dangerous handsome boy

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.”

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