Two Houses, Two Worlds
The night stretched long and heavy, the city lights flickering like distant, mocking stars.
Ayan stepped into his mansion, the air inside just as cold as his demeanor. He tossed his coat carelessly onto the arm of a chair, loosening his tie with a sharp tug. His footsteps echoed against the marble, each one laced with the storm still brewing in his chest.
He poured himself a glass of whiskey, downed it in one burning gulp, and set the glass down harder than necessary on the bar counter. His jaw was still tight, his temples throbbing.
Why was she haunting him?
Her silence. That unshakable, suffocating silence.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, slamming his palm against the counter. "She didn't flinch. Not once. What kind of woman just… listens?!"
He paced his study, unable to shake the image of her bowed head, the way she didn't move even when he threw every cruel word he could at her. He lived in a world where people broke under pressure—where silence was a surrender. But her silence had been… different. Not surrender. Not defiance either. Just… something he couldn't put into words.
Frustration wrapped itself tighter around him, and though his house was lavish, it felt strangely empty.
—
On the other side of the city, Y/N walked into her home quietly, her steps light, her posture as rigid as always. She held her purse strap the way she always did—fingers digging in until her knuckles turned white.
Her grandmother's voice floated from the sitting room, her father's sternness carried in the background, her mother's sharp commands lacing the air. The same old atmosphere. The same weight of being unseen.
She slipped past them like a shadow, no one even bothering to ask where she'd been.
Inside her room, she sat on the edge of her bed, eyes staring at the blank wall. No tears. No anger. No emotion at all. Just the scar on her hand catching the dim light, a reminder of the day.
She touched it absentmindedly, her face unreadable. To anyone, she looked like a statue—still, silent, indifferent. But deep inside, she was carrying the noise of every word thrown at her. She just didn't know how to let it out.
Her life had always been about silence. Today was no different.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The Ride That Wasn't Meant to Be
The sun was sinking behind the skyline, painting the city in streaks of gold and gray. The office parking area buzzed with chatter as employees left for the day, heels clicking against the pavement.
Y/N stood by the sleek black car, just where Ayan's mother had told her to wait. Her hands clutched her dupatta tight against her side, her body stiff with unease. To anyone watching, she looked like she was carved into the spot—motionless, silent, invisible in her own way.
Across the lot, a group of young women—office staff—noticed her. Whispers quickly turned into laughter.
"Isn't she the one from yesterday?" one of them sneered, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.
"Yeah, the poor mute girl who got chewed alive by Mr. Siddique. Didn't even say a word back. Like a puppet!" another giggled.
"She must think being quiet will make him like her. Pathetic."
"Or maybe she doesn't have a tongue at all," one added, and the whole group burst into mocking laughter.
Y/N's fingers tightened around her dupatta until her knuckles paled. But she didn't look up. Didn't defend herself. She just stood there, absorbing the sting of every word like she had done all her life. Silent. Still. A statue.
What she didn't know was that, across the parking lot, Ayan had stepped out from the building. His meeting had ended late, and irritation still burned in his veins. He had expected to see the same statue waiting by his car, and there she was. But what caught him was the group of girls circling her like hyenas.
He stopped, his sharp eyes narrowing.
And then—her silence. Again.
Not a word. Not even a flicker of defiance. Just that quiet endurance that gnawed at him more than the insults themselves.
The girls eventually walked off, laughing as though they had won some battle. Y/N didn't move, her hand still gripping her dupatta as if it were the only anchor keeping her upright.
Ayan finally strode forward, his expression unreadable. Not a word about what he'd seen left his lips. As though nothing had happened at all.
He unlocked the car, slid into the driver's seat, and adjusted the steering wheel with his usual cold precision.
"Get in," he ordered flatly.
Y/N obeyed, slipping into the passenger seat silently, her gaze fixed on her lap.
The engine purred to life, and the car pulled out of the parking lot.
Neither spoke. For her, this was nothing but a duty forced upon her parents' wish. For him, it was a pointless distraction he had been cornered into.
But destiny had already written otherwise.
What they both didn't know was that this drive—this silence—wasn't the end of anything. It was the beginning of something neither of them was prepared for.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The Collision of Silence and Arrogance
The traffic jam stretched endlessly. Cars honked in frustration, exhaust fumes rising thick into the evening air.
Y/N sat quietly in the passenger seat, her dupatta pooled in her lap, her gaze turned toward the roadside garden. A little girl was running in circles, her father chasing after her with a wide smile, both laughing freely.
For a moment, Y/N's heart squeezed. Why couldn't her own father ever look at her like that? Why had she only known silence and punishment instead of laughter and warmth?
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her face unreadable as always.
On the driver's side, Ayan tapped his fingers against the dashboard in an even rhythm—impatient, irritated, wanting nothing more than this charade to end. He caught her reflection in the window through his peripheral vision. Always so silent. Always so still. And somehow, that silence screamed louder than words ever could.
The cars finally started moving. Ayan shifted gears sharply, guiding the car back onto the road. His eyes caught on something up ahead—a young couple stealing a kiss on the sidewalk. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his eyebrow rising slightly.
Minutes later, he slowed the car and abruptly pulled it to the roadside.
Y/N stiffened, her fingers clutching her dupatta tighter.
He leaned in, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. His face moved closer, closer still, his words laced with mockery.
"I know your type," he murmured coldly. "Girls like you act innocent, hide behind silence, pretend you're different. But in the end, you only want one thing. This marriage. This family name. This wealth. Don't think your quiet act fools me."
The distance between them shrank until his breath brushed her cheek.
"Your silence… it's nothing but a mask."
Something in Y/N snapped. For the first time, she didn't just sit and listen.
She shoved him back firmly, her eyes flashing as they locked onto his. A glare so sharp, so dead, it froze him for a split second. Without a word, she pushed open the door and stepped out, her dupatta catching the night air as she strode away from the car.
Ayan exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes.
"Great," he muttered. "Just what I needed."
He stepped out, long strides catching up to her easily. His hand closed around her wrist, pulling her back.
Y/N twisted, trying to free herself, shaking her head in protest. Her movements were frantic, but he didn't relent. He dragged her back to the car with a cold, unbothered strength, ignoring her silent resistance.
The door clicked open, and before she could escape, he all but threw her back into the passenger seat. He slammed the door shut, leaned across to lock it, and returned to his side, expression carved from stone.
"Pathetic," he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You think glaring at me makes you strong? I've seen hundreds of girls like you. All the same. All pretending to be pure while playing their little games."
His words cut sharp, deliberately cheap, his tone taunting.
"You don't fool me, sweetheart. Silence or not, I know exactly what you're after."
Y/N's trembling hands fumbled at the lock, desperate to push it open. But the lock held steady, his control absolute.
Her chest rose and fell with silent frustration, but her eyes—cold, hurt, burning—stayed on him.
And for the first time, her silence didn't feel like weakness. It felt like defiance.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The Phone Call
The car rolled forward through the dimly lit streets, the engine humming low. Inside, the air was thick—her silence pressing against his mockery, his arrogance fueling her quiet defiance.
Y/N sat rigid, her jaw tight, her teeth biting hard into the inside of her cheek. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, not from fear of him but from the storm inside her. From the memory of her parents' hands, their words, their cages. From the cruel weight of a life she had never chosen.
Her phone buzzed against her palm. Once. Twice. Again.
She tightened her grip on it but didn't move.
Ayan noticed, the corner of his mouth curling in disdain.
"What's the matter?" he drawled coldly. "Your lover calling? Why don't you pick it up? Oh wait…" His eyes flicked toward her with cutting sharpness. "…you prefer to keep your games in silence too?"
She didn't respond. Her knuckles whitened around the device.
With a sharp motion, Ayan took one hand off the steering wheel, snatched the phone from her grasp, and with a flick of irritation, answered it.
"Let's see who it is," he mocked, pressing speaker.
The line crackled. Then her father's voice came through—booming, sharp, laced with disgust.
"Where the hell are you, Y/N?!" he barked, assuming she had picked up.
"Do you even know how much shame you bring to this house by existing like this? Hiding your face, keeping quiet like a fool—do you think any man would want a worthless daughter like you?"
Y/N froze, her nails digging into her palm so hard it hurt.
Her father didn't stop.
"You're nothing but a burden! A girl-child—dusro ke ghar ki amanat, not my responsibility! Remember that. You're lucky we're even arranging something for you. Otherwise, you'd rot here like a waste. Understand?"
The line went dead.
The silence in the car after that was deafening.
Ayan's jaw ticked once, the faintest crack in his expression before he quickly masked it. He tossed the phone carelessly back onto her lap, his words sliding out in an icy drawl.
"Ohhh…" he dragged the sound mockingly, his tone sharp as a blade. "…so this is your daily routine. To get humiliated."
His smirk was cruel, but behind his eyes flickered something darker. Something unsettled.
Y/N didn't look at him. Her eyes shifted to the window, gaze fixed on the blur of streetlights. Her lips pressed together tightly, her whole body turning away from him—choosing the world outside rather than the man sitting beside her.
Her silence screamed louder than any word she could have said.