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The black car idled in the deepening dusk, its headlights fixed on the white BMW ahead. Inside, Zafar's eyes were bloodshot, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle jumped beneath his cheek. His hands crushed the steering wheel until his knuckles blanched. The phone pressed to his ear carried Mehran's increasingly worried voice.
His eyes were red with anger.
His phone was pressed against his ear.
"Zafar, where the hell are you?"
Mehran's worried voice came from the other end.
Zafar said nothing.
"Bro, tumhari awaaz se pata chal raha hai ke tum gusse mein ho. Please, Zafar, kuch ghalat mat karna."
Still, silence.
"Tu kahan hai? Mujhe bata. Main aa raha h
Zafar didn't answer. His stare remained locked on the BMW. A dark, humorless smile touched his mouth. Pehle inhein raste se hata doon. And before Mehran could say anything else, Zafar ended the call and reached for the gun on the passenger seat.
The window rolled down.
In the BMW, Asim drove with one hand on the wheel while Haya sat beside him, exhausted.
Her eyes were becoming heavier with every passing second.
She rested her head against the seat and quietly watched the fading evening sky.
"Bas thori der aur," Asim said, glancing at her.
"Hm…"
Haya barely responded.
She was too tired. She was just beginning to drift when a gunshot split the road.
Behind them, the Jaguar carrying the guards followed closely.
Everything seemed quiet.
Normal.
Until—
BANG!
The sound of a gunshot shattered the silence.
Haya's eyes flew open. "Bhai—!"
The guards' car swerved violently. A tire had been hit; the vehicle spun and crashed onto the roadside. Haya clutched her chest, breath coming in short, frightened bursts.
Asim's entire body tensed.
His eyes instantly moved toward the side mirror.
The Jaguar behind them had been hit.
One of its tires had been damaged, causing the vehicle to lose control and roll toward the side of the road.
Asim pulled his gun from the dashboard with one hand while keeping the other firmly on the steering wheel.
His eyes repeatedly moved between the road and the mirror.
Then he saw it.
The black car.
It was still behind them.
Following.
Who the hell are they?
Asim's jaw tightened.
What do they want?
He didn't know.
But one thing was becoming frighteningly clear.
They weren't following them to talk.
They wanted to hurt them.
And now the guards were gone.
They were alone.
Asim pulled his gun from the dashboard with one hand while keeping the other firmly on the steering wheel.
His eyes repeatedly moved between the road and the mirror.
Then he saw it.
The black car.
It was still behind them.
Following.
Who the hell are they?
Asim's jaw tightened.
What do they want?
He didn't know.
But one thing was becoming frighteningly clear.
They weren't following them to talk.
They wanted to hurt them.
And now the guards were gone.
They were alone.
"Haya. Neeche ho jao," he ordered His voice was sharp.
Haya immediately ducked.
"Bhai…" Haya whispered, trembling.
"Don't worry."
Asim's voice softened for a second.
"Main hoon na."
But even he knew the situation was getting dangerous.
He accelerated.
The black car accelerated too.
The black car was already behind them.
He didn't speed up because he was afraid; he sped up because Haya was beside him, and getting her to safety was the only thing that mattered. The black car stayed close, trying to overtake. Asim refused to give it room.
Zafar's anger grew with every second Asim refused to let him pass.
He fired again.
The bullet struck the BMW's bonnet.
Haya screamed. "Bhai!"
But Asim didn't reply its not time and he also fired back.
Zafar quickly swerved, avoiding the shot.
His eyes became darker.
"Damn you…"
He pressed the accelerator.
Asim glanced at her for only a second. "Haya, meri taraf dekho. Main yahin hoon. Kuch nahi hoga, samjhi? Bas neeche raho."
This time, he overtook them.
The black car suddenly swerved directly in front of the BMW and stopped. Haya was thrown forward slightly before catching herself. Zafar cut across the road and stopped directly in front of them. Asim slammed on the brakes. The tires shrieked, and the BMW skidded to a halt just short of the other car.
Asim immediately looked at her.
"Stay here."
He placed one hand firmly on her shoulder.
"Whatever happens, car se bahar mat aana."
Haya's eyes filled with tears.
"Bhai, please…"
"Listen to me."
His voice was unusually serious.
"Don't come out."
He was about to opened the door.
Haya grabbed his wrist.
"Please, bhai… mat jao."
Asim looked into her terrified eyes.
"Nothing will happen to me."
"Please…"
"Haya."
He gently squeezed her hand.
"Trust me."
Her tearful eyes searched his face. She seized his wrist. "Please, Bhai. Bahar mat jao. Mujhe akela mat chhoro."
"Kuch nahin hoga," he said, though his voice had gone hard. "Darwaza lock kar lena."
"Please—"
He gently freed his wrist and stepped out.
Zafar was already standing in the road, gun in hand. The evening wind stirred his clothes as the two men faced each other beneath the fading sky. Their eyes held nothing but fury and hatred.
Asim slowly walked toward him.
Neither man looked away.
Two strangers.
Two guns.
Two storms colliding in the middle of an empty road.
Inside the BMW, Haya sat frozen, her heart thudding so hard it hurt. then slowly she get up and sit again seat . But When she recognized Zafar, the color drained from her face.
Woh yahan kaise aa gaya? Ya Allah… Asim ko kuch mat hone dena.
No…
It was him.
The same man from the mall.
The same terrifying stranger she had desperately tried to forget.
Her face went pale.
He followed us.
Fear rushed through her body.
Why?
What does he want?
And then she saw the gun in his hand.
Her mind screamed.
Bhai ko agar kuch ho gaya toh?.
No…No…
Zafar took a step forward and aimed the gun at Asim's forehead. "Larki mujhe de do," he said, his voice thick with contempt. "Main tumhein jaane doonga."
Asim's expression darkened. "Uska naam apni zubaan par mat lana."
Asim's forehead veins immediately became prominent. For a second, silence filled the road.
Zafar's sneer sharpened. "Warna?"
Asim answered with his fist. The punch landed hard, snapping Zafar's face to one side. Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Asim grabbed his shirt collar. "You bastard! I'll kill you!"
He raised his fist again.
But Zafar reacted quickly and struck back.
Asim's face turned to the side.
For a moment, everything went silent.
Then Asim looked back at him.
Something inside him snapped.
"You…"
He shoved Zafar backward and he fell onto the road.
Asim moved toward him like a man possessed by rage.
One blow.
Then another.
"Tumhari himmat kaise hui meri behen ki—"
He stopped himself from finishing the sentence.began punching him, again and again.
"Bas karo!" Haya cried from the car, but her voice barely carried over the struggle.
Then she couldn't stay inside. she couldn't watch anymore.
She opened the car door and ran toward them. She ran to Asim and grabbed his forearm, trying to pull him away. "Bhai, ruk jao! Please—woh mar jayega!"
He didn't seem to hear her. She tugged with all her strength, sobbing as she begged him to stop. Finally, He pulled away.
"Go back!"
"Please!"
She tried again.
"He'll die!"
But Asim was consumed by anger.
Haya's tears finally spilled.
"Aap ko meri kasam!"
That stopped him.
Asim froze.
Haya's trembling voice broke through his rage.
"Please, bhai… Aap ko meri kasam."
That reached him. Asim stopped and stood, breathing hard. He turned on Haya, his face stripped of its familiar gentleness.
"Tum gaari se bahar kyun aayi?" he demanded. "Maine kaha tha andar rehna!"
Haya lowered her head, unable to answer. Her whole body shook.
His expression was no longer the warm, teasing expression she knew.
It was cold.
Furious.
And deeply shaken.
"I…"
She had no answer.
Asim grabbed her arm.
"Main ne kaha tha bahar mat aana!"
His voice cracked with frustration.
But before Haya could respond—
Behind them Zafar moved.
Asim didn't notice.
Zafar raised the weapon.
His vision was blurred, his breathing uneven, but his finger found the trigger.
But then Haya saw the movement. "Bhai—
BANG!
The bullet struck Asim's shoulder.
"Asim!"
Haya's cry tore through the silence. She squeezed her eyes shut and clapped her hands over her ears, tears streaming down her face.
Asim turned. Pain flashed across his face, but he stayed on his feet.
"Bhai!"
Asim looked at her.!"
"I'm okay…"
But his voice was strained.
Zafar raised the gun again.
Asim reacted instantly. He raised his own gun and fired once.
BANG!
The shot struck Zafar before he could fire again.
Zafar froze.
His eyes widened.
The bullet struck Zafar in the neck. The gun slipped from his hand as he fell hard onto the road.
Thud.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
For a moment, everything stopped.
Zafar lay motionless on the cold road, his dark eyes staring up at the fading sky. The evening light was disappearing slowly, painting the clouds in the last traces of daylight, but for him, everything around him had begun to blur. He tried to breathe, but every breath felt like fire burning through his lungs. The anger that had consumed him only moments ago was gone now, replaced by something far more terrifying—pain, fear, and the desperate realization that he didn't want to die.
He wanted to live.
He wanted another chance.
He wanted to survive.
I still have so much left to do. His lips trembled as he struggled for another breath, and suddenly, through the haze of pain, a memory appeared in his mind. His mother, smiling with tears of happiness as she wrapped her arms around him after he had come first in his class. His father's proud hand resting on his shoulder as he had said, "Mujhe tum par fakhr hai, beta." Then came the laughter of his little siblings filling their home, their voices warm and familiar, the kind of sound he had never imagined he could miss so desperately. A faint, wavering smile touched his lips.
I want to go home… His eyes filled with tears. Ammi ke paas… apne ghar… apni family ke paas. For one fragile moment, his heart felt a little lighter—until another memory surfaced.
Haya.
Her frightened face in the changing room. Her terrified eyes. The way she had looked at him when he had cornered her. The memory struck him harder than the pain in his body.
His smile vanished.
His throat burned as guilt slowly settled over his heart.
What had I done? He remembered her fear and suddenly understood what she must have felt in that moment.
A tear escaped from the corner of his eye.
Maine usse itna dara diya… His breathing became weaker.
She was innocent… and I became the reason she was afraid.
Another tear slipped down his temple, mixing with the blood beneath him. He tried to move, tried desperately to pull another breath into his burning lungs, but his body no longer obeyed him.
His fingers twitched weakly against the road. His vision blurred further until even the sky above him became nothing more than shadows. Ammi… The thought barely formed. I'm sorry.
Just then, inside the silent black car, the phone screen suddenly lit up.
MAMA Calling....
The name glowed brightly against the darkness.
The call rang once… twice… again and again.
But Zafar didn't answer. For the first time in his life, his mother's call went unanswered.
The ringing eventually stopped, leaving behind a silence that somehow felt heavier than before. A few seconds later, the phone lit up again.
MAMA CALLING…
Again, no answer.
And perhaps mothers really do have a strange connection with their children—something beyond words, beyond distance, something the heart understands before the mind ever can. Sometimes, a mother doesn't need to hear her child say, "Ammi, I'm hurt." She simply feels it. Somewhere deep inside, her heart becomes restless for no reason, her breathing changes, and an unexplained fear settles over her soul.
And that night, Zafar's mother felt it.
She sat at home, staring at her phone as she called her son again, her fingers trembling slightly. She didn't know where he was. She didn't know what had happened. She only knew that something was wrong.
Because Zafar always answered her.
No matter how busy he was.
No matter how angry he was.
No matter where he was.
He always answered his Mama.
But tonight, the phone kept ringing into silence.
And somewhere in the deepest corner of her heart, a terrible thought whispered that her son was in pain.
"Zafar… beta, phone kyun nahi utha rahe ho?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
She pressed the phone closer to her chest, trying to calm the strange ache spreading through her heart.
A mother may not always know where her child is…
But sometimes, she knows when her child needs her.
And tonight, Zafar's mother could feel it.
Her son was somewhere out there—and he needed his Mama.
His heart gave one final, fragile beat… and then stopped. The faint light disappeared from his dark eyes.
Because Tonight Zafar Khanzada leave this world.
Zafar Khanzada was the kind of man whose name could silence an entire room. Powerful, feared, and dangerously unpredictable, he was a man who could destroy someone without a second thought when his temper took control of him. People knew his anger. They knew the darkness in his eyes when he lost control, the coldness in his voice, and the ruthlessness that followed when someone crossed the line. In those moments, his mind stopped listening to reason. Anger became louder than everything else, just as it had that night.
But Zafar was never simply a monster.
Behind the feared name was a son who still softened at his mother's voice. A brother who would secretly bring his little sister her favorite things just to see her smile. A younger sibling who filled his home with teasing, laughter, and mischief. A university boy with an effortless charm, an arrogant smile, and a presence that naturally drew people toward him. He could walk into a room and command attention without trying. He carried power like it belonged to him, yet around his family, that same man could become ridiculously childish, playful, and warm.
He was not bad from his heart.
He was a man with a terrible temper, a dangerous world around him, and emotions he never learned how to control. When anger took over, he made choices before his heart had the chance to stop him. And sometimes, the worst mistakes are made not because a person has no heart, but because they lose themselves for a moment and realize the damage only when it is already too late.
Zafar Khanzada—the beloved son, the protective brother, the charming university playboy, the future leader his family had raised with pride—lay motionless beneath the fading sky.
The road was silent.
The man who had once been feared by so many was now completely still.
And perhaps, somewhere beneath all his mistakes, there had always been a good-hearted young man who simply needed another chance to become better.
But life had taken that chance away.
Haya couldn't take it anymore.
The sight of the blood, the gunshots, her brother's wounded shoulder, and the man lying motionless on the road became too much.
Her vision blurred.
Her knees weakened.
And then she collapsed. Fear and shock had finally overwhelmed her, and she fell unconscious beside the wreckage of the night.
Asim stood motionless, his shoulder bleeding through his shirt. He stared at Zafar, waiting for him to move, to curse, to draw another breath. Uth jao. Please, bas uth jao.
But Zafar didn't move.
No…
His breathing became heavy.
He looked at his own blood-covered shoulder.
Then back at Zafar.
I didn't mean to…
Asim's heart felt impossibly heavy. He forced himself to approach and crouched beside him, pressing two fingers to Zafar's wrist.
"Maybe he's alive," he whispered. "Shayad… shayad abhi saans chal rahi ho."
There was no pulse. Zafar's skin was already growing cold.
Asim checked again.
"Come on…"
His voice cracked.
"Please…"
Nothing.
He stared at Zafar's face.
"Wake up…"
Silence.
Asim swallowed painfully.
He felt as though someone had placed an enormous weight on his chest.
His heart was so heavy that even breathing felt difficult.
Asim rose unsteadily and turned toward Haya.
She was lying unconscious on the road.
His heart dropped.
"princess …"
He rushed toward her.
Without wasting another second, he carefully lifted her into his arms. carried her to the BMW, laying her carefully across the back seat. Then he climbed behind the wheel, wincing as pain tore through his shoulder.
Before driving away, he looked back once more.
"Please be okay…"
Then he started the engine.
The car sped toward the nearest hospital.
For a moment, Asim looked into the rear-view mirror.
Zafar's body grew smaller against the empty road. Asim kept watching until it disappeared from sight. Then he faced forward and drove toward the nearest hospital, carrying Haya's unconscious form—and the weight of what had happened—into the night.
His grip tightened around the steering wheel.
Tears blurred his vision.
But he kept driving.
Because his sister was still breathing.
And right now…
saving Haya was the only thing that mattered.
⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕
Far away from the noise of the city, standing in all its grandeur, was Khanzada Palace—a mansion far bigger, more luxurious, and more imposing than the Nawab family's palace.
For generations, the Nawabs and the Khanzadas had been rivals.
It was not merely a family disagreement. It was an old hatred passed down from one generation to another, deeply rooted in pride, power, and the leadership of their tribe. The two families could barely tolerate the sight of each other.
And now, the leadership of the tribe rested firmly in the hands of the Khanzadas.
Inside the enormous royal hall, beneath a magnificent chandelier, stood a woman whose presence alone commanded attention.
She wore a royal dark-blue shalwar kameez, her dupatta arranged perfectly over her head. A beautifully embroidered shawl rested over one shoulder, while a simple golden bangle circled her wrist. Her brown eyes were filled with worry, and her slightly chubby face, though not conventionally beautiful or striking, carried an unmistakable authority.
There was something powerful about her.
Something that made people lower their voices in her presence.
Yet tonight, that power seemed shaken.
She held her phone tightly against her ear.
"Mehran…" she said, her voice controlled, but the fear underneath it was impossible to hide. "Mujhe Zafar ka pata chahiye. Kisi bhi tarah."
On the other end, Mehran tried to reassure her.
"Didn't worry Aunty, aap fikar na karein. Main usay dhoond raha hoon. Zafar mil jayega."
"Tum samajh nahi rahe, Mehran."
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
"Mera dil keh raha hai ke kuch theek nahi hai."
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a shaky breath.
"Please… mere bete ka pata lagao. At any cost."
Her voice cracked slightly on the last words.
She ended the call.
For a few seconds, she simply stood there, staring at the blank screen.
Her son.
Her Zafar.
Why wasn't he answering?
Why had he ignored her calls?
And why was her heart refusing to believe that he was simply busy?
She didn't know the answer.
But a mother's heart rarely needs one.
She was none other than Zartasha Khanzada, wife of the late Fahad Khanzada. Everyone in the tribe respectfully called her Zartasha Bibi.
A year ago, her husband had passed away suddenly after suffering a heart attack, leaving behind a family, a powerful tribe, and a legacy that had to be carried forward.
After his death, the leadership of the tribe naturally fell upon Zafar. Although Zafar was not the eldest son.
That position belonged to Zayyan Fahad Khanzada. But Zayyan had never wanted the responsibility.
He had settled in America, built an enormous business empire, and become one of the country's most successful business tycoons. The man had little interest in tribal politics, family rivalries, or returning to Pakistan.
He had made his choice long ago.
And perhaps destiny had chosen Zafar instead.
But tonight, none of that mattered to Zartasha Bibi.
She wasn't thinking about the tribe.
She wasn't thinking about leadership.
She wasn't thinking about power.
She was thinking only about her son.
Behind her, sitting quietly on a large royal sofa, was an elderly woman.
Her face was covered with deep wrinkles, each one carrying years of stories and hardships. She wore simple yet graceful traditional clothes, and a tasbih rested gently in her hand as she whispered prayers beneath her breath.
But her old eyes weren't focused on the beads.
They were fixed on her daughter-in-law.
The woman looked soft-hearted and kind, almost delicate despite her age.
She had been silently watching Zartasha's restless movements for several minutes.
Finally, she cleared her throat.
"Ahem…"
Zartasha turned.
"Ammi…"
The elderly woman gave her a gentle look.
"Zartasha, bas bhi karo."
Her voice was weak and old, but there was warmth in it.
"Zafar theek hoga. Tum bila wajah itni tension le rahi ho."
Zartasha stared at her for a moment.
She wanted to believe her.
God, she wanted to.
She wanted to smile and say, Haan, Dadi theek keh rahi hain. Mera beta bilkul theek hai.
But her heart refused.
"Dadi…" she whispered.
She slowly walked toward her and sat beside her.
"Mujhe nahi pata kyun…"
Her voice became quieter.
"Lekin mera dil bohat ghabra raha hai."
Dadi gently placed her trembling hand over Zartasha's.
"Maa ka dil hai, beta. Kabhi kabhi darr bhi jata hai."
Zartasha lowered her eyes.
"Lekin Zafar meri call kabhi ignore nahi karta."
The words came out almost like a confession.
"Chahe woh kitna bhi busy ho… chahe mujhse kitna bhi naraz ho… woh meri call zaroor uthata hai."
Her eyes slowly filled with tears.
"Aaj pehli dafa… usne ek baar bhi phone nahi uthaya."
Dadi's expression softened.
She squeezed her hand.
"Allah uski hifazat karega."
"Ameen…"
Zartasha whispered the word, but her heart remained heavy.
She looked toward the enormous doors of the palace as if expecting her son to walk through them at any moment with that familiar careless smile.
Bas ek dafa saamne aa jao, Zafar…
Main tumhein kuch nahi kahungi.
Bas mujhe bata do ke tum theek ho.
A tear finally slipped down her cheek.
She quickly wiped it away.
She was Zartasha Fahad Khanzada—a woman who had stood beside her husband through power, loss, and countless battles.
A woman who could command an entire tribe with a single decision.
But tonight, none of that power could protect her from the one thing she feared most.
The fear of a mother waiting for her son to come home.
And somewhere deep inside her heart, a terrifying thought continued to whisper— Something had happened to Zafar.
⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕
The hospital room was painfully quiet.
The only sound was the slow, steady beeping of the monitor beside Haya's bed.
She lay completely unconscious beneath the white hospital sheets, her face pale and peaceful, completely unaware of the storm that had erupted around her.
Beside her bed sat Asim Nawab.
His shoulder was tightly bandaged where the bullet had struck him. Every now and then, a dull ache travelled through his arm, but he barely noticed it.
His eyes were fixed on his sister.
His Haya.
His little sister.
The person he had promised himself he would always protect.
He had already called his father and told him that they were at the hospital. His family had been on their way when everything happened, and now they were only minutes away.
Asim leaned back against the chair and slowly closed his eyes.
But the moment darkness surrounded him, he saw it again.
The empty road.
The black car.
The gunshots.
And then—
Zafar.
His lifeless body lying on the road.
Those open eyes staring toward the sky.
Asim's breath caught.
He immediately opened his eyes.
"Ya Allah…"
He rubbed his trembling face with his good hand.
I didn't want this.
I didn't want to kill him.
I was only trying to protect Haya.
His eyes moved toward his unconscious sister.
"Main tumhari hifazat karna chahta tha, Haya…" he whispered.
His voice broke.
"Lekin maine kya kar diya?"
The door suddenly opened.
Asim looked up.
His family entered the room.
His mother, Saima Nawab, was the first to rush toward him.
"Asim!"
Her eyes immediately went to the bandage around his shoulder.
"Ya Allah, beta… yeh kya hua? Tum dono theek ho?"
Asim looked away.
His silence frightened her even more.
"Tumhari behen ko kya hua? Woh hosh mein kyun nahi hai?"
Before Asim could answer, his father stepped forward.
Asfandyar Nawab.
His expression was cold, controlled—but the tension in his eyes betrayed the storm inside him.
"Asim."
His voice was low.
"Mujhe batao. Yeh sab kaise hua?"
Asim swallowed hard.
He knew he couldn't hide it.
Not anymore.
He took a deep breath.
And then he told them everything.
The car.
The shooting.
The attack.
Zafar standing in the middle of the road.
The confrontation.
The fight.
The gunshot that struck his shoulder.
And finally…
The shot Asim had fired.
His voice became barely audible.
"Abu… I checked his pulse."
He looked down at his hands.
"He was dead."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Asfandyar stared at his son.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then—
SLAP!
The sound echoed through the hospital room.
Asim's face turned to the side.
His mother gasped.
"Asfandyar!"
But Asfandyar's eyes were burning with disbelief and fury.
"Tumhein pata bhi hai tumne kisay maar diya hai?!"
Asim slowly looked back at him.
His father stepped closer.
"Woh koi aam aadmi nahi tha!"
His voice shook with anger.
"Woh Zafar Khanzada tha!"
Asim froze.
Asfandyar's next words felt like a blade cutting through him.
"Fahad Khanzada ka beta."
His jaw tightened.
"Hamare qabeelay ka leader."
Saima's hand immediately flew to her mouth.
"Ya Allah…"
Asfandyar stared at Asim as if he couldn't believe his own son had brought this upon them.
"Tumne sirf ek aadmi ko nahi maara, Asim."
He pointed toward him.
"Tumne hamare qabeelay ke leader ko maar diya hai."
His voice cracked with rage.
"Do you even understand what you have done?"
Asim's eyes filled with tears.
"Abu…"
"Tumne purani dushmani dobara zinda kar di!"
The words echoed through the room.
"The Nawabs and the Khanzadas have been rivals for generations! Generations, Asim!"
Asim lowered his head.
"I didn't know who he was…"
"Lekin ab tum jaante ho!"
Asfandyar turned away, gripping his head.
"Ya Allah… yeh ladka humein kahan le gaya…"
Saima was silently crying now.
Her eyes moved toward Haya.
Then toward Asim.
Her heart breaking for both of her children.
Asfandyar suddenly turned back.
"Tum Pakistan mein nahi reh sakte."
Asim looked up.
"Abu?"
"You are leaving the country. Tonight."
Asim's face went pale.
"No."
"Plane ticket book karwa raha hoon."
"Abu, no."
Asim stood.
"I won't run."
His voice trembled, but there was determination in it.
"Main surrender karunga."
Asfandyar stared at him.
"Main apna crime accept karunga. Maine kisi ki jaan li hai. Mujhe saza milni chahiye."
His eyes filled with tears.
"Main bhaag kar apne aap se nahi bach sakta."
He looked at his bloodstained hands.
"Har dafa aankhein band karta hoon… mujhe uski aankhein nazar aati hain."
His voice broke.
"Main is guilt ke saath kaise jeeyun, Abu?"
Asfandyar's face hardened again.
"Tum nahi samajh rahe."
"Main samajh raha hoon!"
Asim's voice cracked.
"Main sab samajh raha hoon!"
He looked toward Haya.
"Lekin agar main chala gaya… toh main khud ko kabhi maaf nahi kar paunga."
Asfandyar stepped closer.
"Tumhari ek ghalti se poora khandaan jal sakta hai."
Asim became silent.
His father lowered his voice.
"Beta… kabhi kabhi zinda rehna bhi majboori hoti hai."
Asim's eyes closed.
He hated the decision.
He hated himself.
But he knew his father was not giving him a choice.
He slowly walked toward his mother.
Saima immediately pulled him into her arms.
"My son…"
She cried against his shoulder.
"Please apna khayal rakhna."
Asim hugged her tightly.
"Mama…"
His voice was barely a whisper.
"Main wapas aaunga."
Saima cried harder.
"Bas zinda rehna, beta."
Asim then turned toward his younger brother, Murad.
The boy's face was pale with fear.
"Bhai…"
Asim crouched in front of him.
Murad's eyes were filled with tears.
"Bhai, aap ja rahe ho?"
Asim forced a small smile.
"Bas kuch waqt ke liye."
Murad immediately hugged him.
Asim held him tightly.
"Apni behen ka khayal rakhna."
Murad nodded against his chest.
"I will."
Asim finally turned toward Haya.
He walked to her bedside slowly.
She was still unconscious.
Still completely unaware that her brother was about to leave.
Asim sat beside her and gently touched her hair.
"Haya…"
His voice broke.
"Tumhein pata bhi nahi hai tumhari wajah se tumhara bhai kitna mushkil faisla kar raha hai."
A faint, painful smile appeared on his face.
"Tum bas jaldi se uth jaana."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead with all the tenderness of an elder brother.
"Bhai tumse bohat pyaar karta hai."
His eyes filled with tears.
"Please… mujhe maaf kar dena."
He stood.
For one last moment, he looked at her.
Then he walked toward the door.
His mother watched him leave with tears streaming silently down her face.
Murad remained beside Haya.
He slowly pulled a chair closer to her bed and sat down.
His small hand carefully wrapped around Haya's fingers.
"Api…"
His voice trembled.
"Aap jaldi uth jao na…"
He looked at her pale face.
"Bhai bhi chala gaya…"
His lower lip trembled.
"Ab mujhe darr lag raha hai."
Across the room, Saima quietly covered her face and cried.
And Asfandyar—the man who had always been strong enough to face an entire tribe—
stood near the window with his head buried in his hands.
For the first time, the future terrified him.
Because somewhere beyond those hospital walls, a Khanzada family would soon learn that their beloved son was dead.
And when they did…
the old rivalry between the Nawabs and the Khanzadas would no longer be a story of the past.
It would become a war waiting to begin.
⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Mehran was still desperately searching for Zafar.
His heart was pounding as he sat behind the steering wheel, one hand gripping it tightly while the other held his phone. After hours of searching, he had finally managed to get something.
A location.
Zafar's phone had been tracked through the help of one of his friends.
Mehran stared at the location on his screen.
His heart sank.
"Ya Allah…"
He immediately started driving toward it.
Something wasn't right.
Zafar never disappeared like this.
He never ignored his mother.
He never left his phone behind without a word.
And most importantly…
Mehran could feel it in his bones.
Something terrible had happened.
He didn't dare tell Zartasha Bibi yet.
What could he possibly tell her when he didn't even know the truth himself?
Pehle main khud dekh leta hoon…
Phir Zartasha Aunty ko bataunga.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
But there was one person he couldn't keep in the dark anymore.
Zayyan.
Mehran pulled over for a moment and called him.
The call connected after a few rings.
"Mehran?"
Zayyan's deep, calm voice came from the other side.
"Where are you calling from?"
Mehran swallowed.
"Sir…"
There was something in his voice that immediately caught Zayyan's attention.
"What's wrong?"
Mehran closed his eyes for a second.
"Pakistan aa jao."
Silence.
Zayyan frowned.
"Pakistan?"
"Haan."
"Why?"
Mehran didn't answer immediately.
How could he?
How could he tell Zayyan that he had found his younger brother's phone location in the middle of the night and that his instincts were screaming that something was terribly wrong?
"Bas… aa jao, Sir."
His voice became heavier.
"Zafar ke liye."
The silence on the other end changed.
Zayyan's expression hardened.
"What happened to Zafar?"
Mehran looked at the road ahead.
"I don't know yet."
"Mehran."
"I said I don't know."
His voice cracked.
"Lekin kuch bohat ghalat hua hai."
For the first time, Zayyan's calm expression disappeared.
His younger brother.
The one person in his family who had always managed to pull a smile from him.
The boy who used to annoy him, tease him, and proudly tell everyone that his elder brother was the most successful man in America.
Seven years.
Seven long years since Zayyan had last returned to Pakistan.
He had built his empire across the ocean. He had become a powerful businessman, a man whose name carried weight in boardrooms across the world.
But none of it mattered now.
Not the meetings.
Not the billions.
Not the empire.
His younger brother needed him.
Or at least…
something had happened that made Mehran believe he did.
Zayyan stood silently for a moment before finally speaking.
"Book my flight."
Mehran's eyes closed.
"Bhai…"
"I said book it."
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"Main Pakistan aa raha hoon."
The call ended.
Mehran stared at the screen.
He had not told Zartasha Bibi anything.
He still hadn't told her that Zayyan was coming.
Because somewhere deep inside, he was terrified that the truth waiting for them at the end of that location would be far worse than any of them imagined.
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, Zayyan Khanzada stood alone in his room, looking out through the glass windows.
Seven years.
Seven years since he had left Pakistan.
Seven years since he had walked away from the tribe, the politics, the rivalry, and everything connected to the Khanzada name.
He had promised himself he would never return unless absolutely necessary.
Tonight, that promise meant nothing.
His younger brother had called him back without even knowing it.
For Zafar.
For his mother.
For his family.
Zayyan picked up his passport.
His jaw tightened.
He had no idea what awaited him in Pakistan.
He didn't know that he was not simply returning home.
He was returning to a family on the edge of war.
And before the sun rose, Zayyan Khanzada—the eldest son, the billionaire, the man who had stayed away for seven years—was finally coming home.
But this time…
he wasn't coming back for business.
He was coming back for his little brother.
⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕)⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕
The entire night passed beneath a heavy silence.
Neither the Nawabs nor the Khanzadas could sleep.
At the hospital, the Nawab family remained trapped in a silence filled with fear. Asfandyar walked restlessly through the corridor, his hands clasped behind his back, his face tense with worry. Every few minutes, his eyes drifted toward the hospital room where Haya still lay unconscious.
Saima sat quietly beside her daughter, wiping away her tears whenever they fell. Murad remained close to Haya, his little hand still wrapped around hers, too frightened to leave her side.
But none of them were thinking only about Haya anymore.
Their thoughts kept returning to one terrifying name.
Zafar Khanzada.
What would happen when his family found out about his death?
What would the Khanzadas do?
Would they come for revenge?
No one dared to say the answers aloud.
Meanwhile, miles away at Khanzada Palace, another family was living through a different kind of nightmare.
Zartasha Bibi had not left her phone for even a moment.
She kept calling Zafar.
Again.
And again.
And again.
But every call ended unanswered.
"Zafar… mera beta, phone utha lo," she whispered, staring at his name on the screen.
Her eyes were swollen from crying, yet she refused to sleep.
Dadi sat nearby with her tasbih in her trembling hands, quietly reciting prayers.
"Allah mere bachay ki hifazat farmaye…"
But even her prayers carried a tremor of fear.
Mehran was desperately trying to find Zafar, making calls and sending people in different directions, yet every passing minute brought more silence.
And somewhere in that enormous palace, the empty space that belonged to Zafar seemed louder than anything else.
His laughter wasn't there.
His footsteps weren't there.
His voice wasn't there.
Only his absence remained.
Zartasha finally lowered her phone into her lap.
A mother's heart already knew what her mind was refusing to accept. Something was terribly wrong.
Across the city, the Nawabs were afraid of what morning would bring.
At Khanzada Palace, the Khanzadas were afraid of what the night was hiding.
Neither family knew exactly what was coming.
But both could feel it.
A storm was approaching.
And as the hours slowly passed, the darkness outside seemed to grow heavier.
No one slept.
No one felt safe.
No one knew what tomorrow would bring.
They could only wait…
and fear the moment when the truth would finally come knocking at their doors.
⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕
Author's Note
Assalamualaikum, everyone! 🤍
Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story. It truly means a lot to me. If you're enjoying the journey of Zaryab and Meher, please don't forget to vote, comment, and share your thoughts. Your support motivates me to write more.
🎯 Target: 100 Votes
Let's reach this milestone together! Thank you for being part of this journey.
With love,
Fiza ali khan❤️