Feef was staring out the rain-streaked window of the bedroom when Mustafa entered. The thunder hadn’t let up since evening, and the storm outside felt like an echo of whatever had just exploded behind the closed doors of his study. She didn’t turn when he walked in.
He closed the door quietly behind him and leaned against it for a moment, watching her silhouette in the dim light. There was a tremble in his hands that hadn’t fully left.
“We’re leaving,” he said at last.
She turned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“To Karachi.” He walked toward the armchair and sank into it with deliberate calm. “Tomorrow morning. Jet’s being prepped.”
She stared at him. “Why?”
“My father wants to meet you.”
Feef scoffed. “Does he know that our marriage is invalid because I am still in iddat?”
“He knows what he wants to know.”
“And what about what I want?”
Mustafa studied her face, pale and tired in the firelight. “Feef, this place isn’t safe anymore. You know that.”
“Because your brother kicked down a door?”
“Because my father called two minutes later and summoned us like we’re pawns in some private war.”
Her throat tightened. “And you said yes.”
“I said yes because he still doesn’t see you as real. Just a liability wearing my ring.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We need to make you real.”
“To him?”
“To everyone.”
Feef crossed her arms. “And what happens if I refuse?”
Mustafa didn’t flinch. “Then my father makes decisions without me. You disappear. Maybe quietly. Maybe not.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, gaze hard. “So this is it? The illusion of choice?”
He stood now, walking slowly toward her. “I’ve bought you time, Feef. With this marriage. With the child. But time doesn’t buy safety forever. You want power? Visibility? Control?” He paused. “Then we step into the light together.”
Feef turned away, staring out at the black fields soaked in storm. “And if your father decides a dead daughter-in-law earns more votes?”
Mustafa’s voice was low, edged. “Then I make sure I’m the kind of man he can’t cross. Not without losing everything.”
“Why? Why would you do that? What's in for you?” She asked looking up at him.
“We fly out at 7 a.m.,” he said softly ignoring her question. “Pack what you need. We’re done hiding.”
And with that, he left her with the storm and the crackle of dying fire, while outside, the world prepared to change.
☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️
Karachi air was always thick—heat, history, and something bitter underneath.
Feef stepped onto the tarmac with her hand clenched tight in Mustafa’s. Her nerves buzzed. The Isfahani convoy had been waiting—black SUVs, security detail, everything choreographed. She hated how familiar it all felt.
They reached the car, flanked by silent guards, when screeching tires broke the rhythm. Another convoy pulled up—sleeker, quieter, but no less powerful. The back door of the lead car opened, and Usman Diwan stepped out.
YOU ARE READING
Latte Or Mocha
ChickLit"I..I nee..d to leave," she said trembling trying really hard to hide her fear as he inched closer towards her. He cut the phone call and an unknown emotion flashed in his eyes before it was masked away. "I... I did..not... see anything, ple...ase...
