Isha’s POV

Sofia baaji looked at me and then at Arshad. I gulped, fearing what she might be thinking.

"What happened to your hand?" she asked.

"Uh… I…"

"She cut herself while collecting the broken glasses," Arshad replied. Sofia baaji looked at him, then her eyes fell to the floor.

"Who did this!?" she asked angrily, glaring at me. I clenched my kurta in fear. "You did this, didn’t you? How could you be so clumsy, Isha! You broke our wedding frame!" she shouted—not loudly, but enough to make me shiver.

"I…I…" My lips quivered, tears welling in my eyes.

"Don’t shout at her, Sofia. It was my mistake. She didn’t do anything," Arshad interrupted. Sofia baaji looked at him.

"You can’t break this. You don’t make mistakes. You’re not clumsy," Sofia baaji said, frowning at Arshad.

"I’m not clumsy, but I’m human, and I can make mistakes too," he said, glancing at me before looking back at Sofia baaji.

"Fine. Now please change that frame soon. You know I love this picture," she said with a sad look, staring at the broken frame on the floor. I felt sorry for her.

"You’re done?" she asked after a while. I looked at her, confused.

"Yes, she is done," Arshad replied for me.

"Okay, Isha, you can take those dresses. There are many desi and expensive dresses—you’ll like them," she said.

"Okay," I nodded, smiling slightly, and went to gather all the bags I had placed on the couch. I turned around, and my eyes landed on Arshad, who was staring at me with a hard look. I quickly averted my gaze and walked out of the room, mumbling softly, "Thank you," to Sofia baaji.

I entered my room and placed the bags on the bed.

"Why did you accept her clothes?" I was startled by his voice. Turning around, I saw Arshad.

"Wha… what?" I asked, confused by what he meant.

"Why did you accept Sofia’s old clothes?" he asked again, displeasure in his tone.

He didn’t like me taking his wife’s clothes. My heart sank.

"If… if you don’t like me taking your wife’s clothes, then I will give them back to her. Sor…sorry," I stammered, feeling hurt that he didn’t even think I deserved his wife’s clothes. Am I really that worthless?

My eyes burned as I looked down, trying to hide the pain.

"Isha," he called, and when I didn’t look up, he stepped closer. "What’s wrong now? I didn’t say anything to hurt you," he muttered, confusion in his voice. Then I heard him sigh loudly. "Isha, I didn’t mean it the way you’re thinking." I still kept my gaze on the floor.

"Isha, look at me," his firm voice commanded. My lips were bowed in sadness, but I looked up.

"I mean, you don’t have to wear her old clothes. Have you forgotten what I told you a few minutes ago in my room? You are not a maid. You don’t deserve this," he said softly. My sad, bowed lips lifted into a beautiful smile as I realized what he was trying to say. He didn’t say it outright, but I knew.

I don’t deserve this. I’m his second wife, and I don’t deserve to wear his first wife’s old clothes. I deserve much more, considering the bond we share. My heartbeat raced, and my cheeks heated, but I controlled my racing pulse and replied softly.

"Trust me, I don’t feel bad thinking about wearing Sofia baaji’s old clothes. Her clothes are beautiful, and they don’t even look old. I can wear them for college," I said excitedly, with a genuine smile. I honestly felt no shame. She hadn’t rubbed her old clothes in my face to embarrass me. She politely offered them. If we share one husband, what’s the problem in wearing clothes he bought, even if they were for his first wife?

"We can shop for you," he suggested. I shook my head, smiling.

"I certainly don’t need it. Please," I declined politely.

"Fine," he shrugged before walking out of the room, looking a little mad.

---

Arshad’s POV

"Thank you so much, bhai," Asam beamed, hugging me tightly.

"I can’t breathe, Asam," I said, smiling at his excitement.

He pulled back and smiled sheepishly. "And you don’t need to thank me. This is our baba’s business. I’m so proud of you for managing everything alone…" He shook his head.

"No, I was never alone. You may be in Dubai, but you never abandoned our father’s business. You always contributed your share, and now you’re taking over my responsibilities as well."

"Yeah… because you’re going to marry, and I want you to enjoy your time. Go on shopping dates with her and spend time together," I winked at him. He rubbed his neck, smiling.

"I will," he smirked before leaving the house.

Asam told me the office needed our attention and that he was going out with Sabiya, so I told him to enjoy life before the wedding, and I would take care of the business. My Dubai business would be handled by my partner, so I wasn’t worried.

As I went to the kitchen to eat something, I heard voices and stopped at the doorway.

"It’s okay, Kubra Bi. I will manage. Waise bhi kuch hi waqt ki baat hai."

(Anyway, it’s just a matter of time) I stopped, hearing Isha talk with Kubra Bi.

"Par beta, mujhe nahi lagta tum manage kar paogi. Tumhe adat nahi hai. I should talk to Badi Bi; she will do something."

(But dear, I don’t think you can manage. You’re not used to it. I should speak to madam; she’ll help) Kubra Bi said, concerned.

Isha smiled, cupping her face. "Kubra Bi, don’t bother Amma Jaan. I don’t want to worry anyone. You’re thinking too much. I will manage," she reassured, smiling gently. Kubra Bi shrugged, nodding in defeat.

"You know, Jawad was saying he wanted to take you with us, or he’d be bored without you."

"Oh, please, Kubra Bi, he can’t give me a moment of peace in my free time. It will be a blessing for my upcoming exam if you spared me from his horrible thoughts," Isha laughed, stirring something on the stove.

A small smile formed on my lips, seeing her beautiful smile. It was the first time I saw her laugh like this, carefree and bright. Even though I had seen her the day I arrived with Kubra Bi’s son, Jawad, I hadn’t noticed this sparkle in her eyes.

"You know…" As Isha turned her head while still chatting with Kubra Bi, her eyes landed on me. That beautiful smile suddenly disappeared as if it had never existed. For some unknown reason, I felt bad.

"Arshad beta, apko kuch chahiye?" (Do you want anything, child?) Kubra asked, looking in the direction Isha was glancing. I nodded.

"I’m hungry," I said with a small pout. Yes, sometimes I become like a small child when it comes to hunger.

"Okay, I will serve you the korma Isha made," Kubra Bi said, smiling, about to fill a plate when—

"Kubra Bi, no! It has peanuts, and he’s allergic to them," Isha said abruptly, holding her hand out. I was shocked that she knew this about me.

"Oh, Allah! I’m sorry, beta. It just slipped my mind," Kubra Bi said apologetically.

"It’s okay, Kubra Bi. Kuch hua to nahi na?" (Nothing happened, right?) I smiled softly at Kubra Bi and then looked at Isha, who was still focused on the stove.

"Mai kuch aur bana deti hun." (I will cook something else) she said softly, still not looking at me.

"Hmm," I murmured, turning and walking out of the kitchen.

I was amazed—Isha knew so much about me. I didn’t know how, but for some reason, it made my heart feel something unfamiliar, something new.

*********

Isha’s POV

"Ap le jaien (You take this)," I requested to Kubra Bi.

"Beta, you take this. I have to go to Badi Bi; she’s calling me," she said, leaving the kitchen. I felt nervous about going to his room again and shy somehow, remembering what had happened there a few days ago.

I stood outside his room, gathering courage, when the door opened and Sofia baaji walked out.

"What is it?" she asked, looking at the tray in my hands.

"Wo… khana, unke liye (food. For him)," I said, motioning toward the room.

"Okay," she nodded and walked away.

He’s alone!

My heart beat faster as I knocked on the door and entered after hearing, "Aajao (come in)."

I found him sitting on the couch, eating chips while using his mobile, frowning like a grumpy child. A small smile crept on my lips. He surely couldn’t bear hunger.

He sniffed before looking up. I was smiling, but as his eyes met mine, I quickly suppressed it.

"I made noodles," I said, walking toward the table and placing the tray down before turning to leave.

"Isha, I need to talk to you," his voice stopped me. I turned around to see him staring at me.

"Sit," he commanded, motioning to the other couch.

I glanced at the door, afraid Sofia baaji might come in.

"She won’t come, Isha. Now sit," he reassured me. Biting my lips, I sat. He picked up the bowl and began eating. My brows furrowed. Was he making me sit just to watch him eat?

"Wait for two minutes; I’ll finish this before we talk," he said, still eating while I stared at him.

"Ap… aap itna fast kyu khaa rahe ho? Ye noodles kahi bage nahi jaare (Why are you eating so fast? These noodles won’t run anywhere)," a soft giggle escaped my lips, which I tried to hide by covering my mouth.

"Uh… I’m hungry," he said, looking embarrassed.

"Dikhra hai (I can see)," I mumbled, biting my lips to hold back a laugh.

"Accha, to tum mazak udana bhi jaanti ho (So, you know how to tease others too?)" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"N… nahi," I shook my head. My humor died instantly. I didn’t want to make him angry. "I… I’m sorry," I mumbled, looking down.

My head shot up when I heard his melodious laugh.

"Look at your face, Isha. You look like a scared kitten," he teased, swabbing my nose playfully while chuckling. I froze. This carefree side of him was unexpected—he acted like we were old friends.

Suddenly, his laugh stopped. I looked at him; he was staring at me.

"Uh… you want to talk to me?" I reminded him, clearing my throat.

"Yeah… Uh… I heard you and Kubra Bi talking. I want to know what exactly she was worrying about for you," he asked.

"Wo… Kubra Bi is worried because Bablu Chacha and Jawad are going to their village tomorrow, and she wondered who would drop me and fetch me from college. But I assured her I’ll manage," I explained.

"And how will you manage? You’ve never traveled alone before, right?" he asked.

"It’s only about my college, which isn’t that far. And yes, I went to college alone one time," I said, but a displeased look flashed across my face as I remembered my first experience.

"How was your experience?" he asked. I found him staring at me with a scrutinizing gaze. He might have recognized my displeasure.

"Uh… it… it was good," I said, not wanting to complain. "I have some work; I should go," I added, standing up.

"I’ll drop you to your college and pick you up too," he said.

"No, it’s okay. I’ll manage. You don’t have to bother," I said politely.

"Isha, I’m joining the company from tomorrow. I’ll be leaving early every morning anyway, so why not drop you? It’s decided—I’ll drop and fetch you from college," he said firmly.

"But…" I tried to deny.

"It’s my responsibility, Isha," he said in a firm tone. I looked down, then nodded. Turning, I made my way to the door.

"Accha suno (Hey, listen)," he called. I stopped and looked back. "Tum khana bahot accha banati ho (Your cooking is amazing). It’s delicious. I’d love to eat more of your dishes," he said, grinning. A blush crept onto my cheeks.

"And I would love to cook for you," I replied, my heart racing as I ran out of his room. It was the first time he complimented me, and that smile—haaye!

I felt my heart discovering new feelings. Something was growing between us, something pure and halal, because he was my husband and I was his secret wife.

Stepping back into the kitchen, still smiling and blushing, I froze at Amar’s voice.

"Ahan! What happened that you’re smiling like this?"

My smile vanished instantly.

"I would be lying if I said you’re not looking pretty with that beautiful smile," he said, smirking. My heart sank. His presence always made me uncomfortable, but now, with Arshad back, it was even worse. He was my husband’s brother, and the thought of him thinking about me like that felt sinful.

"Do you want anything?" I asked, straight-faced, walking toward the stove.

"Ah… I want many things, and one of them is you." My head snapped toward him. Disgust filled me.

"Apni zuban sambhal ke baat karo, Amar. Mai un ladkiyon me se nahi hun jinhe tumhari ye wahiyat baate acchi lage. Ghin aati mujhe tumhari aisi baaton se aur soch se (Mind your tongue, Amar. I’m not like the girls who flatter with your awful talks. I feel disgusted by your words and thoughts)," I said, for the first time speaking with anger and confidence.

"Woah! Tumhare pas zuban bhi hai! (You have a tongue!) I’m impressed, Isha. I know you’re not like other girls—that makes you interesting," he said, stepping closer. I took back a step. "But that doesn’t mean you have the right to disrespect me. Don’t forget, you’re just a maid, and I’m one of your bosses. Now you’ve disrespected me. You’ve got the guts to talk back. Now you’ll face the consequences," he smirked and walked out of the kitchen.

I stood there, frightened, unsure what he would do—but I knew I might be humiliated again.

★★★★