AUTHOR POV
Dining Table — The Decision
The dining table was set perfectly.
Crystal glasses. Polished cutlery. A meal prepared with care.
No one touched the food.
Inaya sat straight-backed at one end of the table, fingers resting calmly on her lap, expression unreadable. Across from her sat her grandfather—commanding, unmoved. Around them, family members filled the seats, stiff with expectation.
The air was heavy.
Deliberate.
Her grandfather cleared his throat.
"We've decided," he said, voice calm, absolute. "Your marriage has been fixed."
Inaya looked up.
"With Zeeshan Khan."
The words landed like a slap.
For a second, the room seemed to tilt.
Then Inaya smiled.
It was slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
"You decided," she corrected softly. "Without asking me."
"This isn't a discussion," her grandfather replied. "It's an arrangement. One that should have happened ten years ago."
Inaya's jaw tightened.
"I built my life without your permission," she said evenly. "I won't hand it over now."
A chair shifted.
Her aunt leaned forward, eyes sharp, voice laced with old resentment.
"Still the same arrogance," she said coldly. "As if you didn't destroy enough already."
Inaya turned to her.
"What did you say?"
Her aunt didn't flinch.
"Zoya would be alive if it weren't for you."
The room froze.
A sharp inhale escaped someone's lips.
Inaya felt it then—the familiar tightening in her chest, the pressure behind her eyes. But her voice, when it came, was steady.
"Don't," she warned quietly.
"You pushed her," her aunt continued, bitterness spilling freely now. "You were always reckless. Always selfish. And when she fell—"
"I DID NOT KILL HER."
The words rang across the table, sharp and raw.
Inaya stood up so abruptly her chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"She slipped," Inaya said, voice shaking despite herself. "She fell. And I have paid for that moment every single day since."
Silence swallowed the room.
Her aunt scoffed. "That's what you tell yourself."
Inaya's hands curled into fists.
"Say her name one more time," she whispered, eyes burning, "and I swear I'll forget who you are."
A sudden movement broke the tension.
Her father pushed his chair back.
Slowly.
Painfully.
He stood, eyes fixed on the table—not on her.
"Enough," he said, his voice hoarse.
Everyone turned toward him.
He didn't look at Inaya.
Didn't defend her.
Didn't accuse her either.
He simply turned and walked away from the table, his footsteps echoing through the hall like a verdict no one wanted to hear.
The door closed behind him.
Final.
Inaya swallowed hard.
For a moment, the armor cracked.
Her grandfather spoke again, unshaken.
"This marriage will happen," he said firmly.
Inaya laughed—soft, broken.
"So this is justice?" she asked. "Punishment disguised as tradition?"
Her grandfather's gaze hardened.
"This is order."
Inaya picked up her phone from table
"Then understand this," she said, voice cold as steel. "You can't force me into a marriage."
she don't look at anyone, she don't need because she know everyone was looking at her
She turned and walked away.
Behind her, the food went cold.
And something else shattered quietly at that table—
the last illusion of family.
Zeeshan remained focused on his food.
His movements were precise, unhurried—knife cutting cleanly, fork steady. He neither reacted to the tension at the table nor looked up when voices rose. To anyone watching, he appeared composed, almost indifferent.
Across from him, his parents sat restless.
His mother barely touched her plate, fingers tightening around her napkin, worry shadowing her face. His father's gaze kept drifting toward their son, concern etched deep into his features. They weren't thinking about alliances or legacy.
They were thinking about their son's future.
About the kind of man this marriage would turn him into.
Zeeshan noticed none of it—or pretended not to.
He took another bite, calm as ever, while the storm gathered quietly around him.
The dining hall slowly emptied.
Laughter faded. Voices softened. One by one, people drifted away, leaving behind half-finished conversations and emotions hanging in the air.
Dinner ended without warmth.
Zeeshan stood first, pushing his chair back calmly. He offered a polite nod to the elders—respectful, distant And he follows inaya outside.
Outside, he noticed her standing in the garden, completely lost in her thoughts.
Inaya stood in the garden, her back straight, fingers curled tightly fist . From the outside, she looked calm—untouchable.
Inside, everything was loud.
She felt it before she heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow. Measured. Familiar.
She didn't turn around.
Zeeshan stopped a few feet behind her.
The silence between them stretched—thick, uncomfortable, loaded with things neither had said for years.
"You haven't changed," he said finally, his voice low. "Still pretending you don't hear what hurts."
Her jaw tightened.
She turned slowly, meeting his gaze for the first time.
"Neither have you," she replied coolly. "Still saying things that aren't your right to say."
His eyes darkened—not with anger, but something deeper, Long-buried pain.
"You left," he said. "Without a word."
She let out a small, humourless laugh.
"And you decided you understood everything," she shot back. "Without asking."
The air between them snapped.
Zeeshan took a step closer. "Do you have any idea what it was like here after you left? The blame, the whispers, the silence—"
"Don't," she cut him off sharply.
Her voice trembled—just slightly.
"Don't talk to me about silence. I lived in it for ten years."
His expression faltered.
For the first time, he really looked at her—not the powerful woman everyone feared, but the girl who had carried too much pain silently.
"You think I didn't suffer?" he asked quietly.
She met his eyes, unflinching.
"I think," she said slowly, "you survived with people around you. I survived alone."
That hit him harder than any accusation.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Zeeshan said harshly, "but Zoya's death was your fault."
Her breath caught.
Just for a second.
Then she masked it perfectly.
"Everyone in this house is agrees with this marriage," she said, her tone distant.
"Except you" he said softly
Her eyes flickered away.
That was the crack.
Zeeshan stepped closer—too close now."Inaya… if I could go back—"
She raised a hand.
"No," she said firmly. "We don't rewrite the past. We survive it."
She picked up her phone from the bench beside her.
When she passed him, her shoulder brushed his arm—electric, brief, dangerous.
She stopped beside him without looking back.
"This palace," she said quietly, "looks beautiful from outside. But you and I both know what it does to people inside."
Then, almost in a whisper—
"And this time, Zeeshan… I won't break."
She walked away.
Zeeshan stood there, unmoving, watching her disappear down the corridor.
For the first time in years, he realised—
The girl he once knew was gone.
And the woman who returned?
She was a storm.
Zeeshan stood there for so long.
then he footsteps of her family and behind them was inya mom, aunt, uncle and grandmother.
he offered a polite nod to the elders—respectful, distant. His parents followed, exchanging brief goodbyes that felt more like obligations than farewells.
The main door closed behind the Khans with a soft but final thud.
And just like that—
the house felt heavier.
Inaya stood outside her father's study.
Her hand hovered near the door.
For ten years, she had avoided this moment.
Now—she pushed the door open.
Qaseem Ali Shah stood near the window, his back to her, hands clasped tightly behind him. The room smelled of old books, authority, and unresolved pain.
He didn't turn around.
"I know you're here," he said quietly.
Inaya stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
"Why didn't you look at me?" she asked, her voice calm—but fragile underneath.
Silence.
Then—
"Because if I do," he replied, voice heavy, "I won't be able to stay silent"
Her chest tightened.
"You punished me for something I didn't do," she said slowly. "You watched everyone tear me apart… and you let them."
He flinched.
Just once.
"You left," he said sharply. "You ran away."
"I was pushed," she snapped, control slipping. "I was sixteen. I lost my sister. I lost my home. And that day—I lost my father."
Finally, he turned.
Tears burned in his eyes, but his face stayed hard.
"Zoya died," he said hoarsely. "And you were there."
"And I was innocent," Inaya whispered. "But you never asked. Not once."
Her voice broke then.
"Did you ever miss me?"
The question hung between them like a blade.
Qaseem looked away.
"I buried one daughter," he said. "because of other daughter
Inaya laughed bitterly, tears spilling now.
"You lost me the day you chose silence."
She wiped her tears roughly, straightening her back.
"I didn't come back to beg," she said firmly. "I came back to face you."
She turned toward the door.
"Believe me or don't," she added. "But this time—I won't disappear quietly."
She walked out.
And behind her—
Qaseem Ali Shah sank into his chair, covering his face with shaking hands.
For the first time in ten years—
He realised his daughter was no longer asking for love.
She was done waiting for it.
she goes to her old room
The door closed softly behind her.
Her room.
Nothing had changed.
The same pale curtains.
The same carved wooden bed.
The same mirror that once reflected a girl who trusted too easily.
Inaya stood still for a moment.
Then slowly, her composure collapsed.
She placed her bag down, walked toward the bed, and sat at its edge. Her fingers trembled as they brushed the mattress.
So many memories lived here.
Laughter.
Tears.
Screams she had swallowed.
She lay back, staring at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.
You're safe, she told herself.
You're strong now.
But strength didn't erase pain.
A single tear slid into her hair.
She turned her face toward the window.
Outside, the palace stood tall and proud.
Inside, it was still a cage.
She hugged herself tightly, whispering to the empty room—
"I came back… but I won't stay the same."
The walls felt closer.
The air—thicker.
Her breaths grew shallow, uneven, as if the palace itself was pressing down on her lungs. The murmurs of the elders behind her, the unspoken accusations still hanging in the air, the weight of eyes that refused to look at her—
It was too much.
She stood up abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor.
Without saying a word, she turned and walked away.
Her steps were controlled, but inside, she was unravelling.
She pushed open the glass doors and stepped onto the balcony.
Cold night air rushed against her face, sharp and unforgiving, but she welcomed it. She gripped the railing tightly, knuckles whitening, as she leaned forward and inhaled deeply—again and again—trying to calm the storm raging inside her chest.
Below her, the palace grounds lay silent, bathed in dim lights and long shadows.
Above her, the sky was dark and endless.
Just like her thoughts.
For the first time since she returned—
her mask cracked.
A shaky breath escaped her lips.
And she didn't know that from within those shadows…
someone else was watching her breathe.
Unknown Person's POV
Across the street, a man stood beside a black car.
Black jeans.
Black jacket.
Black cap pulled low.
A mask hiding half his face.
He leaned casually against the vehicle, concealed behind tinted glass and shadows. To anyone passing by, he was forgettable.
But his eyes—
his eyes never left the balcony of Inaya's room.
Unblinking.
Patient.
Obsessive.
Then—
she appeared.
Inaya Ali Shah.
She stepped onto the balcony like she owned the night itself. Chin lifted. Shoulders straight. Confidence wrapped around her like armor forged in fire.
The faint glow from her room outlined her silhouette.
Powerful. Untouchable.
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
"There you are," he murmured under his breath.
He had waited years for this moment.
Watched her from a distance.
Followed her growth.
Learned her habits.
Memorized the way she moved.
The way she stood.
The way she hid her emotions behind stillness.
Every article written about her.
Every public appearance.
Every photograph.
He collected them all.
She didn't know it yet—
but she had never truly been alone.
"She thinks she's strong now," he whispered, fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. "That makes it more interesting."
He pulled out his phone.
The screen lit up his eyes.
A draft message glowed at the top.
Welcome back, sweetheart.
He smiled to himself and pressed send.
Then he typed another.
They don't see you like I do.
His thumb hovered before sending the next line.
They don't understand you.
Send.
His breathing remained steady.
But I do.
Send.
His smile widened—possessive, unhinged, certain.
Not admiration.
Ownership.
He slid into the driver's seat slowly, never taking his eyes off her balcony.
The engine started with a low hum.
The headlights stayed off.
He didn't need light.
He knew the streets.
And he knew her.
"The palace thinks it's protecting you," he murmured softly.
"They have no idea."
The car pulled away smoothly into the darkness.
And from the balcony—
Inaya remained unaware.
The hunt had begun.
And this time—
he wasn't watching from far away anymore.