Mohabbat~E~MPT

The Fear Of Loosing

Haseena leans back on the narrow pillion seat, holding the sides of Karishma's jacket with gentle fingers as the motorbike hums along the winding hilly roads of Kasar. Morning sun breaks through drifting mist, dappling the forested slopes in golden fragments. The scent of pine and damp earth fills the air, punctuated by the crisp tang of mountain breeze. Karishma's focus never wavers - eyes locked on the road, hair escaping her helmet in wild curls, knuckles tight on the handlebars as she leans into another curve.

Haseena's world on the other hand narrows to the oval of the mirror. In it: Karishma's face, all shadow and angles, lips set in calm determination. Haseena watches every twitch of her jaw, every flicker of concentration. The engine's rumble pulses beneath them in sync with her heartbeat. Occasionally, sunlight catches Karishma's eyes in the mirror, making them glint bright as river stones. Haseena smiles, silent and unseen, captivated by this singular, unselfconscious intensity.

Behind the shield of the mirror, Haseena's gaze lingers. She commits to memory the subtle play of expression, the way the corner of Karishma's mouth lifts with the satisfaction of a sharp, clean turn. Her own reflection hovers out of sight; all that matters is Karishma, intent upon the road, unaware of the gentle reverence unfolding just inches behind.

The bike veers gently left, gravel crunching, and Haseena presses closer, warmth cocooned by mountain quiet and motion. In this moment, adoration feels both secret and boundless - carried on the mirror's surface, a silent passenger along the hilly roads of Kasar.
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As Karishma feels Haseena press a Little closer on the hilly road, an old ache stirs within her - the bittersweet awareness of proximity and history. For a moment, Karishma's concentration fractures, breath catching as she recalls how Haseena once broke her heart so thoroughly; the memory returns unbidden, sharp as mountain air. Yet, against all logic, the sensation of Haseena's arms around her reignites those fluttering, involuntary feelings - the butterflies she believed she'd buried for good.

Karishma doesn't turn; she keeps her gaze locked forward, eyes skimming over cascading pines and misted bends. Inside, though, she's anything but composed. Every slight touch radiates possibility, every dip and sway of the bike feels like a confession unsaid. She wonders fleetingly if Haseena notices the way her own breathing betrays her, the way her chest tightens with longing and wariness all at once.

As the bike glides up a ridge, Kasar's wild beauty unfolds before them, Karishma is overwhelmed by how presence alone - that warmth, that shared space - can unravel her defenses. Logic tells her to stay guarded, but the familiar press of Haseena melts resolve, making old wounds ache and hopeful wings flutter .

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Haseena and Karishma arrive at the bustling tourist market near the Kasar Devi Temple, blending in with travelers hunting for souvenirs and local crafts. The market is an eclectic mix of stalls selling Tibetan jewelry, prayer flags, bohemian apparel, and colorful handicrafts - all set against a backdrop of Himalayan peaks and pine-scented air. Locals and visitors haggle over prices, while street vendors tempt with the aroma of momo and spiced tea.

They begin their reconnaissance, weaving through crowds and scanning faces for signs of suspicious activity. Karishma's eyes linger on a trio of young men gathered near a back alley, their furtive glances and tense posture raising suspicion. Haseena takes mental notes on the layout: hidden alcoves, narrow passages between stalls, and vendors whose wares don't match the tourist vibe. She listens intently for hushed signals or coded exchanges, careful to remain inconspicuous.

The duo splits briefly, each pretending to browse - Haseena inspecting beaded necklaces, Karishma at a café counter. Under the guise of shopping and casual conversation, they gather snippets of gossip and watch for subtle handovers or unfamiliar packages.