His Prisoner 21+

50

"Main kabhi soch bhi nahi sakti thi ke ap ki soch itni ghatiya ho sakti hai," Emaan said, her trembling voice laced with anger. (I never imagined your thoughts could be so vile.)

Arzal's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Her words struck a nerve, his volatile temper igniting like dry wood to a flame. He stepped closer, his towering figure casting a menacing shadow over her.

"Ghatiya?" he repeated, his voice low and venomous. (Vile?)

Emaan instinctively stepped back, her breath hitching, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist, his grip ironclad. With a sharp tug, he pulled her closer, his face mere inches from hers.

"Teri itni himmat?" He hissed, his other hand suddenly entangling itself in her hair. His fingers tightened around the soft strands, forcing her to look at him. (How dare you?)

"Arzal! Chorein mujhe!" Emaan cried, her hands clutching his arm as she tried to free herself. Tears spilled from her eyes, but her pleas only seemed to fuel his rage. (Arzal! Let go of me!)

"Tujhe ghatiya lagta hun na me? Bhool mat tujhe laya kahan se hun. Pehle kya thi, aur ab kya hai." he growled, his voice a dangerous whisper, bitter and cold. He resented her ungratefulness, believing that he had provided her with a life of luxury most could only dream of. (You find me vile, don't you? Don't forget where I have brought you from. What were you before, and what you are now.)

"Khush thi me pehle. Ab toh mera dum ghoot'ta hai." Emaan shot back with tears, her voice seething with frustration. (I was happy before... Now I can barely breathe.)

Arzal let out a humorless laugh, his gaze as cold as stone. Without releasing her hair, he dragged her out of the dining hall. Emaan's protests grew louder, her footsteps stumbling to keep pace with his fury.

"Arzal, kahan le kar ja rahe hain? Chorein mujhe!" she begged, her voice cracking with desperation. (Arzal, where are you taking me? Let go of me!)

But he was deaf to her cries, his grip unrelenting. When they reached the front door, he flung it open with such force that the hinges creaked in protest.

"Struggling to breathe with me, huh?" he sneered, his voice thick with menace. "Let's see if you can breathe out here, in the cold."

"N-nahi!" Emaan cried, panic seizing her. "Arzal, please! Aisa mat karein." (N-no! Please, Arzal! Don't do this! Please, don't leave me out here.)

But her pleas fell on deaf ears. With a ruthless shove, he pushed her out onto the cold steps. Before she could regain her balance and rush back in, he slammed the door shut with a finality that echoed through her bones.

Emaan pounded on the door with all the strength she could muster, her fists growing numb from the effort. "Arzal! Darwaza kholein! Arzal, please!" (Arzal! Open the door! Please!)

Her voice cracked as she called his name over and over, her desperation palpable, but no response came from within. Slowly, her hands fell to her sides, trembling as realization dawned—he wasn't going to open the door.

Huddling against the door for warmth, Emaan curled into herself, her body shaking violently from the biting chill. The thin fabric of her clothes offered no protection from the icy night air, and she shivered violently, tears freezing on her cheeks.

From the balcony above, Arzal stood watching her. His gaze was cold and unyielding, his face a mask of indifference. The sight of her curled up against the door should have evoked some semblance of pity, but his heart remained a fortress of ice. He lit a cigarette, the ember casting a faint glow on his his hardened features as he exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving her trembling form.