Author POV ~
The evening sun spilled across Aziz Mansion in soft amber hues, slipping through carved windows and resting gently on scattered fabrics, jewellery trays, and gift hampers. The house breathed with quiet excitement - not loud, not rushed - but full of intention.
Wedding preparations were underway, yet simplicity ruled every decision.
Humaira Khan sat beside Hazel and Inaya, fingers moving through folded fabrics, discussing colours and embroidery with calm smiles.
There was laughter, occasional teasing, and the kind of warmth that only came from women who felt safe with one another.
Kabir and Zara's nikkah would be simple - a sunnat nikkah. No unnecessary burden. No display. Just faith and family.
Hilal Khan voiced the decision firmly, reminding everyone that barakah lived in ease, not excess. Haris listened silently, nodding in agreement. His eyes, however, often wandered - unconsciously searching for Hazel.
She sat quietly, her presence steady, like an anchor.
That night, roles reversed. The women went shopping, and the men stayed back to cook.
Laughter echoed from the kitchen as Hilal Khan guided his sons, sharing advice from his own married life.
Ejza took charge of the brownies - baking always calmed him - while Haris focused on the main course, methodical and precise.
Food was served with love.
When the women returned, bags in hand and smiles wide, they were welcomed with warm greetings and tired laughter. Dinner unfolded peacefully.
No tension. No formality. Just family.
Brownies with vanilla ice cream marked the end of the night, followed by duas and embraces.
As everyone retreated to their rooms, the house finally exhaled.
Hazel POV ~
After Isha, the room felt unusually still.
Haris stepped onto the balcony to attend a call, leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and warmth. I completed my zikr slowly, letting each tasbeeh bead ground me.
When he returned, he didn't speak.
He simply rested his head in my lap.
My breath caught for a second - not because it was new, but because it still felt sacred.
I continued reciting Qur'an softly, my voice barely above a whisper. His eyes closed. His shoulders relaxed. As if, for once, the world had loosened its grip on him.
I placed the Qur'an aside and made a silent dua.
Ya Allah... keep him safe. Heal what he doesn't speak about.
He shifted slightly, sensing me, and I felt his presence fully then - solid, grounding.
Later, when he spoke, his words were careful.
He told me about his past. About betrayal. About why trust didn't come easily to him. He didn't dramatize it. He didn't ask for sympathy.
He simply told the truth.
When he said this marriage was for family... and maybe to give life another chance - my chest tightened.
I didn't interrupt.
I didn't defend love.
I just listened.
When he placed the ring in my hand, I stared at it for a moment longer than necessary.
I wasn't hurt.
I was thoughtful.
Love doesn't always arrive as certainty. Sometimes, it arrives as patience.
Haris POV ~
I hadn't planned to say it that night.
But honesty has its own timing.
Watching Hazel sit there, calm and composed, listening without judgment - it unsettled me in ways I wasn't prepared for. Most people reacted when they heard about my past. Pity. Curiosity.
Fear.
Hazel did none of that.
She just... stayed.
When I told her about my work, about boundaries, about needing space - it wasn't control. It was fear dressed as caution.
I had built walls so well that even I forgot what it felt like to live without them.
The ring felt heavier in my palm than it should have.
When she took it, she didn't rush to wear it. She didn't smile brightly to reassure me. She simply held it - like it deserved respect.
Author POV
The night gave way to dawn.
Before Tahajjud, Hazel slipped from bed quietly, careful not to disturb aris. She made wuzu with steady hands, her heart heavy with unspoken thoughts.
She prayed.
She cried.
She spoke to Allah the way only someone honest with their pain could.
Behind her, Haris was away
He watched her from half-closed eyes - the way she bowed, the way her shoulders trembled, the way she linger
When she returned to bed, he opened his arms instinctively.
She giggled softly, hiding her face against his chest.
"Teddy bear... why are you awake?" he murmured.
"I talked to Allah," she replied quietly. "And thanked Him for giving us chances."
His grip tightened.
The fire incident flashed through his mind - the fear, the helplessness. He whispered, almost pleading, for her to be careful.
Fajr echoed through the mansion.
Later, Haris cooked breakfast - heart-shaped pancakes - earning teasing glances from Ejza and Inaya. The cold architect, softened by love.
He entered the bedroom gently, placing a heating pad near Hazel's abdomen, easing her pain without waking her.
When she opened her eyes and whispered Assalam-o-Alaikum, he felt his resolve crumble.
He remembered her cycles. Her discomfort. Her needs.
And for the first time, care came without calculation.
Hazel POV~
I noticed everything.
The heating pad.
The breakfast.
The way he remembered.
When he admitted knowing my dates, my face burned with shyness. But beneath that was something warmer - safety.
I didn't need grand gestures.
This was enough.
Haris POV ~
Leaving for work felt heavier that day.
I checked on her repeatedly, reminded her to rest, warned her not to overexert herself. She pouted, childish and adorable, and I promised to return early.
I carried my tasbeeh with me, whispering Astaghfirullah more often than usual.
Because loving someone this deeply was terrifying.
Author POV -
When Haris returned home early, flowers in hand - roses, lilies, sunflowers - Hazel was asleep.
He watched her for a long moment before waking her gently.
They curled into each other, silent, content.
No dramatic declarations.
No rushed confessions.
Just presence.
And sometimes, that was the deepest form of love.
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