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The sun dipped low over the vast fields of Noor Mahal, casting a golden veil across the land.
The breeze swayed lazily through the mango trees, stirring the thick scent of marigolds.
The western courtyard glowed in honeyed amber, the sandstone walls reflecting the evening light of the day.
A gentle rustle of anklets echoed down the empty corridor as Mehnaz, the maid appointed to Ferisha, tiptoed past the closed jharokhas.
She giggled softly, clutching a velvet pouch of ittar bottles gifts for her beloved Ferisha, who waited, inside the most secret corner of the haveli the, Ghusal-Khana. (Bathroom)
A hidden place only reserved for few.
The ghusal-khana, hidden behind an old teak door at the far end of the south wing, was like something from a forgotten Persian fairytale.
It was crafted under Sarkar's personal supervision nearly four years ago, it had been his silent gift to the girl who once sat in his garden, weaving garlands from fallen flowers, whispering to butterflies.
That girl barefoot, wide-eyed, fragrant with innocence had unknowingly carved her name into the stones of his mahal.
And he, a man of shadows, built her a sanctuary of light.
As the heavy door creaked open, the warm scent of sandalwood greeted the air, laced with hints of jasmine and rich oils.
Inside, the ghusal-khana opened like a royal secret with creamy marble floors.
The central masterpiece was the pool an enormous vintage-style sunken bath carved from white Makrana marble.
It was shaped like a blooming lotus, with rose petals floating over its surface, the water glowing with a pale blue hue from hidden lamps beneath.
Lanterns of antique brass hung low from wooden beams, their glass painted in shades of emerald, ruby, and sapphire, casting colored reflections on the pool's surface.
On one side of the room stood a carved rosewood shelf stacked with luxurious linens, embroidered towels, and small brass bowls filled with dried lavender, crushed rose petals, saffron milk, and multani mitti.
Beside it, a silver-trimmed vanity table stood adorned with combs of ivory, jars of almond oil, and trays lined with glass perfume bottles attar-e-mogra, gulab, khus, and amber.
The air was alive with their mingling fragrances.
A shallow alcove in the corner held an arched mirror, framed with carved vines and night-blooming jasmine trailing from the ceiling.
A soft small bed with plush bolsters sat beside it, inviting rest after the royal bath.
The walls bore delicate vines, peacocks, and twilight moons painted in muted pastels by artisans who had been paid in gold and silence.
Yet none of it compared to what lay beyond the small arched doorway to the left a secret garden and Ferisha's haven.
A single marble step led to the private garden, known only to two women Ferisha and Mehnaz.
It was a hidden realm carved out of earth and desire, enclosed by high vine-covered walls that the outside world had long forgotten.
Sarkar had made it so.
Inside, the garden bloomed like an eternal spring.
Roses climbed every corner white, red, pale orange each one planted according to Ferisha's secret likeness.
Marigolds circled the narrow stone path like golden sentries, while mogra and raat-ki-rani (jasmine) filled the night air with a delicate intoxication.
At the heart of the garden stood a vintage wooden jhoola (swing), carved with birds and vines, hung from an old tree with thick silk ropes dyed maroon.
Cushions of velvet and embroidered chikan cloth were laid out, their scent kissed with rosewater.
It was the kind of swing where dreams were meant to be whispered, or simply breathed in.
Butterflies flitted between the flowers, and a small marble fountain trickled water rhythmically in the corner, beside a stone bench littered with old poetry books left behind from Ferisha's long afternoons in solitude.
A brass diya burned in the twilight on the garden wall, its flame flickering like a heartbeat, and wind chimes sang their silvery tune from above.
Zyran had forbidden every servant, every guard, every visitor from setting foot in that garden.
Only Mehnaz and Ferisha. And sometimes Zyran himself, in the silence of night, when the world slept and the only thing louder than the night was the ache inside him.
Back in the ghusal-khana, Ferisha stood barefoot on the marble floor, wrapped in a muslin dupatta, her silhouette bathed in the amber light of lanterns.
The flickering flames danced against the soft curves of her body as she turned toward the mirror, eyes dreamy, cheeks flushed.
She reached for a rose and plucked its softest petal, letting it fall into the warm pool where dozens already floated offering their fragrance to her skin, her solitude.
Mehnaz entered quietly, laying down her pouch of ittar.
"Yeh lein, isha," she whispered, smiling. "Aapke liye videsh se ittar mangwaya h Malik ne."
("Take this, Isha, Malik has ordered a perfume for you from abroad.")
Ferisha smiled faintly, her fingers dipping into the pool's water.
Steam curled from the warm lotus-shaped pool, filling the chamber with soft fog as the floating rose petals swirled gently around Ferisha's glowing skin.
She sat waist-deep in the fragrant water, her back to the marble edge, eyes closed in pleasure as Mehnaz gently poured a brass bowl of warm gulab-jal mixed with sandalwood over her bare shoulders.
"Bas... ab aur mat daal, Mehnaz," Ferisha sighed, her voice a soft murmur lost in the steam. "Yeh itna sukoon deta hai..."
("That's enough... don't do it any further, Mehnaz. This is so relaxing...")
"Jitna unke haathon ka sukoon?" Mehnaz teased, her grin wicked, as she trailed her fingers lightly across Ferisha's shoulder blades.
( "As much as the comfort of his hands? ")
Ferisha's eyes flew open, her cheeks instantly turning a warm flush that even the lanterns couldn't match.
"Mehnaz!" she gasped, splashing water towards her childhood best friend.
Mehnaz laughed and dodged, her braid swinging behind her.
"Haye Allah, sharma toh aise kar rahi ho jaise main ne kuch galat keh diya ho. Sach toh yeh hai ke jab bhi Malik iss taraf aate hain, unki aankhen sirf tumhe dhoondti hain."
("Haye Allah, you are blushing as if I have said something wrong. The truth is that whenever Malik comes this way, his eyes only searches for you.")
Ferisha turned her face away, half-shy, half-smiling.
The water clung to her skin like molten gold under the glow of the lanterns. Her hands moved slowly through the petals, her mind drifting.
"Kabhi kabhi lagta hai ki unki har nazar, har khamoshi... sirf mere liye hoti hai." she whispered.
("Sometimes it feels like his every look, every silence... is only for me.")
Mehnaz sat beside the pool now, dipping her toes into the water. "Aurat ki aankhein woh dekh leti hain jo duniya nahi dekh sakti, Ferisha. Aur mujhe toh pehle din se samajh aa gaya tha ki Malik ke dil mein bas tu hi hai."
("A woman's eyes can see what the world cannot see, Ferisha. And I understood from the first day that you are the only one in Malik's heart.")
There was silence for a moment. The only sound was the slow ripple of water and the distant chirping of birds outside the garden wall.
Then, Ferisha looked up, her lashes wet, her gaze glowing with a soft mischief. "Aaj raat... main unko taufa dene wali hoon."
("Tonight...I am going to gift him something.")
Mehnaz raised an eyebrow. "Achha? Kya?"
("What is it?")
Ferisha leaned in and whispered, "Main aaj woh pehnungi jo chhup kar aani se silwaya tha. Woh hari resham wale kapde....jisme sirf patli si doriyaan hain."
("Today I will wear what Aani had stitched secretly. That green silk dress...which has only thin strings.")
Mehnaz's mouth fell open in mock scandal. "Arre haye... meri sharmeeli Ferisha ne toh aaj Qayamat ki taiyyari kar li hai!"
("Oh my god...my shy Ferisha is all set for disaster today!")
Both girls burst into a quiet fit of laughter, the kind that only best friends share when secrets bloom in the steam and scent of flowers.
Mehnaz splashed her gently before rising and fetching the soft towel.
"Chal, ab bahar chal. Raat hone wali hai. Chaand ki roshni mein tayyar hone ka maza hi kuch aur hai."
("Come on, let's go out now. It's about to be night. Getting ready in the moonlight is a different kind of fun.")
They stepped into the private garden, now bathed in the soft silvery light of the rising moon.
The vines glowed with dew, and the swing rocked gently with the night breeze, as if waiting.
Ferisha sat on the stone bench under the tree, her skin glowing from the bath, wrapped in a towel.
The marble under her bare feet was cool, and the air was perfumed with raat-rani flowers.
Fireflies blinked around them like tiny scattered stars.
Mehnaz placed a small dhuni pot near her and lit it carefully, adding sandalwood, dried rose petals, and a pinch of amber resin.
The smoke rose gently in aromatic spirals, warm and mystical.
Ferisha bent her head as Mehnaz began to dry her long, wet hair using the aromatic smoke.
With every gentle motion, her hair soaked in the rich scent, thick waves falling down her back like black silk.
"Tu sach mein itni haseen lag rahi hai, Ferisha," Mehnaz murmured. "Lagta hai chand ne apna noor tujh me utar diya ho."
("You really look so beautiful, Ferisha, It seems the moon has bestowed its glow on you.")
Ferisha looked up and smiled, the moonlight catching the shimmer in her eyes. "Aaj main chahti hoon woh mujhe dekhein lekin sirf meri rooh nahi mera badan bhi... meri tamanna bhi..."
("Today I want him to see me, but not just my soul, but also my body... my desires....")
Mehnaz stood, taking out the carefully folded piece of cloth from a satin pouch, Ferisha's chosen surprise for her Sarkar.
It was a revealing lingerie deep green silk and net, barely there.
Thin gold-stitched straps, sheer cups, and a short hem that whispered rebellion against the modesty she always carried.
"Tujhe yakeen hai ki tu yeh pehen paayegi malik ke saamne?" Mehnaz asked, her voice softer now.
("Are you sure you will be able to wear this in front of him?")
Ferisha nodded. "Main unke liye tayyar hoon. Pehli baar, poore dil se."
("I am ready for him. For the first time, with all my heart. ")
Gently, Mehnaz helped her dress. The silk clung to Ferisha's curves, her milky skin glowing against the contrast of green.
Mehnaz adjusted the tiny dori, her hands careful.
When Ferisha stood before the mirror propped on the garden wall, she looked like a enchantress bathed in moonlight.
Her hair now flowed loose, shining from the dhuni's blessing.
A soft ruby tint graced her lips, her kohl lined eyes smouldering with untold promises.
The swing creaked softly behind her, catching the wind. Somewhere in the silence, the garden held its breath.
Then Ferisha turned to Mehnaz and held her hand.
"Jaa aur unse kehna ki Ferisha unhe bula rahi hai is baagh mein. Akeli. Abhi."
("Go and tell that Ferisha is calling him in the garden. Alone. Right now.")
Mehnaz grinned wide, her eyes twinkling. "Aur kya kehna hai? Keh doon ki aaj malik ki raat sirf unki Farmaa'ish se chalegi?"
("What else I have to say? Should I tell him that today his night will be run only as per his orders?")
Ferisha blushed deeper than the roses around her, then nodded slowly.
Mehnaz ran through the inner corridors like a secret breeze.
Outside Zyran's Wing
The corridors of the haveli stood hushed, dimly lit by flickering lanterns, their silence broken only by Mehnaz's delicate payal chiming with every hurried step.
She reached Zyran's study, where he sat behind a teakwood desk, the flicker of his cigar casting a faint glow on his sharp features.
He was dressed in his evening attire plain white kurta, shawl, and those dark eyes that looked like they held a thousand commands and no room for uncertainty.
Mehnaz stopped at the door, catching her breath, eyes dancing with mischief.
"Malik," she whispered, with the barest smile, "Woh aapse kuch zaroori baat karna chahti hain baagh mein. Abhi."
("She wants to talk to you about something important in the garden. Right now.")
Zyran raised a brow, slowly. "Ferisha?"
Mehnaz gave a slow nod. "Akele, bas aap aur woh."
("Alone, just you and she")
For a moment, Zyran didn't respond. But his gaze darkened with an understanding only a man in deep desire carries.
He set the cigar down and rose, without a word, the carved wood of the chair creaking behind him.
The Garden Area
In the heart of the forbidden garden, under the gentle moon's watchful eye, Ferisha sat amidst cushions and blossoms like a secret only the night could keep.
The white marbled bench beneath her was cold, but her skin was burning.
The red lingerie clung to her like molten desire, soft and daring.
She wore anklets with no bells silent yet delicate.
Around her neck, Zyran's gifted necklace sat like a claim, the gems resting between the swells of her chest, rising and falling with every slow breath.
A breeze stirred the raat-ki-rani bushes. The air was fragrant, heady.
Her fingers, adorned in bangles, traced the hollow of her throat, then dipped lower gliding across the swell of her huge breasts peaking through her dress, pressing gently, lingering.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
"Sarkar"
She whispered his name into the night, tasting it like honey on her tongue.
Her hands, slow and exploring, roamed over the silk clinging to her.
She arched slightly against the cushion behind her, one leg folded beneath, the other stretched out on the dew-kissed grass.
Her mind painted Zyran in the shadows, the way he looked at her in the mehmaan-khana, how his fingers brushed her lower back possessively, how he inhaled her scent like it anchored him.
She gasped softly as her palm cupped her breast, thumb circling lazily over the thin fabric.
Her breath hitched, her body growing warmer, more alive under the illusion of his imagined touch.
"Aap yahan hote toh yeh doriyaan khud khol dete hai na?" she murmured under her breath, lips parted, lashes low.
("If you were here, you would have opened these cords yourself, right?")
The swing creaked beside her, catching the breeze, its rhythm almost matching the slow rise and fall of her hips as she shifted, thighs tightening, her body aching to be claimed.
She tilted her head back, the moonlight bathing her throat, her collarbones, the gentle valley between her breasts.
Her hair, still infused with dhuni and roses, fell over her shoulders like night itself.
Zyran's voice echoed in her memory-"Tum meri ho, Ferisha. Tum par haq hai mera."
("You are mine, Ferisha. I have a right on you.")
She touched her lips as if he were kissing her.
One hand slowly traveled down her belly, tracing the thin gold waist chain, teasing herself as her breathing grew heavy.
Her body ached, swollen with longing.
And in the silence of the garden, Ferisha moaned soft, helpless, feminine. A sound that belonged to the night.
Then suddenly-
A rustle.
A footstep.
She stilled, wide-eyed, chest rising and falling, heart racing.
The breeze carried the scent of sandalwood, rose oil, and something more potent-her.
Zyran stepped into the private garden, his footsteps silent on the stone pathway shaded with jasmine creepers.
The world outside ceased to exist.
In front of him, draped in red and moonlight, sat a vision he could've sworn belonged to no earthly realm.
Ferisha.
Bathed in the soft silver of the moon, seated like a forbidden offering on the marble bench, her skin radiant and flushed.
The green silk lingerie clung to her like second skin, thin straps slipping off her shoulder, her chest heaving, legs folded to the side in a posture that was at once innocent and sinful.
And then he saw it her hand on her breast, fingers curling, her head tilted back as if in a trance.
His name had just left her lips. Zyran stopped mid-step.
His breath caught. His throat burned. His blood turned molten.
For a moment, he didn't speak. Didn't even blink.
His eyes, dark as storm clouds, devoured the sight-slowly, hungrily.
His jaw tightened, and his fingers twitched at his sides.
The sheer erotic power she radiated, unaware of his presence, did something dangerous to him.
She moved again hips shifting subtly, her hand gliding downward along her belly, seeking, aching.
" Bas... ab aur bardasht nahi hota. "
("That's it... I can't bear it anymore.")
"Ferisha."
His voice cracked through the night like thunder across a still lake.
She froze.
Eyes flew open. Gasp. Lips parted. Body snapped upright, trembling.
"Sarkar..." she breathed, caught between shame and thrill, heart thundering in her chest.
Zyran began walking toward her. Slowly. Each step like a sentence passed.
He didn't smile. He didn't tease.
His eyes locked on hers. Possessive. Intense. Raw.
He stopped just before her towering, silent and looked down.
His gaze traveled slowly from her flushed face to her bare shoulders, her heaving chest, the way the lingerie failed to hide her arousal.
"Yeh sab kiske liye tha?" His voice was low. Dangerous. Velvety.
("Who was all this for?")
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The glimpse of next chapter will be out on my scrollstack.
The link of my account is in my bio, or you can search authorkavyaa directly.
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With love, Kavya.

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