WHAT WALKS AT NIGHT?
SUMMARY .˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚.
Lyari is a mysterious town in karachi pakistan, only town where it becomes pitch black at night. Not a single soul steps outside after dusk because death awaits them. It has been like this, for longer than anyone can remember. Even the oldest citizens remember snip-bits, cautions their parents have passed word to word.
A myth turned into a nightmare, that no one knows who, why or what is out there but something was out there; ancient and demonic.
Vidhi should have ran the other way, should have denied to even venture to the town for some archelogical excavation. But it was a great opportunity and how could she miss it? Who knows, if she finds ruins of indus civilisation in that chaotic town?
So she and her team decided to visit lyari. The job was done, they were leaving the town when small incident leaves her stranded at the side of road, in middle of thick forest.
Scared out of her wits, she prays for protection. That’s when a military jeep stops and a dashing major offers her help.
Would they both survive what walks at night?
AUTHOR'S TAGS .˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚.
SORRY YAAR *bows in japanese style* so sorry for the delay, literally missed the oppurtunity :( mauf kardoo.
btw this chapter is a bit fun chapter, CONTAINS SMUT, the vibes are much different than the whole story lol. last epilogue is left, it will be short and sweet.
Dedicated to my mom @brightchillstar , hi sissy! @viviinthewoods and my chhoti for completing her exams @shadylovedhurandhar, major sahab and mir uncle @majoriqbalahmedisi @miriqbalpaglu
TAGS .˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚.
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CHAPTER - 9
"Congrat— um… are you unmarried?"
The question caught Vidhi off guard. The doctor smiled while reading the report, but as she spoke, her eyes flicked toward Vidhi's forehead and neck.
The two months had been hectic… to say the least. Her parents fretted that she had grown thinner after skipping meals in Lyari, and they forbade her from going to Pakistan again.
The four friends arranged a meeting at Vidhi's house — a final attempt to explain to her parents that their daughter had saved Lyari and that there was, in fact, a demonic husband waiting for her and dying for her presence. They decorated the terrace with fairy lights, arranged for starters and non-alcoholic drinks, with some soft jazz playing in the background to lighten the mood.
Mahi got slapped in the first five minutes.
"MUMMY, USEY KYU MAAR RAHI HO?!" Vidhi screamed, standing guard between Mahi and her mother who breathed fire down her nose.
"Issi ne kuch daaru ya nasha pilaya hoga tum sab ko!" she accused, pointing at Mahi, who — poor soul — clutched his cheek, nearly crying.
"Aunty yaar, main toh Thums Up bhi nahi peeta! Woh toh Danish hai jo vodka mein Tropicana milata hai!"
"Chup kar chutiye!" Danish snapped. "Aunty, please be calm. We are not intoxicated. What we are saying is true. We lived it! We almost got killed that night if—"
"Beta, tu keh raha hai ki meri beti ke punarjanam mein usne ek Pakistani major se shaadi ki thi?" Vidhi's father interrupted, staring at them incredulously. "Phir woh mar gayi… aur uske dukh mein major ne aatmahatya kar li… aur ab woh darinda banke ghoom raha hai? Aur ab meri beti phir se aa gayi aur woh usse pyaar karta hai?"
"Haan uncle!" Danish exclaimed, sighing in relief, thinking her father had gotten the gist of the story. He didn't expect Vidhi's father to toss a cucumber slice at his face in rage.
"CHUTIYA DIKH RAHA HOON KYA TUMHE?! FILM KI KAHANI SUNA KAR HAM ACCEPT KAR LENGE YEH SAB?!"
Prerna, who was in the kitchen preparing starters, came toward the terrace with a tray full of majestic paneer, tangdi kebab and apollo fish. She saw the chaos and took a U-turn back to the kitchen silently.
"Papa, ab shaant ho jao, blood pressure badh jayega aapka!" Vidhi tried to calm him down but her father was already on his feet.
"I won't be shaant today! I won't be forced to be shaant today! Aaj kisi ka khoon ho jayega!"
They all ran away.
Escaping wasn't easy. Mahi slept with one eye open for several nights, terrified that Vidhi's mother would appear at the foot of his bed holding a knife. Danish constantly checked under his bed, convinced he might find Vidhi's father waiting there for him. Prerna… well, she didn't sleep at all, listening to Vidhi's frustrated rants all night as the two of them crashed at Vidhi's apartment for a few days.
The first time, it had taken only two days to convince her parents to let her visit Lyari. It had been a professional opportunity — a chance to rise higher in the archaeological field. How could she miss it?
Her adventurous parents, who had once lived like nomads before settling down for her sake, who had never said no to the craziest heart-stopping bungee jumps or dangerous travels, had said no for the first time.
Of course any sane Indian parent would say no.
But she convinced them anyway.
It took ten days before a crack finally appeared in the wall her parents had built around themselves. The Tamgha-e-Pakistan awarded by the Pakistani government, recognition from the Indian government, a promotion within the ASI — it had taken all of it, and even then Vidhi knew it wasn't really her doing. Lyari breathing in freedom at midnight was simply the consequence of her reuniting with Iqbal after fifty years. The town that had once taken her life now hailed her as their hero, and her parents, begrudgingly, could not argue with that.
The news had been kept far from the leechy eyes of media houses — a secret lore passing quietly through government offices and nothing else. Such things were impossible to explain to the media. How could anyone tell them that she had received one of Pakistan's highest honours because she had saved a town from a demonic presence?
Who would believe that?
No one.
The plan, as she had turned it over in her mind a hundred times, was this: in two months they would leave for Lyari again for a short meeting with DOAM. She would go to Iqbal, break his curse and let him be bound to her soul — forever a part of her until death did them apart. He would remain as a shadow in the world, corporeally a mysterious wealthy husband with business in many countries and assets in Pakistan, but in reality appearing to Vidhi and only at her beck and call.
Instead of four tickets, she booked six. Vidhi wanted her parents to meet Iqbal — to know that he would be the last person to hurt her and the first person who would love her. The trip to Lyari would either make it or break it. A last resort.
Just a week before the flight, she noticed the lack of monthly visits. She hadn't bled for two months — no stress to blame, no condition to use as an excuse.
As any sane person would do, she visited a gynaecologist recommended by Prerna. They did their tests, checked her blood samples.
She had a feeling, clawing at the back of her mind, pulling her back to those nights with Iqbal. Could it be possible? He was a demon and she was a human — how could procreation happen between them? But then, his body had remained part human. He was a human turned demon, not a creature that was dark from birth.
At present, the doctor's office felt unnervingly vivid — like the world had been sharpened around her without her permission. She could smell the faint lavender of the room, the faraway tinge of disinfectant drifting from the corridor, could hear the cries of newborns from floors away.
Strange.
"I am getting married soon."
"So, did you have a sexual relationship with your would-be husband?" The doctor bluntly asked.
"Yes… it's a love marriage, actually. Lost my virginity to him and been with him only." She informed, feeling the need to clarify that he was the only one for her, no man or woman would come to her Iqbal.
Iqbal, too, would not let a man or a woman touch her even in their dreams, probably gifting their chopped fingers as her birthday present.
Oh, that psychotic man.
"Am I pregnant?" Vidhi asked. The small word had so much impact — finally let out into the air, it felt heavier for her to acknowledge it.
"Yes! The blood and urine tests came back positive and it shows that you are about five weeks along. I still suggest an ultrasound in two weeks or so to hear the baby's heartbeat—"
Positive. Five weeks. Heartbeat.
It didn’t hit her yet.
"Is it safe to travel? It's just a short international flight, just a few hours. Will it affect the baby?" She questioned.
"That's fine! It's safe to travel at an early stage of pregnancy unless it is a long and exhaustive flight. Pregnancy is also the weakest in early stages and chances of miscarriage would be high if you don't take proper care."
She scribbled on the notepad. "I will be writing you prenatals that will support your pregnancy and make up for any deficiencies. Unless your family has a history of reproductive problems, you won't be facing any miscarriage. But I won't judge so soon — don't exhaust yourself, avoid stress environments, stay hydrated, no smoking or drinking, no—"
It was a list of no's. So many that Vidhi had lost count. She asked questions — a lot of them, mostly out of curiosity and caution — but it wasn't until she stepped out of the office that it finally hit her.
She was pregnant. With Iqbal's child. Their child, growing in her womb.
She collapsed onto the metal bench, and tears of joy poured out. The child she had lost in her past life — she was being blessed again. They would be a family this time. A dream Iqbal had once shared with her, and now, again, it would come true.
Not a single soul knew about it, with the sole exception of Prerna, of course. Hiding the pregnancy was the biggest challenge.
"Why is she vomiting so much?" Vidhi's mom exclaimed, watching Vidhi run to the washroom again through the aisle. Her constant visits had even concerned the air hostess, who now stood outside the door waiting for an explanation serious enough to justify an emergency landing.
"Aunty, usne subah burger khayi thi. Motion sickness ki wajah se ulti aa rahi hai. She's become sensitive to flights," Prerna lied smoothly.
It didn't sit right with her mother. She watched Vidhi emerge from the washroom and say something to the air hostess in a hushed voice, the kind that sounded like a national secret being passed between diplomats. Her eyes narrowed.
But she didn't push. Whatever it was, she would find out soon enough. For now, she swallowed it down and looked away.
They reached Lyari soon enough. It was mid-noon, and everyone settled into the hotel rooms — but Vidhi had different plans. She met Ibrahim at his house; the man beamed like the sun at her presence. Despite his age, he always felt like a young child to her. That's what he had been in her past life — just a twenty-year-old who thought of Iqbal and Vidhi as his family.
She asked him for the keys to Iqbal's haveli, to get it cleaned for their stay — a place where they could live temporarily and meet Iqbal properly, as compared to the dusty bunker that had witnessed some truly inexplicable things.
Yeah. Wouldn't want her parents to meet the love of her life in the bunker where they'd fucked for hours. Not to forget Iqbal's blood stain on the concrete.
"Meri jaan?" His voice echoed in the room.
The haveli, his abode and refuge back in the day, was prim and pristine. Things in their place just as he had left them — not a speck of dust, not a cobweb. It smelled of incense, fresh flowers and of Vidhi's perfume.
He walked around, heavy footsteps echoing in the house as they mindlessly searched for her soul. He could feel her presence with his heart — the heart that beat in his name, the hands that carried his soul.
He opened the doors to his bedroom, overwhelmed by the scent of flowers and her. The room was beautifully illuminated with candles, decorated with garlands of flowers and petals, the soft smoke of incense tingling his nostrils.
And there she stood, at the bedpost in a white saree, facing him as if she had been waiting for him.
The candlelight's glow danced soft across her features, capturing her dimple and those sweet eyes that attempted a sultry and seductive look — but she need not try. Her existence was seduction enough for him.
"Aapko kuch batana hai."
"Firse maarne ki koshish hai toh kam se kam itlaah de diya karo," he said dryly, prompting a chuckle from her.
"No… I don't have such intentions," she said, swaying her hips seductively. His towering presence intimidated her, awakening a sick version of her that ached for the pleasure she had known two months ago.
She blames the hormones.
She raised her head, meeting him eye to eye, losing herself in its darkness. "At least for now. Haa, but there's someone who will be kicking me in a few months."
His expression changed in a second. His nose flared, jaw tightened. "Kaun hai woh badsaa—"
Her eyes widened. "Iqbal, aap toh gusse ho gaye! Itni bhi akal nahi hai—" she argued, placing a comforting hand on his chest.
"Uski pair kaat kar darya mein baha dunga—"
"Haye ram, iss aadmi ko bataaon! Mubarak ho Major Sahab, aap walid banne ja rahe hain!"
Iqbal's world stopped for a whole minute, ears ringing with her voice echoing in them. Walid… Baap… Abbu.
He was going to be a father?
"Phir se kaho."
"Ab baap banne ja rahe—" before she could even finish, he crumpled to the floor, holding her waist like a lifeline.
His Vidhi was going to be the mother of his child again, growing and nurturing his legacy in her body… Words he couldn't hear last time, he was hearing now, in this lifetime, from her sweet voice.
"Shukriya…" he murmured against her waist, pressing kisses to the soft, barely visible curve and staining it with the wetness of his eyes. "Words are not enough to tell you how grateful I am for you… going to be the mother of my child again… Vidhi."
He didn't know how to thank her. Thankful, grateful — those words were not enough for him, not enough for the gift she would be giving him soon. The gruelling fifty years of torture and isolation, the days he hid, the nights he haunted, the tears he shed, all for her… It was all worth it.
No words in any language combined could ever possibly be enough to convey his love for her.
So he resolved it with his worship. Her body felt sacred in his hands as they lay on the flower-petal-blanketed bed. He spooned her against his chest, letting her hear the soft thud of his heartbeat, his fingers gently wandering over her waist, tracing mindless patterns.
"Iqbal…"
"Hmm?"
"You have to meet my parents tomorrow."
“Hmm.”
“Are you nervous?”
"Hmm."
"Are you scared?"
"Hmm."
"Is your cheek aching for another slap?"
"Aisa nahi hai — mazak kar raha tha. Darr nahi lag raha. I am confident that I will convince your parents without a war breaking out."
"I don't know… but it's you who I trust."
Her admissions always made it difficult for him to breathe. Major Iqbal, the angel of death who terrified even Pakistan's most powerful politicians, took a full minute to get over her remark, "Kismat ne hamein juda kiya, kismat ne hi phir se hamein ek kar diya. Unka dil bhi pighal jayega mujhe poora yakeen hai."
She snapped out of his hug and sat up to confront him. She didn't mind when her saree's pallu fell and revealed her cleavage. With petals adhered to it and jasmine flowers gradually withering, her hair flowed freely. "But that doesn't fix the issue."
Iqbal pushed himself upright on the bed, his shirt crumpled and hair dishevelled with a few rose petals stuck in it. She held her palm out to him.
He understood and shook his head, immediately discarding the idea. "I won't give you the dagger, Vidhi."
"I want to break the curse, Iqbal! Today! That's why I cleaned up the house, decorated the room! I want you, Iqbal… I cannot bear even a few seconds apart from you." She cupped his cheeks, kissing his soft lips and savouring his rough beard brushing against her chin.
She broke apart seconds before he could take over, adamant on her wish. "Let me do it, Iqbal. Tell me how…"
She kept her eyes locked with his, only breaking it as she felt her hand dip with a weight. The shiny silver dagger, glinting in the soft candlelight.
Something shifted in his expression then — not quite surrender, not quite peace. "Kya karna hai ab?"
"Tum seh paogi?"
"Tumhare liye? Kuch bhi."
In a split second he pulled her against his frame, letting her settle onto his lap. She was caught off guard but fell into silence as his palm covered hers, taking the dagger into his and slicing the skin without a flinch.
The crimson bled, staining his pale skin. He hesitated, then slowly cut her palm as well. There was a faint sadness in his face, as if the very act pained him more than it did her. She flinched, gritting her teeth, but didn't pull her hand back.
He placed his palm into hers, taking her pallu and tying it around their joined hands. He held it in the air, letting the crimson blend into one.
"What happens next?"
He stayed silent, staring at her with an expression she couldn't quite guess. Just silence. A poker face.
"Iqbal… What happens next? What should we do next?"
"Our hands stay like that. Then—"
"Then what?" she asked impatiently.
"Jab hum mohabbat kar rahe honge… tab tumhe mere seene mein yeh khanjar utaarna hoga."
“Mazak samjh ke rakha hain kya?” She snapped, waiting for a small teasing smile but his face remained calm and passive.
“Nahi… hamare jism, dil aur dimaag ko milana hain. Tab hi Meri rooh tumhari rooh ke saath bun jaayegi.”
Iqbal’s eyes locked onto Vidhi's, the mingled blood warm and slick between their joint hands, staining the pristine white silk red.
Candlelight flickered across his face, Vidhi's petite body against him. No matter how much of an equal she is to his life, she always feels so small in his arms. Her heart pounded, body thrumming with a mix of fear, hesitance dancing in her actions.
But she couldn’t wait any longer; he had suffered enough, she had suffered enough, and the curse had already stolen too much from them.
She leaned in first, her lips crashing against his with a hunger that surprised even her. Iqbal groaned into the kiss, his free hand sliding up her back to tangle in her loose hair, pulling her closer. Vidhi took control, her tongue pushing past his lips to claim his mouth, tasting the salt of his skin and the faint metallic tang from their wounds.
She nipped at his lower lip, drawing a low growl from him, and deepened the kiss, her breasts pressing against his chest through the thin fabric of her blouse.
Breaking just enough to breathe, Vidhi whispered against his mouth, “Aap muhje kabhi nahi chodke jayenge.”
“Kabhi nahi,” He rasped.
Her bound hand stayed clasped in his, but her other hand roamed down his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons until she yanked it open, exposing the hard planes of his chest.
She trailed her nails over his skin, feeling his muscles tense under her touch. Iqbal's breath hitched, his hips shifting beneath her as she straddled him tighter.
She kissed him again, harder this time, her teeth grazing his beard as she sucked on his tongue. Their mouths moved in a frantic rhythm—licking, biting, devouring.
It wasn't a kiss; it was Vidhi taking control and devouring his face like a thirsty woman, her morals slipping away the moment she was in Iqbal's presence.
Vidhi ground her hips down, feeling the growing bulge of his cock straining against his pants, pressing right up against her core.
Heat pooled between her thighs, her pussy already wet and aching for him. She rocked against him, the friction sending sparks through her body, but it wasn't enough. She needed more.
She was a wanton girl with him, forgetting all manners and morals just for the carnal desires that she hid behind the sweet face. All for him only.
Vidhi’s free hand wandered to shove his pants down, freeing his thick cock. It sprang up, hard and veined, the tip glistening with pre-cum. She wrapped her fingers around it, stroking firmly from base to head, making him buck into her grip.
“Vidhi,” he rasped, his voice rough with need, but she silenced him with another kiss, her tongue plunging deep as she positioned herself above him.
Lifting her saree, she guided his cock to her entrance, her slick folds parting easily. She sank down slowly at first, inch by inch, feeling him stretch her pussy wide.
A moan escaped her lips into his mouth as she took him fully, her walls clenching around his length. Iqbal's hands gripped her hips, but she set the pace, rising up and slamming back down, riding him with deliberate force. Each thrust sent jolts of pleasure through her, her clit grinding against his pelvis.
“My sweet girl, my sweet wife… desperate for my cock. You are taking me so well. You are made for me –"
His dirty words send shivers down her spine, prompting her to clench her walls against his pounding length.
“Iqbal, I swear to god if this turns out to be a sick joke, I am never forgiving you—" she mumbled, voice breaking as his cock hit all the right places.
They made out relentlessly, lips bruised and slick, breaths mingling in hot pants. Vidhi's free hand—the one that had held the dagger—now clutched it loosely at her side, the silver blade cool against her skin. She broke the kiss to throw her head back, her hair cascading wild as she bounced on his cock faster, her breasts heaving with every movement.
“Iqbal... yes, fuck me harder,” she gasped, though she was the one driving them both toward the edge.
He thrust up to meet her, his cock pounding deep into her pussy, hitting that spot that made her vision blur. Sweat slicked their bodies, the room filled with the wet sounds of skin slapping skin and their mingled moans.
“That’s right… just like that,” he grunted, chuckling at her desperation. “Dekho kitni pyaari lag rahe ho yeh karte hue... Aise hi mere veer… kitni acche se leh rahi ho…”
His lewd comments sent her over the edge, degradation in the form of utter praise, all her senses heightened, sensations overwhelming her. Vidhi's ecstasy built like a storm, her body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over her. In that blinding moment, as her orgasm ripped through her—her pussy spasming around him, milking his cock.
It was then she remembered the final act. To plunge the dagger into his chest.
With a cry, she forced herself to plunge it into his chest, dark maroon blood splattered across her face.
Iqbal… was finally free.
Iqbal doesn't like mornings; he prefers to stay in the dark and use the bright day to sharpen his thoughts like a knife. Almost vampireish, but daylight gives him the ick, and it doesn't go with his whole haunt-Lyari-at-night aesthetic.
His side of the bed was empty, Vidhi noticed. It's all fictional that demons and ghosts come out at night — Iqbal could very well walk around in the day, but he simply prefers not to, giving her time to clean out the room and invite her parents into the house for their stay.
Soft light filtered through the window, shining on the wilted petals scattered across the room. She peeled herself from the bed, the ache between her thighs a reminder of what happened the night before.
She could feel a tug at her heart, iqbal's soul beckoning her towards his. The wound in his chest mended itself, Heavy gust of wind blasted out from impact, the curtains of the canopy bed fluttered, the windows flew open violently with the thud.
He smiled at her frame hovering him, with blood-stricken face and dagger plunged into his heart, she looked like goddess divine, a being that was taught to be avoided in his faith. When the curse was broken, it was her body that first acknowledged it. The bond.
She limped out, cleaning the room of the suhagraat-type arrangements she had done the night before.
The lengths she would go to for that man were astonishing.
After an hour of cleaning, scrubbing the blood off her body and dressing into a modest turtleneck sweater, she called her friends — asking them to check out of the hotel and come to the haveli.
"It's… quite spacious," Vidhi's mom commented, walking into the living room with a tote bag slung over her arm.
Vidhi looked at her with a 'really?' look. Danish and Mahi stumbled into the haveli with the luggage, collapsing at the entrance while panting desperately for air. They crawled toward the living room like worms.
"Danish or Mahi beta, do bring the luggage to the first floor!" Sunita's voice rang out from the first floor.
"O-OKAY AH-AU-AUNTY!" heaved Mahi, clambering on the floor from exhaustion. The revenge plan of her parents was going strong, Danish and Mahi being the first and foremost victims.
The central hall was vast and dimly lit; the chandelier hanging from the intricately carved ceiling clinked with the breeze. Marble floors reflected the warm glow of lanterns, a fountain at the centre with soft vines wrapping around it like tentacles.
Footsteps, shuffling, echoed through the hall. Iqbal's haveli exuded elegance and taste — every pillar, every painting had his hand behind it.
"When will he… come?" Her father, Rajesh Rawat, asked casually, standing beside her.
"At night. He doesn't like the day."
"He's a vampire?!"
"No, Papa! He just doesn't like the day. He finds peace at night." Vidhi explained, exasperated. "Take some rest. There's a bedroom for you and mom on the first-floor right wing."
"What about the left wing?"
She glanced sideways at her father. "For the sake of your sanity, avoid the left wing, Papa."
The sun descended from the horizon, rust orange fading into Cadbury purple, and soon the sky was painted black with the full moon shining in silver. A cool breeze rustled the leaves of the courtyard, the earthy scent of petrichor filling Vidhi's nostrils as she leaned against the pillar, waiting for Iqbal.
Everyone was waiting for him in the living room. Mahi and Danish kept their distance from the Rawat couple while Prerna acted as if she didn't know much about the ordeal — causing the two boys to glare daggers at the girl who had escaped from the clutches of Vidhi's parents' torture programme.
The silence was broken by a slow rumble. Iqbal's jeep rolled in, tires halting on the sandstone floor of the outer courtyard. Her smile widened as she scrambled down the small steps and into his arms.
"Jeep bhi demonic hai?"
He laughed, the sound echoing through the courtyard. Her parents heard it — their backs straightened as the footsteps came closer.
"Mummy, Papa… this is Iqbal." Vidhi introduced, gesturing to the man standing beside her.
Her parents had to raise their heads to assess him. Iqbal stood taller than six feet, with a long well-groomed beard and deep-set eyes as sharp as knives. The man appeared to be the living embodiment of a military commander.
Sunita squeaked beside her husband, clutching his arm. Rajesh Rawat glanced back at Mahi and Danish.
Danish had a look on his face that said: "Aap chahke bhi nahi maar sakte usko. Chhe foot ka darinda hai."
"Assalamu alaikum," Iqbal greeted, and then — before anyone could say a word — he bent down and touched their feet.
The trio from behind went completely silent, gawking like fish out of water while Vidhi watched with a knowing smile.
He straightened up. "I hope your journey was comfortable and my home warm enough for your stay."
"H-haa. Yes it was." Her father cleared his throat, hands tucked into his pockets — his best attempt at intimidating the man who was supposed to be shivering in his boots begging for Vidhi's hand. "Now. Let's get to the point."
"What is your intention with my daughter?"
"Pyaar aur shaadi. Uske baad, aagle janam mein inshallah phir milenge toh—wahi."
Sunita stared at him, mouth open at the blunt but oddly sweet response. Rajesh pressed on. "How old are you?"
"Forty-four."
"Forty-four," her father repeated slowly. Then he straightened up, squaring his shoulders with energy of a man who found a loophole. "Do you know how old I am?"
"No."
"Fifty-two. I am barely a few years older than you." He paused, intentionally, letting it sink in to everyone. "Closer to your age than my own daughter's."
Iqbal looked at him, calm and unbothered.
“Ji, muhje pata hain. Par fir bhi aapki beti se jo ishq hain paachas saalo se, uske aage kuch bhi nahi tikta.”
Fifty years.
Sunita fainted at the new information.
Before anyone could move a muscle, before Danish could leap in, before Mahi could do his dramatic 'Haye Ram’ wala gasp, before Prerna could hold her head and cry, 'Aunty! 'Iqbal came to her rescue, crossing the distance in one step and catching her, one arm under her shoulders while maintaining a respectable distance.
His actions were much gentler than the man he appeared from outside. Vidhi came to his aid, both of them carrying her mother inside the room; apparently, the scene was much more common in their family, her mother fainting at stressful situations.
Prerna, Danish and Mahi followed them like lost puppies, deciding to avoid the predatory eyes of Vidhi's father.
Rajesh pinched the bridge of his nose, contemplating and calculating his past life to see if he had done anything to anybody that made him land in this particular situation. Did he have a beef with a forty-year-old man who cursed him?
From inside, he could hear Mahi whisper to Danish: "Bhai, who do you think will kill us first? Aunty or uncle?"
"Mahi Khuda kasam, mein teri—" Danish hissed.
"I'm just saying—"
"Yaar, what will they do if they find out Vidhi is pregnant?” Prerna’s whisper was a bit too loud for a whisper. So, obviously everyone heard it.
The house paused for a few seconds before the collective screaming pierced through the ghost silence.
