POV : It's the second last chapter.

There's a school of thought where I shouldn't be updating and delay ACM till October cause 'mein ziada khanay ko de rahi hun', but oh well :)

Chapter 28.

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"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." Azmaray read out loud.

Filza shivered in her seat, her hands wrapped around her frame, her leg set on top of the maroon cushion. It had been two weeks since the day of the fire. Life since then, had changed it's course. Whilst everything in their backyard began to resolve, the walls built once more and the metallic scent of dried blood, the carbon of the burning wood had all been removed, the mental reminders remained. Aftershocks. In tiny trembles and full blown nightmares had her being withered into a prune. Outside though, things had crumbled beyond repair.

Their foe, the ones that had been waiting for years for a moment to slip. For them to catch a particular drop in the curtains of niceties, had taken the risk. Most, if not all of the country had filled the streets in protest. Tires one after the other burnt on famous roads, mobs of people thronged to the cities gardens and chanted slogans against the rich family, the opposition using it to their favor. Inhumane — a word in black cursive printed next to Arham's name by every large newspaper agency. How the two could not have been apart — poles apart. It had ripped his heart full of love into two unequal halves, one distinctly absorbed in bringing justice and the other ; crying tears of scarlet over the lack of trust.

The text message, it had arrived just this morning, one of many. Filza had been gripped with anxiety, her shoulders trembled and the tips of her fingers jittered, barely managing to hold on to her glass of ginger tea. Her father's usually soft voice seemed to have been filled with a desolate emptiness and the crisp way he spoke each word — shook her soul. Something was wrong. In the depths of her soul, her eyes covered with a thick darkness, her skin dyed yellow from the hours spent inside barely managing to stomach anything. He rubbed his chin deftly, staring at her husband who had miraculously still not left for his office — where he had camped this past week or so.

"Do you have any idea who this could be?" He inquired, his hand squeezing Filza's in reassurance.

"It's a riddle," Arham replied curtly, "the person whoever it is said it's a hint to find them."

"Them? You're still not so sure about their gender?" Azmaray sounded concerned.

"No we aren't. Voice filters — every second the pitch changes. The intelligence is still working on it."

"The call — when it came to you," Azmaray spoke, dejected, "and then proceeded to hide it from us. Even though, Filza has been put at risk! Even after a fortnight you haven't found the person behind this? What kind of 'sources' do you keep telling us you have?"

She flinched. Her father's harsh tone bit into her skin. The muscles in her arms cramped up from the force with which she held her wrists down. Tears burned her eyes and throat, her lips bit into the skin of her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood oozed into the chambers of her mouth. Rendered speechless at her father's attitude, Filza fought with her mind and heart. His concerns were valid, yet, her husband's actions were too. Trapped between the two, Filza could not do much save for kissing her teeth in pain. Lifting her kitten from her bed by the edge of her chair, she kissed it's raven head, breathing in the calm smell of it's fur and shampoo.

When if ever, would things work out?

"I get you're upset uncle but we had our reasons." Arham spoke, sipping the roasted cup of coffee, each of his words more tautly uttered than the previous, his eyes searching for a reaction in his father-in-law's face.

"We? You decided someone other than the father of the woman who suffered had more right?" His eyes filled up with rage, losing the last bit of semblance as images of his daughter — hurt and bruised did rounds in front of him.

"Palar please let it go," she whispered, toying with a loose thread on her father's shirt, "Arham did what he thought best. He's half your age, don't – don't expect him to make decisions as mature as yours."

Azmaray pressed his lips into a grim line. His fingers twisted the gold ring on his left index finger, a green emerald studded in between — the gift Laila had given him when Filza was born. His heart ached, his daughter had suffered a great deal already — a tiny part, though it grew everyday, questioned why he had married her off so soon. Dread dripped down his face, twisting his cheeks into an agonizing smile. Her forest green eyes looked at him with flossy hope, and how could he ever let his precious heart, the warmth of his soul down? With a nod of his head, his eyes squinted in the direction of Arham, Azmaray passed an awkward smile. Just in time as Laila walked into the library, taking seat by him.

"Kia baat ho rahi hai? Why is everyone so tense."
[What is everyone talking about?]

"Nothing."
"About Arham hiding stuff."

Filza and Azmaray spoke over each other. The two apologized awkwardly, shifting in their seats — under the heavy gazes of their spouses. Arham sunk his gaze to his shoes, the patented leather for once seemed to be a better option than the sight of his own wife. Underneath the yellow lights of the room, in the warmth cast over the green walls, Arham barely felt comfortable. His heart raced in an erratic pace, his fingers inching to drive off. Not even the scent of lavender that came from the right of his chair could soothe his nerves in that moment, the showdown with everyone had come closer than ever, and it hurt to see family have little faith in him.

"Azmaray you okay? The hostility is too much. Tone it a bit jaan. He's a kid compared to us." She whispered into his ear, the complicit brown of her eyes drawn out.

"Uncle I didn't want to stress you out. With the protests in the estate's vicinity. It didn't seem smart to bring it up," Arham said.

"You know what fine! Since everyone is too smart, and thinks they know better do whatever you want to! However, Arham keep in mind that you can never stop me from keeping my daughter safe. Do you understand?" Azmaray added in a fit of rage, hissing, "Filza will always be my child before your wife. Perhaps she has forgotten how much I love her, and may-haps the world doesn't remember how much her kidnapping as a child destroyed me. Those are wounds I wish to never open again. So while you continue to feed me half assed information, I'll be looking into this matter on my own."

As the basis of his words, sharp and contoured to have the desired reaction, the room fell silent. It reeked of emptiness, despite for figures breathing. Each breath was harsh, stuck in the bottoms of their throats before it escaped involuntarily. Their eyes flickered into the direction of each other. Blood rushed through their vessels and called for a unanimous battle. Tension doused itself on to the mighty flames of the fire nestled next to them, their skins warm but hearts colder than ever. Sounds of the protests outside drummed into the room through the old walls, sculptures and books of all years lost surrounded them in a show. How funny it was, the past they so clearly had loved threw them into this position. The lust for power ; weakened the limbs into corruption. Each second slipped by with calculated precision, the teas on the desk — and a mug of coffee lost their warmth the delicacies, scones, muffins and what not rested on the table losing the life inside of them.

"Palar?" She gulped, dreading his reaction.

"What?" He replied, his tone harsher than ever though his eyes, they still remained in a wrap of soft silk.

"Please forgive us. Arham — Arham wanted to tell you but I stopped him," she leaned over, the ends of her raven hair brushing against the duvet, her hand holding his.

"Why? Did you not trust me?"

"I do! I also knew you have a lot on your plate. I've always pained you — I didn't want to. Not anymore."

"Oh Fizzy pop—" he finally relented, kissing her hand, "I'll always be worried for you. Even when I'm old and wrinkly. Even when I can not remember my own name."

"Please help me uncle, it seems to me I'm just going around in circles."

"Very well then!" He straightened up, scribbling the words in a perfect cursive over the white manilla paper.

"You said this riddle was intended to help us find who the person might be, behind the calls, Filza's kidnapping and the fire?" Azmaray questioned.

"Exactly! Also we have proof that it's Major Raheel and Haider Ilyas that are working behind the scenes. Using Khalid Sarwar as their scapegoat." Arham explained, "the Ilyas clans holds resentment against my father." He added the last bits in to clear any confusion.

Azmaray stared at the documents in front of him. Laila leaned over, her eyes could not believe that the men who had been reason why she met her husband, her soulmate would ever come back into their life. A flash of pain filled into Azmaray's face before drowning out. His mind thought the same.

"We are familiar with them for reasons of our own." Laila spoke.

"If it helps, Haider Ilyas's son is a student at our university." Filza piped.

"What? How do you know?" Arham said.

"We've crossed paths a few times. Anyways, can't we just kick them out? With you being the minister and tayaabu being the honorary duke?"

"Not that easy Filza. Like Arham said, the proof was stolen and what little remained was burnt. To gather it again will take some time, and that is what we do not have to spare." Azmaray explained.

Arham pressed his heels into the heavy carpets. The pressure inside his mind exerted itself on to the beige rug,  the crook of his leg wrapped around the chair's leg in an attempt to keep him from moving. With the tip of his index he scribbled names and designs into the chair's arms. His mind was fused together in many a things. Troubles of saving everyone, the want to throw in a white flag and walk away. A broken sense of duty kept him going, even as the physical world reeked of nothing but destruction. He intended to go on ; for as long as he had the willpower to. Arham's mind was torn between his wife and his job. To give up one to save the other — how he wished he could keep both in the well of his palms. His face slacked low, the ends of his sharp nose turned towards the sky and a shadow wrapped around his eyes.

"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." Azmaray recited again, "Arham do you have any interpretation?"

"'Everyone will see. Everyone will know.' It could possibly mean whoever it is, has access to the kind of sources that give them control over mass media in the country."

"That's Major Raheel, head of security and intelligence. Are you sure though?" Azmaray passed a pointed look.

"'Save the last bits of heartache', reminds me of my past with Raheel — which could be motive enough for him to forego all sensibility."

"'A sun is yet to set'. That probably means the glory of the Khan family has to fall. It's definitely them."

"And you said—" Azmaray tested the words on his tongue, "you have a plan?"

"Yes! We've called backup forces. Tomorrow is the tournament. We'll record Raheel's confession and have them arrested."

Azmaray nodded, skeptical of the plan yet still somewhat satisfied. His phone beeped, the bright screen bit into the retina of his eyes as he left the room with a grim smile.

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The grange had been emptied out of most of it's workers. Except for the most trusted ones, everyone else was paid for an indefinite leave — security was of the highest priority, and with the suspicions of a mole amongst them, there was no risk that could be take. Still though, the family had managed to spend some time together in the pale moonlight. Dark and starry, the skies were clear for once. January had burnt out into a slow end, February almost on their doorstep. It was a leap year — a year of prosperity if one went by the words of their ancestors books — in Mushkpur. Already the fields were flush with produce, revenue was to be at a ten year high — the numbers projected. Everything was pristine and clear, going in their favor save for the fight in the world outside. Their safe haven was now their home, even there though not completely safe.

After many a protests, and some bribing, Filza had convinced her family to allow her and Arham a safe passage to the garden behind their mansion. It had been fortified with thick walls only recently, a gate from the west walls led straight into it, privacy ensured. Dressed in a Missoni chevron striped sequin dress and silver open toe sandals, Filza hid the skeletons in her closet with apt precision. The diamond, white gold earrings shaped like a leaf curled around her ears, the engagement band in her fingers cropped up any last bits of finery needed. Her hair, loose, fell over her bare shoulders. Earlier in the day, after her father had left, the doctor had removed her cast and she was glad to finally have her leg back. It felt freeing — to walk without any weight on you.

Adding the finishing touches to the dish, garnishing it with dill, she stepped back, wiping her hands against the apron. Rangeen Khan had been ordered to serve on the tables already, and then leave. The guards nearby would keep them under their scrutiny. Slipping out of the room, plopping a kiss on Rangeen and Baarish's face, she strolled towards the foyer where Arham awaited her arrival. His fingers coaxed her hair behind her ear, hers trapped his free hand into a tight grip. The walk was short and taken in complete silence.

Their breaths froze in-front of them as they took their steps at an unhurried pace. There was nothing that bugged them to hurry, instead it was the opposite. Work and academics — the two evils of their life took away what little time they had with each other. Now, more than ever, did they want it to last forever. Arham's palms rested flush against the dip of her hip, stroking her skin from above the fitted dress. So thin was the fabric that she could feel the heat of his palm. His fingers stroked her in agonizing pressure. A Florentine glow, pale yet full of life made love to her skin as they neared their destination. Underneath the stars, in the middle of fields of Hydrangea's, a glass table was set. Two iron wrought chairs on either side. Covered dishes and cutlery awaited them in all their grandeur. All that was missing was some soft music — that their heartbeats made up for.

"Did you do all of this?" Arham whispered, his hands squeezing her hips.

Filza hummed in reply, her derrière rubbing against his front as he pulled her flush against himself.

"Thank you. It means the absolute world to me."

"Don't be a fool Arham. I wanted to do something special for you. Especially with how stressed you are." She replied, shifting her neck as his face found home in the crook of it.

Filza smiled to herself, her eyes closing off in pure ecstasy. She could feel the peace in the heavily perfumed air. It's sweet smell gaze the air a new buzz, here there was no restriction, no fights to rip them apart. Just the two of them and the passion they held for each other. In bliss her brows relaxed, her hands stroked his arms, soft sighs escaped her plump lips, the feel of his warm tender kisses against her neck would never be a thing she was used to.

"You are the special in my life." Arham spoke, kissing the beauty spot behind her ear.

"And I'm starving so let's eat!" Filza giggled, the sound of her laughter barely enough to suppress the rumble of her stomach.

"Food does not interest me when you look so delectable."

"I'm sorry lover boy," she grinned, kissing him on the lips noisily, "I'm not doing anything until I'm fed. I made some new dishes for us to try." She batted her eyelashes — winning a small nod from him, his grim eyes promising a torturous night.

Lifting the hoods off of one of the porcelain trays, she sighed in delight. The cheese on the soup had bubbled up nicely. Her spoon fiddled with the layer, scooping the onion soup to her husband's lips first. The warmth filed down both their throats, the savory flavor warming the pits of their stark cold souls. She sat on his sturdy lap, feeding the both of them with no words. Save for the heavy breath that escaped their lips every now and then, the two remained content in silence. Arham's hands rubbed her thighs, warming her up but also sparking a fire between her legs that she had crush by crossing her legs. Frowning at the crease on his face, Filza straightened it out with her fingers, placing her lips on it.

"What's got you so sad?"

"Just thinking."

"Can you not? For once don't think of anyone but me okay? I miss my doting husband." Filza complained softly, her shoulders drooped, the spoon falling from her fingers.

"He's still here. I promise you. After tomorrow I'm yours. Completely. Nothing in this world will separate me from you until I've corrupted every part of your skin."

"I'm already very corrupted," she whimpered, feeling her core throb as his hands rested on her lower stomach.

"All I can think of is your lips french kissing every inch of me."

"Why think when I can make it your reality zarrgiya? My lips and your flesh — sounds perfect."

"Dinner first. Dessert later." She winked, her lips thinned into a cheeky grin.

"Bring out the entrée then." He spoke.

"Today we have," she spoke, lifting the hood off of the dish in the centre, her eyes filled with teeny tiny — billions of stars, "escargot with zucchini and old cheddar!"

"A scarred goat? Darling these look like snails." Arham quipped, his fingers holding his nostrils shut.

"Yes. Escargot, not a literal goat. Its a french dish. Snails in garlic and parsley. Come one take a bite." She forwarded the spoon with enthusiasm.

"You've stuffed me with sea food despite my aversion to it. This is where I draw the line!"

"No you don't. If you want me you need to eat these!"

It did not end well though, for a few minutes later Arham vomited over the floor and had to be rushed to the clinic down the street. So much for a low key evening.

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Sunlight, in it's web of spun gold gilded their skins as they got dressed for the day. Arham in a black shalwaar kameez reeked of opium sin — dark in the absence, the sight of him tingled her veins. Even with a sick stomach he had made well of his promise to devour her. The signs remained on her skin, his touch still lingered. It did not shy away from searing her. His musky cologne was the epitome of his strong dreams and willpower, the soulful representation of his physical strength — her aching hip bone testament of it. Dressed in a soft pink sweater dress, with a scoop neckline, she represented her own self. The soft fragile innocence, bit back at the fiery red nail varnish — a hint of her strength remained in the centre of her green eyes.

"Filza don't leave the home today until—"

"Until and unless it's you or Azhar. I know. I've memorized it by heart now." She replied.

"I'm sorry it's just—"

"Don't worry jaanana I understand your concerns."

"Thank you for that," Arham's eyes eased on to her, his lips kissing the back of her hand, leading her out of the bedroom.

"You're scared." She whispered as they neared the staircase, where they would split up for the day.

"I am worried yes," his walls inched lower by the second, "I am in a fix, what if they hurt you? I won't live with it. I would end everyone if there is so much a scratch on you."

"Don't be negative. God is with you. You are in the right. I trust you, I believe you. There is no one in the world more deserving of Mushkpur's throne than you."

"The people think otherwise. It's unfortunate that they have been bought out. My sincerity means nothing in the face of opulence." His mouth twisted into a painful frown.

"Don't think like that. The people are lost, the path to the truth isn't straight. It's a bending river. Have faith in your people – in my people, in us. All of us have lost our heart to a man from Lahore. His hazel eyes hold us hostage!"

"I'm lost too, my heart is tied to the skirts of a certain princess. I'm bound to the green of her eyes." He kissed her forehead.

Her fingers straightened out his collar for him, drifting lower to the buttons that she undid, placing a kiss right above chest. The red skin there turned even redder, her fair hands contrasted against the front of his shirt. A genial aura inflicted around their figures. Meshed into one, they held on for a few seconds longer. Not the other wanted to let go, scared, dreading the partition. Trembling souls and watery smiles, exchanged in the privacy of their passionate embrace. Stepping back, despite the bubbling anxiety and fright — Filza bid him goodbye. Her hands held the pen in her hands tight, he had given it to her to safeguard, the best place was keeping it on herself she thought, trudging to the green house where the women had all come to sit.

The high dome roof was covered in crawling vines. Dew saturated the air, warming their skins as she stepped in. Around the parameters vases of plants, exotic and non native grew in closely monitored conditions. Her aunts were busy in sipping their cups of tea, her cousin not in sight. The leafy greens brushed her skin as she passed through the plants. Sunlight drifted in from the frosted glass windows, the brick base of the room uneven as her heels dug in to the loosened cement. Fabricating facts, no evidence of the rampant craze outside managed to live in the oval shaped place. Dandelions filled the centre where her mother and aunts sat, a seat left open for her.

She slid in without a word. Serving herself a cup of hibiscus tea. The light vermilion drink flew into the glass cup, fogging the sides form it's warmth. Filza sliced a piece of cake, licking the vanilla frosting from the tip of her tongue. She hummed in delight, keeping it in the freezer overnight had made the flavor more potent. Nervously she tore into it, not minding how it smeared her cheeks, turning them a thick pink shade.

"Everything okay Fizzy pop?" Anbar spoke first, no one knew what the girl felt better than her.

"I hope so. I'm worried for Arham." She sighed, toying with her hands.

"Fikr nahi karo. Sab uskay saath gaye hain, kuch nahi ho ga." Laila reassured.
[Don't worry. Everyone has gone with him, nothing will happen.]

"I hope so —"

"Urm excuse me sorry to interrupt, however I come bearing a letter from Arham!" Azhar ran into the room.

Worried Filza tore the seal, reading each word carefully. It had been around and hour since he had gone. Gulping she stood up hastily, turning to her mother.

"Arham's asked me to go to the governor house. He wants me to console the children there. Mor let me go! There has been a shooting at the tournament — his plans oh lord!" She whimpered.

"Let us come to Filza. It's dangerous out there!"

"No! Mor stay here. You'll be safe. Come Azhar let's go. The three of you head inside, apparently a mob's headed this way."

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"Till midnight you have. If you want your wife alive. Time's a ticking. She's suffering. Closer than ever, tell her father that. Make a better plan next time." Arham read the text to Azmaray and Asghar.

Their plans had failed miserably. Major Raheel had not been in attendance, Azhar had gone missing with all the proof — last spotted with Filza who too had been kidnapped once more it seemed. Arham paced through the room in anxiety, he could not fathom sitting or doing anything that was categorically humane in the moment. She was once more suffering — he had been nothing but a pain, a tapped guardian to her.

"How does this keep happening? Asghar I need you to decode whoever it is. Solve that bloody riddle while I work on this one. The tracker inside Arham's pen drive and her bracelet show she's in the house! Who ever it is, was smart enough to remove those devices off of her!" Azmaray ordered.

"This is a peculiar case. Someone outed you guys. You have no backup plan and now there's threats to hurt Filza?" Asghar spoke in disbelief.

Arham pressed his mouth shut. They were right. He had been foolish enough to have zero backup, and now his wife suffered. The ringing of his phone destroyed the silence their minds worked in. Shrill screams of Filza from the other side filled the room. Three men, three horrified glares and three hearts that sought revenge.

The fire burns bright in their hearts,
It was time they stood up,
An aim with a straight thrown dart
And their blood served in their tea cup.

"Fakeer — a beggar. I am a beggar without you by my side. I spread my arms and seek help, my beloved you are trapped in a dungeon of pain and I suffer at a distance away from you. Oh God, help us. I spread my arms and beg, with every inch of my life I beg. Return her hand into mine!" Arham prayed into his palm as time ticked by.

Already ten in the evening and they were stuck going around in circles. Fear struck them with wild force, like a bull crushes an innocent man. No one in the house and rested, let alone him, who had it felt — been left stranded on the streets. His hands crushed her silk night gown, his tears bore into it, nestled on to the fabric with a stain left behind. They smelt of lavender, distinctly, turning it into his hands softly, he felt he was holding her. Closing his eyes he imagined the weight of her body on her hands, the warmth of her skin, the soft flesh — all of it. Squeezing his eyes in pain he imagined her by his side, any second now her soft voice would sound. Her lips would bloom flowers on his cheeks. Any moment now, she would be in his hands.

Madness.
Fury.
Rage.
The irrevocable urge to damage a man hit him with full force. They had all split for a few seconds. It was too much, inside the library that reminded them of her. Out finally they hoped their perspectives would be renewed. Arham stared out of the painted glass windows. The moon was alone tonight, much like him, he mused. He was a collection of her tastes now, the Arham from before was all lost. Hopeless he pressed his face against the glass panes, his hand resting on top, fogging. Arham was losing the little sanity left in him. More than his failure today, the absence of his wife was crushing him. Stepping into the darkly lit study he hovered over the documents. The riddles, both in cursive rested on top of the desk.

"Where could you be Filza?" He thought out loud, his hands holding the page into the moonlight.

"Yes, where could she be?" His father-in-law's voice, free of emotion sounded from behind him.

"Closer than ever. She lives in our hearts, but where is she physically? I can not get those screams out of my head." Arham slapped his forehead with the butt of his fist.

"Confused as you. Would have been easier if they used a morse code. Co-ordinates, anything! How could you not have doubted Azhar? You still think he's innocent?"

"We've been to the same university. He was always around me, even tod—" Arham spoke as realization dawned on him, his fist hitting the hard table.

"Oh fuck! How could I have missed this? Azhar was the mole! Of course. It makes sense. He and Raheel were room mates! Shit! Shit! That bastard!" Arham groaned in fury.

"Yes and that explains why his phone is switched off and why he is the last person that saw Filza." Azmaray nodded, holding his last straw of patience.

"You guys are all correct however, it's not Raheel he is siding with." A familiar voice broke the stingy silence, a face covered by a cap stepped closer.

Right.
You guys are fugging absurd bhai itnay flop ho jatay hain meray chapters #rageisme #willeatyou
😤😤😤😤😤😤😤
Mein bhaag rahi hun. Ab keep crying for an update.
Na chapter aaye ga. Na ACM aaye gi.
#finaldecision #gocrytoawall #ruthlessisthenewme
#yalldontdeservemyworks