--- Clouds of Arrogance / غرور کے بادل Ghuroor Ke Badal ---
Rohan Lashari, heir to a powerful political dynasty, is accustomed to a life of privilege. His father Mir Lashari, a veteran politician, shields him from the repercussions of his rec...
At around 1 o'clock in the night, the usually serene atmosphere of the Lashari mansion was shattered by the sudden arrival of four cars. The mansion, a sprawling estate in Islamabad's elite E-7 sector, was enveloped in darkness, save for the soft glow of security lights that lined the driveway. The guards stationed at the entrance, accustomed to the late-night comings and goings of guests, were immediately on alert. However, the sight that greeted them as the cars pulled in was far from ordinary.
The first car that came into view was unmistakably the sleek sports car belonging to their "Chote Sahab," Rohan Lashari. But something was horribly wrong. The front of the car was completely destroyed, the hood crumpled inward, the windshield cracked with spiderwebs of fractured glass. Smoke was still faintly rising from the engine, and the headlights flickered weakly before finally going out.
The guards exchanged uneasy glances, their concern growing as the other three cars followed suit, pulling up behind Rohan's vehicle. Each one bore signs of frantic driving, dust covering the once-pristine exteriors, the occupants stepping out with tense, anxious expressions.
The head guard, an older man with years of experience under his belt, quickly approached the wrecked car. His heart raced with worry, knowing how much Mir Lashari cherished his only son. The idea of something happening to Rohan was enough to send a shiver down his spine. He reached the driver's side and rapped on the window, which had been rolled down halfway. Inside, Rohan sat slumped over the steering wheel, his face pale, a thin line of blood trickling from a cut on his forehead.
"Chote Sahab!" the guard exclaimed, his voice laced with alarm. "Are you alright? What happened?"
Rohan slowly lifted his head, his eyes glazed with a mix of shock and lingering adrenaline. "I... I'm fine," he mumbled, though the tremor in his voice suggested otherwise. He glanced at the guard, then at the damage to his car, as if just now realizing the extent of what had happened.
By now, Jahan, Kabir, and Baryal had stepped out of their cars, their faces equally stricken. Jahan rushed to Rohan's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We need to get him inside," he said, his voice firm but shaken. "He's had a rough night."
The guards, still in shock from the sight of the mangled car, quickly sprang into action. They opened the door and helped Rohan out of the vehicle, his legs unsteady beneath him. As they supported him, Rohan swayed slightly, his usually confident demeanor replaced by a haunted, distant look.
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Mir Lashari, who had been roused from his sleep by the commotion outside, appeared at the top of the mansion's grand staircase. His expression was a mixture of confusion and concern as he took in the scene unfolding before him. Zahra Lashari, her robe wrapped tightly around her, appeared beside him, her eyes wide with worry.
"What's going on?" Mir Lashari demanded as he hurried down the steps, his authoritative tone softened by the fear gnawing at him.
"Rohan... there was an accident," Jahan explained, his voice low. "But he's okay, Uncle. He just needs to rest."
