Ishq-e-Junoon

33. Fareb

-Jo tu karta hain chhup kar ahl-e-jahaan se,
Koi dekhta hain tujhe aasmaan se

☾

As the evening sun began to dip below the horizon, Shahmeer Khan sat in the backseat of his sleek black Cadillac Escalade, gazing out at the passing streets. The rallies and intense meetings over the past two days had drained him, but his mind wasn't on politics.

All he could think about was his wife, Izzah. He longed to see her face, to be greeted by her gentle smile, and to hear her voice that was like honey in his ears. She was his oasis amid the relentless desert of his ambitions.

The convoy glided smoothly down the crowded streets, but his thoughts were elsewhere, weaving between political strategies and visions of victory. He was facing strong opposition; some regions were proving challenging to sway. But he was Shahmeer Khan, the king on this chessboard, and he would win this game—especially with his queen by his side.

Suddenly, his gaze fell on a small boy standing at the roadside, selling gajray. The child's face was smeared with dirt, his clothes worn and tattered, yet his eyes held an innocence and resilience. Out of nowhere, Shahmeer felt an urge to buy those gajray for Izzah, to bring a touch of beauty and fragrance into their home.

He signaled his driver to stop, and the entire convoy halted in sync, drawing attention from the onlookers. He rolled down the window and beckoned the boy over, feeling the eyes of curious bystanders and the clicks of camera phones capturing the scene.

"Jee Sahab?" the boy said as he approached, holding a handful of gajray.

[Yes, Sahab?]

"Kya naam hain tumhara, bacchay?" Shahmeer asked, his voice softened.

[What is your name, child?]

"Amir," the boy replied.

Shahmeer's heart tightened as he considered the paradox. The boy's name, Amir, meant prosperous and wealthy, yet here he was, struggling to make ends meet by selling flowers on the street—a harsh reminder of the irony of life.

"Amir, 2 gajray dein do," he said.

[Amir give me two gajray.]

Amir quickly handed him the gajray. "20 rupaye, Sahab," he said, clutching the flowers carefully.

[Twenty rupees, Sahab.]

Without a word, Shahmeer pulled out a thick wad of cash and pressed it into the boy's hands. Amir's eyes went impossibly wide as he looked down at the money, disbelief etched across his young face.

"Sahab... itne paise?" Amir stammered, his voice trembling. "Maine toh bas do gajray diye hain."

[Sahab...so much money? I've only given you two gajray.]

Shahmeer leaned closer, his gaze steady, a rare warmth in his eyes. "Yeh paise apni Ammi ke haath mein dena, samjhe?" he said gently.

[Give this money to your mother, understood?]

Amir looked up, overwhelmed, his small hands clutching the money. "Par, Sahab...," he began, words failing him.

[But, Sahab...]

Shahmeer placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "Rakh lo," he said softly.

[Keep it.]

"Shukriya, Sahab," Amir managed, his voice choked with emotion. "Main aapke liye dua karunga", he said innocently.

[Thank you, Sahab. I will pray for you.]

Shahmeer's expression softened further. "Kisi din, tum apni mehnat se aur bhi zyada kamaoge. Aur apni Ammi ki hamesha izzat aur khidmat karna."

[One day, you will earn far more through your own hard work. And always respect and take care of your mother.]

For a fleeting moment, the stern politician was gone, replaced by a man who understood the weight of responsibility, the harshness of fate, and the power of a single kind gesture. As Amir nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, Shahmeer leaned back, a faint smile playing on his lips.

As the convoy resumed its journey, Shahmeer held the gajray in his hand, the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the hope that they would bring his beloved wife as much joy as buying them had brought to him.

☾

The heavy doors of the mansion closed behind Shahmeer as he walked in, his heart light with the anticipation of seeing Izzah after days of being apart. But as he stepped into the living room, he was met not with warmth, but with tension so thick it filled the air.

Anwar stood there, his face pale, clutching a crumpled piece of paper in his trembling hands. He avoided Shahmeer's eyes, his posture a blend of dread and hesitation. Shahmeer's instincts sharpened, his mind racing.

"Sab theek hain, Anwar?" he asked, a faint worry creeping into his voice, his thoughts immediately jumping to the two women in his life, Izzah and Meher.

[Is everything okay, Anwar?]

Anwar's voice faltered. "J-jee, Sahab, woh..."

[Sahab, actually...]

"Saaf saaf baat karo, Anwar," Shahmeer commanded, his patience waning as a dark feeling began to churn in his chest.

[Speak clearly, Anwar.]

Summoning his courage, Anwar finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper, "W-woh... Meher Bibi ne nikkah kar liya hain."

[A-actually, Meher bibi has gotten married.]

The world stilled. Shahmeer's expression shifted in an instant, transforming from curiosity to an unbridled storm of rage and betrayal. Every muscle in his body tensed, his heart pounding in disbelief.

"Kya bakwaas kar rahe ho tum?" Shahmeer's voice was a low growl, his gaze piercing through Anwar.

[What rubbish are you speaking?]

Anwar, visibly shaken, extended the crumpled paper toward him. Shahmeer snatched it from his hand, his eyes scanning the document, it was a nikkah nama. There it was, in ink he could hardly bear to read: Arshad Syed, the groom's name.

The words blurred as a tidal wave of betrayal hit him. His own sister, his best friend—they had both deceived him. A burning sensation twisted in his chest, the familiar warmth of his home now turned cold and foreign.

Without another word, Shahmeer crumpled the paper, letting it fall from his clenched fist. He strode out of the mansion, his footsteps echoing with each thunderous beat of his anger. His world had fractured, and every step he took outside was a vow—this betrayal would not be forgiven.