The room was too big, too quiet, too cold.

Hiba sat on the edge of the massive king-sized bed, her spine stiff, her palms resting in her lap, clutching her bridal dress as if it were the last piece of security she had left. The soft jingling of her bangles and the distant hum of the air conditioner were the only sounds she could hear.

The bridal suite was grand-luxurious curtains draped over tall windows, a crystal chandelier casting golden light, and fresh roses arranged in every corner. Yet, for Hiba, the room felt like a gilded cage.

Her red bridal dress weighed on her shoulders like a burden. She had spent hours that morning being dressed like a princess-heavy jewelry, layers of makeup, henna-stained hands-but the girl in the mirror had not looked like the joyful bride she had once dreamed of being.

As a little girl, she had imagined her wedding night many times. She had imagined laughter, shyness, and the soft whispers of a man who adored her. Someone who would hold her hand and make her feel safe.

But tonight... her dreams were a cruel joke.

Her lips quivered as she whispered to herself, Ya Allah... give me strength.

The sudden click of the door made her jump.

He entered.

Hayaan.

Her husband. A man she barely knew, except for the stories-successful, wealthy, cold, and intimidating enough to make people lower their gaze.

He filled the doorway like a shadow, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a crisp black kurta that made his sharp jawline and high cheekbones look even more severe. His eyes-dark, unreadable-didn't soften when they landed on her.

Actually, they didn't land on her at all.

He walked in without a glance, removing his watch and placing it on the nightstand. His movements were slow, precise, controlled, like a man who lived by rules no one dared to break. The faint smell of his perfume-rich and musky-filled the room, adding to her nervousness.

Hiba hesitated before whispering, "A‑Assalamu Alaikum..."

No response.

The sound of his cufflinks clicking open was her answer.

He finally spoke, his voice deep and cold.
"Change. And sleep on the couch."

The words hung in the air like a slap.

Her heart skipped a beat. "C‑couch?" she repeated softly, her voice trembling.

He finally looked at her. One cold, detached glance that froze her words in her throat.

"I don't share my bed," he said flatly. "Not with anyone."

Hiba's eyes darted to the small couch in the corner of the room. It looked uncomfortable, tucked under the window, barely enough for her to curl up on. It felt like punishment.

Her lips trembled. "But... I-I thought..."

"Don't think," he cut her off sharply, his tone leaving no room for questions.

Hiba's hands clutched the edge of her dupatta, her knuckles white. She wanted to cry, to ask why he married her if he didn't want her, but fear kept her chained to silence.

Hayaan walked to the window and slid it open, letting the night breeze in. The faint sound of the city below seeped into the suffocating room. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the moonlit sky.

Then he spoke again, slower this time, but even colder.

"One thing you should understand, Hiba..." His gaze turned to her, pinning her in place.
"This marriage is a formality. A deal between families. Nothing more."

Her heart sank.

"I don't do love. I don't do emotional drama. Keep your head down, don't interfere in my life, and you'll have no problems with me."

A lump formed in Hiba's throat. Her chest ached, her dreams shattered piece by piece with every word he spoke.

Hayaan's eyes darkened. He took a slow step closer, his voice dropping lower.
"And one more thing... If you ever try to cross your limits or question me... you won't like the consequences."

Her breathing hitched. A shiver ran down her spine.

He grabbed a pillow and walked to the door without waiting for a response. For a moment, he hesitated as if he wanted to say something else-but then he simply opened the door and stepped out, leaving her alone in the golden, suffocating silence.

The moment the door clicked shut, her tears fell freely.

She slowly got up and walked to the couch, her heavy lehenga dragging against the carpet. Curling up on the tiny space, she pulled her dupatta over her face and cried silently.

Above her, the chandelier lights twinkled like mocking stars.

Her bridal night had ended not with love, but with loneliness and fear.

And as she drifted into a restless sleep, one thought haunted her:

What have I gotten myself into?

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