Chapter 19.

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Dark gullies of streaming water behind the thin watery bricks, dripped from the edge of the low hanging roof. It's tapping sounds like a warning in the misty darkness of the place. Thin vapor of water and dust materialized into a thicker layer preventing the tiny holes in the walls from letting any sunlight in. At least the part that was not covered up by the vines that entwined in the world outside, the tiny hut in plain sight but hidden from the views of the weak sights. A decaying, rotten smell filled the place, insects and rodents alike feasted on it, growing in plenty.

In the darkness, that heaved over her as the snow continued to pile up outside, she felt her heartbeat raise. Tied with rough tweed rope, next to an iron table that pierced into her stomach every now and then as she tried to inch away. Her feet were tied too, underneath her heavy ivory skirts the gold embroidery beginning to itch against her skin at her navel. The fitted blouse, that ended four inches below her ribs, snagged into the soft skin there, the heavy veil and jewelry biting into her peace. Frustrated, Filza rubbed her hands against the tight knots of the rope. Her lipstick marked it, rubbing off of its place as she used her teeth — struggling yet not resting for a single moment.

Every inch of her skin, and the bones underneath ached. Agony, pure agony surrounded her veins as she tried to make sense of where she was. Her mind was still muddleheaded, the chloroform's affects only just beginning to wear out. A pounding inside her head kept her from thinking clearly, groans of pain escaped her dried mouth. She shivered, cuddling into her own self as the thin walls, perforated at calculated distances allowed the chilly winds to blow in. They rustled against her being, and creatures—all kinds of them infiltrated her mind and vision alike.

Her whimpers were for the desolate furniture to hear. The mice ticked away at the food that had been thrown against the wall, roaches peered out, raising their tiny heads out of the wood-boards, stunned to see a sobbing frame amongst them. They were too equally at shock, frozen in place and only the large moths dared to fly past her. Filza's sobs turned louder by the second as she struggled to flee. Her breaths turned harsh, her lips turning pale as the cold kept nipping at her skin. It was her wedding day — she was supposed to be married already yet here she was, without any idea of how and where she had been brought.

Filza let out a sharp cry of horror, bony faces with wide eyes, set on their slender cheeks with slim lips neared her. They had long talon like nails, dragged across her skin. She felt herself reduced into an inch of her life, as they dangled over her skins and whispered a language that she could not understand. She begged and sobbed for mercy, her hands above her head as she sought help from the brick wall behind her. The longer her eyes strained open to keep the visions in sight, the more she feared the consequences. Filza was taken back to her childhood, when she was plagued with similar thoughts. The nightmares had stopped for the most part, her father took it upon himself to slay the creatures whilst she slept. She wanted him, to soothe her ; to give her reassurance all would be alright.

Resting her head over the floor, her body too tired to stay awake, Filza slipped in and out of consciousness. Each time her eyes opened, the haunting apparitions were nearer. Closer ; struggling to get to her body first. Her mouth pinched itself shut, her eyes squeezed tight as tears dripped out one after the other. An agonizing plea left her lips, praying that she be found. She wanted nothing more than to be back at her family's side, where their sunny smiles would keep her safe. Filza hoped — with every inch of her being, that she would make it out alive, somehow, and her heart dared to hope that he would find her. That he would not think she ran away.

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"I think the girl has run away Mrs.Azmaray," a stranger for the umpteenth time told the worried mother.

Laila's sharp gaze shut them up once more. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the hands of her husband, their family right beside her, comforting her that her child would be alright. From the corner of her eye, she had observed her brother-in-law and son-in-law to be calling the police chiefs, they were doing their utmost to ensure her safe arrival.

The guests still lingered about even five hours after the disappearance had been announced. A few stayed behind to comfort her, whilst the rest snickered amongst themselves, whispering in each other's ears — words only they knew but the intentions and meanings were not hidden. Laila's hands held the material of her dress tight until the beaded work was imprinted into her soft skin. Her head rested limp against his chest, Azmaray's words soothing her but he too held a fear — of what if.

"This! This is why I didn't want to marry her! She's now at the mercy of my enemies!"

Arham roared in the background, his voice was full of pain, the pain that he felt. His jacket lay discarded on the stage where his wedding was to be held, his slick hair a mess as one curl fell against his forehead every now and then. He felt helpless — despite being the most powerful man in the entire province, he could do little to ensure his fiancée's safety. The corrupt sieze the innocent in this game of power play, his selfishness had brought him to his failure. Just the thought of the young woman — so full of life, left alone in the generous winds shook him to the core.

"I genuinely think that she's ran away. Come on her father did the same too," another landlord, chuckled.

Azmaray's poisonous gaze did little to stop the rest from laughing. Of course, the cruelty of pagan society was that anyone with a daughter could be subjected to it's double standards. The past that one tired so carefully to bury deep in the trenches of time, would always be dug up at the time it was least required. For them it was a game — to prove why they deserved better than the one in question. For everyone else, it was tea time gossip. By tomorrow everyone would have their thin delicate china cups full of warm tea ; and their minds full of theories about his daughter escaping. Nothing he could say would prove her innocence, and he was far beyond the point of trying to prove it ; he knew his daughter and that was enough to satiate him.

"She has not run away. I know her!" Arham defended, his face the epitome of fury as he fired against the crowd.

"A few months only child, she's run away because her heart was filled up from you." The man replied, feigning his sadness.

"No! Filza would not have run away, ever. She knew she could trust her parents — we would have supported her if she wanted to call off the wedding! Asghar and Zaeem have you contacted the head of our security?"

"He's been called. They're already checking all the surveillance footage, unfortunately the snowstorm does mean that there is a low chance of finding anything." Zaeem replied.

"Arham's contacted the defense minister of the province. Major Raheel is already searching through the city for her," Asghar added.

"Azm-Azmaray humari bachi mil jaye gi na?"
[We'll find our daughter right?]

The sounds of Laila's whimpers were like molten rocks crashing against his heart. Each one burnt a hole through his chambers and mushed his arteries into one large mess. He closed his eyes, the face of his daughter — her entire life running before him like a broken record. Today was a scene he was eerily familiar with. Hiding his face in the shoulder of his wife, he was taken back to the time eighteen years ago. The fateful night of their daughter's first birthday. It was to be an intimate affair, no one save for their immediate family was present. As they went to get the sleeping baby, her pink bassinet was found empty.

Eighteen weeks. For eighteen weeks in hidden silence they had searched for Filza. Across the moors, on the other side of the sil-sil. It was like she had vanished from the face of the earth. Laila too had slipped into a fever dream, her only words were the name of their daughter. Then too, he had felt like he would die from the exhaustion and guilt — of not being able to protect her. Eventually, a servant had mistakenly, talked about the affairs with Rangeen Khan in hearing distance. He had alerted the authorities in silence and after eighteen weeks of searching, the young baby was found, weak and pale — almost lifeless in a hut beneath the moors, covered by the imminent snow, the outpour of which hid all footsteps.

"Arham stop blaming yourself," Lyana kissed her son's cheek, feeling his frustration, "focus on finding her okay? You could never had predicted for this to happen."

"Still I should have known better! With people eyeing my position I should have known. No worries, as soon as we find her, I'll resign. I do not want to fulfill my dreams at the expense of the woman I love mama."

He whimpered silently into her veil, only those closest around him heard his words. A range of varying emotions covered their faces as they saw the strong man break down.

"Nay! No one shall resign and no one shall leave. This is not your fault Arham!" Anbar cleared her throat.

Walking towards her husband, she wrapped her arm around his bicep. On her orders the help guided all guests out of the ballroom — with our without consent. It was a private ordeal, they did not of course, hope for it to be an article in the local newspaper tomorrow morning.

"Azmaray you remember the last time this happened?" She turned to her cousin, stunning everyone else around them.

"Last time?"

Arham was confused.

"Filza was kidnapped as a young baby, on her first birthday. It is all eerily familiar to that day. It took us eighteen weeks to find her, and then the nightmares of the events haunted her until she turned five, when a doctor had her memories repressed. The point is — what if it's the same person Asghar?"

"It can't be! The culprits were dealt with. I saw them hung in front of my eyes."

Asghar shook his head in defiance.

"What if, their cause lived on in their children? Asghar please! Azmaray, Laila, you guys listen to me! My heart says our child is in that god forsaken hut!" Anbar stood her ground.

"Even if she was, they won't be stupid enough to take her there." Azmaray sighed.

"Well actually in this snowstorm they couldn't have gone far. I think Anbar might be right. I'll take some troops with me and go check out that hut, meanwhile you wait for the security team to report back."

Asghar spoke with a lingering determination of hope. Arham perked up at that, sliding his jacket on his shoulder he stood by the side of the former minister. The elder man sighed — young love, nodding his head and motioning for the rest of them to follow behind. With nothing but the prayers of their loved ones to protect them, and a platoon of the best soldiers they set out, trekking through the snow, in the deep night, for the first time in nineteen years, the evening of the new year was not a joyous occasion in the Khan estate.

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"Rise and shine little fizzy pop!"

A scratchy voice shouted behind her ears. Filza woke up with a start, gasping for air. She was startled at the sight of the man dressed in all black, his face concealed beneath the mask he wore. He held a phone to her ear, sharp cackling sounds from the other side moved her to the core. Disgust filled her being as she tried to cover her ears, the sounds reminded her of something — an instant headache took her in it's grip. Her dry mouth, ached with the need of water, she salivated at the thought of it, hiccuping over the dry ground.

"Who — who are you?"

Did she scream it at the woman on the phone or whisper it to the man that was beginning to scare her with his molten gaze, she would never know. Her heart beat raised as the man neared her, in his hands a thin pen knife that he dragged slowly across her forearm, tearing the material of her sleeves. Her bridal dress ruined — forever.

"Let — let me go!" She spoke with great pain, her dried lips tearing as she sobbed profusely.

Her skin was red and sweaty, despite the cold wind. Goosebumps and tiny tremors shook her muscles and try as she might, Filza could not budge from her place. Her legs were numb and tiny pins prickled her skin as she made any movement. Tired, she raised her hands in mercy, the bruises on her wrist blue and fleshy as the skin tore from the rough friction.

"Oh no my little pet. We can not let go of you — or can we Anas?" The woman wondered out loud.

"Keep her. I'm sure her senile father will find her soon enough."

"My father is not senile!"

She screamed, putting up a last fight. His hand hammered down on her face, the blow caused a metallic taste to spread inside her mouth. She had bit her cheek with such strength, his slap tearing the skin of her lip and a bruise already forming.

"Leave her alone Anas. Oh and leave the door open, shaadi mubarak."
[Congratulations on getting married.]

The man did as told, escaping with the door open, chilly winds in an instant tore through the door and in the pale moonlight that she saw fill into the place, Filza saw the signs of her life escaping her. Her bones and teeth shuddered her palms rubbed against each other seeking warmth. She took deep shallow breaths, humming the words of the song her mother would sing to her as a child — there was only so long she could hold on for.

"And there is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart run away in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill and there is a river;
Each a glimpse and gone for ever!"

Words from the poem 'From a Railway carriage' by Robert Louis Stevenson, her aunts favorite poem to read her as a child escaped her parted lips, with the end of the poem her eyes closed on their own accord, softly. A peaceful smile on her face as she descended into a darkness of peace ; love and prosperity.

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Underneath the piles of snow, they dug with a wild strength. Arham and Asghar offering their own power in doing so, the huskies employed for the task of searching for her had woofed upon the spot they stood at. Now, it was a task to remove the snow, that seemed to have buried the entrance under itself. Their fur coats kept them warm and yet still the ice bit their fingers. Arham hoped that his wife was alright underneath all of this rubble. At the first sight of the wooden frame, he felt a fire burn inside of him. With maddening rage he fought through the snow, the cold ice touching his exposed skin, yet he could care less

As the snow filed out, pale moonlight led them inside the hut. Darkness covered every inch of the place, tiny holes in the walls whistled as wind fought its way inside. Arham stumbled over his steps, his shoes stuck over a vine. He swore underneath his breath, the large flashlight turned on. He waved it inside the room, searching for a familiar frame. The place was in a state of falling apart. The ceilings were leaky and water dripped inside from it, the walls that were once perhaps beige had turned a moldy green, the sight disgusting. He gagged, walking deeper into the place, his hand steady over the gun inside his pockets.

"Filza?"

He screamed her name. The place full of such painful peace and silence that it killed him. It looked abandoned, not a sight of a person or anything they would use save for the rotten furniture and bread that a family of mice fed on.

"Filza? Is anyone here?"

He called out, his shoulders sinking as the last bits of hope fell out. Turning, he stepped out, stopping only as he caught sight of a thin burrow like trap door. Curious, he lifted the latch, surprised to find the underground chambers filled with snow where a hole had been blown into the wall. Whoever had this place constructed had been smart, there were two levels, the first one above the moor and the other curving out from the other side. Two entrances for two levels — unsuspecting figures would walk by.

"Did you find her?"

Asghar entered the hut, their accomplices behind them.

"Not yet. I think she might be under there," he spoke, pointing to the latch before stepping down the creaking stairs.

Asghar followed suit, the two flashing their lights in every direction. Hope blossomed and yet the thin icy winds tore through its head. Killed it as they stumbled across nothing but crawling insects. The sounds of water dripping, and a mist inside the place made the whole hut look haunted. Perhaps she was not here either, or else her screams would have alarmed them. Retreating, back to the staircase, Arham stopped in place. There, slumped against a metal contraption, lay his bride.

He screamed her name, alarming everyone as he ran to her side. He took her limp form into his arms, with wild rage untying the ropes he held her to his chest. Her heart was still beating — albeit slow. Her skin was pale and the flush he had imagined on her cheeks nowhere near in sight. He pressed his fingers against her face, blowing into her hands, hoping to rekindle the bright fire of life inside of her. With great caution, led by his feverish desires he wrapped the fur coat around her, lifting her into his arms against his chest.

"Major Raheel has brought a truck with him. Come on Arham, we need to get Filza to a warm place." Asghar patted his back.

Arham nodded, refusing to pass the woman in his arms to anyone else, even as he climbed the stairs. His hand dug into a nail, blood instantly ran out of the back of his hand as he shielded her head, yet the adrenaline kept him from feeling any pain.

"The doctor has been summoned already, we need to leave now, sir." Major Raheel informed the two.

Nodding they slid into the back of the truck, time flying past them as they waited for the familiar estate to come to sight. A teary welcome awaited the bride and groom. Her parents teared up at her faint, bruised sight. Rushed to her bedroom the doctor examined her instantly, the fireplace burned with a wild fire, the room toasty and warm. A soup was ordered to be cooked as the doctor gave her a clean bill of health. Her bruises tended to gently, Arham's hawk like — angered gaze forcing the elder man to be careful.

"Mor? Mor?" Filza whimpered as her eyes opened.

"Ji meri jaan?"
[Yes my life?]

Laila kissed her warm forehead. Filza sighed in relief, hugging her mother's arm.

"Where — where is Arham?"

"I'm right here! Are you okay? Do you want something?" Arham stumbled over his words.

"The nikkah?"

"It can wait, until you get better." He said.

"No please! Palar please call the qazi!" She shook her head, blubbering.

Despite everyone's insistence, the bride won at last and the two signed their marriage papers in her bedroom. She sighed in relief finally, her back rested against the headboard, her head on Arham's shoulders as their families left to give them privacy. Filza inhaled sharply, the dried blood on the back of his hand scared her.

"What is this Arham?" She spoke, worried.

"A wound — nothing serious."

He waved his hand around, some blood still pouring out.

"Why did you not have the doctor look at it?"

"You're more important than me Filza!"

"No! Arham I —" she sighed.

Wincing, she tore her veil off of her head, gripping the acetone and anti-inflammatory creams from her side table, she cleaned his wound for him. Tying the veil thickly around his palm pressing a kiss to the inside of his palms.

"I'm sorry your bride looks like a ruffian."

"I think my wife looks like the prettiest ruffian wife in the world!"

Honestly this chapter>>>>
Let the climax begin ;)
Didn't Filza look pretty babies 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪
Who could it have been?
Tf is going on?

Thoughts & Comments Here