AASHIQUI : chain bhi..dard bhi

Chapter 31

FAISU

I raise my middle finger at the crowd of screaming fans. "It's been real fun guys."

Real fucking stupid. Gritting my teeth, I stalk off the stage.

I grab Shivi the second I spot her. "Did you find her address?"

She shakes her head. "No, but I'm working on it. So is the PI."

In this day and age, no one should be off the grid. What the fuck is taking them so long? Shivangi's smart enough to walk away when I snarl. The people backstage part like the red sea as I head for the greenroom.

Even Faiz and Mohsin pretend to be busy on their phones. Lately everyone has been avoiding me if they can help it and muttering what a prick I am behind my back when they can't, but jannat's face lights up when I enter, and she looks genuinely happy by my presence.

"Hey, you." She's been going out of her way to be there for me while I deal with this shit and I'm grateful

But right now, I need her away from me. Otherwise I'll scare her again "Get out. Now."

Visibly offended, her mouth drops open and those big brown eyes flash with that all too familiar hate fire I haven't seen in a while. I can tell she's torn between wanting to tell me to go fuck myself with a cactus and wanting to pour the soda in her hand over my head. Fortunately for us both, she rolls her shoulders back and marches out, but not before calling me a dick under her breath.

The moment she's gone, I kick the snack table, sending whatever shit was on it scattering, and punch the nearest wall. It's not a bottle, though, so my promise to her is still intact.

Well acquainted with my temper, Kalp simply steps over the mess on the floor. "You have a phone interview with a journalist from K-pop magazine."

I brace my hands on the wall, debating whether or not to punch it again. "Why the fuck does K-pop magazine want to interview me?"

"Because you're Faisal Sheikh" he says with a roll of his eyes. "Besides, it's free press." He shoves his cell into my hand. "Get yourself on the phone."

"I don't speak Korean," I remind him.

Walking backward, he shrugs. "In that case, it will be a short interview."

Bastard. Grinding my molars, I take a seat on the couch and press the speakerphone button. "Hello."

The reporter says something on the other line, but I don't know what because I don't speak the motherfucking language. You'd think they would have gotten us an interpreter. I can sense the reporter is growing frustrated because I still haven't given a response. "I love my Korean fans."

The reporter asks another question, and just like the first, I don't have the faintest idea what. For all I know, she could be asking to give me a rim job. She certainly wouldn't be the first. And I'm positive she won't be the last. At a loss of what to say, I run a hand down my face and lean back.

The migraine throbbing at the base of my skull is growing by the second. "Korea rocks."

Seemingly pleased with my response, she asks a follow-up question...one I don't fucking understand. Dammit. I've got nothing. "I love my Korean fans—"

All of a sudden, the door swings open and a swarm of people rush inside.

Words jam in my throat when I see Faiz holding a limp girl in his arms. I can't see her face because it's buried in Faiz's neck, but her limbs are black and blue and there's dried blood caked on her clothes. A lot of it.