VENGEANCE

42

He leaned in slightly, his voice turning darker, more deliberate. “But if you keep running away from me, Amal, I might just forget about that contract altogether.” His words lingered between them, heavy with meaning. He took another step closer, his eyes burning into hers.

Amal’s breath hitched as Khizr’s presence loomed over her, a silent tension rippling through the air. His smirk was unsettling, a challenge hidden beneath his words.

“What do you mean?” Amal asked, her heart racing as her eyes searched his face for an answer.

Khizr leaned in closer, his voice laced with mockery. “Oh, you’ve forgotten already? Even better.”

Her confusion deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Before she could take another step back, Khizr’s hand shot out, pulling her in by the waist as though he could anticipate her retreat.

“Khizr—” Amal struggled to create some distance between them, but he only tightened his grip. The sharp smell of cigarettes clung to him, stifling her senses. She coughed as the acrid scent hit the back of her throat, overwhelming her.

She tried to push him away, her discomfort growing as he stared at her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. But just as she was about to protest again, Khizr’s hold loosened, his eyes suddenly shifting, as if some realization had dawned on him.

Amal hesitated, confused by the sudden distance he put between them, but she didn’t waste the opportunity. Without a word, she darted out of the balcony, escaping into the night.

Khizr stood there, watching her retreating figure, frustration simmering within him. What was he doing? Why did he keep making this marriage harder for himself? He sighed, his jaw clenched, stamping out the cigarette he had tossed aside earlier. It felt like a futile attempt to extinguish the frustration that burned within him.

***

“How’s Hayyan?” Khizr asked as he stepped into the room where Fateh and Fardeen were lounging.

“Scary as ever,” Fardeen smirked, shaking his head dramatically.

“He’s fine. I told him to rest, but you know how stubborn he is,” Fateh replied, more serious now.

Khizr nodded, his mind elsewhere, tangled in thoughts he couldn’t settle. Dropping into a chair, he leaned back, eyes closing, trying to block out the noise—both around him and inside his head.

“What’s the plan?” Fateh’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“What plan?” Khizr’s tone was flat, detached.

“Come on, Khizr. We know you’re tracking Farooq. You can’t expect us to believe you’ve got nothing.”

Khizr didn’t react, rubbing his temples as the pulse of a headache made thinking impossible. His silence stretched on, his thoughts heavy.

“What’s wrong with you?” Fateh pressed, frowning.

“Nothing,” Khizr muttered, though it sounded like a lie even to himself.

It wasn’t nothing. It was everything. He had Farooq where he wanted him—beaten, the evidence secured, the revenge he’d chased for so long finally within his grasp. Yet there was no satisfaction, only a hollow ache gnawing at him from the inside.

The acrid scent of cigarettes hung in the air, and Fateh wrinkled his nose. Khizr had started smoking again, an old habit he’d quit years ago. Dina would lose her mind if she found out, but he didn’t care. The stress kept driving him back to it, a weak attempt to quiet the noise.