Toward the Karakoram Highway

Malik’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as his car sped along the dark stretch of the Karakoram Highway, the engine roaring against the cold mountain air. His jaw was set, eyes sharp, every sense alive with urgency.

“I’m heading toward the highway, Sir. My team is with me,” Malik spoke into his Bluetooth earpiece, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him.

“Good,” Mr. Ubaid-ul-Allah’s firm voice came through from the other side. “Keep me informed. We must save every single girl tonight.”

“Yes, Sir,” Malik replied, glancing sideways at Agent Rubab, who sat calmly beside him, loading weapons with practiced hands. “And we need Sardar Wahaj alive. I hope Roney has some good news about Asfandyar.”

“Insha’Allah, Malik. We will succeed tonight. May Allah be our Helper.”

“Ameen. Allah Hafiz, Sir.” Malik disconnected the call, his eyes returning to the endless stretch of road ahead. Behind him, in the convoy, his team followed in jeeps and SUVs, headlights piercing through the shadows of the towering mountains.

The Karakoram Highway, the legendary “Eighth Wonder of the World,” lay coiled between rugged cliffs and bottomless valleys. Tourists saw beauty here, but Malik knew this road had also become a silent witness to unspeakable crimes. In the darkness, it was no longer a highway for travelers—it was a smuggling artery, and tonight, Wahaj’s convoy of containers was its poison.

Rubab snapped another magazine into place and slid it across the seat. Malik reached for it, then pulled the car to the roadside. Taking the fake beard she handed him, he adjusted his disguise. A cap followed, pulled low over his brow, shadowing his face. Beside him, Rubab tugged on a short grey wig, slipped on tinted glasses, and zipped her black jacket against the chill. Both had transformed in minutes.

“Ready,” she said softly, checking the chamber of her Glock 22 Gen4.

Malik gave a curt nod, restarted the car, and pressed the accelerator. Their convoy surged forward again.

“There,” Malik muttered at last, spotting the line of massive trucks moving steadily ahead. Painted across their containers was the unmistakable logo of Wahaj’s company.

The vehicles slowed and came to a halt on the road, headlights cutting through the gloom. Malik and his team braked at a distance, engines killed. From the shadows, they watched.

Men gathered near the lead container. Wahaj himself stepped out of a black Land Cruiser, his tailored coat brushing the dust as he approached another man waiting there. They shook hands. A gleaming briefcase changed hands under the harsh light spilling from the trucks.

“There are five hundred girls, as I promised,” Wahaj said with a grin, opening the case to inspect the bundles of cash.

“And the children’s shipment?” the man asked coldly.

“Wednesday. Afghanistan border,” Wahaj replied, his voice laced with venomous pride.

“See you then,” the man muttered and gestured to his guards to move the containers.

Malik’s grip tightened around his gun. His jaw clenched. He whispered into his comms, “On my count. Attack.”

His officers waited, hidden, guns poised.

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One.”

The crack of the first gunshot shattered the silence—Rubab’s bullet striking the man near his car. Chaos erupted. Shouts, gunfire, the clash of boots against gravel filled the night. Malik charged forward, his Glock spitting bullets with lethal precision. Every step brought him closer to Wahaj.

The air filled with smoke and the acrid scent of gunpowder. Sparks flashed as bullets tore through metal and glass. Two of Malik’s men went down injured, but still the team pressed forward, fury in their eyes, determination in every shot. One by one, Wahaj’s men fell to the ground, their empire of cruelty crumbling in blood and dust.

At last, Malik’s eyes locked on Wahaj. Just a few steps away, Malik raised his pistol, aimed squarely at the man’s chest.

“Don’t be a fool, Wahaj. There’s no way out,” Malik warned, his voice ice.

Wahaj sneered, stepping backward toward his Land Cruiser, gun trembling in his hand.

“Officers, check the containers!” Malik barked without breaking his aim. His men rushed forward, prying open the massive doors. Inside, terrified eyes stared back—rows upon rows of girls huddled together, alive but shaken. Relief surged through Malik, but his attention snapped back to Wahaj instantly.

“Let me go,” Wahaj spat, and without warning, he fired.

The bullet tore through Malik’s arm, blood spurting as pain seared down to his fingertips. He faltered for only a second, then straightened, his pistol unwavering.

Before Wahaj could escape, Rubab appeared from behind, swift as a shadow. With a sharp kick, she knocked the gun from his hand and pressed her Glock to his temple.

“Don’t even think about it,” she hissed.

For the first time, Wahaj froze—not out of fear of her gun, but because of her face. His eyes narrowed at the small mole just above her lip. His breath caught.

“That mole…” he murmured, a wicked grin spreading. “Hey miss, will you really kill me?”

Rubab’s jaw clenched. “Hands up,” she snapped, ignoring his gaze, her gun steady.

Malik, clutching his bleeding arm, gave a nod of approval. “It’s over, Wahaj. You’re finished.”

But Wahaj’s smirk only deepened. “You can’t catch me, officer. Not so easily.”

With a sudden twist, Wahaj seized Rubab’s wrist, spinning her into his grip. In an instant, she was pinned against him, his arm locked around her throat, his gun pressed against her temple.

“I was a soldier once, Malik,” Wahaj snarled, eyes blazing. “My moves are faster than yours.”

“You’re nothing but a betrayer,” Malik spat back, rage burning through the pain.

Wahaj only laughed, his grip tightening on Rubab. “Let me walk free, and maybe I’ll let your officer live.”

“Leave her, you bastard!” Malik roared, taking a dangerous step closer.

Wahaj shifted, backing toward his car. His eyes darted to the fallen briefcase. “Pick it up,” he ordered.

Malik hesitated, then slowly bent, lifting the case. He tossed it toward Wahaj, who caught it with one hand, never loosening his hold on Rubab. She struggled fiercely—kicking at his leg, slamming her elbow into his stomach—but Wahaj was strong, his grip iron. He forced her arms behind her back and pressed the barrel harder against her head.

“Let her go, Wahaj!” Malik shouted, desperation and fury battling in his voice. “You want freedom? Take it. Just release her!”

The standoff thickened, the night holding its breath, the rescued girls watching in terrified silence as the battle between predator and protector hung by a thread.

“Few steps back, officer,” Wahaj ordered coldly, pressing the barrel of his gun against Rubab’s temple. Malik clenched his jaw but raised his hand, signaling his officers to step back. Slowly, they obeyed, retreating a few paces while Wahaj inched closer to his car, his grip on Rubab tightening like a vice.

“You remind me of someone, officer,” Wahaj whispered near her ear, his voice low and dangerous. Rubab froze for a split second as his breath brushed against her skin.

“You’ve got her eyes…” he murmured, inhaling deeply. “And her fragrance too.” His lips brushed her earlobe as he spoke, making her heart skip against her will. She hated herself for that moment of stillness, for the way his deep voice slid into her bones.

Then his eyes fell on her mole, that delicate beauty mark above her upper lip. His stare sharpened. A crooked smile tugged at his lips. “You’re not just like her… you are her. This mole told me everything.”

Rubab stiffened, trying to keep her composure, but his words clawed at her mind. How could he know?

“I think we’ll meet again… soon.” His whisper was poison. Before she could react, Wahaj shoved her hard, sending her stumbling to the ground. By the time she turned, gasping for breath, he had leapt into his Land Cruiser. The engine roared, headlights cut through the dark, and within seconds, he was gone.

“Rubab! Are you okay?” Malik rushed forward, his injured arm hanging limply at his side. He bent down and helped her to her feet. Her face was pale, trembling not from fear but from fury and the unsettling words still echoing in her ears.

“I’m fine, Sir…” she whispered, but her voice was uneven. “I’m sorry. Because of me, he escaped.”

Malik’s gaze softened. He shook his head firmly. “No. Don’t blame yourself. We saved the girls—that’s what matters tonight.”

She swallowed hard, but her eyes stayed lowered.

“Sir, your arm—it’s bleeding heavily,” one of the officers pointed out, rushing to Malik’s side.

“I’m fine,” Malik grunted, tying a strip of cloth tightly around his wound. “We have to move before sunrise. Rubab, Jameel—you’re with me. The rest, follow in your jeeps.”

They hurried back to the vehicles. Malik settled in the back seat, his arm throbbing fiercely, making it impossible for him to drive. The convoy engines rumbled to life, speeding down the deserted road. Leaning back, Malik closed his eyes for a moment, but instead of rest, a face surfaced in the darkness of his mind. His lips twitched into a faint smile—Roney.

The smile vanished in an instant. Malik’s eyes snapped open. He grabbed his phone and dialed quickly.

“Roney,” he said the moment the call connected.

“Malik, Sir…” But the voice wasn’t Roney’s. Malik’s brows furrowed.

“It’s me, Munir,” the officer replied on the other end.

“Munir? What’s going on? Is Roney okay? Where is he?” Malik’s voice sharpened with worry.

“Sir… he’s not fine.” Munir’s tone was heavy. “He was stabbed—badly. Right in the back. He’s lost a lot of blood. And with the situation tonight, we couldn’t risk a hospital. We had to keep him off the radar.”

Malik’s grip on the phone tightened. “Where is he now? And Asfandyar—did you arrest him?”

“Yes, Sir. Asfandyar is in our custody. As for Roney…” Munir paused. “Here, talk to him yourself.”

There was a rustle, a muffled groan, then a weak voice came through.

“Sir…”

“Buddy, what’s this I’m hearing?” Malik tried to sound light, tried to hold back the dread clawing at his chest.

“Nothing big, Sir…” Roney’s voice trembled with pain. “Just a stab wound. That bastard got me from behind. Otherwise…” he coughed, wincing, “…otherwise it wouldn’t have been that easy. I… I asked her to pull the knife out, because you know… when her hands touch me… it feels like magic. I forget everything. But… she didn’t. And now… it hurts like hell.”

His words dissolved into a hiss of agony. Munir’s voice could be heard in the background, pressing cotton pads to stem the bleeding.

“You idiot…” Malik muttered, his eyes stinging. “Still flirting, even half-dead.”

“Flirt… love…” Roney’s voice was breaking, weak but sincere. “…whatever you call it, Sir. It’s only for her.” He drew a ragged breath. “Listen, elder brother… she’s fine. She’s safe. I… I kept my promise.”

Malik’s throat tightened.

“Roney? Roney! Stay with me!” Malik’s voice cracked, but there was no answer. On the other side of the call, Roney’s strength gave way. His head slumped onto the pillow, eyes closing as unconsciousness swallowed him.

“Roney!” Malik shouted into the receiver, his officers in the jeep startled by the rare break in his composure. His chest heaved, his wounded arm throbbing—but all he could hear was silence.

Four hours ago…

“My lady…” His voice broke the silence. Khirad startled, her wide eyes snapping toward him. He was sitting slumped against the rough wall, his hand pressed firmly to his side where blood poured steadily, painting the ground beneath him a deep red.

“It’s… really hurting,” he whispered, closing his eyes for a second as a hiss of pain escaped his lips. When he opened them again, they searched only for her.

Khirad’s heart stopped. “How… I—?” Her words faltered, her face draining of all color as she saw the thick crimson soaking his shirt, dripping from his waist, each drop darkening the earth below.

“Hurry,” he urged, his voice loud enough to snap her out of her frozen state. He watched her trembling feet inch closer until she finally knelt beside him. Beside his body lay an unconscious Asfandyar, sprawled helplessly. But all Khirad could see was the knife lodged into Roney’s ribcage, cruel and merciless.

Her hands hovered in the air, shaking violently as if paralyzed. Tears blurred her vision, and the smell of iron filled her lungs, choking her.

“Listen, Ar—” she began, but he cut her off immediately, his gaze intense.

“Don’t. Don’t say my name, my love,” he interrupted softly, yet firmly, silencing her in an instant.

Her breath hitched. Her chest rose and fell in panic as his words wrapped around her.

“You can do it,” he whispered with a faint smile, trying to steady her even as the pain made his body shudder.

“I… I can’t,” she wept, the first hot tears spilling over. “You’ve lost so much blood…”

He turned his face to her, forcing a reassuring smile despite his pale lips. “Hey, it’s okay. Look at me—I’m fine.” His trembling hand reached up, brushing away her tears with his thumb. But even as he spoke, another spasm of pain twisted his features.

“You’re not fine!” she cried, her hiccuping sobs echoing against the stone walls. “You’re bleeding so much—I can’t do anything!”

“Shhh…” His voice was soft, pained, but steady. “Your tears hurt me more than this knife.”

Her lips trembled, forming his name again. “But Ar—”

He pressed his thumb gently against her lips, silencing her. “I’m all yours, but don’t say my name here,” he whispered, a faint smile tugging at his face before another hiss escaped him.

Khirad’s sobs grew louder. She wanted to scream, to shake him, to hold him, but all she could do was watch as he swayed on his feet, forcing himself upright.

“Wait here.” He pulled out his phone with difficulty, leaning against the wall for support as his knees buckled under him. “Munir… come here. Hurry,” he rasped into the receiver, his vision swimming.

“You okay?” Khirad rushed to his side, her small hand gripping his arm, her touch filled with desperation.

His heavy eyes softened as they found hers. A weak smile curved on his lips. “My love…” he whispered. “Please… don’t cry.”

He moved closer, pinning her gently against the cold stone wall, his arms bracing on either side though his strength was failing. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, his breath uneven. He leaned down, their foreheads brushing, his eyes closing for just a heartbeat.

“I’m not scared of death now,” he murmured, his voice breaking, “because you’re here, in front of me.”

“Please…” she sobbed, clutching his shirt with trembling fists. “Please, don’t say that!”

His gaze burned into hers, deep and unwavering. “I love you… my life.” His hand cupped her face tenderly, but the motion drew another hiss of pain as the knife wound pulled.

“Sir!” Munir’s urgent voice cut through the moment as he and several officers rushed in.

“How long did you take, dost?” Roney forced a smirk despite his pain, stepping back from Khirad, leaving her trembling against the wall.

Munir’s men quickly moved to Asfandyar’s unconscious body. “Zahid, Faheem—you’ll take care of him. Get him to our safe room. I’ll be there soon,” Roney commanded through gritted teeth.

“Yes, Sir!” they saluted before lifting Asfandyar away.

“Munir…” Roney’s voice wavered as his strength drained. “Take her back… to the hotel. With the other girls. You know what to do.”

“Sir, but you—!” Munir tried to protest, alarm flooding his face.

“No… I said… take her first.” Roney’s words broke into gasps as his knees buckled. He collapsed to the ground, his hands slipping from the wall.

Khirad fell beside him instantly, cradling his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “I’m going, but if you die—if you leave me—I’ll die too. Do you hear me?” Her voice cracked, almost a scream, her tears falling onto his cheeks.

His lips curved into a faint, weary smile. “…Yes, my lady.” His eyes lingered on hers for a moment longer, filled with love and pain, before they fluttered shut.

“Munir!” Khirad turned, her voice sharp with command despite her tears. “Take care of him. Nothing should happen to him. Do you understand?”

Munir’s chest tightened at her words, at the desperation in her voice. He gave a firm nod. “Yes, Ma’am. Officer Tayyab will escort you back to the hotel.”

Khirad’s gaze returned to Roney one last time, lying unconscious in the pool of his own blood. She forced herself to turn away, her heart shattering as Officer Tayyab guided her out.

Munir dropped to his knees, checking Roney’s pulse, his jaw clenched. “We need to move—now. Lift him!”

The officers quickly gathered Roney’s limp body, carrying him with urgency through the dark, narrow passageways of the cave.

“We’ll have to inform Sir Ubaid-ul-Allah,” Munir muttered grimly as he climbed into the jeep, holding pressure against Roney’s wound.

“As you say,” his co-officer replied, starting the engine. The convoy of jeeps roared to life, speeding into the night.

Inside, Khirad sat silently, her tear-streaked face pressed against the cold window as the lights blurred past. Her eyes fell once more on Roney’s unconscious figure in the backseat of the other jeep, his pale face haunting her.

Her lips trembled, and her heart broke into silent prayer. In that moment, her soul cried out only one plea—
Ya Allah, please don’t take him from me.

"Four hours ago…

“My lady…” His voice broke the silence. Khirad startled, her wide eyes snapping toward him. He was sitting slumped against the rough wall, his hand pressed firmly to his side where blood poured steadily, painting the ground beneath him a deep red.

“It’s… really hurting,” he whispered, closing his eyes for a second as a hiss of pain escaped his lips. When he opened them again, they searched only for her.

Khirad’s heart stopped. “How… I—?” Her words faltered, her face draining of all color as she saw the thick crimson soaking his shirt, dripping from his waist, each drop darkening the earth below.

“Hurry,” he urged, his voice loud enough to snap her out of her frozen state. He watched her trembling feet inch closer until she finally knelt beside him. Beside his body lay an unconscious Asfandyar, sprawled helplessly. But all Khirad could see was the knife lodged into Roney’s ribcage, cruel and merciless.

Her hands hovered in the air, shaking violently as if paralyzed. Tears blurred her vision, and the smell of iron filled her lungs, choking her.

“Listen, Ar—” she began, but he cut her off immediately, his gaze intense.

“Don’t. Don’t say my name, my love,” he interrupted softly, yet firmly, silencing her in an instant.

Her breath hitched. Her chest rose and fell in panic as his words wrapped around her.

“You can do it,” he whispered with a faint smile, trying to steady her even as the pain made his body shudder.

“I… I can’t,” she wept, the first hot tears spilling over. “You’ve lost so much blood…”

He turned his face to her, forcing a reassuring smile despite his pale lips. “Hey, it’s okay. Look at me—I’m fine.” His trembling hand reached up, brushing away her tears with his thumb. But even as he spoke, another spasm of pain twisted his features.

“You’re not fine!” she cried, her hiccuping sobs echoing against the stone walls. “You’re bleeding so much—I can’t do anything!”

“Shhh…” His voice was soft, pained, but steady. “Your tears hurt me more than this knife.”

Her lips trembled, forming his name again. “But Ar—”

He pressed his thumb gently against her lips, silencing her. “I’m all yours, but don’t say my name here,” he whispered, a faint smile tugging at his face before another hiss escaped him.

Khirad’s sobs grew louder. She wanted to scream, to shake him, to hold him, but all she could do was watch as he swayed on his feet, forcing himself upright.

“Wait here.” He pulled out his phone with difficulty, leaning against the wall for support as his knees buckled under him. “Munir… come here. Hurry,” he rasped into the receiver, his vision swimming.

“You okay?” Khirad rushed to his side, her small hand gripping his arm, her touch filled with desperation.

His heavy eyes softened as they found hers. A weak smile curved on his lips. “My love…” he whispered. “Please… don’t cry.”

He moved closer, pinning her gently against the cold stone wall, his arms bracing on either side though his strength was failing. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, his breath uneven. He leaned down, their foreheads brushing, his eyes closing for just a heartbeat.

“I’m not scared of death now,” he murmured, his voice breaking, “because you’re here, in front of me.”

“Please…” she sobbed, clutching his shirt with trembling fists. “Please, don’t say that!”

His gaze burned into hers, deep and unwavering. “I love you… my life.” His hand cupped her face tenderly, but the motion drew another hiss of pain as the knife wound pulled.

“Sir!” Munir’s urgent voice cut through the moment as he and several officers rushed in.

“How long did you take, dost?” Roney forced a smirk despite his pain, stepping back from Khirad, leaving her trembling against the wall.

Munir’s men quickly moved to Asfandyar’s unconscious body. “Zahid, Faheem—you’ll take care of him. Get him to our safe room. I’ll be there soon,” Roney commanded through gritted teeth.

“Yes, Sir!” they saluted before lifting Asfandyar away.

“Munir…” Roney’s voice wavered as his strength drained. “Take her back… to the hotel. With the other girls. You know what to do.”

“Sir, but you—!” Munir tried to protest, alarm flooding his face.

“No… I said… take her first.” Roney’s words broke into gasps as his knees buckled. He collapsed to the ground, his hands slipping from the wall.

Khirad fell beside him instantly, cradling his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “I’m going, but if you die—if you leave me—I’ll die too. Do you hear me?” Her voice cracked, almost a scream, her tears falling onto his cheeks.

His lips curved into a faint, weary smile. “…Yes, my lady.” His eyes lingered on hers for a moment longer, filled with love and pain, before they fluttered shut.

“Munir!” Khirad turned, her voice sharp with command despite her tears. “Take care of him. Nothing should happen to him. Do you understand?”

Munir’s chest tightened at her words, at the desperation in her voice. He gave a firm nod. “Yes, Ma’am. Officer Tayyab will escort you back to the hotel.”

Khirad’s gaze returned to Roney one last time, lying unconscious in the pool of his own blood. She forced herself to turn away, her heart shattering as Officer Tayyab guided her out.

Munir dropped to his knees, checking Roney’s pulse, his jaw clenched. “We need to move—now. Lift him!”

The officers quickly gathered Roney’s limp body, carrying him with urgency through the dark, narrow passageways of the cave.

“We’ll have to inform Sir Ubaid-ul-Allah,” Munir muttered grimly as he climbed into the jeep, holding pressure against Roney’s wound.

“As you say,” his co-officer replied, starting the engine. The convoy of jeeps roared to life, speeding into the night.

Inside, Khirad sat silently, her tear-streaked face pressed against the cold window as the lights blurred past. Her eyes fell once more on Roney’s unconscious figure in the backseat of the other jeep, his pale face haunting her.

Her lips trembled, and her heart broke into silent prayer. In that moment, her soul cried out only one plea—
Ya Allah, please don’t take him from me.

The rain poured heavily outside, its rhythmic sound echoing through the quiet of the night. The clock ticked past two in the morning, but Anaya remained awake, standing by the window of her room. Her gaze was fixed on the droplets sliding down the glass, falling endlessly onto the earth below.

“It’s raining a lot,” she murmured softly, almost to herself.

Kaif stirred under the comforter, pulling it higher over his shoulders. His eyes followed his wife, who seemed lost in thought by the window. “Yes… it’s been raining since morning. The weather’s gotten colder too,” he replied, his tone calm but laced with concern.

After a moment, he pushed himself up slightly and turned toward her. “Anaya, what’s the matter? It’s past two—you’re still awake? Aren’t you feeling sleepy?”

Instead of answering immediately, Anaya sank into the chair near the window. Her eyes dropped to her hands resting in her lap. A sigh escaped her lips. “I don’t know, Kaif… I’m just… worried about the children. I keep thinking about them.”

Her voice wavered, heavy with unease. “They didn’t call even once today. My heart isn’t at rest. I hope they’re fine…” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the restlessness in her heart reflecting on her face.

Kaif sat up fully now, sensing the depth of her concern. He tried to comfort her. “Why are you thinking like that? Of course they’re fine. Aryan already told me he’d be in London for two days, and Arhan must be sleeping by now after a long day. You’re worrying unnecessarily.”

But Anaya’s expression didn’t ease. Her heart refused to calm. Seeing this, Kaif swung his legs off the bed and walked over to her. Standing beside her chair, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder before pulling out his phone.

“Let me connect to Aryan,” he said firmly, dialing the number.

The call connected quickly. “Baba, everything okay?” Aryan’s voice came clear and alert from the other side.

“Everything’s fine,” Kaif assured him, settling into the chair opposite Anaya. “It’s just… your mother was getting worried for you both.”

There was a pause before Aryan spoke again, his tone softer. “Let me talk to her.”

Kaif handed the phone to Anaya, who clutched it with trembling hands. Her voice broke as she spoke. “Aryan… what happened? Why didn’t you call? Are you okay? And Arhan… is he okay? He didn’t call me once today.” Tears slipped down her cheeks as she voiced her fears.

“Mom, we’re both fine,” Aryan replied gently, trying to soothe her. “Arhan actually sent me a picture earlier—he and Sohan were enjoying their trip. You really don’t need to worry. Once I’m back from London, and those two return, we’ll all come join you in the village. I promise. Okay?”

Anaya’s lips curved into a faint smile despite the tears. “Okay… but take care of yourself. And Arhan, he really is fine, right?”

“He’s perfectly fine. He’s probably asleep right now. If you like, you can talk to him tomorrow,” Aryan assured her.

Anaya nodded, comforted by his words. “Alright. Then sleep well, my son.”

“You too, Mom. Have a peaceful sleep now,” Aryan said before ending the call.

Anaya lowered the phone slowly, her eyes meeting Kaif’s. He had been watching her quietly the whole time, his gaze filled with both reassurance and thought.

“Shall we sleep now?” he asked softly.

She gave a small nod. Kaif rose, held her hand, and gently led her back to bed. He helped her settle under the comforter, then joined her, turning on his side to face her.

But Anaya’s mind wasn’t ready to rest. Her eyes searched his. “Kaif… do you think we should tell Aryan and Soha about their Nikah?” Her voice was hesitant, uncertain.

Kaif didn’t answer right away. His brow furrowed, lost in thought. Anaya’s heart grew heavier at his silence. “Kaif, say something,” she pressed.

Finally, his voice came, quiet and contemplative. “Do you think they even remember it?”

Anaya shook her head slowly. “I don’t know…”

“They don’t,” Kaif replied with certainty. “Neither of them ever took it seriously. Even when Arhan used to tease Soha with that Rapunzel nickname, Aryan never gave it much importance. They’ve never truly acknowledged it.”

His words only deepened Anaya’s worry. She pushed herself up on the bed. “Then shouldn’t we tell them?”

Kaif placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, guiding her to lie back down again. He thought for a long moment before speaking. “Not yet. We need to wait. First, we have to see what’s in their hearts—what they think of each other. Only then will we decide.”

Anaya exhaled shakily, her eyes closing as she whispered a prayer. “Oh Allah (SWT), make them fall for each other…”

Kaif smiled faintly at her words, his eyes finally growing heavy with sleep. With a peaceful sigh, Anaya closed her eyes too, her heart surrendering her worries to prayer as the rain continued to fall outside.

Soha sat stiffly in the hotel’s hall, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. Fear gnawed at her chest, and her heart thudded so hard she could almost hear it echo in her ears. Around her, teachers and students sat huddled together, whispering prayers under their breaths. The police had arrived, questions were being asked, investigations had begun—but none of it could calm the restless dread weighing on her.

Her eyes darted toward the group of boys at the far end of the hall, speaking quietly among themselves. She searched for one face, one presence. But he wasn’t there.

“Where has he gone now?” she whispered to herself, scanning the room again. Arhaan was nowhere to be found.

She shut her eyes tightly, her hands pressing against her racing heart. Oh Aryan… if only you were here. I’m scared… The silent plea left her lips as a trembling murmur.

Five hours had crawled by with no word, no news. The air in the hall had grown heavy with tension. Everyone waited—waited for a message, a sign, anything about the missing girls. Soha’s mind wandered back to the last time she had seen Khirad. She had been standing on the hilltop, the breeze pulling at her scarf… and then, in a blink, she was gone. The memory chilled her, and she clutched her arms around herself, whispering prayers that her friend was safe.

The doors banged open suddenly. A boy from their class rushed in, his breaths heavy.
“Sir!” he called out, his voice urgent. “Sir, the girls—they’re here! They’re coming!”

Every girl in the hall shot to her feet at once, hope and disbelief flashing in their eyes.

“Really? Where are they?” one of the teachers asked, all eyes straining toward the entrance.

And then, like an answered prayer, they appeared. A group of girls stumbled into the hotel, pale-faced and trembling. Soha’s eyes immediately found Khirad among them, leading the others inside. Her steps were slow, her expression drained of all color, yet she was walking—alive. Relief crashed into Soha like a wave, but fear still lingered in her chest.

Moments later, the boys followed in, guiding the group. Teachers swarmed forward, concern written all over their faces.
“Girls, are you alright? Where were you?” the principal asked in alarm.

“Let them sit first,” a professor urged, and chairs were brought quickly. The girls sank down, exhaustion clear in every movement.

Khirad’s voice was faint but steady as she answered, “Sir… we were kidnapped.”

The entire hall froze, stunned. Shock rippled through the crowd of students. Soha’s breath hitched, and her heart twisted painfully for her friend.

“Yes,” Khirad continued, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “We were kidnapped. But before they could take us away, the soldiers of our country… they saved us. They brought us here, and the boys helped us inside.”

Soha couldn’t contain herself anymore. She rushed forward, throwing her arms around Khirad. “Oh my dear friend…” she whispered, her heart breaking at how pale and fragile Khirad looked.

“Thanks to Almighty,” the principal said, his voice firm though his eyes betrayed relief. “Now, everyone—pack up. We’re leaving tomorrow morning. The trip is cancelled.”

There were no arguments. No one had the strength. Students nodded silently. After roll call and brief instructions, they were dismissed to their rooms.

Soha lingered, still holding onto Khirad’s hand. Suddenly, she remembered. “Sir, Arhaan is missing. He hasn’t come back yet,” she said quickly, her worry spilling out.

One of Arhaan’s friends spoke up from nearby. “Sir, I told you—he went with another group of boys to search for the girls. Everyone else returned, but he didn’t. I called him just now, told him the girls are safe. He’s on his way.”

Soha exhaled in relief but still pressed, “Please tell him I need to see him when he comes.”

The boy nodded. Satisfied for now, Soha led Khirad away, Sana and Sabreena following silently.

Inside the room, she turned to her friend. “You should freshen up first, change your clothes,” Soha urged gently.

Khirad only nodded, disappearing into the washroom. Soha stepped onto the balcony, the cool air brushing her face. Her mind churned. Why would someone kidnap them? What if I had been among those girls? The thought alone made her shiver. Fear tightened its grip around her chest.

Her name pulled her back. “Soha.”

She turned. Khirad stood at the doorway, freshly changed, her expression still haunted. “Come inside. It’s cold.”

Soha walked over and clasped her friend’s hand, guiding her to the bed. She handed her some water, while Sana brought a plate of fruit. Sitting beside her, Soha studied her carefully.

“Weren’t you scared?” she asked softly.

Khirad’s eyes welled up, her lips trembling.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Soha whispered quickly, hugging her close.

But Khirad’s words made her freeze. “I wasn’t.”

Soha pulled back, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t scared… when I was kidnapped,” Khirad admitted, tears sliding down her cheeks. “But I’m scared now.”

“Why now?” Soha asked, confusion etching her face, holding her friend’s hands tightly.

Khirad’s lips curved into the faintest, saddest smile. “Because he’s not fine.”

Soha’s eyes widened. “Who saved you?” she asked, her voice filled with shock.

“My comrade,” Khirad whispered. Her tears flowed freely now. “He saved us… but he’s not okay. I’m scared for him.”

Soha hugged her again, tightening her arms around her trembling friend. “He’ll be fine. InshAllah, he’ll be fine,” she reassured.

Khirad nodded faintly, allowing Soha to wipe her tears before lying down. Soon, Sabreena and Sana also curled into their beds, but Soha remained awake, her mind restless.

First, she needed to know if Arhaan had returned. Second, her thoughts refused to leave Khirad—and the man she loved. What kind of love was this? Soha wondered. A love that gave courage in fear, that burned like fire yet soothed like breath. A love so deep it made you feel you’d die without the other.

Her chest ached at the thought. She lifted her gaze toward the night sky visible through the balcony doors. Is such love meant for me too?

Her thoughts, as always, wandered to Aryan. Her trembling fingers reached for her phone. She dialed his number once, twice, again and again. No answer.

“Why aren’t you picking up?” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. Anger sparked alongside the hurt. “You must be with Alena…” The name burned her tongue, her heart twisting with jealousy.

Pacing restlessly, she finally sat on the chair in the balcony. With a shaky breath, she opened her gallery. Her heart thudded as she tapped on a familiar folder. Aryan’s picture filled the screen.

Her hand went to her heart as if to still its frantic beating. She traced the picture with her thumb, whispering, “Aryan…”

Her eyes lingered, then slid to the next photo. The sight made her freeze, breath caught in her throat.

“Do you remember this, Aryan?” she whispered, her voice breaking.

The photo was of their childhood—of that day. Their Nikah day.

“Do you remember me as your Rapunzel?” she asked again, her tears slipping freely now. “Do you remember… our Nikah?”

The silence answered her, but her heart kept aching, beating his name into the night.

Author’s Note

Assalam-o-Alaikum dear readers 🌸

How are you all doing? How are you finding the story so far? Finally, the mystery seems to be crossing its limits! Soha and Aryan are married now, but the real question is—are they truly united? And then there’s Malik… any guesses about him?

On the other hand, Khirad and Roney’s story is turning out to be my favorite part to write. Their bond is slowly growing stronger, and I honestly never imagined the story would take this turn. I didn’t plan the whole plot from the start, but as I keep writing, it feels like I’m living inside the story myself.

I’d really love to know your thoughts—how do you feel while reading it? Your votes and comments mean the world to me and motivate me to keep writing more for you all. 💕

Till the next update, Allah Hafiz.
Keep reading, keep smiling!