The monsoon rain lashed against the haveli’s ancient windows, and Zain stood by the wooden pillar, his gaze fixed on the woman he should never desire.
But he did.
He always had.
Zainab.
His cousin. His weakness. His obsession.
Twenty-two and still so unaware of the fire she ignited in him.
She laughed softly with her sister in the courtyard below, dupatta soaked from the rain, clinging to her curves in a way that made Zain’s jaw tighten. Her innocence wasn’t her fault. It was the way she tilted her head when confused. The way her eyes searched for his approval. The way she never realized that Zain was no longer looking at her with brotherly affection.
Not since she turned seventeen.
Not since her dupattas got longer and her eyes started lowering in front of him.
Not since she started looking like his.
His fingers dug into the wood, nails pressing hard.
“Zainab, andar aa jao. Thand lag jaayegi,”
(Zainab, come inside. You’ll catch a cold)
She looked up — startled — and then smiled. Always smiling at him.
“Mujhe baarish pasand hai,”
(I like the rain)
she said, spinning slightly.
His gaze dropped to her bare waist where her kameez had ridden up. Heat surged in his veins.
“Andar. Abhi,”
(Inside. Now)
The words were simple, but she heard the sharpness in his tone.
She obeyed. Always did.
She padded into the living room minutes later, cheeks pink, dupatta clutched to her chest.
“Gussa ho?”
(Are you angry?)
she whispered, water dripping from her hair, falling onto the old marble.
Zain didn’t answer. He just walked up to her, took the end of the dupatta, and pulled it off her head.
“Zain—” her voice trembled.
“Tumhe pata bhi hai tum mere saath kya karti ho?”
(Do you even know what you do to me?)
he asked, brushing a wet strand of her hair away.
“Main? Maine kya kiya?”
(Me? What did I do?)
Zainab asked as her voice shaked
“Tum is ghar mein aise chalti ho jaise tum meri nahi ho,”
(You walk around this house like you’re not mine.)
“I— I don’t—”
“You do,” he said, voice darker now. “You’ve belonged to me since the day you said my name and looked at me like I hung the moon.”
She tried to take a step back, but he caged her in — one arm against the pillar, the other tracing the line of her jaw.
“Hum… hum rishtedaar hai, Zain…”
(We’re cousins, Zain…)
she whispered, eyes wide, torn between fear and something else.
“Tumhe lagta hai mujhe fark padta hai?”
(You think I care?)
he growled.
“Duniya jale, log kuch bhi kahe — mujhe farak nahi padta. Tum meri thi. Meri ho. Aur hamesha meri rahogi.”
(Let the world burn, Zainab. Let them call it haraam. Let them call me mad. I’ll still want you. Still take you)
Her breath hitched.
You shouldn’t say these things.”
“But I will.” His fingers ran down her throat, pausing at the base where her pulse thudded frantically. “Because no one else will ever have you.”
“Kabhi bhi kisi aur ke naam ki mehendi mat sochna, Zainab. Main zinda hi chhod dunga uss ladke ko,”
(Don’t you dare dream of anyone else’s name on your hands, Zainab. I’ll destroy that man.)
She shivered, his possessiveness wrapping around her like chains.
“T-tum aise kyun keh rahe ho…”
(W-Why are you saying this…)
“Kyunki main pagal hoon tumhare liye. Tumhara har pal, har saans, har muskurahat — sirf meri hai.”
(Because I’m mad for you. Every moment of yours, every breath, every smile — it’s all mine.)
Zainab had always seen glimpses of this side of him. The way he stared too long. The way his touch lingered during family dinners. The way he always made sure her phone had no boys’ numbers. She thought it was protectiveness.
But it wasn’t.
It was control. Obsession.
Love — twisted and dark.
And somewhere deep down, she had liked it.
“Zain…”
“Dubara bolo.”
(Say it again.)
“Zain…”
“Say it,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear. “Say you’re mine.”
She shook her head, tears glistening.
He pulled her chin up. “Say it, Zainab.”
Her lips parted, trembling. “I’m yours…”
His hand slid around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. “That’s right.”
Their breaths mingled. There was nothing brotherly in the way he kissed her — fierce, desperate, all-consuming. His mouth devoured hers, hands roaming, gripping, claiming. The storm outside was nothing compared to the storm inside him.
She whimpered when his fingers grazed the skin at her waist, dipping under her wet kameez. He lifted her, carried her to the old wooden sofa, laying her down without breaking the kiss.
Zainab’s heart thundered in her chest as he hovered over her. “If you want me to stop,” he said hoarsely, “say it now.”
She didn’t.
She couldn’t.
Because even in the madness of it, she wanted to feel his love — the kind that would burn the world just to touch her.
He kissed down her throat, each press of his lips marking her, branding her.
“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this,” he muttered against her collarbone.
Her fingers curled into his hair, holding on as if the world outside would crash if she let go.
Clothes rustled. Breath caught. Hands explored. There was desperation in every touch, in every kiss, in every moment their bodies pressed closer. His possessiveness wrapped around her like a second skin.
She gasped when his lips reached her stomach, when he whispered things in Urdu she barely understood — things about how she was made for him, how no one else would ever get to see her like this.
His voice, dark and low, sank into her veins like poison. A delicious, addictive poison.
“Zain…” she moaned, arching into him.
He looked up, eyes burning. “Say my name again.”
“Zain…”
He kissed her again, rougher this time, consuming her, driving her to the edge of reason. And in that moment, under the dim light of their ancestral haveli, with the rain raging outside and secrets crackling in the air — Zainab let go.
Let go of logic.
Let go of shame.
Let go of the world.
Because sometimes, the wrong kind of love… is the only love that feels right.
Zainab’s breath trembled as Zain hovered over her, his gaze dark, wild — untamed like a storm waiting to strike.
Outside, the monsoon roared. Inside, her world was unraveling.
His hand gripped her wrist, pressing it into the sofa cushions above her head. His body hovered just enough for her to feel his heat — his power. He leaned in, voice a growl against her ear.
“Tujhe pata bhi hai kitni baar tujhe soch ke haath chalaya hai maine?”
(“Do you even know how many times I’ve touched myself thinking about you?”)
Zainab gasped, her body arching slightly beneath him, shame and desire crashing in waves. His other hand slid under her wet kurti, knuckles grazing her skin as if claiming every inch.
“Tu jaanti hai na, Zainab, main tujhe tod dunga aaj. Tere andar apna naam likh ke jaunga.”
(“You know, right Zainab? I’ll break you tonight. I’ll leave my name inside you.”)
She whimpered as he bit her neck, dragging his lips across her collarbone.
“Zain…” she whispered.
“Zain kya? Tera malik hoon main. Bol — kis ka hai yeh jism?”
(“Zain what? I’m your master. Say it — who does this body belong to?”)
She closed her eyes, shame burning in her cheeks. But the truth spilled anyway.
“Yours…”
“Besharam… haan, bol. Zor se bol. Tujhe chahiye main, har raat, har waqt.”
(“Shameless girl… yeah, say it loud. You want me — every night, every second.”)
He pulled her kurti up, dragging it slowly over her chest, baring her to the cold air — and his burning touch. His mouth followed instantly, rough and ravenous, tasting her like a man starved.
“Dekh rahi hai tu? Tere liye kya ban gaya hoon main… ek jaanwar.”
(“You see what you’ve turned me into? A fucking animal.”)
His teeth grazed her skin, leaving red marks across her chest, trailing lower with every breathless second.
“Zain, please…” she moaned, gripping his shoulders.
“Chup. Tujhe ijazat kisne di bolne ki? Ab main bolunga, tu sirf sunegi… aur mehsoos karegi.”
(“Shut up. Who gave you permission to speak? I’ll talk now. You’ll only listen… and feel.”)
His fingers slid beneath her salwar, knuckles teasing places that made her legs tremble.
“Yeh sab mera hai. Har jagah, har hisa, sirf mera.”
(“All this is mine. Every inch, every part, only mine.”)
She gasped loudly as he entered her with his fingers — slow, then suddenly rough — setting a rhythm that stole her breath. Her back arched, and she cried out his name.
“Tujhe yeh pasand hai na, Zainab? Yeh ganda pyaar… meri baahon mein tutna.”
(“You like this, don’t you, Zainab? This filthy love… breaking in my arms.”)
He kissed her hard, bruising and desperate. His lips crashed into hers like punishment and possession all at once.
He stripped away the last of her clothes, and then his — never breaking eye contact, never letting her breathe without his permission.
“Aaj tujhe khud mein dafan karunga. Tera har aansu, har ahh… meri jeet hogi.”
(“Tonight I’ll bury you inside me. Every tear, every moan… will be my victory.”)
When he finally pushed inside her, it wasn’t gentle. It was punishing — fierce and deep, claiming her completely. She screamed, clutching his shoulders as he drove into her again and again.
“Tera andar bhi sirf mera ban gaya… haan?”
(“Even inside you belongs to me now… right?”)
“Yes… Zain… yes!” she cried out, legs trembling.
“Tera har raat ka sukoon sirf mere seene pe hoga. Samjhi?”
(“Every night’s peace will only be on my chest. Got that?”)
He held her down, thrusting harder, deeper, losing control with every passing second. His hands pinned her hips, his body dominating hers like she was his captive — his willing prisoner.
“Tu bhaag gayi hoti na… toh bhi dhoond ke le aata tujhe. Zameen ka paata, aasman ka kona chaan maarta.”
(“Even if you had run, I would’ve found you. I would’ve searched the corners of earth and sky.”)
“Zain… I’m yours…” she sobbed, overwhelmed.
“Tabah kar dunga tujhe. Har baar tu chillayegi… lekin rukne wala nahi hoon.”
(“I’ll ruin you. Every time you scream, I won’t stop.”)
Their bodies moved in rhythm — rough, filthy, and desperate. He kissed her everywhere, teeth and tongue trailing over her skin like a curse. Her moans echoed through the haveli, mixing with the sound of rain and thunder — as if the sky itself watched their sin.
She came undone beneath him, crying out his name. But he didn’t stop.
He followed, collapsing over her with a loud, guttural growl — whispering filth into her ear even as they shook in the aftermath.
“Aaj se tu meri patni hai. Kaghaz nahi chahiye. Sirf tera jism aur teri rooh meri ho gayi.”
(“From today, you are my wife. I don’t need paper. Your body and soul belong to me now.”)
Zainab’s breath trembled as Zain hovered over her, his gaze dark, wild — untamed like a storm waiting to strike.
Outside, the monsoon roared. Inside, her world was unraveling.
His hand gripped her wrist, pressing it into the sofa cushions above her head. His body hovered just enough for her to feel his heat — his power. He leaned in, voice a growl against her ear.
“Tujhe pata bhi hai kitni baar tujhe soch ke haath chalaya hai maine?”
(“Do you even know how many times I’ve touched myself thinking about you?”)
Zainab gasped, her body arching slightly beneath him, shame and desire crashing in waves. His other hand slid under her wet kurti, knuckles grazing her skin as if claiming every inch.
“Tu jaanti hai na, Zainab, main tujhe tod dunga aaj. Tere andar apna naam likh ke jaunga.”
(“You know, right Zainab? I’ll break you tonight. I’ll leave my name inside you.”)
She whimpered as he bit her neck, dragging his lips across her collarbone.
“Zain…” she whispered.
“Zain kya? Tera malik hoon main. Bol — kis ka hai yeh jism?”
(“Zain what? I’m your master. Say it — who does this body belong to?”)
She closed her eyes, shame burning in her cheeks. But the truth spilled anyway.
“Yours…”
“Besharam… haan, bol. Zor se bol. Tujhe chahiye main, har raat, har waqt.”
(“Shameless girl… yeah, say it loud. You want me — every night, every second.”)
He pulled her kurti up, dragging it slowly over her chest, baring her to the cold air — and his burning touch. His mouth followed instantly, rough and ravenous, tasting her like a man starved.
“Dekh rahi hai tu? Tere liye kya ban gaya hoon main… ek jaanwar.”
(“You see what you’ve turned me into? A fucking animal.”)
His teeth grazed her skin, leaving red marks across her chest, trailing lower with every breathless second.
“Zain, please…” she moaned, gripping his shoulders.
“Chup. Tujhe ijazat kisne di bolne ki? Ab main bolunga, tu sirf sunegi… aur mehsoos karegi.”
(“Shut up. Who gave you permission to speak? I’ll talk now. You’ll only listen… and feel.”)
His fingers slid beneath her salwar, knuckles teasing places that made her legs tremble.
“Yeh sab mera hai. Har jagah, har hisa, sirf mera.”
(“All this is mine. Every inch, every part, only mine.”)
She gasped loudly as he entered her with his fingers — slow, then suddenly rough — setting a rhythm that stole her breath. Her back arched, and she cried out his name.
“Tujhe yeh pasand hai na, Zainab? Yeh ganda pyaar… meri baahon mein tutna.”
(“You like this, don’t you, Zainab? This filthy love… breaking in my arms.”)
He kissed her hard, bruising and desperate. His lips crashed into hers like punishment and possession all at once.
He stripped away the last of her clothes, and then his — never breaking eye contact, never letting her breathe without his permission.
“Aaj tujhe khud mein dafan karunga. Tera har aansu, har ahh… meri jeet hogi.”
(“Tonight I’ll bury you inside me. Every tear, every moan… will be my victory.”)
When he finally pushed inside her, it wasn’t gentle. It was punishing — fierce and deep, claiming her completely. She screamed, clutching his shoulders as he drove into her again and again.
“Tera andar bhi sirf mera ban gaya… haan?”
(“Even inside you belongs to me now… right?”)
“Yes… Zain… yes!” she cried out, legs trembling.
“Tera har raat ka sukoon sirf mere seene pe hoga. Samjhi?”
(“Every night’s peace will only be on my chest. Got that?”)
He held her down, thrusting harder, deeper, losing control with every passing second. His hands pinned her hips, his body dominating hers like she was his captive — his willing prisoner.
“Tu bhaag gayi hoti na… toh bhi dhoond ke le aata tujhe. Zameen ka paata, aasman ka kona chaan maarta.”
(“Even if you had run, I would’ve found you. I would’ve searched the corners of earth and sky.”)
“Zain… I’m yours…” she sobbed, overwhelmed.
“Tabah kar dunga tujhe. Har baar tu chillayegi… lekin rukne wala nahi hoon.”
(“I’ll ruin you. Every time you scream, I won’t stop.”)
Their bodies moved in rhythm — rough, filthy, and desperate. He kissed her everywhere, teeth and tongue trailing over her skin like a curse. Her moans echoed through the haveli, mixing with the sound of rain and thunder — as if the sky itself watched their sin.
She came undone beneath him, crying out his name. But he didn’t stop.
He followed, collapsing over her with a loud, guttural growl — whispering filth into her ear even as they shook in the aftermath.
“Aaj se tu meri patni hai. Kaghaz nahi chahiye. Sirf tera jism aur teri rooh meri ho gayi.”
(“From today, you are my wife. I don’t need paper. Your body and soul belong to me now.”)
The rain still poured, but they didn’t move.
Zainab was limp in his arms — bare, trembling, breathless.
Zain held her tighter, her legs wrapped around his waist, his head resting in the crook of her neck. His breaths were ragged, matching hers, but his eyes… they were on fire.
Not with lust anymore.
But with ownership.
He kissed the side of her temple slowly, the raindrops sliding down his lips like blood from a wound.
“Ek aur baar chillati toh… main tujhe yahin shaadi ke liye majboor kar deta.”
(“If you’d screamed one more time… I would’ve forced you to marry me right here.”)
Zainab shivered. She didn’t know if it was the rain… or the weight of his words.
He finally lowered her onto the cold marble floor of the balcony, wrapping the discarded bedsheet around her carefully, as if she were something sacred. She looked up at him, dazed, lips parted, eyes heavy with exhaustion and emotion.
“Mujhe dekhna band kar. Tujh mein itna pyaar bhar diya maine… ab tu ro bhi nahi sakti theek se.”
(“Stop looking at me like that. I’ve filled you with so much love… you can’t even cry properly anymore.”)
Her tears still clung to her lashes.
Zain leaned in, licked one off slowly.
“Mere laayak sirf tu hai, Zainab. Tere jism pe, tere aansuon pe, har cheekh pe — mera haq hai.”
(“Only you are worthy of me, Zainab. On your body, your tears, your every scream — I have a right.”)
He pulled her up again, bridal-style, and walked back into the haveli, rain dripping from their bodies onto the old wooden floor. The mansion was quiet — ancient walls keeping ancient secrets.
In the room, he placed her down on the bed gently.
Then disappeared for a moment.
When he returned, his hands held a dry towel, a warm shawl, and a silver glass of warm milk. Not a word was said. He sat beside her, pulled her into his lap, and began drying her hair, every stroke patient and strangely gentle for the monster he’d been minutes ago.
Zainab just stared.
“Why… are you being so… soft now?” she asked, her voice weak.
He stopped.
Stroked her cheek.
“Tera har tukda phaad ke rakh diya maine. Ab usse sambhalna bhi mera kaam hai.”
(“I broke every piece of you. Now it’s my job to care for those pieces.”)
He leaned in again, nose brushing her ear.
“Tu sochti thi main tujhe sirf chodne ke liye chahta hoon?”
(“You thought I only wanted to fuck you?”)
She flinched at the word.
He smirked darkly.
“Gandi soch hai teri. Par tu gandi cheez hai bhi toh. Sirf mere liye bani hui gandi ladki.”
(“Your thoughts are dirty. But you’re a dirty thing anyway. Made dirty just for me.”)
Her breath caught.
He fed her the warm milk — sip by sip — watching her lips the entire time like he might kiss them again any second.
Then he whispered:
“Kal nikaah hai.”
(“The nikkah is tomorrow.”)
Her eyes widened.
“What?”
“Mujhe farak nahi padta ab koi kya kahega. Ab tu kisi aur ki nahi ho sakti. Tujhe maine liya hai… chhoda nahi jaa sakta.”
(“I don’t care what anyone says. You can’t be anyone else’s now. I’ve taken you… I’m not letting go.”)
“Zain…”
“Chup. Ab tu sirf meri biwi banegi. Tere liye zewar nahi… sirf mere nishaan honge. Har jagah.”
(“Shut up. You’ll be my wife now. No jewelry for you… only my marks. Everywhere.”)
He pulled her forward, wrapping the shawl tighter around her.
And then he whispered, almost like a lullaby:
“Kisi din tu mujhe chorh ke bhaagne ki soch bhi le… toh yaad rakhna, Zainab…”
(“If you ever even think of running from me one day, remember, Zainab…”)
“Main tujhe dhoondh ke launga. Bistar se kheench ke le jaunga. Aur us raat, maafi bhi nahi milegi.”
(“I will find you. Drag you from any bed. And that night, I won’t forgive you.”)
Zainab stared at him, frozen.
The storm inside him wasn’t over. It was only quiet… for now.
He pulled her against his chest, hand cupping the back of her head, lips resting on her forehead.
Outside, the rain began to slow.
But inside the haveli, one truth had been sealed in blood, sweat, and sin:
Zainab didn’t belong to herself anymore.
She belonged to Zain.
Forever.
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