Chapter 28: 24. 𝗡𝗮𝘂𝗸𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗶..

❛ Secrets I have held in my heart

Are harder to hide than I thought.

Maybe I just wanna be yours,

I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours.❜

Third Person's POV:

Mahoor and Seyran were sitting on the stairs near the gate of their nanu's aangan, surrounded by the gentle hum of nature. The sun was casting a warm, golden light over the dandelions that dotted the lawn. They sat on the grass, a serene smile on their faces as they admired the delicate white puffs of the dandelions.

Seyran plucked a few of the dandelions, her fingers brushing lightly against the soft stems. She picked up a book titled “Twisted Hate” from her lap, carefully placing the dandelions between its pages. Mahoor, who was not excellent but good at clicking pictures had her phone ready, capturing the moment with a keen eye for detail.

“Ab click, kar.” Seyran said, adjusting the dandelions in the book. Mahoor clicked the camera, the shutter capturing the perfect shot of Seyran's gentle touch.

"Got it," Mahoor said with a smile, showing Seyran the photo. “Dekho..”

With their photo session done, they each picked a dandelion, their faces alight with childlike wonder. Mahoor closed her eyes and made a wish, then blew gently on the dandelion, watching as the seeds floated away. Seyran followed suit, her eyes closing in concentration as she made her own wish.

But as they watched the seeds disappear into the air, the sky began to darken ominously. The once bright and cheerful aangan was now shrouded in shadows. The peaceful moment gave way to an unsettling atmosphere.

Mahoor’s heart pounded as she looked around, the aangan now drenched in an eerie gloom. She turned to find Seyran fading away, her figure becoming translucent and insubstantial. Panic surged through Mahoor as she reached out, trying desperately to hold onto Seyran.

“Seyran, nahi!” Mahoor cried, her voice filled with desperation. She tried to grab Seyran’s hand, but it slipped through her fingers like mist. Seyran’s form continued to fade, slipping away no matter how hard Mahoor tried to hold on.

“Seyran, mujhe apne saath le chalo, mujhe akela nahi chodo yahan!” Mahoor's voice broke as tears streamed down her face. She lunged forward, but Seyran vanished completely, leaving Mahoor grasping at empty air.

Mahoor's heart pounded, her breath quickening as the shadows closed in, suffocating her. She struggled to breathe, the familiar tightness of an asthma attack gripping her chest. Just as the darkness threatened to overwhelm her, she jolted awake with a gasp, her eyes snapping open.

Her breath coming in ragged gasps as she struggled to calm her racing heart. The room was dimly lit, the shadows dancing on the walls. Her vision was still blurry without her spectacles, the world around her an indistinct blur.

As she sat up straight in bed, her eyes slowly adjusting to the low light, she noticed a figure on the couch across the room. The silhouette was indistinct at first, but as she squinted her eyes, she could make out the details. The figure was a man, his presence unnervingly calm yet menacing.

Even from a distance, she could see the green in his eyes shimmering like emeralds in the darkness. His ghostly white skin seemed to glow faintly, casting an eerie pallor in the room. Mahoor's heart raced, a sense of dread creeping over her as she recognized who he was.

The man stood up, his movements smooth and deliberate, sending a chill down Mahoor’s spine. He began to walk towards the bed, each step seeming to echo with a sinister purpose. Mahoor's fear intensified, and she felt herself sinking deeper into the bed, trying to make herself as small and inconspicuous as possible.

Mahoor didn't need anyone or any angel to inform who that man was when she knew only he had the power to be in a room alone with her because he'd rip apart any other male who'd try to be in the space alone with her than him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, deliberately keeping a distance but exuding a suffocating presence. The space between them felt charged with an oppressive weight. Mahoor’s pulse quickened, her breath catching as she finally managed to make out his features more clearly.

Her worst fears were confirmed: it was Altan. His eyes held a cold, unyielding gaze that seemed to pierce through her. Mahoor's hands trembled as she gripped the bedspread, her mind racing with panic.

“Sab.. sab kaha hai??” Mahoor’s voice was barely a whisper, the question more a plea than an inquiry.

She looked around the room but not a single living person was there and they were alone.

Altan’s gaze remained fixed on her, his expression unreadable but his presence overwhelmingly intimidating. “Jahan unhe hona chahiye,” he said softly, his voice dripping with a chilling calmness. “Apni apni jagah par.”

The room seemed to close in around Mahoor, her fear growing with each passing second. The nightmare she had just escaped felt like a prelude to the reality now facing her. Even in the cold, she was sweating and her left hand started to tremble.

An ache surged in Altan’s chest as he observed the fear in her eyes, palpable in the shaking of her hand and her desperate attempt to retreat into the bed. This reaction was the last thing he had anticipated. She had always been the one who remained unflinching in his presence, and now everything had shifted.

Though he had foreseen a change, he had not anticipated it to be so profound and distressing. Ultimately, this was the consequence of his own actions.

He extended his hand to envelop her trembling fingers, but Mahoor flinched and pressed herself further into the headrest. Not wanting to cause anymore discomfort to her he withdrew his hand, and inquired softly, “Tum theek ho?”

Through her blurred vision, she could discern a white net bandage wrapped around his right shoulder, partially obscuring the dark hair on his chest. It was clear he was shirtless. The realization made her quickly avert her gaze, shifting uncomfortably in the bed, trying to gather her scattered thoughts.

“Seyran, kaha hai?” she murmured in a low voice.

“Abhi kaisi hai tabiyat tumhari?”

“Seyran kaha hai?”

“Bhook lagi hogi na tumhe?”

“Seyran ka..kaha hai?”

“Kuch kha lo kamzor lag rahi ho.”

“MAINE PUCHA MERI BEHEN KAHA HAI?”

Altan’s eyes bore into her with a fierce glare, causing a churn of unease within Mahoor under the intensity of his burning gaze.

His jaw clenched at her defiance, rage coursing through his veins. He knew she wouldn't submit to his wishes, but he didn’t want to hurt her or instill fear of him in her. However, to curb her rebellious actions and bend her to his will, he knew it was necessary to let his darker instincts take over. He would have to become a monster, abandoning the gentler, more compassionate approach of an archangel.

“Waha jaha usey hona chahiye,” his voice was low yet dangerously rough, each word carrying a palpable threat. Every syllable that rolled off his tongue felt like a sharp sting to her ears.

“Kya mat...matlab?” her voice quivered, thousands of horrendous thoughts swirling in her mind, squeezing her rationality.

His eyes turned cold and his face became void of any emotion,“Maine kaha tha na tumhe, yeh bhagne ka khamyaza tumhe aur tumhari behen ko bhugatna padega. Aur ye aisa sabaq hai tum yaad rakhogi koi bhi kadam uthane se pehle.”

Her brows knitted together in immense distress. She clutched her head as his words only intensified her migraine. She looked at him, tears welling up in her eyes. Emotional breakdowns were becoming increasingly frequent; even when she tried not to cry, she couldn't control it. The events unfolding were draining her both mentally and emotionally.

“Ye mere sawal ka jawab nahi tha. Meri behen ka...kaha hai? Aa...aap ne kahi usey...” Mahoor couldn’t even complete the sentence and broke down. Bringing her knees to her chest she hugged herself and sobbed. The very thought was more dreadful than tearing a piece of flesh from her own body.

Her heart-wrenching cries reverberated through the massive room, and Altan sighed angrily. Mahoor's relentless pleading for her cousin was intensifying his fury.

He rubbed his face and turned to her. He unclasped her hands from around herself and spoke, “Meri baat suno. Apna ye rona bandh karo aur tumhari behen zinda hai. Ro toh aise rahi ho jaise usey maar kar dafa kar diya ho aur tumhe uske aakhri deedar bhi naseeb nahi hue.”

That hurt her deeply. Altan's words were like bullets, causing more damage than he anticipated. Tears streamed down her face as Mahoor hiccuped. Altan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Annoyed, he stared at her, his voice rising as he huffed. “Ab tumhara rona bandh hoga? Tumhari Siren zinda hai, utho aur khushi se nacho. Roye jaa rahi ho...”

If the pain in his shoulder wasn't enough for him to drive nuts, then the agony in his chest shot up to the sky by seeing her weep like a baby.

Mahoor wiped her cheeks as she came down from her high. Shaking her head, she threw the blanket off her body and didn’t bother searching for her spectacles. She strode directly towards what seemed like a door and tried to unlock it.

Altan stood up, watching her actions with boredom. When he saw her trying to pull the door with all her effort but failing to open it, he intervened to stop her futile attempts..

“Passcode se khulega woh darwaza. Agar chasma apna pehna hota toh tumhe dikh jata.”

Mahoor stilled, lowering her head and squinting her eyes. The door indeed required a password to be unlocked.

She turned around to find Altan standing a few meters away from her. Pointing at the lock, Mahoor spoke urgently, “Isey khole, ye darwaza abhi khole.”

Altan crossed his arms over his chest and raised one perfectly thick brow. After running away and stabbing him, she had the audacity to demand that he let her out.

“Mayke aayi ho apne? Jo muh zubani kuch bhi kaho, toh mil jayega?”

Mahoor gritted her teeth, her hands balling into fists. His sarcasm was nothing new, but she couldn't ignore the mockery in his tone, which tightened the knots of her anger into a raging fury.

“Mujhe Seyran se milna hai, ye darwaza khole!”

Clicking his tongue, Altan shook his head and shoved his hands into the pants pocket, “Tum Siren se ab ek hafte tak nahi milogi.”

“Seyran naam hai meri behen ka! Aur mai kyu nahi milungi ussey, haa?” She stepped forward, standing right in front of him, “Hote kaun hai aap mujhe apni behen se durr rakhne wale?”

Altan took a step towards her, and she instinctively took one back. “Tumhara hone wala shohar. Tum mano ya na mano,” her back crashed against the wall, and he stopped just before her. “Agle hafte ki Jummah ko nikah hai humara aur sari rasmein kal se shuru hongi. Tab tak tum aur tumhari behen ek dusre se nahi milogi,” he lowered his head, his lips curling into a vile smirk. “Yahi tumhari saza hai.”

Mahoor's jaw clenched and before she could speak, Altan intervened, making her more furious,“Aur ye natak mujhe nahi chahiye, mai khana nahi khaungi, mai pani nahi piungi jab tak meri behen ko aap mere paas laa nahi dete.”

His sea-green eyes bored into her glistening ones. “Ye sab mujh pe nahi chalega, kyunki agar tumne nakhre dikhaye toh main jaanta hoon Seyran ko anemia hai jiske liye woh medicines leti hai. Woh dawai main uss tak pohchana bandh kar dunga.” He took a step, invading her personal space, and Mahoor turned her face away with a sob escaping her lips, pressing herself further against the wall.

Altan placed a hand right beside her waist on the wall, caging her in his clutches. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear, and whispered in a voice that was as dangerous as a serpent's hiss, “Phir na chahte hue bhi, usay kuch hone ka zimmedar tum hi hogi, Mahoor.” The menace in his tone was unmistakable, each word dripping with a threat that sent shivers down her spine.

Mahoor placed a hand on his left shoulder and pushed him away. Though she wanted to shove his right shoulder as well, she refrained, knowing that she had already caused the injury and was drowning in guilt. She didn’t want to risk making things worse or give Altan any leverage to use against her.

“Dur ho jaiye mu..mujhse please..”

Ignoring her pleading, Altan said, “Ek aur baat, sare rasmon mein bina kuch tamasha khade kiye bina tumne rehna hai, samjhi? Varna tumhari harkato ka anjaam toh tum janti ho kya hoga...”

Mahoor, her emotions boiling over, shoved Altan with all her strength. The force of her push made him stagger back slightly, but her frustration was far from sated. She gnawed her teeth, a scream of frustration escaping her lips as she roared, “Kyu kar rahe hai aap ye? Maine aap ka bigada hi kya hai?”

Her voice cracked with desperation as she was overwhelmed by the unbearable pressure. The thought of being kept apart from Seyran for a week, while Altan’s threats loomed over her, gnawed at her soul. What if he did something to Seyran or something terrible happened to her? The very idea twisted her insides into knots of anxiety.

Mahoor's heart raced as she remembered her dreams—how she had been on her way to the Philippines to start filming a series she had worked so hard for. The excitement of her acting career, the roles she had dreamed of, the chance to make her mark in the world—all crushed in an instant by Altan's cruel hand. She had been abducted en route to the airport, her hopes and aspirations torn away, leaving her shackled to a man she despised.

“What do you want from me? WHAT DO YOU WANT??”

Her tears flowed freely now, mingling with her rage and pain. The realization of her helplessness, being trapped in a marriage she never wanted, added to her torment. The thought of her sister’s safety and her own shattered dreams weighed heavily on her heart. As her sobs subsided, she looked at Altan with eyes filled with both anguish and defiance, pleading for him to see the pain he had inflicted and to understand the depth of her despair.

Mahoor's legs wobbled and she slid down the wall, her knees drawn to her chest as tears streamed down her face. Altan stood before her, his presence imposing and his expression devoid of emotion.

His sea-green eyes, usually so intense, were now like a cold, unyielding sea. They held no warmth or pity, only a steely resolve. His body language was rigid, each muscle tensed with an intimidating authority. He exuded an air of control, his posture unyielding as if he was a fortress that could not be breached.

Her words reverberated in his mind: “What do you want?” Had she truly forgotten, or had she never grasped his intentions from the outset? His objectives had been unmistakably clear from the very beginning, yet her question persisted in his thoughts, a stark reminder of her ongoing defiance and the relentless cycle of her resistance.

Altan crouched down in front of her, his face still neutral but his movements deliberate and calm. With an almost gentle touch that contrasted sharply with his earlier demeanor, he wiped her tears away.

His voice, though hard, carried an undercurrent of finality. “I wanna be yours,” he said, his tone soft yet brooking no argument. He then removed a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“Rona bandh karo aur khana kha lo,” he ordered in a firm tone. “I’ll be in my room. Our rooms are connected by a door.” He glanced at the door that led to his room with an air of casual authority. “Tumhare paas ek ghanta hai. Sambhalo apne aapko aur taiyar ho jao. Kisi mehman se milana hai tumhe.”

As he finished speaking, Mahoor, her eyes filled with loathing, smacked his hand away. Altan simply raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He straightened up and, before leaving the room, added with a dark chuckle, “Gussa toh hai hi inka qatilana.” The smirk on his face grew wider as he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

•♡•

“Taan tune pakka iraada kar liya ay, eho kudi de naal shaadi karan da?”

(Toh tune pakka irada kar liya hai yeh ladki se shadi karne ka?)

Altan rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time. This conversation was grating on his nerves. His Bebe would shift to different topics only to circle back to the same question repeatedly. Altan had indulged her before, but now, after the fourth time she had raised the issue, his frustration was palpable.

“Bebe, chauthi vaar puch ra ay ho eh sawaal tussi mainu. Haan, main iraada pakka kar liya ay, main shaadi Mahoor naal hi karanga.”

(Bebe, chauthi baar puch rahe ho aap yeh sawal mujhse. Ha, maine irada pakka kar liya hai, mai shadi Mahoor se hi karunga)

Her old wrinkly eyes stared at her photo and a grimace washed her face. “Rang kam hai ladki ka. Yeh umar mein aakhon se dikhta nahi, chashma lagayi hui hai aur ye kya daaton mein taar lagaye hai issey karega...”

Altan snatched the photograph from her hands, his disdain palpable as he glared at the woman's insulting behavior towards Mahoor. While he knew the woman was not lacking in physical beauty, the contempt others displayed towards her, despite her being insignificant to them, ignited a fierce anger within him.

He placed the photograph on his lap, his voice dripping with venom as he spoke in a low, menacing tone, “Dimag toh aapke paas bhi kam hai, lekin maine kabhi kaha?”

Abidah's nose flared in anger, not liking her grandson's tone. She glared at him, “Tu kis naal gal kar ra ai, patta ai tenu?”

(Tu kisse baat kar raha hai pata hai tujhe?)

Altan uncrossed his legs, “Aur tusi kis bare gal kar ra ae o, pata ai? Meri hon wali gharwali de bare. Soch samajh ke bole uske baare mein kyu ke woh meri mangetar ke saath saath mere logo ki mallika bhi hai.”

(Aur aap kis ke baare mein baat kar rahi hai pata hai? Meri hone wali gharwali ke baare mein)

“Main iss vyah di ijaazat nai dindi!”

(Mai iss baat ki ijazat nahi deti!)

As Bebe's voice, steeped in disapproval, rang out—Altan’s lips curled into a dark, menacing chuckle. The sound was more a growl than a laugh, reverberating with a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down anyone’s spine who heard it. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, now glinted with a chilling ferocity.

He turned to face her, his expression hardening into an impenetrable mask of resolve. “Tusi logan naal pucch vi kaun ra aa?” he said, his tone uncompromising and icy. “Main uss naal vyah kar ra aa, chahe twanu pasand aave ya nai. Aap se toh bas naam ko dadi--pote ka rishta hai, lekin aap mafia mein bhi aapka ek rutba hai, jis wajah se main Mahoor ko aap se milwa raha hoon. Warna main aap jaise logon ko usse dur rakhu.”

(Tum log se puch bhi kaun raha hai?Main usse shaadi kar raha hoon, chahe aap ko pasand aaye ya nahi.)

Abidah Mirza, approaching her 75th year, was a stern matriarch with deeply entrenched traditional values. She firmly believed that a woman’s place was to worship her husband and tend to the household, dutifully raising children. These antiquated beliefs had been instilled in her from a young age, and she expected every woman in the family to adhere to this way of life. However, her worldview was shaken when Altan's mother, Ghamzeh, entered the family and claimed the title of Mallika from Abidah. Ghamzeh refused to remain a housewife and instead became Adnan's partner in business, which infuriated Abidah. Now, with Mahoor potentially poised to surpass even Ghamzeh, Abidah feared a further erosion of her long-held convictions.

“Pyar toh nahi kar baitha ussey?”

This revelation numbed Altan. In the mafia, there was no place for love. He knew his secret was safe with his mother because of her remorse for her past deeds, but if others discovered his soft corner for Mahoor, it would spell disaster. None of the past rulers harbored love or affection for their wives, making it easy for them to cheat and use their wives as pawns, bedding other mafia rulers to resolve long-standing conflicts.

Love in the mafia was considered a jest, something people looked down upon with disgust. It was seen as impure, a weakness. Men were not supposed to feel love or any tender emotions; such sentiments were relegated to the eunuch community. Love was not permitted in the mafia because it was perceived as a vulnerability that could be exploited by enemies. Emotional attachments led to distractions and divided loyalties, ultimately leading to a ruler's downfall. In a world where power and control were paramount, love was an unaffordable luxury, a dangerous liability.

His eyes grew steely, and his posture became unyielding. His voice, now frigid, cut through the air as he clicked his tongue dismissively, “Pyar naam ki cheez ki meri zindagi mein koi jagah nahi. Shadi bina pyar ki bhi hoti hai aur”, he ran a finger across the stubble on his chin with a smirk,“Mahoor mein woh har khoobi hai jo ek Mallika mein honi chahiye. Ye shadi ek sauda hi sahi, uski izzat karta hu aur karta rahunga.”

Altan's demeanor was a careful façade. He was adamant that his marriage to Mahoor was a pragmatic arrangement, not a matter of affection. Despite his assertions, his true feelings were buried beneath a veneer of indifference and strategic calculation.

Abidah appeared to be convinced by his deception as she nodded in agreement, “Theek hai, par zyada sir pe chadane ki zarurat nahi hai.”

‘Sir pe kya? Apne sir ke taj pe chada ke bithaunga mai apni Hoor ko, buddhi.’

Their heads turned sharply towards the staircase upon hearing soft footsteps that unmistakably belonged to Mahoor. She was descending the final step when Altan rose from the couch in honor of Mahoor and strode towards her, intending to guide her to the seat where he and his Bebe were sitting.

Mahoor ignored his presence and made her way towards the sofa with measured steps. Altan, unfazed, followed closely behind. As she reached the couch, she sank into the plush cushions, her posture tense. Altan sat down beside her, ensuring to maintain a respectful distance, his presence looming yet restrained, as if silently reassuring her that he wouldn't cross her boundaries.

“Assalamualaikum.”

Abidah nodded and sternly replied, “Wa alaykummasalam.”

Before Mahoor entered the living room, on the instructions of Altan, Arya had pulled her aside to inform her about the guest. He explained that Abidah, Altan's grandmother, was a formidable woman known for her stern and often cruel demeanor. Arya, aware of the immense pressure Mahoor was already facing, gently urged her to be cautious and composed during the encounter.

He hoped to prepare her for Abidah's harsh behavior, understanding that any additional stress could be overwhelming. Arya's concern was evident in his eyes as he spoke, hoping his words would help Mahoor navigate the difficult situation with a bit more ease.

Altan's phone rang, a rare occurrence given his general disdain for technology. He usually kept it locked away in a drawer or switched off, avoiding its constant interruptions. He excused himself for a minute or two, leaving the two women alone.

Mahoor looked at his retreating back with pleading eyes. The woman in front of her wasn’t even her relative, and now, in his absence, what was she supposed to do? Dance and sing to entertain this intimidating presence? If Altan had stayed, she could have managed with a few nods or monosyllabic responses to his grandmother's questions. But now, left alone, she was forced into a long, uncomfortable conversation with a woman who was already glaring at her with a scowl, throwing daggers through her piercing gaze.

“...virasat mein?”

Mahoor glanced at Abidah,“Ji, maine suna nahi.”

“Mujhe Altan ne bataya ki tumhare walid nahi hai, toh tumhare liye virasat mein kya chod ke gaye hai?”

Mahoor’s lips tightened into a thin line. The woman, showing no pretense of sympathy, bluntly inquired whether her father had left any money or property in her name.

‘Isi ka pota hai yeh shaitani badshah. Isiliye dono ko kisi ke jazbaaton ki qadr hi nahi.’

Mahoor cleared her throat,“Virasat mein mere pappa generational trauma khoop chod ke gaye hai. Itna ki kabhi khatam hone ka naam hi nahi leta.”

Abidah's eyebrows rose in wonder,“Troma resaart chod ke gaye hai? Bade ameer the tumhare walid sahab, haa?”

Mahoor blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. She realized that Abidah didn’t understand English, but she decided to play along nonetheless. “Ha, ha aap kabhi aana, aap ko bhi ghumaungi yeh resort mein dekhna itna trauma aap ko zindagi mein kahi aur nahi milega,” she paused as her eyes brightened, “Aap apne pote se kahein na unke paas toh bohot hai, unhone mujhe bhi diya hai aap ko to bina bole de denge kyu ke woh ye kaam mein maahir joh thaire!”

Abidah's eyebrows knitted, not liking the way Mahoor addressed Altan. “Ay ladki! Woh hone wala shohar hai tumhara, dhang se naam lo uska. Pata nahi usne tumhe kyu chuna varna toh mere Altan ke peeche ladkio ki line lagi hai.”

Mahoor smiled sarcastically, “Toh aap unse kahein gents washroom jaya kare.”

Not getting her sarcasm, Abidah continued, “Kal tum dono ki mangni hai, mai toh raazi nahi hu ye rishte ke liye.”

The news didn't shock her as Altan already informed her about the ritual ceremony starting from tomorrow but what blew her mind was Abidah wasn't agreeing as well.

“Aap kya? Jisko woh zabardasti dulhan bana rahe hai woh bhi razamand nahi hai.”

“Par tum mujhe acchi nahi lagti, mere pote ke gale ka phanda ban ke rahogi, uske gale mein latakti rahogi.”

‘Hein? Bhai, buddhi apne hi zone mein hai. Har baar bouncer phenk rahi hai, le baat seedha sir ke upar se jaa rahi.’

Mahoor tugged the sleeves of her kurti down to her wrists and adjusted her spectacles on her nose,“Aap ka pote ke gale, mai nahi latak rahi. Woh khud mere zabardasti gale pad raha hai par aapne toh side leni unki hi hai.”

“Woh kuch bhi kare ab toh tumhara shohar banne ja raha hai, toh izzat karo mere bacche ki. Ye zuban apni itni tez na chalana, jhuk ke rehna hai tumne uske saamne, uske qadmon mein uski naukrani ban ke.”

Mahoor tilted her head, her expression a mix of amusement and disgust. The audacity of Abidah, a woman herself, to dispense such outdated and condescending advice was infuriating. It was as if she were regurgitating ancient doctrines about how a wife should be a mere extension of her husband’s will, nothing more than a servant bound to obedience.

Abidah’s advice to always bow her head before Altan, to essentially render herself subservient to him, stung sharply. The notion that Mahoor should accept this role with nothing but deference, while Altan played the domineering husband, felt like a mockery of what marriage should truly be. To Mahoor, marriage was not about relinquishing one’s identity or dignity but about partnership and mutual respect.

Despite her internal turmoil, Mahoor forced her expression into a calm veneer. She nodded slowly, as if in deep contemplation, masking the fury that simmered just beneath the surface. The words were an affront to her values and self-worth, and though she remained composed outwardly, inside she was seething with indignation at the thought of being relegated to such a role.

As the sound of the footsteps grew louder, Altan came and sat in the corner of the couch.

“Khamosh kyu ho gaye mere aate hi aap dono?”

Abidah shook her head and stood up,“Kuch nahi, bass thode taur tareeke samjha rahi thi isey. Ab seedha kal aaungi,” she looked at Mahoor who stood up in respect and Abidah patted her head, “Taiyar hoja apne ye naye safar ke liye.”

‘Tu bhi taiyar ho ja buddhi apni deadline ke liye.’

Mahoor turned her gaze towards Altan, who remained seated, watching the scene with a settling calmness. His lack of basic manners was apparent; when an elder stands, it’s customary for the younger to rise. With a pointed look and a harsh gesture, she signaled him to stand. Immediately, he was on his feet.

“Meri baat nahi bhoolna. Jo maine kaha yaad rakhna, kudiye.”

Mahoor nodded her head slowly, her eyes narrowing with a sharp glint of defiance. There was a cool, cutting edge to her voice as she spoke, every word laced with controlled anger and disdain. Her tone was calm but carried an underlying firmness that spoke volumes about her contempt for the suggestion.

“Zaroor,” she said, her voice steady but laden with a barely concealed bitterness. “Mai khud aapko yeh manzar naseeb karungi ke kaun kis ke qadmon mein naukar ban ke rehta hai.” Her gaze lingered on Abidah, conveying her promise to demonstrate, with unwavering resolve, the very opposite of what was being demanded of her.

•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•

Can't wait for their marriage..hihihi..