•𝐑𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐚𝐛| ✓

𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒉|| 𝑶𝒇𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒆

Turning around, Rubaab glanced at Arsalan, whose vein on his forehead pulsed with restrained fury; his ear tip blushing crimson in simmering anger. Seeing guards standing in proximity to Rubaab, his wife, didn't sit well with him. Marching towards them with purposeful and confident strides, he ensnared Rubaab with a firm grip on her arm.

"How dare you!" he spoke in a hushed murmur, sending an eerie shiver down their collective spines. From the corner of his eyes, he observed Rubaab shivering. It was her inaugural encounter with this level of his wrath, prompting her silent vow to never incur his anger. She found herself wary of his formidable presence.

His domineering aura enveloped her; the Arsalan she'd been cohabiting with wasn't the same Arsalan presently before them. This iteration of Arsalan appeared taller, more robust, tinged with a hint of madness, his crimson eyes and tightly clenched jaws accentuating the transformation. Turning towards Rubaab, his gaze softened.

Placing his hand delicately on her cheeks, he gently redirected her focus. "Rubaab, my love, what happened?" His voice, unexpectedly soft and mellifluous, left everyone present astounded. This marked the first instance he had unveiled such gentleness within the confines of the office—a truly extraordinary occurrence.

The receptionist and the other woman who had been insolent towards Rubaab now grasped her importance to him. "W-wo ma-mai ap k p-pass arahi t-thi. Inhon ne a-ane n-nhi dia?" Rubaab, with a wavering voice, addressed him.

(I was coming to you...but they didn't let me)

His grip on her tightened, conveying displeasure without causing undue pain. He directed an intimidating glare at the guards and the receptionist. "Kon he wo?" he inquired, and Rubaab, with innocent resolve, pointed to the two transgressors. It didn't provide any solace, but they had brought her to tears, prompting her to indicate them. Nodding, he summoned his secretary, who stood witness to the unfolding scene.

(Who were they?)

"Bring them into my office," he commanded, escorting Rubaab towards his office, leaving the onlookers staring at Arsalan's hand firmly resting on Rubaab's waist.

"Kon hai ye Boss ki?" the receptionist asked Arsalan's Secretary. "Mrs. Arsalan," their widened eyes and audible gasps spoke volumes, eliciting a smirk from Arsalan. Patting them on the shoulder, he remarked, "Apna khiyal rakhna. Sir ne bulaya hai. Good luck," departing before instructing them to join Arsalan in his office

(Who is she to him?)
(Take care, boss called you)

Inside Arsalan's office, Rubaab found solace within his embrace, tearfully recounting her ordeal. "B-bhot g-gandi hain! M-maine b-bola mai j-janti hun l-lekin lwkin a-ane nhi d-dia." Arsalan embraced her, swaying gently to and fro, soothing her like a distressed child. "I'm sorry, meri jaan. I'll make them pay!"

(They are bad, I told them I know you)

"Hmm," she hummed, and he bestowed a tender peck upon her forehead. "Wese kyun ai thi?" he inquired, and she gasped, recollecting the bag she had carelessly tossed onto the couch upon her arrival. "Apka khana. Maine banaya tha." Arsalan looked at her with a gentle smile.

(By the way, why did you come)
(I made you food)

"Acha, kya banaya apne?" Rubaab extricated herself from his tight embrace and approached the bag. Opening it, she retrieved a bowl along with plates and forks. "Maine spaghetti banai! Italian style," she shared, her shy admission acknowledging that spaghetti can only be authentically Italian!

(Really, what did you make?)
(I made spaghetti)

He hummed and settled beside her on the couch. Once more, he enveloped her in a side embrace, nuzzling his head against her neck. "Arsalan, mujhe nikalne den," she requested, her face now flushed, his tender gestures inadvertently exacerbating her discomfort. Arsalan, with a light smirk, continued gazing at her.