Chapter 32: 28. 𝗤𝘂𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝗛𝗮𝗶.

❛ Zima hai yeh qudrat ka ya khataa tumhari hai,

Jo bhi Hai sabab so hai par sazaa hamari hai.

Jis ko jo bhi milta hai besabab nahin milta,

Mujhe se bole mann mera sab ko sab nahin milta..❜

Third Person's POV:

Mahoor sat in the middle of the bed in Altan's bedroom which was now theirs, her red joda spread around her. It had been two hours since her fate had been bound to Altan's in a forced marriage. She had no expectations from the man who claimed to love her, only loathing for the situation she found herself in.

Her gloomy eyes stared at her feet, unsure of what to do next. When the door opened, indicating her husband had entered, she remained focused on the red joda she wore, her gaze not wavering from its intricate patterns.

The mattress dipped, and Mahoor's chin lifted, her eyes meeting Altan's. He stared at her with a triumphant gaze, a smirk playing on his lips as he gently rubbed her chin with his thumb and finger. “Aakhir kaar tum meri ho hi gayi,” he murmured, his voice filled with a possessive satisfaction that sent a shiver down her spine in apprehension.

Altan removed the nath she was wearing, confusing Mahoor. Then he moved closer, their bodies touching, as he circled his arms around her neck to unhook the necklace and remove it. Her chest rose and fell with fear, and her hands began to tremble as he slid a finger down her nape. His other hand unpinned the maang tika from her hair, his movements deliberate yet unsettling.

Mahoor felt a chill run through her as Altan's touch became more possessive. Her heart raced with terror when Altan's hand slipped under her shirt and touched her bare waist. He dipped his head into her neck, inhaling her scent, while tears pricked her eyes as she squirmed in his hold.

“Chodein mujhe!” she screamed, trying to push him back, but her words fell on deaf ears. Altan placed a rough kiss on her neck, and Mahoor's stomach churned in disgust. She felt a wave of panic wash over her, desperation growing as she struggled against his hold

She placed her hands on his shoulders and tried to shove him away as tears fell one by one from her eyes. “Dur hatein!” Her voice broke as he continued kissing her neck, his hand pinching her waist with a possessive grip. The room felt suffocating, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to free herself from his hold, the sense of fear and powerlessness consuming her.

Despite her struggles, Altan pushed her down onto the bed, swiftly removing his kurta. Lust clouded his eyes as he pressed a rough kiss against her jaw, ignoring her pleas. Mahoor's heart sank, a feeling of helplessness washing over her as his overpowering presence loomed over her, making her fears feel all too real. She fought back with all her strength, tears streaming down her face as she desperately tried to push him away, but his grip only tightened, suffocating her hope and filling her with dread

“Mirza... chodein mujhe please!” she yelled through her tears, her voice filled with desperation and pain as she squirmed beneath him, sobbing. His hulking frame weighed her down, trapping her in a nightmare she couldn't escape. For so many days, he had waited for this moment, just to possess her body. He claimed to love her, but it was clear that all he wanted from this marriage was to have her in his bed and exert his control over her..

Having enough of her struggles and fights, Altan angrily rose up from her neck and pinned her hands above her head, seething with rage. “Kyu chodu? Biwi ho tum meri! Pura haq rakhta hu tum pe!” His words echoed through the room, making Mahoor's heart pound with fear.

She wriggled in his unyielding grip, desperation seeping into her voice as she cried out, “Allah, please madad karein!” Altan's lips curled into a smirk as he untied the knot of her lehenga. Her actions stilled, a wave of dread washing over her as she felt his fingers trace her hip bone. Mahoor let out a heartbreaking cry, her voice raw with fear, pleading with him to let her go.

She somehow freed one hand from his grip and reached for the nightstand, her heart pounding with urgency. Summoning every bit of strength left in her body, she grabbed the lamp and yanked it free, the plug snapping from the socket. With all her might, she brought the lamp crashing down on Altan's head, which was buried in the crook of her neck.

She struck him repeatedly with the lamp, each blow landing with a desperate force. Again and again, she swung it at his head, her breath ragged and her heart racing, until she felt him begin to loosen his grip on her.

He screamed, “MAHOOR,” clutching his head and trying to block her frantic blows with his free hand. Despite his attempts to stop her, she continued to swing the lamp with fierce determination.

“MAHOOR, CHODO MUJHE!”

“MAHOOR!”

Her eyes flew open as she gasped for air, her lungs feeling like they were suffocating. She pushed herself up, sitting on the bed as she struggled to catch her breath. Sweat coated her body, her left hand trembled uncontrollably, and her heart pounded rapidly in her chest.

She heard a man's voice, gruff yet familiar, muttering, “Pagal ladki maar maar ke mera kheema bana deti.” The words were jarring, but she couldn't quite place them in the haze of her terror.

Her gaze fell to her hand, clutching the pen stand, and she glanced around, disoriented. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt a small, firm grip on her arm. She looked down to find a baby clinging to her, the unexpected presence grounding her in the reality of her surroundings.

“Yeh le, apna chashma pehen,” the man said, dropping the spectacles into her lap. Mahoor hesitated before putting them on. When she looked up, she saw that the man was none other than Ayan. Shifting her gaze, she saw that the baby clinging to her arm was Jihan.

It took her a few seconds to realize the bittersweet truth: she was trapped in a nightmare, and none of what had happened was real.

Ayan sat down on the edge of the bed, far away from Mahoor while Seyran stood nearby, her gaze scrutinizing Mahoor closely.

Seyran crossed her arms over her chest, arching an eyebrow as she spoke sharply, “Wajah bataogi madam apne is adamkhor behaviour ke liye? Tumne toh bechare ka sir phod dena tha agar mai do second bhi late hoti Ayan ko tumse free karne mein.”

Mahoor's eyes flickered from Seyran to Ayan before she dropped her gaze to her lap. Her fingers fidgeted tightly, and her lips quivered as the brutality of her nightmare crashed down on her.

Seeing Mahoor on the verge of tears, Seyran and Ayan exchanged a concerned glance before moving closer to her. Seyran's heart pounded as she saw Mahoor release a trembling sob.

Standing by the bed, Seyran gently rubbed Mahoor's shoulders, her voice filled with worry, “Mahi, kya hua?”

Mahoor threw her arms around Seyran's waist and wailed loudly, causing both Ayan and Seyran to be overwhelmed with concern.

Seyran rubbed Mahoor's back soothingly, while Ayan tentatively stroked her knee. “Mirza zabardasti ka..kar raha tha mere saath kh..khwab mein.”

Ayan recoiled his hand from her knee, his eyes shutting tightly in pain and Seyran's hand froze on Mahoor's back, her own worry intensifying.

Mahoor hiccuped, her voice trembling, “Usne kaha mai biwi hu uski, uska pura haq hai mujhpe aur usne meri ek nahi suni.” The words poured out of her like a flood, revealing the torment that still haunted her.

Seyran exchanged a helpless glance with Ayan, both of them at a loss for words. They knew all too well the lingering shadows of Mahoor's past, the trauma of the sexual assaults she had endured, which still haunted her every thought. The weight of those memories was something neither of them could fully erase, and in that moment, they felt the overwhelming burden of not knowing how to comfort her.

Mahoor's violent sobs filled the room, her voice trembling with desperation as she pleaded, “Mujhe ussey shadi nahi karni! Kuch karo aur roko yeh nikah! woh mere saath ghalat hi ka..karega.”

Jihan, who had been watching the scene unfold with wide, innocent eyes, suddenly burst into tears. His little face crumpled, and his chubby hand patted Mahoor's thigh as if trying to comfort her in his own tiny way. The sight of her tears, something he'd never seen before, scared him, and he began to cry along with her, his wails adding to the heartbreak in the room.

Mahoor turned her face away from Seyran's tummy, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to Seyran's waist. Her gaze fell on Jihan, who was crying beside her. Through her sobs, she managed to say, “Chup, pagal!” but her own heart ached even more seeing his distress.

Ayan slapped his forehead and picked the crying baby in his arms. He stood up from the bed and tried to soothe the baby, patting his back gently. But Jihan's cries grew louder, his little arms reaching out desperately for Mahoor, as if he couldn't bear to be separated from her. He wiggled in Ayan's arms, his chubby face wet with tears, eyes locked onto Mahoor, pleading for her comfort.

Mahoor reluctantly unlocked her hands from Seyran's waist and quickly strode towards Ayan, gently taking Jihan into her arms. As she cradled the baby, her focus shifted entirely to soothing him, caressing his back tenderly. In that moment, she seemed to forget her own tears, which Ayan silently wiped away.

She sniffed and pressed a gentle kiss on Jihan's head as he hiccuped, her emotions slowly coming under control. As she came down from her high, her brows furrowed in confusion. Looking at Ayan, Mahoor asked, “Tum yaha yeh kamre mein kaise aaye? Mirza ne aane kaise diya?” her voice hoarse, from crying.

Ayan sighed, his expression weary. “Chup ke aaya hu.”

Seyran stepped forward with a glass of water and handed it to Mahoor, who accepted it gratefully. She sat down on the bed, gulping the liquid. Jihan continued to suck his thumb while his tiny hand clutched her braid.

Seyran caressed her head. “Thik ho tum?” she asked gently. Mahoor nodded, replying, “Baad mein baat karenge mere thik hone pe,” her eyes flickering towards Ayan. “Zara issey kuch sawal karne hain.”

Ayan removed his ring and put it back on, repeating the action over and over. It was a habit he had, a telltale sign of when he was either extremely tense or lying, and Mahoor knew this well.

Mahoor's eyes fixed on his finger, her jaw tightening as she met his gaze. “Tu yaha Pakistan mein kya kar raha hai jab tu China jaa raha tha kisi martial artist se training lene?”she demanded.

He glanced at Seyran standing beside Mahoor, then strode towards her. Holding her arms, he guided her to sit on the bed. “Tu bhi baith, baith ke baat karte hai teeno,” he said.

Ayan sat down on the bed, “Main Pakistan isiliye aaya kyun ke mujhe kisi kaam se bheja gaya yaha pe.”

“Kis kaam se?”

Ayan rubbed his hand on his pants and hesitantly said, “Mujhe kuch samaan ponchwana tha.”

“Kaisa samaan? Kisko dena tha? Kisne bhijaya tha? Kaha se bhijaya tha!” Mahoor demanded, grabbing the pen stand from the nightstand and trying to hit Ayan with it. He staggered back, narrowly avoiding the blow. “Paheliya bujhana bandh kar aur sab bata, varna tera aisa hashr karungi ki dekhio fir,” she threatened.

Jihan giggled loudly, his laughter echoing through the room as he watched the ongoing commotion between Mahoor and Ayan. Ayan, in a playful response, stuck out his tongue at the baby, making Jihan laugh even harder.

Ayan sat up straight, taking a deep breath before revealing, “Main yaha India se guns aur bombs ki delivery karne aaya tha. Main Sulaiman Alam, Indian Mafia leader ke liye kaam karta hu jab se main 15 saal ka tha.”

Seyran's jaw dropped in shock, her eyes wide with disbelief. Mahoor, however, just stared at Ayan with dead eyes, the weight of his confession settling heavily on her. For the past six years, the man she considered her closest friend had been lying to her, to Robin, Vani, and Seyran, risking his life daily without any of them knowing the truth. The betrayal cut deep, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth as she struggled to process the revelation.

“15 SAAL? BACCHE THE TUM SIRF!” Seyran shrieked, her voice filled with disbelief and anger. Her eyes darted between Ayan and Mahoor, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of what he had just confessed. The room felt like it was closing in as the reality of Ayan's dangerous life came crashing down on them.

Ayan nodded hesitantly, “I know, but I had no choice…”

“Tumne hum sab ko dhokhe mein rakha, aur kya hi choice hogi tumhari?” Mahoor's voice was blunt, void of any emotion.

Ayan's mouth clamped shut, the weight of her words hitting him hard. Of all the people in the world, the last thing he ever wanted was to disappoint Mahoor, but sometimes life didn't give him the options he wished for.

“Main tum sabko safe rakhna chahta tha,” Ayan said, holding Mahoor's hand as his brows creased, guilt gnawing at him for the hurt he caused by lying for years. “You’ve been through so much, and I didn’t want you to suffer more just because of me. The dangers I face… they’re always around.”

Mahoor didn’t respond, but her eyes watered, and she lowered her head, the weight of his words sinking in. Ayan gently intertwined their fingers, giving them a light squeeze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice laced with regret and agony.

Seyran’s eyes fell on their joined hands, then flicked up to Ayan’s face. She noticed that familiar spark in his eyes, the same one she saw when he surprised Mahoor in Hyderabad. It was a spark that spoke of more than just friendship, something deeper that Seyran couldn’t ignore because she's been witnessing it for years now.

Mahoor lifted her head, pulling her hand away from his grip. Ayan reluctantly let her go, feeling the coldness in her gesture. “Tum mardon ne hum aurton ko trauma package dene ka, maa ke pait se nikalte hi sikha hai,” she said, her voice sharp, laced with bitterness.

“Mahoor, I am sorry...” Ayan tried to apologize, his voice heavy with regret.

“Alizeh ko pata hai?” she asked, her gaze piercing.

Ayan’s mouth clamped shut at the mention of Alizeh’s name. He was at a loss for words, knowing how tangled the situation had become. How could he explain to Mahoor that his involvement with Alizeh was never something he truly wanted, but rather a consequence of the dark path he’d been forced to walk? How could he tell her that, despite everything, it was Mahoor who held his heart, even though he had buried those feelings deep within himself?

Ayan avoided Mahoor’s piercing gaze, focusing instead on Jihan, who was innocently playing with Mahoor’s hair. “Nahi. Usey kuch nahi pata,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mahoor closed her eyes, feeling the anger bubbling up inside her, threatening to overflow. She tried to calm herself, but when she opened her eyes again, her jaw clenched with frustration. “Woh ladki pehle hi mujhe pasand nahi karti, ab wo mujhse aur sadegi. ‘Mahoor ko pehle bata diya, jab ki mujhe pehle batana chahiye tha, mai girlfriend hu woh sirf best friend hai’ yeh bol ke!”

Alizeh wasn’t very fond of Mahoor, mainly because Ayan was always around her, constantly by her side, and would drop everything to be there for Mahoor whenever something troubled her. Initially, Alizeh had liked Mahoor, but the deep concern Ayan showed for her slowly pushed Alizeh away. It reached a point where Alizeh began to suspect that Mahoor had feelings for Ayan—a belief that was entirely wrong, especially when, in truth, it was Ayan who harbored feelings for Mahoor. This unspoken tension only deepened the rift between the two women.

Mahoor’s brows furrowed as memories of Ayan training her, Vani and Seyran resurfaced. He had lied, claiming that he was training in martial arts and was merely perfecting his skills by teaching them. He had said it was a win-win situation—helping them learn self-defense while he polished his techniques. But now, knowing the truth, Mahoor realized that those training sessions had been a cover.

Mahoor's eyes narrowed as she processed his words. “Tumhe gun, knife aur fight bhi mafia se sikhi martial arts ke naam pe?” Her voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Ayan gulped, his throat dry. “Haa. Mai tumhe, Vani aur Seyran ko isiliye train karta tha agar koi mafia se tum logo pe attack kare toh tum teeno defenseless na raho.”

Mahoor’s smile was laced with sarcasm as she began to clap slowly, her mockery cutting deeper than any insult. “Ek mafia mushtanda kam nahi tha, dusra tapak pada. Wow!” She continued her taunting applause, the sound echoing in the room, making Ayan wince internally. “Kya baat hai! Proud of you!”

Seyran couldn't help but snicker at Mahoor's biting words, but she nudged her lightly, trying to get her to ease up. Ayan, on the other hand, stared at his jacket, the weight of his shame growing heavier with every clap, unable to meet Mahoor's eyes, which burned with a mix of anger and disappointment.

Ayan lifted his head, the earlier shame melting away, replaced by a stern resolve. “Tum bhaagne ka sochna bhi mat,” he warned, his voice devoid of any softness. “Aaj security puri heavily triple tight kar di gayi hai. Mai hi tumhe le jata, par Sultan tumhe kahi se bhi dhoond nikalenge.”

Mahoor’s face lost its color, the weight of his words settling in her chest. She hadn’t planned on running, but Ayan’s knowledge of her tendencies unnerved her. What struck her even more was the lack of remorse in his tone; the shift to seriousness when he spoke about Altan was chilling.

Mahoor's lips flattened into a scowl as she spat out her words with a sharpness that cut through the room, “Toh tum chahte ho mai ye nikkah kar lu?” Her voice dripped with bitterness as she paused, her fingers curling into a fist, “Mere sapno ko aag laga du. Apne kidnapper se khushi-khushi shadi kar ke uski darindagi bardasht karu. Meri behen ke liye uski dhamkiya sehen karu! Woh zabardasti bhi ka..karega toh give in kardu! Yahi chahte ho na tum?”

Her voice broke and the weight of her words hung heavy in the air, the raw pain and anger in her voice undeniable.

Ayan's heart clenched at Mahoor's emotional state. He didn't want to say it out loud or want Mahoor to be anyone else's, but he knew the dire consequences of attempting to thwart Altan. It would almost certainly lead to his own brutal death—a fate he wasn’t particularly afraid of—but one that Mahoor would be utterly incapable of bearing. The real terror lay in the knowledge that the Sultan would not hesitate to turn his ruthless methods on Seyran, slicing her throat without a second thought.

In the world of organized crime, Altan's reputation was synonymous with fear and brutality. He was known for his cold-blooded executions and ruthless efficiency, earning him a place among the most feared figures in the criminal underworld. His name alone was enough to instill terror, as he was infamous for dealing with his enemies with an unrelenting and merciless hand.

Yet, what shocked Ayan the most was Altan's unusual restraint. Despite his fearsome reputation, Altan had refrained from unleashing his wrath, all because of Mahoor. This unexpected leniency was an anomaly in Altan’s otherwise brutal persona, highlighting Mahoor's unique and powerful influence. In a world where fear was a constant, the fact that Altan had chosen to listen to Mahoor rather than act with his usual cruelty was both a relief and a bewildering mystery to Ayan. If it hadn’t been for Mahoor’s presence, Ayan would have faced the full brunt of Altan’s wrath, a reality that added a layer of complexity to the already tangled web of their lives.

Ayan massaged his temple, frustration etched on his face. “Jahan tak main Sultan ko jaanta hu, woh aadmi kabhi kisi ladki ke saath rangin raatein nahi bitata aur na hi kisi ladki ke saath zabardasti ki hai,” he said, his eyes hardening as he recalled his memories. “Believe me when I say this, I know better because I have seen other mafia leaders take women and their wives against their will in front of their men.”

Mahoor flinched, the revelation hitting her with an intensity that sent her spiralling further into fear. The nightmare she had just experienced felt alarmingly real, her heart racing as the room seemed to close in around her. Her past trauma, still fresh and unhealed, now collided with the grim reality Ayan had described. The flashbacks of her nightmare began to replay vividly in her mind, amplifying her terror as she struggled to escape the crushing weight of her fear.

Ayan held her hand, his voice soft and reassuring, “Main tumhe yahan se le jaunga. Bas thoda waqt do mujhe. Mera ek dost hai jo humari madad kar sakta hai. Tum bas ye nikkah…” He closed his eyes, the words painful to utter, “Yeh nikkah kar lo.” Opening his eyes, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his heart heavy with the weight of seeing her with someone else.

The vivid image of Altan holding her hand and forcing himself on her flashed through Mahoor’s mind. In a surge of panic, she yanked her hand away from Ayan’s grip. Without a word, she handed Jihan to Seyran and bolted to the bathroom, unable to bear the room any longer.

Ayan’s gaze remained fixed on the bathroom door, his worry evident. Seyran gently touched his arm, pulling him back. “Usey akela chodo, she needs it.”

Ayan nodded reluctantly and sank onto the bed, his hands gripping the edge as he tried to steady his breathing. Seyran watched him with concern, her eyes softening as she asked quietly, “Pyaar karte ho na tum Mahoor se?”

His head jerked up, a mix of surprise and vulnerability crossing his face.

“Jhoot keh ke faaida nahi hoga, mai bohot saalo se notice kar rahi hu aur mujhe pata hai mera andaza sahi hai.”

Ayan rubbed his hands over his face, staring at Seyran with a weary expression. His voice was low and tinged with sadness. “Par ab kya faida?”

Seyran’s eyes softened. “Tum koshish kar sakte the, Ayan.”

He chuckled bitterly, recalling Mahoor's words. “Woh hamesha mujhse kehti thi ki relationship aur sab distractions hain. Banday ka focus career pe hi rahe, nahi toh apne laksh se bhatak jayega.” His laughter was hollow, and he continued, “Aur jaha mai hu, uska khatra Mahoor pe bhi aata. Isiliye maine kabhi koshish nahi ki. Main Sultan jitna powerful nahi jo Mahoor ko har jagah se, har log se protect kar sake.” His lowered his head as his eyes grew moist as he added, “Main use mehfooz rakhta par usey meri wajah se kuch hojata toh mai bardasht nahi kar sakta.”

He looked at Seyran, his voice barely a whisper, each word heavy with the weight of his anguish, “Isiliye Mujhe na chahte hue bhi, Mahoor ko.., let go karna hoga.” The pain was evident in his eyes, his shoulders sagging as if the burden of those words was settling into his very being.

“Usey jaane dena padega, kyu ke woh meri forever wali friend hai.” He smiled, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions, revealing just how deeply the decision was affecting him.

•♡•

Altan wore the sherwani which was a striking blend of traditional elegance and regal splendor. The ivory fabric, soft and lustrous, formed the base of this exquisite ensemble. Intricate golden embroidery adorned the sherwani, cascading down from the shoulders and around the hem in elaborate patterns. The embroidery featured delicate floral motifs and geometric designs, all meticulously crafted to catch the light with every movement. Underneath, he wore a pathani salwar, which complemented the sherwani’s opulence with its classic, flowing silhouette. The combination of the luxurious ivory fabric and the rich golden threadwork created a look of grandeur, making Altan’s presence both commanding and distinguished.

Altan's trimmed beard and messy nape soft curls framed his face, adding a rugged charm to his otherwise regal appearance. His once-wounded face, now clear of any visible scars, marked the healing from a fierce altercation with Arya and Zaviyar on the night Mahoor fled. The stitches on his shoulder, a painful reminder of Mahoor's brutal blow, were healing but still served as a constant echo of their tumultuous past. This blend of regal attire and the personal reminders of past conflicts painted a picture of a man both powerful and deeply affected by the events that had unfolded.

He glanced at his Armani watch; only thirty minutes remained before Altan would be Mahoor's forever.

Mahoor would officially take his name, binding them together in a way that could not be undone. The thought of him being Mahoor's and Mahoor being his forever filled Altan with a mix of anticipation and satisfaction. He longed for the moment when she would finally call him her husband, he longed for the time 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 in every way. Altan knew that their path wouldn't be easy, given the circumstances, but he was determined to make it work, to build a future where they could find happiness together.

As he prepared himself for the next thirty minutes, he resolved to be the partner she needed, to prove that he could be more than just the man who had forced her into this situation. He wanted to earn her trust, her affection, and maybe one day, her love.

The knock on his door resonated through the bedroom. Striding over, he entered the password and opened it, only for a furious Abidah to barge in, with Arya trailing behind her, his expression neutral.

Altan turned around, his gaze shifting from Arya, who rolled his eyes, to the fuming Abidah.

“Ye mai kya sun rahi hu Altan?”

Altan casually walked towards the sofa and sat down. “Aap jaano.”

“Gussa mat dila mujhe! Mehr ki rakam 25 lakh kyun hai?”

Altan crossed his legs and replied nonchalantly, “Mere paise, meri marzi.”

Abidah took a few steps toward Altan, her teeth clenched in anger. “Mujhe pachaas aur teri maa ko sattar hazaar mile the. Mirza khandaan ka usool hai lakh ke andar hi mehr dena! Tu kyun qaide badal raha hai?”

Altan rubbed his temples, his patience wearing thin. The woman's incessant nagging was grating on him. If she weren’t his grandmother, she’d have been dealt with harshly long ago. He gave her a bored look. “Woh aap logon ka loss tha ke aap ke shohar ke paas daulat nahi thi. Mere paas hai, toh lutaunga main apni gharwali par” he stroked his beard, “Agar aur maangegi toh aur dunga, yeh duniya maangegi toh ye puri duniya uske qadmo mein laa ke rakhunga.”

Abidah stood in stunned silence, her eyes wide with disbelief. She had always known Altan as a man of few words, a figure of intimidating power who didn't have any affection for any being . Yet, hearing him declare with such fierce devotion, left her completely disoriented. This was not the Altan she had come to understand— a man who had previously claimed indifference. The intensity of his words about Mahoor shattered her preconceptions, leaving her grappling with confusion and an unsettling realization of the depth of his feelings.

“Yaha daulat ki nahi humare khandan ke usoolo ki baat ho rahi hai! Zyada dimag na chala apna mere saath aur chup karke usey lakh ke andar mehr de.”

Altan's eyes darkened, his anger palpable. He rose from the couch and approached Abidah with a menacing stride. The audacity of this family to dictate the amount of mehr Mahoor would receive was infuriating. He had no intention of adhering to the Mirza family's rules. His gaze was steely as he approached her, his thoughts clear—he'd rather face a knife in his heart than be controlled by Mirzas again.

A shiver ran down Abidah’s spine as Altan’s gaze bore into her with the intensity of a predator. Despite her fear, she held her ground, her resolve unwavering.

Altan's fury erupted, his voice thunderous as he roared, “Maa ch*dane gaya aapka ye khandan aur uske usool!” Abidah stumbled back, her face pale with fear. “Mai Sultan hu, meri hukumat chalegi! Dum hai?” He leaned closer, his eyes blazing with menace, and whispered harshly, “Jao, rok ke batao.”

“Pachtayega tu.” Abidah replied and left the room.

“Pichle aade ghante se mera dimag khaa gayi teri bebe. Hum second in commands ki baat kaha samajh aati hai? Sultan ki gali kya padi akkal thikane aa gayi,” Arya complained, glancing around Altan’s bedroom.

Altan sank into his couch, exhaling heavily as he muttered, “Mood ki maa chh*d di, buddhi, saali!”

•♡•

Mahoor stared into the mirror, her eyes brimming with pain. She was now dressed as Altan's bride, a role she never wanted to play but was being forced into.

She wore an ivory and gold lehenga, intricately embroidered with delicate gold patterns. The lehenga's voluminous skirt and high-neck bodice were masterpieces of craftsmanship, exuding regal charm. Her sheer dupatta, adorned with heavy gold embellishments, draped gracefully over her head, adding to her radiant aura.

Her makeup was subtle, with a soft, dewy finish highlighting her wheatish complexion. A smoky brown and gold eye shadow accentuated her sorrowful eyes, lined with kohl and framed by voluminous lashes. A faint blush touches her cheeks, and her lips are painted with a nude pink lipstick, reflecting her inner sadness.Her hair was styled in a neat updo, with delicate gajras adding a traditional touch. She wears a statement choker of pearls and gold, paired with long earrings and a maang tikka, all perfectly complementing her bridal attire.

“Ma Sha Allah, kehna sahi rahega kya?” Seyran's soft voice pulled her out of the sad melancholy.

Mahoor stood up with the help of Riza and Bano, as Seyran held Jihan in her embrace. “Lag Ma Sha Allah rahi hu par thoughts Astagfirullah wale aa rahe hai,” Mahoor’s voice was void of any emotion.

Seyran’s eyes watered as she looked at Mahoor, who, despite the marriage being against her will, was undeniably breathtaking. Mahoor’s beauty transcended her elaborate bridal outfit, making her look like a vision that eclipsed even the most exquisite fabrics. The contrast between her stunning appearance and her profound sadness was heart-wrenching. It tugged at Seyran’s heart to see Mahoor so extraordinarily beautiful and yet so deeply unhappy.

Seyran caressed her hair as she recalled a memory, “Tumhe hamesha laal joda pehennna tha na apni shaadi pe?”

Laal—the quintessential color of brides. From childhood, most women dreamt of draping themselves in that vibrant red, a symbol of their journey filled with love, hate, misunderstandings, and reconciliations. Mahoor had always imagined her wedding dress in this fiery hue, reflecting the tumultuous path she and her partner would have traveled together. But here she was, adorned in ivory, a color far too gentle for her spirit. Though it enhanced her brightness, it failed to capture the spark in her russet brown eyes, leaving a void where her envisioned passion and rebellious nature should have been.

Mahoor nodded, the ache in her heart spreading as her jaw ached from controlling the tears ready to spill.

“Haan par…” Her lip quivered as she looked up at the ceiling, fanning herself to stave off the tears, “Dulha pasand ka nahi mil raha, joda kya khaak milta?”

“Bah..eh..eh..” Jihan jumped in Seyran's arms with his arms open, gesturing for Mahoor to take him. She smiled genuinely and lifted him, the baby boy staring at her in a daze. Seyran laughed at his expression while Mahoor raised her eyebrows in amusement.

Jihan pressed his open mouth against Mahoor's neck and then pulled back, grinning and clapping his hands. Mahoor placed a kiss on his chubby cheek as he wore a pathani, making him giggle. Mahoor chuckled blandly, “Meri barbadi pe toh aaj har koi has raha hai.”

“Mallika Aanam, Nikkah ka waqt ho raha, chalein please.” Riza’s low murmur reached Mahoor’s ears, and she nodded.

Seyran stepped closer, her eyes filled with sadness as a tear trail down Mahoor's cheek. She shook her head, her voice trembling, “Seyran, yaar, mera dil phatt raha hai. Shadi ho rahi meri sacch mein. Kuch toh miracle ho jo ye ruk jaye...”

Seyran engulfed the poor soul in her arms, feeling the tension and fear radiating from Mahoor’s tensed posture. She rubbed Mahoor’s back gently, her heart heavy with helplessness. They had tried everything, yet it all slipped through their fingers.

With a soft whisper, Seyran tried to offer some comfort, “Allah pe apna yaqeen qayam rakho, Mahi. Sab thik hoga.”

Mahoor nodded and reluctantly pulled away, her heart heavy. Seyran gently wiped away her tears, her touch soft and comforting. As she carefully took Jihan into her arms, the little boy slapped his hand on Seyran’s neck in frustration, clearly upset at being taken away from Mahoor. In just a day or two, he had grown to love her deeply. Surprisingly, Jihan didn’t wail when separated from Mahoor this time; perhaps he sensed her sadness, his tiny heart understanding that she was upset, and seeing her cry made him quiet and reflective.

Mahoor sat on the edge of the bed, her posture tense. Seyran, with Riza's assistance, gently draped the transparent white veil over her head, allowing it to fall gracefully over her face. The veil was intricately bordered with shimmering golden zari work, creating a delicate frame for her features. Though her face was hidden behind the sheer fabric, her beauty was undeniable, contrasting starkly with the sadness in her eyes that the veil couldn't conceal.

She stood up, her fingers gripping the fabric of her dress tightly as she carefully took each step out of her room. Riza and Bano led the way in front, while Seyran followed closely behind, gently holding the trailing length of her joda to ensure Mahoor wouldn’t stumble. Every step was heavy, the weight of the situation pressing down on her, but she moved forward, her emotions hidden behind the delicate veil.

Altan's gaze swept across the room, taking in the faces of the gathered mafia families. The air was thick with anticipation; the coronation was set to follow immediately after the nikkah, where he would be crowned Sultan, and Mahoor, his Mallika. Arya, Zaviyar, and Jannat stood nearby, all dressed in their finest.

Jannat's gray eyes lingered on Altan, her heart tightening painfully with each passing second. Seeing him about to be hitched to another woman felt like a dagger to her chest. She had loved him since they were children, a love that had only grown stronger over the years. But she had come to terms with the fact that she stood no chance, even if she had confessed her feelings. How could she profess her love when she saw the very emotions she longed for reflected in Altan's eyes, but directed at Mahoor?

Letting him go was the hardest decision she’d ever made, yet she knew it was the only option. But as she watched the ceremony unfold, the pain was almost unbearable, a bittersweet reminder of the love she had to bury deep within her heart.

Altan's gaze shifted to Ayan, who looked utterly defeated, his shoulders slumped, and eyes dull with a sadness that was impossible to ignore. Altan's jaw clenched involuntarily at the sight. No matter how many times Ayan insisted that Mahoor was just a friend, there was something about the way he looked at her, a lingering emotion that Altan couldn’t quite shake off.

Even now, seeing him so broken, Altan couldn’t help but feel a surge of possessiveness. He didn’t want to admit it, but deep down, a part of him believed that Ayan's feelings for Mahoor ran deeper than mere friendship. And that thought alone made his blood boil.

The room fell into a hushed silence as the sound of footsteps descending the staircase echoed through the air, signaling the arrival of the dulhan. Altan’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat faster than the last, as anticipation tightened his grip. He watched with bated breath as Jannat, alongside Abidah and Ghamzeh, moved to the staircase to greet the bride.

The weight of the moment pressed down on him, knowing that with each step she took closer, his life was about to be irrevocably changed. The room, filled with powerful figures, was now a mere backdrop to the only person who mattered to him—Mahoor.

As Mahoor came into view, Altan's breath caught in his throat, and his hand instinctively moved to his chest, the wild pounding of his heart that now echoed in his ears. The sight of his dulhan left him momentarily stunned, her ethereal beauty rendering him speechless despite the veil covering her face. It was as if time itself paused just for him to take in her presence. Even through the delicate, transparent fabric, she seemed almost unreal, an angelic vision that threatened to overwhelm his senses.

Realizing he had been staring for too long—though it had only been a matter of seconds—he quickly lowered his gaze to her feet, whispering fervent prayers under his breath. He begged his Lord to protect her from nazar, hoping that nothing could mar the perfection that stood before him. His heart swelled with a mix of reverence, awe, and a deep, possessive feeling that left him breathless.

As people parted to make way for the bride, a dark surge of possessiveness flared within Altan. He could feel the simmering rage boiling beneath his calm exterior, his desire to protect Mahoor intensifying with every step she took. The thought of so many eyes on her, drinking in her ethereal beauty, sent a primal urge through him to eliminate anyone who dared to stare too long, to claim even a glimpse of what was his.

Yet, amidst the storm of his emotions, a small sense of relief washed over him. He was comforted by the thought that his duas would act as a shield, protecting her from any harm that could arise from the envious gazes and malevolent thoughts surrounding them. Even in his silent fury, he knew his dua would keep her safe, and that was enough to calm the tempest raging within him.

Mahoor was gently guided to sit behind the ornate, transparent golden parda, her presence still radiating beauty despite the delicate veil covering her face. Seyran sat beside her, offering silent support, while Jannat took the other side, her gaze conflicted as she watched the unfolding scene. Ayan, his demeanor somber, stood behind Mahoor alongside Ghamzeh, their presence a silent testament to the complex web of emotions woven into this moment.

Across the veil, Altan approached his seat with measured steps, his regal presence commanding attention as he settled onto the gaddi. Zaviyar and Arya flanked him, their posture reflecting the gravity of the occasion. Abidah, observing from the audience, kept a watchful eye on the proceedings, her earlier confrontation with Altan now a stirring memory.

The Qazi, holding the Nikkah Nama, approached Altan and Seyran's brows furrowed as she addressed the situation, “Pehle ladki ko pucha jaata hai na? Yaha ulta kyu ho raha hai?”

Ghamzeh nodded, her face scrunched in disgust, “Tum sahi keh rahi ho magar yeh Mirza khandan ka rule hai, pehle mardo se nikkah ka pucha jata hai kyu ke hum aurton ko yeh jooti se bhi kam samajhte hai.”

Mahoor sat behind the transparent veil, her eyes lifeless as she absorbed the conversation around her. Each word felt like a dagger, deepening the void within her. As she prepared for a monumental change in her life, her heart ached for her father. The thought of him, even with his cruel ways and the suffering he had caused, was a painful reminder of what she had lost. She missed him profoundly, believing that, despite everything, he would have fought against this fate. In her heart, she held on to the hope that her father would have stopped this marriage, a final solace in the cruel irony of her situation.

Mahoor's eyes filled with tears as she heard the Qazi’s voice, barely audible, yet carrying the weight of her impending fate. She could sense the gravity of the moment, her heart pounding with each word spoken.

Altan’s gaze, sharp and intense, shifted between Mahoor and the Qazi, who, under the weight of Altan's menacing stare, swallowed nervously. The atmosphere was thick with impatience as everyone waited for the final fate changing words.

“Altan Haider Mirza wald Adnan Rehman Mirza, Kya aapko aapka nikkah Mahoor Durrani binte Sinan Ali Durrani se haq mehr 25 lakh sikkah raij-ul-waqt ke saath, Qubool hai?”

“Qubool hai.”

“Kya aapko yeh nikkah qubool hai?”

“Qubool hai.”

“Kya aapko yeh nikkah qubool hai?”

Altan turned to Mahoor, their eyes—his sea-green and hers russet brown—meeting for what would be the final time before he belonged to her forever. His face remained impassive, yet his eyes gleamed with purity and a profound intensity as his voice resonated throughout the room, “Pure dil se Mahoor mujhe, Qubool hai.”

Thunderous applause echoed through the haveli as Altan signed the nikkah nama and surrendered himself to Mahoor not just for this duniya, but for the Aakhirah as well.

Mahoor averted her gaze from Altan's eyes, where triumph glimmered with a chilling intensity. The mere presence of his pride and arrogance, even through the veil, deepened her rage and anguish, intensifying her frustration. His once menacing aura had transformed into one of pride and arrogance, fueling her turmoil even further.

The Qazi approached Mahoor with the nikkah nama, settling himself at the edge of the veil. A hush fell over the room as he prepared to pose the most anticipated question of the ceremony.

“Mahoor Sinan Durrani binte Sinan Ali Durrani, Kya aapko aap ka nikkah Altan Haider Mirza wald Adnan Rahman Mirza se sikkah raij-ul-waqt ke saath 25 lakh meher mein, Qubool hain?”

Mahoor looked up, meeting his gaze. He had already signed the nikkah nama, and now it was her turn to face her grim fate.

His sea-green eyes glistened with unmistakable joy. She could see it clearly—his satisfaction, his exultation. And here she sat, teetering on the precipice of her entire existence.

Her dreams, her ambitions, her passion—everything she had worked tirelessly for was on the verge of being taken from her. She was about to lose everything she had sweated for.

‘Ms.Durrani, you have been finalized for Aira's role.’

‘Humari Mahoor, ab ek influencer se actress ban jayegi. Woh din durr nahi jab India ki top actress ban jayegi..’

‘Ab sirf khushi ke din hai, Mahoor. Rone ke din gaye. Ab hum sirf phoolon ki tarah khilenge.’

Her hand gripped her dress tightly, the words of her loved ones and her achievements reverberating in her mind, intensifying the ache in her chest.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she turned to Seyran, who sat beside her, equally shattered. The sight of her sister's despair mirrored her own, amplifying her sorrow.

Mahoor's mind was overwhelmed by the vivid, haunting memories of her nightmares-scenes where Altan forced himself upon her. The terror of those images only intensified her fear, binding her in a vice of dread and reluctance. It felt as though the memories had physically gripped her throat, suffocating her resolve and preventing her from uttering a single word of consent. Each recollection tightened the noose of her anxiety, making the act of signing the papers seem like an insurmountable hurdle.

Mahoor shook her head slowly, but Seyran understood that the situation was beyond their control. Giving in was their only option.

The Qazi's voice broke the silence, repeating the question, “Kya yeh nikkah aapko qubool hai?”

Through the thin veil, Mahoor’s gaze met Altan’s. His face was a mask of indifference, devoid of any emotion. He had already accepted her as his wife; now it was her turn to give her consent—either willingly or under duress.

She stared at him, her eyes reflecting her contempt. Her teeth clenched in fury, with a voice laced with revulsion and determination, she declared,

“Qubool, nahi hai.”

•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•

Me after leaving the chapter on a cliffhanger: “AAAAAAAAA....Kabhi khushi, kabhi gham!”

Kuch zyada hi shocking aur intense tha bhai ye chapter mere liye toh🙂

I cannot really bypass the spark which I felt between Ayan and Mahoor, so to get a story on Ayan (maybe I'll write one in future, in sha allah!) I came uo with this!

Jannat Altan ke peeche, Ayan aur Altan Mahoor ke peeche, Mahoor Seyran aur apne khwabo kee peeche like wow! Everyone got their priorities straight 🤌🏼

Also, this is how I imagine my cutu Jihan laughing ↓

Also, my reaction after you all thought Altan really forced himself on Mahoor↑