Zarif sat by the window, staring at the heavy rain that matched the storm inside his heart.His fingers traced the rim of the glass, the amber liquid swirling within, but it wasn't the drink that consumed him. It never had been. His mind was elsewhere, replaying the words Noori had said to him just days before.
"I'm sorry, Zarif. I never wanted this... but my family is forcing me. They locked me in my room, Zarif. I can't do anything.I have to marry him."
The memory cut deep. His hand tightened around the glass, knuckles going white as he fought to breathe through the suffocating pain that always followed Noori's name. The woman he had loved, the woman he thought would be his—she was now someone else's. She was gone. And Zarif was here, standing on the edge of a marriage that felt like a death sentence.He felt useless.
"You'll be fine. This is what you have to do."
His mother's voice echoed in his mind, her gentle but firm insistence that this marriage would "fix" him. Zara. The woman he hadn't even met until the proposal.
What did it matter?
The sharp rattle of the glass against the table was all that remained of his moment of anger. His family's eyes had been pleading. His father's gaze had been disappointed. But there was no room for argument. When you came from a family like his, everything was about duty. Nothing mattered more than reputation. Not love. Not happiness. And certainly not the grief of a broken heart.He could no longer ignore the plea of his family.
Zarif threw back the rest of the drink, the burn in his throat doing little to numb the ache that stretched across his chest. He glanced at the clock. It was almost time. His wedding.
A marriage he never wanted.
At this point one thought came into his mind,"Do marriage vows really count if they don't come from heart?Will it still be considered a wedding if the 'I DO' isn't actually a promise but just a formality?He doesn't know....."
Zara stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric of her dress, her eyes steady and calm. She wasn't nervous—she hadn't been since the moment she agreed to the proposal. This wasn't about love; it was about duty.
Her parents had arranged the marriage, and she hadn't minded. It wasn't as if she'd been waiting for a grand romance. Life had a way of throwing obstacles, and Zara knew how to work with what was given to her. A job she loved, a roof over her head, and now, a husband.She always wanted a heart racing love story but now....the story is about marriage... just marriage
Zarif.
She'd heard little about him—only whispers of his reputation.
But what did it matter? They were strangers. This marriage wasn't built on passion, but necessity. She would fulfill her role, just like she always had.
And yet, as she stood before the mirror, adjusting her veil, a quiet part of her wondered if maybe there could be something more. But it was fleeting, like the soft flutter of a butterfly's wings—there one second, gone the next. There was no room for 'what ifs' in her life. Not anymore.
The ceremony had passed in a blur, filled with polite smiles, distant relatives, and the obligatory vows. Zara had said her "I do" without hesitation, her eyes never wavering from the man standing beside her, who was clearly absent in every way except for his physical presence.
But now, as they entered the room, she could sense the tension in Zarif's shoulders. He was stiff, unyielding—his eyes locked on the floor as he closed the door behind them. Zara stood still, waiting for the inevitable. The confrontation. The rejection.
She had read enough books to know what would come next.
Zarif turned toward her, his jaw tight. He had been helpless,unable to fight back the overwhelming tide of his family's expectations or her own fate. And now here he was,standing in front of a woman he didn't know,who was expected to marry him.But how could he do this to her? He can't love anyone else ever again. He felt immense guilt.
His voice, when it came, was low and heavy with bitterness. "I'll never love you," he said, his words like daggers. "I'm already in love with someone else. I can't be the husband you want me to be. Don't expect anything."
Zara didn't even flinch. She didn't even blink.
For a moment, silence filled the room. Zarif waited for her reaction, expecting tears, screams, or perhaps a desperate plea. But all he got was the soft sound of Zara stepping toward the window, her hands calmly adjusting the curtains.
She didn't scream. She didn't yell. She didn't crumble.
Instead, she simply said, her voice level, "Okay. So when are we getting divorced? Have you already prepared the paperwork, or should I give you my lawyer's number?"
Zarif froze, staring at her as if she had slapped him across the face. He had prepared for anger, for hurt, for the inevitable fallout of his cold declaration. But this? This indifference?He almost thought it's an illusion not reality.
It was beyond anything he had imagined.
He had braced himself for a storm. But Zara's calmness? It rattled him to the core.
He wasn't sure whether to be frustrated or impressed. How could she be so... unaffected? How could she accept this without so much as a protest?
For the first time in days, Zarif found himself speechless