The Tangled Love

𝟕.𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐲 & 𝐒𝐢𝐧.

The music blared deafeningly in the background, mingling with the sounds of hooting and the sight of people making out in the club's dark corners. The place was teeming with people whose eyes gleamed with lust, some reveling in the scene, while others felt repulsed, watching as women were visually undressed by men's wandering gazes.

The women, in turn, made sure to leave nothing to the imagination, flaunting their bodies for the men's eager eyes.

A woman in her early thirties walked confidently toward a man in a suit. His ocean-blue eyes met her black orbs, not lingering but rather scanning her from head to toe, taking in every detail of her dress, then down to her exposed legs.

His gaze moved over her black satin backless gown, which had short sleeves. Her long heels clicked elegantly on the marble floor, while her bold red lipstick, smudged across her lips, and golden eyeshadow paired with fake lashes completed her look.

She licked her lips, her blonde hair framing her face, and sauntered towards the man, who held a glass of wine firmly in his grip. His large fingers encircled the glass as he took a sip, letting the bitter-sweet taste of the wine slide down his throat. Closing his eyes to savor the drink, his mind replayed numerous memories, his anger burning anew at the image of his Dadi slapping him for the first time in his life. With nowhere else to escape from it all, the club had become his refuge from stress.

❝Hey, darling, wanna work out?❞ the woman whispered seductively, nibbling on her lips and batting her fake lashes in an attempt to catch the man's attention. But he seemed lost in his inner turmoil, jerking his head as if trying to shake off the haunting memory of a pair of dark grey eyes that had been occupying his thoughts.

❝Just get lost, you Disgusting creature!❞ The man shrieked, his powerful voice reverberating throughout the packed club. Women stared at him with desire as the two top buttons of his black shirt remained unbuttoned, revealing his toned neck. Yet, the man seemed too consumed by his own state of mind to care about being visually undressed by those around him.

The woman, unaware of the danger she was courting, continued her approach, undeterred by his fearsome reputation. His rage had terrified many before, but this absurd woman seemed to relish the risk.

Her eyes burned with fury at the insult she had just endured, yet she tried her luck again, hoping to claim him for the night.

❝You're not so innocent yourself, Musa, baby,❞ she teased, tracing her fingers along his sharp jawline, feeling as if they might get cut by its sharpness. She boldly moved to sit on his lap, her hands roaming over his hard chest, seeking nothing but pleasure.

❝It's Mr. Khan to you, you filthy model!❞ Musa roared, his ocean-blue eyes seething with fire. His chest heaved as he shoved her to the ground, making it clear where she belonged, unaware that in someone else's eyes, he too belonged in the same place.

He stormed out of the club, his expression one of pure disgust as he glared down at her. Leaving the weeping model on the floor, his mind was invaded by the image of those dark grey eyes, driving him to the brink of madness.

❝Ughhhhhhhh!!!! I hate those grey eyes! Just fucking go away!❞ Musa shouted as he sat in one of his expensive cars, furiously pounding the steering wheel in a futile attempt to banish the haunting image. His eyes were bloodshot, sweat pouring down his face as anger distorted his features.

❝I hate you, wife, I fucking hate you!❞ he screamed, spitting out the words like venom, trying to satisfy the darkness that was consuming him. But deep down, a part of him was pained, though he didn't yet understand why.

❝Keep this canvas safe with you, Musa.❞

❝Hold Khafifa close to your heart; it is the light for your darkest nights.❞

The blurred vision of someone familiar flashed before Musa's eyes, causing him to grip the steering wheel tightly. It was just a reflection, but the words spoken by someone close to him echoed powerfully in his ears, pushing his mind to the brink.

Tears began to well up in Musa's ocean-blue eyes, a rare and unwelcome sight. Was Musa Hassan Khan breaking? He continued to pound the steering wheel, desperate to escape the nightmare that wouldn't let him rest.

❝Save me, please!❞

The words echoed repeatedly in his mind, driving him to the edge. Devastated, Musa clamped his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the words that were breaking him. His eyes fixed on a single spot, lost in the torment of his thoughts.

His mind was playing tricks on him, or so he believed. He drowned his sorrows in alcohol, trying to numb his heart, even loathing himself for having one.

A heart that carried emotions, but those emotions made him weak and miserable. He was more than what he showed the world.

Musa's ocean-blue eyes closed involuntarily, his head resting on the headboard, tears streaming down his face as helplessness consumed him. His heart pounded with questions, but the answers eluded him.

His eyes trembled as the Moon and Stars bore witness to the sight before them—the great Musa Hassan Khan was losing, and they were prepared to mock him this time.

Every body holds a tragic past, and Musa's was as twisted as he was. He had buried it deep, unwilling to dig it up anytime soon.

But as fate would have it, none can escape the destiny that rules over each soul, a destiny that can both break and mend.

❝I loathe you, wife, I loathe you!❞

Even in this state, the only words that escaped his lips were these. He truly did loathe his wife—the most innocent soul of all, Fayra Hassan Khan.

_____________________________