"Sir, are you not feeling well?" The girlish, quirky voice questioned and the sound of heels clicking against the marble floor loudened as she made her way closer to his working desk. Zaib pointedly looked up; to his grimace, it was Aliya, his unpleasant, over the top junior.

She ran her fingers through her dyed blonde hair and pursed her lips as if she were about to say something and irk him out of his senses when he tactfully shot back, "just working since after all, this is a workplace." His voice was dully low, unnerving and uninterested.

No matter what he threw her way, she always managed to shamelessly, shake off his distaste. "Oh, of course! However, I can't help but notice you seem—disturbed, almost uncomfortable." She observed the scowl he wore and then carried on, "Is there something worrying you?"

Zaib gulped, uneasily. He didn't like his female colleague observing every little detail about his mood and expressions. Neither did he want to spill any of his problems to her. He knew better than to confide in some random woman whom he shared a workplace with.

"Aliya, go busy yourself. I don't want you lurking around my office." His stern-bitter- tone didn't seem to phase her as if she were a solid brick wall. She did, however, grow less radiant, her lips clasped in a tight, thin line.

"I wanted to collect the file meant for Mr Davis-" not even a millisecond passed when he grabbed the thick grey file from his drawer and pushed it forward for her to accept. She reluctantly held onto it and then took small steps away until she finally disappeared out of the transparent glass door.

Zaib heaved a breath he didn't realize he was holding and sat forlorn, his thoughts wandering to his wife who was probably at the university or the new job. He felt himself frustratedly throw a pen against the concrete wall, his heart stuttering as he imagined himself returning home to mere emptiness.

Zoya was hired as a healthcare assistant in a plain-sailing manner. Her university was a favourable addition to the resume, as it was a name included in the top five universities in the country. Her first semester grades were enough to blow them away; they were convinced when they saw her certification and accepted her job application. Three nights ago, when she broke the exciting news, his chest swelled with pride as he lunged into a massive hug and they celebrated with a voluntary prayer.

But he didn't quite realize what this meant for them, their togetherness.

He hadn't seen her for a while, well, in a conscious state. When he went to work, she'd be at university lectures- when he returned, she'd be at her job. She returned home very miserably and wordlessly fell to the bed, exasperated. He asked her about her day but noticing how her answers were short and unfocused, he realized she was completely drained. He then simply held her against him and kissed her sleeping figure.

And then morning, she'd already left.

He felt a strange hollowness inside his chest but refused to acknowledge its existence. Their evenings together that he had looked forward to seemed as if they had just been a dream.

He honestly couldn't blame his wife at all. In his past university experience, he was always stuck in the library or coffee shop sketching and calculating, reading books and perfecting his skills. He almost missed every meal and never attended unnecessary university events. Every hour-minute was as precious as a jewel.

So it was no surprise: Zoya's schedule probably had her piqued, perturbed, pestered. She was working recklessly, keeping her university and job intact. He didn't have a right to complain.

Despite knowing that, he still felt himself wanting more of her. He yearned to greet his gorgeous wife in the morning before leaving to work; he wanted to have breakfast-lunch-dinner with her and force her to lay lazily on his arm like it were her definite pillow.

He wanted so much more.

()()()()()()()()()()

"You're literally on a honeymoon! Stop calling me," Zaib scowled, his vexation directed towards his best friend, who had called unreasonably for the eighth time in the past week. Ehsan seemed to ignore his displeasure and carried on with his complaints.

"I mean, she's amazing, but she fights me over every little thing! Like last Friday, I forgot to order some garlic bread with the pizza and she flipped out! She complained about it for days. Like, a man can forget, jeez." Zaib almost threw his phone out the window; he'd rather bang his head against the wall than hear about his best friend's tedious love scuffles.

"Ehsan—"

"Plus, she wants me to give her cogent advice when we go shopping. Like, how am I supposed to know if a denim jacket is better-paired with a T-shirt or a button-down? And what's the difference between heels and wedges anyway? For God's sake, who cares? I'm not one of her girl-friends," Ehsan rambled like a radio anchorman, unapologetic about interrupting and speaking till the listener's head started to hurt.

"Can you shut up for two seconds!" Zaib bellowed, his thunderous command searing through the ceiling and splitting the clouds apart, silencing the birds who sung and the spoiled bratty children who cried for ungodly hours. Naturally, Ehsan had also become dead silent, as if he'd just heard the horn of resurrection and awaited death.

"She's using garlic bread as an excuse- you've probably done something else that hurt her. When she asks you for input, tell her she has superior fashion sense and that you're an idiot.

"Heels are higher than wedges and less comfortable," he mentally ticked the boxes of each question and then remembered a slight detail, "Zoya likes wedges more because she says it helps with back pain," he found himself blurting out, hoping it helped his lost friend.

Ehsan mentally noted each point, then swallowed, realizing his idiocy as the embarrassment began to sink into his system. He silently vowed to never ramble like an uncontrollable volcanic eruption and also thanked the heavens for marrying later than his best friend. God knows what he would've done if Zaib hadn't had some form of experience.

Ehsan cleared his throat even though it was perfectly well clear. "Thanks, bro," he muttered. Zaib found himself internally screaming as he replied with a simple, "No problem."

The call ended immediately after the awkward, prolonged silence. Zaib chuckled, grabbing his wallet and keys as he made his way out of the office. He took the staircase to the parking lot and drove away from the company. His mind ran back to Zoya when he unknowingly started dialling her number. The first few rings went through unattended but when they were coming to an end, she finally answered.

"Zaib," her voice was fuzzy, dripping of exhaustion yet still managing to sound warmly attractive. His hold on the steering wheel tightened aching to touch her as soon as he'd heard her. He quickly regained his posture.

"Where are you?" He sounded impatient even though he'd tried to calm down. She probably noticed it too and he heard a sharp intake of breath from the other end.

"Currently at the hospital," she answered drowsily. "Zoya, are you okay?" His face twisted into a concerned frown, his forehead etched with lines as he realized her words were unnervingly empty-devoid of emotions. She sighed into the phone, "I'm okay, Zaib."

He didn't buy it. "If you're not feeling well, take an early leave. I'll come to get you—" his words were cut off. "No. I'm fine. It's just..." he felt his spouse struggling to complete her sentence.

"This job... its—"

"Zoya, we need you in Room 06! Ellie has to leave early today," another shrill voice interrupted their conversation and she quickly answered back optimistically. "Zaib, I'll call you when I'm done for the day. I love you," she hurriedly blurted and before he could respond, the phone shut off and the other end went silent.

He sighed, frowning at the sudden disconnect. She didn't sound okay, far from it. He desperately wanted to check up on her, so he did.

Since he doubted that she had enough time to take off for lunch, he dropped by the nearest taco place and ordered one with her favourite fillings, after which he drove to the hospital which was conveniently diagonal to her university so she could casually walk to work after her lectures. He parked the car in the driveway and proceeded to head inside. The hospital stood tall, next to an overcrowded plaza and from inside, it was sickly white and moderately busy with nurses bustling from one end to the other.

He approached the receptionist. "I need to see Zoya Malik, the new healthcare assistant."

The round-eyed woman looked peculiarly at him, her glasses threatening to fall off the tip of her pointy nose and then inhaled a sharp breath. "She's married, you know."

Zaib stared.

He blinked. Then blinked again.

A melodic laughter left his chest, his eyes shimmering as he looked back at the woman who now stared at him dumbfounded. "Oh, is she now?" He played along, finding the situation hilarious as more laughter left him.

From behind, arms enveloped his waist and he immediately stopped every movement, his chest aching with bliss as he turned around and embraced his wife back, his hold tightened. She pulled away and grabbing his hand, she lured him out to the bench where he finally got a proper look at her.

Her face was unreadable. Zaib noticed her smile was tight, almost forced. She eyed him with visible disdain which made Zaib's heart flip to the ground. He didn't like that one bit.

"Zoya, you okay? Look, I got you some food." Nothing cheered his wife up more than that.

She looked up, her cheeks reddening like she were burning and then she cleared her throat hazily. "You seemed quite cosy with Madison," her words laced with unequivocal scorn, a bitter scowl emerging on her face.

He didn't react instantly, his heart swelling with relief that nothing he did made her angry. And then it dawned upon him, Zoya Malik was jealous. It felt like a pot of glory had toppled into his system and settled inside his chest, his heart stammering. He eyed her closely: the cheeks were now a fuming red and her blue eyes were wider, her mouth was shut tight and her breathing was heavy.

He would never get tired of seeing her jealous.

"What were you even laughing about? Is she that funny? She doesn't joke around much with me though—" he connected their lips, unable to stop himself, her words caught in her mouth as she kissed back. He found himself unwilling to move away but he didn't want her to be seen wasting time during work hours.

"My jealous little wife, eat quick and hurry inside," he chimed with a tantalizing grin. She seemed to quickly avert her gaze away from him as if she were embarrassed and then grabbed the bag of tacos, unwrapping the layer as she dug in.

He watched her gobble up the thing in minutes. "How'd you know-hm-that-I-was hungry?" She blubbered after each hurried bite and he chuckled wiping the sauce dripping from the corner of her mouth.

"I just know you," he murmured. Zoya's heart throbbed in her chest, eyes glinting with nervousness.

"Zaib... this job-" he cut her off. "I know Zoya. It's important for your future. You don't have to be sorry," he muttered, averting his eyes away bashfully. He just stared at his lap, uncertain of his choice of words. He'd rather seem unbothered than annoying and clingy.

She remained silent.

The guilt had clawed at her chest, eating her up. The past few days, every time she left for work, she kept thinking of Zaib; the lie she told him to his face. When she was faced with the situation, it seemed easier to lie but as time went along, every time he looked at her-or worse, smiled at her- she wanted to throw herself off a mountain.

The lie that had appeared to be almost harmless had started to take over her life. Zoya was usually an honest person and only told white lies when necessary, but this time it was different. There was a part of her disagreeing with her decision. However, at the same time, she was reminded of why she had chosen this in the first place. It was to keep everyone around her unaware and happy.

She felt her throat tighten again, something that had started to happen a lot more than usual. She surveyed him-his disturbance was evident as he blankly looked down at his lap.

Under no circumstance, did this loving man, who bought her food and visited her at work after working tirelessly, deserve to be lied to.

Confess. Confess now. Her head throbbed at the only words her conscious threw her way.

She gulped. It was time to tell him the truth.

"Zaib-" her whisper was cut off.

"Zoya! You've been away for fifteen minutes. I'll be sure to send you home late if you keep this up!" The high pitched screech made both of them jump off out of their wits as Zoya quickly sprung up, embarrassment flooding her face. She threw away the empty wrapper as Zaib stood up himself.

"I'll pick you up," he drawled but she shook her head, wiping her hand with the tissues. "No, I need to stop by the library for some references. And I don't know when I'll be done here. You should go, finish the sketch early and sleep." She kissed his cheek and dashed back inside.

He stuck rooted in the same position, his gaze lingering on the hospital door. There was something off. An unsuspected shift had taken place in their relationship.

She was right there, yet so far.

❤️