LET ME HATE YOU

Confrontation

Asmaira hung her head, deeply embarrassed at being humiliated in front of everyone, including the household staff. Amaan, however, interpreted her reaction as stubborn defiance.

"I said get off that chair!" he yelled, grabbing her forearm, completely unaware of the shift in the atmosphere. That chair was where his late wife, Raina, used to sit, and he felt Asmaira had desecrated it.

Asmaira yelped but immediately obeyed. With no choice but to comply, she rose submissively, bracing for her husband's next outburst. He still held her arm and was about to speak when a loud bang interrupted him. Both were too lost in their own strong emotions—Amaan in his rage and Asmaira in her shock—to notice Salar's rising fury.

"Enough!" Salar roared, slamming his palm on the table, unable to contain his anger any longer.

"This is my home, not your pathetic bar where you can come and go without minding your behaviour in front of your parents." The stale smell of alcohol only intensified his rage.

"I want you in my study in five minutes, and make sure you are sober when I talk to you," he declared, pointing at Amaan before marching out of the dining room.

The mood of everyone else soured, witnessing Amaan drunk and losing his temper in front of the family. Feriha glared at her youngest son and stepped forward to pull Asmaira from his grasp. Amaan's grip tightened, making a small whimper escape Asmaira's lips before Feriha firmly ordered, "Let her go this instant, Amaan."

His jaw clenched, and he released her, but not before shooting a hateful look her way.

"Amaan, Dad is waiting for you. Don't make things worse for yourself," Aslan cautioned.

Feriha led Asmaira away while Aslan retired to his room, followed by his wife. He knew his younger brother was unhappy about the marriage, but he had hoped Amaan would at least stay sober for a day out of respect for his new wife.

How did such a cheerful man turn into this mess? Aslan sighed, looking at Amaan's retreating figure.

Hania, sensing her husband's distress, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, which he acknowledged with a nod. A silent understanding passed between them. Once in their room, Hania wrapped her arms around Aslan from behind and murmured, "Don't worry about him; he'll be fine. Raina was his whole life. Her loss hit him very hard. With time, he will recover."

Aslan turned to face her, his tone heavy with sadness. "He was never like this. My brother was so full of energy, and now look at him. He's like an emotionless zombie, constantly smelling of alcohol. He doesn't even care about his only son, Kabir."

Hania's heart ached seeing her husband so upset.

Asmaira, you are our only hope.

Reflecting on the scene in the dining hall, Hania couldn't help but feel profound pity for Asmaira.

In his study, Salar stood by his desk, hands in his trouser pockets, staring blankly out the window. He didn't move when he heard a knock. He was still struggling with how to handle his obstinate son. He, the mighty Salar Hashmi, who never bowed to anyone—no matter how powerful the opponent—was contemplating negotiating with his own son.

"Come in," he instructed without turning his head.

He recalled his son's entrance into the dining hall—staggering and looking a complete mess. His dishevelled state and ruffled hair were a sight he never imagined seeing on his son.

Amaan entered the study to see his father's back towards him. He recognised the posture and knew what it meant: there was no room for discussion. Assuming his father wanted him to wait, he stood his ground and cleared his throat to announce his presence.