The Rooftop – Night
The city of Hyderabad stretched beneath Murtasim Khan like a living, breathing beast—its veins the labyrinthine alleys, its pulse the ceaseless hum of traffic and distant shouts. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and spices, the kind that clung to clothes and memories. Murtasim stood on the rooftop of his estate, one hand braced against the ledge, the other holding a cigarette between his fingers. The ember glowed faintly in the dark, mirroring the distant streetlights below.
Faisal hovered a few steps behind, his usual confidence replaced by wariness. He had seen Murtasim in many moods—cold, calculating, furious—but this? This was different. A quiet storm, the kind that brewed beneath the surface before tearing everything apart.
"Bhai," Faisal began, hesitating. His voice was softer than usual, as if afraid to disturb the silence.
Murtasim didn’t turn. He exhaled smoke through his nose, watching it curl and vanish into the night.
Faisal swallowed. "The Mirs… they ambushed our men at the docks. Three dead. The shipment’s gone."
Silence.
Faisal’s fingers twitched. He had expected rage, orders for retaliation, something. But Murtasim just stood there, unmoving, his gaze fixed on some distant point in the city.
Faisal risked another step closer. "Bhai, should we—"
"Leave it." Murtasim’s voice was low, rough.
Faisal blinked. "But—"
"I said leave it."
The finality in his tone was a blade. Faisal shut his mouth.
Murtasim took another drag, the cigarette burning down to the filter. He flicked it over the ledge, watching the tiny ember spiral into the darkness below. His mind wasn’t on the Mirs, or the docks, or the blood that would inevitably be spilled in retaliation.
It was on her.
Meerab.
The girl who had slapped him in the middle of the street. The girl whose laughter had haunted him for weeks. The girl who—by some cruel twist of fate—was Waqas Ahmed’s daughter.
His jaw tightened.
This was a complication he didn’t need. A distraction he couldn’t afford. Meerab was light, innocence, everything his world wasn’t. And Waqas? Waqas was the one man in the city who refused to bend, the one man who could dismantle everything Murtasim had built.
Stay away. That was the only logical choice.
For her sake. For his.
"Bhai?" Faisal’s voice cut through his thoughts again, sharper this time.
Murtasim turned his head slightly, just enough to let Faisal know he was listening.
Faisal hesitated. "You’ve been… quiet. Since we went to the commissioner’s house. Is everything—"
"Everything is under control," Murtasim interrupted, his tone leaving no room for further questions.
Faisal nodded, though his eyes remained uneasy.
Murtasim pushed off the ledge and turned away from the cityscape. "Tell the men to lay low. No retaliation. Not yet."
Faisal opened his mouth, then closed it. "Understood."
Murtasim strode past him, his footsteps heavy against the concrete. The decision was made. Meerab was off-limits.
Now, if only his heart would listen.
