From contract to ishq - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
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The car door opened, and Yaram took Minahil’s hand, leading her toward the front door of his bungalow. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d brought her here. Part of him wanted to show off his home, like a schoolboy trying to impress a crush. If she could see herself living here, even for a short time, it might nudge her closer to accepting his proposal.
The bungalow was modern yet elegant, perched along Karachi’s coastline with a view of the Arabian Sea. Yaram had a housekeeper, Mrs. Khan, who came daily to handle the chores he had no time or interest for. She cooked, cleaned, and left before he returned from work. He’d inherited her with the house when he bought it five years ago. Mrs. Khan had served the previous owners for decades, knew every corner of the place, and had quickly adapted to his expectations. They got along well, a quiet understanding between them.Minahil was still reeling from the fact that they weren’t at a restaurant when Yaram led her through the front door.
She stood in awe, her eyes tracing the high ceiling adorned with intricate chandeliers. She’d never been in a private home like this—every detail screamed wealth, from the marble floors to the traditional Pakistani artwork on the walls. She couldn’t decide what shocked her more: the luxury Yaram lived in daily or the fact that he’d brought her to his private space when she’d expected a public dinner.He guided her to glass doors opening onto a terrace overlooking the sea. The water was dark, almost black, except where the city lights danced, creating a shimmering glow that stretched into the night.
“A-ap yahan rehte hain?” The calm she’d felt in the car was gone, replaced by a fragile attempt to hold herself together. She was out of her depth, grappling with a man unlike any she’d ever met, her emotions a tangled mess.
“Haan,” he replied, his voice short and to the point.
“Akele?”
She couldn’t mask the disbelief that all this space was for one person.He chuckled softly. “yes.”Minahil turned to him, blinking under his intense gaze. “Its beautiful.”
“Thank you.”She took a shaky breath. “Aur aap chahte hai ke mein aap se nikaah karoon aur yahan aapke saath rahoon?”
“Yes, that's what I want.”She studied his rigid stance, the unyielding set of his shoulders. “Lekin yeh ghalat hai. Jo aap soch rahe hain, woh ghalat hai. Mujhe bas isliye haan keh dena chahiye taake aapko sabaq sikh sakoon.”
“Mujhe na toh tumhare zameer ki zarurat hai, na moral compass ki, aur na hi meri rooh ke liye fikr ki. Mujhe bas yeh chahiye ke tum is deal par agree karo aur thodi der ke liye duniya ke samne nikaah ka dikhawa karo.”
“Jaise ek convenience wala nikaah, right?”His eyes slid down her body, lingering, then returned to her face. His response was slow, deliberate. “Kuch aisa hi.”
Minahil felt a spark of excitement mixed with fear at the possessive, all-consuming look in his eyes.Before she could agree or refuse, she needed clarity—why he wanted this, and what it meant for her future, her dignity. But she wasn’t ready to dive into that yet, and her stomach was growling.
“Aapka ghar bohat pyara hai. Ab kya hum restaurant ja sakte hain?”
“Meine kabhi nahi kaha ke hum restaurant ja rahe hain.”Anger flared, her patience snapping at being manipulated.
“Sunein, Sir, mein aaj sirf khane ke liye aayi thi. Agar aap mujhe khana nahi khila rahe, toh abhi mujhe ghar chor dein.”Yaram watched the fire in her eyes, her chest heaving with quick, agitated breaths. Her maroon kameez stretched over her curves, and the sight sent a rush of heat through him. He’d been half-aroused the entire drive, but now, her defiance had him fully hard, his control fraying. He forced himself to rein it in.
“Araam se, jaan. Dinner is ready. Meri housekeeper ne jaane se pehle khana banaya hai. Chalo.” He took her hand, pulling her into the kitchen.The kitchen was vast yet warm, with a wall of windows showcasing the sea’s distant glow. Granite countertops wrapped around sleek cabinets, and Minahil perched on a wrought-iron barstool at the central island, swiveling slightly to watch Yaram.
He warmed two plates of biryani and kebabs in the microwave and opened a bottle of coke.Within minutes, he sat across from her, clinking his glass against hers before taking a sip. His gaze scorched her, unyielding. Minahil lifted her glass, taking a small sip, she had to be careful—drinks like this could be drugged, and she was already in over her head.
Yaram dug into the fragrant biryani, and Minahil followed, savoring the flavors. It was divine, a stark contrast to the instant noodles and bread she’d be back to tomorrow. They ate in silence, and after one failed attempt at small talk, she focused on the food, letting it comfort her.Dinner ended too soon. Yaram loaded the plates into the dishwasher, grabbed his glass and the coke bottle, and moved to the door, waiting for her to follow.
With a heavy heart, Minahil slid off the stool, took her glass, and trailed him, knowing the moment she’d dreaded had arrived—time to hear his pitch.In the living room, with the drink on the coffee table, Minahil curled into the corner of the sofa, bracing herself. Yaram swirled his glass, studying her. “Tumhein ek baat jaan na chahiye.” He took a sip, setting the glass down. “Chahe yeh baat ho ya na ho, agar tum mera proposal nahi maanti, tumhari job safe hai. Iske liye fikr nahi karni. Mein tumhein warn kar raha hoon, ab mein tum par pressure daal ne wala hoon taake tum agree karo, lekin agar tum nahi maanti, toh sab kuch pehle jaisa rahega. Mein kisi aur ko dhoond lunga, aur tum accounting mein wapas chali jaogi. Samajh aayi?”Emotions churned inside Minahil.
His “pressure” comment spiked her anxiety, and she was startled by a pang of disappointment at the thought of him choosing someone else. She nodded, her eyes locked on his as he continued.
“Mein isse aise dekhta hoon ke Hum foran ek simple nikaah karenge, sirf zaroori gawahon ke saath. Log bohat sawal karenge ke yeh itna jaldi kyun hua, aur hum isse aisa dikhayenge jaise hum mein months se chupke chupke relationship chal raha tha, jo hum ne company ke alag alag positions ki wajah se chupaya.”
Minahil sat rigid, defiance radiating from her. “Koi isse nahi manega.”His gaze roamed her face, lingering on her lips, then dropping to her curves. A jolt of desire hit him, tightening his jaw. “Sab manenge.”Her eyes widened, but she stayed silent, waiting.“Mein 5 million tumhare personal account mein daal doonga. Dusra half pehle saal ke baad milega. Tum mere saath yahan shift ho jaogi, aur nikaah ke dauran mein tumhare saare personal bills cover karunga. Tumhein ek credit card aur mahana allowance milega.” He paused for three beats.
“Lekin tumhein job chhorna hoga, aur koi aur job nahi kar sakti. Mujhe ek wife chahiye jo family values wala scene dikha sake, aur yeh relationship jitna traditional ho sakta hai, utna hona chahiye. Ismein yeh bhi shamil hai ke tum ghar pe raho aur meri devoted wife ka role play karo. Agar bore ho jao, toh koi charity dhoond sakti ho aur din mein volunteer kar sakti ho. Jo karna chaho. Mujhe farq nahi padta. Bas jab tak tum mere bina party nahi kar rahi, tumhara waqt tumhara hai.”
Minahil listened, her mind racing with possibilities. One question gnawed at her. “Why?” Her eyes searched his. “Aapko itni jaldi biwi kyun chahiye? Abhi kyun?”
“Its nothing bad. Tum agree karo tab mein detail mein jaunga, lekin itna jaan lo ke yeh office politics hai. Na isse zyada, na kam.”Minahil wanted to take the deal so badly it scared her. The money could save her—clear her debts, change her life. It was like winning a lottery. Or signing a pact with the devil. She needed time to think. Could she live with a stranger? Trust a man she barely knew? And what about their roles as husband and wife? As a Muslim woman who’d never been in a relationship, who’d guarded her chastity, the thought of intimacy with Yaram was daunting. Her face flushed as she gathered her courage. “Toh hum kaise husband-wife honge?”His dark eyes locked onto hers, nostrils flaring. “ Tum meri saari needs poori karogi.”
Her pulse skyrocketed, a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling in her stomach. Her mouth went dry, hands clenching in her lap. She was twenty-two, a virgin, raised with values that placed marriage and modesty at the forefront. Yaram’s response, though veiled in the context of marriage, carried a weight that both intimidated and intrigued her.
His intense stares had always unsettled her, and now she understood their depth.The idea of fulfilling his “needs” as his wife sent a shiver through her. She was sure it would be intense—his flushed cheeks, flaring nostrils, and the tic in his jaw betrayed his desire. He might frame this as a business deal, but under his heated gaze, she saw how she’d walked into his trap.Deep down, she knew he’d wanted her for months, held back only by their professional boundaries. She’d probably always sensed it, shying away from the thought. All those piercing looks, and the moment she gave him an opening, he seized it. Yes, he needed a wife, but he wanted one he desired.
Minahil sucked in a breath, wanting to scream for time to think, away from his overwhelming presence. Her mind spun with indecision. She was about to ask for that time when he added more chaos.“Tum samajh rahi ho ke sex is deal ka hissa hai I will be with you for 2 years and I have needs, aur board of directors meri har movement par nazar rakhege.”
He reached out, taking a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers, his eyes devouring her. “Isi liye meine tumhein chuna.” His voice deepened.
“Tumhein dekh kar mujhe har baar excitement hoti hai. Months se aisa hai. Agar mujhe do saal tak ek aurat tak mehdood hona hai, toh mein chahta hoon ke woh tum jaisi ho.” He paused, his gaze raking over her. “Bilkul tum jaisi.”Her heartbeat went wild, blood rushing through her veins, fueling her excitement. His words confirmed her suspicions, seducing her toward his insane proposal. But it was wrong—marrying with divorce in mind, for money, was against everything she believed. Yet, she was tempted. She could clear her debts, live in luxury, and share his bed every night. The chemistry crackled between them; the intimacy would be incredible. So, where was the catch?Her mind battled her body. She searched for a reason to say no. Maybe he’d be overbearing as a husband? Right, Minahil. Still, she needed to be sure, to know if they’d be compatible.
She froze as he leaned closer, his voice low and tentative. “Kya mein tumhein kiss kar sakta hoon?”. "No!!" She said, shocked at his demand.
The bungalow was modern yet elegant, perched along Karachi’s coastline with a view of the Arabian Sea. Yaram had a housekeeper, Mrs. Khan, who came daily to handle the chores he had no time or interest for. She cooked, cleaned, and left before he returned from work. He’d inherited her with the house when he bought it five years ago. Mrs. Khan had served the previous owners for decades, knew every corner of the place, and had quickly adapted to his expectations. They got along well, a quiet understanding between them.Minahil was still reeling from the fact that they weren’t at a restaurant when Yaram led her through the front door.
She stood in awe, her eyes tracing the high ceiling adorned with intricate chandeliers. She’d never been in a private home like this—every detail screamed wealth, from the marble floors to the traditional Pakistani artwork on the walls. She couldn’t decide what shocked her more: the luxury Yaram lived in daily or the fact that he’d brought her to his private space when she’d expected a public dinner.He guided her to glass doors opening onto a terrace overlooking the sea. The water was dark, almost black, except where the city lights danced, creating a shimmering glow that stretched into the night.
“A-ap yahan rehte hain?” The calm she’d felt in the car was gone, replaced by a fragile attempt to hold herself together. She was out of her depth, grappling with a man unlike any she’d ever met, her emotions a tangled mess.
“Haan,” he replied, his voice short and to the point.
“Akele?”
She couldn’t mask the disbelief that all this space was for one person.He chuckled softly. “yes.”Minahil turned to him, blinking under his intense gaze. “Its beautiful.”
“Thank you.”She took a shaky breath. “Aur aap chahte hai ke mein aap se nikaah karoon aur yahan aapke saath rahoon?”
“Yes, that's what I want.”She studied his rigid stance, the unyielding set of his shoulders. “Lekin yeh ghalat hai. Jo aap soch rahe hain, woh ghalat hai. Mujhe bas isliye haan keh dena chahiye taake aapko sabaq sikh sakoon.”
“Mujhe na toh tumhare zameer ki zarurat hai, na moral compass ki, aur na hi meri rooh ke liye fikr ki. Mujhe bas yeh chahiye ke tum is deal par agree karo aur thodi der ke liye duniya ke samne nikaah ka dikhawa karo.”
“Jaise ek convenience wala nikaah, right?”His eyes slid down her body, lingering, then returned to her face. His response was slow, deliberate. “Kuch aisa hi.”
Minahil felt a spark of excitement mixed with fear at the possessive, all-consuming look in his eyes.Before she could agree or refuse, she needed clarity—why he wanted this, and what it meant for her future, her dignity. But she wasn’t ready to dive into that yet, and her stomach was growling.
“Aapka ghar bohat pyara hai. Ab kya hum restaurant ja sakte hain?”
“Meine kabhi nahi kaha ke hum restaurant ja rahe hain.”Anger flared, her patience snapping at being manipulated.
“Sunein, Sir, mein aaj sirf khane ke liye aayi thi. Agar aap mujhe khana nahi khila rahe, toh abhi mujhe ghar chor dein.”Yaram watched the fire in her eyes, her chest heaving with quick, agitated breaths. Her maroon kameez stretched over her curves, and the sight sent a rush of heat through him. He’d been half-aroused the entire drive, but now, her defiance had him fully hard, his control fraying. He forced himself to rein it in.
“Araam se, jaan. Dinner is ready. Meri housekeeper ne jaane se pehle khana banaya hai. Chalo.” He took her hand, pulling her into the kitchen.The kitchen was vast yet warm, with a wall of windows showcasing the sea’s distant glow. Granite countertops wrapped around sleek cabinets, and Minahil perched on a wrought-iron barstool at the central island, swiveling slightly to watch Yaram.
He warmed two plates of biryani and kebabs in the microwave and opened a bottle of coke.Within minutes, he sat across from her, clinking his glass against hers before taking a sip. His gaze scorched her, unyielding. Minahil lifted her glass, taking a small sip, she had to be careful—drinks like this could be drugged, and she was already in over her head.
Yaram dug into the fragrant biryani, and Minahil followed, savoring the flavors. It was divine, a stark contrast to the instant noodles and bread she’d be back to tomorrow. They ate in silence, and after one failed attempt at small talk, she focused on the food, letting it comfort her.Dinner ended too soon. Yaram loaded the plates into the dishwasher, grabbed his glass and the coke bottle, and moved to the door, waiting for her to follow.
With a heavy heart, Minahil slid off the stool, took her glass, and trailed him, knowing the moment she’d dreaded had arrived—time to hear his pitch.In the living room, with the drink on the coffee table, Minahil curled into the corner of the sofa, bracing herself. Yaram swirled his glass, studying her. “Tumhein ek baat jaan na chahiye.” He took a sip, setting the glass down. “Chahe yeh baat ho ya na ho, agar tum mera proposal nahi maanti, tumhari job safe hai. Iske liye fikr nahi karni. Mein tumhein warn kar raha hoon, ab mein tum par pressure daal ne wala hoon taake tum agree karo, lekin agar tum nahi maanti, toh sab kuch pehle jaisa rahega. Mein kisi aur ko dhoond lunga, aur tum accounting mein wapas chali jaogi. Samajh aayi?”Emotions churned inside Minahil.
His “pressure” comment spiked her anxiety, and she was startled by a pang of disappointment at the thought of him choosing someone else. She nodded, her eyes locked on his as he continued.
“Mein isse aise dekhta hoon ke Hum foran ek simple nikaah karenge, sirf zaroori gawahon ke saath. Log bohat sawal karenge ke yeh itna jaldi kyun hua, aur hum isse aisa dikhayenge jaise hum mein months se chupke chupke relationship chal raha tha, jo hum ne company ke alag alag positions ki wajah se chupaya.”
Minahil sat rigid, defiance radiating from her. “Koi isse nahi manega.”His gaze roamed her face, lingering on her lips, then dropping to her curves. A jolt of desire hit him, tightening his jaw. “Sab manenge.”Her eyes widened, but she stayed silent, waiting.“Mein 5 million tumhare personal account mein daal doonga. Dusra half pehle saal ke baad milega. Tum mere saath yahan shift ho jaogi, aur nikaah ke dauran mein tumhare saare personal bills cover karunga. Tumhein ek credit card aur mahana allowance milega.” He paused for three beats.
“Lekin tumhein job chhorna hoga, aur koi aur job nahi kar sakti. Mujhe ek wife chahiye jo family values wala scene dikha sake, aur yeh relationship jitna traditional ho sakta hai, utna hona chahiye. Ismein yeh bhi shamil hai ke tum ghar pe raho aur meri devoted wife ka role play karo. Agar bore ho jao, toh koi charity dhoond sakti ho aur din mein volunteer kar sakti ho. Jo karna chaho. Mujhe farq nahi padta. Bas jab tak tum mere bina party nahi kar rahi, tumhara waqt tumhara hai.”
Minahil listened, her mind racing with possibilities. One question gnawed at her. “Why?” Her eyes searched his. “Aapko itni jaldi biwi kyun chahiye? Abhi kyun?”
“Its nothing bad. Tum agree karo tab mein detail mein jaunga, lekin itna jaan lo ke yeh office politics hai. Na isse zyada, na kam.”Minahil wanted to take the deal so badly it scared her. The money could save her—clear her debts, change her life. It was like winning a lottery. Or signing a pact with the devil. She needed time to think. Could she live with a stranger? Trust a man she barely knew? And what about their roles as husband and wife? As a Muslim woman who’d never been in a relationship, who’d guarded her chastity, the thought of intimacy with Yaram was daunting. Her face flushed as she gathered her courage. “Toh hum kaise husband-wife honge?”His dark eyes locked onto hers, nostrils flaring. “ Tum meri saari needs poori karogi.”
Her pulse skyrocketed, a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling in her stomach. Her mouth went dry, hands clenching in her lap. She was twenty-two, a virgin, raised with values that placed marriage and modesty at the forefront. Yaram’s response, though veiled in the context of marriage, carried a weight that both intimidated and intrigued her.
His intense stares had always unsettled her, and now she understood their depth.The idea of fulfilling his “needs” as his wife sent a shiver through her. She was sure it would be intense—his flushed cheeks, flaring nostrils, and the tic in his jaw betrayed his desire. He might frame this as a business deal, but under his heated gaze, she saw how she’d walked into his trap.Deep down, she knew he’d wanted her for months, held back only by their professional boundaries. She’d probably always sensed it, shying away from the thought. All those piercing looks, and the moment she gave him an opening, he seized it. Yes, he needed a wife, but he wanted one he desired.
Minahil sucked in a breath, wanting to scream for time to think, away from his overwhelming presence. Her mind spun with indecision. She was about to ask for that time when he added more chaos.“Tum samajh rahi ho ke sex is deal ka hissa hai I will be with you for 2 years and I have needs, aur board of directors meri har movement par nazar rakhege.”
He reached out, taking a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his fingers, his eyes devouring her. “Isi liye meine tumhein chuna.” His voice deepened.
“Tumhein dekh kar mujhe har baar excitement hoti hai. Months se aisa hai. Agar mujhe do saal tak ek aurat tak mehdood hona hai, toh mein chahta hoon ke woh tum jaisi ho.” He paused, his gaze raking over her. “Bilkul tum jaisi.”Her heartbeat went wild, blood rushing through her veins, fueling her excitement. His words confirmed her suspicions, seducing her toward his insane proposal. But it was wrong—marrying with divorce in mind, for money, was against everything she believed. Yet, she was tempted. She could clear her debts, live in luxury, and share his bed every night. The chemistry crackled between them; the intimacy would be incredible. So, where was the catch?Her mind battled her body. She searched for a reason to say no. Maybe he’d be overbearing as a husband? Right, Minahil. Still, she needed to be sure, to know if they’d be compatible.
She froze as he leaned closer, his voice low and tentative. “Kya mein tumhein kiss kar sakta hoon?”. "No!!" She said, shocked at his demand.
End of From contract to ishq Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to From contract to ishq book page.