AmarBail

Chapter one

The sky looked glorious with the sunrise, casting a warm glow over the landscape. The sun's rays lit up the wood, creating a breathtaking, scenic view.

Hassan walked down the hills, breathing heavily from his early morning hike, a routine he cherished. "Hassan!" Zavyar shouted from behind, trying to catch up. He had reluctantly agreed to accompany Hassan on this morning trek. Hassan was on vacation after a grueling routine, and he was determined to make the most of it. "Come on, Zavyar. The reward is worth it—you'll get a paratha made by Yaseen Bibi," Hassan teased as they approached the car they had parked earlier.

Zavyar finally reached the parking area, panting heavily. He spotted Hassan sitting at a nearby dhaba, enjoying his morning tea and chatting with the young boy serving there, likely sharing tales of his training. Zavyar shook his head, exasperated but amused. Hassan noticed him and called out, "Chotu, get some tea for your Zavyar Bhai."

Zavyar rolled his eyes. "Tea, my foot. When are you going back? I'll finally get some peace," Zavyar grumbled as he plopped down on the bench beside Hassan.

Hassan laughed, handing him a water bottle. "So eager to be rid of me! It's me who's keeping you fit and healthy. Your daily hour in the gym can't compare to the energy you get from an early morning hike in nature," Hassan said.

Zavyar took a long drink from the bottle before spilling some over his head to cool off. "Captain Sahab, you enjoy your natural beauty. I'm perfectly happy with my gym," he retorted.

Hassan chuckled. As a Captain in the Pakistan Army, Hassan's dedication to fitness was a given. Inspired by his uncle's martyrdom in the Kargil War, Hassan had always dreamed of serving in the army. Now, he was part of the ISI's special wing, fulfilling his dream.

The just-risen sun bathed the city streets in a soft glow, stirring the early morning activity.

Mustafa Shah, one of the wealthiest men in Islamabad, lived in a grand mansion on F6. His elder son managed the family business and dabbled in politics, while his younger son, Hassan, had stubbornly pursued a career in the Pakistan Army despite his father's initial objections. Now, Mustafa felt nothing but pride for his son, who had earned the Sword of Honour and served in one of the army's elite Armoured units.

While Mustafa and his elder son focused on their political campaign for the upcoming election, Hassan remained distant from the public eye, preferring to keep his influence limited to his military role. Mustafa Shah had three children—two sons and a younger daughter still in university. Zavyar, however, was the result of a secret marriage Mustafa had entered into during his early election days. Fearing the impact on his career, Mustafa had kept the marriage and Zavyar's existence hidden, planning to reveal it only after securing his political future.

Back at the mansion, Hassan was enjoying a breakfast prepared by Yaseen Bibi when he suddenly frowned. "Yasmin, why is there so much oil in my paratha?" he asked, concerned about his fitness.

His mother, Alia Sahiba, dismissed his worry with a wave of her hand. "Hassan, look at yourself—you're getting too slim," she remarked, her tone a mix of concern and affection.
Alia placed the saag on Hassan's plate. He remained silent, recognizing it as his mother's way of expressing her love and concern. To her, Hassan was everything.

"Hassan, leave this madness now. You've achieved what you wanted," Alia Sahiba said, as she often did, trying to convince her son to leave the Army. But she knew her words would fall on deaf ears.

"Mama, please, no more," Hassan said when another paratha appeared on his plate. Zavyar, meanwhile, was scrolling through his mobile, reading an article that had just been published. He sighed in frustration.