Fandom: Dhurandhar. Word count: 4,144. Trigger warnings: Light Bondage, Borderline Somnophilia, Overstimulation / Praise & Gentle Degradation, Unprotected Sex / Creampie. Idiots in Love, Fluff and Smut, Soft Dom Sanaz + Soft Dom Hamza. Ship: Hamza Ali Mazari + Sanaz/Reader (F). Rating: Explicit. Status: Complete One-Shot.
THE CLICK OF the handcuffs locking around his wrist echoed a little too loudly in the quiet of his master bedroom.
Aside from that, there was only the monotonous tick-tock of the wall clock, measuring out the seconds of his rare, unguarded moment.
I crawled up the mattress, shifting my weight until I was straddling his stomach, before reaching down to drag the heavy winter blanket away from his face.
The sudden rush of chilly air hit him instantly, causing his dark brows to furrow slightly in his sleep. Moving like a ghost in the shadows, I took the second cuff, snapping it around his other wrist and securing it to the opposite side of the headboard.
That was all it took.
His eyes snapped open.
He instantly tried to bolt upright, but his momentum was cut violently short halfway up. He blinked against the darkness, his breath hitching, shuddering in his throat until his gaze finally locked onto mine. The tension in his shoulders bled out just a fraction, a low sigh slipping past his lips.
"Yeh sab kya hai, seherzadi?"
[What is all this, my princess?]
I leaned down, deliberately pressing the full warmth of my weight against his trapped body. His gaze dropped, tracking the movement, burning into the space where I sat flush against him.
"Aap bohot pareshan lag rahe the," I murmured, my voice a quiet contrast to the chill in the room. "Socha thoda sahara de doon."
[You seemed very troubled. I thought I'd offer some comfort.]
He looked up through his lashes, his long, wild dark hair spilling against his back and the pillows.
"Aise?" he chided, his voice a low rumble.
[Like this?]
As he moved against the restraints, the remaining cover slid completely off his chest. The shifting fabric revealed the broad expanse of his chestnut skin, the intimidating thickness of his arms, and the coarse trail of dark hair dusting across his chest and down his stomach.
I shifted my weight, sliding up his frame to let him sit up a bit more comfortably, my thighs now tightly straddling his lap.
"Mhm," I murmured, a slow nod escaping me as I deliberately bit my lower lip, letting my gaze drop to his mouth. "Waise aap bolein toh main chali jaungi."
[Mhm. Though, if you say the word, I’ll leave.]
He let out a rough, frustrated huff, his broad chest rising. "Nahi. Magar yeh bedi kholo. Kahan se aayi tumhare paas?"
[No. But open these shackles. Where did you even get them from?]
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of my lips. I leaned in just close enough for him to feel the heat of my breath. "Jab aap kisi ke neeche ho toh sawal nahi puchhte, Hamza Sahab."
[When you are underneath someone, you don't ask questions, Mr. Hamza.]
He tilted his chin up, refusing to look defeated even from below. In the dim light of the bedroom, the heavy silver chains resting against his chest caught a sudden glint over his skin as his thick beard lifted.
"Aag se khel rahi hain aap, Sanaz Sahiba," he warned. "Kabhi na kabhi toh utrogi, fir sawalon ka jawab bhi dogi aur maafi bhi maangogi."
[You are playing with fire, Miss Sanaz. Sooner or later you'll have to get down, and then you'll answer my questions and beg for forgiveness, too.]
I narrowed my eyes into a defiant squint, refusing to let him see even a flicker of hesitation. "Mujhe aapse dar nahi lagta."
[I am not afraid of you.]
"Darna chahiye," he retorted instantly.
To emphasize the threat, he gave a sudden, deliberate tug at the restraints. The plush cuffs strained against the headboard, the metal clicking sharply in the quiet room. His green eyes locked onto mine.
[You should be. Because when these hands are freed, there will be no one left to save you.]
I couldn't help the slow, wicked smile that curved my lips at his threat. "Der hai, Hamza Sahab," I whispered, leaning in until the tips of my nails dug into the thick muscle of his chest, anchoring myself to him. "Filhal ke liye aap mere ghulam hain."
[There's time for that, Mr. Hamza. For now, you are my slave.]
He raised his eyebrows
"Ghulam? Sapne dekh rahi ho, seherzadi."
[Slave? You’re dreaming, my princess.]
I shook my head slowly, my gaze never leaving his. "Aap hi ne toh kaha tha, aap ki jaan mere kadmon mein basti hai."
[You were the one who said your life resides at my feet.]
"Woh ibadat hai, Sanaz," he corrected, "Fark hai."
[That is devotion, Sanaz. There’s a difference.]
By now, the space between us had completely vanished.
Our bodies were pressing tightly together, the contrast of the freezing room forgotten against the roaring heat of his skin. My hands drifted downward, tracing the firm yet plush contours of his abs.
"Fark hai? Theek hai, aaj kuch aur bankar dekh lo," I murmured against his skin.
[A difference? Fine, try being something else tonight.]
I leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek, before tracing my lips higher to catch the tiny freckle on his ear. The subtle movement was rewarded instantly, I caught the sharp, heavy bob of his throat as he gulped.
"Bharosa hai na mujh par? Fir ghabra kyun rahe ho?" I teased softly, my breath ghosting over his earlobe. "Aisa toh nahi ki hum yeh pehli baar kar rahe hain."
[You trust me, don't you? Then why are you nervous? It’s not like we’re doing this for the first time.]
He looked up at me. "Dar lagta hai hosh khone se."
[I'm afraid of losing my control.]
I know that feeling all too well. I leaned back just enough to look into his eyes, giving him a knowing smile. "Woh toh aap bohot pehle kho chuke the."
[You lost that a long time ago.]
A sudden flicker of realization crossed his face, stripping away the last of his playful defiance. He didn't deny it. For a second, the room was entirely silent, save for the heavy rhythm of his breathing.
"Shayad sach keh rahi ho," he murmured, a low, defeated chuckle escaping his throat.
[Maybe you're right.]
Before the last word could fully leave his mouth, his face shifted closer to mine, eliminating the remaining distance and claiming my lips in a sudden, bruising kiss. It caught me off guard for a split second, the sudden dominance of his movement taking over despite the heavy cuffs anchoring his wrists.
But the surprise dissolved instantly. I tilted my head, responding with equal fervor, deepening the kiss as our lips moved together in a desperate rhythm, tasting the intoxicating heat of his tongue.
As we finally pulled apart, our breaths mingling in the chilly air, he looked up at me with a heavy, hooded gaze. "Bohot mazak hogaya," he muttered, his voice rough. "Ab kholo ise."
[Enough joking around. Now open this.]
I simply shook my head. "Aaj nahi."
[Not tonight.]
"Bohot ziddi ho," he huffed, a low growl rolling in his chest as he realized I wasn't backing down.
[You are very stubborn.]
Ignoring his protest, I slid down his body, leaving a trail of burning kisses across the broad expanse of his chest and down the tight muscle of his stomach. I leaned over, sinking my teeth into the thick meat of his arm just enough to leave a stinging love bite. Even through his clothing, I could already feel the hard, rigid length of him pressing urgently against my bum.
Slowly, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his sweats and dragged them down.
His breath hitched sharply into his throat the moment I pulled away to sit between his stretched legs. Released from the fabric, his thick cock sprang free in the cold air. I wrapped my fingers around the base, the intense, throbbing warmth of his skin a stark contrast against my freezing fingertips.
He hissed aloud, his eyes snapping shut for a tense moment as his jaw clenched.
I began to stroke him, my palm sliding up and down the thick, heavy length of his shaft, using my thumb to catch the slick bead of precum and smear it over his flushed, swollen head.
"Bass jhooth bolte ho," I chuckled softly, looking up at him through my lashes. "Asaliyat mein aapko sab chahiye hota hai."
[You only tell lies. In reality, you want everything.]
Above me, his teeth were gritted so tightly the muscles in his jaw were jumping. "Chahne mein aur karne mein fark hota hai," he rapped out, his voice strained to the absolute limit.
[There is a difference between wanting and doing.]
"Aap bas mujhe fark sikhate reh jana," I murmured, a quiet laugh escaping me as I leaned in closer. "Fark toh aapko bhi nahi padta."
[You just keep teaching me the difference... not that it makes a difference to you anyway.]
Before he could process the words, I leaned down and swiped a slow, wet lick over the sensitive skin of his tip.
A broken groan escaped his lips, and the handcuffs rattled violently against the headboard as his body instinctively jerked. "Sanaz..." he gasped out between fractured breaths, his chest heaving. "Yeh sab karne ki zarurat nahi hai."
[Sanaz... there’s no need to do all this.]
"Main karna chahti hoon," I replied softly.
[I want to.]
Holding his gaze, I made sure my eyes stayed locked onto his.
The amber glow from the bedside lamp cast a warm, golden sweat over his flushed features, making every sharp angle of his face look incredibly soft yet entirely undone. Keeping that unblinking eye contact, I parted my lips and wrapped them tightly around the crown, my lips stretching to their absolute limit around his massive thickness.
He let out a choked sound, his legs tensing as he planted his feet flat against the mattress, desperately trying to anchor himself to keep from violently moving against the cuffs.
The rest of his heavy length was wrapped tightly in my fingers, my palm sliding against the base. Beneath my tongue, I could feel the thick veins taut and pulsing violently against his heated flesh. Unable to resist the sheer, solid bulk of him, I reached out with my free hand, my fingers sinking deep into the dense muscle of his thigh, squeezing him hard.
I let my tongue slide deliberately over the sensitive underside of the tip. The friction was too much; his hips instinctively gave a slow, desperate push upward into my mouth.
"Yeh sab... Kahan se seekha...?" he gasped out, his voice completely wrecked.
[Where... did you learn all this...?]
"Jaise sab seekhte hain," I answered, pulling back just enough to look at him, a breathless smirk on my lips. "Jaise aapko pata hoga."
[The way everyone learns. The way you probably know.]
He threw his head back against the pillows in pure frustration, the dark waves of his hair framing his sweat-sheened face. The movement accidentally drove him a bit deeper into my throat, and I had to quickly pull away before I could choke.
I wasn't a professional at this, but I knew exactly how to handle the basics to drive him insane.
I picked up the pace, my hand stroking him a little faster, a little tighter, and that was all it took to push him over the precipice.
Before he could even warn me, he was cumming.
Thick, warm ropes of white spilled over my lips and skin.
I let out a slight, startled yelp as the sharp, salty taste of him hit my tongue, completely differing from anything else. But I didn't stop. I continued to stroke his softening length, my thumb teasing the hyper-sensitive tip until the last of the tremors left his body and his hips stopped moving entirely.
The heavy, white mess coated his skin and pooled against his thighs.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, looking down at his completely undone posture. "Itni jaldi?" I teased, my voice dripping with soft mockery. "Pehli baar hai, Hamza Sahab."
[So soon? That's a first, Mr. Hamza.]
A low, defeated chuckle rumbled in his chest as he slowly tried to regulate his ragged breathing, his eyes fluttering open to look at me through the dim amber glow of the room.
"Aise dekhogi toh kaise tik paunga?" he murmured, a raw, hopelessly devoted smile touching his lips.
[If you look at me like that, how am I supposed to last?]
"Ab toh taras kha lo, seherzadi," he murmured. [Have some mercy now, my princess.]
"Uh-huh, itni jaldi nahi," I countered with a soft hum.
[Not so soon.]
Slowly, I slid my underwear down my legs and tossed them aside before shifting my weight to straddle his crotch completely bare.
The moment his skin registered the damp warmth of my pussy pressing directly against him, his entire body stiffened beneath me. A dark, dangerous glint flared in his eyes.
"Achcha?" he rasped, his jaw clenching as he looked up at me. "Lekin yaad rakhna, raat lambi hai... aur ek baar yeh haath khul gaye, toh hisab barabar karne mein mujhe zyada waqt nahi—"
[Oh, really? But remember, the night is long... and once these hands are freed, it won't take me long to settle the score—]
Before he could finish the threat, I reached down and swept my nightdress over my head, discarding it onto the pile of his sweats at the edge of the bed.
The words died instantly in his throat. He blinked, his gaze locking onto my bare chest. Beneath me, I could almost feel the sudden, violent spike in his pulse, his heartbeat quickening as his eyes devoured the sight of me. A low defeated groan tore from his chest. "Zaalim."
[Cruel.]
I didn't give him a second to recover. Shifting my weight closer, I began to slowly grind against him, dragging my wetness right over his length and stomach. The friction was instant and intoxicating, his cock sliding deliciously between my lips and stroking right over my clit. A soft, breathless moan escaped my lips, and I had to plant my hands firmly on his broad shoulders just to anchor myself against the sheer wave of pleasure.
"Enjoying yourself?" he murmured.
Even with his wrists pinned, he surged upward, straightening his spine to eliminate the distance. Before I could answer, his mouth wrapped hungrily around my nipple. His tongue swiped over the tight peak, licking the sensitive skin and pulling me down closer, deeper against him.
He buried his nose in the valley between my breasts, taking a deep breath of my scent, before his lips migrated to claim the other one with the same intensity.
Unable to resist the pull, I arched my back, pushing my chest closer to his hungrily devouring mouth. After a few agonizingly perfect minutes of grinding—until we were both completely drenched in sweat and slick moisture—I lowered my hand between us, guiding his rigid length directly to my aching entrance.
A simultaneous moan tore from both our throats as he finally slid all the way inside. The angle of straddling him forced me to take every single inch, stretching me instantly to the absolute limit. My ass pressed hard against the dense muscle of his thighs, my knees anchored tightly at the sides of his waist.
He tilted his head back slightly against the pillow, his eyes hooded but burning. "Move, jaan. Or are you going to just sit on it and look pretty?"
[Move, my life...]
I let out a breathless huff, refusing to lose the psychological game. "You're not untouchable, mere sher."
[...my lion.]
Setting the pace, I started moving, slowly grinding my hips down against him in a punishing rhythm. He met me halfway, rocking his hips upward with a slow, heavy counter-thrust. I bit my lower lip hard, desperately trying to stifle the whimpers and high-pitched moans building in my throat, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how completely he was ruining me. A fine sheen of sweat began to break out across my forehead and chest, catching the warm amber glow of the lamp.
"Lean closer, jaan," he rumbled, his voice thick with friction.
I leaned down, pressing our chests flat together, my breasts squishing against the solid expanse of his torso. The sudden shift in angle completely stole the breath from my lungs; every upward surge of his hips was hitting the deepest, most sensitive spots inside me. My thighs began to quiver uncontrollably under the sheer intensity.
"Need help?" he teased, his breathing as fractured as mine.
I nodded desperately against his neck.
"Take these off.”
"No," I gasped out, my fingers tightening on his shoulders.
The refusal was all it took.
Instead of arguing, he took complete control using the only leverage he had left. He started pushing upward a bit faster, a bit harder, his blunt force ripping a sharp whimper right past my defenses. My nails dug deep into the meat of his shoulders, leaving red marks.
"Hamza..." I warned him, my voice breaking.
But he didn't listen. He kept the exact same merciless force, driving the speed faster and faster until the room narrowed down to just the sound of our skin colliding and the violent rattling of the metal cuffs against the wood.
The friction became entirely too much.
I couldn't help but tighten around his thick length uncontrollably, my walls clamping down on him in a desperate bid to slow him down. He adjusted, his pace slowing to a heavy halt, but he kept thrusting up, deep and relentless, anchoring me to the mattress.
"Come on, Seherzadi," he urged against my ear.
I lost all control.
A wave of intense heat crashed over my body. My hips quivered violently as my muscles squeezed him impossibly tight, riding the shattering crest of my high. Above the noise of my undone cries, Hamza let out a guttural curse. His body locked up beneath me as he followed right after, a violent surge rocking his hips as he filled me to the absolute brim.
A long, trembling sigh escaped me. I let my strength give out entirely, resting my forehead against the damp skin of his shoulder as we both breathed heavily into the quiet room.
He pulled out slowly, the thick, mixed release flowing down my thighs to drop onto his stomach, leaving us completely spent in the fading warmth of the winter night.
A soft, breathless smile passed between us, our lips brushing in the quiet aftermath. "Bohot buri ho tum, Sanaz," he breathed out, his chest still heaving slightly against mine.
[You are very bad, Sanaz.]
"Aaj pata chala?" I retorted, my voice a lazy, satisfied purr.
[You just realized today?]
"Bohot pehle se pata tha kaisi musibat ho tum."
[I’ve known for a very long time what a troublemaker you are.]
I tilted my head, looking down at him. "Aur fir bhi mohabbat kar li."
[And yet you still fell in love.]
His eyes softened, holding mine with that intensity that always made my heart skip. "Mohabbat nahi, ibadat."
[Not love... devotion.]
"Aww," I cooed softly.
Deciding to finally be merciful, I straightened up and reached for the keys. With two sharp clicks, I uncuffed his wrists and tossed the metal restraints carelessly onto the bedside table.
As I started to slide off his lap to give him some space, Hamza immediately sat up. He slowly rotated his large wrists, rubbing the faint red indentations left by the plush lining.
Then, he stopped.
He looked up, and the lazy, defeated lover from a second ago vanished, replaced by a dark, simmering look of pure retaliation.
Oh no.
"Ab meri baari," he growled.
[Now it's my turn.]
Before I could even scramble backward, he pounced.
Moving with the terrifying speed of a man who spent his life in combat, he caught me easily. His thick fingers wrapped like iron bands around both of my wrists, pinning them securely above my head as he drove me flat down into the mattress under his massive weight.
I let out a sharp, breathless yelp, my heart instantly hammering against my ribs for a completely different reason. "Hamza—”
"Ab mai aazad hoon," he promised against my skin as he leaned down, completely eclipsing the light.
[Now I am free.]
I looked away, my dark hair splayed chaotically over the pillows, trying to play innocent despite the hammering in my chest. "Main toh bas aapki madad kar rahi thi."
[I was only trying to help you.]
"Achcha?" A knowing smirk brushed against my skin as his lips began a slow, burning trail down the column of my neck, mapping his way toward my chest. "Fir main bhi aapki madad kar raha hoon."
[Really? Then I’m only helping you, too.]
I let out a breathless huff, my cheek flushing a deep, furious crimson under his touch. "Chhoro mujhe, bad manners."
[Let me go, bad manners.]
Slap.
The sharp, sudden sound of his open palm meeting the bare skin of my thigh echoed in the quiet room. I gasped aloud at the absolute audacity of it, my eyes snapping back to his.
"Raat lambi hai, Sanaz," he murmured, his green eyes swirling with a predatory heat that made my knees weak. "Aur tumne bhukhe sher ko jagaya hai."
[The night is long, Sanaz. And you have awakened a hungry lion.]
Before I could protest, his large palm slid up to completely encompass my breast, squeezing firmly until a soft whine caught in my throat. Moving effortlessly, he lined his heavy frame directly against mine. He slid his hand beneath my ass, lifting my hips high off the mattress to angle me perfectly before driving his rigid length back inside with a single, uncompromising push—all while his other hand kept both of my wrists securely pinned above my head.
Slowly he started to move.
The effect was instantaneous. My back arched off the bed, my body entirely at his mercy. He ground against me roughly, the intense, unyielding pressure ripping whimpers right past my lips as my walls clamped down tight around him. My legs dangled helplessly at his sides, unable to find any leverage.
"Best sight," he whispered, his hooded gaze locked onto my undone expression.
"Creep," I grumbled weakly, my breasts bouncing with the heavy force of each upward thrust.
"Creep for loving my wife?" He let out a low huff, his long, dark hair fanning over us like a heavy silk curtain as he maintained his relentless pace. "Kamal karti ho, seherzadi."
[You are incredible, my princess.]
A few more rough, deep thrusts and I was already teetering precariously over the edge. I had never been good at controlling my release, and no matter how hard I tried to fight it, the pleasure took over entirely. My hips lifted instinctively against him, my knees going completely weak as the first tremors of my high crashed through me.
Recognizing the shift, his hand slipped down between our bodies, his thumb gently rubbing my hyper-sensitive clit. The extra friction sent me completely over the precipice. I came violently, sobbing his name into the quiet room. "Stop..."
He didn't pull away until he finally reached his own limit, letting out a low groan as he finished deep inside me, the excess of our combined release spilling over my vulva.
I looked down at the mess, the heavy friction having turned everything into a thick, white glaze against our skin. I wrinkled my nose, though there was no real heat behind it. "Gande Hamza."
[Dirty Hamza.]
"Gandi Sanaz," he retorted seamlessly, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
[Dirty Sanaz.]
I rolled my eyes as his grip finally loosened, releasing my aching wrists. We were both a complete disaster, and his bedsheets were definitely going to need a thorough wash.
He pulled me against his broad, sweat-sheened chest, wrapping his heavy arms around me and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of my head. "You okay?"
I nodded, burying my face into his neck and hugging him back tightly. As my hand slid lazily down his back, my fingers brushed against the firm curve of his seat.
I couldn't help but give it a playful squeeze. "Nice ass."
He let out a rich chuckle that vibrated directly into my hair. "You're absurd.”
"What? Can't compliment my husband's curves?"
He took a slow, deep breath, his arms tightening around me. "You absolutely can, jaan."
[...my life.]
Reaching up, I grabbed him by the heavy chains resting against his neck, pulling his face down to claim his lips in one last, sweet kiss as he muttered between the kisses.
"Agli baar, hathkadi nahi, apne DUPATTE SE BANDHNA."
[Next time, don't use handcuffs. Bind me with your dupatta.]
If you made it till the end, let me enlighten you. You don't know this, but Saazish started as a smutshot. A series including three oneshots — Sadaf, Smara, Saazish— before it became a 26-chapter novel. I have other smut ideas for the book, but this one didn't fit anywhere. So here it is: a behind-the-scenes look. A "what might've happened that night" oneshot. (For info: Sadaf is now a standalone. Smara will be tweaked and included in the Saazish book.)
Here's my MAIN MASTERLIST. Here's my SAAZISH MASTERLIST. If you don't know me - I'm an artist and DHURANDHAR is my current hyperfixation.
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Have you guys talked about the enslavement of West African migrants going on in Libya yet? Please do & tag every MENA-related page you know. I haven't heard so as much a peep from nonblack MENA "activists" thus far
here are a few links discussing this. migrant workers and black Libyans are being sold as slaves by non-black Libyans and i do agree with you that the silence on this issue, especially by non black middle easterns/nonblack arabs/non black Muslims speaks volumes about anti black racism in our communities.
Wherein They Are Ordered to Love, for the Sake of the Crown
"HONSLA. EENDHAN. BADLA.”
["Courage. Fuel. Revenge."]
Ajay Sanyal’s voice is remarkably quiet.
I offer a disciplined nod, keeping my forearms resting flat against the glass surface of the briefing table.
“Gurbaaz ke baare mein suna,” Sushant chimes in from the corner of the room, his eyes scanning the latest surveillance sheets. “India aate hi hum use extract kar lenge.”
["I heard about Gurbaaz. The moment he touches Indian soil, we will extract him."]
I lean my torso slightly forward, my fingers tightening against the edge as I lock eyes with my handlers. The request I am about to make isn't standard agency protocol, but it is non-negotiable for my conscience. “Kya main ek cheez maang sakta hoon?”
["Can I ask for one thing?"]
Sanyal tilts his head, gesturing for me to continue.
“Jameel Sahab aapko saari khabar pohonchate hain. Main chahta hoon ki jab uska extraction ho... use rehab mein le jaya jaaye.”
["Mr. Jameel sends you all the intelligence files. I want that when his extraction happens... he should be taken directly to a rehabilitation facility."]
A soft, knowing smile fractures Sushant’s professional mask. “Abhi bhi fikr hai dost ki.”
["Still looking out for your friend."]
I offer a single nod, a heavy lump forming in my throat as I swallow down the residual grief. I steady my breathing, “...Maa aur Jasleen kaisi hain?”
["...How are Mother and Jasleen?"]
Sanyal checks the localized domestic ledger before looking up at me. “Tumhari maut ka bahana banakar, Indian government unhe abhi tak 30,000 bhejti hai har mahine. Sunne mein aaya hai Jasleen journalist ban gayi hai. Corrupt leaders aur politicians ka parda faash karna chahti hai.”
["Using the pretext of your death, the Indian government still sends them 30,000 rupees every single month. Word has it that Jasleen has become a journalist. She wants to expose corrupt leaders and politicians."]
The words hit my chest with a sudden, suffocating pride. My little sister, fighting the same monsters in the light that I am executioning in the shadows.
“Sir, she’s here,” a crisp, disciplined voice interrupts through the comms line. Meera steps into the room, and directly behind her silhouette, the door swings wide to reveal the absolute sovereign of my universe.
Sanaz.
She steps through the threshold looking breathtakingly, unapologetically sophisticated—wearing a crisp, tailored premium shirt tucked into sleek flared trousers, her leather ankle boots clicking sharply against the floorboards, her heavy coat draped loosely across her shoulders.
Her fingers move to smoothly tuck the heavy silver handgun back into the concealed inner lining of her garment before the door even clicks shut behind her.
She doesn't waste a single second on pleasantries. Her eyes sweep the room, locking instantly onto the handlers. “Mujhe Dubai kyun bulaya, sir?”
["Why did you summon me to Dubai, sir?"]
“Pehle baitho,” Sanyal instructs calmly, gesturing to the vacant leather seats across from my position.
["Sit down first."]
Sanaz slides into the seat, her movements graceful and fluid, with Meera settling smoothly right by her side as the architecture of the Dubai briefing officially aligns.
“Bohot din ho gaye, socha tum dono se mil loon,” Sanyal says, “Tum dono ke reports dekhe maine, Sushant aur Meera ki badaulat. Kaafi interesting case hai.”
["It's been a long time, thought I'd meet you two. I saw both of your reports, courtesy of Sushant and Meera. It's quite an interesting case."]
Sanaz subtly shifts in her leather chair, her eyes dropping toward the glass table for a fraction of a second, a rare flicker of genuine embarrassment crossing her features. The realization that she had spend months meticulously flagging me as a tier-one localized terrorist threat in her encrypted data pools is hitting the room.
“Lekin isse yeh saabit hota hai ki tum dono apna role kaafi achche tareeke se nibha rahe ho,” Sanyal continues, “I want... the ties to be stronger.”
What.
“I want you to get married under the civilian guise.”
Sanaz’s head snaps up immediately, her clinical composure completely fracturing. “What?” She blinks rapidly, her voice sharpening with tactical resistance. “Why? I don't think it will be—”
“It will be helpful,” Meera interrupts smoothly, leaning forward to lay out the operational architecture. “Imagine, Pakistan already knows you two and your personas. No one will question why an elite Clifton doctor is associating with a Lyari cartel figure. You two are close to the similar people and belong in the same circle.”
“It's just for the cover, anyway,” Sushant adds, offering a casual, unbothered shrug from the corner of the room. “Hai na, Jaskirat?”
["Right, Jaskirat?"]
Sanaz lets out a sharp, unapologetic scoff, cutting a sideways glance at my massive frame. “Woh jawab nahi dega. Pehle se hi mara jaa raha tha shaadi karne ke liye.”
["He won't answer. He was already dying to marry me anyway."]
God.
The exposure.
I instantly drop my gaze toward my hands on the table, my jaw tightening as I desperately try to suppress the furious, betraying flush of embarrassment rising up my neck.
Sanyal’s eyebrows draw together into a heavy frown. He leans his torso closer over the table, slowly pulling a crisp cigarette from his silver case. His sharp eyes bore directly into mine, stripping away the humor of the room. “Is it true? You love her?”
I take a deep breath as I lift my head to lock eyes with the man who commands my life.
“I love her.”
Sanyal clicks his metal lighter, the flame illuminating the hard, ruthless lines of his face as the first trail of smoke curls into the air. He looks at the two of us—two elite, highly decorated phantoms who have given up our names, our lands, and our souls for the tricolor flag.
“Love is a leverage, kids.”
“I won't stop you. Lekin mission ke beech mein kuch nahi aana chahiye,” Sanyal commands. ["I won't stop you. But nothing should come between you and the mission."]
“Everything will be arranged,” he continues, ash falling from his cigarette into the glass tray. “Get married, build your shoal. Hamza, Sanaz, Rizwan, Jameel, and Alam.”
“Alam bhai too?” Sanaz gasps softly as her fingers tighten against the leather armrest of her chair. “Pakistan mein aadhe se zyada log spy hain kya?”
["Alam brother too? Are more than half the people in Pakistan spies?"]
Sanyal lets out a low, deeply amused chuckle, the hard lines around his eyes crinkling. “Bohot kuch nahi pata hai aapko.”
["There is a great deal you don't know yet."]
Sanaz’s eyes subtly dart toward the corner of the room, instantly tracking the angles of the vents and the dark ceiling panels. “I don't think we should discuss everything openly like this...”
["I don't think we should discuss everything openly like this..."]
“It's fine. No cameras, we've checked,” Meera assures her flatly, her hands resting calmly over her electronic tablet.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the skyscraper, the sprawling Dubai skyline is rapidly bleeding into a dark, heavy indigo twilight.
Sanaz takes a slow, deep breath, her chin tilting upward as she addresses the handler with an unvarnished clarity. “So... you want us to build a family. What about me, sir?”
“You'll continue to work as D's physician. What else?” Sanyal counters.
“I don't want to build a family in a traditional way,” she states firmly.
“That can be managed,” Sanyal replies smoothly. He lazily cuts his sharp gaze sideways, locking onto my massive frame across the table. “What do you think?”
I offer a single, quiet nod.
Sanaz scoffs, leaning forward as she shoots a fiercely protective, incredulous look straight at the IB Chief. “Sir, aap usse kya poochh rahe hain? Mujhse puchiye. He isn't the one pushing out kids from between his legs.”
["Sir, why are you asking him? Ask me. He isn't the one pushing out kids from between his legs."]
Sanyal freezes mid-breath, his hand holding the lit cigarette static in the air as the bluntness of Dr. Siddiqui’s boundary registers across his bureaucratic circuits. He slowly offers a sharp nod, clearing his throat. “Humein bass ek perfect cover chahiye. Those things are very optional nowadays. We aren't living in the 70s.”
["We just need a perfect cover. Those things are very optional nowadays. We aren't living in the 70s."]
“Get Vasectomy and Salpingectomy,” Meera suggests from the side table, her voice entirely flat, as if she is recommending a standard software upgrade for two field assets.
I swallow hard.
Pehle circumcision, ab yeh.
Sanyal tracks the slight tightening of my jaw, his eyes narrowing through the drifting tobacco smoke. “Are you okay, Jaskirat? Did you have different plans?”
I shake my head immediately, my voice leveling out into the foundational creed of a soldier who gave up his sovereignty a decade ago. “No, sir. Marrying or becoming a parent wasn't my priority. It has always been about protecting my country.”
Sanaz cuts her eyes sideways, letting out a sharp, highly skeptical roll of her eyelids. “Achcha?”
["Oh really?"]
The small, mocking syllable snaps something clean in my chest.
I turn my massive frame slightly in the leather chair, locking my eyes directly onto her elegant profile.
“Haan,” I reply, “I was eager to marry you because I love you, not because I was pushing thirty. There's a difference.”
["Yes."]
Sanaz stops mid-breath. In the corner of the room, Sushant aggressively clears his throat, his eyes shifting awkwardly between us as he hastily tries to defuse the situation.
“Theek hai,” he commands softly, lifting a hand. “Calm down.”
["Alright."]
Sanyal calmly presses the tip of his half-burnt cigarette against the edge of the glass tray, extinguishing the flame before dropping the remaining filter straight into his coat pocket.
His sharp eyes lock back onto the space between us. “Bharat apna rukh badal raha hai. Humne middle-east se dosti karna shuru kar diya hai, taaki Pakistan ko economically weak bana sake.”
["India is changing its stance. We have started building ties with the Middle East, so that we can weaken Pakistan economically."]
I clench my jaw. “Woh bhi humari tarah soch rahe hain. Dawood ne Khanani ko 60 hazar crore fake Indian currency bhejne bola hai.”
["They are thinking exactly like us. Dawood has ordered Khanani to transmit sixty thousand crores in fake Indian currency."]
Sanaz takes a slow breath of the medical authority she commands inside White House 13. “Dawood is still walking, but he's getting weaker. Aakhri saansein gin raha hai.”
["He is counting his final breaths."]
“Good,” Sanyal flatly approves. “Keep him alive but unmovable.”
He reaches down, sliding a set of heavily encrypted, thick security manifests across the glass surface of the briefing table toward our hands. “After your marriage, you both will have a free hand.”
Our eyelids widen slightly at the same time. A free hand.
Sushant steps forward from the shadow of the wall, a fiercely proud smile on his face. “Gadar macha do.”
["Unleash absolute havoc."]
I can’t help but let out a low chuckle. I look down at the files before lifting my head, “Ab Pakistan ka mustakbil, HINDUSTAN tay karega.”
["Now the future of Pakistan will be decided by India."]
The room shifts into motion. The briefing is officially concluded. We all rise from the leather chairs simultaneously, the heavy tension of the safehouse dissolving into a flurry of disciplined, emotional handshakes and brief, solid embraces between the phantoms.
Meera steps closer to Sanaz, her expression softening with a rare, profoundly maternal warmth as she wraps her arms around her shoulders. She leans her face close to the side of her dark head, her voice a breathlessly sacred whisper against her hair.
“Yaad rakhna, Dharmo Rakshati Rakshitah.”
["Remember—the duty protects those who protect it."]
They leave the briefing room. step closer to the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window, the cool drafts of the air conditioning rustling through the long, dark curls of my hair as it falls over my shoulder and across my broad back.
Through the pane, the sprawling grid of the Dubai night looks like a constellation of cold diamonds, entirely blind to the shadow wars shifting its tectonic plates.
Sanaz doesn't look at me. She sweeps her coat off the leather chair, letting the fabric drape over her shoulder as she cuts a sharp line toward the exit.
I instantly track her motion, my body moving on raw instinct as I follow her silhouette out of the operations room and down the dimly lit hallway toward the lift lobby.
The heavy chrome elevator doors slide open with a soft hiss. Sanaz steps inside the metallic cage, turning her elegant profile toward the control panel to press the ground floor button.
“Aaj khush toh bohot hoge tum,” she says, her voice dripping with a biting sarcasm that echoes off the polished steel walls.
["You must be very happy today."]
Before the automated doors can slide shut to lock me out of her universe, I launch forward, the heavy fabric of my dark traditional shalwar swaying aggressively against my shins as I cross the threshold, entering her perimeter just as the metal panels seal us inside the moving box.
The elevator drops, the sudden shift in gravity pulling at my chest. I step closer, my massive frame towering over her sideways stance, “Do hafte se call kar raha hoon, uthaya kyun nahi?”
["I've been calling you for two weeks, why didn't you pick up?"]
Sanaz keeps her gaze fixed straight ahead on the glowing digital floor counter, “Saare intel bheje toh the.”
["I sent all the intelligence reports."]
A low, rough growl of frustration escapes my throat.
“Main Intel ki baat nahi kar raha. Kab tak mujhse naraz rahogi?”
["I'm not talking about Intel. How long will you stay angry with me?"]
“Jab tak mera mann karega tab tak. Kya kar loge?” She tilts her chin up sharply. “Tum bhi toh manane nahi aaye.”
["For as long as I damn well please. What are you going to do about it? You didn't exactly come to win me back either."]
I deliberately shift my mass, letting the heavy frame of my shoulder bump solidly against hers in the tight space. “Achcha, kaise manaun tumhe?”
["Oh really? How exactly should I win you back then?"]
Sanaz scowls instantly, her hands flying up to aggressively push against the iron-hard width of my chest. But before she can establish her distance, I reach down, my massive forearms locking beneath her thighs as I effortlessly hoist her entire body clean off the metal floor. “Aise chalega?”
["Will this do?"]
“Hamza, main koi khilauna nahi hoon, neeche utaaro!” she shrieks in a breathy, furious whisper, her legs violently kicking out in the air like an angry, trapped cat as she claws at my shoulders.
["Hamza, I am not a toy, put me down!"]
I let out a low, rough huff of amusement, slowly letting her feet slide back down to meet the polished surface of the elevator floor.
“Tumhara dimaag kharab hai?” she snaps, her fingers flying to frantically fix the dark strands of her wind-tousled hair, her chest heaving irregularly beneath her tailored shirt.
["Have you completely lost your mind?"]
“Hogaya hai tumhari wajah se,” I counter heavily. I step closer, trapping her against the steel mirror line. “Bina ek bhi din chhore maine tumhe message kiya hai, lekin tumne ek bhi reply nahi diya. Manane nahi aaya? Jaise ki main tumhare ghar aata aur tum mujhe dhakke markar bahar nahi nikaal deti?”
["It has been ruined because of you. Without skipping a single day, I messaged you, but you didn't give a single reply. I didn't come to win you back? As if I would have come to your house and you wouldn't have physically shoved me out the door?"]
She glares up at me.
My expression softens. I look down at her beautiful, flushed face,
“Aakhir kaisa gunaah hogaya hai mujhse, Sanaz?”
["What kind of ultimate sin have I committed, Sanaz?"]
“Tumne jhooth bola.”
["You lied."]
I let out a weary sigh. “Woh toh tumne bhi bola. Fir hum dono gunhegar hue.”
["Well, you lied too. Then we are both sinners."]
“Meri baat alag hai,” she counters instantly. ["My case is different."]
I lean my torso closer into her, my frame casting a heavy shadow over her stance.“Alag kaise? Sanaz, agar humari mohabbat ek Saazish thi, toh fir uss daldal mein sabse pehle main dooba tha.”
["Different how? Sanaz, if our love was a conspiracy, then I was the very first one to drown in that quicksand."]
She swallows hard. “Main kaise maan loon jo bhi pal humne bitaye woh jhooth nahi the?”
["How am I supposed to believe that all the moments we spent together weren't a lie?"]
“Main—” I break off, stepping back a single inch into the center of the cage. “Saabit karo ki woh sab jhooth tha. Dikhao mujhe tum kya sochti ho, ki saaro cheeze panno par likhi hui thi.”
["I— Prove that it was all a lie. Show me what you think, that everything was simply written down on pages."]
Sanaz stands completely frozen.
“Nahi bata sakti na?” I prompt softly.
["You can't say it, can you?"]
She shifts her head, looking away from my reflection.
“Sanaz, khud se sawal puchcho. Kya tumhe jo mehsus hua woh jhooth tha? Meri chahat jhooth thi? Jaise maine tumhe chhua woh jhooth tha?”
["Sanaz, ask yourself. Was what you felt a lie? Was my desire a lie? The way I touched you, was that a lie?"]
She is younger than me by almost eight years.
I have never once doubted her fierce professionalism or her razor-sharp clinical skills as a deep-cover asset. But standing this close to her in the trapped in the raw silence of our history, the structural reality of our age gap hits me.
Her cognitive processing is still trying to balance the rigid rules of the agency training manuals against the volatile, terrifying reality of a human heart. She is trying to protect herself from the blast radius of a warlord's devotion—completely unaware that the uniform beneath my clothes matches her own.
She replies. “Chahat bhi toh dhoke se shuru hui thi. Just because you're good with me doesn't mean you love me.”
["Even our desire began with a deception. Just because you're good to me doesn't mean you love me."]
I am almost entirely helpless before her structure.
“Then teach me. Sikhao mujhe main tumhe kaise pyaar karun.”
["Then teach me. Teach me how I should love you."]
She keeps her eyes fixed firmly on the glowing display above the door, refusing to look at the raw transparency of my expression.
“Saadgi se.”
["With honesty."]
The digital counter chimes softly. The elevator lands on the third floor.
“Shiddat se.”
["With passion."]
The lift drops again. Second floor.
She finally breaks her stance, her head slowly turning as her eyes swing over to lock directly onto mine.
“Sarmad tak.”
["Until eternity."]
The heavy chrome doors slide open with a long hiss, revealing the sprawling, brightly lit ground floor lobby of the skyscraper.
The outside world waits to reclaim us.
But Sanaz doesn't step out immediately. She halts right on the threshold, slowly looking over her tailored shoulder.
I have never seen her wield before.
“Sirf mera haq hoga tum par.”
["Only I will have a claim over you."]
In a universe where my identity, my blood, and my body belong entirely to the state, she draws a line in the sand and claims my entire existence for herself.
“Aur hum kabhi juda nahi honge.”
["And we will never be separated."]
I step closer to her.
“SARMAD KE PAAR TAK.”
["Beyond eternity itself."]
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Marukh’s leather-heeled boot comes down with a sickening force directly into the center of Hamza’s chest, forcing a choked grunt of pure agony from his throat as his back slams hard against the freezing mud.
“Fir SP.” Another brutal kick connects with his ribs, the velocity tearing open the internal fractures that had barely begun to form scar tissue from the previous months of warfare.
[“Then the SP.”]
“Fir Iqbal.”
[“Then Iqbal.”]
The third strike sends him sprawling sideways onto the wet dirt, his eyes glazing over as his vision blurs under the blinding crossfire of the four armored convoy headlights.
“Aur ab... Is do kaudi ki kuttiya ke liye humari nasl tabah karne chala hai!” Marukh roars into the freezing mist, her features completely distorted by the madness that has consumed her since the downfall of the Ibrahim throne. [“And now... you're going to destroy our bloodline for this two-bit bitch!”]
A few feet back, Rizwan and Sanaz remain completely frozen on their knees. The mud seeps through Sanaz’s grey salwar, her face still painted with the dried splatter of Major Luqman’s execution, her fingers locked tight around the silver links of the birthday necklace hidden against her palm.
Fifteen heavily armed enforcers stand, their rifle barrels leveled squarely at the back of their skulls.
Hamza presses his palms into the dirt, trying to heave his chest up.
God... This isn't how it's supposed to end.
“Marne se pehle kuch bolna chahega?” Marukh snarls, pressing the cold barrel of the pistol directly against his temple, her finger already whitening against the trigger structure.
[“Want to say something before dying?”]
Beneath the barrel, his eyes don't blink. Instead, his gaze shifts subtly past her shoulder, locking onto the exact coordinate where Sanaz and Rizwan kneel in the mud. A single tightening of his jawline fires the final, unwritten command through the network.
Now.
In a flash, Rizwan drops his weight and slides sideways, throwing his entire body into the pitch-black layout of the dense treeline. The sudden movement shatters the guards' focus—“Woh bhaaga! Pakdo use!”—their rifle barrels swinging wildly toward the shadows.
Sanaz uses the split-second panic as absolute leverage.
Before the guard nearest to her can re-adjust his stance, she lunges from her knees. The silver necklace links coil around her fingers as she drives the hidden blade with directly into his patellar tendon. The man lets out a choked scream, his knee collapsing instantly. With a twist of her torso, Sanaz wrenches the heavy automatic rifle straight from his grip, spinning on her heel as she brings the weapon to bear.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
She opens fire in a wide sweep, the muzzle flash illuminating the mist as her rounds tear through the front line of enforcers and clip Marukh's extended right arm.
“Ahhh!” Marukh shrieks, the chrome pistol slipping from her bleeding fingers as the impact spins her around.
The remaining guards immediately unleash a chaotic hail of return fire. Sanaz dives backward, using the steel frame of their stalled SUV as a physical shield, the rounds denting the metalwork and shattering the remaining glass overhead.
From the dirt, Hamza explodes into motion.
With Marukh disoriented by the bullet wound, Hamza sweeps his leg outward, delivering a crushing kick to her shins that sends her crashing hard onto the gravel. His fingers snap down onto her fallen weapon. Grabbing the pistol, he rolls violently through the mud, shifting his heavy frame toward the deep shadows of the dark trees to establish a secondary firing position.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
He logs three rapid headshots through the mist. Three more enforcers drop instantly into the wet dirt, their weapons clattering uselessly against the stone.
Meanwhile, deep within the treeline, Rizwan emerges like a ghost behind the two guards attempting to flank Sanaz’s position. Before they can pull their triggers, his hands lock around their collars, executing a bone-snapping takedown. He strips their high-caliber rifles from their hands in, pivoting back toward the clearing as he opens fire on the remaining syndicate workforce.
The execution squad is being dismantled from three separate angles, the mist filling with the heavy, choking scent of cordite and fresh copper.
The clearing descends into a chaotic frenzy as the weapons click empty on all sides, the hollow echo of spent magazines dropping into the mud signaling the end of the long-range firefight.
Marukh stumbles up, her face twisted, completely ignoring the blood pouring from her arm. Realizing the ammunitions are depleted, she reaches into her belt, pulling out a cluster of throwing knives and slharp concealment blades, hurling them viciously through the mist to keep Rizwan at bay. In her right hand, she grips a short-handled axe.
Across the dirt, Hamza’s pistol locks open on an empty chamber. He throws the weapon aside, his frame instantly shifting into hand-to-hand combat as the two guards close in on him.
He ducks beneath a wild punch, his large fist cracking into the first guard's jaw, instantly shattering the bone. He draws a hidden boot-knife and stabs the man down into the mud. But as he turns to face the second attacker, his vision fractures.
CRACK.
Marukh catches him completely from his blind spot, swinging the heavy, blunt back of the axe head directly into the side of his skull.
Hamza lets out a raw scream, his knees instantly buckling beneath him as thick blood bursts from his temple, painting his face and linen shirt in an instant sheet of blood. He hits the freezing mud on all fours, his breath hitching as his eyes struggle to remain open.
Marukh steps over his trembling frame, her chest heaving as she raises the sharp edge of the axe high above his exposed throat. “Gustakhi ki ek hi saza...”
[“There is only one punishment for insolence...”]
She points the steel directly at his neck, her eyes wide and bloodshot. “Sar tan se juda.”
[“The head severed from the body.”]
She brings the axe down.
BANG!
Sanaz fires her final, desperate pistol round from behind the SUV. The bullet catches Marukh squarely in her secondary wrist, the force shattering the bone and instantly disrupting the trajectory of the execution stroke.
The axe handle slips in Marukh's ruined grip, causing the blade to strike forcefully downwards away from his neck—burying itself deep into Hamza’s midriff.
The steel slices through fabric, flesh, and the muscle. Hamza gasps, his body locking completely before he drops heavily onto his side in the pooling red water of the road.
Fuck. No.
BANG. BANG.
The two final, hidden rounds from the service pistol she stripped off Tahoor echo sharply through the ravine. Sanaz doesn't even blink as the lead tears directly through Marukh’s knees, shattering the caps and dropping the screaming monarch instantly into the soil like a felled tree.
Sanaz drops the empty weapon. She doesn't look back. She doesn't care about the remaining guards.
She runs.
Her bare feet slide over the rocks as she throws herself beside his massive frame.
“Hamza! Hamza!”
Her composure—the legendary mask of Sanaz Siddiqui—pulverizes into absolute dust. She kneels over him, her hands slick as she grips the wooden handle of the splitting axe embedded deep in his side. With a sharp gasp, she wrenches the steel blade out of his midriff.
The blood pools immediately, a violent, hot geyser of crimson that stains the grey salwar kameez instantly. Her eyes can almost track the exposed line of his lower ribs and the torn muscle layer of his stomach.
New, hot tears well up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she frantically fights against the anatomy of death. With shaking hands, she rips his heavy jacket off his shoulders, balling the thick fabric up and driving it down into the abdominal wound with all her body weight to force an occlusion.
“Aankhein kholo...!” she cries out, her voice breaking that she has never allowed herself to experience. She slides her left arm beneath his head, cradling his neck to keep his airway clear, but her palm immediately fills with the thick blood pouring continuously from the fracture at his temple.
“Hamza, jawab do!”
[“Hamza, answer me!”]
The tears fall endlessly from her chin, washing away the blood on his cheek as she presses her forehead against his. The Wrath of God, the protector who had pulled her hair and thrown her to the wolves just to keep her breathing—lies terrifyingly still in her arms, his breath coming in shallow, fluttering gasps against her skin.
BANG.
A stray round from a dying guard tears through the mist, clipping Sanaz’s shoulder. The impact sends her flying downward into the mud beside him.
“Madarchod!” Rizwan lets out an animalistic curse as he aggressively lunges to terminate the last remaining threat.
Sanaz gasps, coughing up a breath of cold air as she forces her battered frame back up. Ignoring the burning tear in her shoulder, she hitches herself forward, pulling Hamza’s heavy, bleeding head directly onto her lap. She tears a strip of clean fabric from a fallen guard’s uniform, her trembling, blood-slicked fingers wrapping it tightly around his fractured temple to stem the continuous flow.
Beneath the wet cloth, his eyelids flutter. His green eyes open just a fraction, bloodshot and glazed with the shadows of the end. “Chali jao... wada nibhao,” he rasps out. [“Go away... keep the promise.”]
The terminal clause he had demanded: if everything collapsed, if the line broke, she had to leave him behind and save the shoal.
Sanaz shakes her head violently, the tears flying from her cheeks as she presses her palms harder against the makeshift tourniquet on his stomach. “Aisa matt bolo. Thodi der aur, fir hum...”
[“Don't say that. Just a little longer, then we...”]
“Hindustan jao... Rizwan ke saath...” he commands, his fingers weakly twitching against the mud, trying to find her hem.
[“Go to India... with Rizwan...”]
“Hamza... Tumhare saath...” she whispers between violent hiccups, her voice cracking as she locks her hand around his freezing fingers.
[“Hamza... with you...”]
A faint, devastating smile touches the corner of his bloody lips. The tears run down his temples. He remembers the very first time they met.
He was injured and bleeding out in the hospital—just like this. And she had been there, the quiet doctor stitching his flesh back together.
He takes one last, deep, shaking breath, filling his lungs with her scent and the warmth of her lap.
“Ek aakhri baar tumhare lab se apna naam sunna chahta hoon...” he murmurs, the words floating out into the silence.
[“One last time, I want to hear my name from your lips...”]
Sanaz leans down, her face completely ruined by grief, her vision blurry and her nose watery as the endless tears fall directly onto his forehead. She presses her lips against his temple and mutters.
“...Jaskirat...”
His hand goes entirely slack, his fingers slipping from her grip and dropping.
“Jaskirat...!” she shrieks.
Her fingers fly instantly to his carotid artery, pressing deep into the cold skin, before her ear drops against his bare chest, searching for the heartbeat.
Nothing.
Sanaz throws her head back, her hands clutching his lifeless shoulders as she wails helplessly into the pitch-black sky.
Rizwan stands there, staring in horror. He doesn't question if he's alive, doesn't get any “zinda hoon saale” at that moment.
The helpless wailing cuts off instantly.
The silence that follows is more terrifying than the gunfire. Sanaz slowly lifts her head from the chest of the phantom. The tears on her face freeze against the morning wind. She looks over her shoulder, her gaze locking onto the trail of smeared mud a few yards away.
Marukh Ibrahim is dragging her bleeding frame through the gravel, trying desperately to crawl toward the open door of the lead convoy vehicle. The guards lie completely still around her, a perimeter of corpses.
Sanaz stands up.
Her movements are no longer sluggish from the sedative. She reaches down into the dirt, her fingers locking around the heavy wooden handle of the axe.
She walks.
The heavy steel head drags through the mud behind her, drawing a dark line on the ground.
Marukh hears the footsteps. With a gasp, the fallen monarch rolls onto her back.
“Sar... tan...”
The woman turns the handle of the weapon in her grip.
“...se juda!” Sanaz roars.
She swings the heavy axe down The steel cuts cleanly through Marukh’s throat, the vertebrae snapping instantly as a thick splash of blood erupts from the artery, painting Sanaz’s face and eyes in a dark, warm mask.
But The Hand of God does not stop.
Driven by pure vengeance, she raises the axe again and drives it downward into the center of the severed neck, splitting the flesh, bone, and muscle of the upper torso right down the middle until the frame is split entirely into two.
The severed head rolls away across the gravel, stopping with a dull thud right against the front tire of the convoy vehicle.
Sanaz drops the weapon.
The execution hits her central nervous system; she gags violently, coughing up the copper taste of bile as she stumbles back two paces, her hands shaking as she wipes the dark spray from her brow.
Behind the mountain ridges, the dark purple sky begins to fracture.
The sun is slowly rising up over the Margalla Hills.
“Sanaz, jaldi yahan se nikalte hain,” Rizwan breaks through the static, his voice strained as he steps into the clearing, his rifle slung tight, his hand pressing down on the fresh bullet wound leaking through his own shoulder.
[“Sanaz, let's get out of here quickly.”]
Together, they lift Hamza’s heavy frame from the mud, carrying him back to the shattered SUV. Rizwan grunts through his teeth, his muscles tearing against the lead in his shoulder as he slams the vehicle into gear and guns the engine down the remaining stretch of the mountain path.
Two kilometers away, the trees clear to reveal a hidden, unlisted civilian runway. Two unmarked, twin-engine extraction aircraft sit idling on the asphalt.
The R&AW extraction staff lunges forward the moment the SUV screeches to a halt. They swiftly manage the intake files, taking the passports and the luggage from Rizwan’s hands. The lead medical officer takes one look at the man bleeding through the backseat and turns to them instantly.
“Aap dono separate flight se jaiye. Inki halat critical hai, airplane mein hi operation karna padega.”
[“You two go by separate flights. His condition is critical, the operation will have to be performed inside the airplane itself.”]
They both nod, the exhaustion too thick for argument. Sanaz watches through a blurry glaze as the medical team transfers Hamza’s unconscious, barely breathing body onto a specialized stretcher, hauling him up the stairs of the primary medical transport.
Seconds later, Rizwan guides her up the steps of the secondary aircraft. They take their seats in the cabin as the doors seal shut.
The airframe vibrates as the plane tears down the short runway and lifts off, climbing steeply into the gray morning clouds, leaving the blood-soaked dirt of Karachi behind forever.
Inside the quiet cabin, Sanaz stares out the window as the ground fades into nothing. She turns her face toward the seat beside her.
“Rizwan bhaiya... Hamza zinda bachega na?” she whispers between soft, trembling hiccups, her fingers tightly coiling around the silver necklace links on her wrist.
[“Rizwan brother... Hamza will survive, right?”]
Rizwan doesn't say a single word.
His face remains fixed, his eyes heavy. As the onboard medical team arrives to tend to the bullet wound in his shoulder, he simply extends his arm, pulling her into a tight, silent embrace. Sanaz buries her face into his jacket, the endless tears finally slowing down against his chest.
Rizwan stares past her shoulder into the empty cabin lights, “Yeh jung HUM JEET CHUKE.”
[“We have won this war.”]
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And They Called It Love, as If It Were Not Also Surrender
“DAWOOD IBRAHIM KE kareebi Amarjit Singh ki aaj hi hatiya hogayi. Aakhir kaun hai in sab ke peeche?”
[“Dawood Ibrahim’s close associate Amarjit Singh was assassinated today. Who exactly is behind all of this?”]
The television screen flickers in the dim room, the news anchor's voice strained with panic as the Karachi underworld fractures in real-time.
Hamza sits in the shadows, a thick cigar burning between his fingers as he swapes through his encrypted tablet. He routes the latest batch of raw intelligence logs back to New Delhi, detailing the bloodbath they have orchestrated over the past few weeks.
Across the city, senior commanders of LeT, JeM, and other elite militant factions are dropping like flies. Their bodies are found discarded on routine public roads, single, precise bullet entry wounds drilled cleanly into their chests or foreheads.
The unknown killers are clearing the board.
Janeman janeman janeman,
Jaayega tu kahan?
[My darling, my darling, my darling,
Where could you possibly go?]
Outside, a heavy monsoon rain pours over the concrete maze of the city, blurring the headlights of the passing traffic. Hamza sits silently behind the wheel of his unmarked SUV. Rizwan sits in the passenger seat beside him, his breathing disciplined, his posture alert. They have parked the vehicle blocks away from the primary target zone.
Through the sheet of rain, Zahid appears on the pavement. He lowers his dark umbrella to step into his doorway—
Smash.
Before he can even register the shift in the air, Rizwan steps out of the fog, striking the back of his skull brutally with a heavy construction brick. Zahid collapses instantly onto the concrete. Moving with speed, they drag his limp, bleeding frame straight into the empty structure, dropping him unceremoniously onto the cold floorboards.
Hamza pulls out his device, initiating a high-tier encrypted video call to Chief Sanyal. The connection stabilizes after a few seconds, the older man's sharp features illuminating the screen. A dark, cold chuckle echoes over the line.
“Kya re Zahur Mistry..? Pechana?” Sanyal murmurs, his tone dripping with terrifying finality.
[“What is it, Zahoor Mistry..? Recognize me?”]
Zahid’s vision blurs, his mind instantly flashing back to the blinding snow of the 1999 Kandahar tarmac. He remembers the exact moment he mocked the Indian Intelligence Bureau chief to his face, standing outside the hijacked aircraft: “Pados mein hi rehte hain hum, gude bhar ka zor laga lo aur bigaad lo jo bigadna hai.”
[“We live right in your neighborhood. Go ahead, use every ounce of your strength and try to ruin whatever you can.”]
Zahid begins to tremble violently, the two massive shadows of the R&AW phantoms looming directly over his bleeding form.
The neighborhood had finally come to collect the debt.
“Zyada zor nahi lagana pada na?” Sanyal speaks directly through the speaker, his voice that offers zero mercy.
[“We didn’t have to use too much strength, did we?”]
“Maaf kardo, jaane do...” Zahid whimpers, pressing his face against the bloody concrete, pleading to the digital screen.
[“Forgive me, let me go...”]
Tu hai noor e nazar meri,
Dil mera tujh pe fida.
[You are the light of my eyes,
My heart is completely devoted to you.]
“Meri ek baat puri kar de,” Sanyal commands coldly from the screen, his gaze burning into the captive. “Bharat Mata ki....” Silence. “Ki...?” [“Please fulfill one wish of mine, victory to…?”]
“Bharat Mata ki Jai!” Zahid screams out in primal terror. [“Victory to Mother India!”]
Bang.
Hamza doesn't wait for a second cue. He raises his weapon and fires a single, heavy round straight into the center of his forehead. The body drops flat. A beat passes. Bang. He fires again into the skull. Bang. And again.
Takrayenge Mehfil Mein
To Hogi Guftagu...
[When we collide in the gathering, there will be a conversation...]
“Sanaz ka message hai. Clifton bula rahi hai.” Rizwan whispers, sliding his screen shut as they clear the wet alleyway.
[“There's a message from Sanaz. She's calling us to Clifton.”]
Hamza gives a firm nod. They immediately switch vehicles, navigating the pouring Karachi rain toward Clifton's South City Hospital.
Inside the elite, sterile corridors of the private wing, the sharp click of clinical heels echoes against the polished floorboards. A nurse dressed in a white uniform and a light veil steps through the security grid, the tag pinned to her chest reading “Shazia Bano.”
She glides into the high-security VVIP room, quietly setting her stainless steel tray aside. She draws a clear, untraceable chemical compound into a syringe, injecting it directly into the running IV drip line.
Abdul slowly opens his heavy eyes, his vision blurring as he spots the silhouette beside his bed. “Yeh kya hai?”
[“What is this?”]
“Aapne kaha tha takleef ho rahi hai? Yeh aaram dega,” she murmurs softly, looking down.
[“You said you were in pain? This will give you relief.”]
The terrorist closes his eyes, surrendering to the medication as a tiny cold smile cracks across her face. Within seconds, his heart rate monitor spikes violently. His fingers twitch, his entire frame beginning to violently seizure against the white sheets before his chest gives a final, heavy shudder and goes completely still.
At the doorway, Hamza and Rizwan stand like two ghosts. Shazia turns around, giving the two a tiny, professional smile. Hamza steps in, pulling out his encrypted device to snap a high-resolution forensic picture of the carcass. Abdul Rehman Makki is officially dead.
Suddenly, Sanaz’s quiet, familiar whisper crackles through the earpiece from her monitoring station down the hall. “Kaam hogaya? Good job.”
[“Is the job done? Good job.”]
“Hogaya,” Shazia replies into her lapel mic, adjusting her veil as she prepares to dissolve back into the hospital staff grid. “Befikr rahiye.”
[“It’s done. Rest assured.”]
Tujhe Dikhla Dungi Taare,
Jab Honge Rubaru.
[I will show you the stars, when we meet face to face.]
They walk out into the parking bay, the rain washing away any stray traces of their presence. Before Hamza can start the engine, his phone rings aggressively. The caller ID flashes: Bhuttovi.
He slides the green icon across. “Ji Bhuttovi Sahab?”
“Hamza yeh sab kya ho raha hai? Kahin woh log mujh tak pohoch gaye toh?” The co-founder of the syndicate panics over the line, his voice shaking as the news of back-to-back high-profile assassinations fractures his nerves.
[“Hamza, what the hell is happening? What if those people reach me?”]
“Fikr na karein, Bhuttovi Sahab. Main intezaam karta hoon. In Hindustaniyon ki toh nasl hi khatam kar dunga main,” Hamza responds flatly.
[“Don’t worry, Mr. Bhuttovi. I will handle the arrangements. I will wipe out the entire lineage of these Indians.”]
“Beshak, Hamza... Sanaz ko bhi lekar aana, meri tabiyat kharab lag rahi hai. Woh phone nahi utha rahi, busy hai kya?”
[“Undoubtedly, Hamza... Bring Sanaz along too, my health feels poor. She isn't picking up her phone, is she busy?”]
“Hospital mein hai. Main aa raha hoon uske saath. Aapko chhupne ki zarurat hai, ek kaam kijiye...” Hamza instructs him, feeding him a highly specific, isolated set of coordinates.
[“She is at the hospital. I am coming with her. You need to go into hiding, do one thing...”]
The line cuts out. Sanaz climbs into the passenger seat, slipping out of her doctor's apron as her eyes lock onto Hamza's layout. The trap is set. They drive into the dense, foggy periphery to an undisclosed, deserted location where very few people can hear a man scream.
Main Aur Tu.. Oo…
Me And You.
The car grinds to a halt outside the decaying structure of an abandoned prison. Inside, Bhuttovi is waiting entirely alone. Perfect. They guide him deep into the shadows of a vacant cell block.
“Achcha hua tum aagaye, Hamza. Kya socha hai?” Bhuttovi breathes out, his nervous gaze darting across the cracked concrete walls.
[“It’s good that you came, Hamza. What have you planned?”]
“Bhuttovi Sahab, aapki tabiyat theek nahi. Pehle checkup kar lete hain,” Sanaz murmurs flatly, her glass bangles clinking softly in the damp air as she pulls a digital BP apparatus and a series of heavy insulin vials from her medical kit. She wraps the fabric cuff around his trembling arm while they sit on the rusted metal chairs.
[“Mr. Bhuttovi, your health is not good. Let’s do a checkup first.”]
“Dil ki dhadkan tez hain. Woh log humein maar dalenge,” the old man whispers, his chest heaving with panic.
[“My heartbeat is fast. Those people will kill us.”]
“Nahi pohonch paayenge yahan tak,” Hamza responds, “Aap mehfooz hain.”
[“They won’t be able to reach here. You are safe.”]
Sanaz pricks his finger with a clean needle, checking the digital readout on the glucometer. “Bohot high hai. Insulin lagega.”
[“It’s very high. You need insulin.”]
He lets out a weary sigh, adjusting the prayer cap on his head as he surveys the filthy, cobweb-strewn surroundings. “Sugar kabhi badh raha hai, kabhi kam ho raha hai. Kuch samajh nahi aa raha.”
[“My sugar keeps fluctuating, sometimes high, sometimes low. I don’t understand anything.”]
Sanaz stands right beside his shoulder, her gaze entirely detached as her thumb slowly twists the dial of the heavy syringe, selecting the concentration dosage: 15... 35... 65…
“In logon ko humari maalumat kaise pata chali?” Bhuttovi mutters, his eyes narrowing in thought.
[“How did these people get information about us?”]
Hamza takes a measured step forward as he leans into the old man's grid. “Jaise itne dino se teri maalumat kisi ko nahi thi.”
[“Just like nobody had information about you for all these days.”]
The dial clicks aggressively in the silence: 85... 105... 135…
Bhuttovi looks up at him, his pupils dilating in sudden, confused horror. Hamza’s green eyes are completely dead, devoid of a single shred of humanity. “Kya kaha tha tune, Ghazwa-E-Hind bambai se shuru hoga?”
[“What was it you said, that Conquest of India will begin from Bombay?”]
The old man’s survival instincts flash. He attempts to spring from the chair to flee, but Hamza moves with lightning speed—his thick palms locking around Bhuttovi's legs like iron vices, pinning him to the floorboards. In the exact same microsecond, Sanaz drops her weight from behind, wrapping her arm tightly around his throat in a brutal, chokehold lock, cutting off his airway.
“Ab yeh silsila jaari rahega, Bhuttovi Sahab,” Rizwan steps out from the concrete pillar as he violently tears open the sleeve of the man's kurta to expose the bare skin.
[“Now this cycle will continue, Mr. Bhuttovi.”]
Sanaz doesn't hesitate. She drives the uncalibrated insulin shot straight into the muscle tissue, emptying the fluid into his system.
Bhuttovi lets out a muffled scream of agony, his limbs flailing, but Sanaz instantly shifts her leverage. She grabs the second heavy glass syringe and thrusts the barrel violently down his open throat, shattering his teeth.
“Shor machane waale aksar zinda nahi bachte,” she whispers directly into his ear, her voice completely deadpan as she forces the cylinder further down his throat, “Main zinda hoon.”
[“Those who make noise rarely survive... I am alive.”]
The old man's body undergoes a hypoglycemic shock. His muscles twitch violently for a few seconds before his joints lock, his breathing stops completely, and his entire frame goes entirely still against the dirt floor.
The silence returns to the cell block. Hamza steps over the carcass, spitting coldly onto the concrete before he delivers a harsh kick with his boot, forcing the broken syringe entirely down the corpse's throat pipe.
Moving smoothly, they bag the evidence. The empty vials are tossed far out into the flowing river currents outside, the dark water swallowing the last traces of the co-founder's existence.
They return to the quiet layout of the Lyari house.
“Main fresh hone jaa rahi hoon,” Sanaz mutters as she walks toward the bathroom attached to her bedroom to wash away. [“I'm going to freshen up.”]
Hamza stands near the dresser taking off the jacket and tossing it aside. Before he can clear his path, the landline telephone resting on the nightstand beside the bed starts ringing aggressively.
“Jaan, phone!” he calls out toward the closed door.
[“Love, the phone!”]
“Pick it up. Shayad koi patient hai, use bolo thodi der mein call back karti hoon,” her muffled voice returns over the sound of running water.
[“Pick it up. Maybe it's a patient, tell them I'll call back in a bit.”]
Hamza takes two steps forward, lifting the receiver to his ear. “Salamwalaikum, Dr. Sanaz se baat karna hai?”
[“Salamwalaikum, do you want to speak with Dr. Sanaz?”]
A heavy silence drops over the line.
Outside, a massive crack of thunder strikes across the sky, the monsoon rain pouring violently against the glass window panes.
“...Bhaiya?”
[“...Brother?”]
Jaskirat’s breath stops completely.
The entire universe of Hamza Ali Mazari—the king of Lyari, the lethal executioner of R&AW—collapses into nothingness in a single microsecond.
His chest locks. His brain completely short-circuits, entirely unable to process the reality of that voice.
“Mujhe bas janna tha ki aap zinda ho,” the voice cracks over the receiver, carrying the devastating weight of years of unaddressed mourning. “Main pareshan nahi karungi. Rab rakha.”
[“I just wanted to know that you are alive. I won't trouble you again. God protect you.”]
Click.
The line goes entirely dead.
Hamza stands there, completely frozen into a stone monolith, the receiver still pressed tightly against his ear as the dial tone begins to beep hollowly.
“Jasleen...?” he breathes out into the empty room, his voice cracking. But the call is already cut. There is no way to dial back across the border.
His knees give out under the immense psychological weight, and he thumps down heavily onto the edge of the mattress, his large frame trembling slightly as a tight, suffocating knot forms directly in his throat. The boy who went to the gallows to buy her freedom is completely paralyzed by her tracking acumen.
The bathroom door clicks open. Sanaz steps out into the room, her face freshly washed and slightly wet, a towel held in her hands. She stops instantly, eyes locking onto his completely shattered posture.
Her gaze drops to the phone.
“Kon thi?” she asks softly. No answer. She steps right into his space, her eyes narrowing as the operational math instantly clicks in her mind. [“Who was it?”]
She places a firm hand on his massive shoulder, her voice dropping into a commanding tone. “Hamza... R&AW ko report karo. Isi waqt.”
[“Hamza... report to R&AW. Right now.”]
He simply nods, his eyes staring blankly at the floorboards as the shadows of his past life officially catch up to the war he is running.
Sanaz brings him the laptop. The encrypted connection syncs, the military-grade device blinking green after a few agonizing seconds. Sushant Bansal's sharp face fills the secure video frame.
“Early today, Hamza. Kya khabar hai? We heard members of LeT and JeM are dying. Good job,” Bansal speaks. [“Early today, Hamza. What's the news? We heard members of LeT and JeM are dying. Good job.”]
Hamza gives a flat nod. He doesn't take the compliment. “Jasleen ka call aaya tha.”
[“Jasleen called.”]
Bansal blinks, his entire professional composure freezing mid-breath. “What? How? How did she get your number?”
“Not mine. Sanaz’. Telephone business number.”
Bansal catches his head in his hands, his knuckles turning white as the sheer scale of the security anomaly hits his desk. “Tumne answer kiya?”
[“Did you answer?”]
He shakes his head, maintaining the lie just enough to protect the emotional truth of that brief exchange. He can't tell the agency he let her speak.
“Daat deni padegi, she's adamant,” Bansal mutters, a mix of frustration and forced respect in his tone.
[“I have to give her credit, she's adamant.”]
“She had been searching for me. Aapke paas bhi aayi hogi,” Hamza states.
[“She had been searching for me. She must have come to you as well.”]
“Yes,” Bansal replies, leaning closer to his camera, his expression hardening with a rare flash of administrative regret. “Mere paas nahi. Kuch junior officers ke paas. I guess humein us waqt sach bata dena chahiye tha, warna aaj aisa nahi hota. Anyway, main higher ups ko report karta hoon, she'll be under surveillance.”
[“Yes, not to me. To some junior officers. I guess we should have told the truth back then, otherwise this wouldn't be happening today. Anyway, I will report to the higher ups, she'll be under surveillance.”]
Surveillance. Hamza takes a deep, controlled breath, his chest rising and falling. Standing a foot away, Sanaz catches the micro-movement of his jaw. She notices it instantly. He would rather take a bullet than drag his sister into this radioactive mess, but Jasleen had forensically walked right into the line of fire herself.
“Sanaz kahan hai?” Bansal’s voice breaks through the silence.
[“Where is Sanaz?”]
“Right here, sir,” she steps cleanly into the video frame, her face entirely clear of emotion
“Okay okay, send the reports to Ms. Singhaniya by the evening. I'll handle this.”
The screen cuts to black.
He tosses the laptop aside, the heavy metal clattering against the bedside table as he buries his face in his large palms. “Ek kaam sahi hota hai toh dusra galat ho jata hai. Yeh aag hum sab ko le dubegi.”
[“When one thing goes right, another goes wrong. This fire will drag us all down.”]
Sanaz watches him for a silent beat before stepping into his space. She sits down right beside him on the mattress, “Waise theek hai na... Unke dil ko shanti mil gayi yeh jaankar ki aap zinda ho.”
[“Anyway, it’s fine, right? Her heart found peace knowing that you are alive.”]
“Woh sab main samajhta hoon, lekin... ab us par nazar rakhi jayegi. Kuch gadbad hui toh... woh uska career, life sab kuch neutralize kar denge.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “Shayad mujhe... baat karni chahiye thi, maa ke baare mein puchhna chahiye tha. Magar mission se badhkar kuch nahi.”
[“I understand all of that, but... now she will be watched. If anything goes wrong... they will neutralize her career, her life, everything. Perhaps I... should have spoken to her, should have asked about Mom. But nothing is bigger than the mission.”]
Sanaz moves her hand, placing her palms firmly against his tense shoulder. “Aapne jo kiya sahi kiya. Yeh nahi karte aur unhen baad mein pata chalta toh humein double agent karar kar dete.”
[“What you did was right. If you hadn't done this and they found out later, they would have declared us double agents.”]
He shakes his head slowly, unable to shake the suffocating knot in his throat. Outside, the violent monsoon rain beats against the mesh, fanning a cool mist into the room, tiny stray droplets settling on the glass panes.
“Mujhe thoda waqt chahiye, fir aage kya karna hai discuss karenge.”
[“I need a little time, then we will discuss what to do next.”]
He shifts his weight, about to stand up to pace the room and build his walls back up, but Sanaz’s fingers instantly slide down, catching his hand in a firm grip.
“Main hoon yahan,” she states softly, refusing to let him retreat into his usual isolation. “Aap... mujhse baatein kar sakte hain.”
[“I am right here. You... can talk to me.”]
He looks at their joined hands, a bitter, weary smile playing on his lips as he sinks back down onto the sheets. “Kitna hi sunogi, Sanaz? Bas dukh bhari hai is kahani mein.”
[“How much will you listen to, Sanaz? There is only grief filled in this story.”]
She tilts her head up, “Dukh baatne se kam toh nahi hota, lekin... mann halka hojata hai.”
[“Sharing grief doesn't lessen it, but... the heart becomes lighter.”]
“Dadaji fauj mein the, papa bhi. Main bhi military ki training kar raha tha. Ekees saal ka tha tab,” he says, his frame leaning back heavily against the wooden headboard, his eyes staring blankly into the shadows of the ceiling. “Pathankot ka MLA tha Sukhwinder Singh, zameen hadapne ke chakkar mein... usne mere papa ko zinda faasi pe latka diya. Badi behen Harleen ki izzat luti...” His voice cracks slightly.
[“Grandfather was in the army, Father too. I was training for the military as well. I was twenty-one then... The MLA of Pathankot was Sukhwinder Singh, to grab our land... he hung my father alive. My elder sister Harleen’s dignity was stripped...”]
“Barah logo ne. Khuleaam. Mere ghar mein ghus ke.”
[“By twelve men. Openly. Breaking into my house.”]
Sanaz’s face drops completely at the reveal, her composure entirely evaporating. The depravity of the event is far worse than anything her mind had prepared her for.
“Maa aur Jasleen thaane gaye, par har kisi ne FIR likhne se mana kar diya. Aur Jasleen ko bhi agwah kar liya,” he continues, his knuckles turning white as his hands clench against the sheets. “Main chutti se wapas aa raha tha, Pinda... woh black leather jacket wala aadmi jo ek mahine pehle aaya tha, bachpan ka yaar tha. Usne illegally bandhook aur AK47 lene mein madad kari. Lag bhag raat ke das baj rahe honge, main seedha Sukhwinder ke ghar gaya. Jitne bhi log saamne aaye, sabko maar dala. Saare ke saare barah logo ko.”
[“Mom and Jasleen went to the police station, but everyone refused to file an FIR. And they kidnapped Jasleen too. I was returning from leave, Pinda... that man in the black leather jacket who came a month ago, he was a childhood friend. He helped me procure an illegal handgun and an AK-47. It must have been around ten at night, I went straight to Sukhwinder’s house. Whoever came in front of me, I killed them. Every single one of those twelve men.”]
The heavy sorrow in his eyes burns away, replaced instantly by the terrifying anger.
She stares at him, processing dread and a fierce sense of pride. “Sahi kiya,” she replies lowly. [“You did the right thing.”]
He nods slowly, gulping down the tightness in his throat. “Lekin fir bhi hum court se yeh case nahi jeet paaye. Judge ne faasi suna di. Socha tha fauj mein shaheed hota toh maa ko muavza milta. Isilye Jasleen se wada liya ki kuch bhi hojaye, apni padhai puri karna. Aur aaj dekho...” A bitter, empty chuckle breaks from his chest.
[“But even then, we couldn’t win the case in court. The judge sentenced me to hang. I thought if I had martyred in the army, Mom would have received compensation. That’s why I took a promise from Jasleen that no matter what happens, she must complete her education. And look at today...”]
He reaches up, his rough fingers tracing across his cheek to wipe away a single, stray tear that managed to escape his defenses.
“Takreeban ek saal baad mujhe shift kiya jaa raha tha. Sanyal aur uske aadmiyo ne kidnap kar liya. Mujhe laga Sukhwinder ke ladke hain, lekin fir baad mein pata chala R&AW mujhe hire karna chahti hai. Mujhe ek nayi zindagi dena chahti hai, aur uske badle main unki saari baatein sununga. Sab tabah hogaya tha, magar jo bacha tha use sahi karna tha. Meri maut ka bahana banakar Indian government unhe aaj tak tees hazar bhejti hai.”
[“About a year later, I was being shifted. Sanyal and his men kidnapped me. I thought they were Sukhwinder’s boys, but later I found out R&AW wanted to hire me. They wanted to give me a new life, and in return, I would follow their every directive. Everything was destroyed, but whatever was left, I had to fix it. Under the pretext of my death, the Indian government still sends them thirty thousand to this day.”]
Sanaz blinks, her brain stalling on the absolute math of the transaction. “Tees?” She shakes her head slightly, her voice laced with a sharp disbelief. “I'm sorry, tees?”
[“Thirty? ... I'm sorry, thirty?”]
He nods, his expression flat. “Kam lagta hai. Lekin itna bhi bohot tha. Fir kya, meri training hui Para SF ke under. Saath saath humint aur thodi bohot chemistry bhi seekhi. Aur...” He lets out a long, heavy sigh, the exhaustion finally pulling at his frame. “Aur fir yahan aagaya.” He finally turns his head, eyes locking squarely onto her.
[“It seems like very little. But even that was a lot. Then what, my training happened under the Para SF. Alongside that, I learned HUMINT and a bit of chemistry too. And... and then I came here.”]
She remains entirely still, staring at the raw, unedited blueprint of the man sitting beside her. “Wow... Main...” She slowly looks away, her fingers tightening around his hand as she processes the sheer magnitude of the systemic failure that created him. “Kaafi bura hua aapke saath.”
[“Wow... I... A lot of bad things happened to you.”]
“Haan, ab wapas nahi jaa sakte. Lekin aage zarur badh sakte hain,” he murmurs, his grip on her hand tightening, returning the grounding anchor she offered him. “Sanaz... Mujhe yaad satati hai unki kabhi kabhi, lekin utni bhi nahi ki main wapas chala jaun. Nahi jana chahta. Jis liye mujhe yeh zindagi dobara mili hai woh pura karke hi marunga.”
[“Yes, we can’t go back now. But we can certainly move forward. Sanaz... I miss them sometimes, but not enough to go back. I don’t want to go back. The purpose for which I received this second life—I will die only after completing it.”]
“Marne ka bohot shauk hai aapko?” She slaps his hand. [“Do you have a great fondness for dying?”]
He smiles, a low glint of genuine warmth returning to his green eyes. “Shauk nahi, Sanaz. Aadat hai. Jaisi humari zindagi ke panne likhe gaye hain, jaan zyada din ki mehaman nahi hoti.”
[“It’s not a fondness, Sanaz. It’s a habit. The way the pages of our lives have been written, life isn't a long-term guest.”]
Suddenly, a violent gust of wind rattles the frame, forcing the window pane to swing wide open. A heavy mist of freezing rainwater sprays into the bedroom, dampening the floorboards. Sanaz gets up smoothly to close it, but instead of pulling the latch, she just stands there. She tilts her head slightly back, letting the cold droplets soak directly into her face and hair, using the shock of the water to ground her internal systems.
“Apne baare mein nahi bataya?” [“You didn't tell me about yourself?”]
She turns around to face him, leaning her weight back against the damp window sill, “Barwih mein thi main. Humara school thode scheduled area mein tha, funded by some mysterious rich spiritual master. Budget tight tha, isilye government school mein admission lena pada. Lekin 11th se hi maine kuch ajeeb cheeze mehsus ki. Class ke bachche gayab ho jate the. Pehle mujhe laga normal kidnapping case ho sakta hai. Lekin maine khoj been karne ka socha.”
[“I was in the twelfth grade. Our school was in a somewhat scheduled area, funded by some mysterious rich spiritual master. The budget was tight, so I had to take admission in a government school. But right from the eleventh grade, I started noticing strange things. Kids from the class would just disappear. At first, I thought it might be a normal kidnapping case. But I decided to investigate.”]
Hamza straightens up instantly “Fir? Kya hua?”
[“Then? What happened?”]
“Fir mujhe pata chala yeh normal case nahi. Pura human trafficking network hai. Maine proofs collect kare, kaise kuch teachers bachchon ko groom karte hain, aur fir...” She lets out a slow sigh knowing look passing over her features. “...aur fir manipulate karke undisclosed location pe bulate hain jahan koi na ho. And then they're supplied to rich people, including that spiritual master himself.”
[“Then I found out this wasn't a normal case. It was an entire human trafficking network. I collected proofs, how some teachers groom the kids, and then... and then manipulate them into coming to an undisclosed location where no one is around. And then they're supplied to rich people, including that spiritual master himself.”]
Hamza’s eyes widen slightly as the operational scope clicks in his brain. Jaskirat's past was born out of raw, personal fury—a sudden, violent reaction to a domestic strike. But Sanaz? This girl was playing multi-layered 3D chess against a deep state syndicate at seventeen years old, completely alone, guided only by her logic.
“Main police ke paas gayi. They said we started the investigation. Ek mahine, fir do. Koi khabar nahi. Toh fir maine direct blackmail kiya principal ko, taaki woh sach confess kar de aur main evidence police ko de sakun. Lekin usne mujhe paise ka laalach diya, jo maine le liye, but I still had the evidence.”
[“I went to the police. They said they started the investigation. One month, then two. No news. So then I directly blackmailed the principal, so he would confess the truth and I could give the evidence to the police. But he tempted me with money, which I took, but I still had the evidence.”]
He gets up from the mattress, taking a slow step toward her as a grim smirk plays on his lips. “So gadar machane waali baat wasn't a joke.”
[“So that part about causing an absolute uproar wasn't a joke.”]
She lets out a tiny, dark chuckle. “Shayad. Lekin jab maine saare evidence police ko pesh kiye, unhone mujhe girftar kar liya. Woh sab in kaamon mein mile hue the, tabhi toh crime rates nahi ruk rahe the. Principal ke saath woh guru bhi aaya, maa kasam aaj bhi khoon khaulta hai uska chehra dekhne se. Dhamki di, main haar nahi maani. Lekin... ek galti hogayi. Mere mummy papa ne woh saare evidence ek journalist ko bhej diya. Fir news reports, tv channels, har jagah ek hi khabar chal rahi thi. Use dabane ke liye woh log iss had tak gir gaye ki unhone uss journalist ke saath mere eklaute parivar ko bhi khatam kar diya.”
[“Perhaps. But when I presented all the evidence to the police, they arrested me instead. They were all complicit in these activities, that's why the crime rates weren't stopping. Along with the principal, that guru came too—I swear on my mother, even today my blood boils just seeing his face. He threatened me, but I didn't back down. But... a mistake happened. My parents sent all that evidence to a journalist. Then news reports, TV channels, the same news was running everywhere. To suppress it, those people fell to such depths that they wiped out that journalist along with my only family.”]
Hamza walks directly into her, stopping just inches away from her frame. He says absolutely nothing, his silent presence offering a protective wall against her past.
Though her expression carries a cold trace of anger, her eyes remain completely devoid of tears. She doesn't seem sad; she seems completely detached from the trauma, looking at her history like a medical ledger.
“Akeli thi jail mein uss raat. Woh log waha bhi aagaye. Mujhe maarna chaha mera gala ghot kar aur naali ke paas fek diya, shayad main mar gayi thi thodi der ke liye. Fir mujhe hosh aaya toh main hospital mein thi. Meera Singhaniya thi mere saamne, mere documents ke saath. Aur bas fir wahi kahani, Para medics seekha, defense and arms ki training li. Baaki logo ko pareshan karna toh mujhe pehle se aata hi hai.”
[“I was alone in the jail that night. Those people came there too. They tried to kill me by choking my throat and threw me near a drain—perhaps I was dead for a little while. Then when I regained consciousness, I was in the hospital. Meera Singhaniya was in front of me, holding my documents. And then it was just the same story—learned paramedical science, took defense and arms training. As for troubling other people, I already knew how to do that perfectly well.”]
Hamza’s thick brows furrow deeply,
“Yeh sab itni aasani se kaise bol sakti ho tum?” he asks. [“How can you say all of this so easily?”]
“Aasan nahi tha,” she looks away, her gaze tracking the dark line of the Karachi skyline through the open frame. “Aasan banana padta hai. Shayad main un jahillon se akeli lad leti, lekin mere parents ko nahi maarna chahiye tha. Shayad main kuch nahi kar paati, bachchi thi. Uss waqt unhe mujhe sach mein maar dena chahiye tha. Lekin dusri zindagi se milkar aisa lagta hai jaise maine maut ko takkar de diya hai.”
[“It wasn't easy... You have to make it easy. Perhaps I could have fought those fools alone, but they shouldn't have killed my parents. Perhaps I couldn't have done anything, I was a child. At that time, they really should have killed me. But receiving this second life, it feels as though I have clashed head-on with death itself.”]
“Ab toh mujhe unka chehra bhi yaad nahi,” she mutters, her voice flat, “Aur nahi karna chahti. Hum thode alag hain, Hamza. Tumne yeh sab kiya taaki tumhara parivar zinda reh sake. Lekin mere paas khone ke liye kuch nahi. Tum sahi the, Hamza. Main khudgarz hoon. Shayad hi koi pagal hoga jo itna khudgarz hote hue bhi yeh zindagi chunega. Shayad main pagal hoon. Mujhe bas marna nahi hai.”
[“Now I don't even remember their faces... and I don't want to. We are a bit different, Hamza. You did all of this so your family could stay alive. But I have nothing left to lose. You were right, Hamza. I am selfish. Hardly any madman would choose this life while being this selfish. Perhaps I am mad. I just don't want to die.”]
“Sanaz kabhi nahi marti.”
[“Sanaz never dies.”]
The chilling absolute of that statement almost sends a physical shudder down his spine.
He stares at the teenage girl who survived a prison drain, seeing the sovereign killing machine clearly.
“Khudgarz nahi ho tum. Kaash main tumhare jaisa hota. Lekin iss janam mein nahi ban paunga.” He reaches out, his palms closing around both of her hands, holding them tightly within his grid. “Wada karo, kabhi hum agar pakde gaye toh... tum mujhe chhor dena.”
[“You are not selfish. I wish I were like you. But I won't be able to become that in this lifetime. ... Promise me, if we are ever caught... you will leave me.”]
Her breath hitches slightly, her chest locking at his directive.
He continues, his eyes burning into her, “Main mar jaunga lekin tum par koi aanch nahi aane dunga. Ya fir, mujhe maar dena. Main nahi chahta mere zariye koi tum tak pahunche.”
[“I will die but I won't let a single flame touch you. Or else, kill me. I don't want anyone to reach you through me.”]
She gulps down the sudden, suffocating tightness in her throat, her detachment completely failing her. “Aisa matt bolo...” she mutters, trying to pull her hands back from his grip.
[“Don't speak like this...”]
“Shayad tumhare paas khone ke liye ab kuch hai,” he whispers softly. [“Perhaps you have something to lose now.”]
Her brows furrow slightly, the truth of his words hitting her like a physical blow. She moves forward, slamming her frame against his chest as she wraps her arms tightly around his torso in a fierce hug.
“Hamza... Agar hum kabhi pakde gaye toh khud ko zinda rakhna. Aur mujhe bhi. Humari jaan hai tumhare hawale,” she commands against his shoulder, her voice shaking as she explicitly redefines her survival protocol to include his life.
[“Hamza... If we are ever caught, keep yourself alive. And me too. Our life is entrusted to you.”]
He lets out a low, breathless chuckle, his arms wrapping around her waist to lock her against his chest. “Mere wade se bilkul ulta...”
[“Completely opposite to my promise...”]
The words stall in his throat. Suddenly, he feels a warm wetness soaking straight through the fabric of his black kurta.
Hamza pulls back slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. He reaches up, his large fingers gently catching her chin to pull her face up into the light. She resists the movement, trying to bury her face back into his shoulder, but he applies a firm, patient pressure until she has no choice but to look at him.
He stares at her face.
Traced down her cheeks are big, fat, silent tears—falling continuously for the very first time ever since the day they met.
“Sirf jhooth bolti ho tum, Sanaz,” he whispers, his voice dropping into a rough rumble as he wipes the tracks of her tears. “Har insaan ke dil mein kuch hai, tumhare bhi. Shayad hum woh cheezein bhul jaaye, shayad hum apna naam aur sheher badal le, lekin fir bhi woh sab kisi kone mein dabi hui hoti hai.”
[“You only tell lies, Sanaz. There is something in every human's heart, in yours too. Perhaps we might forget those things, perhaps we might change our name and city, but even then, it all remains buried in some corner.”]
She nods slightly, her eyes shifting away as she tries to rebuild her walls. “Mujhe nahi pata, Hamza. Maine yahan saat saal akele guzara hai, sirf Khalid chacha ke saath... woh bhi kabhi kabhar milne aate the.”
[“I don’t know, Hamza. I’ve spent seven years here alone, only with Uncle Khalid... and he only came to visit once in a while.”]
Hamza suddenly understands the depth of her irritation and her closed-off, defensive armor when they’d initially met. She wasn't just cold; she was entirely isolated in the enemy's terrain for seven years, surviving on pure survival mechanics.
He reaches out, his massive palm patting her back slightly, “Main hoon yahan. Rizwan, Jameel Sahab, Alam Bhai, sab hain.”
[“I am right here. Rizwan, Jameel Sahab, Alam Bhai, everyone is here.”]
“Main tumhe khona nahi chahati,” she mutters bluntly. [“I don’t want to lose you.”]
“Mujhse pyaar karti ho?”
[“Do you love me?”]
Sanaz squints her eyes, her processing loop instantly short-circuiting at the query. Without a microsecond of hesitation, she brings her fist down, hitting his chest hard. “Toh itne dino se hum naatak kar rahe the kya?!” she yells.
[“Then have we just been putting on an act all these days?!”]
“Woah, woah,” he chuckles, his hands easily coming up to catch her wrists, neutralizing her assault with a wide grin. “Gussa kyun ho rahi ho?” He looks down at her fierce, blazing face—she is intensely, beautifully possessive. “Main bas confirm kar raha tha.”
[“Why are you getting angry? I was just confirming.”]
“Matlab tum abhi tak mujhe lekar sure nahi the..?” The logic twist backfires instantly. Big, fat tears well right back up into her eyes, one droplet even running down her nose.
[“Meaning you weren't sure about me until now..?”]
“Arey, shh,” he murmurs softly, his heart completely melting at the sight of his unbothered doctor breaking down over a technicality. He leans in, his thick thumbs gently wiping the dampness from her cheeks and philtrum. “Tum thodi si bhulakkad ho kya? Chaar saal se peeche pada tha, tumhari hairband rakhi, tumhare liye paya—”
[“Oh, shh... are you a little forgetful? I was after you for four years, kept your hairband, brought anklets for you—”]
“Theek hai, theek hai,” she sniffles aggressively. She takes a deep, grounding breath to reset her respiratory system. “Bohot ro liya aaj.”
[“Fine, fine... Cried a lot today.”]
“Kabhi kabhi rona achcha hota hai. Yaad hai na, mann halka hota hai?”
[“Sometimes crying is good. Remember, right? The heart becomes lighter.”]
She gives a slow, quiet nod. She lets him wrap his large arms around her again, burying her wet face against his shoulder as his hand caresses the back of her damp hair.
“Hamza... Kuch bhi ho jaye, zinda rehna hai,” she whispers into the fabric of his kurta.
[“Hamza... No matter what happens, we have to stay alive.”]
“Koshish zarur karunga,” he replies against her crown.
[“I will definitely try.”]
Slowly, he tilts her chin upward, forcing her eyes to meet his one last time. He leans down and presses a deep, definitive kiss directly onto her lips.
Later that night, Sushant reported back that Jasleen was a little too adamant. She had pieced the trail together from digital wire photos and news reports of the MMP political rally in Lyari, where she also spotted Sanaz's face next to him. Tracking down a public clinical business inquiry number had been child's play for her sharp journalistic mind. She had formally stated to the junior monitoring officers that she merely wanted to verify her brother's breathing status. She was currently under strict R&AW surveillance—if the agency handed down a clean chit, she would be permitted to walk away from the tracking grid.
Hamza snaps the laptop lid shut, letting out a heavy sigh that vibrates in the dim room.
On the wall mount, the local television channel runs an urgent late-night broadcast. The anchor's voice is crisp: “Haal hi mein, Indian agency ke dwara panch sau aur ek hazar ke jaali note pure desh tak pohonchane waale syndicate ko uttar pradesh aur nepal mein pakda hai. Unka dawa hai ki yeh note Pakistani ISI se jude ho sakte hain. Halake government ne kaha hai ki bina evidence ke humpar aise jhoothe ilzaam naa lagaye jaaye.”
[“Recently, Indian agencies have intercepted a syndicate distributing counterfeit five-hundred and one-thousand rupee notes across the country in Uttar Pradesh and Nepal. They claim these notes could be linked to Pakistan's ISI. However, the government has stated that such false allegations shouldn't be leveled against us without concrete evidence.”]
Sanaz steps out of the dark kitchen frame, her expression entirely unbothered. “Khanani barbaad,” she mutters flatly, handing a tall glass of thick, warm saffron milk to Hamza.
[“Khanani is ruined.”]
He takes the glass from her fingers, downing the thick liquid in silent gulps. They had already completed their dinner hours ago. Sanaz leans against the counter, casually popping a sweet candy into her mouth.
Suddenly, the mobile device on the table rings aggressively. The caller ID flashes a single name: Khanani.
A dark smirk cuts across Hamza's sharp features. He slides the green icon across the glass, lifting the device to his ear with perfect warmth. “Salamwalaikum Khanani bhai. Itni raat ko phone kiya?”
[“Salamwalaikum Brother Khanani. Why did you call so late at night?”]
“Hamza main barbaad ho jaunga!” Khanani’s voice screams through the receiver, his legendary financial composure completely shattered into panicked pieces. “Dawood ke saath hazar crore hain mere paas panch sau aur hazar ke noto mein. Tere paas toh har musibat ka ilaaj hota hai na. Kuch kar bhai.”
[“Hamza, I will be ruined! Along with Dawood, I am holding sixty thousand crores in five-hundred and one-thousand rupee notes. You have a cure for every problem, don't you? Do something, brother.”]
“Aap chinta mat karo,” Hamza responds smoothly. “Kahan ho abhi?”
[“Don't you worry. Where are you right now?”]
“Factory mein.”
[“At the factory.”]
“...Akele ho?” Hamza pauses, his green eyes cutting across the room to lock onto Sanaz.
[“...Are you alone?”]
“Haan.”
[“Yes.”]
“Ek kaam karo,” Hamza instructs. He finishes the last drop of the warm milk, setting the glass down with a firm click before using the back of his hand to wipe his upper lip and thick mustache clean.
[“Do one thing.”]
Sanaz doesn't miss the transition. “Main bhi aaungi,” she says flatly. [“I'm coming too.”]
He glares at her for a long beat, assessing her stubborn operational stance. “Theek hai.”
[“Alright.”]
Hamza slides into a long, dark jacket over his black kurta, leaving his thick long hair open. Rizwan enters the room, wearing his usual linen kurta and structured utility vest, his expression hard. Sanaz quickly changes her attire, sliding into a pair of well-fitting palazzos to ensure easy, unrestricted physical movement, paired with a short kurti.
The three unknown killing machines walk out into the cold monsoon fog, climbing into the vehicle to collect the syndicate's ultimate financial ledger.
The dark sedan cuts through the heavy sheet of rain, rolling to the secluded industrial facility. Hamza steps out first, his tall frame instantly absorbing the freezing downpour as his long jacket catches the wind.
Rizwan takes his position right beside the vehicle’s chassis, his hand resting near his holster, while Sanaz remains securely inside the tinted rear cabin, completely invisible to the outside.
The two private security guards stationed at the entrance give a respectful nod, entirely oblivious to the executioners standing at their doorstep.
Hamza pushes the heavy iron doors open, stepping into the cavernous space.
“Hamza, tu aa gaya,” Khanani breathes out a massive sigh of relief, instantly springing up from his leather chair and extending a trembling hand toward him.
[“Hamza, you've arrived.”]
Hamza’s fingers wrap around his hand in a crushing grip. “Aagaya hoon. Puri keemat dilwaunga.”
[“I’m here. I’ll make sure you get the full price.”]
Along both lengths of the industrial warehouse room, thick pallets of illicit currency are stacked into literal, towering mountains of cash.
Hamza looks around the perimeter, his green eyes scanning the sheer scale of the operation. “Bas itne hi hain?”
They ascend the stairs in synchronized steps, leaving the guards on the ground floor. As they enter the upper VVIP vault room, Khanani flicks the heavy grid switches. The fluorescent tubes buzz to life, and Hamza’s breath hitches slightly.
The massive columns of counterfeit notes stretch nearly thirty feet high, touching the ceiling joists and wrapping entirely around the room's architecture.
The bright white light bounces off the sheer volume of the fake paper, casting a strange, surreal green hue over both of their faces.
They walk out onto the attached covered terrace to check the quality of the shipment.
Hamza casually pulls a fresh stack from the nearest bundle, holding a single five-hundred-rupee note directly under a bare inspection bulb. “Suna hai aapke bhai Altaf Khanani ko das saal ki jail hogayi?”
[“I heard your brother, Altaf Khanani, got ten years in prison?”]
“Bohot bura waqt chal raha hai, Hamza,” Khanani mutters with a bitter shake of his head as the heavy metal terrace door clicks shut behind them, sealing them away from the interior layout.
[“Times are very bad right now, Hamza.”]
The massive, flickering red light from a nearby commercial neon billboard cuts through the rain, washing a bloody crimson glow over their silhouettes. Khanani reaches into his linen pocket, pulling out a cigarette and offering it to Hamza. The taller one accepts it without a word. Khanani pulls out a lighter, sparking the flame to light Hamza’s cigarette before lighting his own.
“Bas kisi tarah iss changul se niklun. Fir un hindustaniyon ki aisi halat karenge ki—” Khanani growls into the dark, his eyes flashing with venomous hatred.
[“Just let me escape this trap somehow. Then, I will reduce those Indians to such a state that—”]
Before he can finish the sentence, Hamza takes a slow drag and blows a thick cloud of grey smoke straight into the older man's face.
“Kaise haalat karenge?” Hamza’s baritone drops into a calm whisper.
[“What kind of state will you reduce them to?”]
Khanani coughs roughly from the sudden smoke, but tries to straighten his posture. “Aisi haalat karenge ki bolne laayak nahi ch—”
[“We will reduce them to a state where they won't be able to sp—”]
Snap.
Hamza’s palm strikes forward, his thick fingers locking entirely around Khanani’s throat like an iron vice. “Kaisi haalat, Khanani sahab?” he asks softly, his eyes completely turning into a dead void as his grip squeezes tighter, crushing the billionaire's windpipe grid.
[“What kind of state, Mr. Khanani?”]
Khanani chokes violently, his eyes widening in sudden terror as his fingers claw frantically at Hamza’s massive wrists. But the Sher-E-Baloch is a mountain of pure, reinforced muscle. Without breaking a sweat, Hamza violently drags his thrashing, helpless body out from under the covered terrace ledge, pulling him straight into the open roof where the freezing monsoon rain slams down upon them.
Downstairs, the two security guards instantly freeze as the muffled scuffle from the open roof leaks through the concrete structure. Sensing the anomaly, they immediately reach for their weapons and turn toward the stairs.
They don't even make it to the first step.
Rizwan materializes from the shadows behind them like a ghost. He locks his arm around the first guard’s neck, pulling him back in a brutal chokehold before striking a heavy blow to his temple. The second guard frantically spins around, raising his hands to defend himself, but the passenger door of the sedan slams open.
Sanaz charges as she drives a vicious kick straight into his sternum, sending him crashing down onto the floor.
Before he can recover his, she draws her compact firearm. Bang. She fires a single round directly into the back of his skull, instantly fracturing the bone.
The first guard, bleeding and desperately gasping for air on the floor, tries to crawl away toward a dropped rifle. His trembling hand reaches for the grip, but Sanaz tracks the variable instantly.
Bang. A precise bullet drills straight through his forearm. He screams, dropping the metal as Rizwan casually steps over him, lifts the heavy rifle, and smashes the solid buttstock down against the man's head with lethal force.
The ground floor returns to a dead silence.
They look at each other through the damp air, giving a brief nod.
Up on the open roof, Hamza is ruthlessly dragging Khanani’s thrashing body toward the very edge of the terrace, his heavy boots screeching loudly against the rain-slicked floorboards. The billionaire’s fingers are completely raw from clawing uselessly at Hamza's iron wrists.
Hamza leans down, his chest heaving as he lets out a low growl. “Ek arse se aise ghut kar jiya hoon main. Jab tum sab mere desh ko noch kar khaa rahe the. Mann karta tha tum sab ko khatam kar doon... Magar woh sahi waqt nahi tha.”
[“I have lived suffocating like this for a decade. While you all were ripping apart and devouring my country. I felt like destroying all of you... but it wasn't the right time.”]
The blood-red glow of the flickering neon board paints his sharp features in a deep crimson hue. The torrential monsoon rain beats down on him, wetting his long, dark hair and causing it to plaster against his neck.
He leans in closer as he snarls directly into Khanani's dying face:
“Sahi waqt... Ab hai.”
[“The right time... is now.”]
Khanani lets out a final, desperate, muffled plea through his crushed windpipe—but Hamza doesn't waste another microsecond. He hurls the billionaire money launderer clear over the terrace railing.
The man screams, a sharp, terrified sound that is instantly cut short as his body plummets through the dark. He crashes violently through a web of high-voltage electric wires, sparks exploding into the night sky, before his frame smashes heavily against the commercial boards below and stills on the pavement.
Hamza stands completely motionless at the edge, his long jacket soaked, staring down at the ruined infrastructure of the syndicate's financial empire. He slowly looks over his shoulder.
Sanaz and Rizwan are standing at the terrace door, waiting for the next directive.
“Sanaz, petrol. Rizwan, wood,” Hamza commands.
Sanaz moves instantly. She navigates the industrial floor, gathering containers and siphoning crude oil and combustible fuel straight from the heavy machinery grids.
Meanwhile, Rizwan uses his physical leverage to splinter the heavy wooden doors and pallets, breaking them down into thick, jagged rods.
Together, they strip the coarse fabric from the dead security guards' uniforms, wrapping the material tightly around the ends of the heavy wooden sticks before saturating them completely in the dark, pungent oil.
Hamza steps forward. With a single flick of his lighter, the spark catches.
Once the torches are blazing, the three don't waste a single second.
They hurl the heavy mashals left and right into the cavernous rooms. The fire catches instantly. The sixty-thousand-crore mountain of counterfeit currency turns into a roaring inferno. The high ceilings trap the heat, and within minutes, the entire structural grid of Khanani's multi-layered empire begins to melt down into ash and black smoke.
They slip out through the rear exit grid, melting back into the cold monsoon fog just as the first industrial beams begin to collapse inside.
Behind them, the sky over Karachi bleeds a brilliant, destructive orange.
Let the world burn for you? No. I’ll burn the WORLD WITH YOU.
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