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*

Sehar Rooman

"Bhago, warna marainge." Saman gasped out.

*"Run, otherwise we'll die."

"Marna to hai hi, chahe bhook se ho, chahe boriyat se." I panted as I ran ahead of her.

*"Either way we die, either from hunger, or from boredom."

"You won't die. I will." She doubled over. "Madam sahiba is going to kill me." 

"Stop stressing, and let me handle it." I said. 

"Sehar, this friendship is going to cost us." She looked scared now.

"You don't consider me your friend because you don't trust me." I narrowed my eyes at her as we finally stopped outside my mansion.

The pedestrian entrance gate suddenly opened, making Saman clutch my arm in terror.

"Miss Sehar!" Burak's voice boomed out. At six feet two, he was the head of security for my family, and can be very intimidating for those who didn't know him. 

Not to me though. He was like an uncle figure to me. 

His disapproving gaze landed on Saman. "Why are you not working?" He glanced at her hand on my arm, which she instantly removed.

"I took her with me." I defended my best friend.

"Come, Miss Sehar. Gohar sahib is here." Burak told me, stepping aside to let me in. "And, Saman, Fakhira Begum is looking for you." 

Fakhira Begum was the main chef of our family, a favourite of my mother's.

Saman nodded and dashed inside the house.

"Miss Sehar." 

"I know, I know." Rolling my eyes, I headed inside.

Ikram Gohar was a famous director/producer in the Pakistani TV industry, who has been hell-bent on dragging me into that world. And, he was also hell-bent on making me his bahu, by marrying me off to his narcissistic son, Sami Ikram

I, on the other hand, have no intention of being a nepo kid. I'm the daughter of Rooman Ashraf, a veteran TV actor, and Sharmilla 'Kamilla' Ashraf, a renowned model and TV actress. I have no interest in being a part of that world. 

I walked into the living room, and if looks could kill, my own mother's angry glare would have killed me. Strands of my hair stuck to my forehead with sweat, while the rest of it was a mess. I wore a knee-length emerald green kurta and black tights...with trainers. "Assalam Alaikum!" 

Not surprisingly, nobody replied to my greeting, but everyone focused on my get-up. By everyone, I mean my parents and Mr & Mrs. Ikram Gohar. 

"She was doing some charity work." My mother explained. "She wanted to dress simply for it, to appear more relatable to the masses." 

"Oh, I understand." Mrs. Ikram nodded. "One most lower their standards at times, to please the masses."

Both of them cackled.

"Come here, Sehar." Mama held out her hand towards me.

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I walked over to sit beside her.

"My dear child, we have two brilliant good news for you!" Mr. Ikram clapped loudly and enthusiastically. "Firstly,  I'm offering you directly, without audition, the lead role in my next drama, 'Ek Chahat Aisi'. Secondly, we are thrilled that you agreed to the engagement to Sami, and we will be soon organising the ceremony! You two will create such a power couple!" 

"How exciting!" Mrs. Ikram giggled.

"Who said that I...?" I began to argue.

"We're all so excited!" Mama loudly interrupted me. "Sehar, come with me for a minute." She stood up, giving me a forced smile.

I stood up and followed her outside.

She grabbed my wrist and led me down the hall, out of earshot of our guests. Leading me into the dining room, she closed the door behind us, and whirled around to face me. "If you want Saman to keep her job, you'll do exactly as I say." 

I looked at her in disbelief. "What? You're threatening Saman? You know how much she needs this job! She's an orphan, she has nowhere else to go!" 

"Then you know exactly what you have to do, my precious love." She patted my cheek.

My eyes filled with angry tears as I glared at her. "I can't believe that you're doing this to me."

"Doing what? Honey, you'll be blessed to be the wife of Sami Ikram! The daughter-in-law of Ikram Gohar!" She gasped out in delight. "You can be famous beyond your imagination, my darling!" 

"You want the fame, not me! You want to use me to get that fame!" 

"Go inside, and tell them what they want to hear." Mama whispered. "Or you'll never see Saman again."

♡♡♡♡

ONE MONTH LATER

That is how I ended up getting engaged to Sami Ikram.

"The other way, you incompetent fool!" Sami snapped at the photographer. "Get my best side." 

The poor photographer looked embarrassed. 

Standing there in my lehenga, I shifted uncomfortably. Sami's mother had claimed that she'd had the dress custom-made by the best designer in Pakistan. All I knew was that I needed allergy medication to relieve me of the itchiness that it was causing me.

Sami smirked proudly at the camera, one hand in the pocket of his black trousers. He wore a full suit, complete with a black tie, designed by a famous Italian designer.

Currently, he was the 'it guy', the actor that all drama writers/producers wanted in their show. He was, I suppose, considered a heartthrob. All he did to me was make my heart throb in irritation.

"Rooman." Suddenly, I heard my mother whisper, sounding anxious.

"What's wrong, Kamilla?" My father looked at her, concerned.

"Those people tried to protest outside the building again!" Mama clutched his arm.

"Don't worry. I have a bigger security team now. They can't reach us." Papa reassured her.

"Shall we commence the ring ceremony?" Mrs. Shaheena Ikram looked at my mother.

"Yes, absolutely!" Mama nodded in delight.

Shaheena Aunty opened a ring box and showed the ring to everyone gathered around. "Nobody in the country has a diamond ring like this." She said, proudly. "And it will go to my son's wife-to-be, Sehar Rooman."

Suddenly, a loud bang made me jump, and caused people around me to scream.

"Was that a gunshot?" A horrified guest asked.

"Saman, go have a look!" Mama told my best friend, who stood at the edge of the stage.

"What do you mean, she should go and have a look?" I asked my mother, shocked. "Why should she risk her life?" 

"Go, Saman!" Mama snapped at her.

Saman nodded, her face pale, and turned to go.

I got up.

"Sehar, stay where you are!" Mama warned.

Sami had jumped behind the stage to hide, and even his parents had rushed towards the side fire exit, along with the other guests. 

I rushed down the steps, the train of my lehenga dragging behind me. I couldn't let my friend go alone. I found her by the main door, peeking out. "Saman!"

She jumped, turning to face me. 

"What's going on?" I peeked out of the slightly open door this time.

A man was pinning one of my family's guards down onto the ground. "Why the hell are you shooting at them?!" 

"We are u-under strict orders to shoot them on sight!" The guard on the ground gasped out. "Rooman sahab said so."

"They are a family with kids!" The other man growled out. "Let them protest! They are not hurting you."

"Bhai, you are a guard for the family too. You should follow their orders." Another guard told this new guy. He turned towards under guard. "They are not moving. Shoot them."

I looked towards the road and saw a middle aged couple, with a ten or eleven year old son, staring towards us. The woman had a shawl draped around her head, and the man was wearing worn shalwar-kameez. The boy was crying with fear.

"They are defaming the family, and they must be stopped. Those are our orders." 

"I order you to stop." I stepped outside. 

Everyone turned to look at me. One of the guards who was about to shoot, turned with his gun still raised up, as if ready to aim. 

"The hell are you doing...?" The new guy reached out and snatched the gun from the guard. 

I looked at the new guy, and he looked at me.

He was tall, well-built, with hair that ended at the nape of his neck. A couple of locks were almost reaching his eyes, and he moved them away with his free hand. He had a light beard, and I noticed a scar at the left side of his neck.

"Ma'am, we are under strict orders..." One of the guards muttered.

"Are you defying me?" I asked, my tone strict. "I'm Sehar Rooman, your boss' daughter, and you dare challenge me?" I was not that person in normal circumstances, but if I could be if I had to be.

"What's going on?" Burak approached us from the side of the building, a cigarette in one hand, frowning at the guards.

"They have been ordered to shoot the family on sight. I'm calling off those orders immediately." My tone meant business.

Burak gestured with his head for the guards to leave. Everyone did, apart from the new guy, and Burak turned on him. "Why are you fighting against orders?  Before Miss. Rooman came along, you had certain orders from the boss."

"I've been hired to protect, not kill innocents." The guy replied. 

"Burak." My tone softened. "They have a small kid with them. Even if it didn't, we are not in the mafia that we just kill anyone we want." 

Burak turned to me and nodded. "I understand your sentiments, Miss. Rooman. However, your parents' orders overpower yours. It is my discretion that I chose to listen to you, however we are not obliged to do so. We have to ultimately listen to your parents." He glared at the new guy. "Follow me, Naqvi." 

*

Azlan Owais Naqvi

I began to follow Burak, but stopped as I passed by Miss Sehar Rooman.

With big brown eyes and the dupatta covering her dark hair, she looked like an innocent bride. She didn't seem like the other wealthy people, or their bratty kids, that I'd faced before.

"Miss. Rooman, you should go inside." Burak told her. His tone with her was soft and firm at the same time, like a father with his daughter.

Sehar Rooman headed inside, and Burak followed her, nodding at me to follow.

We entered the grand hall, but something very obvious was missing from this engagement ceremony: the groom-to-be.

I saw Rooman Ashraf, the veteran actor, walk towards Burak, looking grim. "I'm afraid the engagement has to be rescheduled. Was it them again?"

"Yes it was, sir." Burak nodded. 

"I hope that they are taken care of." Rooman spoke from between gritted teeth.

My own jaw clenched. Who the f**k do these rich people think they were?

"Taken care of?" Sehar, who had overheard this, whirled around. "I know that you don't mean that you made sure that they are fed." 

"Sehar, shut up and stay out of this." Her father warningly pointed a finger at her. "Those people are hell bent on destroying everything that your mother and I have worked for." He glanced at someone over her shoulder. "You! Girl! Take Sehar away." 

A girl rushed forward, grabbed Sehar's arm, and led her away.

"Sir, this is Azlan Owais Naqvi." Burak tried to de-escalate the situation. "He is a new guard on our team. He has been well trained, and is an excellent addition to our team."

Rooman Ashraf looked at me and nodded. "Put him on Sehar's team. I needed the toughest and the best to guard her... but only as long as you think he's capable, Burak."

"Yes, sir." Burak nodded, before glancing at me. "As I said, he has excellent self-defence and fighting skills." 

*

FLASHBACK

"Mr Rooman!" I jumped over the crowd, waving my arm. "One photo, sir! Just one photo!" 

I was sixteen, and like other people my age, I was eager to have a photo taken with a celebrity.

Rooman Ashraf and his wife Kamilla Ashraf had been spotted in a local shopping centre, and I had immediately rushed over, eager to get an autograph.

Suddenly, I was roughly shoved accidentally by someone in the crowd, and I ended up falling straight in front of the couple. 

Kamilla shrieked. "Oh dear God! Get him away from me, Rooman! He's attacking us!" 

"No..." I shook my head.

A guard of theirs roughly grabbed me. "Get the hell out of here!" 

"Wait." Rooman Ashraf held up a hand. "One who attacks a woman should be punished..." 

"I didn't attack..." I was horrified.

Rooman Ashraf took a Swiss Army knife out of his pocket. "I do not tolerate attacks on women, especially my wife." He grazed the knife against the left side of my neck.

I shouted out at the sudden pain.

"Call the police. Have him spend a couple of nights in jail. Then he'll realise where s**t like him belong." Rooman spoke only loudly enough for his guard to hear.

"No, don't do that! I didn't do anything!" I was yelling as the guards started beating me up.

Rooman Ashraf was a gunda, and I realised that very well that night.

*Gunda: ruffian.

*

PRESENT

"Miss. Sehar tends to break the rules a little. She hates this life, and she likes sneaking off." Burak was telling me. "But we need to have guards around her all the time, for her own safety."

"She's nothing like them, is she?" I asked.

Burak looked at me, questioningly.

"I mean, she's not into acting or showbiz, is she?" 

"No." He shook his head. "She likes her privacy, and being away from the spotlight." He chuckled fondly. "Actually, she truly isn't like them. She has a heart of gold, a pure soul."

"And they don't?" I asked, even though I knew the answer very well.

"I didn't say that... but they have let showbiz become their whole life, and sometimes the fame blinds them." He sighed. "Anyway, your concern is the safety and wellbeing of Sehar Rooman. You think you'll be able to handle it?" 

"I'll do my best." I promised.

I was overwhelmed by my need for vengeance, but I would never hurt an innocent.

It was yet to be determined whether Sehar was an innocent, or if she was just as rotten as her parents.

*

Sehar

"...it is unbelievable, guys! I was almost shot!" Laraib Khan, a model and social media star, was gasping as she spoke into her phone. "The bullet was this close to me! I don't know how I survived."

I rolled my eyes. She had been inside all along, sitting by the air-conditioner as she chatted to other social media stars.

"Take Sehar away." Mama ordered the guards. "And keep her away from the media. The girl is not speaking to them until she had been advised by our PR team."

Mama didn't trust me near media. She thinks I tended to speak my mind too much. She was probably worried that I'd tell them the truth about what had happened.

"Saman, remain at her side at all time." Mama warned my best friend.

"Kamilla, why don't we get the girls to swap dresses?" Someone from my mother's security team suggested. "Saman can go dressed in the lehenga, and we can sneak Sehar out easily while she's dressed as Saman."

"Oh my God! Are you serious? Why is her life worth less?" I snapped.

"Good idea." Mama completely ignored me. "Do as you're asked, Sehar." She looked pointedly at me.

I was exhausted. I wanted to argue, but I knew that my mother was not going to leave any option for me and Saman. 

"It's okay, Sehar." Saman whispered softly to me.

"I'm sorry, Saman." 

*

I was fuming as I sat in the back seat of the car, dressed as Saman, with the dupatta covering my head. In the darkness, we had gotten away with this outfit switch. 

"Let's get you home, Miss. Rooman." The new guard said, getting into the front passenger seat of the car.

"Bring Saman in this car as well." I said.

"Miss. Rooman..." He turned to glance at me over his shoulder. 

"My parents are gone." I leaned forward. "They won't know. Please bring Saman in here." 

I had no idea how he managed it, but a few moments later, he returned and Saman got into the seat beside me. 

I sighed in relief as I saw my best friend. "Saman, I wish I wasn't this helpless. But I can't let you risk your job because of me, and if I disobey Mama..."

She reached for my hand. "Don't worry, Sehar. Let her fire me. But don't allow her to force you into this marriage. I know that you don't want it."

"Honestly, Sam... if I act like you losing your job doesn't bother me, she might threaten your life next. They're capable of anything." I felt tears in my eyes. 

"Then let them. But Sami Ikram doesn't deserve you." 

I laughed humourlessly. "He's a heartthrob. Women swoon when he's around." I rolled my eyes.

"He's so arrogant that even he swoons around himself." She whispered.

We both burst out laughing.

I sat back in my seat, sighing. "Eww. Imagine me being Mrs. Sami Ikram. Ewwwwwwww." I groaned. "Do you know what he said? That when we get married, I cannot even work at the old age home anymore. That coconut actually said that I shouldn't work between diseased people otherwise it would risk his health."

"Astaghfirullah!" She gasped.

"Repulsive man. Yet, my parents think they'll become more famous if I married Sami Ikram." I laughed again. "The way he hid behind the stage."

The two of us burst into fits of giggles again. 

As we arrived at the mansion, we got out of the car. I had to help Saman out because of the heavy lehenga, and we both couldn't stop laughing.

"I'll have it dry cleaned and I'll send it back to you..." She began to say.

"How ridiculous!" 

I winced and I turned to see Neelam approach us. She was what Mama called my 'lady-in-waiting', like I was royalty or something.

"You think Sehar will wear that again after you wore it?" Neelam sneered at Saman. "You might as well keep it, and the Ashrafs will consider it their good deed of the day." She grabbed my arm, gently. "Let's get you changed into something more your taste, Ms. Sehar." 

"I'm not a child, Neelam. I'll change when I want to." I jerked my arm away. 

"Very well. I'll have your room set for the night." Neelam walked back into the house.

"Burn the lehenga." I told Saman. "It's a reminder that I almost got engaged to him."

She hugged me. "Don't sacrifice your freedom for me, Sehar." 

"You're like a sister to me, Saman. I cannot see you in trouble or in any pain." 

She stepped back. "Good night, Sehar."

"Good night." I watched her walk away towards the servants' quarter.

"Is she even allowed to hug you?" A sarcastic voice made me turn.

I looked at the new guard, who was leaning against the car, his arms crossed across his chest. "Officially, no. But if official rules suck, then it's best to break them." 

"You not afraid of the consequences of breaking such rules?" 

"I'm only afraid of consequences that cause others harm." I whispered. 

"That's why the marriage to that stuck-up twat?" He guessed.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Sorry, couldn't shut my ears off in the car." A small smile appeared on his face. 

"Why work here?" I asked, curiously. "The glam and the fame brought you here?" 

His jaw clenched and he straightened up. "That's the last thing that I care about." 

"Hey, we have something in common then." I sighed. "Anyway, what's your name? I can't keep calling you 'new guard'." 

"Azlan." 

"It's nice to meet you, Azlan. After what you did, I'm glad that we have another guard with even a shred of decency." I turned to head into the house, suddenly feeling tired.

"Miss. Rooman?" 

I glanced at him over my shoulder. "Please call me Sehar."

"Sehar." 

I blinked, surprised by the affect it had on me when he said my name.

"You treat people well, regardless of their economic status." 

I was now even more surprised by this statement. "When Allah Himself will judge us by our deeds, who are we to decide someone's worth based on their bank balance?" 

His smile was wider this time, and I felt my heart skip a beat. I was not blind. I could see how handsome he was.

"Good night, Azlan." 

"Good night, Sehar."

I had a smile on my own face as I made my way inside. 

I had been told repeatedly that I was beautiful, that I had a great figure, and that I could be a model/actress. But it was nice to hear someone say that I acted like a decent human being. 

That's what mattered in life, being a good person.

My goal wasn't fame or wealth. My goal was to have some sort of a positive impact on those around me, especially those who weren't as fortunate as I was. 

And I had every intention to fulfil that goal of mine.

In Sha Allah.

*

I felt uninspired with the last version, but I have hopes for this one.

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