Chapter One: The Sound of Being Awake
Sleep had stopped visiting Aaira Noor five years ago.
Not gradually.
Not gently.
It left like a slammed door.
At twenty-six, Aaira had learned every shape the ceiling could take in the dark. She knew the exact second the night fan changed its sound, when the city outside her high-rise apartment softened into silence, and when her mind—her worst enemy—began to speak the loudest.
Insomnia wasn’t just sleeplessness.
It was memory without permission.
Five years ago, a childhood that should have stayed buried clawed its way back—through therapy sessions, through exhaustion, through the quiet moments when the world expected her to rest. Trauma doesn’t announce itself. It waits. And then it keeps you awake.
By day, Aaira Noor was untouchable.
A content creator. Influencer. Storyteller with over a million followers who believed she lived a soft, aesthetic life—linen curtains, white walls, slow mornings, skincare routines, and carefully curated peace.
Brands begged. Cameras loved her.
The world saw calm.
What they didn’t see was the woman who hadn’t slept properly in five years.
Work filled the silence. Deadlines filled the nights. If she stayed awake long enough, she didn’t have to feel. That was the deal she’d made with herself—until her body started failing her. Panic attacks at 4 a.m. Trembling hands before shoots. A heart that raced even when she lay still.
Doctors offered pills.
Therapists offered patience.
Nothing worked.
One night, after seventy-two hours without sleep, Aaira sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, eyes burning—not from tears, but from exhaustion—and whispered something she’d never admitted out loud.
“I can’t be alone when I sleep.”
The thought terrified her.
Depending on someone meant attachment.
Attachment meant vulnerability.
And vulnerability had once cost her everything.
Still, desperation has its own courage.
She didn’t want comfort.
She didn’t want conversation.
She wanted presence.
Someone who would simply exist in the room while she slept. No touch. No closeness. Just proof that if the memories came back, she wouldn’t face them alone.
So she posted a discreet requirement through a private hiring agency. No photos. No personal details. Strict terms. Strict boundaries.
Night presence required. Professional. Silent. Contract-based.
That’s how Rehaan Ilyas walked into her life.
Rehaan was not what Aaira expected.
He was tall—effortlessly so—with a posture that spoke of confidence without arrogance. His skin carried a warm fairness, sharp features softened by calm eyes that noticed everything and reacted to nothing. He wore white. Always white. Crisp shirts. Clean shoes. Minimal watch.
Aesthetic, yes.
But not decorative.
He walked like a man who owned rooms, not like one who waited to be hired.
When he entered Aaira’s living space, she didn’t stand up. She didn’t offer water. She didn’t smile.
She had learned the power of emotional distance very well.
“You’re late,” she said, eyes still on her tablet.
Rehaan checked his watch once, then met her gaze.
“I’m early by three minutes.”
She looked up then—irritation flickering across her face before she masked it. He wasn’t intimidated. That annoyed her.
“You’ve read the requirement?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You understand this is not companionship.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t speak unless I speak to you.”
“Understood.”
“You don’t touch me. Ever.”
A pause. Just one second.
“Of course not,” he said calmly.
Something about the way he said it—without offense, without defensiveness—made her chest tighten. She ignored it.
“Good. Then we’re clear.”
She slid the contract across the table.
He didn’t read it immediately.
Instead, he looked at her. Really looked.
Dark circles hidden under concealer. Tension in her shoulders. The way her fingers tapped twice before stilling—as if her body had learned anxiety by heart.
“You don’t sleep,” he said, softly.
Aaira’s jaw tightened.
“That’s not your concern.”
He nodded.
“You’re right.”
He read the contract carefully, signed it without negotiation.
Then, just as she relaxed—thinking this would be another transaction, another wall she could control—he spoke again.
“One condition from my side.”
Her head snapped up.
“There was no mention of—”
“I won’t charge you,” he said.
Silence.
She stared at him, suspicion blooming instantly.
“What do you want instead?”
“A mutual partnership.”
Her heart skipped—not in excitement, but fear.
“This was a mistake,” she said sharply. “I don’t do—”
“Not this,” he interrupted gently. “Professionally.”
He explained calmly, methodically, like a businessman used to clarity.
He owned a wedding and event management company—premium, understated, elegant—but growth required visibility. Credibility. Emotional storytelling.
“You have reach,” he said. “And authenticity people trust.”
Aaira crossed her arms.
“And what do I get?”
“Sleep,” he replied simply. “And no monetary loss.”
She laughed once—short, humorless.
“You think I’ll just promote your company?”
“No,” he said. “You’ll be my brand ambassador.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“And?”
“And for the outside world,” he added, steady and unflinching, “you’ll be my fiancée.”
The room went cold.
Her instincts screamed.
Creepy. Dangerous. Run.
“You’re insane,” she said. “I don’t fake relationships.”
“I’m not asking you to feel,” he replied. “Only to act. On your terms. Boundaries intact.”
She stood up, panic rising.
“You want access to my life.”
“I want access to your audience,” he corrected. “And you want someone in the room when you sleep.”
That sentence landed heavier than anything else.
He hadn’t pushed.
He hadn’t pleaded.
He had stated a truth.
Rehaan rose, maintaining distance.
“Think about it. If you say no, I walk away. No pressure.”
As he turned to leave, Aaira spoke—her voice quieter than she intended.
“Why would you trust me with something that personal?”
He paused at the door.
“Because,” he said, not turning around,
“people who don’t sleep carry honesty in their eyes. They can’t fake exhaustion.”
The door closed behind him.
Aaira sank back onto the couch, heart racing, mind louder than ever.
For the first time in five years, sleep felt close.
And terrifying.
