Author pov
Hamid Ali Shah POV
The kitchen was empty.
Good.
Hamid closed the door behind him and turned slowly.
His aunt stiffened when she saw his expression.
"What?" she snapped. "Now you'll lecture me too?"
"No," Hamid said calmly. "I'm here to warn you."
She laughed bitterly. "About what? That fragile girl of yours?"
Hamid stepped closer.
His voice dropped.
"You will never speak to my sister like that again."
Her smile faded.
"She creates drama everywhere—"
"She collapsed on the road today," Hamid said sharply. "Unconscious. Alone."
The color drained from her face.
"And do you know what she said after regaining consciousness?" he continued, eyes burning.
"Don't tell anyone at home. I don't want more trouble."
Silence.
"That's the kind of fear you've put in her," he said. "So let me be very clear."
He leaned in slightly.
"If I hear even one more word against Inaya—one taunt, one accusation—I will make sure the entire family knows exactly who keeps reopening her wounds."
"You wouldn't—"
"I would," Hamid cut in. "And I won't hesitate."
He straightened.
"She has lost enough. You don't get to take her dignity too."
Hamid walked out without waiting for a response.
Because some lines—
once crossed—
don't deserve mercy.
Armaan meer pov
The palace lights were mostly off.
Except one window.
Second floor.
Left side.
Her room.
Armaan stood across the street, leaning against his car, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on that dim glow like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
She hadn't turned the lights off yet.
That meant she was awake.
Or pretending to be.
He exhaled slowly.
"She fainted today," Hamid's words echoed in his head. "Don't come near her. She asked for that."
Armaan had agreed.
And yet—
here he was.
Not crossing the gate.
Not calling.
Just watching.
As if distance could protect her.
As if his restraint counted as love.
His phone buzzed in his hand.
Her name glowed on the screen.
He didn't touch it.
"I'm here," he whispered to the night. "Even if you never know."
The light in her window flickered.
Then dimmed.
It went dark.
Something in his chest loosened—and tightened at the same time.
"Sleep," he murmured. "Please."
And for the first time in years,
Armaan prayed—
not for her love,
but for her survival.
The sound came first.
An engine.
Low. Distant. Angry.
Without looking back, he entered his car and drove away,
the darkness swallowing him whole.
Author pov
Inaya stood still inside her room, staring at nothing, when something in her chest tightened—sharp and sudden. She didn't know why. She didn't know how.
She just knew.
Her feet carried her before her mind could catch up.
She stepped onto the balcony.
Cold night air wrapped around her bare arms as she gripped the railing, breath shallow. Below, the driveway lights cut through the darkness—and she saw it.
A car speeding away.
Too fast.
Too reckless.
Its headlights flared briefly… then vanished as it turned, swallowed whole by the dark road beyond the palace gates.
Gone.
Her heart stuttered.
For a second, she just stared at the empty stretch of road, as if willing it to bring him back. As if the darkness might answer her silent question.
Why does it hurt… when he leaves?
Her fingers curled tighter around the railing.
"I didn't ask you to stay," she whispered to the night, voice barely there.
But her chest burned like she had lost something she never truly had.
The wind brushed past her face, lifting strands of her hair, cold and unforgiving. It felt like goodbye.
She closed her eyes.
Images clashed inside her mind—his anger, his silence, his presence lingering even when he wasn't there. The way he looked at her like she was both his sin and his punishment.
A hollow ache spread through her ribs.
"Why do you always leave like this?" she murmured, tears stinging her eyes. "Like you're running from me… or toward something worse."
No answer came.
Only silence.
The same silence that had followed her for ten years.
A single tear slipped free, tracing a slow path down her cheek. She wiped it away immediately, straightening her spine as if the palace itself were watching.
Be strong, she reminded herself.
She lifted her chin, eyes still fixed on the dark road.
"Go," she said quietly. "Disappear. That's what you're good at."
But her heart betrayed her—beating too fast, too loud, aching with a fear she refused to name.
Because somewhere deep inside her—
she was afraid that one day, he would disappear for real.
And she would be left standing on this balcony again—
staring into the dark,
wondering why his absence felt heavier than his presence ever did. 🖤
Inaya ali shah pov
The night air felt heavier than before.
Inaya rested her forearms against the balcony railing, staring down at the silent gardens. The palace grounds stretched endlessly, beautiful and cruel at the same time.
She should have felt alone.
But she didn't.
A strange sensation crawled up her spine—slow, unsettling. The feeling of presence.
She straightened slightly.
Her eyes scanned the darkness below. Nothing moved. No footsteps. No voices. Just trees swaying softly and shadows behaving like shadows should.
Still—
her chest tightened.
She turned her head slowly, searching the corners of the garden, the gate beyond, the darker edges where light didn't reach.
Someone is there.
The thought came uninvited.
Her heartbeat picked up.
Don't be ridiculous, she told herself. This house is full of ghosts—memories playing tricks.
Yet the feeling didn't fade.
It wasn't threatening.
It wasn't loud.
It felt… watchful.
Protective?
The idea startled her.
Inaya shook her head once, frustrated, and stepped back from the railing. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the night being mild.
"Get a grip," she whispered.
But as she turned to go inside—
she paused.
For just a second.
And looked back once more into the darkness.
Far away, hidden where no light could expose him—
Armaan didn't move.
Because even though she couldn't see him—
he felt it.
She had sensed him.
A slow smile curved his lips.
"Good," he murmured.
"You're still sharp."
Inaya closed the balcony doors behind her.
The lock clicked softly.
And neither of them knew—
that this silent connection
was only the beginning.
zeeshan khan pov
Her room smelled the same.
Soft. Faint jasmine.
Too gentle for someone who had been hurt so deeply.
Zeeshan sat on the edge of Inaya's bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlocked so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The room was dim, only the bedside lamp glowing faintly—casting shadows that felt heavier than the darkness itself.
She was asleep.
Or pretending to be.
Her face looked smaller like this. Fragile. Pale. A faint crease still marked her forehead—the aftermath of pain, fear, exhaustion.
His jaw tightened.
I should have been there.
The thought struck him again, sharper this time.
He had known she was breaking. He had seen it last night—in her eyes, in her silence, in the way she stood alone in the garden like she didn't belong anywhere.
And yet—
He had let her leave.
Alone.
His hand curled slowly into a fist.
"If I had come sooner…" he whispered, voice barely audible.
His gaze fell to her hands resting on the blanket. Thin. Shaking even in sleep.
Memories assaulted him mercilessly.
His own voice.
Cold.
Accusing.
"You destroyed everything."
The words echoed in his head like a curse.
Zeeshan squeezed his eyes shut.
"I didn't mean it," he breathed. "I was angry… I was blind."
His throat burned.
"I wanted to hurt you," he admitted bitterly. "Because I was hurting. And I thought if I broke you too, it would somehow make it even."
Silence answered him.
Her chest rose and fell softly.
Unaware.
Unforgiving.
He reached out—then stopped.
His hand hovered inches above her, trembling.
"I was supposed to protect you," he said hoarsely. "Not become another wound you carry."
His fingers dropped back to his lap.
Because touching her now felt like a crime.
Zeeshan leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time in years, the powerful man everyone feared felt useless.
Small.
"I failed you," he whispered again. "As your fiancé… as your shield… as the man who swore to stand beside you."
His eyes burned—but no tears fell.
He didn't deserve that release.
Outside the room, the house slept peacefully.
Inside—
Zeeshan sat alone with his guilt,
watching the woman he loved breathe,
knowing that loving her had not stopped him from hurting her—
and that realization hurt more than any punishment ever could