Loyalty Left A Daughter Part 2
The arrangement happened so naturally that neither of you remembered who suggested it first.
Some evenings, after your own studies were done, you would spend an hour or two in the study.
You weren't expected to be there.
The first evening, you organized the ledgers by year.
The second, you color-coded payment schedules because "your filing system is terrifying," as you had politely informed Rehman.
You threw away nearly forty duplicate copies of the same document.
He had just stared at the dustbin.
"...Why were there forty-three copies?"
"I think your staff likes paper."
One of the accountants looked offended.
You pointed at another identical stack.
"You have twenty-seven more backups."
"...I'm beginning to understand why your office looks like this."
For the first time in years...
The accountants had competition.
One evening, Rehman slid a file across the desk.
"I've never attended your meetings."
"You still heard everything."
"So that's how promotions happen here?"
A corner of his mouth lifted.
"I don't promote people."
One of the managers nearly dropped his pen.
Had Rehman just made a joke?
The mansion staff noticed it too.
Not the polite, diplomatic one reserved for business associates.
It happened almost every time you were around.
Your mother entered the study carrying a tray.
Files were neatly stacked.
Tea cups sat on coasters instead of directly on documents.
Pens were arranged by color.
The whiteboard had actual dates instead of random numbers.
"I just organized a little."
She turned toward Rehman.
"Sahib, aapne office badal diya?"
He looked at the shelves.
"Bukhar toh nahi hai dono ko?"
Life found its own comfortable rhythm.
Mornings belonged to your mother.
Afternoons to your books.
One rainy evening, the electricity went out.
The entire mansion fell into darkness.
A chorus of groans echoed through the hallway.
"Arre koi generator chalao!"
You were halfway through checking invoices when everything disappeared.
Rehman reached into a drawer.
"You also have functioning eyesight."
"I can't calculate in the dark."
"...You realize that's slower."
For the next thirty minutes...
He read invoice numbers aloud while you entered them into the spreadsheet on your laptop running on battery.
"Seven-three-four-two-one."
"...Is my handwriting this bad?"
"It... resembles English."
"...I should fire myself."
By the time the lights returned...
Both of you were laughing so hard neither of you noticed your mother standing at the doorway.
"Khana thanda ho raha hai."
"I'm sorry, I lost track of time."
She looked toward Rehman.
"I'll come in some time."
"Does she always do that?"
"Talk to you like you're sixteen."
Was that a blush on his cheeks? Maybe the light was playing tricks on you.
Your mother decided the pantry needed restocking.
A trip to the old market.
Normally, one of the younger servants went.
Everyone else was occupied.
She frowned while making the grocery list.
You immediately reached for the notebook.
"Main driver ko bolti hoon."
The one that meant she was deciding whether to argue.
"I'll be back before Maghrib."
You pointed at it dramatically.
The market buzzed with life.
Fruit vendors called out prices.
Children chased each other between stalls.
Fresh spices scented the air.
Your mother's favorite pickle.
The shopkeeper smiled as he packed everything.
You didn't realize how much time had passed until the evening azaan echoed across the market.
You’d gotten everything on your list hours ago but Lyeri’s markets had their own charm and a part of you wanted to take that chance to explore.
The sun had nearly disappeared.
You adjusted the shopping bags.
By the time you reached the quieter road leading toward the main street...
Most shops had begun closing.
Streetlights flickered awake one by one.
You tightened your grip on the bags.
You never noticed the motorcycle slowing behind you.
Nor the group of young men leaning against a shuttered storefront.
Another stepped into your path.
You tried to walk around him.
"Itni bhi kya jaldi hai?"
Your heartbeat quickened.
Another voice came from behind.
"Humein bhi saath le chalo."
The laughter that followed made your stomach twist.
One hand caught the end of your dupatta.
Your voice was barely above a whisper.
The fabric slipped from your shoulder.
"Chehra toh thikse dikhao..."
Panic surged through your chest.
Someone grabbed your wrist.
The grocery bags hit the ground.
Tomatoes rolled across the road.
You struggled desperately.
Another reached toward your shoulder...
The sound of tearing fabric echoed through the empty street.
Your kurta ripped slightly near the shoulder seam.
Instinctively covering yourself with your free hand.
Your dupatta lay several feet away.
Your breathing became uneven.
Not because they wanted to.
Because another sound cut through the street.
The sharp screech of tires.
A black SUV came to a violent halt just a few feet away.
Heavy footsteps followed.
No one needed to announce who had arrived.
The laughter disappeared.
One of the boys went visibly pale.
He didn't even look at them.
His eyes were only on you.
One hand covering your torn shoulder.
Shaking so badly you could barely remain standing.
Something cold settled over his expression.
The kind that came just before a storm.
He removed the black shawl draped over his shoulders.
He gently placed it around you, making sure it fully covered your shoulder before stepping back just enough to give you space.
His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet.
So quiet it terrified everyone present.
Tears spilled silently down your cheeks.
You only shook your head.
He noticed your trembling hands.
There wasn't a trace of emotion on his face anymore.
Behind him, his men had already stepped out of the SUVs.
One cracked his knuckles.
Another quietly rolled up his sleeves.
Rehman spoke only one sentence.
"Inhone meri mehmaan ko haath lagaya hai."
"Baaki tum log samajh lo."
No one asked another question.
He had half a mind to deal with those boys personally.
Rehman looked back at you.
He saw how you were trembling and immediately changed his mind.
This time his voice was impossibly gentle.
Your fingers lightly clutched the edge of the shawl wrapped around you.
He simply slowed his pace...
Making sure you never had to walk alone
The drive back to the mansion was silent.
Rain had started sometime after they left the market.
Droplets slid down the tinted windows, blurring the city lights into streaks of gold and white.
You sat in the backseat, clutching Rehman's black shawl tightly around yourself.
Your breathing had steadied.
Every now and then, they trembled without warning.
He had deliberately taken the seat next to you instead of the front passenger seat.
Not because he wanted to invade your space.
Because if you panicked again...
He wanted you to know you weren't alone.
Didn't tell you to stop crying.
He simply offered his presence.
Silence was kinder than words.
About ten minutes into the drive…
You stared at the screen.
Rehman extended his hand.
You hesitated only a second before placing the phone in his palm.
He nodded and then answered.
Your mother sounded relieved immediately.
"Arre sahib! Yeh phone kyun nahi utha rahi thi? Kahan hai dono?"
He glanced at you before answering evenly.
"Market mein mil gayi thi."
"Haan. Kuch samaan zyada tha, toh main le aaya."
"Allah aapko khush rakhe. Main bas pareshan ho rahi thi."
Just... not the whole truth.
When the SUV entered the mansion gates...
Your mother was already waiting outside.
Looking thoroughly annoyed.
The annoyance disappeared the second she saw your face.
You instinctively looked toward Rehman.
He answered before you could.
"Market mein kaafi bheed thi."
"Maine kaha tha driver ko le jao."
You forced a small smile.
She reached out to take the grocery bags…
Only to realize there weren't any.
She looked skeptical but she didn’t press.
Then she looked at Rehman.
"Aapne itni takleef kyun ki?"
He gave her the smallest smile.
Your mother smiled warmly.
"Allah aapko hamesha khush rakhe."
You couldn't look at him.
The weight of what had almost happened still sat heavily in your chest.
As soon as your mother disappeared into the kitchen to prepare dinner...
Rehman quietly looked toward you.
He led you down the quieter hallway toward the guest rooms.
Your room was at the very end.
Away from the noise of the main house.
He closed the door behind you.
You stood there, arms wrapped around yourself.
Your composure finally shattered.
A broken sob escaped before you could stop it.
Your voice trembled violently.
You couldn't even finish the sentence.
The image of those hands.
Everything came rushing back.
Rehman had witnessed grief before.
Watching someone crumble after surviving something so horrific...
It made him feel strangely helpless.
He kept a respectful distance.
"You don't have to say it."
You shook your head frantically.
"I should've left earlier."
"I should've taken the driver."
The firmness in his voice made you stop.
He looked directly at you.
"This was not your fault."
"You went to buy groceries."
"They chose to commit a crime."
"The blame belongs to them."
Something inside you loosened.
You looked toward the door.
"...she'll blame herself."
She would replay the day over and over.
She would insist she should've gone herself.
Should've done something differently.
None of which would've been true.
You sat on the edge of the bed.
You looked down at your hands.
"...what if she never lets me leave the house again?"
He wasn't sure he wanted you leaving alone either.
That realization startled him.
He pushed it aside immediately.
Relief flickered across your face.
He chose his words carefully.
He turned toward the door.
Without looking back, he said quietly…
"If you have a nightmare..."
"My room is down the hall."
He immediately cleared his throat.
You watched him struggle.
"If you need anything..."
"...tell one of the guards."
He looked mildly annoyed with himself.
A smile escaped you despite everything.
He looked over his shoulder.
For the first time that evening...
You managed a tiny smile.
"You don't have to thank me."
Neither of you slept well.
Your heart pounded against your ribs.
For one terrifying second...
You thought you were still in that alley.
Then you recognized the ceiling.
The familiar scent of sandalwood drifting in from the hallway.
You weren't there anymore.
Only the desk lamp remained on.
A half-finished cup of coffee had long gone cold.
One of his oldest men knocked gently before entering.
Rehman didn't ask what that meant.
His man continued quietly.
"Police ko abhi tak pata nahi"
"Ladke aab warehouse mein hein , agar aapko khud kaam khatam karna ho toh."
Rehman's gaze shifted toward the hallway leading to the guest rooms.
You woke later than usual.
Your mother was surprised.
She immediately pressed the back of her hand against your forehead.
"Garam toh nahi lag rahi."
She knew every expression on your face.
She waited until the staff had left.
He quietly set down his teacup.
"I need to discuss something with you."
She looked between the two of you.
The smile slowly faded from her face.
The study door closed softly.
Your mother looked confused.
Rehman remained standing.
Hands clasped tightly together.
She immediately noticed the faint scratch near your wrist.
Not the words they had said.
Enough for her to understand.
Enough for her to know how frightened you had been.
By the time you finished...
Your mother's eyes were full of tears.
She reached for you immediately.
Pulling you into her arms.
She held you so tightly you could barely breathe.
She pulled back immediately.
"Tu mujhse maafi kyun maang rahi hai?"
Tears rolled freely down her cheeks now.
"Allah ka lakh lakh shukar hai tu theek hai."
She kissed your forehead again and again.
As though reassuring herself you were truly there.
She turned toward Rehman.
There were tears in her eyes.
Deep, overwhelming gratitude.
Before he could stop her...
She placed a trembling hand on his head.
Like a mother blessing her son.
"Allah tumhari hifazat kare."
"Agar tum waqt pe na pahunchte..."
He gently held her wrist.
"You don't have to thank me."
The room was filled only with quiet understanding.
A bond that had always existed between Rehman and your mother...
Had somehow grown even stronger.
And without either of you realizing it...
A new bond had quietly begun forming too.
The kind that often came first.
