Chapter 16 - “Dry Words, Soft Returns”

The afternoon had already begun to blur into itself by the time Qasim finally caught Ayaan by the sleeve and pulled him away from the crowd.

Ayaan had barely gotten a chance to breathe since the guests started arriving.

Someone was always calling his name.

Someone was always asking where to sit, where to place something, whether the tea had been served, whether the extra chairs had been brought in, whether the sound system had been checked, whether the decorations on the side hall were finished, whether the lights in the corridor were too bright, whether the guests would be comfortable if the room stayed like this.

Ayaan had answered every question the same way he usually did.

Quietly and clearly.

And without any drama.

He had been moving from one side of the house to the other with the steady patience of someone who had quietly accepted that the day belonged to other people now.

And then Qasim came in, looking far too pleased with himself.

He didn't say anything at first.

Just caught Ayaan at the edge of the hall, where the noise was slightly less, and tugged him toward the side dining room where the lunch trays had been arranged.

Ayaan resisted only a little.

Enough to make his point.

Not enough to stop him.

"Come," Qasim said. "You need to eat something before you start insulting everybody's arrangements again."

"I have not insulted anybody's arrangements."

Qasim gave him a look. "You told the florist the ribbons were too dramatic."

"They were."

"You told the caterer the plates were too crowded."

"They were."

"You told my uncle the sofa placement was emotionally wrong."

Ayaan glanced at him once. "It was."

Qasim groaned softly and pushed open the dining room door.

Inside, the air was warmer, carrying the smell of fresh food, spice, and tea that had just been poured a little too soon. The room was still busy, but quieter than the hall. Enough for a conversation. Enough for a pause.

Qasim stepped in first, then looked back at him.

"Sit."

Ayaan didn't move immediately.

Qasim pointed toward the chair opposite him. "Sit, bro. I'm not asking again."

Ayaan finally sat.

Qasim sat too, leaning forward with both hands resting on the table.

For a moment, he watched Ayaan with the kind of expression that always made him look like he knew something he wasn't saying.

That fox-like sharpness stayed on his face, calm and unreadable, but alert enough to make Ayaan suspicious on instinct.

Ayaan reached for a glass of water.

Then looked at him.

"What?"

Qasim blinked innocently. "What what?"

"You're staring."

"I'm allowed to look at my brother, right?."

"You're staring like you're about to announce some type of tragedy."

Qasim scoffed. "How dramatic of you."

"You started it."

"I did not."

Ayaan took a sip of water, eyes still on him. "You dragged me here for lunch. That's already suspicious."

"It's lunch."

"It's you."

Qasim placed a hand on his chest, pretending to be offended. "What's wrong with me?"

Ayaan didn't answer immediately.

Then, very calmly, said, "Did you hit your head or something?"

Qasim froze for half a second, then leaned back in his chair with exaggerated offense.

"Seriously?"

Ayaan's mouth twitched slightly.

Qasim pointed at him. "I was trying to be nice."

"That's why I'm worried."

"Bro."

Ayaan looked at him, expression neutral.

Qasim stared back.

Then, with complete seriousness, said, "I thought you would like it."

Ayaan raised one eyebrow. "You? Thinking?"

Qasim narrowed his eyes. "You're being rude."

"I'm being realistic."

"Dude...that was rude."

"You're taking this personally."

"Because I am personally offended."

Ayaan rested his elbow lightly on the table. "So tell me. What exactly are you planning?"

Qasim blinked once.

That was the first sign.

Ayaan noticed it immediately.

Qasim was always quick. Too quick. Even when he lied, he usually had the decency to lie smoothly.

This time he hesitated.

That alone was enough to make Ayaan suspicious.

Ayaan leaned back slightly.

Then said, with complete seriousness, "So you have finally decided to pay your loan? Shukar alhamdullilah."

Qasim looked at him for a long second.

Then let out a breath through his nose.

"No."

Ayaan's brow lifted.

"That would have been the only good surprise."

"Why are you like this?"

"Because you keep saying things that make no sense."

Qasim folded his arms across his chest. "It is not a loan."

"Then what is it?"

Qasim didn't answer right away.

He glanced toward the open doorway, then back at Ayaan.

Then, far too casually, said, "It's not that."

Ayaan held his gaze for a moment.

Something about the tone.

Not nervous.

Not obvious.

Just careful.

He knew Qasim well enough to notice when he was being careful.

Ayaan tilted his head slightly.

Then, with the faintest trace of amusement, said, "Don't tell me you're planning to murder me tonight."

Qasim blinked.

Then shook his head slowly, looking deeply insulted on principle.

"Bro."

Ayaan stayed quiet.

Qasim leaned forward again and said, "What kind of person do you think I am?"

Ayaan's answer came without hesitation.

"The kind who would absolutely force me into something suspicious and then act innocent."

Qasim stared at him.

Then laughed.

Not a big laugh.

Just a short one.

The kind that meant Ayaan was not wrong.

Ayaan's expression stayed composed, but his eyes sharpened a little as he watched Qasim.

Then Qasim lowered his voice slightly and said, "Just don't go anywhere after midnight."

Ayaan paused.

That was new.

Not enough to alarm him fully.

But enough to slow him down.

He looked at Qasim for a second longer than before.

"Why?"

Qasim's face remained calm.

Too calm.

"I want you to meet someone."

Ayaan didn't move.

The room around them carried on as if nothing had changed.

Distant voices.

The clink of plates.

Someone calling for tea.

But at their table, the air had shifted.

Ayaan studied him.

Then asked carefully, "Who?"

Qasim leaned back, crossing one ankle over the other.

"No."

Ayaan blinked once. "No?"

"You'll ruin the surprise if I say too much."

Ayaan's expression went flat. "You are being very strange."

"I know."

"That is not a good sign."

"It's a great sign."

"It's a sign of trouble."

Qasim grinned. "You say that like you don't already expect trouble from me."

Ayaan looked at him for a moment.

Then said quietly, "I do."

Qasim gave a dramatic sigh. "That hurts."

"It should."

Qasim tapped the table lightly with his fingers, clearly enjoying himself now that he had managed to say just enough without giving anything away.

"You should trust me."

Ayaan's eyes narrowed slightly. "That is exactly what people say before ruining your life."

"Wow."

"I'm just saying."

Qasim tilted his head. "You're making it sound worse than it is."

"I haven't heard a single thing from you that makes it sound better."

"That's because I'm not explaining it."

"Which means it is worse."

Qasim smiled, but there was something slightly too controlled in it now. "Just stay here tonight."

Ayaan leaned forward.

"Qasim."

"Hmm?"

"You are acting like a criminal."

Qasim placed a hand over his heart again. "I'm acting like a friend."

"You are acting like a man hiding evidence."

Qasim laughed softly, then reached for his plate as if the conversation had become too entertaining for him to stop.

"Eat first," he said. "You've been running around all day and now you're interrogating me like I've committed a felony."

"You probably have."

"Not this time."

Ayaan watched him quietly.

Then asked, "Is this about the house?"

Qasim paused for the briefest second.

Then shook his head.

"No."

"Then what is it about?"

Qasim took a bite of food before answering, clearly trying to buy time.

Ayaan waited.

Qasim swallowed, then said, "You'll see."

Ayaan didn't look pleased.

He looked exactly like a man who had been given a half-answer and expected to tolerate it.

But he didn't press further.

Not yet.

Instead, he picked up his spoon and took a bite of his own food, though his attention had clearly not left Qasim.

Qasim watched him for a while in silence.

Then, casually, as if he had not just created a small storm and walked away from it, he said, "You should dress properly tonight."

Ayaan looked up again.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not a reason."

"It's enough."

"It's not."

Qasim shrugged. "It is if you're meeting someone important."

Ayaan's fingers stilled.

"Who said they're important?"

Qasim gave him a look. "If I'm making this much effort, they are."

Ayaan gave him a flat stare. "That says more about your judgment than theirs."

Qasim laughed again, louder this time.

A few heads turned from the other side of the room.

Ayaan ignored them.

Qasim lowered his voice and said, "You know what? Fine. Be difficult. But don't disappear after dinner."

"I wasn't planning to."

"Good."

Ayaan studied him another second.

Then said, "You are still not explaining anything."

"I know."

"And you are enjoying this."

"I am."

Ayaan shook his head slightly. "You really did hit your head."

Qasim smiled into his plate. "Maybe. But I'm still right."

"About what?"

"You'll see."

Ayaan's eyes narrowed again, but there was a trace of something like reluctant patience in them now.

Not trust.

Not yet.

But enough to wait.

Qasim noticed that too.

And smiled like someone who had already won a game nobody else had realized had started.

The rest of lunch passed in lighter pieces.

A conversation about the guests.

Someone asking whether the chairs outside had been arranged properly.

Qasim complaining that one of his cousins had already taken too many sweets.

Ayaan replying that this was not news.

Qasim insisting that it was a matter of principle.

Ayaan telling him that principle was not the word he should be using.

Qasim leaning back and said, "You know, you're only acting normal because you don't know what I'm planning."

Ayaan gave him a side glance. "And you're only speaking because you enjoy irritating me."

"That is also true."

Ayaan couldn't help the faintest exhale that might have been a laugh if he had let it become one.

Qasim saw it and looked far too pleased.

"There," he said. "That's better."

"What is?"

"You smiling."

"I wasn't smiling."

"You almost were."

"That's not the same thing."

"It is for you."

Ayaan gave him a look.

Qasim grinned.

Then stood, brushing a hand over his sleeve.

"Come on," he said. "You've done enough for one hour."

"I still have work."

"Not until later."

"I have checks."

"Not right now."

Ayaan rose slowly from his seat.

"What exactly are you taking me to?"

Qasim walked toward the door and looked back with that same unreadable, fox-like look that always made him hard to fully trust and somehow easier to rely on at the same time.

"You'll see tonight."

Ayaan stared at him.

Then said, "That answer is getting old."

Qasim shrugged. "So are you."

Ayaan's expression flattened again.

Qasim laughed and held the door open wider.

Ayaan stepped out, still suspicious, still trying to read the shape of whatever this was supposed to be.

But for now, all he had was lunch, unfinished questions, and Qasim acting like the world had become one long secret.

And somehow, that was enough to make the afternoon feel like it was already waiting for midnight.

By the evening, the house no longer felt still.

It felt full.

Not in the loud, chaotic way it had during the day, when people were moving too quickly and voices kept overlapping and chairs kept scraping against the floor. This was different. Softer. Weaker. The kind of fullness that only came after everyone had eaten, prayed, spoken, smiled, and finally started giving in to sleep.

One by one, the guests had been guided into the guest houses.

Ayaan had been the one going back and forth with the staffs.

Again and again.

Checking if anyone needed water.

Checking if the extra blankets had been brought in.

Checking if the lights in the corridor were too bright.

Checking if the older aunties were comfortable.

Checking if the children had fallen asleep properly.

Checking if the doors were locked.

Checking if the tea cups had been collected.

Checking if the hall had been cleared enough for the next morning.

He had done all of it with the staffs quietly.

Without complaint.

Without making a scene out of it.

That was how he worked.

If there was something to be done, he did it.

If something needed fixing, he fixed it.

If people needed help, he was already there before they asked.

By the time the last few voices had faded and the house had finally begun to settle, Ayaan could feel the tiredness sitting in his shoulders.

Not enough to stop him.

Just enough to remind him that he had been moving for too long.

The main house had quieted down first.

Then the guest houses.

Then the courtyard.

Then the narrow path between them.

Finally, even the noise from the kitchen stopped.

Only the soft, late-night hum of the house remained.

The faint movements and occasional footsteps.

The low murmur of someone whispering from another room.

And then that deep kind of silence that only came when the day was nearly over.

Ayaan walked back into the living room just as Qasim was sitting on the couch with one elbow on the armrest and his phone pressed to his ear.

He had his head slightly lowered.

One leg crossed over the other.

Looking far too calm for someone who had been chaos all day.

Ayaan paused near the doorway.

Qasim noticed him instantly, but didn't stop speaking.

"Yeah, Ammi, everything is fine," Qasim said into the phone, his tone gentle. "No, really. They're all settled. Zoya is fine. Alia aunty is fine. Everyone is fine."

Ayaan moved a little further into the room, but quietly.

The living room was dimmer than earlier.

And only one lamp was still on.

Just enough light to soften the edges of the furniture and the tiredness on people's faces.

Qasim glanced up at him and covered the phone slightly.

"Still alive?" he asked.

Ayaan gave him a look. "Barely."

Qasim smirked a little, then returned to the call.

"Yes, Ammi. I'm telling you, it's all under control."

Ayaan sat down on the opposite couch, not too far from him.

The cushions gave slightly under his weight.

He leaned back and let his eyes rest for a moment.

The day had been too long to measure properly.

Qasim kept speaking in that same easy, respectful tone he always used with elders.

Ayaan only caught pieces.

"Yes, she ate."

"Yes, Zoya is with her."

"No, nothing is missing."

"Yes, the arrangements are good."

Then a small pause.

Then Qasim's tone shifted just slightly.

"Of course I'm not lying."

Ayaan opened one eye.

Qasim noticed and rolled his own eyes in return.

Then he turned back to the call and said, with much more patience than he had been using all day, "No, seriously. You can ask her yourself."

Ayaan stayed quiet.

The name Zaria did not yet ring any bell inside him.

Not as a name.

Not yet.

It drifted in and out of the conversation like any other detail of the night.

Just another guest.

Just another room.

Just another person he was helping to keep comfortable.

But Qasim had not finished with the call yet.

He leaned back into the couch, then spoke again.

"Alright, alright, I'll let her talk."

A pause.

Then he smiled.

The kind that meant trouble.

Ayaan noticed immediately.

Qasim said, "It's your turn."

A moment later, the voice that came through the phone was softer.

Higher.

Tired, but careful.

"Assalamu Alaikum, Qasim."

Ayaan didn't move.

Not visibly.

But something in the room shifted anyway.

Qasim replied lightly, "Wa Alaikum Salam. How are you, Alia aunty?"

A brief pause.

Then the woman's voice came again, calm but carrying a kind of fatigue that had clearly been there all evening.

"We are fine. Zoya has finally stopped making that face."

Qasim chuckled.

"Which face?"

"The one where she looks like she is preparing to fight the whole house."

A low laugh escaped from the couch beside them.

Ayaan turned his head slightly.

Qasim was smiling now.

A real one.

The kind that made his face look younger for a second.

He said, "That sounds exactly like Zoya."

"That's because it is exactly like Zoya."

Ayaan watched him for a second longer.

Then he looked away while the call continued.

There were small talk pieces.

Simple checks.

Questions about sleep.

Questions about whether the room was comfortable.

Questions about whether they needed anything else before morning.

Ayaan wasn't paying full attention anymore.

His body was tired, but his mind stayed alert enough to register that this was not a casual call.

The tone in Qasim's voice had turned a little softer.

A little more careful.

It was the tone of someone holding back something until the right moment.

Ayaan almost ignored it.

Almost.

Until Qasim shifted the phone slightly and said, "Hold on, she wants to talk."

A moment later, the voice on the other end changed again.

This time, it was younger.

Not by much.

But enough to sharpen the room.

"Qasim?"

Ayaan still didn't react.

Not fully.

Not yet.

"She's asking about you," Qasim said, and there was a grin in his voice that sounded far too pleased with itself.

Ayaan glanced up.

Qasim was staring at the phone with the expression of a man enjoying his own crime.

"About me?" he heard the voice ask.

Qasim leaned back farther into the couch and looked right at Ayaan now.

Ayaan narrowed his eyes at him immediately.

Something was wrong.

Not dangerous.

Just suspicious.

The kind of suspicious that lived in Qasim's face when he knew something and was waiting to see how long it would take someone else to notice.

Qasim said, "Yeah. She wants to know where you went."

Ayaan's expression deepened.

He mouthed silently, Who?

Qasim ignored him.

Into the phone, he said, "He left."

A pause.

Then, with the most irritating calm in the world:

"Yeah, for something important."

Ayaan stared.

Qasim kept going.

"Very important."

A beat.

"Definitely more important than sitting here and disturbing everyone."

Ayaan sat up slightly.

It was impossible not to.

Qasim looked too pleased.

Too relaxed.

Too ready.

The voice on the phone changed.

It grew quieter.

Not angry yet.

But hurt was already there.

"Why?" the girl asked, and now Ayaan could hear the upset in it even from where he sat.

Qasim's eyes flicked up for a second.

Then he shrugged slowly, far too casually.

"Because he is Ayaan."

Ayaan almost stood up on principle alone.

Qasim continued, "He does that."

The girl on the phone didn't answer immediately.

Then, softly:

"But he was here earlier."

Qasim hummed.

"Earlier is not now."

Ayaan pressed his lips together.

He knew exactly what Qasim was doing now.

The idiot.

He was teasing her.

On purpose.

And he enjoying every single second of it.

The voice on the phone got quieter again.

"Did he… ask about us?"

Qasim's expression didn't change.

But his eyes flicked briefly toward Ayaan again.

Then he said, with a straight face that should have been illegal, "He was too busy."

Ayaan's brows drew together.

The voice on the other end fell silent.

That silence was not empty.

It had a feeling in it.

A drop.

A shift.

A hurt that had just been made worse by careless words.

Qasim had gone too far.

Even Ayaan knew it.

But before he could speak, Qasim went on, still casual, still smiling faintly like he hadn't just poured salt on something soft.

"He's been running here and there all evening," Qasim said. "Guests, rooms, errands, more guests, more rooms. You should be grateful I even found him for five seconds earlier."

Ayaan sat back slowly.

He was starting to understand the game now.

Qasim wasn't just teasing.

He was building something.

And the way he looked at Ayaan while doing it made it clear he was doing it for a reason.

A reason Ayaan did not yet know.

The voice on the other end became small.

Smaller than before.

"Oh."

Qasim's smile widened just a little.

Ayaan's stare deepened.

"Qasim," the girl on the other line said after a beat, and now there was real irritation in her tone, "Qasim you are being difficult right now."

Qasim put a hand to his chest in mock offense even though she couldn't see him.

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"I'm just telling the truth."

"That is not truth. That is you being annoying."

A low chuckle slipped from Qasim.

Ayaan almost shook his head.

He could already imagine the person on the other side of the phone, even though he didn't know who she was yet.

Frustrated.

Hurt.

Trying not to show it.

And Qasim, of course, pushing just enough to make it worse.

He said, "If you want him, you should have told him earlier."

The silence that followed was sharper.

Ayaan straightened slightly.

Qasim immediately regretted nothing.

That alone was enough to make Ayaan's suspicion deepen.

But before he could ask anything, Qasim added one last thing into the phone, his voice now dripping with fake sympathy.

"Anyway, don't wait up for him. He'll probably come back after he's done acting important."

Ayaan's head tilted.

The phone remained silent for a full second.

Then two.

Then three.

And then, without warning—

the call ended.

Qasim looked at the screen and let out a very small laugh.

"Good," he muttered under his breath.

Ayaan stared at him for a minute.

Then said, flatly, "You're insane."

Qasim turned the phone face-down on his lap and leaned back, looking far too satisfied with himself.

"That was one way to put it."

"What exactly was that?"

Qasim feigned innocence. "A conversation."

Ayaan's eyes narrowed.

"It sounded like you were trying to annoy someone."

Qasim shrugged. "That too."

Ayaan leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.

"And who exactly was that?"

Qasim looked at him with one brow lifted.

"You will see."

Ayaan stared at Qasim.

"You better stop saying that."

"No."

"Qasim."

"Later."

Ayaan exhaled slowly through his nose.

He knew better than to keep pushing when Qasim got like this.

The man would not fold unless he wanted to.

And right now, he clearly did not want to.

Ayaan changed direction.

"What did you mean, something important?"

Qasim looked at him for a second before grinning again.

"You will see."

Ayaan closed his eyes for a brief second out of irritation.

Then opened them again.

"You are impossible."

"Correct."

Ayaan rose from the couch.

He had had enough of that particular game for now.

He started toward the staircase.

Qasim's voice followed him.

"Where are you going?"

"To freshen up."

"Take your time."

Ayaan glanced at him over his shoulder.

There was something suspiciously pleased in Qasim's expression.

The same fox-like calm.

The same alertness.

The same expression of a person waiting for timing to do its work.

Ayaan pointed a finger at him.

"If you're planning something stupid—"

Qasim spread his hands. "I am always planning something stupid."

"That is not reassuring."

"It wasn't meant to be."

Ayaan shook his head and went upstairs.

The room was quiet when he entered it.

His own space carried that same unfinished atmosphere as the rest of the house, though it felt more private now. More settled. A little less temporary. The lamp near the bed was on low, and the folded black bag he had left earlier sat near the wardrobe.

Inside that bag—tucked beneath a folder of notes and one of his planning pages—was the pink diary.

The one he had meant to open.

The one he had found behind the cabinet.

The one he had not touched again because the house had asked for too much of his attention, and because nights had been long, and because guests had filled every corner of the day until the diary had been pushed to the back of his mind.

He saw the bag.

He saw the corner of the notebook's soft color through the opening.

And then, just as quickly, did not think about it again.

Because Qasim was being strange.

Because the guests still needed checking.

Because the night was not over yet.

Because the house was full of people who needed him to keep things steady.

He pulled off his shirt and moved to freshen up.

A quick wash.

Cold water over his face.

A moment to clear his head.

When he returned, he stood in front of the wardrobe and looked at the clothes hanging there.

For a few seconds, he just stared.

Then his hand reached for a black shalwar kameez.

Simple and clean.

The fabric was smooth under his fingers as he dressed.

He rolled the sleeves up once his arms were through.

Then again until they sat where he liked them.

The room reflected him back in the mirror after that.

Quiet, black and composed.

Ayaan adjusted the collar lightly and looked at himself for a second longer than necessary.

Then turned away.

He didn't know why he picked black.

He only knew that it felt right.

When he came back downstairs, the living room was different.

Not drastically.

Just enough.

The light had been adjusted slightly.

The room was dimmer now and warmer.

Qasim was still there.

Of course he was.

And this time, there were other people in the room too.

Ayaan saw Alia first.

And then Zoya.

And then Zaria.

The three of them sat in the living room as if the room had always belonged to them and always would.

Zoya was close to her mother, one arm lightly resting behind Zaria's shoulder in that quiet, protective way sisters did when one of them was trying not to show too much emotion.

Alia sat upright, hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression careful and unreadable at first glance.

But Ayaan saw it instantly.

The shame.

The embarrassment.

The strange, heavy kind of regret that makes a person hold themselves more stiffly than normal because they are trying not to fall apart in public.

Her eyes lifted toward him.

And then dropped just as quickly.

Ayaan slowed.

Something in the room shifted at the exact same time.

The movement of everyone else seemed to dim around one detail only.

The gold ring.

On a thin gold chain around Zaria's neck.

It rested just above her collarbone.

Small.

Quiet.

Almost innocent.

But the second Ayaan saw it, his entire body went still.

Not because it was pretty.

Not because it was old.

Because he knew it.

He knew it before his mind fully caught up with his eyes.

His mother's ring.

The family heirloom, passed down quietly through generations—from his great-great-grandmother to each daughter-in-law who came after her.

The one he had seen on her finger when he was younger.

The one his mother used to wear with care.

The one that had been placed in his hands on the day of his nikah—given by him to her as her mahr.

He could still remember the way her small fingers had closed around it, careful and shy, as if she knew even then that it was something precious.He remembered the way she had looked at him afterward, quiet and wide-eyed, like she did not fully understand the weight of the moment but still understood enough to hold it close.He remembered thinking, even then, that if anything in this world deserved to stay with her forever, it was that ring.

The one that was never meant to leave her.

Ayaan's breath stopped.

Just once.

For one held moment that felt too long.

His eyes fixed on it.

Then moved slowly to the woman wearing it.

His chest tightened.

The black shalwar kameez suddenly felt too still against him.

Too tight.

Too real.

Because he knew that face too.

Not fully yet.

Not in the first second.

But enough.

Enough that his heart had already begun to shake before his mind finished forming the shape of the truth.

And Zaria—

Zaria had been looking at him already.

At first she only saw the black clothes.

The familiar posture.

The calm way he had entered the room.

Then his voice reached her.

He had said something to Qasim first—something low and quiet, a simple question about whether there was anything else needed before the room settled for the night.

That voice.

That exact tone.

It passed through her like a shock so small that it almost went unnoticed.

Almost.

But not quite.

Her head lifted slowly.

Very slowly.

And then her eyes found his face.

At first she only stared.

Then her breathing changed.

Then the color in her face shifted.

Then came the recognition, not all at once, but in waves.

Voice first.

Then posture.

Then eyes.

Then the unbearable certainty of it.

Her lips parted slightly.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the sofa.

And then she understood.

Ayaan saw it happening to her in real time.

He saw the moment the pieces started to fall together inside her.

The way her eyes sharpened.

The way her lower lip trembled just a little.

The way her shoulders locked so suddenly that Zoya's hand tightened immediately on her arm.

The way her throat moved as she swallowed.

The way she looked at him as if she were seeing a ghost and a memory and a prayer all at once.

Ayaan could not move.

Not right away.

He simply stood there.

Staring.

The room had gone quiet.

Even Qasim had stopped talking.

Ayaan looked from the ring to her face and back again.

His eyes widened by just a fraction.

And then—

something deep and painful pulled through his chest.

He knew.

He knew exactly what that ring was.

He knew exactly whose it was.

His fingers twitched at his side.

His throat tightened.

His eyes stung.

And before he could say a single word, Zaria whispered his name.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just a breath.

Just enough.

"Ayaan…"

The sound of his name from her mouth shattered the last of whatever control he had been carrying.

Because that's exactly what her voice it.

It was not the voice of a stranger.

It was not the voice of someone he had lost fully.

It was her voice.

The one he had carried in the quiet parts of himself for too long.

The one he had remembered in fragments.

The one that had haunted every empty place in him for years.

Ayaan took one step.

Then another.

Not fast.

Not certain.

Just enough to prove to himself that she was truly there.

Her eyes filled instantly.

Tears gathered too quickly, as if they had been waiting a long time for permission.

By the time he reached her, she was already crying.

So was he.

He didn't try to hide it.

Not this time.

Not now.

He reached her and lifted both hands to her face, and the second his fingers touched her skin, his own hands trembled.

Really trembled.

As if his body was only now understanding the weight of what was happening.

Zaria's lips parted with a tiny, broken breath.

Ayaan looked at her.

Really looked.

And his eyes filled even more.

It was her.

It was truly her.

His precise 'Gurdya.'

His 'Zaria Fatima.'

After all that time.

After all those roads.

After all that silence.

It was her.

He cupped her face gently, as if any roughness might break the moment.

His thumbs brushed over her cheeks.

Her tears.

The wetness that kept slipping faster than she could wipe them away.

And his own tears were falling now too, silent and helpless.

He wiped her tears away with the pad of his thumb.

Once.

Then again.

The gesture was so familiar it almost hurt to do it.

Because he had done it before.

Years ago.

When she was smaller.

When she was frightened.

When she had hidden her face in his chest or clung to his arm or tried not to cry in front of him and failed anyway.

He had always done the same thing then too.

Wipe the tears away.

Tell her to breathe.

Tell her she was safe.

Tell her he was here.

And because the muscle memory lived deeper than time, he did it now without thinking.

His forehead lowered for a second as he looked at her through tears.

Then, slowly, gently, he kissed her forehead.

Just once.

Soft.

Protective.

The same way he used to calm her when she cried.

The same way he used to tell her, without words, that she was not alone.

Zaria closed her eyes the second his lips touched her skin.

A broken sound left her throat.

Zoya stood up at once, tears already in her own eyes, and moved to support her sister before Zaria's knees could even think about giving way.

Alia had already gone very still.

Her face had gone pale with shame.

She looked at Ayaan, then at Zaria, then back at the floor.

It was all there in her expression.

The regret.

The guilt.

The realization that had come too late and too hard.

And Qasim—

Qasim finally stood up from the couch with a quiet breath.

His face no longer carried the same teasing ease from earlier.

Now it was steady.

Serious.

Still.

He looked at Ayaan for a long second.

Then at Alia.

Then said, quietly, "I told you."

Alia shut her eyes.

Her shoulders trembled once.

Not enough for a collapse.

Just enough to show the shame she had been carrying before words ever arrived.

"I didn't know," she whispered.

Her voice cracked on the second word.

"I didn't know how much—"

She stopped.

Couldn't finish.

Zoya held her sister tighter, tears still sliding down her own face now.

Qasim inhaled slowly and turned slightly toward Alia.

Then he said the thing he had been holding back for far too long.

"I didn't tell anyone because I know him."

His voice was quieter than before.

"He does not stop once he decides something."

Ayaan didn't look away from Zaria.

Qasim kept speaking.

"The last time he went looking for her, he drove like a man with no sense left in his head. He took risks that should have killed him. Twice he ended up in the hospital. Once because he went without sleeping, once because he refused to listen, and once because he nearly tore himself apart trying to find a lead that wasn't even real."

Ayaan's jaw tightened slightly.

Not because he denied it.

Because he couldn't.

Qasim looked at Alia now.

"Do you understand why I didn't tell him sooner?"

Alia covered her mouth with one hand, eyes shining with tears she was trying hard not to let fall.

The shame on her face deepened.

Not because Qasim had accused her.

But because she knew now.

Too late.

She knew how much had been taken.

How much had been left unresolved.

How much had been allowed to rot in silence.

"I thought…" she began, then stopped.

Her hand lowered slowly.

"I thought I was protecting her."

No one answered.

Because there was no easy answer for that.

Ayaan's fingers were still on Zaria's face.

He hadn't let go.

He just couldn't.

And he wouldn't—

No matter what happened.

He wiped another tear from her cheek.

Then another.

And Zaria finally spoke, voice trembling so hard it almost broke apart.

"You're real."

Ayaan's throat tightened painfully.

He nodded once.

"I'm here."

Her eyes searched his face.

Like she still couldn't believe what they were seeing.

"You're really here."

He smiled then.

Not fully.

Not cleanly.

It trembled at the edges.

But it was enough to show that he was trying.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I'm here."

Zaria's lips trembled.

Then she made the smallest broken sound and leaned forward only slightly, as if she wanted to step closer but didn't trust her own legs or her own tears.

Ayaan answered that hesitation by bringing her forehead gently back toward his chest for one second, then lifting his hand to her hairline as he used to do so.

Slow, tender and familiar.

The room stayed silent around them.

Even Qasim was quiet now.

Zoya had tears on both cheeks and Alia looked like she might finally collapse under the weight of what she had missed.

Ayaan kept his eyes on Zaria.

On her tears.

On her trembling mouth.

On the gold ring resting against the chain at her neck.

His mother's ring.

His family's ring.

On her.

And for the first time in years, the thing he had carried without touch or proof was standing in front of him with tears in her eyes and his name on her lips.

Still the same.

Still her.

Still him.

And the room, for once, had nothing left to hide.

Not anymore.

But it also had not yet decided what came after that.

And so no one moved.

No one spoke.

They only stood there in the quiet, with all the years between them suddenly reduced to a single trembling moment that felt too small for what it carried.

And maybe that was the cruelest part.

Because after all that time, the first thing they had to learn again was how to breathe in the same room again.

The silence stayed for a moment longer after that.

No one rushed to fill it.

No one wanted to be the first one to make the wrong sound and break something that was already trembling on its own.

Ayaan's hands were still on Zaria's face.

He had not let go yet.

Not because he did not know how.

Because the moment felt too fragile to touch less carefully than this.

Zaria's tears kept slipping down her cheeks, quiet and unstoppable and Ayaan wiped them again and again with the same slow gentleness, his thumb moving once across her skin as if he was trying to reassure both of them that she was real and he was not imagining her.

Zoya was the first one to move.

She let out a shaky breath and reached for her sister's shoulder, grounding her before her knees could decide to give up on her.

"Sit down," Zoya whispered softly, her own eyes wet. "You're shaking."

Zaria did not answer right away.

She was staring at Ayaan like she was still trying to make the shape of him fit into the memory she had carried for years.

And Ayaan—

Ayaan was doing the same.

He looked at her as if any blink might cost him the proof that she was standing there at all.

Qasim, who had been watching all of this in the quiet way he always did when something mattered too much for him to joke immediately, cleared his throat once.

It was a tiny sound.

But it was enough.

Enough to remind the room that there were still other people in it.

Enough to keep the moment from swallowing everyone whole.

Ayaan didn't turn.

He still could not quite bring himself to look away from her.

Qasim, seeing that, gave the smallest shake of his head and muttered, "Yaar, at least let the rest of us breathe too."

The line was light.

Carefully so.

But it cut through the tension just enough for Zoya to let out a watery laugh.

Not a full one.

Just enough to stop herself from crying harder.

Ayaan finally looked toward Qasim, though his hands remained where they were, still cupping Zaria's face.

His expression was not fully annoyed.

Too much had happened for annoyance to exist cleanly now.

But there was the faintest look in his eyes that said he had heard the comment and would choose to deal with it later.

Qasim noticed, and of course that only made him more pleased with himself.

He shifted one hand into his pocket and nodded toward Ayaan with an exaggerated expression of innocence.

"What?" he said. "I'm helping. You two have been staring at each other like the rest of us are furniture."

Zaria's lips trembled again, but this time the corner of her mouth moved too, almost like she wanted to smile and cry at the same time and did not know which one to choose.

Ayaan's hands lowered only slightly.

Just enough to brush once against her jaw before falling away.

He still did not step back.

Neither did she.

Her tears had slowed, but her face remained damp, flushed, and trembling with the effort of holding herself together.

Ayaan looked at her for another second.

Then, very carefully, like he was still afraid she might vanish if he moved too quickly, he reached out and adjusted the chain around her neck.

His thumb stopped on the ring.

His mother's ring.

His ring.

The mahr he had given her.

The piece of family that had once rested between them like a promise.

His eyes lowered to it for a moment, and something in his face changed again—something deeper, quieter, almost painful.

Zaria noticed.

Of course she noticed.

Her fingers rose, almost unconsciously, to cover the ring as if she was suddenly aware of just how much it meant.

Her voice came out thin.

"I kept it."

Ayaan looked back up at her.

He did not need to ask what she meant.

"I know."

The words were soft.

But they landed heavily.

Zaria's tears returned at once.

She looked like she was trying not to fall apart again, and failing only because she had already held herself together for too long in the wrong places.

Alia had been standing a little behind them, her face pale, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low and full of a shame that had nowhere to go.

"I am sorry."

No one answered immediately.

Not because her apology was unimportant.

Because it was too small for what had been done.

Too late for what had been lost.

Too human for a moment that had already crossed into something much bigger than blame.

Ayaan turned his head slowly toward her.

He did not look angry.

That was somehow worse.

Because anger could have been argued with.

Anger could have been defended against.

This was just pain that had learned how to stand still.

He looked at Alia for a long second.

Then his voice came, calm but edged with years.

"You should have said something."

Alia closed her eyes.

The shame on her face deepened.

Zoya tightened her hold on Zaria's shoulder and looked away, not because she did not want to see it, but because she could not bear to watch her mother break under words that had been waiting too long.

Qasim, sensing the room beginning to tilt again, stepped forward with the kind of timing only he could manage.

He pointed at Ayaan with one hand and said, "See? This is why I didn't let anyone tell him anything too soon. He's already dramatic when he's calm."

Ayaan turned toward him now with a look that was finally, properly annoyed.

Qasim saw it and immediately lifted both hands.

"What? I'm trying to help the atmosphere."

"You are making it worse."

"I am making it survivable."

"You are making it loud."

"It's already too loud."

Ayaan's eyes narrowed slightly.

Qasim, far too pleased with himself, kept going.

"You've been walking around this whole week looking like a man who had decided not to feel anything. Then suddenly you walk in, see the ring, and now you're standing here like the world gave you back a missing limb. Forgive me for not treating this like a quiet tea party."

Zaria made a small sound that was half laugh and half sob.

Zoya covered her mouth again.

Even Alia, despite her guilt, looked like she was struggling not to react to Qasim's ridiculousness.

Ayaan shook his head once, slow and tired.

"You talk too much."

Qasim nodded with complete confidence. "And yet somehow I'm still useful."

That earned the tiniest exhale from Ayaan.

Almost a laugh.

Almost.

Qasim saw it anyway.

Of course he did.

That same fox-like sharpness sat on his face now, but beneath it there was something relieved too.

Something hidden.

Something that said he had been carrying this moment for longer than anyone else in the room knew.

He looked toward Zaria then, and his voice softened a little.

"Sit down," he told her gently. "You're going to make yourself dizzy."

Zaria seemed to hear him only vaguely at first.

Her eyes were still on Ayaan.

Still searching him.

Still trying to understand how years of absence could suddenly collapse into a single room and not destroy them both in the process.

Ayaan noticed the way she was trembling.

So he did the one thing that had always steadied her before.

He stepped closer.

Not much.

Just enough.

And then, with the same care he had used when she was younger and frightened and trying not to cry in front of everyone else, he lifted her into his arms.

It was so instinctive that neither of them seemed to fully register it at first.

The motion was familiar.

Immediate.

Just like before, when she had been smaller and softer in his arms, when carrying her had once felt as natural as breathing.

Zaria made a tiny broken sound as he lifted her, more startled by the suddenness than by the contact itself, but she did not resist. She never did. Not with him. Not when his arms were around her like this.

Ayaan carried her toward the couch as if she weighed nothing at all, as if time had not passed, as if no years had gone by between then and now. He seated her gently, carefully, before lowering himself beside her without fully letting go of the moment.

Then, because being this close and still apart felt wrong in a way he could not explain, he sat down with her — right beside her — so they could stay together.

So he could stay with her.

Zaria's breathing shook once. Her tears had not stopped, only slowed, and now they fell more quietly, one after another, as if her body had finally accepted that he was real.

Ayaan sat beside her and looked at her for a long moment, his eyes still wet, his face still too full of something fragile to name.

Then he turned to Alia.

His expression was still controlled, but there was something in his eyes now that made the guilt on her face seem even heavier.

"You should sit too," he said.

Alia obeyed silently.

Not because she was calm.

Because she had no strength left to resist anything.

Qasim glanced around at all of them and muttered, "Good. Everyone is finally sitting. I was beginning to think this was going to turn into a courtroom."

Ayaan looked at him sharply. "It already feels like one."

"Then I'm the judge," Qasim said, completely unbothered.

"You are not qualified."

"No one asked for qualifications."

Ayaan looked at him with tired disbelief, the kind that had no strength left for anything dramatic.

"Leave qualifications," he said dryly, "you can't even decide what to wear on your own wedding. How are you going to judge other people?"

Qasim stared at him for half a second personally offended.

Then lifted a hand and pointed at him as if Ayaan had just committed a personal offense.

"That was uncalled for."

"It was accurate."

"It was rude."

"It was true."

Qasim leaned back against the wall, offended on the principle now. "You people are impossible."

Ayaan's expression did not change. "You started it."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

Qasim made a face. "I was trying to lighten the mood."

"You were trying to annoy me."

"That too."

Ayaan looked at him for another second, then shook his head slightly as if he had already accepted that this was simply how Qasim functioned.

Qasim, still pretending to be deeply wounded, added, "For your information, I would make a very respectable judge."

"You would make a very suspicious one."

"Honestly that sounds better."

"It really doesn't."

Zoya gave a wet laugh she clearly did not mean to make.

It startled her enough that she pressed her lips together immediately afterward, embarrassed by the sound.

But Ayaan had heard it.

And the smallest flicker of warmth crossed his face before disappearing again.

The room was beginning to breathe again.

Not naturally.

Not easily.

But enough.

Enough for the first shock to start loosening its grip.

Enough for tears to quiet into shaky breaths.

Enough for people to look at one another without feeling like the world might split apart.

Qasim leaned one shoulder against the wall and looked at Ayaan with that same amused patience he used when he was about to make things worse in the kindest possible way.

"So," he said, "you still planning to sit there like a statue, or are you going to act like a normal human being and say something?"

Ayaan gave him a long look.

Then, without taking his eyes fully off Zaria, he stayed seated beside her.

Close enough to be near.

Not so close as to overwhelm.

Zaria's eyes followed him the entire way, even though he was already beside her.

She seemed to relax by one impossible fraction.

Ayaan noticed it.

Of course he did.

The discovery seemed to affect him more than it should have.

His hand rested against his knee.

The other, for a brief second, moved toward the chain at her neck again before he stopped himself.

Not because he wanted to stop.

Because if he touched her too much right now, he was not certain he would be able to let go again.

Qasim watched the two of them for a second, then sighed dramatically and looked toward the ceiling.

"I hate all of you," he announced, though he sounded absolutely nothing like it.

Zoya wiped at her cheeks and glared weakly at him. "You are the reason this happened."

"I am the reason this happened properly."

"You are enjoying this too much."

"I am enjoying that nobody fainted."

That almost got another laugh out of Zoya.

Almost.

Ayaan looked at Qasim again, and this time the annoyance in his eyes was more visible.

"Were you always this unbearable?"

Qasim smiled. "Yes."

"That is a problem."

"It's a gift."

"It's a flaw."

"It's a personality."

Ayaan exhaled.

Then, in the exact tone that had been missing all evening and somehow now returned just enough to make the others feel it too, he said, "You are lucky she is here."

Qasim paused.

Then grinned.

"Oh, definitely."

Zaria lowered her eyes at that, her lashes still wet.

Ayaan saw the movement and his expression softened at once.

He reached out then, but only to brush a tear from her cheek again, slow and careful.

The touch made her eyes close.

And the room, strangely, went quiet again.

Not empty.

Just softer.

Like everyone understood they had moved to a part of the night that no longer needed noise.

And the silence held for a few seconds after that was not the kind that felt empty.

But instead it was the kind that felt full.

Full of tears that had not finished falling. Full of words that had not yet found their way out. Full of all the years that had gone by without anyone in the room being able to name them properly.

Zoya was the first one to look down, still trying to hide the smile that had almost escaped her. Alia sat very still, her hands folded tightly in her lap, her face carrying that same shame and sorrow Ayaan had seen when he first walked in. Zaria sat between them like someone caught in the middle of a storm that had finally stopped moving long enough for her to breathe.

Ayaan stayed seated beside her.

Close and quiet.

Still not fully trusting the fact that she was real.

His hand rested on his knee, but every part of him remained aware of her. Of the way her breathing still trembled. Of the way her fingers kept touching the chain at her neck as if the ring there was the only thing keeping her grounded.

He looked at her once.

Then again.

And every time he did, his chest tightened in that same painful, unreal way.

Qasim watched all of them for a moment from where he leaned against the wall. His face had the usual look of a man enjoying a scene a little too much, but beneath it there was something gentler now. Something quieter. He had done the hard part already. He had opened the door. He had let the truth in. Now he was letting it settle.

Then, because Qasim could never survive a serious moment without trying to drag it sideways, he cleared his throat.

Everyone looked at him at once.

He straightened slightly, then lifted both brows with a look that was entirely too innocent for the words that followed.

"So…" he said slowly, looking from Ayaan to Zaria and back again, "what now? Will you two sleep together now or what?"

The room froze.

It happened so suddenly that even the silence seemed startled by it.

Ayaan turned his head so fast it almost looked dangerous.

Zoya's eyes widened first.

Alia's entire face changed into something between horror and disbelief.

And Zaria—

Zaria went bright red instantly.

Her cheeks flushed so quickly that even in the soft lighting of the room it was impossible not to notice. She jerked her head up in shock, eyes wide, mouth falling open just a little as if she could not believe Qasim had actually said something so outrageous out loud.

For one full second, nobody spoke.

Then Ayaan stared at Qasim with a look so flat and so offended that it could have frozen water.

Qasim, of course, only looked more pleased with himself.

"What?" he asked, spreading one hand as if he had asked a reasonable question. "It's a practical concern."

Ayaan's eyes narrowed.

"Practical?"

Qasim nodded, completely unbothered. "Yes. Very practical."

Zoya made a small choking sound and immediately turned her face away, her hand flying to her mouth. She was trying not to laugh. Trying very hard not to laugh. Trying and failing just enough to make the whole room even more chaotic.

Alia looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor.

Zaria, meanwhile, seemed to have forgotten how to function properly. Her face was burning now, her eyes darting helplessly from Qasim to Ayaan and back again, as if there had to be some mistake, some way to undo the last five seconds of her life.

Ayaan slowly leaned back against the couch.

His expression remained cold.

Dangerously calm.

"Are you out of your mind?" he asked Qasim.

Qasim blinked. "That's a very rude way to respond to concern."

Ayaan's gaze did not move.

"You have no concern. You have a problem."

Qasim pressed a hand to his chest again. "I'm wounded."

"You should be."

Zoya made the mistake of looking at Ayaan when he said it, and whatever half-smile she had been trying to keep inside broke completely. A soft laugh escaped her, then another, and she covered her face immediately, mortified all over again.

Ayaan heard that too, but this time his expression only softened by a tiny amount before he turned his attention back to Qasim.

Qasim pointed at him. "See? Even she thinks this is funny."

Zaria looked like she might actually melt into the couch.

Her blush only deepened.

Her hands tightened around the edge of the cushion as she looked anywhere except at Ayaan. That, more than anything else, made the whole thing even more unbearable for her.

Not because she was angry—

Though she might have been but just a little

But because Qasim had said it with that wild, careless ease of his, and because Ayaan was sitting right there beside her, and because all she could think about was the ridiculousness of being caught in a question she had no idea how to answer.

Ayaan noticed her embarrassment instantly.

Of course he did.

The sharp edge in his expression didn't disappear, but his gaze moved to her for a second, and whatever irritation he had for Qasim softened just enough to keep the room from falling apart again.

He said, low and deadly, "You will stop talking now."

Qasim raised both eyebrows. "Or what?"

Ayaan looked at him for a long second.

Then, completely calm and said, "Or I'll throw you out of your own house."

That made Zoya snort, which only made her blush harder when she realized she had made another noise.

Qasim, however, only grinned wider.

"You say that like I wouldn't come back in through the kitchen."

"You would," Ayaan said flatly.

"I definitely would."

"And that is why you should stop speaking."

Qasim tilted his head as if considering the warning. Then he looked at Zaria and added, in a tone that somehow made it even worse, "I'm just asking because I want to know if I should prepare the house properly. You know. Separate side or not."

That did it.

Zaria nearly buried her face in her hands.

Her blush was no longer just embarrassment—it was total helplessness. The kind that comes when a person realizes they are not going to survive a conversation with their dignity intact. Zoya leaned over instantly, trying and failing to hide her laughter behind her fingers.

Alia looked like she was in physical pain now.

Ayaan shut his eyes briefly.

When he opened them again, they were even more unimpressed than before.

"Qasim," he said, with the very dangerous calm of someone who had decided he would not be the only sane person left in the room, "if you do not sit down and be quiet, I will personally make sure you never speak at another family gathering again."

Qasim scoffed. "You can't threaten me with a good time."

Ayaan stared at him.

Qasim stared back.

Then, after one beat too many, he laughed under his breath and held up both hands.

"Fine. Fine. I'll behave."

"You should have done that earlier."

Qasim shrugged. "But then how would I have seen her reaction?"

At that, Zaria finally looked up, her face still red enough to prove that the damage was done.

Her eyes had gone wet again, but this time it was not from tears alone. It was from the sheer impossibility of having to sit there while Qasim acted like a menace and Ayaan looked half ready to murder him and half ready to protect her from the embarrassment of the entire room.

She opened her mouth, probably to say something, but nothing came out.

Ayaan noticed immediately.

His face softened.

Then he spoke, quieter now, the sharpness gone from his voice.

"Ignore him."

That did more than anything else.

Zaria's eyes flicked toward him.

And for a moment, just one moment, she stopped looking embarrassed and started looking overwhelmed in a much smaller way.

Less like she wanted to disappear and more like she had finally remembered he was still him, still gentle under all of this, still capable of making her feel less alone even when she was flustered beyond the reason.

Qasim, seeing that the scene had become too emotionally tender again, sighed dramatically and clapped his hands once.

"Alright," he announced. "I've done my part. The rest is on you two."

Ayaan gave him a warning look.

Which Qasim ignored it.

Then, with total confidence and not even a hint of shame, he added, "Though honestly, I think I deserve credit for making this room more lively."

Zoya laughed again, this time into her hand, and even Alia's expression shifted slightly—still embarrassed, still ashamed, but now touched by the simple fact that the room was no longer falling apart into silence.

Ayaan's lips twitched.

Just slightly.

He looked down at Zaria for a second, and his voice when he spoke to her this time was much softer.

"You're red."

Zaria's face somehow got redder.

That, unfortunately, made Qasim nearly choke on his own breath from laughter.

Ayaan looked up at him immediately.

Qasim lifted a finger in surrender. "I said I'd behave. I never said I wouldn't enjoy myself."

Ayaan leaned back against the couch again and muttered, almost to himself, "This is a disaster."

But it was not a disaster.

Not really.

Not anymore.

The embarrassment remained, yes.

The shock remained, yes.

The emotional weight remained, yes.

But now the room had started to breathe again, and if Qasim had to be ridiculous for that to happen, then perhaps it was worth enduring for another few minutes.

Zaria lowered her eyes, still blushing hard, and Ayaan's gaze lingered on her with something like disbelief and affection and the faint ache of having her close again after so long.

No one spoke for a moment.

And strangely enough, that silence was softer than the last one.

Qasim looked from one face to the other, clearly satisfied with the amount of damage he had caused, and muttered under his breath, "Yeah… definitely better than crying in silence."

Ayaan heard him.

Of course he did.

He turned his head slowly.

Qasim pretended not to notice.

And Zaria, still red-faced and overwhelmed, let out the smallest breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

The sound was barely there.

But it was enough.

Enough to loosen something in the room that had been held too tightly for too long.

Zoya noticed it first and reached over at once, brushing her fingers lightly against her sister's arm like she was reminding her to stay grounded. Zaria lowered her gaze immediately afterward, still too embarrassed to look up properly, but the corner of her mouth still trembled as if it was trying to decide whether it had permission to smile.

Ayaan noticed that too.

Of course he did.

Because he noticed everything about her.

Every single detail.

He looked at her for one second longer than he should have, then said in that flat, impossibly dry tone of his, "You're reacting like Qasim asked something illegal."

Zaria's head snapped up.

Her eyes widened.

It was such an immediate, startled reaction that even Zoya turned to him.

Ayaan, completely unbothered, leaned back against the couch and added, "He asked a ridiculous question. That is not the same thing."

Qasim let out a quiet offended noise. "Excuse me?"

Ayaan didn't even look at him.

"Yes?"

Qasim stared at him, then at Zaria, then back at him. "You always speak like this?"

Ayaan's expression stayed calm. "Only when someone forces me to."

Zaria blinked once, clearly caught between embarrassment and disbelief.

It was the way he said it.

Which was so much dry and so much blunt.

So completely unlike the soft, trembling version of him she had just seen a few moments ago that it made her stare at him like she was trying to figure out whether she had imagined the whole thing.

Ayaan caught that look immediately.

His eyes moved to her face.

Then he said, in the same level tone, "What?"

Zaria looked away at once, cheeks heating up all over again.

Qasim, who had clearly recovered from being called a menace, gave a dramatic sigh and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Look at this," he muttered. "I finally give everyone a nice emotional moment and he starts acting like the villain."

Ayaan glanced at him. "You are the villain here not me."

Qasim looked personally wounded. "I am not."

"You asked whether they were going to sleep together."

"That was a practical question."

"No, it wasn't."

"It was."

Ayaan's brows rose slightly. "Was it necessary?"

Qasim nodded instantly. "Very."

"For what?"

"For my peace of mind."

Ayaan stared at him for a long second.

Then said, "You don't have a peace of mind. You just have a habit of making everyone else lose theirs."

Zoya gave another small breath that almost turned into a laugh.

This time she actually looked down and covered her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking once.

Zaria, still red and trying very hard not to look at anyone, finally muttered, "You both are impossible."

Ayaan turned toward her.

For a moment, the room went quiet again.

Then he looked at her and said, "That's rich coming from someone who nearly burned her face off just now."

Zaria looked up so fast it nearly looked like she had been hit by the words.

Ayaan's face remained perfectly neutral.

Not cruel.

Not mocking.

Just dry.

Too dry.

"W-what?" Zaria asked, still staring at him.

Ayaan shifted his gaze to the ring at her neck for the briefest second, then back to her face.

"You were red."

Zaria froze.

Zoya pressed a hand over her mouth again, this time failing completely to hold back the laugh that escaped her.

Qasim immediately pointed at Ayaan like he had just won some hidden war.

"There," he said. "There it is. That's the Ayaan I know."

Ayaan gave him a flat look. "I was always here."

Qasim snorted. "Not that part of you."

Ayaan's mouth twitched once.

Barely.

Then he looked back at Zaria, who was still sitting there with wide eyes and an expression that clearly said wait, what?

It was almost enough to make him soften.

Almost.

Instead he added, with absolute calm, "You looked like you were about to pass out."

Zaria opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Then stared at him in total disbelief.

Qasim burst out laughing.

Zoya lost it too, burying her face against her hand as her shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

Even Alia, though still looking deeply embarrassed and regretful, covered the lower half of her face and exhaled a small, helpless sound that might have been the beginning of a smile.

Zaria looked from one face to another, completely betrayed by the room.

Then turned back to Ayaan as if he had personally ruined her life.

"You're unbelievable," she said, her voice small but mortified.

Ayaan looked at her with perfect seriousness.

"No. I'm observant."

Qasim nearly choked on his own laughter.

Zaria stared harder.

The flush on her face deepened again, but this time there was something else in it too—something confused and startled, like she was trying to reconcile this dry, sharp-tongued version of him with the man who had just been holding her face with trembling hands and wiping away her tears like he had done it a thousand times before.

Ayaan saw the confusion in her expression.

He did not give her the mercy of explaining it.

Instead he turned slightly toward Qasim and said, "If you are done embarrassing people for tonight, you can start escorting them to their rooms."

Qasim blinked. "Me?"

Ayaan raised one brow. "You live here."

"That does not make me a host."

"It makes you responsible."

Qasim stared at him in pure disbelief for a second, then pointed at himself. "After all I've done for you tonight, you're really going to talk to me like that?"

Ayaan looked at him calmly. "You haven't done anything for me tonight."

Qasim's jaw dropped in exaggerated offense.

"Excuse me?"

"You've caused problems."

"I created memorable moments."

"You created noise."

"That's not fair."

"It is."

Qasim looked at Zaria as if asking for backup.

Zaria, still red and still trying to recover, lowered her gaze immediately the second he looked at her.

That only made Qasim more interested.

"Oh, no," he said, grinning now. "Don't hide. He's the one who said it. You should look at him like he offended the laws of nature."

Zaria's face changed again, and this time she made the mistake of actually looking at Ayaan.

Ayaan met her gaze without blinking.

Then, in the driest tone imaginable, said, "If you keep reacting like that, I'll start thinking you're afraid of me."

The room stopped for half a second.

Zaria's eyes widened.

Then she gasped softly, not because he had said anything terrible.

But because the way he said it made it sound like he was half serious and half teasing and she was not prepared for either.

Ayaan held her gaze for one more beat.

Then added, "I'm not that intimidating."

Qasim made a strange sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a protest. "That is a lie."

Ayaan ignored him.

Zaria looked at him like she had just discovered a completely different side of him and was not sure whether to be offended or amused.

"Not intimidating?" she repeated.

Ayaan shrugged one shoulder.

"No."

Qasim barked a laugh. "He says that while looking like he can end a conversation with one word."

Ayaan turned to him. "You're still talking."

"I am recovering."

"You should recover quietly."

Qasim threw his head back in mock despair.

Zoya's laughter softened into a smile now, and even Alia seemed a little less weighed down by the emotional shock of the evening.

The room was changing again.

Not into something loud.

Just into something easier to survive.

Qasim straightened up and clapped his hands once.

"Alright," he said. "Enough of this. People are tired."

Ayaan glanced around the room.

He did not look tired.

But his eyes certainly did.

Zaria looked worn out too, though she was trying very hard not to let it show.

Qasim noticed that immediately, because of course he did.

He pointed toward her first.

"You," he said. "You are going to your room before you fall asleep sitting up and embarrass us all."

Zaria looked at him in disbelief. "Me?"

"Yes, you."

She looked at Ayaan instinctively, as if half expecting him to say something.

He did.

"Qasim is right for once."

Qasim snapped his head toward him. "For once?"

Ayaan looked at him expressionlessly. "Don't push your luck."

Zaria stared at Ayaan again.

The same thought seemed to cross her face all over again.

Wait what?

He had said it so plainly.

So easily.

As if his kindness could be wrapped in a knife of dry remarks and still land exactly where it was meant to.

She looked almost stunned by it.

Ayaan saw that too.

His gaze lingered for a second, then he looked away first, as if he did not want to make her more conscious of herself than she already was.

Qasim, meanwhile, was enjoying everything.

He turned toward Zoya and Alia.

"You two as well," he said, with unusual gentleness hidden under his usual chaos. "Go sleep. We've done enough family trauma for one night."

Alia's expression tightened again for a moment, but she nodded quietly.

Zoya stood first, still a little flushed from laughing, and held her sister lightly by the arm.

Zaria rose more slowly.

She was still embarrassed.

Still overwhelmed.

Still unable to quite meet Ayaan's eyes for more than a second at a time.

But she stood.

And when she did, Ayaan automatically shifted half a step forward like his body still did not trust distance around her.

Zaria noticed.

Of course she did.

Her eyes flicked up to his face again, and he caught that soft confusion there once more.

He said, very quietly, "What now?"

Zaria blinked.

Then immediately looked away as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn't.

Qasim saw it and nearly lost his mind all over again.

"Oh, this is too good," he said, grinning. "He says one thing and she looks like she's being personally attacked."

Ayaan didn't even look at him this time.

"I'm beginning to understand why no one likes you."

Qasim gasped. "No one?"

"Very brave of you to assume otherwise."

Zoya actually laughed this time, one hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking again.

Zaria looked at Ayaan with that same stunned expression, and this time there was even a tiny bit of helpless amusement buried inside it.

He had no idea what to do with that look, so he simply said, "Stop staring at me like I've done something wrong."

Zaria's eyes widened.

Qasim pointed at him immediately. "See? There. He's bullying her already."

"I am not bullying her."

"You are absolutely bullying her."

Ayaan's gaze moved slowly toward Qasim.

Then he said, very calmly, "If I were bullying anyone, you would know."

That made Qasim stop.

Just for a second.

Then he laughed again, louder this time.

"Oh, that was cold."

Ayaan looked away. "I know."

Zaria stared at him for one beat longer, then turned her face quickly so he wouldn't catch her smile when it appeared.

Too late.

He already did catch it.

But he did not say anything.

But something in his expression changed just slightly, as if the sight had landed somewhere softer than his words ever would.

Qasim noticed that too, and because he could not survive seeing anything tender without disturbing it, he sighed and waved a hand toward the hallway.

"Go on," he said. "Before he starts getting even more dramatic."

Ayaan turned to him immediately. "I'm standing right here."

"Yes," Qasim said. "And it's exhausting."

Zaria let out another tiny breath, still shy, still overwhelmed, but no longer looking like she wanted to disappear into the floor.

Ayaan watched her for a second longer.

Then, in the same dry tone that had somehow become his weapon tonight, said, "You can go now. I'm not going to run away."

Zaria looked up at him.

Really looked.

And for a second, something in her face softened.

Not much.

Just enough to show she had heard the meaning under the words.

She gave the smallest nod.

Then followed Zoya toward the hallway.

Alia rose too, quieter than everyone else, her shame still sitting visibly on her shoulders.

Qasim waited until they were out of the room before looking back at Ayaan.

Then he grinned.

"Well," he said, "you were meaner than I expected."

Ayaan looked at him.

Then replied, "You were louder than necessary."

Qasim shrugged. "That is my gift."

"It is your problem."

"Same thing."

Ayaan exhaled through his nose.

Qasim stepped aside as if preparing to leave too, then paused and looked back toward the hallway where Zaria had gone.

Then back at Ayaan.

A familiar look flashed across his face—fox-like, sharp, calculating, but hidden under humor.

"You should probably not keep making her look at you like that."

Ayaan raised one brow. "Like what?"

Qasim grinned.

"Like she still doesn't know whether you're a husband, a menace, or both."

Ayaan stared at him for a long second.

Then, very flatly, said, "Leave."

Qasim laughed under his breath and lifted both hands in surrender.

"Alright, alright. Goodnight, yaar."

Ayaan turned slightly toward the hallway too, watching the direction Zaria had gone with that same quiet weight in his eyes.

Then he said, almost to himself, "Goodnight."

And for once, even Qasim did not tease him for the softness hidden inside it.