His Prisoner 21+

42

Two days had passed since that night, but the memory of Arzal's grip around her throat, the coldness in his voice, and the intensity of his words still lingered in Emaan's mind. Despite their conversation afterward, where he had softened just enough for her, but she still couldn't shake the feeling of unease that wrapped itself around her heart.

Arzal, as always, acted as though nothing had happened. He moved through their days with the same commanding presence, expecting her to follow his lead without question. There were no apologies, no explanations, just an unspoken expectation that they would continue as if everything was perfect.

Emaan tried to push it all aside, tried to tell herself that it was just his way, that he didn't mean to hurt her. She busied herself with household chores, carefully making sure everything was perfect when he returned home. The house, always spotless, now gleamed under her meticulous care. She even cooked his favorite dishes, hoping it would ease the tension, even if it was only in her own mind. But inside, she was still upset. She hadn't been able to forget the way he had threatened her, how close she had come to losing him—or, worse, being forced to leave.

On the third day, Arzal noticed her silence again. She wasn't as cheerful as usual, even though she tried to be normal. He could sense that she hadn't fully let go of the events from that night. He didn't like that. Emaan needed to understand that she belonged to him, and her mood wasn't something he could allow to disrupt the balance he had worked so hard to maintain.

That night, as they sat together in the living room, the tension between them was palpable. Arzal leaned back on the sofa, his gaze never leaving Emaan. His voice, deceptively soft, broke the silence, "Tum abhi tak upset ho?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft. (Are you still upset?)

Startled, Emaan glanced up from the book she was reading. "N-nahi, Arzal. Main bas—" (N-no, Arzal. I'm just—)

He cut her off, leaning forward slightly, his eyes darkening. "Don't lie to me."

She faltered under his gaze. "It's not that. I just—"

Arzal sighed deeply, rubbing his temples as if her words were exhausting him. "Emaan," he said slowly, in a tone that was almost condescending, "Me tumhe khona nahi chahta hun." (Emaan, I don't want to lose you.)

He snatched the book from her hands and tossed it aside, gripping her hands in his, "Tum abhi ghar hoti ho, mujhe fikar nahi hoti hai. Bahir niklogi, toh me fikarmand rahunga." (When you're at home, I don't worry. But if you step outside, I'll be anxious.)

"Classes online hain, Arzal." She whispered softly. (The classes are online, Arzal.)

"I'm not talking about the classes, Emaan."

He reached up to caress her face, his touch gentle but the words that followed laced with possession. "Tum itni pyaari ho, itni masoom ho. Me nahi chahta tumpe bahir ki duniya ka bura asar parey." (You're so precious, so innocent. I don't want the outside world to corrupt you.)

"Mujhe kyun kuch hoga? Ap haina mere saath." (Why would anything happen to me? You're with me, aren't you?)

Arzal's expression shifted as he let go of her hands, his face turning away in frustration. "Tum nahi samajhogi." (You won't understand.)

She leaned forward, speaking softly. "Toh phir samjhayein mujhe." (Then help me understand.)

Arzal's jaw clenched as memories from his past flooded his mind. His voice, tinged with bitterness, cut through the air. "Sab kuch dosti se hi shuru hota hai. Mere baap ke dost ne bhi meri maa se shuruwaat mein sirf dosti ki thi, phir agle din dono.. ek bistar mein lipte the" He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. (Everything begins with friendship. Even my father's friend started with just friendship with my mother, and the next day... they were tangled together in bed.)