His Prisoner 21+

38

Emaan stood on the balcony, her gaze lost in the moonlit sky, absentmindedly fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist. Her mind wandered to Arzal and his behavior the previous night. It was nearing ten o'clock, and she couldn't shake the growing anxiety—would he come home late again, drunk and hostile, hurling insults at her as he had before?

A quiet sigh of relief escaped her lips as she heard the bedroom door creak open behind her, but didn't bother to turn around. No matter what, tonight she had resolved to confront him. She had a right, as his wife, to know what was tormenting him—even if it felt like he had long denied her that right.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt a familiar, tight embrace from behind.

"Meri Jaan." Arzal murmured, his voice soft as he rested his chin on her shoulder. The intoxicating scent of his cologne enveloped her, but the sting of his words and actions from the night before rushed back, cutting through the moment. She immediately shook off his arms and moved away from him. (My love.)

Arzal caught her hand. "Emaan..."

"Kya hogaya hai?" (What's wrong with you?)

"Yeh toh mujhe ap se puchna chahiye. Balke, nahi, mera toh koi haq hi nahi ap pe. After all, me toh ap ke joote ki nokk hun sirf." (Shouldn't I be asking you that? But then again, who am I to ask? I have no right over you, do I? After all, I'm nothing more than the dirt under your feet.)

He sighed deeply, tracing slow, deliberate circles on the back of her hand. "Emu, please."

"Yaar me drunk tha, I was not in my senses." (I was drunk.)

Emaan lowered the neckline of her dress slightly, revealing her cleavage to him which had faint red marks on her skin. "Hosh mein nahi hoyenge toh aisa karenge?" (Will you do this if you're not in your senses?)

His eyes darkened, but instead of shame, a different kind of desire flared in them. "Nahi. Yeh sau feesad hosh mein hi kiya tha." (No. I hundred percent did this in my right mind.)

"Haath chorein mera." She tried to pull her hand from his grip, glaring at him, but he only tightened it further. (Let go of me.)

"Chorne ke liye thori na pakra hai." (I didn't hold you to let go.)

"Arzal, I said leave me!"

"Aye!" His patience snapped. In an instant, his hand was around her throat, his frustration boiling over. Arzal was not a man accustomed to chasing anyone or being defied. But almost as quickly as the anger appeared, he withdrew his hand, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he felt her body tense under his touch.

"Meri Jaan, mujhe understand karo please. You have no idea what I was going through. Me bohat takleef mein tha," he said, his tone soft but commanding  (My love, please try to understand me. You have no idea what I was going through. I was in a lot of pain.)

"Toh icliye ap ne apni saari takleef mujhpe daaldi." (So, that's why you decided to dump all your pain onto me?)

"Haan toh? Meri biwi nahi ho tum? Shohar ko akela chordogi mushkil waqt mein?" (And why not? Aren't you my wife? Shouldn't you be there for me during difficult times?)

Emaan felt a surge of guilt flood her chest.

"Arzal, mera waisa matlab nahi tha. Ap mujhe kuch batate bhi toh nahi hain. Maine kal kitna ap se puchne ki koshish ki par ap..ap mujhpe hi gussa hogaye." Tears welled up her eyes. (That's not what I meant, Arzal. But you never tell me anything. I tried to ask you yesterday, but instead of answering, you just got angry with me.)