Hinglish~
Gazi Abbas~
He claims her with a possessive hunger, relishing the forbidden pleasure of her submission,
Ghazi Abbas, a ruthless mafioso, lives by two rules: never fall in love and never let sentiment cloud his judgment,
ZAHRIYA KHAN~
Zahr...
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The night air was thick with the scent of henna and jasmine. Mehandi nights had always been my favorite—until it was mine. The laterns dangled from the trees and the fairy lights crisscrossed the space casting a warm glow,
I wore a lehenga and choli, with the lehenga in a rich emerald green with golden zari work. The choli was a striking shade of pink, beautifully embroidered. My hair was styled in a cascading braid adorned with flowers. I kept the jewelry minimal, highlighting my favorite pair of anklets.
In the center was a stage where everyone danced freely. I had always been the joyful one who would dance her feet off, but tonight, the henna artist isn't leaving my hand and I was exhausted.
My eyes lined with kohl sparkled with anticipation to dance. The food stalls had variety of food like gol gappay and so much more.
"Can I at least have something to eat?" I asked my mother.
She shot me a stern look and replied, "Bethi rho chup chaap" (Just sit quietly and be patient)
My stomach grumbled in protest.
I sighed and closed my eyes. Ghazi's face appeared in my mind whenever I did. The music enveloped me, and I couldn't help but wonder—what if Ghazi were the groom instead of someone I didn't even like?
I shook my head, "It's physically impossible" I whispered to myself feeling the weight of reality settle back in.
I hated how weak I felt, unable to reject this proposal. My parents, smiling and happy after forcing me into something I never wanted—how could they be so cruel to their own daughter?
After my henna dried, my cousins dragged me to the dance floor. For a moment, I felt a flicker of genuine joy. I laughed, the sound foreign and strange to my own ears, I danced carelessly, trying to forget the reality.
The whole night was enthusiastic until I heard the piercing sound of gun. I looked around and saw men walking in black towards everyone with guns in their hands,
A masked man approached me, placing his gun to my head. My heart raced, pounding in my ears. I knew it was Ghazi—I recognized his touch. His arm wrapped around my neck, and the other held the gun to my head as he slowly escorted me from the crowd to his car.
"Kaha jaogi yaha se ab?" He whispered,
"Pehle yaha se toh niklain" I ran with his hand in mine,
I couldn't help but notice how perfectly our hands fit together.
"Wah, kia planning hai tumhari, sirf shadi se bhaagne ki hi planning ki tumne?" He asked shaking his head in disbelief,
"Haan, pehle yeh shaadi se toh bachoon, baad ki baad mein dekhenge," I huffed and we kept running to his car,
