New week new chapter, here you go!
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"Basheer, I don't think this is right," Ruksar says, clenching her fists.

"She's sick, she wants to stay here," Basheer replies.

I can't hold the grin trying to break out on my face. This is the drama I had planned for when I wanted dinner in his room. Internal fever or not, I can surely go down and eat. But, I simply chose not to. I don't like how she meddles in every little thing. She should know what she's here for.

" She can stay with me if she doesn't want to feel alone."

Basheer turns his head looking at me with cold, unflinching eyes.

Great! Now the stare meant for her is directed at me.

" I prefer staying here," I say, in all seriousness, without giving away how amused I really am.

" But, it's inappro-"

Basheer cuts her off with a look.

" It's decided. Now leave." Basheer booms, irritated at the unwelcome argument.

She doesn't say anything, only directs her unflinching gaze at me, her lips tight, the hatred palpable.

She glances one final time at Basheer before bidding him the customary goodbye and he follows suit.

I don't think either of them meant anything good in goodbye.

" Basheer, I apologize for this," I say, as if really sorry.

'. . . . I trust you'

He had said to her that day after breaking my self-respect.

I will break your 'oh so trust' on her.

" Never mind." He says, running his hand through his wild, dark mane.

"Here," he says putting one plate in front of me and other plate on the opposite side.

He places himself on the other side, taking the plate in his hands, inhaling the deep, rich aroma of biryani. A chuckle escapes me at his gesture.

" What?"

" Nothing," I reply, still smiling.

There's no table in his bedroom. Only a single chair sitting at the left corner of the room and cupboards lining the walls, the maximum space being taken by the king-sized bed in the middle. The room is bare, no photos adorning the walls, nothing I can call a showpiece.

Just some necessary things.

Dinner in bed reminds me of my hostel life. Faint memories from those days. Juggling between classes and self-study, we had no time for ourselves. But, those few days after exams when most of us stayed back to spend time together, we used to join beds, get ready with snacks and dinner and a laptop in the middle to watch the recent movie that we had missed. Recent movie meant a movie that had come out months before.

These infamous nights are the highlights of our hostel life called, ' Movie Night'.

I don't know what to make out of this. This feels so common, something so real. As if it's a normal day, two people sitting together having dinner, just missing a laptop with a movie running here.

" Why are you smiling?" Basheer asks, looking up at me for the first time from his plate of biryani.

I don't realise when a smile has taken over my face. Must be the memories that have me smiling, " Remembering college days."

"What was it like?"

"Normal. Too much of anatomy, biochemistry, medicines, surgery."

"Apart from that. Did you enjoy your college life?"

"Yeah, I did. We used to watch movies together after our last exam on laptops, all huddled together with our blankets, pillows, etc."

Is this what a light conversation feels like between two people?

Something so intangible but beautiful.

"And?" He probes.

"Others went out on movies, dates and even trips after the end of a semester."

"I asked what did you do, Nehali?" He asks emphasising on 'you'. "Did you go out on movies, dates and trips?"

"No. I . . . " Words get stuck in my throat as I really have nothing to say. Cramped up in a library, going through books, pages after pages full of Latin names, diseases I hadn't heard of, with uncountable cups of black coffee, had been the most of my college life.

Nothing about books and coffee here is romantic.

And what exhausted me was going through the same pages again and again as I haven't got a photographic memory. At times I wished I did. I felt like if I wasted a single moment now, I would let hundreds die. One mistake and people would die. How can I enjoy my time frittering it away when I know I will handle lives.

Mistakes aren't accepted in the line of my work.

" Were you a nerd?" He asks me.

Nerd? Just because I preferred books to outings and movies?

" I don't think so. I hated being cramped up in a library going through pages. I wanted to go out too. But I have a sense of responsibility. And, that's huge."

He sighs, obviously frustrated with my answers. We don't speak anymore, continuing the rest of the dinner without another word. I am glad he doesn't lecture me on how I should live my life and whatnot. My friends had already pestered me enough and at times I had wanted to listen to them. But I never gave in to that desire.

Giving in to your desires makes you weak.

And yet, you can't stop giving in to your desires when it comes to Basheer?

Are we getting weak, Nehali?

"Did you have a boyfriend?" He asks, playing with his spoon, not looking at me.

"Yeah. I was madly in love with him, and we even got engaged." I say, putting my left hand to display which is totally bare except a few scrapes.

I internally flinch at how ugly my hand looks. Small scapes from holding the ropes too tightly, to lifting up heavy guns during training and my short, ungroomed nails. How ugly!

"Is he in India? The file didn't state anything about it." He concludes, furrowing his eyebrows.

I avert my eyes from my hands, it's a lost case, "It was done in secret. No one knew about us. I lost his ring somewhere, while I was brought here."

"What's his name?" Basheer asks, this time clutching the spoon too tight for it to be normal.

Does it bother him?

His hard grey eyes point at me and somewhere there I see swirls of. . .

Vulnerability?

Why?

Enough fun with this. I snort out laughing, "Boyfriend? Fiance? My ass! I barely got 8 hours sleep. 10 hours was a novelty. "

The hard glint leaves his eyes and a mischievous glint appears in his eyes as his lips curl up to one side. It's not the usual arrogant smirk but one saying, 'You got me there, girl!'

The rare tilt of his lips, rather than his stoic face for a moment has me lost in the simplicity of the moment.

The envelope. My mind whispers.

That's why I am here. I am not here for his company.

A painful reminder to a beautiful reverie. Weirdly enough, the envelope has me pulling to it, for reasons I am not aware. Let him fall asleep. I will get to work then.

I want to ask him too, where he grew up, who were his parents and finally does he have any connection to all those deaths.

And, somewhere in a corner of my mind, I wish he has nothing to do with them.

For what?

Why do you care, if he's involved?

Certainly, he's involved.

" Basheer? "

"Mhm?"

" Did you always stay here, in Pakistan?"

" No, my family resides in the UAE." He replies almost like a robot on default.

" Where are your parents?" I wonder if I am on an unknown territory.

A strange emotion glimmers in his eyes before he masks it up, "My father happens to be a rich Sheikh in UAE. My mother died when I was a kid. I happen to a be a bastard, one that my father was unaware of until I was twenty-four." He words come out as if he has recited them a hundred times before.

Bastard child?

I imagine a vulnerable child losing his mother at such a young age and later getting to know he has a father too.

"How come you are here now?"

"When I happened to meet my father, I had finished my degree in Pharmacology. He saw the opportunity and put me into his new branch of business, his pharmaceutical company. And, it so happened to be in Pakistan."

So he's running a pharmaceutical company. That seems like a pretty good way for exporting illegal drugs in the surrounding states.

Cocaine and Heroine.

That man has mentioned. They must be into the illegal drug business as well. I wonder if the source of drugs in the recent surge of drug use in Punjab and following deaths has been their doing.

And this business must be a fund source for the budding terrorists as well.

Oh, what a business!

Drugs and budding terrorists? How many more wrong things will you do?

Why? Basheer why?

I want to confront Basheer, ask him if all these is true, but I don't want him to understand how much I know.

Can be fateful for your dear life.

Too much knowledge is often harmful.

Now, I am even more determined to see what the report entails. My eyes briefly move over to the pillow where I had hidden the key hoping he would go out and I would get the file. But he didn't leave me alone for a moment and not long after Ruksar came with dinner.

"You know I will sleep here right?" I ask him, trying to stop the onslaught of questions my mind is facing.

He nods affirmatively chewing on his food, while his eyes rake down my body. The heat is undeniable.

Sleeping together? Uhh. . . I hope it passes without any unnecessary contact.

My eyes follow his movements as he sips the shorba. Gauging his facial expressions, he doesn't smell the cough syrup I mixed, while he was away for a few moments doing his bathroom business.

Obviously, I couldn't get my hands on sleeping pills. At least the barbiturates in the syrup will pull him into a deeper sleep.

We finish our meals without another word all the while exchanging heated glances and every time my mind whispers the same question,

Did you kill them, Basheer?

Unware what discoveries my mind made at his simple words, he carries the plates down to the kitchen as we finish.

My eyes follow him until he's out of the door, as I quickly follow him to close the door behind him.

Deciding to seize the opportunity, I run to the washroom, quickly washing my hands before briskly making my way to the pillow, taking out the key and striding to the desk. I am about to extend my hand towards the keyhole. However, before I can push the key in the keyhole, the door opens behind me and my entire body freezes at the words that follow next,

" What are you doing there?"

Author's Note:

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to vote and comment.

Biryani- A mixed rice dish, where rice is mixed with spices, meat or eggs. Originally brought to India by the Mughals. A speciality of every Muslim household in India and countries as such.

Shorba - A side dish served with Biriyani.

So, do you think she's gonna get caught again?

Stay safe!♡ Thank you for reading!°•°•☆