This is a long chapter- 5K words. I hope you enjoy it.

______

There was a fiery chaos all around her, flames licking at the edges of her consciousness, searing pain engulfing her being. Miraal's heart pounded as she attempted to escape the inferno, her body recoiling from the scorching heat, desperate to break free. Every step she took seemed futile, a force shoving her backward, and when she turned to confront it, she found herself falling into the consuming flames. Her hands flailed, a desperate plea for escape, while her heart's anguish resonated through the smoky air. There, standing with a heartless visage, was the man she loved, the man who had thrust her into this torment.

Her tear-filled eyes fluttered shut as she accepted her agonizing fate, the weight of betrayal pressing upon her like a ton of burning coals. In the midst of her turmoil, a gentle touch brushed away her tears, a voice calling out her name. "Miraal... Miraal." The voice was his, his voice, and confusion twisted within her, questioning why he cared after casting her into the flames.

Miraal's head shook involuntarily, her world spinning with a cacophony of emotions. But then, she found herself enveloped in an embrace, arms wrapping around her, offering solace. Her eyes snapped open, only to meet his gaze-soft, concerned, and brimming with something she couldn't quite comprehend. The realization hit her like a tidal wave; it had all been a dream. She was safe, in her room, not consumed by fire. The nightmare had released its grip, yet its emotional residue lingered.

With a sigh of relief, she hugged him back, her arms embracing his as her head rested on his chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong, seemed to echo the rhythm of her reassurance. The tremors of her fearful dream began to fade as his presence grounded her.

In another corner of the night, Abraar's eyes remained wide open, sleep eluding him. He reveled in the sensation of her arms encircling him, his mind a flurry of thoughts. These moments could be their last, a truth that gnawed at him with every passing second. He wished for time to pause, to stretch these precious instances into eternity. He yearned for a chance to escape from the confines of his reality, to shield her from the danger that lurked.

As Miraal's breathing steadied against him, he imagined a world where laughter and love thrived, a realm devoid of vengeance and shadows. The weight of guilt bore down upon him, the knowledge that he had shattered her dreams and polluted her love with deceit. She deserved so much more, a better man, a life untouched by his sinister designs.

"You deserved a better man," he whispered into the darkness, his voice heavy with regret, the confession a burden he could no longer bear.

And then, slowly, the embrace of slumber began to envelop him. His dreams wove together fragments of happiness, a mosaic of stolen moments, laughter, and a life free from the chains of darkness. Amidst those reveries, he found himself uttering a heartfelt apology, his voice carrying the weight of his repentance.

Morning's light eventually seeped into the room, casting its gentle glow upon the world. Miraal stirred awake, her gaze meeting his reflection in the mirror as he combed his beard. "Good morning," he greeted, a quiet sincerity in his voice that tugged at her heart.

"Good morning," she replied softly, her steps taking her closer to him. Her back pressed against his, seeking solace in his presence. "Itni subha-subha kahaan ja rahe ho?"

"Das baj rahe hain, Madam," he answered with a chuckle, a fine mist of his favorite cologne surrounding him. Clad in a black coat over a purple shirt, he exuded an air of charismatic elegance that Miraal couldn't help but sigh in appreciation of.

She sighed, her thoughts echoing her silent admiration. "Haan haan, kidhar ja rahe ho?"

He frowned momentarily, his thoughts entangled in his own considerations. His eyes met hers, and he replied, "Gaon ja raha hoon."

"Main bhi chaloon?" she asked, her eyes holding a mixture of curiosity and hope.

Abraar's hesitation was palpable. "Aapki classes nahi hain?"

"Kal se," she whispered, her arms winding around his neck as her head nestled against his shoulder. "Main soch rahi thi, kal mujhe aap hi pick and drop kar lenge. Mere doston se milwaungi aur phir ghumne bhi chale jayenge?"

He nodded, a mask of consideration slipping over his features. Yet behind his facade, a maelstrom of emotions churned. He wished he could promise her the world, but his reality shackled him.

"Mai chaloon kya saath main?"

"Kabhi aur," he replied, his gaze softening as he kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of his affection. His lips on her forehead felt like a promise, a reassurance that they were in this together.

"Is there anything you want?" he inquired as he prepared to leave. Her head shook slightly, her fingers grazing his cheek, her gaze filled with a fondness that resonated with her unspoken feelings. He smiled in return, her innocence washing over him, a light in his darkness.

"Jaldi wapas aana, bas," she implored softly as he stepped away. Her earnestness, the genuine concern in her eyes, was a bittersweet reminder of the love that bound them.

With a nod and a parting glance, he left. The car's engine faded into the distance, leaving behind an ache in her heart. The weight of their impending farewell loomed heavy, he soon arrive at the ancestral village haveli.

Amidst the stillness of the haveli's garden, he stared at the roses that had once flourished with colors as vibrant as her laughter. His fingers brushed against the wilted petals, and a heaviness settled in his chest, mirroring the weight of what had been lost. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, memories cascading through his mind like leaves caught in a gentle breeze.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he remembered the day she had first smiled at him from the terrace, her eyes like stars guiding him out of his dark past. He had seen the world anew in that moment, as if her smile had breathed life into the barren landscape of his heart.

The memory of binding her injured hand resurfaced, the touch of her skin against his, a simple gesture that had ignited a spark within him. Back then, he had been a stranger to love, yet her presence had infused him with a newfound tenderness he never thought possible.

And then there was the memory of her first visit to his room, the awkwardness, the vulnerability, and the genuine curiosity that had lingered between them. It was a turning point, a glimpse of the connection they could share, an ember of warmth in the midst of his cold existence.

Ascending the grand staircase to his room, he traced his fingers over the Mir heirloom, its significance as intricate as its design. Slipping the ring onto his finger, he felt a sense of completion, he then secured the heirloom around his wrist, the emblem of a legacy that had once sown discord now evoking feelings of tenderness and connection. It was the very same heirloom that had sowed seeds of chaos in the past, yet now, paradoxically, it offered him a profound sense of love and belonging.

He couldn't forget her selfless act, the day she had entrusted him with her mother's final memory. "It will protect you," her words echoed in his mind, a testament to her unwavering devotion and care. The weight of her sacrifice wasn't lost on him; it was a poignant reminder of the love that had transformed his life.

With a heart that had shed its bitterness, he realized he was no longer capable of harboring hate. Her love had become an indomitable force, rendering his previous animosity impotent. Her concern, her every uttered word, and the unshakable trust she had bestowed upon him acted as a balm, liberating him from the chains of his resentful past.

Leaving his room, he carried within him the weight of their shared moments-the smiles, the touches, the trust. With every step toward the village, he felt a sense of liberation, a liberation from the chains of his own past. The past that had once shackled him in bitterness was now being rewritten.

And as he walked, he allowed himself to believe that just as the roses could bloom again after withering, his own heart could find renewal, guided by her love and the promise of a future shaped by their intertwined destinies.

____

Miraal sat on the chair in the garden, a haven of tranquility amidst the chaos of life. The rustling leaves above provided a gentle symphony as she delved into her books, her gaze absorbed by the words on the pages. The soft breeze played with her hair, a delicate caress that whispered promises of serenity. Her fingers traced the lines of text, her mind lost in the dance of knowledge and thought.

Bakhtu's presence near the gate was a subtle disturbance in the calm. His animated conversation, a stark contrast to the stillness around, had an air of urgency that was hard to ignore. She glanced up from her books, curiosity piqued, her eyes locking onto his form. Tension lined his features, his brows furrowed as he spoke into the phone. What could be causing him such distress?

The call finally ended, and she approached him, concern etched in her features. "Sab theek haina Bakhtu?" Her voice held a gentle warmth, a reflection of her genuine care. The phone clutched in his hand seemed to weigh heavier than words could convey. His nod was an attempt at reassurance, a veneer masking his inner turmoil.

"Woh ghar ka kuch masla tha..." His words faltered, a lie that hung heavy between them. Her empathetic gaze held his, an unspoken invitation to share his burden. He appreciated her kindness, her understanding, yet he couldn't bring himself to reveal the truth.

"Ghar chaley jao phir, yaha bohot log hai". But duty held him fast, a responsibility he couldn't shirk. "Nahi Bibi jab tak Khan wapas nahi aatey mai yaha se hil nahi sakta." His voice held a mix of loyalty and vulnerability, a testament to the choices he had to make. In his eyes, she saw the silent struggles that he carried, and her admiration for him deepened.

Returning to her books, Miraal immersed herself, hours melting away with the setting sun. As twilight cast long shadows, Bakhtu's unease seemed to grow, a restless energy that was palpable. Her intuition picked up on the shift in his demeanor, a sensation that crawled beneath her skin. When he disappeared, a hollow feeling gnawed at her, a sense of impending turmoil that she couldn't shake.

Wandering through the haveli's corridors, her steps guided by an unspoken urgency, she found him seated on the ground, his head buried in his knees. The sight struck her with a jolt of panic. His pain was evident, his emotions raw and unfiltered. "Bakhtu aap ghar jaye," her voice held determination, her eyes locked onto his hunched form, searching for the source of his distress. He looked up, his eyes carrying a storm of anxiety that met her gaze. His attempt to mask his pain was futile, the facade crumbling before her eyes.

His voice trembled as he spoke, "Nahi jaaskta Bibi, Khan..." His words trailed off, a cliffhanger that left her heart racing. She cut him off, her tone firm, her eyes reflecting her concern. "Mera hukum, Khaani ka hukm hai. Abraar ko mai samjhadungi, tum jao abhi!" Her authority was a lifeline he clung to, gratitude coloring his gaze as he stood up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

As he left, Miraal returned to the lawn, massaging her temples as the weight of unease settled on her shoulders. The night grew darker, the haveli's silence more pronounced. The passage of time gnawed at her, worry clawing its way into her consciousness. Ironing her clothes with hands that trembled slightly, she waited for Abraar's return, the minutes stretching into an eternity.

When midnight's veil had fallen, unease turned into an unrelenting worry. Her steps led her to the entrance, her dupatta wrapped tightly around her head. The gatekeeper stood there, his face a mirror of the news he held within. "Khan kab tak wapas aayenge?" Her words held a fragile hope, her heart pounding as she sought answers from his eyes. The incredulous look he gave her was quickly masked, replaced by carefully chosen words. "Pata nahi Bibi, khabar aayi thi ke Khan ko goli lagi hai."

"Goli?" Her voice shook, disbelief and terror mingling in her tone. The world seemed to blur around her as she struggled to process the words. He continued, explaining the details, but she barely registered them. Her mind was a whirlwind of chaos, her heart a symphony of panic.

The gate's locked bars became an insurmountable barrier, a cage that trapped her desperation. "Darwaza khol de mera jaana zaroori hai," she pleaded, her voice quivering with a desperation that matched the rapid beats of her heart. The gatekeeper's response was firm, respectful, but unyielding. "Bibi sahab ka hukum hai, Bakhtu k bina aapko jaaney nahi dena."

Frustration mingled with panic, a volatile concoction that threatened to overwhelm her. The watchman was innocent in this, a keeper of orders he couldn't disobey. "Mere shohar go goli lagi hai, aur aap mujhe unke paas jaaney se rok rahey hain!" The words tumbled out, a scream of despair directed at the heavens themselves. His apology was a whisper, a plea for forgiveness that barely reached her ears. "Maaf kariyega Bibi humarey bas mai nahi hai."

Miraal was about to argue when she stopped herself and said, " Theek hai..."

She was on the precipice, her emotions a storm that raged within. A decision took root, her resolve firm as she walked away, heading back to the garden.

Her eyes fell upon the wall, the same wall she had climbed before, a path forged by desperation. Could she do it again? Could she overcome her fears to reach him? The watchman's gaze was averted, his attention elsewhere. With a determined knot tied in her dupatta, she moved with urgency, climbing the wall with the grace of a desperate soul. Her heart raced as her feet touched the other side, her actions fueled by a singular purpose-reaching him, no matter the cost.

She was finally outside, the haveli was in a remote area so she looked around for an auto. She walked to the end of the road, and saw the lights were flickering on and off. She was scared but Miraal knew she had to be strong, she had to reach the village.

How was he? Where did he got shot? Was his life in danger?

Was he getting the proper medical attention?

All these thoughts left her restless, with adrenaline pumping she walked into the empty street, she was lost in her thoughts, not realising a van following closely behind her. It suddenly stopped beside her, Miraal had no time to run, it happened too fast. The door flew open and someone pulled her in, Miraal let out a scream pushing away the hand but she couldn't fight against the strength of those hands. She was pulled in and the van door slammed shut, she bit the hand of the man making him hiss.

The man was strong, he was reeking of alcohol, "Ya Khudaya, ye kaha phas gayi mai!" She cried out in her mind as she elbowed the man.

There were three men in the van, two of them sitting at the back observing her, they looked like your average men, this is what scared her. She struggled trying to pull the van door, the man grabbed her wrist and screamed at her to sit obediently. But Miraal spat at him, kicking him with her leg as she pulled open the van door with force, just as the cold air hit her, the van stopped. She leapt out, running as if her life depended on it, not even looking back.

She was breathing loudly, trying to run faster when she heard the sound of the van it was approaching her. She knew they would catch her but she hoped against hope that she could escape. Escape from this scary moment, run back to her home, she wished she had listened to the watchman. She wished she had used her wit, she wouldn't have been in such a trouble if she had.

These men didn't had good intentions, this reminded of her scary movies, they were trying to kidnap her. She was heaving, running, her legs feeling light when someone hit the back of her knees with so much force that she fell on the road face first. The rough surface, scratched her face and her palm, she couldn't back down though. Miraal turned to face the guy, he looked non chalant, expressionless, unlike those scary villains. Unlike the goons in her street who would make a scene, or give long speeches. Something told her they were dangerous, he approached her, she stood up squaring her shoulders, realising this man didn't look like a villain too.

"Andar baitho", he ordered glaring at her, his eyes warning her if she didn't there would be consequences. She didn't instead she pushed him with all her strength making him stumble and started running again.

The next moment her legs gave out and she fell face first on the road for the second time, this time passing out against her luck.

She was in and out of conciousness when she heard the van starting, her eyes opened and she felt the rope tying her legs and wrists together. A cloth stuffed in her mouth, Miraal gagged but the music in the van didn't draw their attention. She was in the last seat, laying on her back. She could hear them talking, "Khan khel gaya, he played really well until he lost again. Ahh he married her to get back at us!"

Khan? Were they talking about Abraar? Nah it could be some other Khan. There were many Khans in Hyderabad.

She somehow removed the clothe stuffed inside her mouth.

Miraal focused on moving around, but realised the seat was small so she brought her knees to her chest and her hands above it making the rope tighten around her wrist. She tried to loosen with her teeth, wincing when the van jolted her knees hitting her chin, making her bite her lips.

"Poor Khan, now the heiress to the throne, Saira is finally returning back to her home. Chacha Sahab would have been proud if he had been alive"

Saira? She had heard this name before, Where had she heard this?

"Mirs will be great again!"

Oh shit! Weren't they the ones who had attacked on the village? She felt a cold shiver run down her spine, as she realised the danger she was in. These men hadn't kidnapped her for no reason, they had done this out of spite. Countless scenarios revolved in her mind as she laid in the backseat of van, held captive, worried about her injured husband and her own future.

Amid the continuous jostling of the van, Miraal's mind was racing. She replayed the events of the day, from the dream that had unsettled her to her impulsive decision to venture out into the night. She cursed herself for not heeding Bakhtu's warning, for not waiting for Abraar's return. As the van continued to speed down the road, the harsh reality of her situation began to sink in.

The inside of the van was dimly lit, and Miraal's heart raced with each passing second. She twisted and turned, attempting to loosen the ropes binding her, but the knots remained stubbornly tight. The road ahead was dark and deserted, adding to her sense of isolation and dread. The van's engine hummed rhythmically, the sound almost hypnotic as it blended with the distant hum of crickets and night creatures.

Despite her fear, Miraal couldn't help but wonder about Abraar. Was he okay? She wished she could be there with him, offering support and reassurance, just as he had done for her so many times before. The thought of his strong arms wrapped around her brought both comfort and a surge of determination to escape.

Hours seemed to pass in a blur as the van continued its journey through the night. Miraal's mind oscillated between fear, regret, and flashes of her past with Abraar. She remembered their laughter, their arguments, and their moments of shared tenderness. She realized how much she had taken their time together for granted, and now, trapped in this situation, she yearned for even a glimpse of his face.

Her body ached from being bound and the constant swaying of the van, but Miraal's spirit refused to waver. She knew she had to find a way out, not just for herself, but for Abraar as well.

The van eventually came to a stop, its abruptness sending Miraal jolting forward. She heard the doors open and footsteps approaching. Panic surged within her as she tensed her muscles, ready to fight back. The back doors of the van swung open, revealing the two men who had been discussing their nefarious plans earlier.

One of them leaned in, his face inches from hers, and sneered, "Looks like our feisty captive is still awake."

Miraal glared at him, her eyes burning with a mix of defiance and desperation. She refused to show them fear. She refused to break.

The other man reached in and roughly grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the van and onto her feet. The night air was chilly against her skin, and she shivered slightly as she was led into a dimly lit building. The place seemed unfamiliar, a strange mix of rundown and clandestine, as if it were designed to remain hidden from prying eyes.

As they walked through the dim corridors, Miraal scanned her surroundings, her mind working overtime to assess any potential escape routes or opportunities. She knew that she had to bide her time, wait for the right moment to make her move. Her heart pounded in her chest as she played scenarios in her mind, rehearsing each step of her plan.

Finally, they arrived in a small, dimly lit room with bare walls and a single flickering lightbulb overhead. The room felt suffocating, its atmosphere heavy with the weight of the unknown. The two men pushed her into a chair and secured her wrists to the arms with more ropes, leaving her effectively immobilized.

"Welcome to your new home, Princess," one of them taunted.

Miraal's gaze remained unyielding as she locked eyes with them, her voice trembling with determination as she declared, "I will not let any of you get away with this!" Her words held a raw intensity that echoed through the room.

The men exchanged knowing looks, treating her defiance as if it were a mere diversion. Miraal felt as though her entire world had crumbled, leaving her ensnared in an agonizing nightmare. Bound and cornered, a surge of frustration mingled with her seething anger. These people, strangers claiming her as someone she was not, grated against her every nerve. Their insistence felt like a cruel twist of fate, their names and accusations foreign and unwelcome.

"Can you honestly believe this?" she retorted, her voice dripping with disbelief as their assertions continued to pierce her reality. "You expect me to be Mir Mehmoud's daughter, Saira?" The very thought of it was a shroud of identity she vehemently rejected.

"No, I am Miraal Abraar Khan, daughter of Haroon Qureshi," she stated, her words charged with a fierce determination. Their audacity to twist her existence into a fabrication ignited a fire within her, compelling her to resist their web of deceit.

"Who do you all even think you are?" Her voice dripped with a mixture of disdain and fury, her gaze shifting between the captors who held her in their clutches. She sighed in exasperation, her patience unraveling thread by thread as they relentlessly imposed a reality so alien to her.

Their responses, infuriatingly certain, were like daggers to her heart. "The same anger, the same madness-only you could be his daughter," they taunted, a cruel jibe that struck her heart with an icy thorn.

Her simmering frustration bubbled over, her voice laced with biting sarcasm. "You must be the most foolish bunch. Did you even bother to weigh the odds of your vile claims? Were you guys on a mission to find the vilest woman in Hyderabad?" Her words dripped with venom, her disgust for their assertions palpable. "If your claims hold any truth, then my dear Rukhsana Chachi should be here instead of me."

"We didn't resort to probabilities. We received a message, directly from your beloved husband," their words oozed with mockery, a dare for her to defy their narrative.

"Enough of this nonsense," she retorted, her patience stretched to its limit. Their arguments were baseless, their reasoning absurd. But they remained steadfast, leaving her teetering on the edge of desperation.

"But it's not nonsense. Whether you believe us or not is irrelevant. Gauhar, fetch the envelope," one of them commanded, a young boy entering the room with an envelope in hand. Two men stood stoic, their expressions a blend of explanation and resignation, while the third leaned against a nearby window, his cigarette casting swirling tendrils of smoke into the air.

As the envelope was unsealed, she clenched her eyes shut, a silent act of resistance against their manipulations. "I refuse to read this unless you free me from these restraints," she proclaimed, a glimmer of defiance flickering within her.

The man by the window chuckled, his amusement permeating the room. "We aren't naïve, Saira," he drawled, as though savoring her futile attempts to evade their trap.

"Then I shall remain equally obstinate," she shot back, her resolve unyielding. They couldn't shatter her spirit, even as they attempted to bend her to their will.

One of them acquiesced, releasing her from the confines of her bindings. A fleeting rush of freedom surged through her as she pushed against him, striving to break free from their clutches. Yet her attempt was swiftly thwarted, her wrist seized by the man by the window. The cold steel of a gun pressed against her temple, a chilling reminder of her vulnerability. "Enough with your insolence. Do as you are told," his words were a threat, his grip a vise constricting around her fragile hope.

Defiantly, she glared back at him, her courage unyielding even as the ominous click of the gun reverberated in the room. Fear gripped her heart, her pulse racing wildly, while his laughter-both terrifying and infuriating-filled the air. Rising to her feet, she reluctantly accepted the letter he extended, her conflicting emotions a maelstrom within her. Her trembling fingers unfolded the paper, revealing Abraar's familiar handwriting. His words, his love, felt like an anchor amidst the storm of confusion.

The letter bore his assertion, "Your beloved Saira remains within my grasp." Confusion furrowed her brow, her mind struggling to decipher the meaning behind his cryptic words. The man showed her a photograph, an image that provided undeniable proof of his claims. Abraar's hand, the heirloom adorning his wrist, the engagement ring-all evidence of his connection to her. However, the man by the window also sported a similar heirloom, as did the others. It didn't signify anything, she reassured herself, these men were manipulating her.

"What does this signify?" Her question hung in the air, her voice a blend of curiosity and bewilderment. The eldest among them sighed heavily, his features burdened with the weight of the truth he was about to unveil. A tape player hummed to life, Abraar's voice cascading through the room, his words a seismic shock to her core. The revelation sent tremors down her spine.

They left her isolated in the dimly lit room, her mind reeling from the weight of the revelations and the staggering truth they carried. Time stretched on endlessly as she replayed the tape, scrutinized the letters, and grappled with the reality that had been cunningly hidden from her.

Abraar's voice-so familiar and comforting-now played a message that cut through her soul. "Today, Saira bound this around my wrist, a symbol of her trust. She remains oblivious. Consider this a warning: should any of you dare to attack the village again, the consequences will fall upon your dear Saira." The tape came to an abrupt halt.

The intimacy they had shared, the trust she had placed in him, now felt like a cruel charade. His declaration of control over her left a bitter taste in her mouth, a realization that she had been a pawn in his game all along.

"I was your Saira," she whispered to the emptiness, her voice a mixture of pain and anger. The memories they had shared, the promises they had made, now seemed tainted by his manipulation. Her fingers traced the ring, a symbol of a connection she once cherished, now it bound her to a lie.

The photo they had shown her, the proof of their claims, only added to the confusion that reigned within her. But the others, too, had similar trinkets, a puzzle that refused to fit together in her mind.

"What does it all mean?" she wondered aloud, her voice a fragile thread in the oppressive silence. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to mock her, each one refusing to align with the reality she had known.

Her gaze shifted to the mirror, her reflection a stark reminder of the woman she had become-a woman torn between the fragments of her past and the revelations of her present.

With a heavy heart, she picked up the final letter-the DNA match. The evidence seemed irrefutable, a confirmation of her true identity. Yet, even as the words stared back at her, she grappled with the truth they revealed. The woman she had thought she was, the life she had believed she had built, had been constructed upon a foundation of deceit.

A surge of emotion welled up within her, the tears she had been holding back finally breaking free. The floodgates opened, and the sobs racked her body, each one a testament to the pain that gripped her soul.

"Am I nothing more than a pawn?" Her cry was a whisper that reverberated with the agony of betrayal. The room's shadows seemed to close in around her, a suffocating embrace that mirrored the claustrophobia of her existence.

In the midst of this turmoil, she revisited his words, replayed the tape, her world shifting beneath her feet as if the very ground were crumbling away.

The barrage of revelations proved too much for her to bear, a relentless assault on her senses that left her gasping for air.

Resigned to her fate, she settled onto a solitary chair, her posture mimicking that of a dethroned monarch. Powerlessness engulfed her, rendering her adrift in a sea of defeat. Her gaze wandered to the window, where goats frolicked freely across verdant fields, as the early rays of sun filtered in. A desperate yearning surged within her, a longing to escape, to flee-to be as unshackled as those carefree goats.

"Promise me you would always love me"

"Even if I was using you?"

His words were now like arrows piercing her heart. She contained the sob, feeling the ache in her heart, feeling the extent of heartache.

She heard many more whispers, the men would come and tell her finally giving her the answer to all the mystery. She felt hatred brewing in her heart, at their words, Miraal wanted to confront him. To scream at him, to scream at these vile beings who were using her again. Days passed and slowly weeks, Miraal was in a chaos.

He had toyed with her feelings, used her for his revenge. She felt bile rise up in her gut as she ran to the washroom, feeling disgusted by her herself. By her naivety, she was lied to her entire life.

Her father had concealed her true heritage. Her husband had exploited her, casting her as a pawn in his sinister game. And now, these strangers were manipulating her as a pawn in their own intricate chessboard. They wanted to introduce her to their people, to the family and the organization.

Her gaze caught the sight of a lipstick on the table- the same shade she applied on her nikkah. In the mirror, a shattered woman stared back at her, tears mingling with the remnants of her red lipstick. Anger, self-blame, and frustration churned within her, a tempest threatening to consume her whole.

A hysterical laughter bubbled from deep within her, echoing through the desolate room. The laughter, discordant and hollow, masked the maelstrom of emotions that swirled beneath her veneer of composure. She seized the lipstick, her hand moving with frenzied urgency-a rebellion against the chaos that had laid siege to her very soul.

With streaks of red adorning her face, she found herself repulsed by her own reflection. Yet, amid this surge of self-loathing, a transformation ignited-a flicker of determination that kindled within her.

Suppressing the urge to collapse into despair, she reached a resolute decision. A green shalwar kameez and a dupatta lay draped on the bed-a choice laden with meaning and defiance. She seized the garments, enveloping herself in the dupatta with a newfound purpose.

Addressing her reflection with unwavering resolve, she whispered her name, " Saira." The word resonated with strength, a reminder that she refused to be vanquished.

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips, a spark of hope glimmering in the depths of darkness. Stepping out of the room, an unyielding determination coursed through her veins. She was poised to confront whatever lay ahead, ready to wage war against the forces that sought to manipulate her existence. The throne before her might have been vacant, but she was determined to claim it-to wreak havoc upon those who had gravely underestimated her indomitable spirit.

_____

Give me your feedbacks