AsYa OS: It’s Only Love

It’s Only Love

Khan Villa was unusually quiet that evening.

Not the peaceful kind—
but the kind that echoed.

Asad Ahmed Khan stood near the large window of his study, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the fading orange sky. The call to prayer from a distant mosque floated in the air, soft yet piercing. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.

Ever since Zoya Farooqui had left for Delhi for her work assignment, the house had felt… hollow.

Too neat.
Too silent.
Too disciplined.

He hated the feeling.

He turned away sharply, irritation flashing across his face.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “A few days’ absence cannot disturb a person this much.”

But it had.

The breakfast table no longer echoed with her rambling stories.
The living room lacked her laughter.
The air felt heavier without her chaos.

Najma peeked into the study hesitantly.
“Bhaijaan… Zoya ne phone kiya tha.”

Asad turned instantly. Too instantly.

“Kya kaha unhone?” he asked, then paused, correcting himself, “—Ms. Farooqui ne?”

Najma smiled softly. “Wahi jo hamesha kehti hain. ‘Tell Mr. Khan I’ll be back soon.’”

Asad nodded, expression unreadable.

But the moment Najma left, he whispered to the empty room—

“Jaldi aa jaiye, Ms. Farooqui.”

***

Three days later, Khan Villa came alive again.

The front door opened with dramatic enthusiasm.

“ASSALAMUALAIKUM, KHAN FAMILY!”

Asad froze mid-step.

Before he could process anything, Zoya stood there—jeans, kurti, dupatta loosely draped, eyes sparkling, energy radiating.

Najma rushed forward. “Zoyaaaa!”

Dilshad hugged her warmly. “Allah ka shukar, aa gayi tum.”

Zoya laughed, then looked around theatrically.
“Where’s my favorite grumpy bulldozer?”

Asad cleared his throat.
“Ms. Farooqui.”

She turned slowly, smile widening.
“Mr. Khan.”

Their eyes locked.

For a moment, everything stilled.

“Umeed hai aapki trip theek rahi,” he said formally.

“Oh, it was fine,” she replied lightly, then tilted her head. “But boring. Because someone wasn’t constantly lecturing me about discipline.”

Najma giggled.

Asad shook his head. “Aap bilkul nahi badli.”

“And you’re still Mr. Akdu,” she smiled.

But something had changed.

They both felt it.

***

That night, sleep refused to come.

Zoya stood on the terrace, arms folded, gazing at the moonlit sky. Footsteps approached.

She didn’t turn.

“I knew aap yahin milengi,” Asad said quietly.

She smiled. “Aap hamesha sahi jagah par hi mujhe dhoondh lete hain.”

Silence settled between them.

Soft. Heavy.

Asad spoke again, voice restrained but honest.
“Ghar… aapke bina khaali lag raha tha.”

Zoya turned sharply. “Kya kaha aapne?”

He stiffened.
“Mera matlab—ghar ki routine disturb ho gayi thi.”

She walked closer, eyes searching his face.
“Jhoot bolna bhi aapko nahi aata, Mr. Khan.”

He swallowed.

Below them, faint music floated from a neighbor’s radio—

“It’s love that I need, it’s only love that I need…”

Zoya closed her eyes.

“Kabhi socha hai,” she whispered,
“ke zindagi sirf rules aur principles se nahi chalti?”

He looked at her.
“Phir kis se chalti hai?”

She smiled softly.

***

Days passed.

Small moments grew louder.

Asad placing tea beside her without asking.
Zoya adjusting his files absentmindedly.
Stolen glances. Lingering silences.

One afternoon, Zoya found a single rose on her bedside table.

No note.

She frowned, then smiled.

That evening, she teased him casually.
“Mr. Khan, aaj kal aap phool dene lage hain?”

He looked up sharply. “Aapko kaise pata—”

She laughed.

Below the surface, emotions stirred.

“Kabhi phool dena manaane ke liye,
Kabhi durr rehna sataane ke liye…”

Sometimes he withdrew, afraid.
Sometimes she waited, hopeful.

One night, during a power cut, they sat in darkness, close enough to hear each other breathe.

“Aur kabhi kabhi khaamosh baithe baahon ke sahaare…”

Asad spoke suddenly.
“Ms. Farooqui… agar main kabhi galat ho jaun—”

She interrupted gently.
“Toh main hoon na.”

He looked at her then, truly looked.

“Suraj bujhana saagar kinaare,
Phir raaton ko chaand ugaana…”

***

It happened unexpectedly.

A trivial argument.

“You don’t trust emotions!” she snapped.
“And you treat love like a weakness!”

Asad’s voice rose.
“Because emotions destroy people!”

She stepped closer, tears blazing.
“Ya phir aap darr jaate hain?”

Silence.

Then he whispered—

“Main aapko khona nahi chahta.”

Her breath hitched.

“Waise pyaar ke naam pe toh yaaro sab hua hai,
Ab yeh pyaar bhi ho jaaye bas itni dua hai…”

He looked at her, walls crumbling.

“Zoya…”

First time. No Ms. Farooqui.

Her heart stilled.

“I don’t know how to love,” he admitted.
“But agar pyaar kisi ka naam hai—
toh woh aap hain.”

***

She smiled through tears.

“You know, Mr. Khan,” she whispered,
“kabhi kabhi bina kahe bas yun sunte rehna bhi pyaar hota hai.”

He reached for her hand.

“Kabhi raahon mein phirte rehna,
Bina kahe bas yun sunte rehna…”

Her fingers intertwined with his.

“It’s only love I want to hold on to,
And forever make it stay…”

He rested his forehead against hers.

“I love you, Zoya.”

Her smile broke into laughter and tears.

“I know.”

***

Under the stars, hand in hand, promises were made—not loudly, but sincerely.

“Janmon ke vaade har baat pe kasam,
Kabhi jaan kehna kabhi kehna sanam…”

No grand gestures.
Just truth.

“Le aayenge hum taare zameen pe,
Jo kahoge toh jaan bhi denge…”

He kissed her forehead softly.

“Forever,” he whispered.

She squeezed his hand.

“It’s only love I want to hold on to,
And forever make it stay…”

And for the first time, Asad Ahmed Khan let love stay.

THE END 💫