Writer: Husny-Kanwal

Novel: I am yours, my beloved.

“Najma Abdul Rahman Malik, I hereby wed you to Muheeb son of ajlal Malik…”

Hearing just these few words from the Nikah officiant , Najma’s mind went completely numb. She couldn’t understand what was happening.

How had her life turned upside down in just one week?

How had all her dreams been shattered?

How had she become trapped among these cruel people?

Her eyes were red like burning embers, and tears flowed endlessly — tears that only her mother wiped away. But even her mother stood helpless, watching her daughter’s life being destroyed, powerless to intervene.

“Come on, bride.”

After the Nikah officiant

and a few other guests had left, Moheeb held her hand in front of everyone and said commandingly.

The moment she heard that, she ... who had been sitting motionless — began trembling violently.

“I’m not going anywhere with you! Let go of my hand!” she shouted, trying with all her fragile strength to free herself from his cruel grip.

“You have to go,” he replied with authority, pulling her closer.

“Mom… save me! I don’t want to go with this disgusting man. Mom!”

Her screams echoed throughout the lounge.

“You will go — because now, I’m your husband.”

His face bore a triumphant smirk as he spoke.

“Moheeb! What kind of joke is this? You know very well this marriage wasn’t meant for those purposes. I will never let the daughter of a courtesan become the pride of your room.”

Mrs. Mubashra looked at Najma with deep contempt as she addressed her son in a firm, disdainful tone.

“Mom, we’ll talk about this later. Right now, I’m going to my room.”

For the first time, Moheeb ignored his mother’s command — something that left her utterly shocked.

“Moheeb, she may be your wife, but that doesn’t mean you can give her this right! She’s not worthy of becoming your room’s adornment. Don’t grant her such an honor!”

Grandmother could no longer bear to see her beloved grandson holding Najma’s hand. She stepped forward, intending to separate them.

“ grandma, this marriage was arranged by all of you,” he said, his anger barely restrained as he tried to keep his voice steady.

“Dad, please make them understand. You know I hate unnecessary drama.”

His tone was calm but colder than ice.

“Moheeb Ajlal Malik doesn’t tolerate anyone’s interference in his decisions.”

With that, he swept a hard gaze across the room, then gripped Najma’s delicate hand and started pulling her toward the staircase.

“Let me go! I said let go! Mom, help me!”

She struggled desperately to break free from his grasp. Her red bangles shattered one by one — some scattered across the floor, others cut into her soft hands.

“That’s enough!”

He stopped, anger flashing in his eyes, then bent down and hoisted Najma onto his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Her helpless screams echoed through the entire house — but no one came to her aid.

---

A week earlier:

“It’s just for one week. Then I’ll be back, and we’ll do all the wedding shopping together.”

Najma smiled as she spoke to Zaron.

“Yaar… I still don’t feel right about you going there alone.”

The handsome young man’s face showed signs of worry and fear. Concern laced his voice.

He stood with his arms folded, leaning against the wall, watching she pack her suitcase.

“Oh, come on… why are you worrying so much? Mom called two weeks ago — she said she misses me a lot and insisted I come to Pakistan, at least to attend my cousin’s wedding.

At first, I thought about refusing… and I actually did. But then uncle called last night. He too insisted I come. Honestly, I was shocked — uncle has never spoken to me so kindly before. How could I say no? Besides, it’s been years…”

Najma smiled as she looked at him.

She had a pure heart — maybe that’s why she always saw the good in everyone.

“I don’t know… I just don’t feel good about you going there alone. Take me with you, please.”

He urged earnestly.

“No, no… it’s not the right time to take you there. I haven’t told Mom about you yet. Let me go first, see how things are, then I’ll talk to her and maybe call you to meet her at a restaurant. But I don’t want you coming to Malik Mansion yet.”

Her expression dimmed as painful old memories surfaced.

Zaron understood her. So, he didn’t argue further.

“Hmm… fine. I’ll wait for you,” he said in a sad tone, nodding slightly.

“By the way, how many days are in a week?”

He sat down on the bed, trying to lighten the mood, looking adorably innocent.

“Seven,” she smiled, replying as she looked at his sulky face.

“Seven days? Oh God… how will I survive? That’s too long! And our wedding prep isn’t even complete yet. Why don’t you go for just three days?”

His eyes lit up as he offered the idea.

“Zaron… it’s just one week. It’ll fly by. Anyway, you hardly visit my apartment every other day,” she teased.

“So what? I do call you every few hours, don’t I?”

He said proudly, defending himself, which made her laugh.

“Oh, and don’t forget to tell Uncle. I was in such a hurry, I forgot to inform him.”

She turned to him quickly while packing her clothes.

“Okay… though you should’ve talked to Dad before making such a big decision,” he said, narrowing his eyes a little.

“I know… but I’m sure Uncle will let me make my own choices, like he always has. He won’t try to stop me like you do.”

She widened her eyes dramatically and spoke quickly.

“Alright, alright… I won’t stop you. But please, promise me you’ll stay in touch once you get there,” he pleaded.

“Okay, boss,” she smiled playfully.

“Hey, you’re the boss here, madam! If I were the boss, you wouldn’t be packing right now,” he pouted.

“Fine then, before I leave, make me your special biryani — or else I’ll miss it for a whole week,” he requested sweetly.

“Should I finish packing or cook for you?” she asked, hand on hip, pretending to scold him.

“Please, yaar, make it. I’m craving it so much,” he pleaded again, stretching his tone cutely.

“Alright, alright… don’t make that face. I’ll make it,” she smiled warmly.

She loved Zaron deeply — how could she not? After Jazey, he was her only friend in the whole world.

Since Jazey , she had only made one true friend — and that was Zaron, her companion in joy and sorrow.

Zaron knew her heart inside out, like an open book. Maybe that’s why she felt so comfortable sharing everything with him.

---

“What biryani, yaar! It’s so good I feel like kissing your hands,” he said after the first bite, catching her hand playfully and bringing it near his lips.

“Zaron!” she protested, widening her eyes. His gaze sparkled with mischief, which she understood immediately.

“Alright, alright,” he said, lowering her hand with a pout.

“Now let go of my hand,” she said softly but firmly.

“I need both hands to eat.”

He ignored her words, still holding her hand with one while eating with the other.

“After marriage, if you keep eating like this while holding my hand, then I’ll admit you truly love me,” she teased, her tone playful.

“Just your hand?” he replied meaningfully, letting his eyes wander over her face.

She blushed, lowering her gaze shyly.

“Uff… don’t blush like that. It drives me crazy,” he said, gazing at her lovingly.

“Eat your food,” she murmured, cheeks turning rosy. It was becoming impossible to handle his romantic stare.

He smiled, storing that shy, beautiful image in his eyes.

“So, what time are you going to the airport tomorrow?” he asked casually, sipping water.

“By two o’clock. But you don’t have to take time off work. I’ll go by myself. Muheeb will be at the airport.”

At the mention of that name, Zaron froze mid-sip.

“Muheeb?” he asked, puzzled.

“Yes, Uncle said Moheeb is in California for work, so I’ll return with him to Pakistan. We’ll meet at the airport.”

Najma said carelessly, washing dishes.

“Why are they being so nice all of a sudden?” Zaron said suspiciously, standing behind her.

“He’s there for work, not to do me a favor,” Najma replied, smiling over her shoulder.

“Still, I’m coming to drop you at the airport,” Zaron said firmly.

“There’s no need. I told you — after I come back from Pakistan, we’ll have a ton of wedding shopping to do together, and your grumpy boss won’t give you leave then. So don’t even think about taking it now,” she said in a commanding tone.

He sighed, reluctantly nodding in agreement.

2

“You?” She had just stepped out of the house with her luggage when she was startled to see Zaroon standing right in front of her.

“Yeah, me. Why? Were you expecting someone else?” he asked, raising his brows like an investigating officer.

“Don’t act too smart. Just tell me—why did you take leave from the office? I told you not to.”

She knew he was trying to cover his own mistake by throwing questions at her, so with a stern expression and folded arms, she asked sharply.

“baby.. I just couldn’t help it.” he said innocently, his face glowing with mischief.

Love sparkled in his eyes. How could she ignore that, even in anger? So she dropped the argument. She knew this week would be hard Spending even a single day without talking to him was difficult, and now they had to stay apart for an entire week.

She herself was overwhelmed by a blend of joy and sorrow—

Joy, because she would be meeting her mother and family after so many years,

and sorrow, because she wouldn’t be able to see this handsome man standing before her for a whole week.

“What’s wrong? Am I looking too handsome today?”

He had caught the loving gleam in her eyes, and with teasing charm, stepped closer to her.

“You look like a complete monkey!” she quickly changed her expression and tone, puffing away a stray lock of hair from her face with a dramatic flair, and walked past him toward the elevator.

It was those very playful gestures he was crazy about. Smiling, he shook his head and pulled her suitcase along.

The entire way, he couldn’t take his eyes off her, staring at her like a lovestruck fool.

“Take care of yourself, okay? I don’t know why, but I still don’t feel right about sending you there,” he said in a worried tone, holding her hand in the airport waiting lounge.

Naghma too was feeling a strange sadness—a sense of foreboding—but she didn’t share it with Zaroon, knowing he’d never let her go if she did.

“Oh please, don’t start again. Just say goodbye with a smile, so I can return to you the same way—a week later.”

She smiled lovingly as she bid him farewell.

“By the way, where’s Muheeb?” Zaroon looked around the room curiously.

“I don’t know. It’s better if he doesn’t come anyway. I’ll feel more comfortable traveling alone.” she replied casually.

“Alright then, Allah Hafiz.” Zaroon said with a smile. He didn’t want to let go of her hand. For a few seconds, he just stood there silently, taking in her lovely face as if memorizing it.

“What?” she said, feeling his intense gaze and blushing.

“Nothing… just take care of yourself. Remember, my Najma .. she is entrusted to your care.”

His words carried the weight of pure love, and she nodded with a smile.

“Allah Hafiz. Take care of yourself too—and don’t even think about going to the club while I’m gone, Mr. Zaroon. Remember, I haven’t called off my spies yet.” she warned playfully.

“Yes, yes, I know. Honestly, those two feel more like your parents than mine,” he said, pretending to pout pitifully, which made her laugh.

The way he slowly let go of her hand stayed in her eyes. As she walked away, tears welled up. It was the first time she was parting from him.

-----

She had her earphones in, eyes fixed on her phone, lost in her own world, when suddenly she felt someone sit beside her on the white couch.

Startled, she looked up—

A man dressed in a white sweater, black coat, and jeans sat elegantly across from her.

Najma instantly recognized him.

It was Muheeb.

She hadn’t recognized him because of his good looks, but because of the small cut on his right eyebrow—a mark she herself had given him in childhood.

That scar brought back a sense of victory she’d always secretly cherished…

though ironically, that very victory had cost her mother years of separation from the family.

Inwardly, she admitted—the man had grown dangerously handsome.

Her gaze didn’t go unnoticed; Muheeb could feel her eyes lingering admiringly.

He cast a careless glance at the beautiful girl before him—

dressed in a white shirt and black jeans, with long black hair cascading down her back.

Her fair complexion and soft pink makeup made her look like something out of a dream.

“Where’s my coffee?” he asked his secretary in a deep, commanding tone.

“Just two minutes, sir,” the elegant, western-dressed woman replied with a flirtatious smile before hurrying off.

Silence filled the room.

Ten years had passed since these cousins had last met—

yet the only thing in both their eyes now was resentment.

Muheeb, engrossed in texting someone, seemed unaffected—

but for Najma, his presence reopened old wounds. Her mind began replaying her life like a painful movie reel—

---

> “I am Najma—the only granddaughter of the wealthy Malik family.

But neither I nor my mother were ever accepted by them… because my mother was once a dancer.”

She paused as the memories grew heavier.

“My late father met her at a party.

Mama never wanted to be a dancer—what woman would?

She was searching for shelter, for safety. She used to tell me how she prayed every day to escape that world…

But fate was cruel.

One night, during a high-society party, my father—Abdul Rehman Malik—saw her.

She was breathtaking. That night, her name was to be auctioned for the first time.

My father, a rich and powerful man, bid the highest price and bought her for one night.

But my mother wasn’t a cheap woman—just helpless.

When she was forced to his farmhouse, she tried to protect herself.

She even tried to strike him with a lamp to escape.

But he stopped her—startled, yet moved—when she cried out:

‘I only dance. I’ve never let any man touch me. Please, for God’s sake, leave me—or marry me. Otherwise, I’ll kill myself, but I won’t let you touch me sinfully.’

My father was stunned by her truth and purity.

That very night, he married her, in front of witnesses—

and promised to protect her for life.

He was a bold man.

The next morning, he brought my mother home—to the grand Malik Mansion.

My grandfather was furious, and my grandmother refused to accept the marriage.

My father was thrown out of the house.

Yet, he stood by my mother like a rock.

They moved into a small rented home, and he worked hard to provide for her.

Life was peaceful… until one day, news came that my grandfather had passed away.

My father went to attend the funeral, leaving Mama behind because my grandmother forbade her from coming.

She was pregnant then.

Days turned into weeks. Father didn’t return.

Mama had no phone, no money, and growing fear that he’d abandoned her.

At last, she gathered courage and went to the Malik Mansion.

But she was pushed away from the gate.

She screamed for my father, calling his name, until my grandmother came out—

and delivered the blow that shattered her world:

‘Your husband is dead.’

Mama fainted.

When she woke up, she found herself in a luxurious room—

the walls covered in my father’s portraits.

Where could she go? She had no home, no money, and no family.

So she begged my grandmother, Rukhsana Begum, to let her stay.

But pity was the last thing that old woman felt—

she just found a chance to unleash her hatred.

Even during pregnancy, Mama was treated like a servant—by everyone in the mansion.

She never complained, only cried silently at night.

Then I was born.

And from that day on, my war with Muheeb began.

He was ten years older than me, and for reasons I never understood—he hated me deeply.

So did the rest of the family, except for Jazay—his younger brother.”

3

Where Moheeb used to call my mother a “dancer” with disdain, Jazay, on the other hand, always addressed her respectfully as “Aunt.”

It was Moheeb’s birthday. He had just turned nineteen — and I was nine.

A strange coincidence, but we both shared the same birth date: August 23rd.

Mama had lovingly baked a cake for Moheeb, and from the leftover batter, she’d made a small one for me too.

That night is still vivid in my memory —

The moment when Moheeb, in front of all the guests, picked up the cake Mama had baked for him and smashed it to the ground.

Then, right there in front of everyone, he called her a “cheap dancer” and humiliated her.

Fire blazed inside me.

I couldn’t bear it — him insulting my mother like that, publicly, and for no reason.

And then… what could anyone expect? I am a Malik too. The same blood runs in my veins.

I rushed into the kitchen and saw a pair of scissors lying on the counter.

I picked it up and went out into the lawn.

My attack was so sudden that he couldn’t defend himself.

I’d intended to stab those scissors straight through his head —

and with all my might, I struck him.

People couldn’t believe what they were seeing —

a nine-year-old girl launching a murderous attack on a nineteen-year-old boy.

Moheeb collapsed instantly, blood gushing from his head.

Believe me — I didn’t feel even a hint of regret.

Grandfather slapped me hard, and I fell to the ground.

Mama ran to me, crying, lifting me in her trembling arms.

And I… I stood watching the entire Malik family crying like madmen —

it brought me a strange, dark peace inside.

They took Moheeb away in an ambulance, right before my eyes.

Grandmother came toward me, slapped me repeatedly across the face,

and hurled filthy insults.

But neither her curses were new to me, nor those slaps.

Because of the “murder attempt” on Moheeb, she called the police.

I was terrified — trembling as they were about to hand me over.

Mama fell to her knees before Grandmother, crying, begging forgiveness for me.

But that stone-hearted woman wasn’t moved by tears.

Until Grandfather returned from the hospital — and announced that Moheeb was out of danger.

His survival burned my heart even more.

Among the guests at Moheeb’s birthday was my father’s childhood friend and his family.

His wife, Madam Anaiza, was a kind-hearted woman.

She refused to let them hand me over to the police.

She insisted on taking me with her — to America, far away from that toxic environment.

Mama saw no future for me in Malik Mansion.

Madam Anaiza was a college lecturer in the U.S.,

and she gave Mama her word that she would raise me into a capable and educated person.

Mama was helpless…

and for my sake, she agreed.

For a few months, money kept arriving regularly for my care,

but then suddenly, the payments stopped.

Later we found out that Uncle had handed over the entire business to my sworn enemy — Moheeb.

And the first thing he did after taking charge…

was to stop the funds being sent for me.

Madam Anaiza supported me greatly, but I too began working small jobs from a young age.

At first, I lived in an apartment with Madam Anaiza, Uncle Shafiq, and their son Zaroon.

Maybe one reason Zaroon is so close to my heart

is because he’s the son of the people who became my saviors.

Both Uncle and Madam Anaiza were often busy with their work,

so most of the time, it was just Zaroon and me together at home.

Back then, I was unaware of his feelings for me.

I had always admired his personality, yes —

but I had never imagined engagement or marriage with him.

To me, I wasn’t worthy.

After all, my upbringing was funded by his parents —

and that made me feel small, indebted.

But on my 19th birthday, Zaroon proposed to me —

in front of all our friends and family.

It felt like a beautiful dream come true.

He had arranged a grand surprise birthday party just for me.

Along with that, he gifted me a red, floor-length gown that looked so luxurious,

I could tell at one glance it was expensive.

And yet, that strange man never admitted it was from him.

But who else could have given me something so beautiful?

She smiled to herself, lost in the waves of her memories,

gazing fondly at the ring on her finger — the one Zaroon had placed there.

---

“Ma’am... here.”

Najma was so lost in her thoughts that when a hand suddenly touched her shoulder, she instinctively brushed it off —

not realizing who it was.

The secretary, holding a mug of coffee meant for her, lost her grip —

and the entire cup spilled onto Moheeb’s clothes.

“Ahh!” He gasped sharply, jumping to his feet.

He glanced down at his white sweater, now stained,

then shot a furious look at the woman standing before him —

still frozen, biting her lip in embarrassment.

The hot coffee seeped through the fabric, burning his chest.

He tugged the sweater slightly away from his skin, wincing.

“I’m so sorry! So sorry!” Najma said quickly,

pulling a tissue from her jeans pocket and stepping close to him —

trying to wipe the coffee off his chest without hesitation.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Moheeb snapped through clenched teeth, his anger boiling.

In the next instant, he snatched the tissue from her hand.

“Keep your filthy hands off me.”

He glared at her with pure contempt and stood up sharply.

Najma’s face turned red with fury.

“Filthy hands? The world might change, but you never will, you arrogant frog!”

she muttered, pouting as she sat back down, fuming.

---

Moheeb was always seen with his Bluetooth earpiece,

busy with business calls every moment.

“Uff! Are you blind?” he shouted irritably when Najma, climbing the stairs absentmindedly, bumped into him.

“No, not you—wait—I'll call you back.”

He ended his call and glared at her again.

“Where are you going? The servants’ quarters aren’t upstairs. Forgot already?”

His tone dripped with sarcasm as he grabbed her arm, stopping her.

Najma hadn’t been given a guest room like the other visitors in Malik Mansion —

instead, she had been assigned the same small room she’d lived in as a child.

But since she was only staying for a week, she hadn’t argued about it.

“I remember perfectly well, Moheeb Ajlal Malik.”

The fearless way she said his full name while locking eyes with him

ignited something dark inside him.

His grip on her delicate arm tightened.

“How dare you?” he growled, eyes blazing.

“Let go of me. Try showing this attitude to the people who survive on your money, not me. Okay? Now, please... excuse me.”

Her tone was steady, her lips curved in a mocking smile as she jerked her arm free.

Moheeb was stunned by her courage.

No one had ever dared look him in the eye and speak like that.

“Don’t you think your tongue runs a bit too loose?”

He caught her arm again, twisting her back toward him, his tone icy cold.

His eyes burned with fury.

“And don’t you think your hands move a bit too freely?”

she snapped back, matching his fire.

Their eyes locked — both blazing.

“Let go of my hand!” she said, struggling.

But this time, Moheeb had made it a matter of ego.

“And what if I don’t? Will you try to kill me again?”

He yanked her closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear mockingly.

“You’re mistaken, Moheeb Ajlal Malik.”

Her voice was sharp, her eyes wild.

“This time, it won’t be an attempt. This time, I’ll kill you for real.”

Just then, a gentle male voice interrupted:

“Hello!”

Both of them turned.

“Jazay!” Najma exclaimed with joy, her anger instantly melting away.

Her eyes lit up like fireflies.

Moheeb dropped her arm and stepped back.

Najma Happily skipped up the stairs and reached Jazay.

“Najma! Wow, you’ve grown up so much — and so beautiful too!”

Jazay said warmly, hugging her tightly.

Najma, who never let any man come close except Zaroon,

stood frozen for a moment in his embrace.

Moheeb’s eyes, however, stayed fixed on them.

“I didn’t think I was important enough for you to come back. Thank you… really.”

Jazay smiled as he released her.

“You’re welcome,” Najma said softly, eyes lowered, her voice awkward.

“Come, I’ll show you Sobia’s pictures,”

he said, taking her hand naturally and leading her to his room.

Jazay and Moheeb hadn’t spoken properly in months —

some serious conflict had turned into silent bitterness between them.

But Moheeb didn’t stop him.

He knew his brother was hurt — deeply.

---

“Wow… your room hasn’t changed a bit in ten years!”

Najma said, entering the room with wonder and nostalgia.

Jazay smiled and nodded.

“Remember? I used to hide behind that vase while we played.”

Her eyes shimmered with tears as she pointed to the corner vase.

Many of her sweetest childhood memories were tied to this room.

“Here.”

Jazay handed her a black jacket from his cupboard.

“This jacket… oh!” she stopped mid-sentence, caught between a bitter and sweet memory.

“Yes, this one. I still remember it clearly — how could I forget?”

Her voice softened as she drifted into the past.

“It was freezing cold that night.

Every room in Malik Mansion had heaters — except mine.

Mama was in the hospital, very sick.

I was alone, shivering under two or three blankets,

hungry and sleepless.

Finally, I went to the kitchen.

There, I saw a cheese burger left by Moheeb in the fridge.

I couldn’t resist and ate it cold.

The servants treated me like the daughter of a maid.

They called Moheeb and Jazay “young masters,”

while I was just “Miss Najma.”

As I was hurrying back to my room,

I saw Jazay sitting on the sofa in the lounge.

When he saw me trembling,

he quickly took off his black jacket and draped it over me.

‘Take care of yourself until Aunt comes back from the hospital,’

he said kindly, with his usual gentle smile.

‘Are you going somewhere?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I have a school match tomorrow. Coach called for extra practice.’

‘Then take this back, or you’ll catch a cold,’ I said, trying to return it.

‘No, keep it. I’ll have a servant bring me another.’

I nodded happily and was heading back to my room when I saw —

Moheeb.

‘Who told you you could wear Jazay’s jacket?’ he barked.

He snatched it off me and threw it to the floor.

Calling the maid, he ordered coldly,

‘This jacket’s been dirtied by this girl. Burn it.’

I stood there, speechless.

How could my wearing it make it dirty?

And if it was, why burn it? Why not just give it to me?

‘Please don’t burn it — give it to me instead, I need it,’ I pleaded.

‘This belongs to my brother. You’re not worthy of wearing it.’

And with that, he left

his eyes full of hatred and disgust.

That look… hurt me more than anything.

Even today, I can still feel that same pain.”

She was lost in the memory when Jazay snapped his fingers to bring her back.

“Yeah… I took it back from the maid later. Never got a chance to return it,” he said with a smile.

“You keep it. I don’t need it anymore,” Najma said softly.

Because it wasn’t just a jacket —

it carried the sting of Moheeb’s contempt.

The pain she’d felt ten years ago…

she could feel it still.

Jazay looked disappointed.

He had fought hard to get that jacket back from Moheeb.

Seeing his face fall, Najma quickly added,

“Besides, I’ve grown taller now — it won’t even fit me anymore.”

He smiled faintly.

“Alright then, I’ll keep it myself.”

He placed the jacket carefully back in his cupboard.

-