Two weeks later-
Hazel POV -
Morning light spilled softly into the Aziz mansion, slipping through sheer curtains and brushing against Hazel's closed eyelids.
She stirred-not because she wanted to wake, but because she felt him.
Haris's breath rested warm against her neck, steady and familiar.
One arm was wrapped firmly around her waist, the other tucked beneath her head as if protecting her even in sleep.
Hazel didn't move.
She lay still, letting the moment sink in.
The light felt a little sharper than usual, pressing gently behind her eyes. Hazel blinked once, twice-then ignored it.
Not now, she told herself quietly. Not this morning.
How strange, she thought, that the man the world feared for his cold discipline-the architect who never bent, never softened-melted so completely when it came to her.
She smiled faintly.
Her fingers traced the edge of the book she'd fallen asleep reading last night, forgotten now. Fictional husbands were easy to write, easy to love.
But Haris-
Haris was real.
His scent surrounded her-deep oud, warm, grounding. She breathed him in, eyes fluttering shut again, and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw... then his neck.
Careful.
Gentle.
She didn't want to wake him yet
If he knew how dangerous his care was-how it made her want to stay still, to live only inside this moment-he would never loosen his hold.
It took effort to slip out of his protective embrace. Even half-asleep, his arm tightened instinctively around her waist, as if his body refused to let her go.
"Hari..." she whispered softly, teasing.
No response.
She smiled, leaning closer and murmuring near his ear,
"Uth jao, Mr. Aziz."
Still nothing.
Hazel's lips curved mischievously.
"I'm leaving for college," she added, voice deliberately serious.
"And I'm upset with you."
That did it.
Haris shifted slightly, a sleepy breath leaving him as his hold loosened-just enough for her to escape.
She sat up, smoothing her abaya. The room tilted for half a second. Hazel steadied herself with a slow breath, fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeve.
Haris was still asleep.
That mattered more than the strange heaviness settling in her head.
She glanced back at him with a fond, quiet look.
No matter how strong the world thought him to be-
in her presence, Haris Aziz Khan was only a husband who slept better when his wife was in his arms.
And Hazel loved him for that.
Haris POV -
Haris woke to an emptiness that felt louder than noise.
The other side of the bed was cold.
Too cold.
His eyes opened instantly, scanning the room-curtains drawn back, morning fully awake, and Hazel... gone.
His chest tightened.
College.
The word alone made something dark coil in his stomach.
She had left quietly. Of course she had. Hazel never announced her pain; she carried it like a secret only Allah was meant to hear.
He sat up, rubbing his face hard.
Why didn't I wake earlier?
Why did I let her go alone?
The image came uninvited-Hazel walking through campus corridors, head lowered, soft as always.
Too gentle for a world that stared too freely.
Too precious.
Within minutes, he was dressed-not casually, not half-awake-but in his sharpest formal suit. Cufflinks.
Watch.
The version of him the world feared.
The husband who didn't trust the world with his wife.
Downstairs, the house was already alive.
Ejza laughed over breakfast.
"Hazel just left," she said lightly.
"College."
Haris froze.
"Alone?" His voice was calm-but dangerous.
Ejza blinked. "Haan... bhaiya said she insisted-"
"I'll drop her."
"She's already-"
"I know," he cut in, jaw tightening. "I'll still drop her."
Bhaiya glanced up, reading his face, and said nothing.
Men understood this look.
This wasn't control.
This was fear dressed as authority.
Minutes later, Haris's car cut through London traffic faster than it ever had for business.
His hands clenched the steering wheel.
Why am I jealous?
Why am I afraid?
Because last night she was in his arms...
and this morning she chose distance.
Because love made a man irrational.
Because Hazel didn't belong in crowds that didn't know how to protect softness.
He reached the college gates just in time.
There she was.
Walking alone.
Her bag hugged to her side, abaya
slipping slightly, eyes tired-too tired.
Too pale for a morning this bright. When she lifted her face, she squinted faintly, as if the sunlight hurt.
Something inside him cracked.
He parked without thinking and stepped out.
Hazel turned at the sound of footsteps.
"Haris...?"
He stopped in front of her, breath uneven, control hanging by a thread.
"Why didn't you let me drop you?" he asked quietly.
Not angry.
Afraid.
She looked down. "You were sleeping. I didn't want-"
"I don't care," he said softly, stepping closer. "I care about you."
Without realizing it, his hand lifted-adjusting her dupatta himself. Slow.
Deliberate. A silent warning to the world to look away.
For a moment, the jealous husband disappeared.
What remained was a man who loved too deeply and feared losing her more than losing himself.
"You don't walk alone,"
Haris said, voice low. "Not when I'm awake."
Hazel swallowed.
If I tell him, she thought, panic flickering quietly,
he will stop the world for me.
And Hazel wasn't ready to be the reason his world paused.
And there, in that crowded college entrance, surrounded by strangers, Haris Aziz Khan stood like a shield-
Unapologetically hers.
If love doesn't make us cross our limits, it was never love.
Write a comment ...