roshaane stood in the middle of the chaos, holding a wooden spatula like a warrior. Her loose hair was falling from a messy clip, her green sweater clung to her shoulders, and a pink gown swayed around her ankles.
But the fear in her eyes as the frying pan hissed louder was what almost made him laugh.

The stove had two flames burning.
One frying pan… with something black inside.
One huge pot… bubbling with something suspiciously watery.
The cutting board was a battlefield of vegetables chopped at wrong angles.
Bowls, spoons, spice jars everywhere.

She looked like a princess who had accidentally wandered into a war zone.

Aarib exhaled a deep sigh to hide the smile tugging at his lips.
He walked forward and turned off both flames.

“What… exactly are you doing?” he asked calmly.

She turned, clutching the spatula like it was a lifeline. Her cheeks were warm, eyes wide.

“I...I’m trying to cook for you,” she admitted softly. “Like a good wife.”

Aarib’s eyes softened without his permission.

In the warm kitchen light, a light blush dusted her cheeks; a strand of hair rested on her temple. He lingered on her face a second longer than he intended.

“You didn’t need to,” he said gently.

He reached out, tugged the apron strings loose, and removed the flour-splashed apron from her waist. Without a word, he rolled up his sleeves and turned toward the shelves.

“I’ll clean this,” he said. “You sit. Drink water.”

She obeyed quietly, dropping into the chair with a long sigh.

Aarib checked the frying pan. Burned potatoes.
Then the pot.
He stared.

“Roshaane…” he murmured, “what… is this?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed miserably. “Zainab tried to teach me… but everything got mixed… and then the pot started boiling alone… and the onions burned before I could save them… and—”

He pressed his lips tightly to stop his smile.

“You don’t have to torture the kitchen to impress me,” he said.

She groaned and buried her face in her hands.
“I think I should join cooking classes.”

Finally, finally, Aarib let the smile curve slightly.

“I think,” he said, picking up the burnt pan, “the cooking classes might think twice before accepting you.”

Her head shot up. “Aarib!”

He chuckled under his breath and began cleaning the stove.

She watched him quiet, touched.

He cleaned silently for a minute, then paused and turned slightly toward her.

“You were doing this… for me?” he asked, his voice softer, almost low.

Her eyes met his.
“Yes. I wanted to try something… for you.”

Aarib looked away quickly.
And she saw the subtle change. His seriousness hiding something gentler underneath.

After another moment, he said quietly:

“Next time… cook with me. Not alone.”

Roshaane’s heart skipped.

She nodded slowly.
“Okay.”

------
The kitchen slowly returned to order under Aarib’s hands, efficient, controlled, calm.
Roshaane sat quietly for a moment, then got up and moved beside him again, like a sunflower following its sun.

“What should I do?” she asked, leaning forward with hopeful eyes.

He hesitated.
But her expectant face made him sigh lightly.

“Pass me the tomatoes,” he said.

She brightened immediately and handed him the tomatoes like they were treasure.

He chopped while she stood near him, talking non-stop moving her hands, her eyes full of life.
He remained mostly silent, but his lips curved once or twice when she wasn’t looking.

“…and then Zainab told me that Turkish food is different, but I said I can learn anything! By the way, I think the onions cry more when I cut them. The knife probably fears me now..”

“Roshaane..” he interrupted softly, “talk slowly. You’re out of breath.”

She grinned unapologetically.

He sautéed the vegetables, added spices, and she leaned dangerously close to see. He gently touched her elbow and moved her back.

“It’s hot. Stay a little far,” he said.

Her heart warmed at his careful tone.

And then mid-sentence, she suddenly switched languages.

“Aarib… bugün çok güzel görünüyorsun!” she said proudly in Turkish.

He paused mid-stir.

“That means… you look very handsome today!” she added quickly.

He cleared his throat, trying to hide his discomfort.
“That’s not how you pronounce ‘bugün’,” he corrected quietly.

She tried again.
“Bo…gün…?”

“No.”
He corrected her gently, repeating the word.

She mimicked him.
Failed again.

He sighed.
She giggled.

Then she tried another sentence.

“Ben… senin… için… yemek… yapıyorum!”

He turned off the stove.

“That’s not right either,” he said, folding his arms. “You mixed three sentence structures.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “But I understood myself.”

“That doesn’t help,” he muttered.

“But you understand me,” she said with a smile.

He didn’t answer.

He simply reached out and tapped her head lightly with two fingers, a rare soft smile touching his lips.

“We have our beautiful language. Urdu.”
His voice dropped, deeper, gentler.
“You can express your feelings to me in Urdu. You don’t need Turkish for that.”

She stared at him.

Her heart felt full.
Warm.
Alive.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she whispered mischievously:

“Seni seviyorum.”

Aarib froze.
Her voice was soft… her eyes sincere…

He inhaled slowly and turned back to the stove, picking up the spoon again, his ears a shade red.

“You don’t even know what that means,” he said quietly.

“Of course I do.” She smiled, leaning on the counter. “Zainab told me.”

He stilled.

She whispered again, like a secret floating between them:

“Seni seviyorum.”

He sighed.

But he didn’t hide his smile this time.

---

A soft gentleness had settled into Aarib and Roshaane’s days, something fragile, something new, something warm.

In the past month…

He started waiting for her at meals.

She learned enough Turkish to hold tiny, funny conversations.

They walked to the nearby market together, arguing over prices and vegetables like an old couple.

Some nights, she stayed awake until he returned, pretending she wasn’t waiting.

And some nights, he sat with her on the balcony, both sipping tea under the stars in comfortable silence.

She had slowly, softly pulled him out of his shell inch by inch.
He had slowly, unknowingly given her a place in his life, moment by moment.

His serious nature still stood like a boundary…
But now, she saw cracks of softness through it.

A rare smile.

A soft “good night”.

A quiet laugh at her broken Turkish.

A moment when their fingers touched while crossing the street and neither moved away immediately.

For the first time since their marriage, she felt a small, precious hope blooming.

Maybe one day… he will love me too.

---

In Italy — One Month Later

Fear had become a quiet shadow in the Isham household.

Haseeb and Mr. Isham had accepted police protection.
Two guards outside the gate.
One patrolling the street.
Security cameras checked morning and night.

The mafia hadn’t attacked again…
But the silence was suspicious.

Dangerous.

Maliha lived each day with her heart in her throat.
Every siren terrified her.
Every late night at work made her restless.
Every phone call from Haseeb made her jump until she heard his voice.

Sana Isham tried being strong, but her eyes remained swollen from sleepless nights.

Haseeb pretended everything was normal.
He smiled.
He worked.
He comforted his mother.
He teased Maliha to lighten her mood.

But inside…

He hadn’t taken a full breath in weeks.

No one knew what the mafia was planning.
But both men felt it:

This wasn’t over.

And even though a peaceful month passed…

The fear lived underneath the quiet.

----'

A month had passed in quiet smiles, soft understandings, and the little mischiefs only Roshaane could bring.
Aarib didn’t realize it, but he had grown used to her, used to her laughter, her small footsteps behind him, her habit of talking while he cooked, her messy buns, her loose tops, her warmth filling every silent corner of his house.

Each evening when he returned home after a long day at the restaurant, he found her either watching TV, arranging cushions, or nibbling snacks with a childish smile. And every evening, without fail, the space around him softened the moment she walked into it.

They had gone on evening walks once or twice.
He took her shopping one day; the rest of the time Zainab accompanied her.
Slowly, very slowly…
The wall of strangers between them had begun to fall.

Tonight was one of those simple, perfect nights.

They had just returned from his restaurant at her insistence.
After dinner, both stepped out onto the balcony, wrapped in the cold breath of winter.
The moon hung above them gently, as though smiling at the two souls slowly learning each other.

Aarib went inside and returned with two steaming mugs.

“Coffee,” he said, handing her one before settling beside her on the swing.

She tucked her legs up, turning fully toward him. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, the ends brushing the shawl wrapped around her arms.

“It’s cold,” he murmured. “You didn’t bring any shawl.”

Before she could respond, he stood up, went inside, and returned with a thick, soft shawl.
He draped it gently around her shoulders, his fingers brushing her cheek for the briefest second.

She felt her breath catch.
He pretended not to notice.

They sat again.

She didn’t look away from him.
Not even for a second.

He was in black. Black shirt, black trousers, bksck jacket on it, his hair slightly ruffled, his nose pink from the cold, his stubble sharper under the moonlight.

“What are you looking at?” he asked, finally turning to her.

“You,” she answered simply.

“What’s there to look at in me?” His voice was low, curious despite himself.

“Your eyes… they hold a deep secret,” she whispered. “Or a deep pain.
Your lips… they’ve forgotten how to give a true smile. The kind that reaches your eyes.”

He looked away, exhaling.
“Don’t notice me too deeply.”

“I’ve noticed only you,” she said softly.

He turned to her again.

“I was fifteen,” she continued, voice trembling. “You came to meet us. To your Zeeya Maa. You were laughing at something and… my heart just… stopped. That was the first time I felt something for you.”

He listened silently, his eyes unreadable.

“I didn’t know your heart belonged to someone else,” she whispered. “You loved her deeply.”

Aarib’s jaw tightened. His eyes dropped to his hands.

“You still love her?” she asked.

“What do you think?” he asked quietly, searching her face.

“You do,” she said, and a bitter smile flickered across his lips.

“I know you’ve moved on,” she said, voice breaking, “you’re trying to… but I know it’s not easy to forget your first love when it’s rooted so deeply.”

He swallowed hard, his eyes glistening.

“I’m trying,” he admitted. “It’s just… sometimes it hurts. We planned everything, dreamed everything, and she didn’t stand by me. She let go so easily. And it hurts.”

A tear escaped him, surprising them both.

“I’m sorry,” Roshaane cried softly. “We… we both hurt you. I thought I would die without you when you both got engaged. I didn’t even think about you… how you would survive losing your love.”

He cleared his throat and looked away, the pain raw in his eyes.

“Maybe it was destined,” he murmured. “Me and Maliha… maybe we weren’t meant to be. Maybe she’ll always live in a small, quiet corner of my heart… but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a place in my life.”

He gently took her hands in his.

“One thing I’ve understood, Roshaane,” he said. “Maliha is a forgotten chapter now. Deep in the roots of my heart, yes… but no longer my present. I want a new start with you. My loyalty, my home, my life, my priority, will always be you.”

“And love?” she whispered, needing the answer.

He looked into her eyes.

“My love too,” he said softly. “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But it will come. One day you won’t need me to say it, you’ll see it, you’ll feel it. Just let our bond grow… naturally. Without pressure. Destiny will bring our hearts together too.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks.
She nodded.

“I will wait for you, Aarib,” she whispered. “For your heart… for your love.”

And slowly, hesitantly, she rested her head on his shoulder.

He wrapped an arm around her.

The winter wind brushed past them, cold and sharp.
But on that small balcony, in that small moment…
Two wounded hearts finally began to heal.

A beginning had truly begun.

-------

The dining table still carried the warmth of shared laughter.

For the first time in a month, the air inside the Isham house felt… lighter. No hushed voices. No hurried glances at windows. Just the soft clinking of cutlery and Sana Isham’s gentle reminders to eat properly.

“This feels good,” she said, refilling Maliha’s plate. “Like old times.”

Maliha smiled, though her eyes flicked just once toward Haseeb. He sat relaxed in his chair, sleeves rolled up, listening to his father talk about work like nothing in the world was wrong.

After dinner, as Sana Isham stood to clear the table, Haseeb leaned back and stretched.

“Ice cream?” he suggested casually. “There’s a parlour nearby.”

Mr. Isham chuckled. “At this age? No, you two go.”

“And drag you both in the cold?” Sana Isham shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Haseeb looked at Maliha. “Looks like it’s just us.”

She nodded, grabbing her coat.

Outside, the night was crisp and quiet. Streetlights cast a soft glow on the pavement, and the distant hum of the city felt almost comforting. The guards followed at a respectful distance visible enough to remind them of reality, far enough to allow a sense of normalcy.

They walked side by side in silence for a while.

“Haseeb,” Maliha said softly, breaking it at last. “I need to say something.”

He glanced at her but didn’t interrupt.

“You shouldn’t take cases like this anymore,” she continued, choosing her words carefully. “Not ones that put your family at risk. You’re their only son. They… they don’t show it much, but they live in fear.”

He slowed his steps slightly.

“You matter to them,” she added. “More than any case ever will.”

He stopped for a moment, then looked at her—not like a lawyer, not like a son but like a man quietly absorbing something he didn’t know how to respond to.

In his heart, another thought echoed: I want to matter to you too.

But he didn’t say it.

Instead, a faint, teasing smile curved his lips. “So,” he said lightly, resuming his walk, “is Maliha planning to run away back home? Or have you finally gotten scared of Italy?”

She shot him an unimpressed look. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m serious,” he added mockingly. “Suddenly so concerned about my safety.”

She sighed, then said honestly, “One day, I will have to return. But not now.”

He looked at her again, surprised.

“I was thinking…” she went on, hands tucked into her coat pockets, “maybe I should roam around a little. See more places. Clear my head.” She hesitated. “Do you think I should go somewhere else for a few days?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

The ice cream parlour lights appeared ahead, warm and inviting.

“No,” he said finally, quietly but firmly. “Stay.”

She looked at him.

“Not because it’s safer,” he added, his voice steady. “But because… you shouldn’t make decisions out of fear.”

Their eyes met for a brief second long enough for something unspoken to pass between them.

Then he stepped ahead, opening the door of the parlour. “Now come on. Before the ice cream melts and you change your mind about Italy too.”

Maliha followed him in, unaware that for Haseeb, this walk—this moment of normalcy meant more than any victory in court.

And for the first time in weeks, the night felt almost kind.

Author's note.

Assalam-o-Alaikum, dear readers 🤍

How are you all doing?
I hope you’re safe, happy, and smiling wherever you are.

Here’s a little surprise update for you ✨
I truly hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Tell me what are you expecting in the coming chapters?
Which scenes are you most excited for? Your comments and theories honestly keep me motivated.

I know this chapter carried a lot of pain, silence, and emotional weight. Trust me, I feel it too. I’m really looking forward to closing this heavy phase and finally stepping into happy, soft, lovey-dovey moments. But as you know, every story has its own journey and this part was necessary for the plot and for the growth of both couples.

Very soon, I’ll be bringing you lighter chapters, filled with warmth, healing, romance, and smiles for both couples 💞
Just stay with me a little longer.

Your love, patience, and support mean the world to me.
Keep commenting, keep sharing your thoughts, and keep this story alive with me 🤍

With love,
Your writer ✨