Chapter 29.

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A dim light cast over the face peeking through the shelves. A body, towering over the frames stepped out, the orange flames of the candle in hand warmed his skin tone. A cool blue shirt fit his frame, the scar on his cheek — an addition new, creeped over his chin, wrapping around the ends of his brow. A dignified grin masked the cusp of his lips, now horribly butchered. The tapered grin was more painful to see that Arham would imagine. The man thrived in their disbelief, nearing them with his feet placed strongly on the floors, the ends of his leather boots sinking deep into the rugs. He toyed with the rims of his gloves, tearing them off of his hands, slipping a piece of paper over the desk. His finger tapping the document as he sat down with leisure, not at all hurried.

"Bur—han?" Arham spoke, still mystified with shock, his words and tone foreign to the ears of everyone.

"You are of course gravely mistaken if you imagine it is the ghoul of your beloved assistant. Yes, it is me, Burhan Naeem, of course, Naeem to you." He cackled, licking the end of his lip, resembling a sated cat.

"How? We buried you! You died in my arms!" Arham spoke in horror, the whites of his eye spilling into his hazel, his skin a pale shade stolen from the moonlight.

"Surprise?" He quipped, clicking his tongue, "dare I say, kaisa laga mera mazak?"
[How did you find my joke?]

Shock.
Surprise.
Stunned — three of the most emotive human emotions, the most powerful skills to use against an enemy. Like shadows they move, creeping up the trees and threading in through the vast branches. They take, what they desire — and what they don't is thrown. In silence they reek of power, in words, they are destruction. Leaving the opponent's in a state of awe — is a capacity that possess the soul. Questions, remain on the tip of the tongue. Behind it, masterminds plot for days on end. This strength is all that is needed for the men to fight behind doors, to dry them with their blood. Despondency, unlike any fills the other. It is an accomplishment on it's own. All else, perishes.

Burhan popped a slice of orange off of the green plate, white rims and gold leaves on top — classic Mushkpur design. He hummed at the tangy flavor, crossing his legs at the ankles he motioned for the rest to have a seat. Burhan's fair skin turned a hue of blush red under the lights, his eyes skimming over proof — faux proof arranged by Azhar. The man had more brains than nought. He would give him that, Burhan mused, involuntarily licking his lips again — a habit developed after he lost a bit of them. Mutilated in the battle he and Raheel had took part in. Depressing as it was, the snake had been eating the apple more closer than they had thought. The haunting was a part of the essence of the estate — not far removed from the sufferings.

"Will you tell us how you're still alive?" Asghar pressed his hand on to Burhan's shoulder, his eyes pointing like arrows.

"It's a long story. Have a seat, everyone." He nodded, playing with the butterknife.

In a state of disbelief, as Arham took to the seat before the man, he could not help but doubt his eyes. Although the pitch and tone were spot on, the curly hair, brown eyes filled with leagues of warmth signature to Burhan's face framed him — he still held a grain of distance. Collapsing his shoulders against the frame of the wooden chair, Arham observed the man. His eyes squinted, the night blindness getting to him under the orange flames. There was a peculiar air about the man, somewhere between his death and revival to life, the man lost his innocent air. Instead, he looked cruel. He sounded and played the part of an aristocrat better than ever — wrapped in furs as if he had landed straight from the North Pole. Looking through the jagged lines on his face, Arham found some similarities too. His legs still shook with unease, he was still fond of oranges — what had caused this change?

"Well go on then. We still need to find my daughter." Azmaray cleared his throat.

"Umm – yes we should. Time is of the essence." Burhan nodded, leaning over the table, his tone barely over a seducing whisper, "that day at the hospital, bodies were exchanged. I was, shipped to Iceland in silence. A faux Burhan replaced me. I was in a coma but that didn't last long and here I am!" He flicked his wrist.

Arham's heart raced against time. Which of them was faster? It was an impossible question to answer. His nostrils flared, a thin stream of tears filled his coal like eyes as he was reminded once more, of the pain and longing. The tip of his gaze ran down his palms as he turned them over and under, reminded of the day they were painted a scarlet, the day Burhan's blood had froze on them.

"Do you have any idea what I — what your family went through?" Arham said.

"My family was contacted. I wanted to contact you too. However, my benefactor and I got into a battle — hence the bruise on my face and lips. It was for your safety of course, we wanted to let them play you like a fool."

"Who? Who is it?" Arham inquired with urgency.

"Well about that," he sighed, kissing his teeth, "we tracked down two people, however, it's impossible to understand their motives entirely."

"Fucking hell just tell me who the fuck has my daughter! We can listen to this sob story later!" Azmaray punched the desk.

"Unfortunately, sir, it's a case linked completely."

"And who was this benefactor?" Arham whispered, the words danced along his tongue and the world spun fiercely.

"The person you thought was your enemy."

"Please no more riddles! I have loads of enemies!" He groaned.

"The Ilyas's, they plot against your father. To hurt him, they hurt you and well the other one — is better left unsaid. My benefactor deserves the right to reveal it himself."

"Benefactor? Does this man or woman have a name?" Asghar cleared his throat.

"He does! Major Raheel reporting for duty, sir." A fourth voice countered.

The entrance to the study opened with a thud, bright light from the corridor spilled into the room. Large shadows fell on to the floors and their faces, the silhouette of his hat covered his face. With arms crossed across his chest he marched forward, not an inch of him relaxed. He looked, and played for that matter — the part of his institute well. Not a single slip in his demeanor, even as he watched Arham's face file into disbelief once more. Raheel saluted the three men, pacing the room as the voice filed into his earpiece for the last time. It was eleven thirty, the clock was ticking, about time. The wheels of the plan were in motion, like a train powered by coal. Slow yet steady, they were on their way to uncover a mystery — the largest one of his career.

"Is there still any surprise left? I don't think I can handle any more!" Arham sighed, "why are you here?"

"As Burhan's benefactor."

"Why? Don't you hate me? Weren't you behind this?"

Arham trapped his hands under his knees. Crushed under his weight they pricked with needles — a sweet reminder that he was awake. A formidable threat had been looming around him, dancing with a mighty grin. Without fail he had been played for a fool — how could he? Now, how could he now trust any man? His heart ached as the thoughts of Filza suffering by herself made themselves home in his mind. An ache, tangible, touched the dribbling ends of his throat. He would, if he could, run at the first sight of any knowledge of her locations. His heart lurched out, screamed to the one God out there who knew it all, for help. He needed it, now more than ever. Despite the burning embarrassment of his sins that held him under water, Arham spread his arms in spirits, give me my home back — he cried inside his heart.

"Our past differences aside, my blind hatred for you, aside, I couldn't have let a man who I thought of as a brother fight alone." Raheel spoke.

"Tell — tell me where — where is Filza?"

Arham stuttered, biting his tongue. The screams that bubbled with their ugly heads inside his chest, crushed against the walls of his soft cheeks.

"We'll get to that point. The thing is Arham, I'm sorry. I'm the reason you are in this position. I gave your enemy an open door. Easy access."

Raheel drowned in guilt with each word. He did not at all, deserve the mercy of that man. Arham had hurt him unknowingly but he had, passed all limits with blind rage. A scum of the worst kind — he came to the conclusion, he was.

"Talk fast. We don't have much time." Asghar waved, breaking their staring contest.

"Of course. Basically I allowed Abeer access to my database. She's helping the Ilyas's seek revenge. Azhar is another piece in her game."

"Why would she drag Azhar into this?" Azmaray spoke, still confused.

"Once a cheater always a cheater." Arham sighed.

"Cheater? Who did she cheat on you with before Raheel?" Azmaray spoke, his fingers crossed.

"Me. We were all together in university and one thing led to another."

"Does — does Filza even know of this?"

Azmaray seethed in rage. His figure towered over the desk, his hands wrapping around Arham's collar. The curl of his minty breath brushed across his face, the eyes rimmed red, deprived of sleep and peace bore holes into his skull.

"She does, she forgave me. I think" Arham's words left unsaid as Arham interrupted.

"I think let's listen to the guy and find Filza. I do not want her hurt!"

Asghar pulled his younger brother back, patting his shoulder in reassurance. His eyes flickered to the tall marble statue that towered out of the trees. Thin branches had long since tore through the skull of it, a few stars twinkled behind them, the dark sky had lost the centre piece tonight. The moon was nowhere to be seen even in the clear skies. Like gems, tiny and minuscule, they held his niece's heart, he knew. How fitting, that the day she was lost, was the day the moon refused to come out of hiding too. However, like her, even in it's absence, the two illuminated their hearts. The two were large unifying forces. Held them, in their warmth even whilst they burnt in a placid cold themselves.

"She's in this house, Filza I mean." Raheel's gruff tone overpowered Asghar's thoughts.

"What? We've looked for her on all our property. She isn't here." Asghar shook his head, he had himself led the search party.

"Not entirely. The underground chambers—"

"All entrances were sealed after Filza's last kidnapping." Arham shook his head in disbelief.

"Not entirely." Burhan shook his head, "the room of the previous duke, which is now Filza's bedroom, has a secret door. Not many know of it, years of hiding it have made the ancestors forget."

"So you know more than us?" Azmaray spoke with a faux sense of humor.

"Maybe. I took a liberty. I asked for Filza to lend me a diary of the duke that came before you. There were mentions of that chamber. Put two and two together. That's how they kidnapped her as a child and now again. It seems that the traitor never left Mr.Khan, he knows of all your veins."

The chime of the wind pipes and the zephyr flew with gusto broke their spell of disbelief. Astonished, eyes exchanged glances in mortification. Tiny, finger like details had danced along their eyes all this while — ignorance had been their only bliss in this moment of ravishing pain. Stupefied their bodies roused from the chairs, their steps rushed, ran to the room. Illicit danger and sparkling curiosity filled each of them. Their faith in the power of the people behind their wealth and name was unadulterated — in the diamonds and rubies that filled their treasury, it's opulence had kept them from exploring. With a hazy brain, eyes clouded with a rich darkness their figures brushed against each other. In their brains, safety meant the tall walls that kept the world out. They had forget — of course, that decay always begins from the inside.

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The repetitive rapping sounds of the stick that the woman in front of her held kept her alarmed. In the shrieking grey of the room, nothing save for a broken candle stub burned. The room reeked of old, dusted had long since painted her trousers in their color. Bright shrivels of pain climbed up her sore legs, tucked underneath her pert butt. Her back pressed itself to the now familiar walls. Broken cement and loose rock had long since dug itself under the wedge of her skin, the tender kisses of her husband that had had sprayed the soft spots just a sweet night ago — reminded her of how easy it was to have life change within a blink of an eye. Her broken nails, bleeding from the tender parts — symbol of her struggles against the man her husband deemed friend. With a heart that had long since fatigued from beating rapidly, and a soul displayed in a glass box of sordid pain dressed into a gown of gold and presented themselves to her captor.

The captor's face — covered in a mask of gold. Her hands, pristine and well kept, were slender under the translucent chiffon gloves. A gentle grip on the wooden stick, with a head hidden between her palms annoyed her senses. Since the afternoon, dizzy spells had sought home in her, nausea from the disgust drifted loose. Perforations in the chains that held her back, thick iron braids held her hostage — in the place she roamed free in. Filza had recognized the the familiar embossed walls, the hydrangea's printed on the bricks were a signature from the early days of her family's rise to power. She had read of it, in the early nineteen hundreds, these chambers had been fortified once more. Roots that grew wild and tiny shrubs that skimmed along her plain skin were a burning reminder of her ancestors. How their chambers — the ones made for their safety had compromised hers.

Trembling lips, withering hands, she reached over to the steel cup. Shakily, her dried lips pressed against the edge. From the hollow carving in the door she could she the woman's frame, wrapped in black fur walk around. Her lips uttered words in a language she could not make out. It was the water or lack thereof that was torturing her. A drop, a singular drop, tenth the size of her gulp dripped down her skin. In rage she threw the cup against the stone wall. Shouting into her arms. Filza bit into her skin, the veil, the sleeves and all. Hot tears seared her skin with guzzling flames. All the lore, the sweet sounds of her mother's whisper, her father's worry and the fire of her husband's kisses kept her rational. She etched nearer to a stage of faintness — the hunger, an experience for the first time clenched her stomach's walls with pomp.

"Let me go! My husband and father will kill you! Let me go! I'll negotiate for your life with them!" Filza's voice lost power by the second.

Her throat throbbed in pain as she screamed. The parched oesophagus was ripped, streams of blood gushed out. Her face flushed, the tip of her ears red and raw, blistering laughs escaped her lips. Perhaps she was at last losing it. Maybe her end was destined to be in this lonesome manner. As her sanity inched out of her mind, her soul would be removed from the unfurl of her toes. Resounding silence knocked on the doors of the chamber, the fine copper melded into the door's frame smelt of death. Figures in sizes, large and small lingered closer to her. In the dark she could, make out large claws pointed in her direction, dragging the sharp tip of their nail down her throat.

With the wind that whistled in through the gaps of the walls, outside the sounds of feet shuffling nearing her door, roused her from the forcible slumber. Eyes open, she crawled, her arms tearing into the rough ground over the worn out rugs, scratching the door.

"Anyone? Someone? Help me!" She wheezed.

"No one is coming to save you pretty girl. You'll die with the ghosts of your loved ones. It's almost midnight — and I make well of my promises!" The gravely voice sounded from the other side.

Filza recoiled into a ball, repulsed at the sound of the woman. Her nightmares suddenly creeped up her neck, pinched her aorta with a tightness that ruptured the vessel she felt. Dread swam in the bouts of her soul, her eyes lost the green in them — a wound festered in their otherworldly brightness. A corrupted brain is more deadlier than all poisons, served in a concoction. Slowly, surely though — it reeked into her bones, rattled them. Her heart desired for her husband most. His arms, in his arms she felt safe — protected from the vice that roamed the planet.

"Let me go!" She begged, powerless.

"No. Not at all! I've waited years for this moment. The look on his face as realization dawns on to his shoulders — it keeps me up at night. I relish in his pain!" The woman cackled.

"What ha-has he done to you? Leave us alone!"

Whom did she defend? Her heart had no idea ; all she knew was every man in her life was worthy of defense.

"Never!" The woman coughed violently, "I won't rest until every inch of me has corrupted his life! I will rob him of his peace. As he watches life drain out of your life, oh how I will rejoice!"

Filza shivered in disgust, tears fell from the pools of her eyes as she lost willpower to fight with the woman on the other side. Her shoulders shivered and hit the door in gentle thrums of three, her hands tied to the freezing walls trembled as she hugged herself. A startling throb filled her head, her skin felt sore and hot to the touch. With an unwilling sigh she felt her stomach lurch, dry heaves escaped her lips. In pain and mortification she slumped against the wall, her eyes losing sight.

"I pray that you rot in the worst pits of hell!" She prayed in pain, her words hushed whispers to herself. Incoherent mumbles to the world.

"Za na poheegum!" The woman inside the room neared her, her face still covered in her hood.
[I do not understand!]

The sour smell of onions reeked from her mouth. Filza flinched, a tormentor inside, another outside. Trapped on either side. Was God not going to bestow her with a death of peace?

"Yawazi mee pregda!" She begged once more.
[Leave me alone!]

"Safer larel. Da khoday pa amaan!" The woman neared her face.
[Bon voyage. Good bye!]

Filza's harsh breath moved the curtain off of her face slightly, her eyes sunk to the ground caught sight of her crooked teeth. Then, there was a sharp cry as the woman stabbed her in the thigh, stepping out of the room as Filza bathed in her blood by the minute.

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Blood curdling screams roamed through the hollowed out corridors. Bats flew from the waterlogged roofs of the tunnel, their wings and claws dashing at the disturbance. Beady eyes stared at the intruders who had entered this very part of the home after decades — unaffected, they had lived and built colonies of their own. Nestled amongst the brick and stone, they had thrived for centuries. Irritated they reached out for the captives, hundreds of them thronged to their heated bodies. Twisting away, millions of tiny insects rushed to the burrows inside the walls, on particular permission from the strong moles and rats who nibbled on rotten bread, stolen from the warm hearth outside the kitchens.

A dizzy chill ran through the length of the tunnels, either sides lined with wooden frames that would have once burnt bright with fire. Now though, they sat empty, only remnants of tiny burnt wood remained, like coarse and generous helpings of salt they brushed the ground underneath, dusty and disrupted with steps. Their shoes crushed dried insects — dead. The place itself reeked of death, sides damaged by water covered in fungus. Their noses were hidden under clothes, their hands holding out flashlights, and all equipment of protection wrapped around their bodies. Even in the chilly cold, with not a sight of natural light, the place was warm. Not in a comforting manner — no, instead in one that burns you from your toes and upwards. The kind that has sweat trickle down your back, the one that makes beads of sweat flood your forehead, in pain and worry. It was like a tiny piece of hell on this planet, a never ending curving tunnel, with stairs for days.

The place had started off as spacious enough for two of them to walk side by side. As they neared the staircase at the end of the first corridor though, only an iron barred window high up in the tower their source of illumination, the place narrowed out. With their backs pressed to the stone walls, hands holding on to a rope almost breaking from it's hold in the iron hoop. Stone steps still sturdy, had been shaped in. Shapes of boots of styles long discarded filled each one, a bitter reminder of people being more fleeting than what they create. A moment only — of course. Fear threaded through their heads as they stepped lower and lower into the dark abyss. Only their flashes lit up the place, and only their breaths made sounds. With each scream that they heard — thin circular walls enabling it, relief and pain flooded them both. She was alive ; she was in moralizing pain.

"This place seems to go on forever. Are you sure we're headed in the right direction?" Arham turned to Burhan, who lead the group.

His head lowered as they passed through another spider web, his fingers gently plucking it out of his strands. Arham wiped the sweat off of his soot covered face, marking the pristine white kameez. Tainted. Maimed. Much like his heart and soul in the moment, he chuckled humorlessly. A dizzying look filed into his eyes the longer he stared into the darkness. Arham's heart sunk into his stomach, his hot fingers feeling the cool metal of the shotgun. It was there — and it offered him some peace. He licked his lips, thirst held his throat hostage ; yet water could not stop flowing out of his pores. Stuck in a whirlpool, he inched nearer every-time to leave, and yet he was thrust back in harder each time. No mercy for you — the world seemed to he taunting. His luck had run out, he frowned at that, the marbles had struck a cord — the knife had pierced a jagged artery.

"We are. Just a few more moments. It was long to ward off any intruders. Dead ends. Fake walls — these are old methods. From what the map tells me, we're close." Burhan explained.

Arham sighed, nodding his head before continuing forward with more vigor. As the husband of a valiant woman, he would die a soldier at battle.

"If I'm not wrong we're headed for the chapel." Asghar spoke.

"Ch-chapel?"

"Yes. People of the subcontinent, especially our ancestors from Greece weren't muslims from day one." Asghar replied, passing an awkward smile to Arham.

"Why have an underground chapel?"

"Because in the times before federations were a thing, wars happened plenty. Sieges could last days, even months. One thing though that has remained stagnant is the faith of people. The women wanted a chapel where the would kneel until war was over. Floors of the room are to this day stained with their blood — in honor of their sacrifices."

Asghar's reply opened Arham's mind to plenty of perspectives. For a family to have lasted this long, to have stayed in power long enough — without fail. Their women must have made heavy sacrifices he mused, in fact even now, the women seemed to have been the ones in pain to ensure the Khan's lived on forever. In memory and in books — their glory and memoirs would have been hard to forget.

Chapels or mosques, prayers were heard everywhere. He knew, God listened, even in the depths of His earth. He prayed once more with a flushed voice. For the life of his beloved, at the price of his own.

"Are you sure Raheel will make it in time?" Azmaray inquired, the doors to the chapel in sight.

Major Raheel had broken away from the group in Filza's bedroom. He had, left the place to seek backup. They would infiltrate the underground chambers from the headquarters of the rangers. A few years back, Asghar had signed a contract and allowed them to build an entrance from the southern parts of the city. That had been a secret — even from their family members until tonight. Get Filza. Arrest her kidnappers and expose the truth to the world — a short and concise plan. Safe and without any room for it to be tampered with.

"I don't think so."

A new voice, familiar though, came from behind them. Arham pressed his lips shut, his eyes filled up with a claret red. Scarlet with pain at the vivid betrayal. Azhar would pay, he would see to it. The man deserved to be destroyed. There would be no more mercy — not on his end, not when his wife was involved.

An injured lion pricks the wound himself. It is, in his own cries that he finds victory.

"Azhar."

"Boss — or should I say fool?" Azhar smirked, rounding up to them, a rifle in hand. "Now you will all follow me to the room, or we'll blow Filza and your precious major up."

"Keep her name out of your pig faced mouth!" Azmaray warned.

"Tsk tsk! All that attitude for nought. Oh well, I'm willing to murder a few of you anyways. Just, the longer you take the more she suffers."

"You bastard!"

"No Mr.Azmaray Khan, that's a title tailored fit for your wife." Abeer held the chapel's door open, her leather boots with razor sharp heels digging into the floor.

"Welcome to my art show, my canvases their bodies." She chuckled, pushing them inside.

The grey room filled in with white light from their torches. Their round lights reflected straight off of the walls on to the ghastly pale faces of it's occupants. It smelled musty, water creeped in from a whole in the wall, a dark green fungus spread across the ceiling. Blood washed the cemented floors a nee shade — staining what could be thought of as an original antique. Remnants of the chapel still remained in some parts. An arched glass painting, reds and beiges used to paint the sight of Mary. A small altar, with gold candlesticks, antique in design. At the crook, furthest from the almost faint bodies, Arham spotted the blood of her ancestors. Hints of old mashed up with bucketfuls of new ; a sight marvelous beyond belief.

They were pushed on to their knees, their captors laughing loudly at the horror on their faces. The reactions were all but same. Eyes filled with pain and disbelief, mouths wrenched into a tight crescent — far too proud to let out a sound. Crawling on their knees, trousers marked by the bright maroon blood, hands on their own clothes tearing them apart. A frigid shudder against their skins rattled them beyond senses. Hands tightened in fists reached out to touch the sweaty cold skins, relieved at the sight of their barley breathing chests. A far fetched relief it was, to see that their eyes still moved and flickered with a bit of light — an upheaval of movement from their former life. Fingers hot and sweaty, covered in the crimson blood fell on to the skins. A touch ever so slight with a pressure enough to soothe the tips. To believe. To reassure. That they lived.

Burning, fugitive tears pricked his vision. His shoulders slumped over, the edge of them brushing against her face. Like a nun begging, he rested his hot palms on her face. Cheekbones sunken, lips withered and hair limp rested on top of her bruised forehead. He pressed his lips to her forehead, cradling her head in his lap — their captors at-least allowed them that much liberty. Tearing his waistcoat off, he tied the cloth around her wound, pressing open mouthed kisses alongside her face. Arham's breath smelt of coal and smoke — the hints of mint had long since been lost. He dipped his thumb into her skin, the suppleness had been lost. Even in the ardor of pain ; she looked like a celestial beauty. Live, let her live, he prayed into her hair — that still held on to the lavender scent. He begged to the One, let her live ; and my entire life shall be a testament to her glory.

"Why?" His gaze, wild with anger pointed in the direction of Abeer.

"I like to dangle in between a few things. Murder one of them." She shrugged, picking at her nails.

"Your fight is with me. Why drag an innocent family into this?"

"Anyone that sits on a throne welded with the bones and blood of innocents is a murderer Arham. They deserve this, as much as you do."

"Why drag Raheel in? Burhan? Let them leave!"

"Wrong answer Arham. They are your accomplices, and so they can die with you all."

"Azhar—" Burhan spoke up, despite having known of the betrayal for weeks, it still hit hard every-time.

"You had your chance Burhan. When our men saved you. You picked the wrong side."

"I chose my friend over a cheating whore!"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Azhar lunged at his former colleague. Punching him in the face until he heard a satisfying crack sound. The man sneered, staring at Abeer with a leering glance, he turned back to the people they held hostage. Even as the instigator of their pain, Azhar's eyes held feint signs of ignorance. The butt of his gun sharply hit Burhan in the forehead, knocking him out.

"I still don't understand. Two foolish children couldn't have pulled it off. You don't have the funds to — even if you stole Raheel's data." Asghar, the voice of reason, thought out loud.

"Ding! Ding! Ding!" Abeer mock clapped her hands. "Think of the riddle. You're more than capable of figuring it out."

"Please Abeer I'll do whatever you want just let me take Filza to safety. Keep her out of your game." Arham tried his luck once more.

"Don't you get it this whole chase, it's been made for your wife!"

The woman with the silvery voice entered the room. Her face covered in a lace hood, masked by her silken robes. It was hard to make out the entirety of her figure by everyone as the lights dimmed, the flashlight's running out of battery. With her entrance, Azhar locked the door shut. All three of them stood against the wooden door, opposite the people they tortured. In the dark their eyes roamed over the silhouette. It was a frame, unfamiliar. With a hunched back and shoulders held in position with dexterity. From underneath the sleeves, hands in gloves holding on to a stick peaked out. It's raps against the floors eerily painful.

"Ar-ham?" Filza choked out as a moment of consciousness ignited her nerves.

"Oh zarrgiya don't fall asleep okay? I've got you. We'll get out of here okay?" He kissed her hair.

"Will I live? There is so much pain. My leg is numb. I missed you. I am sorry for hurting you." She let out in one breath.

"Calm down darling. We've got all the time to catch up. Just reserve your energy okay?"

Filza peeled her eyes open, her hand without any energy dragged against his grip on her chin. Her fingers felt cold against his comfortable skin. An ache dwelled in her thigh still, a sharp headache throbbed the base of her skull. It irked her. Failed her in having any thoughts. A white noise, and a darkness danced in her vision. Sporadicly lights flickered in front of her, a moment she could — with her entire power and faith see the face of her husband and others ; it was more of a hazy memory. A foggy description.

"It's an honor if I die in your arms. It's a dream come true if I live in them." She whispered, finding humor in the pain of her words.

"How sweet! Unfortunately you'll both die in each other's arms. Take it as a parting gift." The woman in the black gown spoke, the attentions of everyone diverted towards her.

"So did you figure it out already? I'm inherently bored by the lack of enthusiasm." The woman yawned.

"How about you tell us, since you're full of enthusiasm." Azmaray said.

If there was a sharp retort in the woman's throat, it died down. The doors were torn open. With a hammer in hand, the forces of rangers walked in. Within moments chaos ensued. A group of five men fought the three for their weapons, a gunshot heard as it tore through the chapel's roof. Filza shivered in fear inside his arms. She had heard, and seen a lot of torment and beating in one day. All she wanted was to be in between her sheets — in peace and serenity. Uniformed, they slapped at Abeer's hands, pushing her to the ground in a kneeling position, their kneecaps on her back until she relented. With a sharp slap, Azhar fell to the ground too, his gun landing at Arham's feet. God was giving him a moment to seek revenge, yet all he could do was spit in the feet of the traitor.

The third woman tried to slip out of the room, albeit her attempt failed. A toe clad in clear stilettos kicked her in the shin. Hands with sharp nails painted an obsidian, dragged her in by the ends of her dress. The silvery screams fell into silent wispy rasps as the hands ripped away at the voice box. Blood filled her nail beds, unfortunately, her moss green eyes, tipped like a sated feline's rejoiced in the woman's sufferings. Sighing, Anbar dragged the hag's body to the centre of the room. Forcing her to kneel, her hands landing a sharp punch in the middle of her back. Her lips unfurled into an unfriendly grin as she stared at her husband and the rest of the clique.

"Are you guys really that daft? You left with no plan B — again?" She screamed at her husband.

"So-sorry Anbar I—"

"Keep it to yourself Asghar. You guys are lucky I heard your conversation and contacted the sergeant myself. Also, for men with high IQ's and EQ's you are all stupid!"

"Mine's a clod!" Filza wheezed with her last strength.

"Of course darling. I agree!"

"How are we stupid?" Azmaray frowned.

"You couldn't figure out who this hag is? It's an acrostic. Why did you not think of that? 'Save the last bits of heartache. A sun is yet to set. Have some patience. Everyone will see. Everyone will know. Forward your palms. All must rest.' Saheefa." She rolled her eyes, ripping the mask off of her face — an old, withered woman, with a sliver of the old woman of power sat in front of them.

"My beloved estranged aunt and you guys's mother. She married Khalid Sarwar. Cherry on top? She's Abeer Raheel's maternal aunt. It's really easy you know, finding out who it is if you know who to ask. Especially apt if you can infiltrate the gossip circles. They know everyone's business."

"You're a genius Anbar!" Asghar praised.

Their shock had been covered by the sudden rush of adrenaline. He leaped towards his wife, hugging her tight whilst his mother twitched in pain. Azmaray pushed the hand of the old woman away, bile climbed up his throat as he saw his daughter suffer at the hand of the woman who left no stone unturned to hurt his wife years ago.

"Why?" He spoke, his words like daggers of poison.

"She won't say but let me. Her son married Arham's potential fiancé. Abeer of course visited out of chance and learnt of the Ilyas's plotting against Arham. She joined hands, and when there were rumors of you marrying Filza, Saheefa couldn't help but increase her pace. She was the one that had Filza kidnapped as a child too. Azhar of course, blinded and driven by lust, chose a woman who wasn't even loyal to her own husband." She cleared her throat, "the proof of this illegal involvement, murder attempt and funding to anti peace parties have been mailed to news houses. The Ilyas family will be under the ground by dinner tomorrow. A trial awaits these three — I can assure you, our lawyer, Barekhna Saleem has assured me it will be death penalty."

"How did you find all this out?" Asghar whispered.

"A man that's being cheated on and a man that loves power — they speak at first sight of someone that will hear them out." She shrugged.

"Thank you." Arham spoke in tears as the health workers took Filza out of the room.

"I need not be thanked for saving my family, son." She patted his shoulders.

"You want to talk to her?" Azmaray turned to his elder brother.

"I have only one mother, and she's been dead for years. Take this scum out of my sight." He shook his head.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

White droplets with a crushing force fell along the open terraces of the estate. Showers in bouts of plenty fell over the fallen pine cones, softened by bearing the brunt of the forces. Steady sunlight flickered from beneath the grey clouds, sharply reflecting on the crème walls of the house — only recently repainted to forget the horrors of the week prior. Ferocious hail, a thin stream of icy tears, danced along the ground with an unknown might. Roots destructed, insects uprooted from their tiny burrows, nests fallen and the newts forced back into the thin wall cracks — winter once more reaffirmed it's position in Mushkpur, unchallenged, unrivaled. Glossy magenta leaves brushed the windows of the home, and their wide bristled branches smacked alongside the frames. An alarming ; soothing sound to wake up to.

It had been a torturous two weeks since the night of revelations. As they had been rescued and driven to the hospital for a final evaluation, rain had welcomed their way. It had rained ever since, even now, the soil was saturated with water, it begged for no more, like all eyes that turned to the sky begging for their forgiveness. All of them had been trapped in the sticky web of memories. The feelings cropped up, the loathing, the rage all of it — yet they subsided too, at least there was no severe injury. Culprits behind the entire ordeal had been dragged through the streets into court dates one after the other, a tight knit legal team led them to victory. The Ilyas's had been given no face saving as tenders of their illegal dealings were made public.

Saheefa once more was made the guest of the local prison. Just a few days ago, she had been shifted to the central jail in adiyala, a place where high profile criminals were kept. Her screams had been plenty, she had clawed at Azmaray's arm, yet no one would give her an ounce of their sympathy. The heads of evil never learn after all ; they act with kindness to make them suffer even more. Abeer Raheel was kept in an institution for the insane, having lost the power she lusted after the woman had lost sanity. Although, her lawyers plead insanity still, the courts were firm on their decisions. Death penalty — to all of them, life imprisonment for Azhar, his entire career flushed down the drain. Major Raheel was asked to resign from the army, an early retirement. The man was given an easy way out, despite a clear cut case of helping in the murder attempts by allowing theft of data ; knowingly.

Azmaray and Laila alongside the other two elder couples had left the country a few days later. At an age of where they needed every ounce of peace, they could not be asked to visit sessional and high courts. Their wives had been relieved, leaving for Greece — the home of their ancestors, a vineyard to their name awaiting arrival. A deep satiation had filled them up — from what they told Filza on their evening catch ups. The young woman frowned, hearing their escapades while she had to lay in her bed, work on all the assignments she missed out on and hear her husband fight on the phone for his respect. Trying to save the bits torn — for the sake of money.

A smear campaign. It had done it's damage, beyond repair. Reluctant apologies from the people's side had came to their aide, but they did little to help his cause. Arham was hurt, that much he deserved anyone would say. A few coins thrown into cups of copper given faux gleam had been priced at higher than his sincere love. Filza's wound on her thigh had been healing, although the leg crippled every few moments. He tried his best to accommodate to her, in between serving his people and moving back into a newly constructed house between their Garden of Hydrangea's— he was spread thinner than a thin spread of chocolate.

The home was built with stone, it's walls curled into it — it reminded her of an architectural masterpiece from the days beyond. Walls arched on the top, rounded, sliding into the tilt of the walls. Iron bars and painted glass covered each one. Wooden floors and marble ones alternated in the bedrooms, a large parlor on the ground floor was worthy of all awe. In it's magnificence, not an ounce of money was spared, from chandeliers Italian in origin to the stone staircase that curves to the top floor, like a tower rising in the movie, Tangled. It was her dream house. The kitchen too, with it's islands and small dining table in the centre, covered in flowers plucked straight from their gardens each morning. Fireplaces and light fixtures from centuries past kept the interior bespoke, velveteen rugs and upholstery, only in the rich shades of maroon and emerald had been used, against the dark wood and stone — left exposed.

Arham walked to the large glass windows, kept open. Through the space between some of the cold rain flew in, smacking his warm skin. His chest exposed under the white cotton shirt, the top two buttons left exposed. With sleeves rolled up, his toned forearms on display for the world churned buckets of desire amongst his many admirers — his wife and female maids not limited to the list. The tip of his nose scrunched as he held the phone to his ears, hearing the voice of Burhan bark through. As annoying as it was, he was glad the man had lived. His sighs reverberated against the glass, fogging it. With unfeeling motions he ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it. His feet tapped into the rug, the heel of the expensive boots sinking under the faux sheepskin. In disappointment he slumped against a chair, his back pressed against it. The government of Mushkpur, save for him and his trusted men, were pushing for a revote in the assembly.
A man with a case to prove his innocence was not acceptable. Only men that had forced themselves in between the legs of women — not willing were worthy, the irony not lost on him.

"I did not subject myself to horrors such as my wife and brother's blood on my hands to just give up in the end." He groaned into the phone.

Arham's face lit up with a gentle smile as Filza walked into their bedroom. Her green eyes dancing with mirth, the silky hair left tumbling over her figure drowning in his sweatshirt filled him with more peace than ever. His heart sighed in relief. She was here. She was alive. Breathing and still so stupidly in love with him, much to his luck. Her lavender scent wrapped him in an embrace strong, before she sat down on his wide lap. In silence Filza rested her head over his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest. For moments uncountable, the two stared out of the windows at the fogging rain. In comfortability, there was familiarity and in that, was their home — in each other.

"Burhan I'll contact you later. Just email me the details of this talkshow. I'll have a look into it."

With that he ended the call, sliding his phone on to the coffee table beside the chair. Seated in the landing that opened into their bedroom, there was a joy he could not tap his finger on to. His hand slid over her stomach, pushing her into his body harder. Arham's lips slid over the top of her head, a small smile grazed his lips as she snuggled into him. Her lips turned upwards like a kitten sated, the scabby application of blush pink on her nails — courtesy of him brushed against his cheek. She placed her lips against his softly, pulling apart a short moment later.

"What is your mind thinking of?" He spoke.

"This rain reminds me of something. I need it to satiate my hunger."

Filza spoke with a starry look inside her eyes. She hummed softly, imagining it crumble in the hold of her fingers, gooey at the centre as it filled her mouth with a soft warmth. Her throat already relished in it's flavor. The undiluted green of her eyes dwindled into nothingness as her orbs widened. She desired it. And there was a particular way she wanted it today, as the rain chilled her bones.

"And what would you like my darling dearest?"

His capricious tone contrasted the frown on top of his forehead. It creased like her favorite linen dress, even her gentle fingers could not push them out, try as she might.

"A cookie!"

She whispered with gold light falling inside her eyes.

"We have none at home. Should I order some?"

"Nada! We're going to bake some!" Screaming in undefined joy she jumped up from her seat, "ow!" She groaned as a muscled cramped.

"You okay? Do I call the doctor? Do you want me to massage you? Come on let me carry you to bed!"

"I'm fine my love!"

Her lips pressed into his cheeks in appreciation. The beard prickled her soft lips, tiny hundreds of — thousands of sparks erupted on her skin as she kept them there even longer. In a world of selfish men, Filza had lucked out with the most selfless. In awe of him, her eyes bore holes into his forehead. He was jaw dropping gorgeous — Filza's mind and heart came to a unanimous agreement. From tiny pores that all but did not exist and lips that could whisper poetry for days, he was definitely the most if not one the most finest works of God.

"Now about that cookie, let's make some?" She enquired.

"I'm as incapable in the kitchens as you are in the assembly zarrgiya." He quipped, nipping at her nose.

"Speak for yourself, I'd make a better politician than you."

"Don't doubt that even for a second. However, you'll be the bestest author." Grinning at her, his fingers sliding a strand of hair behind her ear he continued in a soft whisper "I'll help but there will be more mess than work."

"I don't care. In this life of short moments I want to live a million of them."

"Why then your wish is my command!"

Arham winked at her, wrapping his arm around her knees as he he lifted her to his chest. Filza giggled in pure glee, throwing her arm around his neck in a loose hold. With her head pressed against his chest, the soft beats of his heart next to the callous skin of his chest the muscles toned with hours of work out warmed her face. A cherry shade spread on to her neck and cheeks, it fluttered on the tip of her nose, contending for a place on top with the faux tint she had rubbed on a few moments prior. Her fingers trapped the collar of his shirt in their hold, the tip of her rounded nails digging to soft tunes on his soft skin. As light filtered on to their skins whilst they made their way downstairs, the two in their holds jointed formed an image of an aristocratic romance. Beyond the minds of the people, their attitudes representative of their pristine backgrounds.

Fluorescent lights from the moon's unbinding shyness painted the dark wooden floors of the kitchen into an ethereal front. Vines carved into the floorboards curved in and out of the grouting too, cement countertops covered in granite and marble reached out of the walls towards the centre of the room. Tall ceilings and cabinets with frosted glass dominated the space. Light jumped from one end to the next, a hearth of stone pushed to one end. A brick oven had been installed in the deep capacity of the walls, a gas stove top in a light sage green sat between the exposed brick. A thin door led in to the chef's kitchen — state of the art appliances sealed behind there to keep the aesthetic of the home flowing. Walking in from the curved entrance, stalling towards the pantry. The staff had all left as soon as the clock struck six, the rain gaining intensity by the moment. At nine now, the two remained all by themselves.

Flowers that had been woven in to the chimney outside stuck hard to the large window that opened in to the backyard of their tiny cottage. The place was mundane, a downsize compared to their large birth homes and the first annex they had been living in. However, it was better than any. An enclave of their love ; of their increasing passion. Filza had sobbed stepping inside the place for the first time, it was perfect. All that she wanted from her life was inside the home — it was the place she dreamt of. The house she would raise her family in. Undulated breaths escaped her lips as she jumped out of his embrace, sauntering towards the cabinets. Undefeated, with a blinding speed, Filza retrieved the ingredients. Reciting them from the top of her head in a soft whistle as she arranged the bowls in one line.

"Come on Arham! You're going to help me!"

Clapping her hands she widened her eyes in his direction. The soft flesh of her under eye widened and the green of her eyes popped against the red skin. Rain outside, the fast winds blowing, and the sight of her figure moving around the kitchen like a busy bee — it was peace personified. Her hands wrapped the apron around him, lifting the hair off of her own shoulders. Arham hummed under his breath, his hands sliding on her soft waist, squeezing the flesh of her hipbone. Tying a knot, he lowered his head into the crook of her neck, his cold nose running along the warmth of her skin. He pressed his lips against the back of her neck, inhaling sharply as his eyes closed on their own accord.

"Okay — okay — okay Arham! Keep your hands to yourself now!" She giggled, stepping away from his embrace, her hands tying her hair into a bun.

"An impossible task when you're around." He tipped his head back.

"Please? We are going to bake these cookies!" She clicked her tongue to her cheek, snapping her fingers as she passed him the flour.

Arham's teeth gripped the parchment paper in between his teeth, ripping the top off of the new packet. Standing behind Filza, his body pressed her into the kitchen counter, covering her lithe frame in his wide one. He held the packet above the measuring cups. All the while though, Arham's eyes remained stuck to her face. The way the back of her hand smacked away the hair that loosened out of the hair grip's tie, or how her lips pursed, the cupids bow pushed out as she counted down the cups of flour she had added. His eyes bore holes in to the side of her face, his gaze traveling down the curve of her neck, the pendant in her neck disappearing under the neckline of her shirt. Where he knew, it was nestled between the flesh of her breast.

His heart pounded against his chest, demanding attention off of it's own accord. Bursts of pink and yellow filled his vision in the resemblance of the ecstasy he felt. Formidable — his eyes onyx in their full capacity doused in the flames of desire, twinkled with a bit of youthful joy. He cracked the egg, eyes still on the magnet that was her face, shells spilling in to the bowl, his wife's wrath on his head. Arham rejoiced though, feeling her soft elbow barely graze his abdomen. His teeth sinking into her soft cheeks as she muttered profanities in agony, he was making well of his promise to make the process as mundanely elongated as possible. From the stray tickle on her wrist that exploded her mouth into peals of laughter, to the erotic kiss he dropped out of nowhere, Arham ensured that by the point she was mixing the cookie dough, it was only he that remained in her mind.

"Stop acting like an attention deprived baby!" She pinched his hand.

Filza's lips sunk into an incorrigible frown, though her eyes still lit up with humor. It was pure, insanely pure the having his attention on herself after weeks of having shared him. Every part of her ached to feel the familiar gaze and those incorrigible sentences that were strung along into rightful words of praise. She had missed it. Missed the way he kissed her softly like she was a gentle glass doll ; or the way his lips ravished her as if she were his to force into submission. Every part of it, the physical essence and the spiritual source — Filza felt wronged. Though now, finally between his arms, mixing the dough together, she felt God had returned him to her. For which, she was, thankful.

"Are you crying zarrgiya? Is everything okay?" Arham cooed, his voice full of disappointment.

"Te-tears of joy!"

"You sure?"

"Yep! I'm glad I've got you back."

At than Arham spun her around, wrapping his arm around her lower back he pulled her flush against his body. His fingers delicately wiped at the tears, a dread filling his mind. Tears. He hated those. Especially when they were in the eyes of his wife. Hiding his own melancholy Arham pressed his lips to her forehead in a reassuring manner, kneading the muscles below. His knuckles brushed the hem of the sweatshirt as it raised a few inches, her hands wrapping around his neck to hold him in a chokehold. On the tip of her toes, she brushed her lips against his, an apologetic smile on her face drowned those familiar green eyes into satiation.

"I never left for you to forget me. And if I ever do go, remember that I'll always find my way back to you."

"Even if you loose all memories of us?"

"Even then." He passed her small smile, trapping the need to ravage her behind it's gentlemanliness.

"Good. You've passed the test to enjoy my special cookies!"

"You'd have to bake them before that happens zarrgiya."

"Smart boy!" She winked.

"I thought I was a fool."

"As they say 'every fool has his day'."

Laughter filled the kitchen after that. Yellow rays of the light bulb fell on to the hand woven carpet beneath their feet. The two danced along the space, making cookies shaped like anything and everything in the world. They smeared the dough on each other's faces, an air of serenity filled throughout the house by their side as they enjoyed the simplest of their countries. Smooches, winks and giggles with secrets exchanged brushed their cheeks every now and then. Wide eyed, they observed the mess on their shirts and faces, the kitchen already a goner. Gasping for air Filza slid the baking tray into the oven, turning to meet his eye with sparkling joy. Outside the rain continued to pelt with harsh intensity, tearing through the canopy of leaves on to the glass with unfound power.

"Dance with me?" He whispered, kissing the back of her hand.

Filza hummed in reply, "to the beat of our hearts?"

"To anything your heart desires."

Silence filed in to the warm kitchen. It's temperatures ripe enough to allow their feelings to cultivate. The thick walls kept the chill at bay, her head pressed to his chest as they twirled around the room. Arham dragged his hand down her back, sliding under the hemline, feeling the warmth of her skin that turned supple under his touch. Her mouth was set into a crescent shaped grin, the apples of her cheek vibrant with joy. Silvery giggles crushed against the back of her throat and warmed his heart — to limits beyond proportion. The cusp of his minty breath washed the skin of her face anew, until her eyes closed and the breaths that heaved against his chest got heavier.

"How is the case coming along?"

Filza bit her tongue as annoyance flashed across her face. A sore topic —perhaps she should have kept her curiosity to herself ; or she should coax it out of him. An air head — the title that was awarded to her at the end of her years in high school was not fitting, she wanted to prove that to him and to her own self, above all.

"Splendidly well. Although, I assume I'll be going back and forth between Mushkpur and Islamabad a lot more."

"Why?" She whined, "I don't want you to leave me alone Arham."

"I never will Filza, but this is important. For me, for you and for your family. For Mushkpur's sanctity."

"And the proposals to over throw you? What of those?"

Her question hung in the air as Arham pressed her back against the counter, his nose skimming the span of her face. He uttered words muffled against her throat, an icy fire froze her veins as his hands brushed against the crotch of her trousers.

"I didn't get what you said." She whimpered, out of breath as his lips sucked on the skin of her neck.

"I said I don't care. Perhaps I was destined for the princess and not the throne."

"Perhaps."

She hummed, the words croaking out of her throat. He wrapped his hands around her legs, wrapping them over his waist. The onyx dazzling eyes full of hundreds of stars stared into her own lust steamed eyes. Arching her back Filza pressed herself into him, her body curving at the command of his, her pouty lips pressing against the underside of her jaw.

"Do you think," he stared at her, until he bore holes through her soul, need quivering underneath her skin, "do you think I could do you before the oven does those cookies?"

"How about — how about we find out?" She whispered, rubbing her core against his front, a tense sensation piling into her muscles.

"Anything you want darling."

He bit the skin of her chest, easing her body on to the counter top, her legs still around her waist. Arham's lips kissed all over her face, finding their way to the end of her lips where they landed firm kisses before wrapping around the soft flesh of her lips, entirely. As his lips ravaged hers, sealing any chance of air even penetrating through, Arham bit her lips. Meanwhile his hands undid the bun she had made, running through the thick strands until they lay in a disheveled mess around her heart shaped face.

mature content.

One of his hands cradled the side of her head in a gentle hold, pushing it in place. Their breaths fanned on to each other's face, the sound of torrential rain outdid their groans and grunts. The other palm flexed over her hip, holding it in place — rendering it incapable of moving in the languid, erotic circles they pushed up against him. Arham's teeth sunk into her lower lip, sucking until Filza was consumed by stars and tiny explosions all across her body. A soft moan bubbled through the back of her throat, a soft tired sigh all he needed to slip his tongue inside, tasting every inch of her. She tasted of the raspberries she had munched on whilst making the cookie dough, the tartness against her natural sweetness struck a cord inside his heart, a pulse beating down through to his dick.

They pulled apart as the need to breath over did them. Pants and gasps escaped their swollen lips, the bruises on both their lips raw to the touch. Out of habit the licked their lips, the last of the warmth from the imprint remained in it's whole capacity as Filza toyed with his earring. Her touch was a simple menace for his mind clouded with lust. Under the yellow lights, her body lost to the oblivion of shadows and all, he felt his way over the body he already knew like the back of his hand. He felt like a king, devouring a feast in it's full opulence as he pulled the sweatshirt off of her body. Nothing but the fair skin of her torso and the black lacy bra remained on the counter. Arham's hand in a shaky climb ran over her stomach, the back of his fingers gently grazing the top slopes of her breast from above the lace. She shuddered, pressing herself deeper into him, her back arching for his touch — a fire spreading through.

With an almost angel like grin, he snapped the straps of her brassiere against her skin, relishing in the way her throbbing core dug into his own. Red passion surrounded them like a thick air of impenetrable clouds. Their heads fuzzed up, the intensity of their visions drowned out. An ache — delicious and devouring ; a deprivation akin to only loyal servants set them in a trance like state. Filza lifted her back off of the counter her hands unsnapping the bra, tearing it off until it lay in a heap behind the counter. Searching for his hands that seemed to have found home on the edge of her hip bone, she held them tight, pushing her face into his. Filza placed an open mouth kiss on his lips, her tounge licking down his throat, sucking at the base of it whilst her hands skillfully undid the buttons of her shirt.

"No — no — no! You first zarrgiya."

His voice was barely above a hushed whisper as he forced her to lay still over the counter. It's cold marble against her searing hot skin was a sexual contrast. The tips of her areola pointed towards the skies, a flush and thin sheen of sweat covered her face the longer her body pulsed with want. Sensing inaction on his side, Filza pinched her nipple piercing, moaning loudly in affect. Her mind was filled with nothing but sounds of lust. Desire to consume him wholly, to fight until they had their way against every inch of the home seemed to be her new plan. Slowly, she let her hands travel along the nimble frame of her skin. Filza's eyes — squeezed shut hid the bright green of her eyes that turned an alarming gold anytime they came to life with hormones.

"At this rate I might do myself before you or the cookies are done!" Filza breathed out, her words a challenge to him.

"Are you sure little girl? That you can do it all before I could?" He taunted, his fingers pinching her earlobes.

The pain erupted from the sensitive lobe and sent a tremor to her core. Her clit pulsed against the fabric of her thong, and she knew her trousers were stained. An uneasy wetness covered the thong as it rubbed against her thighs, her legs trembling the longer his face skimmed her curves. Low enough for his breath to torture them with gentle warmth ; not low enough to touch that which cried for him.

"Apologize if you want me to touch you." He warned, his hands wrapping around her throat— squeezing enough to not block her windpipe.

"S-sorry Arham." She whispered.

"No.. no.. like you mean it. With those pretty little eyes staring into mine and those perfect little lips begging like I know they can."

His harsh tone erupted the reaction he desired. Her eyes fluttered open, the hollows of her mouth falling open. Her mouth dried up as she searched for words — ample of those but none fitting of the situation, she realized.

"Please — p-please Arham, touch me please. Sh-show me how good you love me!" Filza gasped, as if she were under water, in dire need of air as her eyes stared into his passion filled ones.

"You look so innocent with those large Bambi eyes, begging. You'd almost have me convinced you're an angel." He nibbled at the skin of her earlobe.

"Think of me as an angel fallen from grace!"

"Why of course. Now we've got ten minutes on hand so you might want to hold on tight." He winked.

With that his head sunk over her swollen breast, the tip of his hot tongue coated the sweet serene flesh in it's entire capacity. He suck on the skin, her hands holding on to the counter tight, a sensitive throb on the flesh of her folds scraped against the lacy thong. Filza moaned, feeling an ecstasy build up behind her mind, fogging all thoughts and senses save for that where his mouth touch her. His hand felt the skin under and around the other one, teasing the diamond piercing, he rubbed it softly. Pinching her nipple in between his hot finger tips, he bit into her flesh, her harsh breaths and soft moans — with a calculated observance were his own savior.

"Let me hear your voice Filza. Don't hold back."

His words worked like magic for a few seconds later her moans danced in tune with the rain outside. Humming in pride his kissed down her navel. His tongue left behind a streak that caused her skin to shiver, her legs quivered as she rubbed against his front, the wetness of her legs seeping through. He hummed, hooking his fingers under the waist band he drug it down at a sharp pace. Kneeling, he pushed the cloth of her thong aside, cold air making contact. Filza hissed in relief , the flesh underneath a bright red, the folds slick and wet. His fingers rubbed against the outer lips, moans left right and centre — enriched his pores. Arham kissed his way towards the inside of her thighs, skipping the point of no return — where her throbbing was greatest. His hands tore off the measly cloth, the v of his fingers rubbing the swollen folds.

"Mo-ore!" She groaned, pushing herself into his palm.

"I've got you babe." He hummed.

Arham's hands wrapped around her upper thigh, pushing the tips of her legs apart, wrapping her legs around his neck. His beard chaffed her sensitive skin, the pricks heightened her motions, her clit throbbed around with need as the tip of his tounge settled down on to her. She screamed in frenzy, wrapping her hand around his curls, she pushed his head deeper. He licked her folds, sucking and moving his tongue between her folds in pulsing motions and streaks. With eyes tightly shut, tears dripping through the sides of them, Filza focused on the man — solely. Lifting her bottom off of the counter, he drank her juices. She felt, saw, imagined the way his beard scratched the outside of her folds whilst his tongue wreaked heaven inside. It drug down slow and hard, his beard coated in her juices smacked her outed thigh.

"I think I'm so close!"

Filza whispered, her mouth open. Gasping she pushed herself into his mouth. His tongue impaled her, his hands massaging the skin of her plump behind, his thumb rubbing her swollen clit. Her inner thighs clenched in pain, soft pulses in plenty of wafts as they peeled out of her. Tightening, each part of her ruptured. The room fell into disarray, her lavender scent coated with sweat and juices they spilled out of her. She trembled under his hold. A rush. A fine spun sugar rush it seemed to be as her head turned light headed. Arham hummed, kissing her inner thighs, his fingers spreading inside her folds deep, the hilt of his palm spreading the juices around.

"Could I squeeze another orgasm out of you in five minutes?" He pressed his lips against her ear.

"I don't— don't know!" She moaned, her throat clenching in a tightness as she felt it parch.

"Let's find out." He kissed her lips.

Filza's eyes peeled open, with a shaky hand, and hazy look inside her forest eyes she undid his trousers. His fingers pumped in and out of her still, helping her ride on to the next orgasm as the affects of the first one were yet to fade out. He aligned himself against her front, pressing a kiss to her sweaty navel, sliding his fingers out of her. Filza whimpered at the sudden lost of contact, taking in a harsh breath as he sucked on his fingers.

"Delicious."

With an artful skill, delighting in her flushed face, Arham pushed his dick inside her slowly. It parted through the slick folds, spreading them apart, stretching until they held him in place — tight. He grunted in delight, her heels digging into his back as he began to rock his hips, their chests brushing against each other's. His head rested in the crook of her neck, her hips raising by the second to meet his in their painful strokes. The lines between reality and imagination blurred as Filza felt him inside of her whole. Her fingers danced over his back, exploring the ridges feeling her palms sweat up. Nails — digging under his skin with startling force, her hips rotating against his front.

"Fuck!" He rasped.

His voice inside her ears flushed her skin a greater deal more than she could have ever imagined. Filza gripped his hair, curling at the ends.

"Hold on a bit more my love, a bit more." He said.

"I — I can't." She cried, her heart racing.

Her walls squeezed around his head, holding it in place. Arham groaned inside her ears once more as he felt a tightness inside his lower belly. Filza brushed her hands over his shoulders, kissing him squarely on the mouth. With one last powerful stroke the two came undone, their skins bursting with explosions. Sparks filled their visions, their hips languidly meeting until an ache filled them both. Their sweet moans and harsh breaths fogged the window panes from the inside. Bodies— deprive of air sat in a joint hold, too lazy to remove or withdraw from one another. In between spiraling through consciousness and unconsciousness, Filza pressed her lips to his throat once more.

"I adore you Arham."

"And if I could, I would worship you Filza." He whispered in reply, ringing of the oven forcing them apart, tearing the atmosphere of pure devotion, "and it seems I can do you before the cookies are done."

"That's true. Perfect timing 'cause I'm ravenous!"

mature content over.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

It was around midnight when the two walked out of their home. Hand in hand, wrapped in their expensive furs they took seat on the emerald bench where he had proposed to her. His lips kissed the top of her head, an innocence around them filled the air with a perfume of love. In hand, a plate of the cookies they munched on in silence, staring at the moon larger than it had ever been previously. Her head rested on his shoulder. Sounds of soft munching and cookie crumbs fell on her, the back of her hand wiping it down in softness. Arham munched too, in silence, kissing the back of her hand occasionally.

"Tell me something zarrgiya."

Arham's breath fogged in the charcoal evening, tiny stars twinkled behind it. Like a realm in the distance — almost untouchable through their bubble that burst only when their hearts were filled with each other. A moment that would never, arrive — not in this lifetime of temporary afflictions.

"What jaanana? What should I tell you?"

Filza looked at him, her eyes filled up with a sanguine joy, her heart burst with energies pure like the ones behind the entirety of this universe.

"Tell me anything tonight. What does your heart desire, my little joy?" He whispered, afraid to break her softness.

"I've got all that I need. I don't think my heart desires for more."

"You sure? A human heart never does without wishes."

"I guess."

Filza thought for a second, her brows pushed together in a soft arch. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip, nibbling at the crumbs that lingered still. With a heart beating with a generous gait she looked at him with all the expectations in the world.

"I want us to have a child."

"No! You're barely done with your first year. Plus you are too young." He shook his head, despite the image attracting his full attention.

"We have so many people to help us out if we need help. I think I'm ready Arham. I want us to grow up with our child. To be young with them, please? I think we're emotionally ready for one."

"I don't know."

"Pretty please?" She whispered into his ear.

"I'll think of it."

"I hope you don't disappoint me!" She spoke in mock anger.

"Never zarrgiya." He winked.

He kissed her lips softly, staring into her eyes that were softly reminiscent of the northern lights. A lot had changed wholly in the past few days. All walls that separated them had fallen completely. Only them, and their feelings amongst their warm bodies remained.

The stories of her whispers, keep him asleep at night. In peace and solidarity as they hang on each other's arms, the thought of what is to come a distant ; foggy annoyance — everything dissolves on the tip of their tongues as they sit, hand in hand on the deep mossy green bench inside — the Garden of Hydrangeas.

THE END.

That was a long one eh?
Epilogue should be out in a few days/weeks I dunno really depends on the mood 😮‍💨.
How was it?
Are you satiated?