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hazaar naakam hasraton ke bojh tale
ye jo dil dhadakta hai kamaal karta hai
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Mustafa, had spent close to three decades trying to be the perfect child, as per the wishes of his domineering father and socialite mother. But, he was never good enough. To him it always felt like he was running to catch a train but he never did make it on time. Somehow though, he never lost that last thread of imprudent hope, he clung to, maybe he'll finally board the train, maybe he'll finally be good enough.

And just like that, he stood in front of the mirror in his grandeur suite, clasping up the last few buttons of his exquisitely crafted jacquard sherwani. The superlative beige garment was undoubtedly handpicked and customized by his mother from the most commended of designers. The twill weaved fabric rested modestly against his broad frame and harmonized with his already god-gifted looks.

"You have made your father and I immensely exuberant today, honey." His mother chirruped, as she straightened out the already wrinkle less fabric on his chest.

Mustafa managed to give out a languid smile as his mother took out a sword broach from a black velvet covered box and started fixing it on his breast pocket, Mustafa sighed already fatigued as he eyed the single ruby encrusted sheathed sword, it was a family heirloom and he had seen it one too many times to forget. It was a Rahamanzai patrimony and was given only to the men of the household when they marry someone dignitary. Mustafa had always, admired how beautiful it was when he was a kid, but as he grew up he realised how it signified something so repugnant.

"Mera khubsurat beta, Aabish will fit right into our family. I am so happy you picked her." His mother gushed as she pulled him to her height and placed a chaste kiss against his cheek.

But I didn't pick her, your husband did, Was all Mustafa want to scream at his delusional mother, but once again managed to smile through gritted teeth as he fisted his palms into balls.
Aabish Hamdani, was the name of his to-be bride, the bride that his father had picked for him to marry and it wasn't like his mother was oblivious to all this, she just refused to let it become another reason for rupturing her already estranged marriage.

Noman and Yumna Rahamanzai were a picturesque couple to the world, but in reality, there was rarely a time when Mustafa could remember they had remained in the same room without butting heads.

"Where is, Liya Aapi?" Mustafa questioned, having enough of being around someone as overbearing and hoaxy like his mother.

"Must be meandering around that husband of hers, I'll ask her to come see you." His mother dismissied with somewhat hidden disgust. Mustafa still wondered how a mother could speak about her own daughter this way.

He nodded solemnly as his mother placed another kiss on his cheek before sauntering away in her designer attire.
Heaving a long sigh he sat down on the bed that decorated a part of his huge suite, being around either of his parents was suffocating as ever but especially today he wanted to tear everything apart. There was an elusive underlying fury in his body and it was eating him up bit by bit. He felt pathetic, he didn't want to get married. Not as a part of a buisness deal.

The thing that had left his already troubled mind further distraught was that Aabish wasn't the kind of girl who would agree for an arranged marriage. She was a wild spirit, she lived by her own rules. He had known her for a good ten years and there wasn't one time he had seen her not rebel against everything her parents stood for. Then, why would she agree to marry him?

Mustafa had tried getting in contact with her during their engagement period, but she had shown indifference everytime. How was she so compliant to spend a lifetime with him? Especially him. What was this girl scheming?

His internal monologue had come to a halt when the threshold to the suite clicked open as his sister, Daliya, entered dressed in a beautiful French navy blue lehenga, with intricate gold embroidery on the luxurious velvet. Her hair was pulled back in a twisted bun.

"What is it, Musi?" Was her first question, as she advanced and took a seat next to him.
It was scary how she always knew if something was wrong, when their own mother acted so blindly to all his pain.

"Nothing." Mustafa muttered looking down, his eye balls burning with hot tears brimming to fall out. Seeing his sister made him want to spill everything out, he was so overwhelmed.

Daliya sighed as she took his hand in her own.
"You don't have to do this, you know."

"When were we ever given the choice, Aapi?" He managed to breathe out, blinking back the tears threathening to fall out.

"I wish I could answer that, Musi Jaan. But, I can't, because I don't have the answer. What I do know is that you are very conflicted, unhappy. You don't want this for yourself, I know I don't want this for you." Daliya whispered, her voice providing little peace to his chaotic mind.

"They are finally happy with me. They finally think I am worthy of being called a Rahamanzai." Mustafa whispered back his eyes drifting towards the broach that was pinned onto his chest, superficially weighing more than a elephant.

"The approval you have seeked your entire life has finally come, yet, why aren't you content?"
This question of hers shook Mustafa's entire foundation. Was it actually worth it?

"I did everything in my power to make them happy and you know it better than anyone, yet, why are they still disappointed by me?" Daliya said smiling sadly.

"In logon ko bus inki shohrat aur ghuroor pyara hai, Musi Jaan. Jazbaat aur Insaaniyat ko ye shaytan ke paas farokht kar aaye hai. Inke aizaaz ke liye hum bheekh mangne nikle to Khuda bhi hume qubool nahi karega." Saying this with agonized pain she got up, pecking his forehead.
"Whatever you do I'll always stand with you."

She walked out right after, leaving behind a man whose mind was filled with conflicted thoughts and unresolved feelings.

__________

The extravagant hotel was decorated to perfection according to the liking of the elitist high society. Luminous lights hung around the building and hand picked decoratives were exclusively framed to match the magnificence of the incoming guests.

Madiha Liaquat stumbled inside the building, clutching the doomed file that she had risked her life for, to her chest. Dressed in the most hideous graphic t-shirt in her wardrobe that was safely hidden under an oversized leather jacket and paired with black acid washed jeans she could easily pass off as a homeless sleaze, especially amongst a crowd of besuited; debonair men and women.

But, that was the least of her concerns right now as she slid between shadows in attempts of steering clear of the nincompoops of hooligans that were hot on her tail. She had somehow managed to get through the tight security of the hotel by jumping over the fence. But, she was sure as hell those zaleel kamakaals would have somehow located her by now. You see, she wasn't the most stealthiest when it came to escaping, she specialized in defacing their treasured parts.

As she was tumbling around, she saw a banner that read; The Rahamanzais & Hamdanis cordially welcome you to join the wedding of Mustafa and Aabish.

Wedding food?!, Was the first thought that crossed her mind as soon as she read the banner. She had been on the run for more than Twenty hours now and apart from two granola bars and a few gulps of water she hadn't consumed anything. Without any other comprehension, her feet automatically fleeted themselves towards the banquet hall, the smell of a variety of mouth-watering kebabs, biryani and various gravies wafted past her nostrils as she entered the hall. It was sparsely crowded, but people where already shooting her condemning looks. All Madiha wanted to do was salute them with the bird, but instead she controlled herself and glared right back at them. So much for minding their own business.

Madiha could imagine her sister's refuting look, as she filled her plate with all sorts of delicacies. "Marogi tum, Madi."

Madiha snorted, muttering under her breath as she imagined her ever panicking sister, it had been only a week since they had last seen each other, but it felt like an eternity. Madiha missed her.
"Marna hai to maroongi, par biryani khake to maroongi."

Just as she was about to start eating, a plump lady, probably in her mid 50s, face caked with too much amature makeup, body covered with expensive jewellery and a designer suite came and stood in front of her.
"Betaji, from which side are you?"

"Aunty, I am from Northern Hills side." Madiha answered enthusiastically, as she bit the inside of her cheek.

"Arey! I mean from whose side are you? The bride or the groom?" The lady seethed, her whole face turning red even from under the makeup.

"I am Mustafa's Mamu's Second Wife's daughter." She lied through her clenched teeth hoping that this jewellery shop of a woman gets off her back.

"Huh?! Mustafa ke Mamu?! Haye Allah, mai lut gayi, barbaad hogayi. Maine kya bigaada tha us aadmi ka. Usne doosri shaadi bhi karli aur itni badi najayaz beti bhi hai." The woman cried clutching her head, this caused Madiha to bite down at her lower lip as she slowly placed her untouched plate on the table behind her.

"Aunty, badi izzat se keh rahi hoon. Aap hongi najayaz, mein nahi." Madiha said, clearing her throat. Somehow offended.

The woman shot her a disgusting glare before she stormed towards a man who was a few feet away putting a leg piece in his plate.
"Khurshid! Apna mooh thus rahe ho meri zindagi barbaad karke, ruko wahi!"

Madiha raised her hands defensively in the air as she retreated back a few steps before sprinting out of the banquet hall. She then jogged towards a corridor with doors on either side. A room service trolley was placed unsupervised infront of one of the rooms, she cautiously walked towards it and much to her luck there were two room keys placed with some instructions stuck to them on a sticky note.

Picking up the first one that had room no: 2303 embedded on it, Madiha marched towards where the room was. Swiping the key with ease, she soundlessly entered the room and locked the door behind her. As she rested her head against the wooden door, the file still clutched in between her jacket. Her eyes drifted to the slouched figure of a man dressed in a sherwani, sitting on the bed. He had his head buried between his hands, his elbows propelled on his knees supporting his head.

Madiha sucked in a breath as she felt her heart thudding even more fiercely than it had done before. It almost felt like she was going to loose her senses. Her lips parted slowly as she voluntarily moved towards the man curious to see who he was, but before she knew she tumbled across a vase that was practically placed in the center of the room clashing it down as it broke into numerous tiny pieces and somehow she managed to fall right on it, losing her balance.

Madiha hissed as she felt the shards pierce her arm through the leather jacket. The warmth of the red liquid oozing from her skin caused her to moan in denunciation.

Madiha Liaquat you are a liability to yourself, you managed to escape those goons who were trying to kill you without a scratch yet here you are causing self harm., Mocked her concious mind.

"Who are you?!" A hoarse masculine voice, questioned causing her to look up at him.
He was, well, different from all other. He was undoubtedly handsome, not in the most conventional sense, but he did have the kind of face that would stand out in a crowd. His eyes were a rich shade of cognac yet seemed so deceptively soft, like they carried the warmth of new autumn. They clashed with his almond complexion, but somehow only made him look even more attractive with the clean shaven look, Madiha had seen a lot of men in her short life span but not one was as striking as him when compared.

"Your Mamu's Second Wife's daughter." She managed to blurt out, before slipping into oblivion.

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a/n

(Le Madiha asking the readers to take big brain classes from her)
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How are my baingan ka bhartas doing?

I hope you liked the first chapter *fingers crossed*

Mustafa Bhaiya is so damn troubled he gives me anxiety. Madiha on the other hand is my spirit animal!

Funfact: Mustafa's room number is the this chapter's word count. ;)

Just wanted to drop by and let you guys know how much I love you and thank you so much for the overwhelmingly positive feedback on the introduction!

Alsoo on a very serious note, I am a laaton ki bhoot jo baaton se nahi maanti,*mama, is that you?* so if I don't update atleast twice a month then feel free to trouble me. I get damn lazy.

Anyways, please don't forget to leave your precious feedback!
Alsoo bring your foreheads to the screen.
*smooches*
There you go <3<3

Love you, stay safe!

~flawfully