Armaan Meer POV
I had lost count of time.
The night had grown deeper, heavier, the kind that settles into your bones. The garden lights glowed faintly, casting long shadows across the marble paths, and I stood exactly where I always did—far enough not to be seen, close enough to never leave.
Waiting for her.
Minutes turned into an hour.
Then more.
I didn't move.
Because waiting for Inaya had never felt like patience—it felt like instinct. Like this was where I was meant to be when the world became too loud for her.
Then—
soft footsteps.
My gaze snapped up.
She stepped into the garden, wrapped in a light shawl, her movements slow, thoughtful. The moonlight kissed her face gently, outlining the quiet sadness in her eyes.
She didn't see me.
Good.
She walked a few steps forward and stopped near the old rose bush. The same place.
And then I heard it.
Her voice.
Low. Fragile. Familiar.
"I was so tired that day," she whispered, staring at the sky. "I remember saying… I don't need anyone. I can handle everything myself."
My chest tightened.
That conversation.
Years ago.
She laughed softly, bitterly. "And you said… You don't have to be strong all the time. Just don't disappear."
I closed my eyes for a brief second.
I hadn't known she remembered.
She hugged her arms around herself. "I disappeared anyway," she murmured. "Didn't I?"
That was it.
I stepped out of the shadows.
The gravel shifted beneath my shoes—just enough sound to warn her.
She turned sharply.
Our eyes met.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped.
"Inaya," I said quietly.
Her breath caught. "Armaan…?"
I stopped a few steps away, respecting the space she didn't even realize she was guarding. "You always come here when you're overwhelmed," I said gently. "You did back then too."
She swallowed. "How long have you been standing there?"
A faint smile touched my lips. "Long enough to know you're still lying to yourself."
Her brows knit together. "About what?"
"That you don't need anyone."
Silence stretched between us—soft, charged, intimate.
"I don't feel safe with people anymore," she admitted finally, her voice barely audible. "They decide things for me. They cage me and call it love."
I stepped closer—slow, careful. "Then don't feel safe with people," I said. "Feel safe with moments. With silence. With someone who doesn't ask you to explain."
Her eyes shimmered as they searched my face.
"You used to say that," she whispered.
"I still mean it."
The wind moved through the trees, carrying the scent of roses between us. I reached out—not to touch her, not yet—but to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, stopping just short.
She didn't pull away.
Her breath hitched.
"For the record," I said softly, "you never disappeared. You were just surviving."
Her lashes fluttered. "And you?"
"I stayed," I replied simply. "I always do."
For a moment, the distance between us vanished—not physically, but emotionally. The kind of closeness that doesn't need contact to feel dangerous.
Too intimate. Too real.
I stepped back first.
Because staying longer would make it harder to leave.
"You should go inside," I said gently. "The night's getting colder."
She nodded, reluctant. "Armaan…"
"Yes?"
"Thank you," she whispered. "For not forcing anything."
A small, genuine smile curved my lips. "That's the only promise I'll never break."
I turned away before she could say more.
Before she could look at me like that again.
As I disappeared back into the shadows, I glanced over my shoulder once.
She was still standing there—watching.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt something dangerous bloom quietly in my chest.
Hope.
Then I was gone.
Leaving behind the garden.
The night.
And a girl who didn't yet know—
that the safest love she would ever know
had already chosen her. 🖤
Zeeshan Khan POV
The house was silent.
Too silent.
Zeeshan sat alone in his home office, the only light coming from the desk lamp casting sharp shadows against the walls. Files lay open in front of him—numbers, contracts, signatures—but none of it registered.
Because his mind wasn't here.
It was with her.
Inaya.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, jaw tight. No matter how hard he tried to focus, her face kept slipping into his thoughts—her defiance in the hall, the fire in her eyes, the way she stood her ground without shaking.
She had changed.
And that unsettled him.
"She's mine," he murmured to the empty room, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Mine by fate.
Mine by promise.
Mine by waiting.
And yet—
Something felt… off.
A strange pressure settled in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. Not jealousy—not yet. Something deeper. Instinctive.
As if something was shifting beyond his control.
Zeeshan's fingers curled slowly.
He stood and walked toward the window, staring out at the dark city beyond. Lights flickered like distant stars, indifferent to the storm inside him.
Why do I feel like I'm already losing?
The thought made his expression harden.
He closed his eyes briefly—and that's when it hit him.
Not a thought.
A sensation.
Like someone else's presence brushing dangerously close to what belonged to him.
Armaan.
The name surfaced in his mind uninvited, unwelcome.
Zeeshan's eyes snapped open.
He didn't know how he knew.
No proof.
No words spoken.
No confrontation.
Just a quiet, terrifying certainty.
Someone else had touched her heart.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
And that was worse.
His breath slowed, deliberate. Controlled. But something dark stirred beneath the calm.
"So that's it," he whispered. "That's why you look at the world differently now."
He turned back to his desk, resting his palms against the wood, shoulders tense.
"You don't look at me like someone you're waiting for," he continued softly. "You look at me like someone standing in your way."
The idea scraped against his pride.
Against his possessiveness.
Against the belief he had carried for years—that patience would earn him her love.
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
"Whoever you are," he said quietly, eyes darkening, "you've made a mistake."
Because Zeeshan Khan didn't lose what he claimed.
Not to time.
Not to distance.
And certainly not to another man hiding in the shadows of her life.
He straightened, resolve settling cold and sharp in his veins.
"If your heart is wavering, Inaya," he murmured, "then I'll remind you where you belong."
The lamp buzzed softly.
Outside, the night deepened.
And somewhere far away—
Inaya stood under the same sky,
unaware that the balance between three hearts had shifted,
and that the quiet tension she felt in her chest
was the beginning of a war
no one had declared—