My Stone Hearted Husband

Areeba stood by the stove, sleeves pushed up, tasting the curry to make sure the spices were balanced just right. The heat from the stove had brought a soft flush to her dark, velvety skin, making it glow. Her long hair, twisted into a messy bun, clung to the nape of her neck.

Beside her, Nadia leaned in eagerly, eyes bright with admiration. “Api, you have to show me how you make this,” she said, sneaking a taste from the ladle. “It’s magic!”

Areeba chuckled, nudging her sister-in-law away with a playful elbow. “Oh, don’t butter me up,” she teased, laughter dancing in her eyes. “You’re not leaving this house until I’ve taught you all my secrets.”

Nadia grinned, licking the tip of her finger with which she’d tasted the curry. “I’ll learn it, alright. Don’t be surprised if I make it better than you!”

Before Areeba could retort, her mother-in-law, Sakina, appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand, her expression a mix of love and worry. Sakina wasn’t just her mother-in-law—she was her Sakina Khala, her mother’s sister, the woman who’d raised her after her own mother had passed. To Areeba, Sakina was simply “Khala” and so much more than that word could convey.

“Dear, did you double-check the list for tonight’s arrangements?” Sakina asked, her tone filled with the gentle authority of a mother who leaves nothing to chance.

“Yes, Khala,” Areeba said, wiping her hands on a dishcloth, “twice already. Everything’s in place.”

Sakina’s face softened, pride and affection filling her gaze as she reached out to pat Areeba’s cheek. “Allah truly blessed us when He brought you into this family. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

The words filled Areeba’s heart with a quiet joy—a warmth that settled deep in her chest, grounding her in the family she’d come to love as her own. She smiled back, soaking in the moment.

But before she could turn back to her curry, a familiar, sharp voice echoed from down the hall.

“Areeba!”

Areeba froze, her smile fading. Here we go again, she thought, suppressing a sigh.

“Areeba!” Zarun’s voice came again, sharper this time, with that steady, commanding tone that could make anyone jump to attention.

Sakina shook her head, half-amused, half-exasperated. “That boy... always so impatient.”

Nadia grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Poor bhabhi, running after him day and night. Honestly, does he think you have nothing better to do?”

“Oh, don’t get me started!” Farhat Fufu bustled into the kitchen, dramatically waving her hands. “That boy! He acts like he’s some kind of king—and you’re his—”

“Servant,” Hiba, the eldest sister, finished with a smirk as she entered the kitchen, joining the gathering.

All three of Zarun’s sisters were home for the wedding, filling the Haider villa with a lively energy. Nadia, the youngest, was the bride-to-be, and her functions were yet to happen. The house was a whirlwind of laughter, excitement, and family banter. But beneath it all, each woman carried a genuine affection and worry for Areeba. They loved her deeply and couldn’t help but wonder how she managed with their famously stoic, cold-hearted brother.

Areeba smiled awkwardly, trying to ease their concern. “It’s really not like that—he just needs a few things.”

“A few things?” Farhat scoffed, planting her hands on her hips. “That one needs everything done by you.”

Sakina glanced toward the hallway, her expression a mix of affection and exasperation. “He’s usually so calm, so composed... but then something sets him off, and boom! You’d think he could bring down a mountain with that temper of his.”

Areeba was already halfway out the door, waving them off with a quick, “I’ll just be a minute,” but Farhat fufu called after her, unable to resist one last jab.

“Allah has given you so much patience, dear! Handling him must be like taming a wild horse!”

Areeba paused, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “No, no, Fufu... he’s just... impulsive sometimes.”

“Oh, ‘impulsive’ is a nice way to put it!” Sakina added with a fond sigh, though a hint of worry lingered in her gaze. “We all know how he can be—so bossy, so demanding.”

“You don’t have to defend him, Areeba. We see how he is,” Hiba said, arching an eyebrow but smiling warmly. “Last night, we were all gossiping in the garden—finally gathered together after so many months—and then what does our dear brother do? He shows up and just asks you to get up, just like that. Poor girl didn’t even get to sit and chat with us!”

Areeba’s eyes widened. “No, Api! You misunderstood. He was just worried about my health...”

“Areeba, you don’t need to make excuses for him.” Rida had just entered the kitchen, looking indignant. “I saw him scolding you yesterday for no reason. Mom, you should say something! Areeba’s not his servant. He needs to respect his wife.”

Sakina became worried hearing Hiba. She still remembered the day Areeba’s father, Zamil Khan, had suddenly reappeared, after years of silence. He’d shown up with an unsettling urgency, claiming he wanted his daughter back. For the first time since her sister’s death, Sakina had felt an unfamiliar fear for Areeba’s future. She had thought her niece was safe in her home, surrounded by love and security. But Zamil had brought with him plans of marrying Areeba off to a much older, divorced man. The excuse he’d given had been cruel, almost absurd—Areeba’s dark skin, he’d claimed, would make it impossible for her to find a husband as she got older. It was a flimsy lie, a pitiful attempt to hide the real reason: Zamil owed money, and he’d decided that his daughter was an acceptable payment.

Sakina’s jaw clenched at the memory. She could still recall the scene vividly—the way Areeba had been treated like a servant in her own father’s house, the quiet misery in her niece’s eyes. Areeba had always been soft-spoken and obedient, never one to complain, but the exhaustion and sadness in her expression had said more than words ever could. Sakina hadn’t wasted a moment. She’d brought Areeba back that very day, promising herself that her niece would never have to set foot in that house again.

It was Sakina’s late husband, wise and steady, who had first suggested a solution that would secure Areeba’s place in their family for good. “Why don’t we ask Zarun?” he had said, his voice gentle but firm. “He’s a serious boy, yes, but he’s a good man. And he understands responsibility.”

Sakina hadn’t been certain. Zarun, her son—the cold, unreadable young man who had inherited not only his grandfather’s sharp features but also his stoic temperament. She worried if he could ever show Areeba the warmth and affection she deserved. But when she’d finally gathered the courage to speak to him, to explain just how much her sister’s daughter meant to her, Zarun had listened quietly, his gaze steady and unwavering. And then, in his usual quiet way, he’d nodded.

He’d agreed. Just like that.

But even now, Sakina sometimes wondered if he’d accepted for Areeba’s sake—or if it had been purely out of duty to his mother. Zarun was like a sealed book, one whose pages she could barely glimpse. His cold, serious demeanor gave away nothing, leaving her to wonder if there was any real affection for Areeba hidden beneath that impassive exterior.

And then there were the comments—ugly, hurtful comments from some relatives who thought they were being discreet but whose words always managed to reach Sakina.“Such an odd couple,”they’d say, looking at Zarun and Areeba with barely veiled curiosity.“She doesn’t suit him at all.”Some even dared to claim that Zarun had beenforcedinto the marriage, that he’d married his “ugly cousin” only to please his mother.

Sakina knew Areeba was beautiful—her niece’s beauty was as subtle and deep as her nature, a quiet loveliness that didn’t shout but glowed from within. But all these people seemed to see was her skin color, as if her dark, chocolatey complexion defined her entirely. It was infuriating. These relatives who lived in Canada, who considered themselves progressive, still couldn’t look beyond the superficial, still clung to the same old prejudices.

Sakina had ignored their words as best she could, dismissing them firmly. But, sometimes, the worry would creep in when she was alone with her thoughts. What if—despite everything—those whispers held a grain of truth? What if Zarun, with his aloof, stoic demeanor, really didn’t feel anything for Areeba? What if, for all his quiet nods and dutiful actions, his heart remained untouched?

Sakina sighed, pressing a hand to her chest. She couldn’t bear the thought of Areeba feeling unloved, of her niece silently enduring in a marriage where affection was just out of reach. And yet, whenever she tried to broach the topic with Zarun, his answers would be brief, courteous, but always just... distant.

“No, really,” Areeba tried to explain, “he wasn’t scolding me, just reminding me to take care of myself.”

Rida sighed, knowing full well that Areeba, with her gentle heart, would always try to defend Zarun, no matter how intense or demanding he seemed.

“A hurricane in disguise,” Asma muttered with a grin. “One wrong move and—boom!” Nadia added, miming an explosion with her hands.

Sakina shot her youngest daughters a warning glance. “Don’t talk about your brother like that,” she said, though her gaze softened, pride glinting in her eyes. “He’s serious, yes, but he’s also kind. Haven’t you heard Dadi say he’s just like his grandfather? A coconut—hard on the outside, soft inside.”

She silently prayed, “Ya Allah, kindly make everything all right. Bring warmth and love into their lives. Make his heart gentle for her.”

“Sometimes I really feel like Zarun behaves like a dictator,” Hiba said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “We’re also married, and our husbands never act like that!”

Areeba offered a polite smile, hoping to clear up the misunderstanding but not realizing she might be making things worse. “No, really, he’s not—”

But Farhat Fufu interrupted, clasping her hands over her heart with an exaggerated sigh. “Poor, poor Areeba,” she lamented, shaking her head. “Such a devoted wife—always running to him like an obedient little lamb. And what does she get in return? Bossed around day and night!”

“Areeba...” She heard her name called, the familiar voice carrying a hint of warning. Her heart skipped a beat as she quickened her steps, deciding she’d better reach Zarun before he had the chance to bring the world to flames

---

Areeba stormed into the bedroom, her sandals clicking against the polished floor, irritation painted across her face. Zarun stood by the mirror, calm and composed, scrolling through his phone with an air of complete indifference, as if the world outside didn’t exist. His black shirt was perfectly pressed, sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, sinewy forearms. Even in the simplest outfit, he looked effortlessly powerful—a storm contained just beneath the surface.

“What is it?” she snapped, crossing her arms and fixing him with a glare.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slid his phone into his pocket and turned to her, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. Before she could react, he closed the distance between them in one smooth step, his arm sliding around her waist as he pulled her close.

Areeba let out a surprised gasp. “Zarun, stop it.” Her voice trembled—caught somewhere between a plea and a laugh.

Zarun’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her ear. “If you’d come the first time I called, I wouldn’t have had to do this.”

Her heart raced, a blush rising to her cheeks. She glanced nervously toward the door, trying to steady her voice. “It’s broad daylight, Zarun! What are you doing? Someone might see us.”

His eyes gleamed with amusement as he tightened his grip, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “That’s why,” he murmured, a playful glint in his eyes, “you should always close the door before coming in.”

Areeba’s pulse quickened. He looked at her as if she were the only person in the world—as if every other concern faded away when he was with her. His gaze, always so cool and serious in public, now softened just for her.

She tried to push him away, though her voice was barely a whisper. “You’re going to be late.”

“I don’t care.” His voice dropped into a low murmur that sent a shiver down her spine.

“But... I do.” She tried to wriggle free again, placing a gentle hand on his chest.

When she finally managed to break away, he caught her wrist again—this time more gently, like he was toying with her.

“Won’t you knot my tie?” His tone was casual, but there was a gleam in his eyes that made her pulse jump.

Areeba huffed, her cheeks already burning. “Tie it yourself,” she muttered, turning to leave.

But he just stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her with that intense gaze—the kind that always left her feeling flustered and off-balance.

Areeba sighed, stopping in her tracks.

How could she resist that look? With a resigned sigh, she turned back to him, her lips curving into a reluctant pout. “Promise me you’ll behave.”

Zarun smirked, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t make deals that are a loss for me.”

“Zarun...” she said helplessly, already feeling her resolve weaken.

“You’re just wasting time, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle now, but laced with quiet mischief.

Poor Areeba bit her lip, knowing exactly how this would end. Fine, she thought, reluctantly stepping closer to him.

Zarun stood perfectly still, watching her with silent amusement as she reached for his tie. She moved quickly, the brush of her fingers against his shirt sending a warmth up her arms that only deepened her blush.

“There. Done.” She stepped back, flustered and breathless, desperate to escape his gaze.

Just as she turned to leave, he gently pulled her wrist once more. She met his gaze, noticing the familiar, playful glint in his eyes. “Let me thank you properly, my love,” he murmured. Before she realized it, he had placed a gentle kiss, brief but filled with affection, leaving her cheeks flushed and her heart warmed.

When Areeba finally emerged from the bedroom, her face was still flushed, her heart racing. She tried to compose herself, smoothing down her dupatta and hoping no one would notice the change of her color.

Ya Allah, let no one see me like this, she prayed silently.

But of course, she wasn’t that lucky.

The moment she stepped into the kitchen, she was met by the hawk-like gazes of Farhat Fufu, Dadi Naseem, and Sakina Khala, all waiting like a trio of suspicious investigators.

“Areeba!” Farhat Fufu’s eyes widened in exaggerated concern. “Look at your cheeks! Were you crying?”

Areeba’s eyes went wide with panic. “N-no! I wasn’t crying.”

“But your face is all red!” Dadi squinted suspiciously, leaning closer. “Did Zarun say something to you?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that!” Areeba stammered, frantically waving her hands.

“I told you, that boy is too serious!” Sakina Khala sighed heavily. “He must have scolded her again.”

“Poor Areeba,” Farhat Fufu said, patting her shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. “You’re such a good wife—so patient, so kind—and he’s so... stubborn.”

“No, really! Everything’s fine!” Areeba tried to explain, her cheeks burning even more.

The entire Haider family was convinced that the sweet, kind Areeba was suffering at the hands of her “cold-hearted” husband. But what they didn’t know—what none of them could even imagine—was that their concerns were hilariously, utterly baseless.

Areeba’s problem wasn’t a lack of attention from her husband.

No, her real struggle was dealing with his overwhelming love.