"lut gaye ham toh pheli mulaqat mein."

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NOTHING irritated Shahnawaz Awan more than tardiness.

Settled on a leather chair in the warm and opulent conference room of the CM house, donning his uniform and a frown on his face, accompanied by the top brass of the police, he was waiting for the head of the province―who had called an urgent meeting today―to show up.

Since one hour and seventeen minutes.

After a few peeved breaths and the addition of five more minutes, the sound of gritty footfalls shuffling against the tiles echoed around and finally, a tall, bespectacled figure of a man decked in a fancy suit and tie entered the room, prompting the uniformed officers to instantly rise from their seats with courteous salutes.

"Hello officers," the provisional chief greeted the law enforcers. "I guess I'm a bit late."

The Inspector General was quick to deliver a smile-wrapped jibe. "Only an hour, Sir."

"Always keeping count, Shahnawaz."

The minister spared him an amusing glance before dropping down on the designated chair and sweeping his gaze across the men seated on either side of the wide, stretching table.

"Since I have already wasted some of the time you gentlemen took out from your busy schedule today, I'll cut right to the chase," the minister addressed the attendees, specifically the Sindh police chief.

"I want you to launch a crackdown against the most dangerous ring of narcotics activities in Karachi. Form a task force and conduct a targeted operation against the notorious drug cartel in liyari within a week."

Shahnawaz's brows mounted at the unceremonious demand.

"You're asking us to strike the biggest den of arms-cum-smugglers on a whim? Last time an attack like that was carried out, we lost fourteen policemen and gained nothing!"

"So? This is what they sign up for! They're aware the cost of this job is their life." The sheer level of apathy in the minister's tone was cold enough to freeze the entire room. Then, as if to break the frost, he added, "It's a very noble sacrifice."

A gust of anger blazed through his sternum and he ground his jaw, hard, sickened by the ruling elites who comfortably sat in their warm chambers and dismissed the safety of the security personnel in the name of noble sacrifice.

"With due respect,"―Shahnawaz had none for this scoundrel―"My men's lives aren't any less valuable than yours or mine."

"No need to bring emotions to the table, IG."

"I'm only trying to be rational here," Shahnawaz retorted as calmly as possible.

"Shahnawaz sir is right," the head of the special investigation unit, Yahya, sat on the left side trilled in favor, continuing;

"That area is a hornet's nest, we have to be extremely careful while tackling it. It's for that reason we sent an officer undercover so we could find out about the headman of the cartel and their modus operandi. In fact, it was Shahnawaz sir's son who carried out the mission."

"Ah, his son. Zain Awan."

Recalling the name in a low, murky voice, the Chief Minister swiveled in his chair and pinned his gaze to Shahnawaz with a pernicious smile. "He received a medal from me last year for defending the terrorist attack on the Chinese consulate, didn't he?"

Shahnawaz gave a curt nod. "He did, Sir."

"He's an impressive young man, very smart and courageous." The minister leaned back, placing his hand across his jaw suggestively, cunningly, as he said, "He should be a part of this operation, don't you think?"

The Inspector General did not waste a second in answering, "He definitely should."

"But Sir, I still think we should reconsider this and not indulge in a hasty and reckless action," the SIU head made another attempt to warn him of the consequences. "If this operation fails like before-"

"I don't care about that," the minister cut him off harshly, but the next second, plastered a disgustingly prideful smile on his face, "I mean I don't have to when we have such valorous cops in the force."

Shahnawaz was quick to deduce the intention underlying his tone and he knew he was sitting there between the hammer and the anvil, knew he had to make a choice, timely and tactful, while keeping the conditions and consequences in mind.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he pulled a coarse breath and opened them with acuteness, with curled fists, and a decision.

"You're right, Sir. We'll proceed as per your wish. The combatants from the security and special unit will carry out the operation. I'll be overseeing it!" the Inspector General announced in a steady, manful voice.

A grin broke out on the politician's face.

"Great. I'll be looking forward to it."

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The air of February was saturated with the scent of yearning.

It drifted through the wide and narrow streets of the city, witnessing the professions, trysts, and vows made by the lovers, before swirling around the tall and sinuous silhouette of a brunette as she hopped out of a sheeny black vehicle.

Zunyra treaded through the entrance of the Awan residence, enrobed in a snug-fit powder-pink top and ribbed leggings, glossy brown hair pulled up into a high ponytail that swayed with each movement of her haughty gait, the tang of music she had been blasting off in the car still dwelling on her lips.

Oops I did it again, I played with your heart.

Humming the song, she was making her way towards the building when she spotted her older brother strolling in the garden.

On the instant, she changed the direction of her expedition and made a beeline for the man clad in a yale blue T-shirt and cargo trousers, typing away on his phone with lazy fingers and a displeased scowl, not a big textrovert, she mused with a snort.

"Hi, bhaiyya."

Zunyra stopped in front of him with a cheeky, child-like grin that she used to flash at him when he used to play with her in the same garden, when she was several inches shorter than him, his Little Zee, as he would always call her while ruffling her hair. 

She had grown up and taller now, stood at five feet six inches, strutted around like she owned the whole damn world, but before her big brother, there was this certain gullibleness that she liked to carry.

"Hey Zuny," he greeted with a warm smile.

Lowering his hand, he turned toward her, noticing the activewear she was donning on a languorous, clouds-filled Sunday noon with a slight frown.

"Hit the gym even today?"

"No day off from workout," she stated unequivocally.

"Thank god there's one for me from work," Zain said with an extremely pleased expression.

She laughed. "So, are you going somewhere today?"

"Not now but I do plan to take Iman out for dinner tonight."

"Sweet," she said, stretching the vowel, and then biting the side of her lip, she resumed, "Um, Bhaiyya, I want to talk to you about something."

"Haan, bolo?"

He plopped down on one of the four ivory chairs surrounding a wicker table placed two steps away and beckoned Zunyra to do the same.

Nodding, she took a seat across him.

"Actually, my class has arranged a farmhouse trip this week, just a day long, you know? But that Omer Bakhtiyar just refuses to join us."

"Oh?" His traits scrunched into puzzlement. "So?"

"So," Zunyra angled forward in a persuasive manner. "Why don't you ask bhabhi to convince him? I'm sure he would listen to her."

"And why would I do that?" Zain leaned back into the chair and crossed his arms. "If he doesn't want to go then let him be."

"No, he must come with us!" she exclaimed―obtaining a questioning raise of his brow.

Zunyra swallowed; feeling the sharp sword of her brother's scrutiny hang over her head as he kept his dark gaze affixed on her, seeking an explanation.

"Because... uh... my statistics professor wants the whole class to go on this trip and Omer is his favorite student, if he doesn't come then he'd feel very dejected," she rambled out in a single breath, hoping he would buy it.

He didn't.

Dived deeper into the enquiry instead.

"Since when did you start caring about your professors' feelings, Zuny?"

"Uffho!" A frustrating huff flew past her lips. "I can be a little considerate sometimes."

"Hmm." Zain rolled his lips inside his mouth, bobbing his head in a slow, staid manner, before suggesting; "Why don't you tell this to your bhabhi yourself?"

"I don't want to. She probably thinks I'm a bad bitc-" Zunyra feigned a light cough to stop herself from swearing and then rephrased, "I mean, I'm sure she doesn't like me."

"No, I don't think like that, Zunyra."

A wispy voice with dulcet tones suffused the air, prompting her to veer her head and her gaze fell on the lithe frame of her sister-in-law, enrobed in a teal green angrakha with floral print, her black hair interlinked into a loose side braid with a few fringe locks framing her face―the February wind fluttering through them.

All the light of day filled her brother's dark eyes as she occupied the vacant chair adjacent to him and spared him a velvety soft smile before directing her attention back to Zunyra, holding her daunting gaze with her calm pools of silver.

"I think you are a lovely girl who never shies away from speaking her heart and is unapologetically herself," Iman said warmly.

"Akhir behen kiski hai?" Her brother remarked whimsically.

A scowl marred the brunette's face. "Stop stealing my compliments, bhaiyya."

"We can share this one yaar," replied Zain with a smirtle. 

"Fine, just this one."

"You're also supposed to thank the person who complimented you, Zuny," he reminded her with a sharp quirk of his dark brow.  

"I was about to do that," she stated with a roll of her ebony eyes and then shifting her gaze to the woman perched next to him, she pasted on a smile, innocuous and a tiny bit honest, as she vocalized;

"Thank you, bhabhi! You're... nicer than I thought."

"Oh. That's... good to hear." Iman shifted in her seat and an awkward trail of silence followed before she looked up again and said, "And um, Omer will join you guys, don't worry, I'll talk to him."

Yesssss! Zunyra screamed internally but maintained a perfectly nonchalant countenance as if her excitement level hadn't just jumped astronomically high upon hearing that.

"Cool." She shrugged―containing her vim and all the ways she was going to bother the youngest Bakhtiyar on this trip within her.

"Alright, you both talk, I'm gonna go get a cup of tea," Zain announced.

"Oh, Iman bhabhi why don't you make tea for him just like you made for us this morning?" Zunyra proposed, topping it with a tight-lipped, glacé smile.

But behind that lied a wicked intent with tiny, red horns, because she had almost choked on the tea her bhabhi had made in the morning.

It was simply awful, and since she had not been given any heads-up, her brother wasn't going to get one either. In fact, she badly wanted to see his reaction because unlike her, he was a huge tea connoisseur, was so finicky about his favorite beverage.

"No it's alright, Iman-"

"No, let me make it for you, Zain," his wife cut him off and insisted with a smile, turning on her heels. "I'll be right back."

With that, she ambled away and left the siblings in each other's company for a few minutes before she emerged out of the building and returned to them holding an ivory-blue teacup in her hands with a trail of steam coming from it.

"Thank you," Zain said softly, taking it from her and without letting it cool down for a minute―because according to him if it wasn't hot enough it wasn't worth drinking―he took a small sip.

"How's it?" the grey-eyed woman asked in a tiny, demure voice, nervous lines evident on her face.

"It's..." His lips clasped near the rim of the cup for one, two, three seconds, unclasped on the fourth as he glanced up at his wife and said, "It's so tasty I almost stopped breathing."

"What, really?" She gave him a half-elated, half-dubious look. "It can't be that good."

"So good," Zain stressed on the last word, a wide smile stretching on his face, "It really is."

The bubble of Zunyra's scheme went down with a pop.

Poker-faced, she watched the couple exchange soft glances and light-hearted words for a few minutes before her sister-in-law excused herself and went back inside the building.

Her absence gave Zunyra a chance to enquire if her brother had lost his mind and his taste buds but before she could open her mouth, his voice echoed.

"Woah," Zain puffed out a deep breath, eying the cup in his hand with wacky fascination. "I never thought tea could taste so bad."

"Then why are you drinking it with such a content smile?" Zunyra bit out.

"Kyunke meri biwi ne banayi hai yaar."

With the said smile firmly plastered on his face, he casually took another sip, making her sibling's jaw drop down and down until it was sweeping the ground.

Casting her incredulity aside, she intoned, "You know what? If I make an omelette and my future husband doesn't react like that, I don't want him."

"That's gonna be rough because you make the worst omelette in the whole world," Zain declared in a dead-serious tone. "Last time I had it, I almost ended up in the emergency room."

"Exactly," she uttered, brazen-faced, pointing a finger in his direction. "You get my point."

A tsk escaped his lips. "I pity the guy."

"Just like I'm pitying you right now," the brunette crooned, lightly rocking her head.

"No need to." He raised the cup in her face. "I love this chai."

Zunyra let out a scoff, shaking her little head at her brother, knowing very well it wasn't that unsavory chai that he loved, it was the woman who had made it.

By the candescent gleam she had seen in his inky irises whenever Iman was around him, she could also tell it was not just a spousal love where he would eat and drink something to not hurt his wife's feelings, it was my heart is yours to crush or cradle kind of love.

It made her wonder if she was ever going to see such enormous fondness in someone's eyes for herself.

With that thought came a lightning flash of earthy brown eyes, flooding her vision, stirring a commotion in the calm valley of her heart.

Oh no no no, she tried to blink back and wipe off the hauntingly appealing image but it etched itself onto her eyelids, gave rise to a stupid, absolutely stupid notion of how it would be like to see that look in that damn nerd's eyes.

And then she was drowning in his thoughts.

The uncharacteristic display of Zunyra sitting with her mouth shut and having a daydreaming look in her eyes was something Zain found very concerning.

He was about to haul her out of whatever universe she was currently in when his phone suddenly buzzed on the table and his attention shifted on the screen alight with the identity of the caller: Saif.

Picking it up, he held the phone to his ears. "Saif yaar where-"

His sentence was cut off by a prickly burst of spiel.

"DIG sir has called an urgent meeting and all the team leaders of the special and security units are to be present in the meeting room at exactly 5 PM, which means, you only have fifteen minutes to get your shit done and report because you know how much he hates late comers, so good luck!"

Zain leapt to his feet, throwing a dread-ridden glance at his wristwatch that showed the exact amount of time his friend had barked into the phone.

There went his day off down the drain.

"Dammit!" he spat into the speaker, terminating the call―and the chortle Saif had let out on the other side―with his face twisted into a grimace.

"What happened?" Zunyra queried, finally landing back on Earth.

"Duty calls," he exhaled out.

Gulping down the chai his wife had made in one go, he slammed the cup on the table, turned around, and did a runner.

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The pale noon had transitioned into a mauve-stained eve when Zain walked out of the meeting room, carrying the weight of a sudden and enormously difficult task in his hands.

To go back into the territory of the criminals he had infiltrated a while ago but this time, armed and uniformed, with an intent to crush, capture, and dismantle the drug cartel.

As if the abruptness of the order wasn't perplexing enough, he had been told by the head of the special investigation unit that the Inspector General had decided that he would lead the squad created for this operation.

He had no qualms over that, it was bound to happen eventually, but the timing was odd, and leading a squad to that hell-hole in the given time was not easy. He had lived among and fought alongside the gangsters, had seen how well-equipped, trained, and cut-throat they were.

Considering the failures of the past and the fact that the identity of the drug kingpin was still unknown, the raid was going to turn into an ugly, bloody clash―that was for certain.

With his head crammed with the complexities of the mission, he took the elevator and reached the ground floor of the headquarters where he met Saif, who was already aware of the newly imparted order.

The law enforcers started discussing the events that were yet to unfold.

"You don't look so thrilled about this operation even though it has the perfect amount of life-threatening danger that you like," Saif said with a light chuckle.

"Because it sounds more like a dirty work than a clean-up," the lawman mumbled pensively.

"It has your father's approval, if he wanted to, he could've refused and taken it to the federal government but he didn't."

"There must be a reason."

"You should find out the reason then."

"I'm about to do just that," Zain told him, and then beckoning down to his right leg, he queried, "What's wrong with your leg?"

His friend's mouth formed into a curious o. "You can tell?"

"You're trying too hard to not walk with a limp." Zain let out an obvious scoff.

"You and your hawk eyes," Saif hissed. "Yeah, I hurt my knee this morning during training."

"Well, fix it as soon as possible," Zain uttered with narrowed eyes. "We've got some bones to break soon."

"I can do that better than you."

"Not in this shape."

Zain gave him a light kick in the leg, eliciting a yelp out of him along with a slew of curses as he hunched and clutched his knee.

"Chalo, I'm off to see Baba," he told his friend.

"Dafa ho salay!" Saif barked out, straightening up and running a hand through his dark mane. "But meet me later. I've got something important to discuss about the cleric murder case. Let's wrap it up tonight."

"Got it!"

Striding out of the SIU headquarters, he hopped inside his car and drove to the central police station where the provisional top cop held the office.

After getting stuck in a headache-inducing traffic jam for an hour, he finally reached his destination― massaging his temples and trying to shut the honking sound that was still ringing in his ears―and moseyed through the corridor leading way to his father's office.

Outside the building, the sun had bid farewell and the night had spread its dark-coloured wings across the sky.
Inside the room, a quiet air of authority and veritable power pervaded the warm-hued walls adorned with frames, certificates, and a portrait of the country's founder.

Across the well-polished, mahogany desk riddled with important documents, pen holders, and a mini flag of the country, Zain acquired one of the two vacant chairs and after greeting his father, his superior, he started discussing the task he had been handed over.

"The CM couldn't care less about the criminals and cartels operating in the city," his father intoned, standing by the tall, glass window, the obsidian shade of his uniform federating with the darkling sky behind him. "He just wants to deviate the attention of the media from the failure of his governance and the malpractices of his party."

"So, police kay kandhay per rakh kar bandook chalana chahte hain wo?"

"Yes." Shahnawaz veered around and locked his worldly-wise gaze on him.

"Remember Zain, political corruption is not limited to just politicians taking bribes. Fizzling the autonomy of law enforcement, exploiting it, and sending the officers on missions for political gains is also a form of corruption―and a very nasty one."

"I understand that, but your approval is included in this operation despite being aware of the ulterior motive behind it, why is that?" Zain stood up from the seat and queried pointedly.

"Because the minister and his party are expecting a failed outcome with a sufficient number of corpses they can do their petty politics on," his father said in an upfront voice. "But I believe it can be successful."

Then he footed toward his son, stood before him, matching his height, obsidian irises boring right into his as he asserted;

"I believe in you."

"I'm not a one-man army, Baba."

"But you can lead and fight."

A great wave of nostalgia consumed Zain upon hearing that. He had heard the same words from someone he held in high regard, years ago, when he could barely hit a target without missing countless times.

His father spoke again, this time, in a hard, bureaucratic tone.

"You've infiltrated the territory, confronted the terror, you are aware of the criminals' fighting tactics and weaponry," the inspector general reminded him.

And then came his command.

"Spearhead the task force created for this operation. Devise an effective strategy and lead it to success, Inspector Zain Awan!"

Adrenaline, coupled with a wild determination to take on the challenge, prove he was worthy of the trust he had shown in him, pumped through his capillaries and made his blood burn and burn.

Holding himself ramrod straight, with an indomitable look in the dark realm of his eyes, he said in a firm, stentorian voice;

"Aapkay hukum ki tameel hogi, Sir!"

The police chief gave him a nod―a nod full of optimism.

"I have one request though," Zain stated.

"Yes?"

"I need your approval for including and excluding certain names from the security and investigation unit in the team." 

Shahnawaz placed his hand on his shoulder.

"You have all my approvals."

Thus began the most hectic and head-scratching week of his life.

Zain spent his days with his fellow combatants, chalking out a plan to crush the gangsters, mapping and organising, honing the weapons. The nights he did manage to come back home passed in a blink, he could barely spend time with his family, constantly being updated on calls and running errands.

His mind was occupied with just one tangible goal: lead this mission to success no matter what.

But his heart was a different story.

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There was a log cabin in the backyard of the Awan residence.

A sturdy, rustic shelter with wooden walls, dark-stained ceiling beams and minimal leather furnishings. Standing in the center was Iman, inspecting the cozy space with a twinkle of intrigue in her ash-hued eyes.

It was built on my grandfather's wish,
Zain had told her when she had enquired about this dwelling, he wanted to have a secluded place connected to the outdoor to relax and unwind.

She padded towards the large, timber-trimmed windows artfully placed to bring in the scenic outdoor view,  stood there for a few minutes and listened to the lilting sound of wind whispering through the leaves of the tall pine trees surrounding the cabin.

Whirling around, she drifted to the right, stopping by a classic masonry fireplace with a cedar mantel shelf holding a few trinkets on top.

She noticed a candle holder, a vintage mirror, miniature painting of a forest scene, and some hand-painted pottery pieces, but her gaze stilled on one particular object that stood out among them. She couldn't help but pick it up from the collection.

It was a rocketship made out of a cylinder shaped bottle, painted all white with grey stripes, the four paper boosters glued to the bottom covered in a tangerine tint―and soyuZ 44 inscribed on it.

The capitalized Z was enough to let her know who must've crafted it.

Had he made it for a school project? Or simply out of his love for the space? She mused, looking at it with a smile twirling on her lips.

Carefully, she placed the ship back onto the mantel with an intent to ask her husband about it later and traipsed to the left corner of the room where a five-foot oak bookcase was placed, carrying a literary treasure.

She was immersed in her own bubble of exploration when she felt a presence behind her and a puff of hot breath across the nape of her neck.

"Hey."

Iman nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden intrusion and spun around with wide, startled eyes but the moment they collided with a pair of black spheres fixed on her, the shock swathing her features mutated into a pleasant one.

"When did you come back?" she queried, glancing up at the man standing before her, delight curving her lips into a smile.

"When I heard a voice calling my name," answered Zain, garbed in a stark white hoodie and black denim, staring down at her through his long, sooty lashes.

Iman took a moment.

A moment to gaze at his face under the warm aureate lights of the cabin, to admire how they haloed his midnight hair, to fill her grey spirit with the luminosity of his presence because he had been so wildly occupied with his duty calls and she was seeing him after two whole days.

Before she finally found her voice and queried;

"A voice?"

"Ahan, I think it was coming straight from..." he hummed, caging his lower lip between his teeth and rubbing his fingers over the dark stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

All of a sudden, she felt like an arrow went straight through her heart.

"Here," he whispered, placing his index finger on the left side of her chest.

Her breath hitched.

She stood stock-still, feeling the tip of his finger burning a mark on her heart, turning the simple procedure of filling her lungs with air into a trial.

"Oh, what's that?" her husband suddenly murmured with furrowed brows as his gaze flew up and thankfully, his hand too, from her hammering heart to her face.

The suppressed breath finally flew out of her lips.

She knew what might have caught his attention but she also wanted to roll her eyes at the fact that he was asking her what it was.

"It's a nose ring, Zain," she told him flatly about the sleek and thin piece of white gold jewelry clutched to her nose.

"Never saw you wearing it before," he stated―ever the observant.

Iman recalled taking out her ring to wear the jewelry Haider had chosen for her on the day of their weddi-

She stopped and exhaled out the reminder.

"Yeah, I took it out the day we met, that's why," she redefined it in a breezy voice because that is how she wanted to preserve it in her memory: The day she had met a charming devil.

And the night he had saved her life.

"But I decided to wear it again today," she apprised him with a beaming smile.

"Hot."

Iman blinked twice. "What?"

"You."

His hand found her face again, mischievous fingers lightly tapping the silver ring before pinching the tip of her nose.

"And your nose," he said in a mirth-laced drawl.

Iman scrunched it under his grip, squinted her eyes, and tried to swat his hand away, grumbling, "Hey, stop! Go play with something else."

He withdrew his hand but the next moment, a lopsided, devious grin flitted across his lips.

"Like what?"

"Like..." she trailed, feeling a little breathless, a little ruffled, unable to utter a coherent sentence under his crooked visage. "I-I don't know. I can't... think of anything."

"I can think of a few things."

Echo of his footfall as he took a step closer collided with the thump-thump of her heartbeat and when his fervent eyes cruised up her figure in a tormentingly slow motion, all the blood flowing through her veins caught fire. 

And then an enticing whisper, "Wanna know?"

Iman squeezed her teeth together,  stopping herself from voicing out the ravenous curiosity burning on the tip of her tongue.

She did want to know.

Wanted him to render the amatory glint she could see in his eyes into words, into action-

A shiver waltzed across her spine.

What in the world was wrong with her thought process and why was it turning like Zain's? Which only made her wonder how and what exactly did he think about her? And just like that, she was back to square one: to know.

Not. Not. Not. She schooled her thoughts, swallowed her ludicrous desire, took a reluctant step back and turned down the offer.

"No, thank you."

The quiver in her voice was palpable as she held his gaze but she tried to deviate his attention by immediately sputtering out;

"A-And what are you even doing here? You told me it will take two more days for you to get done with your work?"

"I managed to get a little break so I came here to steal you for a few moments." In a beat of a moment, her hand was in his possession and he was tugging her frame toward him.

"Let's go."

"But where?"

"Falak tak," he winked.

Iman pursed her lips, giving him an incredulous look, demanding a serious answer but all she got was;

"Tum chalo toh sahi."

"Hold on," she squeaked, throwing a cursory glance at the aqua-blue viscose shirt and trousers hugging her figure, warm enough for indoors but certainly not for the frosty winds parading outside. "Let me at least go get my shawl. It's cold outside!"

"No, don't go anywhere."

He let go of her hand and rolled back his big, wide shoulders, slipping out of the hoodie he was wearing in one fluid movement, and then gingerly, he draped it across her delicate frame.

"Here, have this," he intoned, smoothening it around her shoulders.

Rich and musky smell of his cologne enthralled her senses and a size too-large garb nearly swallowed her frame into the fleece sea of warmth but before she could accept it, her gaze roamed over the jet-black, cotton jumper with an undone, half-zip neckline the absence of his sweatshirt had left him into.

She couldn't help but whisper, "Leken ye toh tumhari hai."

Tugging at the ivory sleeves hanging down her shoulders, he pulled her closer, looked raptly into her eyes, and said;

"Tum bhi toh meri ho."

The declaration resounded in the air and struck a deep, subdued chord because for Iman, the idea of belonging had lost its meaning, had been tainted by the men in her life who just wanted to own and control her.

But whenever Zain called her his, in that deliciously raspy voice, it only sounded like a silky serenade.

She liked how the words rolled out of his mouth; warm, deep, and meaningful. Liked how they didn't seize her being but softly wrapped around her flesh, seeped into her skin and made a place in her heart.

As per usual, the sentiments couldn't make it to her mouth, she was too reticent to share them out loud so she dropped her gaze, pinned it to the wooden floor, stood there quietly with her lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

Then suddenly:

Calloused fingers took hold of her delicate chin, tilted it upwards, made her shy gaze meet his darkening irises as he breathed out;

"Ho na?"

There was a pastel tint to his imploration but also a hue of obsidian at the edge―a maddening melange of vulnerability and fervor that made heat bloom in her chest and slowly scale the artery leading to her face.

As the apples of her cheeks brightened up with a fiery hue, a surge of endearment rushed to Zain's love-struck heart, turned every beat into a falsetto as he beheld her,  enveloped in his cloud-white hoodie, her face glowing roseate.

She looked so, so beautiful, like a pink rose in snow.

Her lips slowly unclasped―a fatal blow to his restrain―as the haze of hesitancy in her eyes gradually dissipated and she opened them, wider, granite grey melting into liquid silver.

He saw it then, the flame of acceptance, slowly beginning to ignite in her irises for him, but before he could taste the burn-

Meow.

A squeaky little noise suddenly permeated the air and he would've thought it had come out of her lips but they hadn't moved even slightly―and he could feel something nipping at the hem of his dark jeans.

Perturbed, he ducked his head and his gaze landed straight on a golden ball of fur glued to his leg.

Jupiter.

The moment his pet received his attention, it let out a fierce grrr, baring its teeth at him, and started attacking his feet with its sharp claws, as if wanting him to move back, and when the hits didn't cease and became aggressive, he had to take a few steps back from Iman.

"What's your problem?" Zain spat, eying the creature on the floor with his traits warped into confusion.

"Maybe your cat is jealous of me," Iman snickered, amusement lining her tone.

The lawman clucked his tongue and was about to bend down to pick and tame the wild cat when it swiftly dashed away from him and stopped before his lady-love, looking up at her with electric blue orbs and slowly swishing its furry tail.

To his utter surprise, Iman did not balk or scream, instead, she gently hunched down and scooped Jupiter in her arms. Mouth agape, he watched how she softly held the cat and it let out a content sound, settling comfortably in her arms.

Wow, so that little show of aggression was not for him but for his wife?

"I think I'm jealous of my cat now," he mumbled, stitching his brows into a frown, "Since when did you start getting along with this guy?"

"Since I started doing this." Iman stroked the feline's tiny head in a circular motion with her fingers and swiped her hand across its cotton-ball soft golden belly, earning a satisfied purr.

"Did you see that? I think he likes me more than you now," she informed him gleefully with a proud upward slant of her chin.

"This disloyal billi," Zain hissed. "Khoobsurat larki dekhi nahi kay bas!"

His wife's loud, sparkly laughter ricocheted off the wooden walls of the cabin.

"Oi, Jupiter, get off!" he ordered, snapping a finger. "I'll find a female cat for you."

At that, the little animal leapt out of her arms, zoomed toward the lawman and placed his little paws on his right leg, sparkling blue irises staring up at him, and then letting out a trilling meow that appeared to be a sound of agreement, the cat scampered out of the cabin.

"See, disloyal billi!" Zain smirked.

Smoothly drifted back to her after proving his point and leant down to her eye level, the line of smugness transitioning into a sweet smile as he intoned;

"But don't worry, I'm very loyal."

Iman inclined her head to the side.

"Are you now?"

His smile widened. "Aazma kay dekh lo."

"Soch lo? What if you fail?"

"Sawal hee paida nahi hota kay tum se ek pal kay liye bhi meri nazar hat jaye."

His eyes were on her face---penetrating and relentless and dark, the only darkness that illuminated her life, the only darkness she found delicious.

Stifling back the burst of glee she could feel mounting up from her fluttering heart to her throat, she quipped, "You're quite the talker."

"Acha ab baaki baatein chalte hue karte hain," he pleaded, raising his arm and bringing the Rolex tied on his wrist in the space between them, beckoning, "I'm kinda short on time."

She didn't like the sound of his statement about time but she didn't want to waste any sulking over it either so she nodded, took his hand and walked out of the cabin with him.

They climbed into his range rovers and whooshed out of the Awan residence.

Together, they rode down the fully-awake roads of Karachi pulsating with the multi-cultured crowd of locals ready to embrace the glitzy night life, the tall skyscrapers on either side illuminated with thousands of lightbulbs, sultry urban music mixing with the cold air.

Iman asked him about their destination and he told her there wasn't any, he just wanted to spend time with her. But they could go anywhere she wanted, he added the next moment.

For dinner? he proposed as they drove past a fancy chain of restaurants, to which she politely declined because she had already had it with the family. Have dessert with me then? he prodded. She agreed to that with an eager smile.

Now, here was the thing:

Zain had learned quite a few things about her in the time they had spent together.

She liked rooftops more than balconies; her favorite movie was about a banker accused of murdering his wife executing a successful prison break; she could twine her hair into the most intricate braids in seconds; but the most important thing he had learned was that his wife loved corn.

Sweet corn. Corn Salad. Creamed corn.
And right now, when he asked her what she wanted to eat, she happily told him that she wanted to have sweet corn soup.

Well, he hoped she loved his corny jokes too.

And him too, a little, maybe.

Shaking his head with a hushed chuckle, he turned the steering wheel and took her to a rooftop cafe that not only had the best winter cuisine but also offered a stunning view of the city's fluorescent skyline.

Afterward, instead of going back home, they took a walk down the street lined with lush green trees, under the night sky carved with constellations, air fragrant with the heady smell of raat ki raani, their hands entwined, steps slow but in sync―a pure feeling of bliss.

Suddenly, walking to falaq with him didn't sound bizarre to Iman. If his warm, strong hand was locked with hers, if he was by her side, she felt like she could walk to the skies and beyond.

When she looked up at the full moon shining with all its might in the sky and told Zain how mesmerizing it looked tonight, he told her not to look at it for too long.

"Why not?" she asked, flummoxed.

"Itne pyaar se dekhogi toh pighal jayega," came his response with a cheeky grin.

The moon didn't melt but she did.

During the night stroll filled with raspberry-flavored conversations, they passed by a shop with a glass front and Iman involuntarily caught a vague glimpse of the text printed on the back of his hooded sweatshirt she had on.

She asked him what was written on it.

What in the fuck you lookin at? Was the answer she received.

Then it was all about her appalling gasp, acidic glare, and a lecture on how he needed to tone down his swearing and at least keep his clothes free of profanities―all the while being wrapped in his hoodie, not taking it off even for a second.

His cute angry bird thankfully cooled down when he promised her he would do whatever she wanted and he did not waste a second in seizing back her hand that she had slipped out of his grasp in her little fit of fury.

The walk continued.

By the time they drove back home,
it was already past eleven, the nighthawks had emerged from their nests, filling the air with nocturnal songs. The moon was at its zenith and the stars glittered brighter in the cerulean-cold sky.

"Do you really have to go back?"

Iman asked as the car halted before the mighty wooden gates, looking at him with a faint pout.

The reply was instant. "I don't want to."

"I don't want you to either," she mumbled under her breath, looking down, feeling a strange sense of greed building within her. More. She wanted more time with him. More of him.

His long-drawn sigh imbued the space between them.

"Just let me finish this task. It's related to the drug cartel my unit has been working so hard to take down."

"What?" Her gaze flapped up. "You mean the one you went undercover for?" she fretted, wide-eyed, recalling the terrifying criminals tailing them along with the rain of bullets from that night. "Is it dangerous?"

"No, it's not." He shook his head calmly. "Don't worry. It's just investigation."

"Pakka?"

Zain gave her a reassuring nod, concealing the fact that he was about to march into the den of wolves soon and probably spill some blood. He didn't want to see any lines of worry on her pretty face before he left.

"I'll take your word for it," she stated with an acute edge to her voice and then heaving out a breath, added, "I should go inside no-"

He didn't let her finish the sentence and grabbed her hand, restricting her movement, beseeching, "Stay. For a minute."

"A minute?" she parroted. "Why?"

"Because in a minute, the clock will hit Twelve," he took a deliberate pause, "the day will change," the tenor of his voice lowered, slowed, "and it's gonna be..."

He pulled out a red rose from the back of the seat and presented it to her with a mellow whisper;

"Happy Valentine's Day."

"Oh my god," she mumbled, blinking in surprise, softly taking it from him.

A smile blossomed on her lips, velvety and radiant, easily bedimming the beauty of the rose in her hand.

The fleeting moments she spent admiring the flower and twirling it between her willowy fingers, he utilized them to pluck out something from the glove compartment and when she looked up again, he had a navy blue velvet box with a gold ribbon on the palm of his left hand extended towards her.

"What's that?" Curiosity shimmered in her irises.

"Open it and see."

Iman obliged, undoing the ribbon,
and as she unearthed the box, a mesmerizing pair of hoop earrings with dangling pavé of crescent moons dazzled her eyes.

Awe washed over her as she looked at the deluxe present with her mouth parted but then a thought suddenly occurred, stung her head, and made her look up at him with doleful eyes.

"Zain... I... I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? Why?" His face twisted into utter confusion, molded into dread the next second, "You don't like the earrings?

"No, they're beautiful." A forthright clarification. 

"I love them, thank you so much. It's just I..." She worried at her lower lip, a shadow of guilt crossing over her features. "I don't have anything for you. H-Honestly, I didn't even know it's Valentine's Day. I'm not good with dates."

Zain gazed at her for a long moment avidly―smiling at the fact that everything he had ever wanted was sitting right in front of him, telling him that she didn't have anything for him.

"It's alright." His palm caressed the side of her beautiful face as his lips slowly quirked into a smirk. "And I'm very good with dates. Would you like to go on a dinner date with me next?"

She leaned into his touch with a warm smile.

"I'll go anywhere with you."

His eyes burned with a promise of cosmic adventures. "Then be ready because I want to take you to so many places."

Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear―and lightly tapping her baali like he always did―he retreated his hand and then eying the velvet box she was holding, he said;

"By the way, ye earrings wo silver saree kay sath pehenna."

"Tum pehna dena," she murmured coyly.

"Kya, saree?"

A scandalized exclaim, "Zain!"

"Oh right, the earrings," he chuckled and then with a vicious, spine-tingling gleam in his eyes, "Saree toh..."

"Toh kya?" she asked with her brows pinched into a frown.

"Kuch nahi," he said with a cloak-and-dagger smile.

Lifting his gaze off her for a moment, he ran a hand through his inky locks, cleared his throat before returning to her with what seemed like a composed expression, drawling;

"Uh, you should go inside now."

Iman stared at him in mystified silence before giving him a slow, almost reluctant nod and swerved to the right side to unlock the door but something stopped her from pulling the handle and walking out.

An urge.

Her hand lingered and lingered and lingered on the handle until she pulled a deep, decisive breath instead, and turned her face, her whole body towards him.

Scooted forward in a manner so languid it seemed like a slow-mo effect in a movie and slung her arms around his shoulders, pressed her face into the crook of his neck and closed her eyes.

Iman hugged him.

An awkward, obstructed, car hug with the console in between, not letting her embrace him fully but she couldn't help it. She wanted to borrow some warmth of his skin, wanted to carry it to their room because she wouldn't be able to sleep in his arms tonight and it was going to be another cold night.

"Jaldi aana." Her lips moved across his pulse―a muffled sound―and she felt the vein in his neck throb against them. "I'll miss you."

Burrowing her feelings into his neck, she left them there to sink into his skin and unwrapped her arms, pulling back and slowly opening her eyes to his face.

The look on his face turned her heart upside down.

It was steady but also volatile; lips set in a line, hooded black irises staring right through her, flashing with something fierce, something so overwhelming that she felt herself shrink under the enormity of that look.

"Iman―"

"I-I'm going now," she announced hastily, with shallow breathing, with her heart in her mouth. "Allah Hafiz."

Before he could capture her, she unlocked the door and swiftly got out of the car, slipped through the gates and disappeared into the premises of the Awan residence.

Breathless and blushing, she climbed the stairs and drifted towards the door of her room but the moment she entered inside, she froze on the spot, her eyes went round and her mouth dropped open.

The whole room smelled of roses.

A large, opulent bouquet with hundreds of beautifully arranged red blooms surrounding an 'I' in the center incorporated with white tulips was placed on the bed―along with an array of large and small bags and gift boxes. Tucked between them was a vermilion card.

Weak-kneed, she dragged herself towards the bed, slumped down, and  picked up the card with her heart ricocheting against her ribs. 

Her silvery eyes trailed over the peculiar illustration on the front. It had a black background covered with colored pinpoints and in the center, there were spiral shapes in the shades of coral, blue and yellow, drawn in and connected in such a way that it seemed like two merging galaxies were giving each other a heart-shaped hug.

With the scene reflecting in her sparkling eyes, she opened it and it read:

To my beautiful Iman,

This day never had any significance in my life before because you weren't in it. But now I've found you and you're the most dreamy woman, wife, and Valentine ever and I'm the luckiest man in this whole massive universe because I have you.

As I am writing this, Saif is making fun of my handwriting, saying you won't be able to understand it but I know you would. You understand each and every word, right?

And you're smiling while reading this, aren't you?

Her lips stretched into such a wide grin that the corner of her mouth started hurting.

Keep that smile on your face always, it's a deadly weapon (use it on me)

P.S, I got you some exclusive stuff in Vanilla because it's your favourite.

Mine is you in Vanilla.

Yours til the end of time,
Zain

"Zain." His name was a tender rhapsody in her mouth, she could recite it again and again and again―till the end of time.

Had he left? she mused and the next second, leapt to her feet.

Holding the card in her hand, she ran towards the balcony, barefoot, halting before the iron railing with her wandering gaze and it quickly found and descended on the grey car, thankfully, still parked on the street outside the house, and her man leaning against it.

With his hands folded across his chest, ankles crossed, and head tilted upwards, his gaze was focused, fixed in her direction like he knew she was going to show up there.

It was not something to read into, not something extraordinary, but it hit her, deeply, because he hadn't called or chased her, he had simply decided to wait for her there, knowing she would come.

A small thing, really, but seemed tremendous, mattered so much to her because he knew, he understood and stayed.

Her heart swelled with an irrepressible feeling of delight that slowly engulfed her whole being and it became hard for her to contain the feeling. She wanted to vocalize it, shout it out to him, let him know that it was because of him she felt so happy.

It was all because of him.

Saving all the sentiments she felt at that moment to share with him later because she knew he had stayed long enough for her, she held his card in her left hand and raised her right to wave goodbye to him, slow and soft and tender.

Zain uncrossed his arms and waved back.

The distance between them didn't let him behold her clearly, she wasn't as close to him as she was a few minutes ago, like the beat to his heart, but he could see the rainbow-curve of her smile, could see the scarlet card she was clutching to her chest, could see the joy lining her silhouette and making her glow.

It was the most satisfying sight he could see before leaving and he wanted the same sight to greet him upon returning but from closer―a lot closer.

I love you, echoed in his heart and it had almost escaped from his mouth when she was in his car, when she had embraced him and pulled back after setting his pulse ablaze.

The crook of his neck was still warm.

He was definitely going to return the favor when he was back, a grin swam on his lips.

And he was going to complete his unfinished confession of love and was going to make sure she had nowhere to escape but his arms when he said it.

With one last look, he turned around, climbed into the car and drove back to the headquarters, leaving all the warmth and tenderness in the hands of his beloved―curling his own into rigid steel, into iron-fists, ready to wield weapons and crush the felons.

It was time to don his uniform.

It was time to attack.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/n: I know Eid is over but just like the winter season is never-ending in this book and Zain and Iman just celebrated Valentine's Day, we're gonna celebrate Eid too! :P

Guys, this is the probably the only Haider-less chapter I actually enjoyed writing (while suffering and crying blood ofcourse - that's perpetual) But I need to know what do YOU make of it so please;

*insert your thoughts here*

A sentence, a word, or even an emoji would work but lemme know your views!

Also, what do you think was the highlight of this chapter?

A) Zunyra wanting to see, "my heart is yours to crush or cradle" look in Omer's eyes.
B) Zain's disloyal billi.
C) Iman setting Zain's pulse ablaze in his car.
D) Zain's dad :P

This chapter is dedicated to Sparksofmorning who is the personification of spring, lilacs and stars and has the prettiest smile that can sweep anyone off their feet. Thank you so much for everything you do for me. I love you! 

Also, Saki is coming in the next chapter to kick Zain's ass (I'm kidding) but yeah, it's gonna be one bloody epic meeting so look forward to it!

You can follow me on Instagram @ _zinu13 for spoilers and reels and memes!

There will be no Haider-less chapter from now on! :P

See you with him in the next one.