8

Bakhtiyar

I don’t usually talk to Baba about feelings.

We talk about politics. Business. The price of land in Ankara. The weight of a family name.

But tonight, I was restless.

And he noticed.

“Bakhtiyar,” he said, lowering his newspaper, “You’re pacing like you’ve done something wrong.”

I sat across from him, unsure how to even begin.

“I saw someone,” I said finally.

He raised a brow.

“That’s not illegal. Unless she’s married to a minister.”

I almost smiled. But I didn’t.

“It’s not like that. I just—” I paused, feeling the heat crawl to my neck. “She wasn’t even looking at me. She was just… standing there. Staring at someone else. Lost in her own world.”

His brow lowered slightly. Listening now.

I continued, unsure of what I was even trying to say.

“She had these… eyes. Not black. Not brown. Like—like they’d stolen the storm from a bruised sky. Purple. Can you imagine that?”

He blinked, surprised. “Purple?”

“Not fake. Not loud. Just… quiet. Like dusk. Like mourning. I don’t know,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “I thought maybe I imagined it.”

There was a silence. The kind that comes when fathers realize their sons are no longer boys.

“I saw her again,” I said, softer. “Same day. Night, actually. And again… not looking at me. But I couldn’t stop looking at her.”

Baba tilted his head. “And what did you see?”

I hesitated.

“She looked like… someone who’s been through too much. But still walks like she’s protecting something inside her. Like there’s a softness she hasn’t let the world kill yet.”

His expression shifted slightly. From amused to thoughtful.

“She’s not like the girls I usually see at events or parties,” I added. “She didn’t even glance my way. But I swear, Baba, my heart did something strange. Like it recognized something in her.”

He said nothing for a moment. Then folded his paper with a quiet firmness.

“You’ve always had your mother’s eye for stillness,” he said. “But not everything that pulls us deserves us, Bakhtiyar. Sometimes attraction is hunger. Sometimes it’s a wound disguised as longing.”

I nodded slowly, unsure if I agreed.

But I knew this wasn’t just hunger.

It was haunting.

-

It was a passing conversation.

A hallway moment.

The kind people forget.

But I didn’t.

I was standing by the stairs, thumbing through my phone, when I heard one of the maids say, “Noor aapi ne Dawood ko sulha diya— finally.”

Noor.

The name landed like a key in a lock I hadn’t known was waiting.

I didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Just tucked the name into my chest like a secret.

Noor.

It fit her. Quietly radiant. Holding light but not seeking attention.

Later that evening, I saw her again.

The curtains were half-drawn, and I stood at the far end of the corridor that led to Dawood bhai's room.

She didn’t see me.

She sat cross-legged on the carpet beside the bhai—his thumb loosely in his mouth, eyes heavy with sleep.

She wasn’t speaking.

She was just drawing something with him.

Slow, gentle strokes of crayon. She let him press the colors hard into the paper. She didn’t correct him, didn’t hurry. Her head was tilted, and there was a tired smile on her lips.

Dawood bhai shifted slightly and—like instinct—her hand moved to cradle the back of his head.

Not firm. Just enough to steady him.

My throat tightened.

I don’t know why.

Maybe it was how natural she looked in that softness.

Maybe it was how present she was with him—like the world outside didn’t matter.

Like she had nothing and yet gave everything.

I stepped back into the shadows before she could see me.

Because something in me was shifting. Tipping.

And I knew…

This wasn’t just attraction anymore.

It was curiosity with a heartbeat.

And that’s always the most dangerous kind.

Authors pov

Dilan sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on knees, face buried in her hands.

She hadn’t slept properly in days.

Noor’s presence had brought a strange quiet into the house. A stillness around Dawood that should have brought Dilan peace.

But it didn’t.

It brought fear.

Because she had seen Dawood’s eyes following Noor down the hallway.

Because she had seen his fingers clutching the corner of her dupatta when she stood too close.

Because she had seen Noor… and knew exactly what that kind of softness could do to a man.

She had once been beautiful like that. Once.

And beauty—real, raw beauty—is dangerous when placed next to a man who doesn’t know where to put his feelings.

She called Rubab the next morning.

They met on the terrace, quiet morning wind brushing past them.

Dilan didn’t waste time.

“I agree,” she said.

Rubab blinked. “With…?”

“The nikah. A quiet one. No announcements. No obligations. Just something… legal. Safe. Halal.”

Rubab crossed her arms but didn’t gloat. She only nodded, like she’d expected this all along.

“I don’t want him to feel punished,” Dilan continued, her voice tight. “But I also don’t want to risk Noor waking up one day… in a situation she didn’t ask for.”

“She won’t,” Rubab said gently. “And neither will he. A contract marriage—muaqqata nikah—would protect them both.”

Dilan looked up sharply. “Temporary?”

Rubab nodded. “Until his fears subside. Until you’re sure it’s safe to… let real feelings in. Set terms. Boundaries. Physical distance. But legal proximity.”

Dilan rubbed her forehead. “Noor might not agree.”

“She will if she’s made to understand it’s not about control,” Rubab said. “It’s about dignity. For her. And for him.”

A pause.

Then Rubab’s voice dropped into something slower.

“Because no matter how damaged a man is… a face like Noor’s can slip into any man’s mind. Even if he’s not looking.”

Dilan stared.

She knew Rubab was right.

What neither of them knew…

Was that Rubab’s own son had already begun slipping.

Into that face.

Into those eyes.

Into a feeling he couldn’t name.

And Noor… didn’t even know it yet.

---

Noor sat stiffly on the sofa in Dilan’s study, the soft sunlight slanting through the blinds tracing invisible bars across her lap.

She didn’t know why they’d called her in.

But the air already felt… different.

Rubab stood by the window, arms crossed. Dilan sat behind her desk, unusually quiet.

Then Rubab turned.

“We need to talk about something,” she said.

Noor looked up, uneasy. “Did I… do something wrong?”

“No,” Dilan said quickly. “This is not a punishment, Noor.”

Rubab’s voice was firmer. “It’s about Dawood. And you.”

Noor’s heart skipped.

“I don’t understand.”

Rubab exchanged a glance with Dilan, then walked closer.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Noor. You’ve been kind to Dawood. Patient. And… he’s started to trust you. Smile with you. That means something.”

Noor nodded slowly, unsure where this was going.

Rubab didn’t soften.

“But he’s still a man. No matter how delayed his mind is, his body… works. And with a girl like you around—soft, gentle, living under the same roof—things can happen. Things that are haram without marriage.”

Noor stiffened, her throat tightening.

Rubab continued, “We’re not accusing him. Or you. But we’re women. We know how men can be, even the broken ones. Desire doesn’t check mental health records.”

Noor looked down at her hands, shame blooming in her chest though she hadn’t done anything wrong.

Dilan finally spoke. “We want to propose a nikah. A contract marriage. Quiet. Halal. For his safety. And yours.”

Noor blinked. “A nikah?”

“Temporary,” Rubab added. “No expectations. No force. Just protection.”

Noor’s lips parted. She couldn’t speak at first.

She thought about Dawood’s thumb-sucking. His drawings. His fear of sudden noises. The way he whispered “Tani maa” like it meant home.

She also thought about the way his fingers clutched her scarf sometimes when he felt anxious.

Would he ever understand what this meant? Being a husband and wife?

Would she?

Her voice was hoarse. “Will I have to… stay with him? Like a wife?”

“No, only if you want to” Dilan said quickly. “There will be rules. Distance. You’ll stay in a separate room. There will be nothing unless you agree. It’s legal protection. That’s all.”

Noor looked at them both, eyes wide and glassy.

“Why me?” she whispered. “Why not find someone trained for this?”

“Because he chose you,” Dilan said softly. “And you chose him. Whether you admit it or not.”

Noor swallowed the lump in her throat.

She had no family except her brother who would defend her. No degree. No safety net.

But she had saleh ,

She couldn’t walk away from his responsibility,

So she nodded slowly.

“Fine. But talk to my phupho. She has to agree.”

Rubab raised a brow. “She’ll take some convincing?”

Noor gave a bitter smile. “She’ll take money.”

Rubab didn’t flinch.

“Done.”

Dilan exhaled softly. A fragile relief.

But as Noor left the room that day, her fingers trembled.

Because even when you walk into a fire with your eyes open…

It still burns.

---