" Not every love is loud.
Some love simply stays."
"Every clumsy soul deserves a calm love."
Hazel POV -
Hazel stirred, reaching out instinctively only to touch emptiness.
Her eyes opened slowly. The bed beside her was cold.
She sat up, heart sinking just a little, and that’s when she noticed the folded paper on the night table. Her name, written in familiar handwriting.
She picked it up carefully.
Hazel jaan,
I know you’ll be upset when you wake up and don’t find me beside you. Please don’t be angry. I’m feeling better now, and there was an important meeting today.
I’ve kept your coord set, abaya, and pins ready.
Please eat breakfast. Don’t skip it.
Stay warm. Stay safe.
And lastly, thank you for the note, teddy bear jaan.
Yours,
Hari.
Hazel smiled softly.
She kissed the letter, hugged Haris’s pillow to her chest, and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing him in.
The clock read 9:45 a.m.
Her college was at 10:30.
She got ready quietly—slipping into the outfit Haris had laid out for her, fastening her abaya, dabbing on her favourite lavender-and-vanilla scent.
In the rush, she forgot one thing.
Her wedding band.
Downstairs, Ammi was already in the dining area, preparing lunch early.
“Assalamu alaikum,” Hazel greeted, bending to hug her.
“Wa alaikum assalam,” Ammi replied warmly. “You’re late. Eat something.”
Hazel only managed tea, sipping it while scrolling through her phone. She tried calling Haris.
No answer.
She left him a voice note instead.
Assalamu alaikum, Haris… I’m upset with you. Come home early today.
College passed in a blur—lectures, notes, and then calligraphy class.
As Hazel walked down the corridor, a boy stepped into her path. Chewing gum. Smiling carelessly.
She ignored him.
The gum landed on the table behind her.
She didn’t react.
With calm dignity, Hazel turned, walked straight to the principal’s office, and knocked.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.”
The principal looked up, recognition softening her face. “Yes, Hazel? Haris Aziz Khan’s wife.”
Hazel spoke gently but firmly, reporting the incident without exaggeration. When asked if she wanted further action, she shook her head.
“No, ma’am.”
She walked out with her head held high.
While Hazel carried herself with grace,
Haris Aziz Khan felt the weight of an unease he couldn’t name.
Haris POV~
Haris’s day didn’t slow down until midnight.
Meetings. Site visits. Files. Calls.
He drove back through London streets, exhaustion heavy on his shoulders, stopping briefly to buy Hazel’s favourite flowers and Ferrero Rocher.
At a red light, he checked his phone.
Missed calls. Messages. Voice notes.
His heart sank.
“Beta,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair, “aaj tu gaya.”
The house was dark when he reached home.
Hazel was asleep on the sofa—books scattered around her, calligraphy sheets tucked beneath her arm, glasses slipping down her nose, hair in a loose, messy bun.
Haris smiled softly.
He gathered her things, slipped them into her bag, then bent and lifted her carefully.
“I know you’re awake,” he murmured.
“I am upset with you,” Hazel replied sleepily.
That’s when he noticed it.
Her hand.
Bare.
Haris froze.
His chest tightened, fear curling deep inside him as he pulled her closer instinctively.
“Jaan…” his voice lowered. “Your ring?”
“I forgot it,” she said quietly. “I was getting late.”
It didn’t calm him.
He laid her gently on the bed, tucking the blanket around her, brushing her hair back with careful fingers.
“You didn’t answer my calls,” she said softly.
I am sorry....
“I was stuck,” he replied immediately. “I swear.”
She hesitated. “Something happened today.
Every muscle in his body went still.
She told him everything.
Haris listened silently, jaw tightening—not in anger, but restraint.
“You did the right thing,” he said finally. “I’m proud of you.”
“You’re not angry?” she asked.
“No,” he said honestly. “I’m scared.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “From tomorrow, I’ll drop you. Pick you up.”
“You’re overprotective.”
“I’m your husband,” he replied. “That’s my job.”
He picked up her wedding band and slid it back onto her finger, kissing it softly.
“My heart doesn’t beat calmly when this isn’t here.”
“Stay,” Hazel whispered.
He did.
They ended up in the kitchen at midnight.
Aloo ka poha. Hot chocolate.
Nothing fancy. Everything is comforting
Hazel leaned into him as they cooked together.
This was love.
Later, she fell asleep against his chest on the sofa.
Haris held her, unmoving, guarding her rest.
He carried her to bed, prayed Tahajjud quietly, then recited Ayatul Kursi beside her, resting his hand over her head.
She shifted slightly, breathing deeper.
“Ameen,” he whispered.
Then he lay beside her, holding her close.
Because loving her wasn’t loud.
It was watchful.
It was prayer.
It was staying awake so she could sleep without fear
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