He wandered through a desolate forest, shrouded in thick fog that clung to the air like ghostly figures. The distant sound of footsteps echoed ominously, each step resonating with an unsettling rhythm.

As he ventured further into the forest, he stumbled upon a shadowy figure, whose face obscured by darkness. He couldn't see who it was but he very well knew it was a girl, dressed in a beautiful shalwar, her hijab wrapped neatly.

The figure spoke in a disembodied whisper, sending a shiver down his spine.

"You can't escape the echoes of your fears."

The man, feeling the weight of dread, quickened his pace. The whispers grew louder, forming an unsettling chorus.

"You are hiding secrets from your mafia world... Isn't that wrong?"

"Who... are...you?", he stammered.

"You are not the one who you show to the world"

The air thickened as he ran, and ghostly hands reached out from the shadows. Panic etched across his face, he pleaded for release.

"Let me go! What do you want?"

The voices swirled in sinister laughter as the dream intensified. The ground quivered beneath him, and the shadows closed in.

Suddenly, with a gasp, he woke up in his dimly lit room. The moonlight spilled through the window, offering a stark contrast to the nightmare's darkness. Breathing heavily, he muttered to himself, seeking solace in reality.

"Just a dream, just a dream. It's not real."

"Nobody knows my secrets, it's just a dream"

"Nobody knows my fears", he muttered to himself.

The remnants of fear clung to him, and he reached for the comforting glow of his bedside lamp. The room gradually embraced him in its familiarity, and he sighed in relief.

He found tears rolling down his cheeks. He was crying.

"Why? Why would this happen to me?", he cried to himself.
"I wish I had a normal life."

He had no one to comfort him.
He had no one to hug him and say that everything was going to be okay.

Yet, as he lay there, the haunting whispers lingered in his mind, a haunting reminder of the dream that had now retreated into the recesses of his subconscious.

.
.
.

In a dimly lit room, with expensive furnishings, Dawood, the ruthless mafia leader, sits behind a mahogany desk, a cigar smoldering in an ashtray. He dials a number on his phone and waits.

"It's Dawood here. Where is the money you were supposed to give me yesterday?"

"Sir, I... I ran into a bit of trouble. I don't have enough money to give you now", the old man stumbled on the other side of the phone.

"Not enough money? We don't deal with excuses. We deal with results. You got a deadline, and I expect that cash now", Dawood demanded over the phone, exhaling cigar smoke out of his mouth.

"I understand, Sir. Just give me a little more time. I promise I'll return it next week."

"You're testing my patience. You know the consequences if things don't square up. Don't make me send Ali over there."

The person on the other side of the call panicked, "No, sir, No.. please! I'll get you the money. Just give me time until the end of the week. I'll return it"

Dawood exhaled and replied, "I'll give you time till the end of the week. You better not disappoint me."

"Thank you Sir.. Thank you so much", The man cried.

"If you don't return it, get ready to face the consequences. Trust me, you won't like it" Dawood blackmailed and ended the call.

He leaned back, exhaling a cloud of cigar smoke. The room falls silent as he contemplates what he needs to do if the old man doesn't return the money.

.
.
.
.

The walls highlighting expensive art works of the luxurious penthouse echoed with the low hum of hushed conversations as Dawood Haider Khan, the handsome yet ruthless mafia leader, sat at the head of a grand table adorned with crystal glasses and polished silverware. His dark, tailored suit accentuated his broad shoulders and chiseled features, and a perfectly styled long black hair that reached his shoulders, framed well with his face.

Dawood's intense blue eyes scanned the room as he leaned back in his leather chair, a half-smoked cigar between his fingers. "Gentlemen, it's been a while. Let's discuss the matters at hand," he said, his voice smooth and commanding.

Ali, his best friend, spoke up, "Dawood, Fayyad isn't responding to any of our calls. It's been two days since the deadline you last gave him. We can't let him get away like this"

"Yes, he is disrespecting us by not answering our calls", Rehan said inhaling a cigar.

Dawood took a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling a cloud of smoke before responding, "We can't tolerate disrespect  and most of all, I WANT MY MONEY."

"What are we going to do, Dawood?", Ali questioned.

Dawood's lips curled into a confident smirk, "Well, I have a plan."

"Mr.Fayyad will never forget this, Mark my words.... His life is going to be a hell from tomorrow." Dawood smirked building an evil plan in his mind.

Ali's eyes flickered with a hint of concern, but he maintained his composure, "What are you going to do?"

"Just wait and watch, Ali" Dawood smirked.

Dawood rose from his chair, "Rehan, Khalid and Samir, meet me in my private room."

With that he left the room, keeping Ali worried about his evil plans because no one knows Dawood better than Ali.

I just hope he doesn't kill Fayyad, wished Ali.

............................................................................

Thank you so much for Reading ✨
I hope you liked it.

Let me know what you think about this chapter? 📖

What do you think Dawood will do now?

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-Nuska Nisthar 🌼