Miyan-e Do Dil

Burhaan sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze locked onto the washroom door, anticipation simmering just beneath his composed exterior.

And then-she emerged.

Draped in maroon, the fabric hugging her frame delicately, Raziya looked... breathtaking. Her long, damp hair cascaded past her waist, tiny bangs framing her forehead, making her look almost ethereal.

Burhaan's eyes darkened, his breath hitching for a fraction of a second.

This was the dress he had personally chosen-one of the rare moments when his mother had insisted he take an interest in the wedding shopping. He hadn't cared much back then, but he had wanted to see her in this dress.

Instead, she had chosen that plain, funeral-like outfit this morning, and it had disappointed him more than he cared to admit.

Now, standing in front of him, she was everything he had imagined-and yet, she refused to meet his eyes.

Raziya kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her fingers nervously clutching at the fabric of her dress, as if trying to ground herself. But the loud drumming of her heart told her there was no escape.

Burhaan stood, his footsteps unhurried as he closed the distance between them.

Leaning in, his lips mere inches from her ear, his voice dropped to a slow, velvety murmur.

"Behtareen. Ab lag rahi ho meri biwi... na ki bewa."

His words were sharp, almost mocking, but the way he said them-low, deliberate, dripping with something dangerous-sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Her breath hitched.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers curling tighter around the fabric of her dress, her entire body tensing under the weight of his presence.

Burhaan reached out, his fingers brushing against her skin as he tucked the stray strands of hair behind her ear. His touch was fleeting, but it left a trail of warmth in its wake.

His lips curved into a smirk before he turned away, disappearing behind the washroom doors, leaving her standing there-breathless, shaken, and utterly confused.

As soon as Burhaan disappeared behind the washroom doors, Raziya exhaled a deep, shaky breath, pressing a hand against her chest to steady the erratic pounding of her heart. Her cheeks were still burning, her body tense from the way he had whispered those words against her ear. "Meri biwi... na ki bewa."

Why did he say things like that? Why did he get under her skin so effortlessly?

Trying to shake off the unsettling warmth in her chest, she made her way toward the dresser, lowering herself onto the cushioned stool. Her fingers worked quickly, running through her damp hair as she began braiding it, trying to lose herself in the rhythmic motion.

She barely managed to weave a few sections before she heard the soft creak of the washroom door opening.

Her hands froze.

A strange sense of unease crept up her spine, an unexplainable awareness prickling at her skin.

Hesitantly, she lifted her gaze to the mirror-and her breath hitched in her throat.

Burhaan stepped out of the washroom, steam swirling around him like an ethereal mist. Droplets of water clung to his skin, glistening as they traced the sharp ridges of his sculpted chest, his shoulders broad and strong, his arms defined.

But it wasn't just that.

It was the fact that the only thing on his body was a towel, loosely knotted around his waist, sitting dangerously low on his hips.