The room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of a single lantern casting long, shifting shadows on the walls. The soft hum of the wedding celebrations outside had faded, leaving only a heavy silence that filled the space like an uninvited guest. Zairah sat on the edge of the intricately carved bed, her fingers nervously twisting the tassels of her dupatta. The vibrant red of her bridal dress felt heavier than it should have, its weight matched only by the whirlwind of emotions she struggled to contain.

Her heart thudded against her ribcage as the door creaked open.

Arzaan stepped in, his presence commanding the room instantly. His sherwani, dark as midnight, mirrored the storm in his eyes. He shut the door behind him with a soft click, locking out the world and locking them in together. The air grew tense.

Zairah's gaze fell to her lap, unable to meet his penetrating stare. She clutched her hands tightly, the henna on her palms already smudged from her anxious grip.

Arzaan took a step closer, his boots clicking softly against the marble floor. "Nikah Mubarak, Biwi!" he said, his voice gentle, looking at her tensed figure earnestly.

["Happy wedding, my wife!"]

Zairah flinched, her fingers tightening around the fabric in her hands. Her lips trembled as she whispered, "I... I didn't want this."

His gaze hardened, but he composed himself. A cold smirk curved Arzaan's lips as he crouched slightly, bringing his face level with hers. "And do you think I care, Zairah?" he asked, his tone laced with mockery. "What you wanted never mattered. What I want—" He leaned closer, his breath brushing against her cheek, "—always does."

Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to steady her breath. She could feel the heat of his gaze, tracing every curve of her face, every flicker of fear in her wide, kohl-lined eyes.

"Aap zabardasti mohabbat nahi karwa sakte", she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper, her words trembling yet defiant.

[You cannot force someone to fall in love.]

Arzaan let out a dark chuckle, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer. His towering presence made her shrink, but his voice, deep and steady, held a strange intensity as he spoke,

"Shayad yeh mohabbat na ho, Zairah, lekin yeh mera junoon hai—ek aisa junoon jo mere wajood ka hissa ban chuka hai. Tum meri ho, sirf meri, aur maine tumhe apna bana liya hai—hamesha ke liye. Tum par sirf mera haq hai, aur yeh haq koi mujhse cheen nahi sakta.

["Perhaps this isn't love, Zairah, but it is my obsession—an obsession that has become a part of my very being. You are mine—mine alone—and I have made you mine, forever. I alone have a claim over you, and no one can snatch that right away from me."]

He paused, his gaze fixed on her, his words dripping with a mix of possessiveness and an unyielding promise.

"Samajh lo, Zairah," he continued, his tone softer but no less resolute. "Aur ab main sirf tumhara hoon... chahe tum is baat ko kabhi maano ya na maano. ARZAAN SHAH GHAZI, JO KABHI KISI KA NHI THA, AB SIRF ZAIRAH RAHMAN KA HAI. TUMHARA THA, TUMHARA HAI.... AUR TUMHARA Hi RAHEGA!"

["Understand this, Zairah. Now, I belong only to you... whether you ever acknowledge it or not. Arzaan Shah Ghazi—who once belonged to no one—now belongs solely to Zairah Rahman. I was yours, I am yours... and I will remain yours!"]

[He is So Devoted and Obsessed with her😭🛐]

Zairah's breath caught in her throat as his words echoed in the silence of the room. There was no love in his tone, but the intensity of his confession shook her to her core.

Zairah's eyes shot up, her gaze meeting him for the first time. There was a flicker of something in her brown orbs—fear, yes, but also a spark of resistance. "I'm not a possession, Arzaan."

"You are whatever I say you are," he replied coolly, stepping back but not before trailing his fingers along the edge of her dupatta. His touch was possessive, claiming, yet calculated.

[I'm not screaming😭😭🙏🏻 I need Therapy]

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would not give him the satisfaction.

Arzaan noticed her struggle and, "You'll learn, Zairah," he said softly, almost too gently, the contrast unsettling. "You'll learn that fighting me is useless. The sooner you accept that you're mine, the easier this will be for you."

He turned and walked toward the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He stared out at the night sky, his expression unreadable. "You've been mine since the day you were born, Zairah," he said, his voice almost distant now, as though speaking more to himself than to her. "This nikah just made it official."

Zairah sat frozen, the weight of his words pressing down on her. Her world had shifted irreparably, and she was trapped in it—with him.

At that moment, she realized that Arzaan wasn't just her husband. He was her captor. And she had no idea if she would ever find a way to escape the prison of his obsession.

.

.

.

.

Here is the prologue to Roohdariyan.

Let me know your thoughts in the comments.

With Love,
Authorshyra🩷