𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘤

Rain kissed the earth, casting a soothing melody that seemed to lull the world into a peaceful slumber. Yet, in a small, dimly lit room, a different kind of storm brewed. Shadows danced across the face of a sleeping child, her tiny form tossing restlessly as nightmares consumed her. Six-year-old Anne whimpered softly, her small fists clenched around the worn sheet, her face twitching with every terrifying image that flashed behind her eyelids.

In her dream, blood soaked the wooden floor like crimson silk, and her mother lay limp and lifeless, eyes empty and unseeing. A man stood behind her, his smirking face etched with evil, every bone seeming to be carved with malice. The little girl stood frozen, her tiny fists balled up, her mouth open in a silent scream.

"Anne... anne..."

She jolted awake, her heart racing

like a runaway train, her breath tearing through her chest like broken glass.

"M-Mom!"

Sweat drenched her brow, and her nightgown clung to her trembling body.

A figure appeared in the doorway, a frail woman wrapped in a shawl, her eyes tired but gentle.

"Again?"

her grandmother whispered, stepping into the room.

The child gave a broken nod, unable to speak, her silence a palpable manifestation of the pain that gripped her small heart. Her grandmother sat beside her, gently rubbing small circles on her back, the soothing touch a balm to her frazzled nerves.

The room was silent, save for the ticking of the old clock, its rhythmic beat a reminder that time marched on, regardless of the turmoil that ravaged the child's mind. The nightmare faded, but the scars remained, etched into her psyche like a permanent reminder of the horrors she had witnessed.

—

𝐃𝐔𝐇𝐑 (𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐁𝐔𝐋, 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐘)

Istanbul buzzed under the late morning sun, its vibrant streets a stark contrast to the quiet, desperate world of the child. The Aydin Corporation's headquarters towered into the sky like a knife of glass, sleek, clean, and ruthless, its polished facade reflecting the city's frenetic energy.

We stepped out of the Maybach, the tinted doors hissing shut behind us like a mechanical serpent guarding its prey. Heads turned as we entered through the polished glass doors, the whispers and sidelong glances a testament to the power and influence that our presence commanded.

I wore a full black YSL suit, custom-stitched to perfection, its razor-sharp lines accentuating my imposing physique. My sunglasses hid eyes that had watched empires fall and rise again, their piercing gaze a window to the calculating mind that lay behind them.

Beside me, Hadi looked like a wolf in sheep's clothing, his dark hair slicked back, his blue shirt crisp, his eyes scanning everything with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. The crowd couldn't decide whether he was just a PA or something much more dangerous, a speculation that only added to the aura of power that surrounded us.

Turkish greetings came like a wave, the deferential titles

"Merhaba, beyefendi,"

"Hoşgeldiniz, Sayed Bey"

——a reminder of the respect and deference that our position commanded. But I ignored them, my attention focused on the meeting that lay ahead.

We passed through chrome gates and marble lobbies, the elevator doors sliding open to reveal a throne room of glass and marble, the kind of room where men with too much power pretended they were gods. Aydin stood by the window, his back turned, his body carved of stone, as if he had been waiting for us all along.

"So,"

he said, his voice like gravel dipped in honey,

"you came, Izhaan."

I stepped in and sat down, my movements fluid and calculated, like a predator staking its claim.

"𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦. 𝘐'𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵."

Aydin turned, his eyes like onyx, his jaw sharp, his smile unreadable. I didn't flinch, didn't blink, power recognizing power in the silent understanding that passed between us.

Hadi remained standing, his eyes watchful, as I gestured for him to stay.

"He stays. My PA. If that's a problem, don't bother telling me-

I won't care."

Aydin raised a brow but said nothing, the meeting beginning in earnest, words exchanged like sharp, calculated blows. Every sentence was a chess move, each player waiting for the other to make the first mistake.

Hours later, I was back at the hotel, loosening my tie, pouring a drink I didn't finish. My phone buzzed, the voice on the other end confirming that everything was in place. The game had begun, and I was ready to play.

Fifteen minutes later, I was walking ...down a cobbled street, the Istanbul wind whipping my coat into a frenzy. The city had an old soul, and it didn't accept outsiders easily. But I wasn't a visitor; I was a storm in a tailored suit.

As I walked, I noticed two figures lurking in the shadows, dressed in full black, their sunglasses and scarves making them look like caricatures of secret agents. I paused, crossed my arms, and raised my voice without turning.

"Toh kab tak chhupengi, Ammi?"

A sharp gasp followed, and one of them tripped forward. I caught her elbow as she stumbled.

"W-w-wo Izhaan?! Tum yahan kaise?!"

"Jee MAIN,"

I replied, stone-faced.

"Aur aap?"

"Hum... hum toh bas chai peene aaye the," she mumbled.

"Of course," I muttered. "Because you can't get Turkish tea in India."

Amaira peeked out from behind her, her oversized hoodie making her look like a kid playing dress-up. She giggled.

"Bhai, yahan Doraemon kahan dekhun?"

I yanked her hood gently, and she squealed, running off.

Ammi stood taller, recovering her pride.

"Fifteen minutes. Room 415. Don't be late."

She walked off like she hadn't just been caught stalking me halfway across a continent.

Their suite was drenched in fragrance—oudh, coffee, nostalgia. I stood by the door, my eyes locked on Ammi.

"Don't tell me you're here to pick out my bride."

She looked up, smiling like a cat that had already eaten the canary.

"I already did."

My spine stiffened, my jaw tightening.

"What the hell, Ammi."

"She's perfect. Just once. Meet her."

"I'm not marrying anyone."

"Main mar jaungi tbh bhi nhi? "

"Great. Drama. Fantastic. You're not dying this early inshallah,keep your tawakkul ammi jaan." Taunting, I said

I turned to leave.

"Izhaan."

I didn't stop. She didn't call again.

I met Hadi outside the lobby.

"You shouldn't yell at aunty,"

he muttered between bites of chips.

"I didn't yell. I never raise my voice at a woman. Doesn't matter if its ammi,amaira Or any other woman"

"Maybe meet the girl once,"

he offered.

"Maybe she'll surprise you."

"I don't do surprises. Not anymore. No one else will ever be... her." My voice dropped like ice in a glass.

—

Later that night, I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. My shirt was half unbuttoned, one hand on my chest, the other holding a silver tasbeeh. The silence buzzed, lights flickering faintly. My thoughts drifted to shadows I never let surface. Red velvet. Screams. A name I hadn't spoken in years.

My phone rang.

"Izhaan!" It was Hadi, breathless. "Aunty... she's not well. Come now." The world shifted under my feet. I was running through the corridor, heart pounding. She was lying on the bed, pale, too pale. A nurse beside her, vitals steady but barely.

"What happened?! She was fine this morning!"

"High blood pressure. She skipped her meds,"

the doctor said. I dropped to my knees beside her.

"Ammi... medicine ka waqt tha…" Her fingers curled around mine, weak and trembling.

"I'm getting old," she whispered, "That's why I want to see you married." I looked away, but something inside me cracked.

The sun hadn't fully risen when I left for the mosque. The air was sharp, the city still asleep. After Fajr, I sat alone on the stone bench in the courtyard. The world was hushed, Istanbul's silence unlike any other city—ancient, thick, whispering secrets.

A wind brushed my skin, and then... Softness. A lilac scarf wrapped gently around my arms. Warm. Fragrant. Strange. I looked up, startled. No one. But then I saw her. A woman, half-hidden in shadow. The lilac hijab swayed in the breeze. Emerald eyes met mine—just for a second. Then she turned. Gone.

I stood slowly,jaw tightened

"Does she think I'm any beggar huh!"

I was going to follow her but stopped,as my steps jolted

"No i can't- i can't follow any woman right?"

I returned to the hotel, heart still thundering. My steps didn't falter this time. I knocked. The door opened. My mother looked surprised. I didn't speak. Just stepped inside. She waited.

"I'm ready" I said quietly.

"But don't expect much from me ok?"

Her eyes welled with tears—but she didn't cry. Just nodded. A smile stretched across her face.

"But she'll be your responsibility Izhaan-"

"Of course, she'll be my responsibility and I can take care of my responsibilities really well.. "

"But but- she'll be my wife in papers only, nothing else"

Leaving the room, I slammed the door really hard. In other second my phone buzzed with another call.

"So you agreed?" A strange voice came from other side

"Yes, prepare everything"

With that i cut the call, smirk came over my face. The game just started and I'll end it on a good finishing line.

"Coming soon, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞."

————————𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦

            𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫?

            𝐖𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞?

            𝐈𝐬 𝐢𝐳𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠?

            𝐖𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐧?

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