___

hum to bane hi the tabah hone ke liye

aapka milna to bus ek bahana tha

___

Mustafa felt like a creep.

The woman in front of him made him feel like one. He couldn't help as he stared at her unconscious frame, stupified. He apprehended with bated breathes as to how her luscious inky midnight tresses were limited within the confines of her velvet scrunchie, while her hooded lashes kissed her flushed cheeks, specks of grime were girdling parts of her dewy erubescent  lips and lower jaw with much insolence.

For a moment Mustafa forgot about all his predicaments as his feet fortuitously began nudging in her direction and before he knew he was kneeling down before the femme fatale. His heart felt like it was slowing down conspicuously just like the rest of his surroundings.

His fingers curled up and moved towards her face but suddenly a bolt from the blue hit his entire existence as a sombre part inside him, somewhere, screamed. You are going to get married in less than a hour, you harami!

With a jerk Mustafa moved back, horrified as he realised what he was going to do. Suddenly his eyes went to the shattered vase that lay on the ground on top of which lay the siren like Beauty who had barged in his room. Mind even.

A pool of sanguine crimson liquid was drawing up right beneath her, Mustafa's eyes widened as he saw how her lacerated arm was the cause behind this blood bath on his hotel room floor.

What he should have morally done was give aid to the wounded damsel, but the sombre part in him once again took dominance and did what was prerogative. He took a water bottle and emptied all of its contents on her.

The woman snapped awake like fish out of water, ironically, struggling to breathe.
"What the fuck?!" She howled out heavily before wincing as she realised her liability. Her bleeding arm.

Mustafa bit down at his lower lip as his mouth spread into a straight line.
"Who are you?"

"I am a thief. I am here to steal your heart." She deadpanned, running her injury-free hand over her dripping drenched face.

Mustafa looked at her as if she was an extraterrestrial being, who was here only to cause ruination. He also realised that she didn't seem like she was one of the guests who were here to attend the wedding, she was dressed in the most casual attire he had seen in seemingly forever. Jeans and T-shirt.

"Why are you here?" Mustafa managed to question, as he eyed her soaking wet form. He felt a tad bit guilty for dumping the whole bottle on her but, she seemed like so much trouble and made his heart go weird and he definitely hadn't signed up for any of it.

"Do you have a first aid kit here?" She questioned back, skillfully ignoring the question as she scrunched her nose at her t-shirt.

"No. Why? Do I look like I run a 24/7 Pharmacy?" Mustafa snapped back, clearly annoyed.

"I cleaved my arm falling for you, hotstuff. Now, you must rightfully provide me with the precise medical assistance because it's all your courtesy that I am in such a condition." The woman sassed as she clutched her leather covered upper arm that had a small piece of dripping red ceramic poking out.

Mustafa's eyes widened singularly as he comprehended what the ludicrous woman was saying.
"Listen I don't---" He began but a loud knock on the door interrupted him off imprudently.

The woman's sterling grey irises dilated crashing right with his cognac ones holding them captive, as if daring him to do anything erroneous.

A smirk took over Mustafa's lips, he clearly had the upper hand now. Completely disregarding her threathening gaze, he took brisk steps towards the door behind her.

But, before he could anticipate anything further, he found his back slammed against the wall with a knife pinned to his throat. The woman leaned dangerously close to his towering figure, her small frame having an tyrannical superiority over his body. It all happened so expeditiously that Mustafa was left helpless.

"Rahmanzai Saab, Zakhmi Sherni ko uksna nahi chahiye ye aapko kisi ne nahi sikhaya?" The fatal woman, whispered as she trailed the knife across his jawline, her mellow breath fanning his nape, sending tremors down his spine. "Aapke itne tukde karoongi ke agar koi jodne bhi niklega na to wo khud bikhar jaaega."

Mustafa raised his hands in the air gulping harshly, surrendering to the mercy of the lethal weapon in front of him. She slowly removed the stiletto knife from his throat causing him to heave a substantial breath of relief, as he slowly lowered his hands, their eyes still feuding together.

"Now go and answer the door and don't let anyone in, under any circumstances. I will not be your guest for prolonged." The woman ordered, smiling sweetly this time around.

Who the hell smiles like this after threathening someone with a knife?! Mustafa's concious mind screamed as he shuddered remembering how the cold metal was pressed against his neck seconds ago. A psychopath.

Moving towards the door like it was his grand escape he opened it, just enough to see the person standing on the other side. It was his mother.

"Mustafa! What took you so long? I have been knocking since the last five minutes. Why was your door even locked?" The woman cried, as she tried pushing past him into the suite.

"I-I was in the bathroom." He managed to lie, as he bit down on his tongue, looking back at where the preposterously dangerous woman had her knife pinned in his direction, but she wasn't even looking at him as she discarded her leather jacket, revealing her blood and water daubed jade t-shirt that had a ridiculously animated cat shooting adjacent guns and it read "Pew, Pew. Madafakas!"

Suits her just right, his mind dabbled as a smile threatened to spill at his lips.

"Let me in! Why are you acting like this, Honey?" His mother screeched, annoyed.

"Mom, actually I broke a vase and there's broken pieces all over the floor. It's better, if you don't come. You'll get hurt." Mustafa once again managed to half-lie through gritted teeth, but his mother was already displeased.

"I am wearing heels, it'll be fine---" she began once again, but Mustafa cut her off, "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

His mother shot him a repugnant look, as if he had committed a huge sin by cutting her off but nevertheless continued.
"Yes, Ramsha Maami is creating a big scene. Someone apparently told her that Khurshid Bhaijaan has a secret second wife and kids. She's saying until and unless she doesn't get her justice she'll not let your nikkah happen."

"Ohh.." Mustafa muttered, his lips itching to stretch into a huge smile. He knew exactly who that someone was. His Mamu's supposed second wife's daughter and she was right inside his room.

"Don't you worry, though. Your dad's handling everything. They have sent a security team on search for someone out of the ordinary who could've caused such a nuisance. It's probably some wedding crasher. Hopefully." His mother clarified, as if easing his stress.

"Hopefully."

"Also, honey, fix yourself. You are a Rahmanzai. You aren't supposed to be so absent-minded, you are getting married today, remember?"

Mustafa found himself nodding ever so slowly, the dreadful weight of responsibilities that came with his surname once again heaving him down.

"I'll leave now, call up someone to clean the broken vase." Saying this one last thing, she began walking away.

Mustafa fastened the door and leaned against it, he felt himself drawing his eyes close and breathing in and out. His palms enclosed tightly together as if he was controlling himself from turning violent.

"Ohh god, calm down. I don't know how to do CPR, I don't want to carry the guilt of your death on my concious." A feminine voice came from a few feet away from where he was standing, causing him to snap his eyes back open. He had forgotten she was still in the room.

"Why are you even here? Get out!" Mustafa snarled as he folded his arms on his chest.

"Woah woah, easy there, hotstuff. Why are you even here?" She questioned, putting her uninjured arm on her waist, while Mustafa realised she has somehow managed to salvage her wounded arm together and a white gauze was wrapped around it.

"Are you crazy or do you just enjoy seeing people riled up?!" Mustafa muttered distastefully. She was so much better when she was unconcious.

"I am not picky, either works for me."

"Just get out!" He ordered, as he rubbed his forehead in frustration. This day was proving to be excessively longer than he had anticipated.

"Do I look like somehow who listens to people? Especially people like you?" She said tediously, taking a seat on the bed.

"What do you mean by people like me?!" Mustafa questioned extremely offended, as he leaned away from the door.

"How are you even offended by this? You are clearly not someone who has ever gotten the opportunity to assert authority." The woman, sighed as she scrutinized him under her thundering gaze.

"You are one to judge. You don't look like someone who has ever even killed a fly." Mustafa yelped defensively, walking towards the chair in the far corner of the room, carefully avoiding the pool of blood and the shards of ceramic.

"Well looks can be deceiving." She said simply shrugging.

"Hypocrite." Mustafa muttered under his breathe as he sat down on the chair.

"Hey! I might be a hypocrite but I am no coward. I am not marrying someone who I am clearly unhappy with." She flipped her ponytail, stating matter of factly.

"Who the hell even are you?!" Mustafa questioned out of immense foundering. How does she know all this?! Is it written on his face that he is displeased?

"You can call me Madiha, cause that's my name." She giggled deleriously, as she layed down on the pillow, careful not to exert pressure on her wounded arm.

Madiha. Madiha. Madiha., Mustafa tried recollecting if he knew anyone by that name or even had remotely heard off, but everything became a void. As if reading his mind she voiced out.

"No, hotstuff. Don't deploy so much pressure on your tiny brain. You don't know me, heck even I don't know you."

"Then, how did you assume I was unhappy with this marriage?" Mustafa questioned, the exact same thing that was at the tip of his tongue but instantly regretted it the next second.

"The answer you seek is in your question, genius. It was an assumption which you just proved was right." Madiha, replied as she dug her head inside the soft pillow, what she would kill to have a good night's sleep. But, alas she wasn't that fortunate.
When there was no reply from his side, she took it upon herself to impart her unasked piece of wisdom.

"You might think you don't have a choice. That is clearly why you are getting married even though you aren't interested. But, sometimes you don't get a choice. You fight for it or you make your own, because if you don't then there are several people who'll be ready to step all over you just because you allowed it once." Madiha didn't know if she was making sense or it was just the painkiller, she had found in the toiletries, that was talking.

Groaning she got up abruptly, as much as this was nice, she had to leave, she didn't have time. People were still after her and double the amount now, because of the little stunt she had pulled in the banquet hall.

"Alright! Adios, Mister Mustafa Rahamanzai. Have a great married life, my friend." She said as she started gathering her stuff.

"Where are you going?" Mustafa quickly questioned getting up from the chair as if alarmed to find her leaving in such a condition.

"Didn't you want me to leave? I am leaving now. This is your wedding gift from me!" Madiha replied as she shrugged on her jacket with great difficulty, huffing and puffing in pain.

"Where?" Mustafa questioned, as he held his breath.

"To Hell, most likely." She grinned humourously, moving towards the door.

"I want to come with you." Mustafa declared, determined. Hell, theoretically speaking, did seem like a far better option than what he was trapped in.

Whatever this Madiha girl had bluffed out made exact sense to Mustafa, somehow. So what, if he was never given the choice. He couldn't fight for it because he knew he would never win. But, what he could definitely do is make his own. And, he had made his own. He was going to runaway. He was so naive to believe that getting married to someone his parents preferred would satisfy their selfish expectations. He had a live example in front of him all the while, to prove this. His sister. She had done everything in her competency to keep them happy, and one time, just one time, when she didn't, when she defied them, they became the most cold-hearted people that she had ever known and Mustafa wasn't even the perfect child like his sister. Another disappointment was nothing to add on to the list.

"Woah woah, hero! Forget everything I jabbered to you. It was the Aspirin talking. I didn't mean any of it! Go get married, go on a honeymoon and have babies. Shoo." Madiha's eyes expanded as she shooed him away as if swatting away a fly. Having him with her could complicate alot of things in her already convoluted life and she definitely wasn't prepared for that.

"I want to come with you. Consider it payback for helping you." Mustafa asserted ignoring everything that had just left her mouth.

"What the fu---" Madiha began but seeing how relentless he sounded she sighed, hitting her head against the wall. Why can't you ever shut your huge mouth, Madiha Liaquat?

"Fine, but I need two Abayas. If you can arrange for those then we have a deal, Mister Rahamanzai."

___________

a/n

(Le Madiha watching her advice backfire)
___

How are my baby carrots doing?

Did you like the chapter?

Why does Madiha need two Abayas? ;) ;)

I can't wait for you to read what is going to happen in the upcoming chapters.

Also FanaaFact ;) : Mister Farris Hamdani is going to make his grand entrance in the next chapter!
So stay tuned.

I would like to thank the blessing in my life Zinu13  for this amazing edit! When I say I bawl my eyes out everytime I see this, I am not lying. I freaking love you!

Alrighty! Bring your foreheads to your screens, *smooches*

Love you, Stay Safe

~flawfully