Chapter 31: 27. 𝗛𝘂𝗺 𝗦𝗮𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗦𝗮𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗛𝗮𝗶..

❛Thoda bohot humne bhi kama rakha hai,

Ek kohinoor ko dost bana rakha hai.. ❜

Third Person's POV:

A thirteen-year-old Mahoor sat alone in the playground as recess began, her body slumped against the cold metal of the shoe rack. Her cheeks throbbed with pain from the harsh slaps she had received for giving the wrong letter in the equation that the math teacher had just explained to the entire class.

She remembered how the math teacher, Gopal Rao, had stormed into her personal space like a raging bull. His furious eyes locked onto hers as he delivered a brutal slap to one cheek, sending her spectacles flying off her face and crashing to the ground. The classroom, filled with sixty-three students, fell into a stunned silence as he roared at her. Without a moment's pause, he slapped her again on the other cheek, his anger palpable and unrelenting, all because she had muttered the wrong letter.

Since the school’s foundation, she was the only girl ever to be slapped by a male teacher, and to make matters worse, it was on each cheek.

As the bell rang and the teacher stormed out, the classroom was left in a murmur of mixed emotions. Sania and Aakriti, the class monitors, rushed to Mahoor. Sania enveloped Mahoor’s sobbing frame in a comforting embrace, her arms offering solace and warmth. Aakriti carefully picked up Mahoor’s spectacles from the ground and held them gently in her hands. While half of the class showed indifference, rushing out with barely a glance, the other half stood rooted, their sympathetic eyes following the scene with shared concern.

Now that she sat here, alone, The sting of the teacher's hand and the humiliation of the moment left a deep, painful mark on her young heart.

If only her father had been alive, Mahoor thought wistfully, she would have been in the comfort of her own home and old school. If only her father hadn't died, her mother wouldn't have moved to America, and she wouldn't have been left alone in her favorite city, Bombay, forced into a boarding school.

Something cool against her cheek pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see a thin boy sitting beside her, his eyes filled with concern.

“Tere gaal sooj gaye hai. Mai school ke doctor se ye cold bag leke aaya, laga le.”

He was Ayan, the quiet boy who kept to himself. Since Mahoor's arrival at the boarding school, she had never seen him speak to anyone, not even in the hostel or dining area, which had made many people mock him.

“Thank you,” Mahoor said, trying to smile despite a tear trailing down her cheek from the pain she felt. She had endured so much already at her uncle’s place, and life seemed intent on adding to her burdens.

“Tu ro mat. Woh sir ko main acche se bataunga,” Ayan said innocently, trying to offer comfort. His words brought a small smile to Mahoor’s face through her tears.

They sat quietly until the bell rang, signaling the end of the break. Both stood up and began making their way back to the classroom. Breaking the silence, Mahoor asked, “Tu friendship karega mujhse?”

Raising his eyebrows, Ayan asked, “Tu meri forever wali friend banegi?”

Mahoor nodded, “Agar tu chance de toh, why not?”

Ayan stopped, making Mahoor halt as well. He extended his hand for a handshake, and Mahoor smiled, accepting it. As they shook hands, they both cheerfully said, “Best friends forever.”

The next day, Ayan decided to exact his revenge in his own way. He meticulously placed several thumbtacks beneath the strings of Gopal Rao’s chair. As the teacher sat down, the sharp points of the thumbtacks pierced through the fabric, causing him immediate discomfort. The unexpected pain made Gopal Rao leap from the chair. His anger was evident as he searched for the culprit, but Ayan’s mischievous plan had already succeeded. The students, initially shocked, soon whispered among themselves about the incident. Mahoor, observing from a distance, felt a mix of gratitude and confusion.

At the age of thirteen, Mahoor found a best friend in Ayan—a companion she could rely on without reservation. With Mahoor, Ayan felt free to be himself, unburdened by the fear of judgment.

Mahoor rushed toward Ayan, who stood frozen in disbelief, struggling to comprehend her presence in a country where she wasn’t meant to be. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him and broke into sobs, overwhelmed by everything.

Now that he was here, the person who had once rescued her from several crises of her life, Mahoor felt a sense of safety and relief envelop her.

Ayan snapped out of his daze and pulled back, his concern skyrocketing at the sight of Mahoor weeping. His mind raced with countless questions, unsure of what to ask first or how to approach the situation.

For the past week, Ayan, Robin, and Vani had been trying desperately to reach Mahoor and Seyran. Neither of them had made any contact, and Mahoor's sudden silence on social media was alarming. As a social media influencer, going more than a week without posting was unusual, prompting Ayan to reach out to Seyran's mother, who was equally clueless.

Ayan held her by the arms, his voice laced with worry. “Kaha thi tu yaar? Kitne calls, messages, ya tak ke emails bhi kiye maine, Robin ne aur Vani ne bhi! Kaha gayab ho gayi thi tu? Aur yaha kya kar rahi hai? Seyran kaha hai? Woh ladki bhi alag pareshan kar rakhi hai! Tujhe Philippines mein hona chahiye tha, yaha, aur iss ghar mein kya kar rahi ho tum?”

His brows furrowed with distress, panic creeping into his voice as he realized where they were. “Tumhe pata bhi hai tum kaha ho? Niklo yaha se, Mahoor! Ye jagah, ye log, maut ka dusra naam hai ye!”

She wept uncontrollably, raising Ayan's concern even more. He tried to calm himself down, but the feeling of terror wouldn't leave his body as he looked around at their surroundings. There was no one in sight, but he couldn't understand how she had ended up here when Zorawar himself had said that Mahoor was on the sets and was unable to contact anyone due to network issues.

“Bo..bohot bu..bura hua mere aur sey..Seyran ke saath!”

His breath caught in his throat as he pieced together her words. The worst thoughts spun through his mind, and his blood ran cold at the possibility that Mahoor and Seyran had been captured by the Philippine Mafia and sold to Pakistan's underworld.

Yet, he knew that the Sultan, had strictly forbidden the buying and selling of women. Instead, Altan was known for rescuing many girls who had been trafficked across borders, regardless of their origin. He tirelessly worked to track down and liberate any woman who had fallen into the hands of any mafia, making it his mission to dismantle these horrific practices. Altan's disdain for human trafficking was fierce, and his resolve to protect those who couldn't protect themselves was well-known and feared by those who dared to defy his code.

He pulled her into his arms and gently rubbed her back, whispering, “Don't hold in.” Initially, he had been scared by her sudden disappearance, but now, terror gripped him over what she might have endured. His mind raced with the implications of her being here and the dangers she might have faced. More than anything, he was petrified that she might discover the truth he had been desperately trying to keep from her all these years. A truth that could unravel everything about him.

Mahoor was suddenly yanked away from Ayan with a force that took her breath away.

Altan stood there, his chest heaving with anger, his sea green eyes blazing as he glared at Ayan. The proximity between Mahoor and Ayan drove him insane, his possessiveness flaring up uncontrollably.

Seyran rushed to Mahoor's side, her eyes wide with shock as she took in the scene. She was stunned yet relieved to see Ayan there, and her gaze flickered to Arya, who stood nearby, his expression unreadable.

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with a mix of emotions as Altan's fury simmered just below the surface, ready to explode at any moment. His whole body shook with rage as his fist curled, knuckles turning pale. His hand trembled violently from the effort of controlling the urge to beat the hell out of Ayan.

“Zaeem.” Ayan muttered under his breath.

He strode towards Mahoor, stopping just inches away. Lowering his face to her height, veins popping on his temples and neck, his face flushed with anger, he spat through gritted teeth, “Kya ho raha hai yaha?” Altan's voice was icy and sharp, causing Mahoor to visibly flinch and tighten her grip on Seyran's hand.

Ayan, already terrified of the Sultan and unaware of the situation between them, was overwhelmed by a flurry of horrendous thoughts and hastily sprinted towards them.

He lowered his head in front of Altan, “Zaeem, ye dono meri dost hain, Mahoor aur Seyran. Shayad galti se ye dono yaha laye gaye ho,” Ayan said, trying to hold Mahoor by her shoulder.

All Altan could see was red, and before Ayan could wrap his arm around her, Altan swung a punch across his face. “Haath mat laga usey, madarch*d!,” he snarled, voice dripping with fury.

Ayan fell to the floor with a thud, and Mahoor gasped, “AYAN!” Altan bent down, grabbing him by the collar. “Teri himmat kaisi hui meri Mahoor ko haath lagane ki?” he thundered, delivering another punch to Ayan's face, causing his lips to burst open as blood oozed from the wound.

Mahoor's sobs filled the room as she ran to Altan's side, where he was on the ground, gripping Ayan by the collar. She reached out and with her trembling hand, she held Altan's clenched fist which was about to pound in Ayan's face, her tears streaming down her face as she begged, “Please, Mirza, chhod dein Ayan ko!” Her voice was choked.

Altan's anger only intensified with her pleas. His mind raced with questions, each more infuriating than the last. Why does she care so much about this boy? Who is he to her? A boyfriend? A lover? The thoughts spun wildly, feeding the fire within him

Even if he was a boyfriend or a lover of her's, then what was he doing here in Pakistan? As Altan didn't leave any traces behind for anyone to follow and come here to rescue Mahoor. Even if they'd come, how would he enter the estate?

Even if Ayan was her boyfriend or lover, what was he doing here in Pakistan? Altan didn't leave any trace of his whereabouts, ensuring no one could follow him here to rescue Mahoor and there was probably no one who'd even come for her. Even if someone did manage to come, gaining entry into the estate would be nearly impossible.

Only those men who were employed were permitted inside, with the gate guards meticulously recording every individual in their computer system.

Which meant Ayan was one of them.

He looked at her tear-streaked face, his jaw ticking with frustration. The sight of her crying for a man—first her sister and now this boy—only fueled his anger. He couldn’t understand why she was so distressed over someone whose relationship to her was still unclear to him.

“APNE KAMRE MEIN JAO!” he roared, his voice reverberating off the walls. The sheer force of his command made Mahoor flinch, her body trembling from the intensity of his anger.

“Ple... please.” She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against his bicep. Her touch was soft yet persistent, her desperation palpable. At that instant, Altan's grip on Ayan's collar slackened, his hand dropping to his side, as his heart beat rapidly due to her close proximity and touch.

Her body trembled as she clung to him. Her hand grasped his fist with a desperate intensity, and her forehead rested on his rock-hard bicep, her breath hitching with every sob.

Altan gently unclasped his hand from hers and, with a sudden softness, cupped her shoulders. He stood up, his eyes fixed on her tear-streaked face. She hiccuped, her gaze cast downward as her tears continued to fall.

“Bas karo, tabiyat kharab ho jayegi tumhari,” he said, his voice rough from the anger he held back, but it edged softly with concern.

Altan was visibly angry, but seeing Mahoor cry so desperately, he was concerned she might trigger another asthma attack. Realizing how crucial her health was, he softened his demeanor, focusing on calming her down. Her well-being mattered far more to him than his rage.

“Aa… aap kuch nahi ka… karein Ayan ko fir.” Raising her head, she looked up at Altan with pleading eyes, her voice trembling and her tears still streaming down her cheeks.

Altan shook his head, “Tumne keh diya na, nahi kar raha. Ab kamre mein chale jao?”

She looked at Ayan, now back on his feet, with Arya standing behind him, his expression neutral. Her gaze flickered back to Altan, desperation in her eyes. “Pakka mere khilaf nahi jayenge, aap sunenge na meri baat? Ayan mera bohot aziz dost hai, pl… please usey kuch nahi karein.”

Altan pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, his voice gentle barely a whisper as he murmured only for her ears, “Altan ki itni himmat ki apni Mahoor ke khilaf jaye? Tumne keh diya na tumhara dost hai, bas ab acchi khatirdari karenge uski. Tum kamre mein jaa ke aaram karo.”

Mahoor's face twisted into a desperate cry as she wailed, “Khatirdari? Aap usse basement le jayenge? Nahi karein, pl.. please!”

Altan rubbed her shoulders gently and said, “Nahi, Hoor. Basement wali khatirdari nahi, biwi ke mayke wali mehman nawazi, theek hai?”

His touch on her shoulders was unexpectedly tender, but it only fueled her inner resentment. Despite her simmering anger, she refrained from any act of defiance, knowing that if she had, it might have led to the tragic end of either Seyran or Ayan today.

Mahoor reluctantly nodded, her eyes clouded with distrust. Although she couldn’t fully believe Altan's words, her faith in her Lord held her back.

Altan retreated his hands from Mahoor's shoulders and gestured towards Seyran, who was rubbing Ayan's back, and signaled her to take Mahoor to the room.

Seyran sauntered towards Mahoor and took her hand. Mahoor glanced at Ayan, who blinked his eyes twice, signaling her to go and he'll be okay. She nodded, her concern evident in her eyes. This only added fuel to Altan’s raging inferno of jealousy and anger.

His hand curled into a tight fist as he watched her pass a small comforting smile to Ayan, a gesture that ignited a fierce blaze within him. Each step Mahoor took towards the bedroom with Seyran only intensified the anger he had momentarily buried beneath the weight of her tears.

As Mahoor vanished from view, Altan’s searing gaze locked onto Ayan, and he advanced menacingly towards him. Standing directly in front of Ayan, who was only two inches shorter at 6'2" compared to Altan’s imposing 6'4", Altan towered over him. Ayan, in a gesture of respect, lowered his gaze to the ground.

Altan scoffed at Ayan's lowered head, the corner of his mouth curling with contempt. His voice was a harsh, guttural snarl, spitting out the words with a biting edge. “Arya, ye harmazade ko meri study mein le aa, iski mehman nawazi bhi toh karni hai.” His voice cut through the room with a chilling, calculated menace, emphasizing the disdain and threat behind his command.

•♡•

A knock on the door made Seyran stand up abruptly. She first went to the bathroom and heard the water running. She sighed with relief, glad to hear it, as it had been two hours since Mahoor had gone in, and Seyran had begun to worry..

Mahoor had developed some peculiar habits over the years as a way to cope with her pain. The first was sleep. Slipping into slumber became her top priority and her best option for putting everything on hold—a way to pause the world for a few hours. Sleep allowed her to forget the ongoing turmoil, even if just temporarily, and she hoped that upon waking, she would either feel lighter or find a solution. Even if neither happened, sleep still offered her an escape from reality.

Second, taking long hot or cold showers depending on the weather, even if it meant emptying the whole water tank of the society. If she wasn't sleepy, taking a bath seemed to be a good opti1on as the water pouring down her skin drained away the stress and washed off the emotional turmoil she held within, providing a momentary relief.

Third, eat. While stress and pain often suppress appetite in others, Mahoor finds solace in food. The urge to munch on something every half hour, whether sour, sweet, or spicy, distracts her from the pain she carries inside. The amazing taste of food awakens her senses, bringing a fleeting joy. As the flavors touch her tongue, they momentarily eclipse the bitterness of her agony, providing a brief escape from reality.

Seyran came out and strode towards the door. She opened it to find Zaviyar standing there with Jihan in his arms. Her lips curled into a beautiful smile as she took in the sight of the chubby baby.

“Jihan,” she happily muttered, her eyes lighting up as she saw him sucking his thumb. She extended her arms to take him, but Zaviyar stepped back, causing a frown to appear on her face.

“Mazirat chahta hu par Altan bhai ne Jihan ko sirf Mahoor Bhabhi ko dene kaha hai.”

Seyran folded her arms across her chest and spoke softly, her embarrassment over not holding the baby momentarily forgotten. “Meri behen aapki bhabhi nahi hai.”

He raked a hand through his brown hair, “Meri bhai ki mangetar hai aap ki behen, zahir si baat hai woh meri bhabhi hi hui phir.”

“Altan aapke bhai hai?”

“Ji.”

“Sagge bhai hai aapke?”

His jaw ticked as he heard her repeat the questions. His voice came out a bit harder than intended, “Yeh tumhari kaam ki baat nahi, to apna questionnaire bandh karo aur bhabhi ko bulao.”

“Meri behen se izzat se baat karein, varna gyaan ka paath dene mujhe bohot achhe se aata hai,” Mahoor said firmly, stepping out from behind Seyran. Zaviyar instantly averted his gaze to the ground.

“Assalmualaikum, bhabhi. Jihan ko aap ko dene se kaha tha Altan bhai ne.”

Mahoor scowled as she roughly pulled the towel from around her neck, water dripping from her scalp down her face. “Yaha ‘Hum Saath Saath Hain’ film nahi chal rahi jo har koi apna rishta mujhse jod ke mera sagga ban jaata hai.”

Zaviyar's lips pursed in irritation. One sister turns into a lawyer with her endless questions, and the other throws sarcastic remarks at every opportunity.

He breathed heavily, choosing to ignore Mahoor's sarcastic comments for Altan's sake. Moving forward, he stood in front of Mahoor, lowered his torso, and forcefully but carefully placed Jihan in Mahoor's arms.

“Mujhse Altan bhai ne Jihan ko aapko dene kaha tha jo maine kar diya. Bas uska khyal rakhein.”

Jihan clapped his hands with a toothless grin, then stuck his mouth on Mahoor's cheek and pulled back, staring at her with a big smile and wide eyes. Mahoor's eyes crinkled with delight as Jihan once again planted his lips on her cheek, making her giggle.

Mahoor averted her gaze from Jihan to Zaviyar and her eyes narrowed at him, “Maafi maange meri behen se.”

His brows furrowed and Seyran's head snapped towards her.

“Aur wo main kyu maangu?”

“Aapne badtameezi ki meri behen se, isiliye. Aur ye baat yaad rakhein, har baat maine Mirza se kehni hai ki unke log humare saath kaise paish aa rahe hai fir dekhna apni kartooto ka anjaam.”

Zaviyar gulped, knowing how furious Altan would become if anything were to bother Mahoor. He was fully aware of how Mahoor had Altan wrapped around her little finger and he wouldn't hesitate to eradicate the root of any problem threatening or even bothering a strand of Mahoor's hair. He knew how deeply Altan cared for her, and any slight discomfort to Mahoor could unleash Altan's wrath.

His eyes flickered to Seyran, who was avoiding his gaze. He hadn’t meant to be rude or harsh, but her barrage of questions had pushed him to respond more sharply than he intended. Regret gnawed at him, knowing he hadn't handled the situation as he should have.

His gaze turned to Mahoor. “Mai aapki dhamki sun ke nahi keh raha par,” he said, his eyes softening as he shifted his attention to Seyran. “Mujhe apni galti ka ehsas hai, mai maafi chahta hu aap se. Aur yaqeenan ye dobara nahi hoga.” His voice carried sincerity, hoping to mend the unintentional rift caused by his earlier harshness.

Seyran didn't reply and chose to give the silent treatment, leaving Zaviyar hoping for at least a subtle nod, but he got none. With a sigh, he dropped the bag containing Jihan's necessities near the door and quietly made his way back to his room. The tension hung in the air, a silent reminder of the unspoken words and unresolved feelings lingering between them.

Mahoor scoffed as Seyran grabbed the bag and closed the door, “Yaqeenan ye dobara nahi hoga, aaya wadda!” she mimicked, pulling her wet hair back as Jihan giggled.

Placing Jihan on the bed, Mahoor was caught off guard when Seyran whipped the bag at her back, causing her to fall flat beside Jihan, who let out a thunderous laugh. The sound of Jihan's laughter filled the room, breaking the tension with its infectious joy.

Mahoor raised her head and playfully glared at Jihan. “Tu kya hass raha hai bey?” she teased, watching as he laughed even harder, throwing his head back with delight. Mahoor got up from the bed, turning to face Seyran, who stood with her arms crossed, glaring at her.

Mahoor rubbed her back as she glowered at Seyran, “Maine tujhe guards quarters se meri pitayi karne ke liye nahi nikalwaya.”

Seyran rolled her eyes and snapped, “Tumhe woh ladke se kya zarurat thi kehne ki woh mujhse maafi maange, haa? Usey khud ehsas tha nahi, tumne kyu zabardasti ki mafi mangwayi ussey? Embarassment se jaan jaa rahi meri.”

Mahoor rubbed her face, “Tum chup hi baitho. Agar mai ye nahi karti toh usey dobara mauka milta tumse badtameezi karne ka aur hum kya koi aandu pandu log hai, jo koi bhi aaye awaz unchi kare aur chup chap sun le?”

Seyran's straight face broke into a chuckle upon hearing Mahoor say ‘aandu pandu,’ and soon they were both laughing together.

Mahoor's smile slowly faded as her thoughts drifted back to Ayan. The hot shower hadn’t eased her mind much but had helped calm her nerves, reducing her stress. Still, a persistent worry tugged at her heart, pulling her back to one nagging question that wouldn’t leave her.

What was Ayan doing here in Pakistan when he should have been in China, perfecting his martial arts skills?

Seeing Mahoor's sad face, Seyran strode towards the bed and gently pulled her down. She glanced at Jihan, who was happily playing with his toys, and then looked back at Mahoor.

“Mahi, kya hua?” she asked, her voice soft and laced with concern.

Mahoor shook her head, looking down at her hands. Letting out a breath, she murmured, “Ayan ki fikar ho rahi hai. Na jaane kya karega woh Mushtanda uske saath. Unhone kaha toh tha ke wo kuch nahi karenge uske saath.” She raised her head and turned her face towards Seyran. “Mujhe woh light ke khambe pe zara bhi bharosa nahi hai, kuch kar na de banda jalan mein aake humare Ayan ke saath.”

Seyran nodded slowly, absorbing her words. “Fikar toh mujhe bhi ho rahi hai, bas ab Allah pe yaqeen karo, kuch nahi hoga Ayan ko.”

“Haan par yaar,” Mahoor massaged her temple, her confusion evident. “Ayan yaha kya kar raha hai? Woh Hyderabad aaya tha toh keh raha tha ki China jaa raha hai, par Pakistan mein kya kar raha ye ladka?”

“Ye toh sirf Ayan jawab de sakta hai, humein aur koi nahi.”

Mahoor gently caressed Jihan's head, her thoughts drifting back to her conversation with Ayan. She met Seyran's questioning gaze, her brows furrowing as she tried to recall his exact words.

“Usne mujhse kaha, ‘Tum yaha kya kar rahi ho? Ye jagah, ye log maut ka dusra naam hai,’” she murmured, her voice tinged with doubt.

Seyran’s face scrunched in suspicion. “Yeh pakka humse kuch chupa raha hai,” Mahoor voiced out Seyran’s unspoken thoughts, her concern evident.

•♡•

Altan leaned back in his chair, rotating the globe on the table. His hard eyes never wavered from Ayan, who stood there staring at the wooden floor.

Ayan recalled overhearing a conversation where men spoke about how Zaeem was forcing a teen Indian girl to marry him. At the time, he didn’t pay much attention because it wasn’t his business. But seeing Mahoor crying and clutching Altan's hand to stop him from beating Ayan further—and Altan instantly listening to her—cleared the picture in his mind. The teenage girl, who was actually an adult, was none other than Mahoor.

Altan’s authoritative voice echoed through the silent study, “Tu kya lagta hai, Mahoor ka?”

“Mai aur Mahoor bachpan ke dost hai, Sultan Zaeem. Hum saath boarding school mein the.”

Altan recalled a conversation where he had instructed Arya to get details about Mahoor's background. Arya had mentioned that Ayan was one of her friends, but Altan hadn't anticipated that Ayan, who worked for both the Indian and Pakistani underworlds, would be someone from Mahoor's circle.

Altan stood up from his chair and, with a heavy, dominating stride, walked over to Ayan. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he said, “Aur mere khyal se, Mahoor tumhari haqeeqat se anjaan hai.”

Ayan nodded hesitantly, “Ji, zaeem. Humare group mein koi meri pehchaan nahi jaanta.”

Altan let out a dark chuckle, “Varna wo mujhe dhamki de kar thakti nahi,” his laugh disappeared as his face became utterly serious, “Aur ye baat chupane ki wajah?”

“Mai apne dosto ko mehfooz rakhna chahta tha. Mai nahi chahta tha ki woh sab koi bhi darr mein jiye, khaas kar Mahoor. Usne already bohot kuch saha hai aur seh rahi hai, isiliye mai usey aur koi khauf se jeeni ki wajah nahi dena chah raha tha.”

Altan’s jaw ticked as he observed Ayan's concern for Mahoor. The way Ayan showed more regard for Mahoor than for anyone else in his circle irked him. The worry etched in Ayan's lowered gaze only fueled Altan’s suspicions and ignited a fierce flame of envy within him..

Was a friend supposed to be this concerned? Altan questioned, unable to reconcile with his own emotions. He had never felt such deep worry for Jannat, even though she had been with him since childhood. The level of concern he showed was reserved only for her and, after her, for Mahoor.

Perhaps Ayan secretly loved Mahoor? The mere thought was enough to drive Altan mad, igniting a fury within him like a raging bull.

His fingers curled into a fist, a muscle in his jaw jumped as he spoke calmly, though he was boiling with a lava of rage. “Tu Mahoor ko pasand karta hai? Kyu ke yeh ek tarfa Mohabbat, teri girlfriend Alizey se qubool nahi hoga.”

Ayan's head snapped up at the mention of the name Alizey. His heart pounded in his chest, his hands becoming clammy with fear of Altan doing something to her. It didn't surprise Ayan that Altan had managed a background check on him, thanks to Zaviyar's efficiency.

Yet, the fear gnawed at him relentlessly.

Because Ayan was acutely aware of the lengths the Sultan would go to get anything he wanted and the mafia man didn't mind when it ended in blood.

Altan smirked as he saw the terror flash across Ayan’s eyes. It became clear to him that Ayan didn't have romantic feelings for Mahoor; the real fear took over his features at the mere mention of Alizey.

Ayan masked his fear and steadied his voice, “Mahoor meri dost hai. Aisi dost, jis ke liye main jaan lunga bhi aur dunga bhi.”

It wiped the smirk off Altan's face as he exhaled sharply through his lips. He stared at the ceiling, struggling to contain his fury. Despite his urge to punch Ayan in the face and dislocate every joint in his body, he remembered he gave his word to his fiance, that he would not harm her friend.

Altan's eyes hardened as he took in the sincerity on Ayan's face. He understood that Ayan's relationship with Mahoor was purely platonic, but the depth of Ayan's concern fueled his jealousy. Seeing Ayan's devotion to Mahoor only amplified Altan's feelings, as it suggested a closeness akin to the bond Mahoor shared with Seyran.

“Thik hai. Par ek baat yaad rakh,” Altan stepped closer, his eyes darkening and his voice menacing, “Wo meri honewali biwi hai aur agar tu uske qareeb aaya ya phir usey chua, toh main agli baar Mahoor ki bhi nahi sununga. Tera woh haal karunga jissey tu apni mehbooba ke paas jaane layak nahi rahega.”

Ayan knew what Altan said, he did. So to not to get on his worst side, he nodded.

Altan turned around and walked towards the window of his study, dismissing Ayan. Arya approached from behind to escort him to the guards' quarters. But Ayan cleared his throat, drawing Altan's attention once more.

“Zaeem, aapki ijazat ho toh mai Mahoor se mil sakta hu?”

Altan lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag before turning around and exhaling a plume of smoke. “Tujhe apni maut se milne ki badi khwahish hai kya?” he asked, his voice laced with menace.

“Wo bhot ghabrayi hui thi toh aap agar ek dafa mujhe ussey aur Seyran se milne de dete toh accha hota.”

Altan scratched his thumb above his eyebrow while holding the cigarette between his forefinger and middle finger. “Uski fikar tu nahi kar, mai dekh lunga uski ghabrahat. Ab nikal yaha se,” he said, his tone dismissive and commanding.

Ayan had no choice but to oblige. He left the office with Arya trailing behind him, his shoulders slumped in resignation. Altan remained in his study, the door closing behind them with a heavy thud.

The room was filled with the lingering haze of cigarette smoke as Altan stood by the window, his eyes locked on the dark sky. His mind churned with the unsettling thoughts of Ayan’s concern for Mahoor. The flicker of the cigarette burned brightly against the encroaching darkness, mirroring the storm of emotions brewing within him.

He threw the remainder of the cigarette into the ashtray. Ever since he learned about Mahoor's asthma, he had resolved to quit the cancer sticks entirely. The man who once consumed thirty to forty cigarettes a day had cut down to ten, but today had proven to be a test of his resolve.

Altan had promised himself this morning not to light up again, determined to give up his toxic habit for good. Yet, he found himself succumbing to the familiar pull, the weight of stress and jealousy pushing him to seek comfort in the very thing he was trying to abandon. Despite his momentary lapse, he knew deep down that change would come with time, and he was willing to make the effort for Mahoor's sake.

The clock was nearing midnight, and the pull to see Mahoor just once was tugging relentlessly at Altan's heart. He knew she'd be asleep by now; he'd made sure of it. Earlier, he'd instructed Arya to mix sleeping pills into her dinner to ensure she could rest without worrying about Ayan or anything else.

Tomorrow was their Nikkah, a momentous occasion, and he knew Mahoor would be immensely stressed, being forced into a marriage she didn't want. Altan wanted her to have some rest tonight, free from anxiety, to face the next day with as much calm as possible which was impossible.

He turned away from the window and exited his study. On his way to his bedroom, he rationalized his actions, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was pushing too hard, trying to control too much. But that was Altan—always determined to have things his way, especially when it came to Mahoor.

Tomorrow was the big night when Mahoor would officially take his name, binding them together in a way that could not be undone. The thought of Mahoor being his forever filled Altan with a mix of anticipation and satisfaction. He longed for the day when he could finally call her his wife to have her by his side as they faced the world together.

Despite the tumultuous journey that brought them to this point, he couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. Mahoor, with her fierce spirit and captivating presence, had become an essential part of his life, and soon, he would be hers forever.

His steps halted as he noticed Mahoor's door slightly ajar, just wide enough for someone to slip inside. Altan knew Mahoor never left her bedroom door open, even during the day. She always preferred to keep it locked, before he had taken Seyran to the guard's quarters.

Did someone come in? Nobody would dare, as even the maids knew not to enter anyone's personal space without permission. Still, the thought of something terrible happening to Mahoor and Jihan had his heart thumping rapidly in his chest.

He removed his gun from his back and methodically loaded it, his gaze fixed on the ajar door. As he prepared to enter, he froze, grappling with the reality of the situation. Mahoor and Seyran were peacefully asleep, and the idea of invading their sanctuary while they were vulnerable felt deeply wrong. Altan was not the type to intrude on women's private space. The mere thought of being a creep, violating their trust, and encroaching upon their personal domain was abhorrent to him. He realized that no matter how justified his concerns were, this was wrong but he had to go with it anyway.

He entered the room, gun in hand, and began his search methodically. First, he checked the bathroom, then the closet, ensuring every corner was clear. His steps carried him to the balcony, where he found it empty as well. It seemed likely that Mahoor had simply forgotten to close the door, and there was no immediate threat.

His shoulders slumped in relief as he closed the door to the balcony. Unaware, he stepped on a pillow, and his eyes fell on Mahoor, who was peacefully asleep. One hand was tucked under her head while the other rested gently on Jihan. Her knees were drawn up to her abdomen, her posture radiating a sense of calm she slept. The sight of her serene face, amidst the chaos of his concerns, made him momentarily forget the tension he had felt earlier.

He looked at the ceiling with grateful eyes, raising his hands in the air. “Shukriya, mere khuda!” he muttered under his breath. His yearning to see her had been heard, and his Lord had answered his unspoken prayer.

His hands dropped to his sides, and a frown creased his brow as he saw Mahoor shivering in her sleep due to the freezing cold. His jaw tightened at the sight of her uncovered, while Seyran and Jihan were snugly wrapped in their duvet.

Altan retrieved a comforter from the closet and brought it back to the room. Not looking anywhere near her body, his eyes stayed fixed on Mahoor's serene face, as he gently draped the blanket over her.

His lips curved into a faint smile as he watched Mahoor relax in something he had provided to her. Her features softened as she snuggled into the warmth, a peaceful sigh escaping her lips. With a tender, almost reverent touch, he recited Ayat-ul-Kursi softly, blowing the protective ayats over both Mahoor and Jihan.

As the arabic verses lingered in the air, Altan's gaze lingered on Mahoor’s serene expression. The sight of her finally finding some comfort after the day’s turmoil brought a rare softness to his otherwise hardened demeanor. His heart, though still guarded, was momentarily touched by the sight of her calmness.

The thought that from tomorrow night onward, he’d be fortunate enough to see this tranquil sight of Mahoor every day made his heart race with anticipation.

He stepped back slowly, ensuring not to disturb the tranquility of the room. With a final, lingering glance at Mahoor, Altan turned on his heel and quietly exited the room. The door clicked softly behind him as he made his way to his room, leaving the sanctuary of their sleep behind.

•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•

I was just a child, and nobody gave you the right, sir, to slap me twice in the face just because I read a different letter of the equation. You were my dad's friend, yet you still did this to me. It happened back in 2014, but the wound is as fresh as if it happened yesterday. The trauma I’m left with has no healing. As I work towards becoming a teacher, I’ll show you how to truly be there for the kids. I hope you never find peace because I can’t find rest, as it gnaws at my heart that I was just a child.

Coming to the chapterr!!

Altan ko pehle Seyran se sukoon nahi tha ab Ayan se bhi nahiii.. FINALLY NEXT CHAPTER MEIN NIKKAH HAI🌚