His DULHAN The Bedside Tension

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AUTHOR POV;

Ruhani gathered the little courage she had left and walked toward the bed, her heart racing with every step. The sound of her own heartbeat seemed to grow louder in her ears, drowning out everything else.

Her focus was solely on Taha, who was still absorbed in the book in his hand. It looked like some kind of historical book from the cover, though she couldn’t make out the title from where she stood.

Her fingers trembled as she approached the bed, and when she reached for the pillow, her hand shook. She exhaled a shaky breath, feeling a knot tighten in her chest. She quickly turned toward the couch, intending to sleep there to avoid any more awkwardness.

But before she could even sit down, she froze. Taha’s deep, husky voice cut through the silence.

Taha zayan Mirza/ML/

“Use the bed. It’s enough for two people.”

Her legs stiffened. The words hung in the air, unexpected and surprising. She had expected him to remain distant, unbothered, but his words—simple and direct—caused a strange reaction in her.

She gulped, her fingers tightening around the pillow as she turned back toward him. His gaze was still fixed on the book in his hands, his focus undisturbed.

Her lips trembled, and she bit her lower lip, caught in a conflict. Should I really sleep on the same bed with him? The thought felt both terrifying and surreal. Her heartbeat was racing again, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

I can’t move, she thought, her legs frozen to the spot. The bed was the same one he had been sitting on earlier, and the thought of lying next to him felt foreign—unnerving.

As she hesitated, Taha slowly looked up from his book. His eyes locked onto hers, intense, unreadable, and stoic as always. Her breath hitched as the weight of his gaze held her captive. She couldn’t bring herself to look away.

Taha zayan Mirza/ML/

“I don’t like to repeat my words, 𝘙𝘶𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘪 " ** he said again, his tone cold yet strangely firm*

His voice saying her name—“Ruhani”—sounded unfamiliar on his tongue, but there was something about it that sent warmth through her.

The way he said it, the way her name echoed in her ears, made her heart race in a different way. Her breath became uneven as she stood there, her hands trembling.

With shaky hands, she finally took a few hesitant steps toward the bed. It felt like a huge decision, one that she hadn’t expected to make today.

The bed was large, spacious, and luxurious, with soft sheets that seemed to glow under the dim light of the room. The contrast between the cool, crisp bedsheets and the warmth of the room felt like another world entirely.

As she carefully sat down on the edge, she could feel the distance between them, yet the proximity was undeniable. She swallowed hard, trying to settle herself, but the reality of what was happening—the closeness, the intimacy of the moment—was overwhelming.

Taha was already settling back into his space, as if he had no problem with her being there. But Ruhani couldn’t shake the unease that lingered. What did this mean? Would this moment define their relationship going forward? And what did it mean for her to be in his space, on his bed?

The bed felt like both a sanctuary and a battlefield in that moment.

The room was cloaked in an eerie silence, save for the soft sounds of breathing that filled the air. Ruhani and Taha lay on their sides, each lost in their own thoughts, yet the tension between them was palpable. The moonlight peeked from behind the clouds, casting a faint glow over the room, and the breeze outside was still, as if waiting for them to speak, to break the heavy quiet.

Ruhani lay with her back facing him, clutching the blanket over her chest, her heart racing uncontrollably.

𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘵, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭—𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴. The feeling inside her was a mixture of nervousness and something she couldn’t quite define.

Her lips were dry, and she instinctively licked them, hoping the motion would calm her, but it only made her aware of the emptiness she felt in her chest.

She could feel the heat radiating from his body, from the space just inches away, yet he seemed so far—untouchable, distant in his silence.

Taha lay on his back, his body relaxed but alert. One forearm rested on his forehead, his other arm lying across his stomach, his legs crossed at the ankles.

His posture was completely composed, as if he were perfectly at ease in this shared space, but Ruhani could feel his presence like a storm just waiting to break.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon behind the drifting clouds, peeking through the window.

Ruhani’s heartbeat seemed louder than anything else in the quiet room, and she felt the weight of the moment. She bit her lower lip, her nerves getting the best of her.

Taha, on the other hand, could feel her presence even if he didn’t turn to face her.

He could sense the warmth of her body spreading beneath the blanket, the soft rise and fall of her breathing. Her long, dark hair lay spread across the pillow, the fragrance of it reaching his senses, gentle and intoxicating.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the surge of feelings that her scent stirred in him. The intimacy of this moment, their shared space, was both foreign and familiar.

Ruhani could hear the uneven rhythm of her own breath, soft and low, mingling with the deeper, steadier breaths from Taha beside her.

His breathing was strong and manly, a contrast to her more delicate, fragile presence. But it felt like they were connected in the stillness, the space between them filled with unspoken tension.

The world outside was quiet, but inside the room, everything felt alive. Every heartbeat, every breath, every fleeting touch of the air between them seemed amplified.

The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable—just filled with anticipation, as if something was waiting to happen, waiting to break this stillness.

Neither of them spoke, yet the silence was loud, filled with questions that neither dared to ask. The night stretched on, thick with the weight of the unspoken.

The silence was thick, so heavy she could almost taste it. The room felt suspended in time, the quiet stretching on and on. She had almost started to think the night would pass without a word, when suddenly, Taha’s voice cut through the stillness like a blade.

Taha zayan Mirza/ML/

“Suno,” *he said, his tone low, deep—darker than any ocean she had ever known.* [ Listen..]

Ruhani froze, every muscle in her body locking in place as his voice reverberated through her. She felt a shiver run down her spine, her heart leaping into her throat, and her breathing became shallow.

Taha zayan Mirza/ML/

“Apni gandi niyat ke sath hamare sath kuch aisa waisa mat kar dena… ham bade wakeel hain, jail bhejwa dengay. Apni niyat aur aankhein kaboo mein rakhna,” **he continued, his words cold, calculated** [ ""Don't do anything inappropriate with me with your bad intentions... I am a big lawyer, I will send you to jail. Keep your intentions and your eyes under control."]

She was stunned, her body tense, every word of his sinking deep into her. His voice was dark, filled with a warning that wrapped around her like a tightening vice. She could barely comprehend what he was saying, her mind reeling with the implications.

There was a pause, the atmosphere heavy and thick, before Taha spoke again, his voice still that deep, commanding tone.

Taha zayan Mirza/ML/

“Otherwise, I’ll have to call the men helpline,” **he added, and his words hit her like a ton of bricks**

Her jaw dropped. Her breath stopped. Men helpline? Her mind screamed in disbelief. 𝘏𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴... 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴!

Her heart was hammering in her chest, her face flushed with embarrassment. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘖𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘈𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘩, 𝘯𝘰! The thought made her want to curl up and disappear right there on the spot.

She buried her face in her palms, feeling the heat of her cheeks scorch against her hands. How did he know?

And then, as if the situation wasn’t already humiliating enough, Taha spoke once more, his voice dripping with playful yet cruel intent.

Taha zayan Mirza/ML/

“Goodnight, Mrs. Bagula,” **he said, the words laced with teasing, and then—silence again**

Her heart raced, and her stomach twisted in knots. She couldn’t believe he had used that against her. A grumpy, grudges-holding man... She could barely handle the weight of his teasing, her mind spinning.

Taha closed his eyes, the faint sound of his steady breathing filling the room. And just like that, he had taken her sleep away from her, leaving her wide awake, lying in the dark with her thoughts racing.

Her chest tightened, her breath unsteady as the humiliation still clung to her, leaving her restless.

"𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘔𝘳𝘴. 𝘉𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢..."

She would never live this down.

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Author ~

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Author ~

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Author ~

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