Devotion
A Qubool Hai Fan-fiction by Paridhi Adhikari
MAIN PAIRINGS: Asad/Zoya & Ayaan/Humairah
SUPPORTING PAIRINGS: Imraan/Nikhat, Najmah/OC & Nuzhat/OC
GENRE: Romance/Family/Drama
RATING: MA[15+]
DISCLAIMER: The characters and the show do not belong to me.
SUMMARY: Zoya Farooqui's out to mend the hearts of the Khan Clan, but will she ever find a home for her own heart?
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CHAPTER I: Doubts
Like a well-choreographed dance, their supple bodies moved together in perfect harmony. Their breaths ragged, lips swollen, hair dishevelled and bare chests crushed against each other, rising and falling together. She cried his name repetitively, with such devotion and desperation that made him groan into the thick silk of her hair, spurned by the comforting heat of her skin, her body against his.
"Allah Miyah, What's wrong with you, Mr Khan?" She whimpered, "Stop playing with me." She arched against him, the sharpness of her nails trailing against his bare back. "Stop teasing me, when I need you so much."
Her husky plea caused his nerve-ends to become numb.
Zoya.
He heard the whisper of her voice in his ear, felt the caress of her breath on his neck, the cool pressure of her fingers on his skin. The exotic scent of her filled his head, seeming to envelop him in warmth and comfort, until he opened his eyes expecting to find her beside him.
His room was as empty as always.
Asad jerked awake, his hardened body drenched in cold sweat, sheets in a tangled mess. He shook his head as if to clear it. Trying to calm his raging breathing, he inhaled deeply and turned his bedside lamp on. He shook his head again and groaned. What an awfully frightening nightmare, he thought to himself. Though really if it had been so disgustingly terrifying, then he should not have been so aroused and in need of a cold shower.
It was highly disconcerting, since he had forever abstained from such frivolity. It was classless, it was tasteless, it was like his father and he was anything but his father.
A man of ambitions, Asad had excelled throughout school, college and university and within a year of graduating, he had started his own construction company. By the time he had turned twenty-four, one company had turned into twelve and his empire had already been flourishing. Two years later he was one of the most sought after businessmen in the world.
It hadn't been an easy road though. He had worked endlessly, tirelessly. He had gone night after night without sleeping, days without eating so obsessed was he with his work. Of course the outcome was more than satisfying, as the billions filled his accounts and his family was once again reacquainted with the luxuries of the wealthy. They had never been poor, per say but of course, Asad had only ever wanted to give his mother and his sister all the best that money could buy, only the best that life had to offer. They deserved it after all the hardship they had suffered.
It had been a lot harder than it sounded, to reach such heights. Every moment had been a struggle, but he had the determination and the motivation to succeed, because he knew he needed to give his family a better life. He had lost his childhood innocence very early; having had to adopt the role of being the man of the house after his father had abandoned them. The pain, the grief his mother had suffered - was still suffering made him hate Rashid Ahmed Khan with every ounce of his being.
And it was this hatred that had made him the man that he was. All of his resentment, his bitterness was channelled towards succeeding, to be better than everyone else, to show the world that they had survived and that they had come out on top. It had made him cold and ruthless, not just in his business dealings but as a person. That didn't necessarily mean it was who he wanted to be.
He wished he could be as carefree as Ayaan or as upbeat as Najmah. He wanted to be as loving as Nikhat, to be as fun and free as Nuzhat, but he couldn't. Sometimes, Asad felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He had responsibilities as a son, as a brother that forced him to remain apathetic to life's finer pleasures. Nevertheless, Asad was satisfied because his family was happy and that was all that mattered.
And then Hurricane Zoya arrived, hurling into their lives, uprooting all his family's disciplines and unquestionably disrupting the peace and calm of his previously organised household.
Free-spirited and lively, she had the rare ability to light up a room with a radiant smile. But he had learnt to read her in the past six months. He could feel the heartache, the grief masked behind the marvellous faade of naivety and exuberance. And though she had never openly discussed the cause of her innate unhappiness, he knew it had something to do with her visit to India. He knew very little about her other than that she had grown up in New York, where she had moved at a very young age after her mother had passed away in a tragic accident. She had been raised by her maternal cousin Zeenat and Zeenat's husband Anwar, both of whom adored Zoya to no end, like she was their own child, but aside from that, Asad hardly knew anything about her.
She was undoubtedly intelligent, having obtained a Master's degree in IT from a prestigious American university, though more than often he was presented with reasons to question her common sense. One thing, Asad knew for certain though ' Zoya was a problem magnet. Wherever she went, whatever she did, she somehow always managed to land herself in some sort of trouble, but not because she was troublemaker. She was justice hungry, and made it her responsibility to help anyone and everyone in trouble and though her methods were almost always unconventional, her intentions were always pure at heart.
Nevertheless, Miss Zoya Farooqui was an aggravating woman. She was messy and clumsy. She ran into walls, fell over coffee tables, knocked over vases. She spoke too loud, laughed too loud, ate too much junk food and was almost always parading around on top of his lavish furniture. She took every opportunity to get on his nerves, to tease him and annoy him in any and every way possible.
But most importantly, she made him feel. She incited strange, overwhelming feelings within him, that he had no business feeling. She made him want her; she made his heart beat fast and according to Ayaan, that was a sure sign of love. But that was ridiculous and impossible since Asad didn't even believe in love. It was granted, he thought, considering what he had seen his mother go through. Love was a curse and infatuation, a waste of time.
And so he strived to stay out of her way and continue with his life, which was utterly devoted to making his mother and his sister happy. He was his mother's pride, his sister's world. They thought he could do no wrong; they had utmost faith in him. To them, Asad was perfect. Zoya seemed to think he was perfect too, well at least she was constantly teasing him about it; however he had come to realise that he was a far cry from perfection, and that surprisingly he did not want to attain such a title in the first place. Perfect was mediocre.
Maybe that's why he was drawn to Zoya so much, because she was so imperfect ' she was intriguing.
They were constantly at each other's throats, bickering relentlessly with neither wanting to bow down before the other, but that's what he liked about her ' she never gave up. She had the courage, the wit to hold her own against him and would never back down without a fight.
Still, he was frustrated by her need to involve herself in everything. There was always some sort of drama going on with her and he was always somehow entangled into the chaos.
Though, he had to admit that the entire secret agent fiasco had been rather hilarious. It was more absurd and ludicrous than his supposed 'relationship' with Ileana, another one of those elaborate incidents where Miss New York had wrongly put two and two together to reach twelve.
And then their near death experience in Mangalpur, which had, in truth been the first positive catalyst in their rocky relationship. When he had thought that he had lost her forever; that he had let her die, it had felt like his entire world had collapsed around him. After bringing her home though, he had tried his best to sever the rapport they has established. It was harder said than done, where Zoya was concerned for she seemed to be everywhere all the time and it was almost impossible to avoid her, so he had to do what he did best, hurt her and push her away with harsh words and his coldness. He hadn't regretted it though, he really believed what he was doing was for the best for everyone.
But what he would forever regret, would forever hate himself for raising his hand on her at the hospital that day. He hadn't been thinking clearly, all he could see was his mother's bloodied body before his eyes, he had almost lost her and at the time he had wrongly blamed Zoya for being the reason for his mother's attack. His mother was his entire world and never had Asad felt such resentment towards anyone that he had felt in that moment for Zoya. When she came to apologise, he couldn't bear to hear her voice, he didn't want to hear her excuses; he had just wanted to punish her so he had turned around and without a thought slapped her cheek with all his strength. Even when he had walked away from her, he had not felt an ounce of regret.
When he learned the truth, he had never been more ashamed of himself. He had been brought up to respect women, to hold them at the highest pedestal. Women were to be respected, to be revered, he had held that belief all his life, and then how could he have hit Zoya? Under no circumstances was it acceptable by his morals. Indeed, he had been jaded by his hatred, his fear of losing his mother, but it still wasn't excusable.
He was fortunate that she was quick to forgive, and the bruises healed quickly, but inside he knew that he had inflicted wounds that had scarred her and it was unbearable to know that he had caused her such grief. He would have to make amends somehow, and out of his own guilt he indulged her. He let her parade around his room, sprawl across his bed without scolding her. He stopped rolling his eyes when she would talk non-stop about her nonsense. He stopped yelling at her and even listened to some of the rubbish she spouted now and then. He trusted her when she wanted to independently investigate his mother's shooter without alerting the police even though he had really wanted to.
And then she had made him dance with her. It had been the single most impulsive thing he had done in his entire twenty-six years. Just something about the way she looked at him, the way she flinched when he neared her suddenly crushed a little part of his soul. Suddenly it wasn't about winning or losing anymore. It wasn't about their bet, or their investigation anymore. It was about him and her. He wanted to prove that he was human too, he made mistakes, he had feelings and that he didn't hate her. She was stunned when he spun her into his arms and she had felt soft, pliant and every bit inviting. He had barely ignored his desire to pin her up against a wall and ravish her senseless, when she blinked at him innocently. Her warm body pressed up against him, her hand in his as they moved together to a steady, soundless rhythm was a temporary reprieve for the both of them and at the end, when he released her from his hold, he felt a certain male satisfaction at the sight of her flushed cheeks, heaving chest and breathlessness. Good. She was just as affected as he was.
In more recent times, their bonding had taken a heightened intensity. He couldn't deny he was attracted to her, just like he knew that she craved his attention. She would deliberately seek him out for even the most meaningless trivialities, sometimes to talk, mostly to tease and always to get a rise out of him and she was quite successful at it as well.
She had unknowingly become his anchor when he was shattered after discovering his father in that dilapidated doll factory, trying to hide a charred skeleton. During those dark times, he had had only Zoya for support. When the world had seemed to be against him, when nothing was going right, Zoya was there beside him unconditionally to remind him that he was not alone. She had comforted him, cried for him, tended to his wounds and held together his crumbling family when he hadn't the strength to be there for them. When his own mother had turned against him, Zoya had steadfastly been his backbone, silently supporting him and boosting his morale even she was hurting.
She bandaged his bloody hand after he had torn his room apart in his rage. Her own eyes bloodshot, hands trembling against his as she consoled him, pleaded with him to calm down and it was the concern in her voice, the tenderness of her touch that became a salve for his wounded soul. When he had locked himself away, she had found a way to get in through the window, with a plate of biscuits and coffee. Even when he pushed her away, Zoya stayed. She comforted him, cried for him, and begged him to see her unwavering faith in him. She brought him out of his shock, by reminding him that she needed him that his family needed him and at that moment, gazing into her teary eyes and quivering lips, he had wanted nothing more than to envelop her in his arms, to brush away her tears or cry with her. But he couldn't, wouldn't allow himself to take such liberties with her.
She was generous, and kind but he could not bring it in himself to commit to her, to explore any possible romantic feelings he had for her. He wasn't even certain if it was a romantic feeling to be honest, it could just be an overwhelming sense of gratitude and appreciation for everything she had done for him and his family.
However, if that was indeed the case then it didn't explain why he was having such fantasies about her. He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, splashing cold water onto his heated cheeks.
Was he actually losing sleep over that frustrating woman? Running a hand through his hair in exasperation, Asad mentally weighed out his options. He could go back to sleep and risk having another dream about her or he could go outside and face the risk of running into her. These were things he couldn't even consult with his most trusted adviser, Prasad. He sighed, it wasn't even dawn. The likelihood of Zoya being up at this hour was nil and that was it for him.
Purposefully, he headed towards his wardrobe and pulled on a dark track suit. Asad quietly left the house, disappearing into the morning mist, his heart heavy and mind clouded by his inner conflict.
When in doubt, sweat it out.
Next Chapter - Chapter II: Despair
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