Author’s POV

After the cake-cutting ceremony, everyone from the family enjoyed the delicious cake made by Isha. For the guests, Isha had prepared another dessert, including cake pieces, which everyone loved.

Arshad noticed Isha standing in the corner, quietly watching everyone with a content smile on her face. He looked around—everyone was busy—and took that as his chance. With a piece of cake in hand, he approached her.

Isha frowned as he stood before her.

"This is for you," he said, holding the piece of cake toward her.

"Uh… I… I don’t want it," she said, looking away.

"Isha, take this," he demanded firmly. She shook her head, refusing. After all the coldness and harshness of the past few days, why was he suddenly acting like this? Why was he forcing her to eat this sweet cake?

Arshad sighed in frustration, raising the piece of cake to her lips. Isha’s eyes widened.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, panicked.

"Feeding you," he said simply. Ever since he had seen her eyes light up at the cake, he had been determined she would eat it.

"Please… jaein yaha se, koi dekh lega. (Please go from here, someone will see!)" she hissed, panicking as he took a step closer.

"Not before you eat this," he said stubbornly. Finally, Isha, in a flurry of nervousness, took the full piece into her mouth. Arshad’s eyes widened, and he almost cringed—but he couldn’t stop chuckling.

"Kha liya (I’ve eaten)," she said, cake filling her mouth, her voice barely audible. He stared, amused.

"Thoda bacha hai (There’s a little left)," Arshad said, motioning toward his hand with a tiny bit of cake. Surely, she wouldn’t… but she did. In her panic, she took his fingers into her mouth. As his finger touched her tongue, their breaths hitched. Electric sparks shot through both of them; their hearts skipped a beat.

"Okay… I can’t take this anymore. Sorry," they said simultaneously, moving apart—just as a voice broke the moment.

Adil. Smirking.

"I’m sorry, dude, for interrupting, but I can’t let you guys do this here. Uh… remember? Engagement? Party? Guests?" he teased. Arshad glared, while Isha’s face turned crimson.

"By the way, you guys can go there; no one will disturb you," Adil said, pointing toward another corner of the hall where no one was present.

"Shut up, Adil. We were doing nothing, so stop this nonsense!" Arshad yelled, teeth gritted. Adil raised his hands in surrender. Without looking at Isha, Arshad walked away.

Isha stood there, fiddling with her fingers in embarrassment. Adil smiled at her.

"You don’t have to be embarrassed, Bhabi. Arshad is your husband," he said. Isha’s head shot up—this was the first time anyone had referred to Arshad as her husband, aside from her own heart.

"I know what you’re going through, and trust me, everything will be okay. He just needs time. He’ll accept you and fight for you. And don’t forget, I’m your brother," he said, patting her head in a comforting, brotherly manner. Warmth filled her heart, and a small smile crept onto her lips. She nodded as he walked away.

For the first time, someone gave her hope for her marriage. Someone had told her that he would accept her—eventually. Not just in his heart, but in front of the world.

---

Author’s POV

After the guests left, Arshad excused himself and stepped outside, talking on the phone with some of his business partners from Dubai. Adil came and stood silently behind him.

After finishing his call, Arshad heard a notification beep. Opening WhatsApp, he found that Adil had sent him pictures. His eyes widened.

One picture showed him and Isha holding the cake together, smiling. Another caught them clapping side by side while the couple cut the cake. The third captured him feeding Isha a piece, his amused grin clear.

"Aren’t they cute together?" Adil asked casually.

Arshad’s glare hardened. "What the hell is this, Adil?!" he yelled.

"What? It’s you and your wife’s pictures. Don’t you think you look cute together?" Adil grinned.

"Adi! Are you out of your mind? This isn’t something to tease me about! You captured my pictures with some other girl—it’s not right!" he shouted.

"Your wife. Isha is your wife, Arshad," Adil said, now serious.

"She is not my wife! Stop saying that!" he hissed, glancing around, panicked. Only he and Isha knew, and now Adil was making it harder by teasing—or rather, revealing.

"Even if I stop saying it, it won’t change the truth, Arshad. You have to accept her. It’s high time. You’ve been hiding this from the world for two years. She needs your protection, your name. Otherwise, things will get worse," Adil said, recalling Amar’s not-so-polite gaze at Isha.

"No! I won’t accept her. Forget this! I have only one wife, and that’s Sofia. Don’t do this again," Arshad said, turning to go. But Adil grabbed his shoulder and spun him back.

"Stop this, dude! You can’t deny the truth! Do you know how terrible it felt seeing your wife—my best friend’s wife—treated like a servant? And I know you feel guilty. I’ve seen it in your eyes. You’ve developed feelings for her, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. Be a man and accept her!" Adil yelled, frustration evident. It was wrong for Isha to suffer alone.

"What!? Feelings for her?" Arshad scoffed dryly. "You’re losing it."

"Trust me, Arshad, I’m not. I’ve seen the softness in your eyes for her. The longing when she entered the hall looking stunning. The shine in your eyes when you were feeding her," Adil insisted.

Arshad felt his breath hitch. Fear gripped him. Adil’s words made him realize something he wasn’t ready to face.

No… no! This can’t be! Adil misunderstood.

"You misunderstood, yaar. If I have any feelings for her, it’s only pity. Mujhe sirf uspar taras aata hai aur kuch nahi. Wo mujh par musallat ki gayi hai. Meri biwi nahi, mujh par bojh hai. Marzi nahi, majburi hai. (I only feel pity for her. She’s forced upon me. She isn’t my wife but a burden. She’s not my choice but compulsion.)"

Unknowingly, he had shattered the innocent soul standing behind the kitchen window.

Isha gripped the window barrier, staring at the man she had hoped would accept her. Her heart broke into a million pieces. Her lips trembled, and tears of feeling unwanted fell. Even if true, it hurt like hell.

What had she done to deserve this? She hadn’t chosen this—Allah had willed it. And yet… he thought she was a burden.

"Deny all you want, Arshad. Say whatever makes you feel better. You’ll fall in love with her, Arshad. You’ll accept her soon! Mark my words!" Adil yelled. Arshad ignored him and walked inside. Adil froze when he saw Isha at the window, her expression broken.

Isha closed the window, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. She needed composure before anyone saw her like this. She didn’t have the courage to weave another false story.

Wiping her face, she placed back the first-aid kit she had taken out to soothe her wrist pain. But her heart ached far worse than any burn. She walked out of the kitchen, wanting nothing more than to retreat to her room and cry.

On her way, she bumped into Amma Jaan.

"Isha," Amma Jaan smiled warmly. Isha tried to smile but failed. Amma Jaan didn’t notice. "I wanted to tell you since the moment I saw you… you’re looking so pretty. I never thought my Arshad’s choice could be this beautiful after Sofia," she laughed.

Isha frowned in confusion. "His choice?"

"Yes, he bought this dress for you," she said, smiling. "Anyway, beta, go rest now," she said, walking toward her own room.

Isha entered her room and changed clothes, placing the dress on the bed. Amma Jaan’s words echoed in her mind, refusing to fade… and she cried.

**************

Everyone retired for the night after some casual chitchat. Sofia slept as usual, taking her pills, while Arshad lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Restlessness consumed him after the conversation he had with Adil.

"You have also developed feelings for her."

"I have seen the longing in your eyes for her."

"I have seen the shine in your eyes when you were feeding her."

"You will fall in love with her, Arshad. And you will accept her very soon! Mark my words!"

Adil’s words echoed in his mind, stirring unrest. He had believed he would never feel anything for any woman except Sofia, yet something within him was changing—something he never wanted. His heart raced at the thought of that girl.

After tossing and turning for an hour, unable to sleep, he got out of bed and quietly left the room.

He walked to the kitchen, hoping a small distraction would calm his mind, but froze at the doorway. There she was—the little girl who had begun to stir his heart in ways he hadn’t imagined.

Isha sat on the floor, her hair cascading across her back, a few strands teasing her face as she carefully applied ointment to her wrist. This was probably only the second time he had seen her hair uncovered since the morning they met at the barn house.

"Ssss… khudaya," Isha hissed, pulling her hand away before the ointment touched her wrist, blowing on it instead. She tried again, only to repeat the same action.

Arshad watched her struggle for a few moments before stepping closer. She was so absorbed in her task that she didn’t notice him until he sat in front of her, and her head snapped toward him.

He said nothing, gently holding her hand as he examined her wrist, noticing the burn wound. It looked serious.

"When did this happen?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. It was obvious to him it had occurred hours ago.

"This morning," Isha mumbled, trying to pull her hand away, but he held it firmly.

"And you’re only applying ointment now?" His concern was poorly hidden.

"I was busy," she replied simply.

"Busy in what?" He let go of her hand, taking the ointment and applying it to his fingers.

"Busy with my work," she said, looking at him. His chest tightened at her words, the restraint to express what he truly felt nearly breaking, but he resisted. He didn’t want to start that conversation again. He held her hand gently and began applying the ointment.

"Aahh…" she bit her lip, closing her eyes as the ointment stung her burn. A cold breath touched her skin—he was blowing on it while continuing to apply it. Her heart skipped a beat at his care.

But then…

"Mujhe sirf uspar taras aata hai aur kuch nahi. Wo mujh par musallat ki gayi hai. Meri biwi nahi, mujh par bojh hai. Marzi nahi, majburi hai wo."

(I only feel pity for her. She’s forced upon me. She isn’t my wife but a burden. She’s not my choice but compulsion.)

Her eyes welled up. The pain from her burn faded, replaced by the ache in her heart. A sob escaped her lips as his words echoed in her mind repeatedly.

Arshad snapped his head toward her, frowning.

"Bahot dard hora hai? (Is it hurting a lot?)" he asked, worry lacing his voice.

"Haan… bahot dard hora hai (Yes… it’s hurting a lot)," she whispered, quivering lips trembling as tears slid down her cheeks. Arshad’s heart clenched at her innocent, tear-filled eyes.

"Oh, Isha… thik ho jaega (it will heal)," he said softly, cupping her face as he leaned closer, speaking like one would to a child.

"Ye kabhi thik nahi hoga (it will never heal)," she whispered again. Now he realized she wasn’t talking about the burn.

"Isha…"

She got up, wiping her face.

"Ap yahi rukein. Kahi mat jaega. Mai abhi ayi (You stay here. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back)," she said, before leaving the kitchen.

Arshad remained, staring at the door she had vanished through. A few minutes later, she returned, a small bag in her hand.

"Take this," she said, handing it to him. He frowned, opening it to find the dress he had given her. Before he could say anything, she placed an envelope in his hand. He recognized it immediately.

"Ye sab kya hai? (What’s all this?)" he asked, narrowing his eyes, placing the bag on the counter with a thud.

"Apke ehsanat (your favors)," she said simply.

"What?" he asked, confused, but she only placed the envelope next to the bag and turned to leave.

Arshad ran after her, grabbing her arms and pinning her gently to the doorway. A gasp escaped her.

"What happened to you? Why are you giving the dress back? And I can’t believe you never used the money. How could you be so stubborn, Isha?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.

"I’m not stubborn. I’m just trying to save my little bit of self-respect," she mumbled, looking down. Arshad gazed at her broken expression, his chest tightening. Gently, he lifted her chin, meeting her tear-filled eyes.

"Kya hua? Volo mujhe. Kisi ne kuch kaha? (What happened? Tell me. Did anyone say something to you?)" he asked softly. She shook her head.

"Nahi… I want to ask you something," she said, her voice low.

"Bolo? (Say it)," Arshad encouraged with a soft smile. He would give her anything—her tears were hurting him more than he could explain.

"Please… mere liye ab aap aur kuch na karein. Sacch kehrahi hun, mujhe is ghar me naukrani ban kar rehna manzur hai… (Please, don’t do anything for me. Honestly, I am willing to be a maid in this house…)" She paused, lowering her head and closing her eyes tightly. Arshad opened his mouth to reply, but her next words froze him.

"…Par aap par bojh nahi. Janti hun aapki marzi nahi hun, par aap pe boj bhi nahi ban sakti me (But not a burden on you. I know I’m not your choice, but I can’t be your obligation either)."

She pushed him slightly and walked away, leaving Arshad stunned in her wake.

She had heard his hateful words…

★★★★