HARIS'S POV

Morning sunlight crept in, slipping past the curtains and kissing my face awake. I blinked against the light, a soft smile tugging at my lips as my eyes fell on her—my chaand, my Fiza, curled up on the couch, her breathing soft and steady. Last night's chaos was still lingering in the corners of the room, but in that moment, she looked untouched by it all.

I checked the time. 7:03 a.m.

"Ugh," I muttered under my breath, rubbing a hand through my messy hair. Hangover ka to kuch karna padega.

With one last glance at her peaceful face, I slipped into my room, got freshened up, and headed downstairs. As I entered the kitchen, I paused.

Sneha di?

She was already there, standing awkwardly with a glass of water in her hand. Her shoulders were stiff, her eyes flickering to everything except me.

"Di, aap kya kar rahi hain itni subah?" I asked, raising a brow.

She gave me a half-smile, barely convincing. "Bas... paani peene aayi thi." Her voice was soft, almost too soft for her usual tone.

Something was off. But before I could question further, she was gone—slipping out of the kitchen like she never entered it.

I shook my head and sighed, opening YouTube to double-check a recipe. A quick hangover soup, nothing fancy. Just enough to get Fiza through the day. As the aroma began to fill the kitchen, I couldn't help but chuckle—Fiza and beer... yeh combination kisne socha tha?

Bowl in hand, I made my way back upstairs.

The door creaked open, and there she was—already up, standing by the mirror in a fresh kurti, brushing her hair like nothing had happened. I leaned against the doorframe, watching her.

"Soup," I said, walking over and handing her the bowl.

Her nose scrunched. "What's this?"

Before I could answer, her hand shot up to her temple. "Aghh... why does my head feel like someone danced bhangra in it?"

I smirked. Here we go.

She turned sharply, suspicion written all over her face. "Did... did something happen last night?"

I let silence linger for a beat too long, then nodded solemnly.

Her eyes widened, lips parted in horror. God, those expressions—panic, innocence, confusion—all wrapped in one. I couldn't help it. I leaned in close, almost touching her ear.

"Do you really think I'm that kind of guy?"

Her breath hitched, eyes scanning mine. I stepped back and sighed dramatically. "Come on, Fiza. I'm a doctor."

She blinked. "Toh doctor ho toh kya? At least bolo na what happened!"

I grinned. "Drink it. Hangover soup."

She gasped like I'd handed her poison. "WHAT?! Don't tell me... I actually drank?!"

I nodded. "You took the beer instead of Coke."

"Aaaaahhh!" she shrieked, burying her face in the pillow like she could hide from the memory. "How could I?!"

"Drama queen," I muttered, plopping beside her. "Just drink it. We have to leave soon."

She grumbled something unintelligible but took the bowl anyway.

Just then, my phone buzzed—Cousin Di. I answered, walking toward the balcony for a bit of privacy.

"Kaise ho, bacche?" I asked with a smile.

She turned the camera toward a young girl—frail, fragile, but smiling.

"She's okay," Di said. "Doctor says recovery's happening, but full healing... unlikely. It's affected her brain too much."

Before I could speak, the girl's smile vanished. Her eyes widened. She started pointing, screaming.

"What's wrong?!" I asked, voice rising.

Di panicked. "She's having another episode—I'll call later!" And the screen went black.

I stood frozen, heart thudding. She wasn't pointing randomly... she was pointing at someone behind me.

I turned, slowly. My eyes landed on Fiza—now standing, brushing her dupatta into place.

Fiza?

Why was the girl reacting to her?

My brain scrambled for connections. Was it her face? A memory? Something more? But before I could untangle the chaos in my head—

"It's done. Shall we leave?" she asked, pulling me back to the present.

I nodded, still lost in thought.

"Yeah," I murmured. "Let's go."

But the question stayed with me.

What did she see?

FIZA'S POV

The office building stood tall—glass, chrome, and reputation. MahiraTech Solutions wasn't just any company; it was the tech powerhouse. But what unfolded behind those polished glass doors wasn't business—it was war.

"Kidnapped?" Haris's voice sliced through the tension.

The CEO's hands trembled as she clutched a tissue. Her daughter. Taken. And not just by anyone—by the very thugs we'd been tracking. The same bastards plotting to kidnap my sister.

I felt the air shift around me, heart pounding. The pieces were falling into place too fast.

"This information..." I turned to the man beside me, my father's personal assistant—my bhaiya by all means but blood. "Are you sure?"

He nodded solemnly, eyes heavy with worry. "One hundred percent."

We calmed the panic in the room, stationed guards, secured the premises. But even as I gave orders, something tugged at my mind. A sound outside—music, bells, chants. I stepped to the window. A blur of colors and rhythm.

"What's going on?" I asked the guard stationed at the door.

"Ma'am, Navaratri season hai. Garba programs everywhere."

My heart sank. My breath caught.

No. No. No.

"Shit!" I hissed, turning abruptly.

Haris caught the panic in my voice. "What happened?"

I stared at him, the realization hitting like a wave. "Navaratri time mein... meri cousin aur main har saal garba khelne jaate hain. Same ground. Every year. It's crowded. Loud. Perfect for a kidnapping."

His eyes narrowed, piecing it together. "You know the ground?"

I nodded. "Every year. Same location."

"Then we're going," he said, already pulling out his phone.

I grabbed his arm. "You all go ahead—I'll meet you there."

Before he could object, I was already moving. I found the CEO, quickly requested her daughter's photo, studied it, committed every detail to memory. High ponytail, green bindi, silver bangles. Done.

I dashed down the steps, heart racing. Haris was already by the car.

"Let's go," I said.

He glanced at me, then down at my jeans. "Dress code. It's a Navaratri event. You need tickets."

I groaned. "Seriously?"

"Relax," he smirked, typing something on his phone. "Already sent a few men ahead. Everything's being arranged."

We arrived, changed into traditional outfits—me in a bright pink chaniya choli, dupatta flying behind me as I walked. The colors, the lights, the music—it would've been beautiful if it didn't feel like a ticking bomb.

We got there early, checked every gate, scanned every face. 6:15... 7:00... 8:30.

Nothing.

Not a glimpse of her.

I tried calling. No answer. My grip on the phone tightened. Finally, I dialed Bhaiya.

"She left an hour ago," he said.

My stomach dropped. Left? An hour ago?

I moved faster, pushing through the crowd, scanning corners, searching shadows. Then—just as I passed near the storage tents behind the ground—I heard it.

"Leave, bastard!"

I froze.

That voice. Her voice.

I didn't think. I just ran.

The tent flap rustled slightly in the wind. I slipped through a side entrance, heart in my throat. There she was—tied to a chair, wrists bruised, eyes wide. A man stood over her, knife gleaming under the single bulb swinging above.

No.

My blood boiled, everything inside me screaming. My eyes darted around. Stone. Big enough. Sharp enough. Close enough.

I picked it up, aimed, and threw.

The knife clattered to the ground. He cursed, startled. Before he could move, I flicked my gaze toward my cousin. She understood. She kicked the knife away, her legs faster than his instincts.

I launched forward.

One punch. Right across his jaw.

He stumbled.

Second hit—stomach. He swung at me, strong, but not stronger than the tricks Rhea taught me. A sharp twist of my arm, a dodge, and a knee right to his ribs.

He went down.

Breathing heavy, I knelt beside my cousin, untying her ropes. Her eyes filled with tears, relief washing over her.

"You came..." she whispered.

"Of course I did," I said, hugging her tight. "You think I'd let him touch you?"

As I led her out, I glanced once more at the guy on the ground—writhing, defeated.

Thank you, Rhea, I thought, lips curling into a smirk. You trained me for this.

And I wasn't done yet.

Author's Pov

The beats of dhol echoed under the starry sky, vibrant colors swirling across the ground as people twirled in rhythm—celebrating Navratri in its full glory. Laughter, music, lights—everything was in perfect sync.

Among them was Ruhiya, dancing carefree in her blue lehenga, the tiny silver bells at her ankle chiming softly. She moved gracefully, enjoying the night. But thirst crept up, and she stepped aside toward the water stall.

She never made it.

A rough hand clamped over her mouth. Her scream muffled, eyes wide in terror. She struggled, kicked, but the grip was too strong. She was dragged away—past the tents, behind the stage—into darkness. Into silence.

An hour passed.

She sat tied on the cold floor of the storage tent, her wrists burning from the tight ropes. But she wasn't alone.

Another girl sat beside her—older, calmer, her expression strangely composed for someone in the same terrifying situation.

"Y-you okay?" Ruhiya whispered, voice trembling.

The girl didn't reply. Silent. Focused.

Then a man stormed in and without warning, slapped her hard across the face.

Her head whipped sideways, but her voice remained firm.

"You will face karma, bastard," she spat. "Durga Maa won't spare you."

The man looked startled for a moment, then scoffed and walked away, leaving the girl half-smirking through bloodied lips.

Ruhiya stared at her, shocked by her strength.

But then... him.

Another figure entered. Ruhiya's eyes widened.

"T-Tum? Tum kya kar rahe ho yahan? Aur mujhe kyun..." her voice cracked, "kyun laya gaya hai?"

The man sneered, walking closer.

"Tere karan jail mein bnd rha... you bitchy bitch. Aur teri behen, kya naam hai uska... Haan, Fiza. Kya samajhti hai khud ko?" he spat near her foot. "Usi ko sabak sikhane, tujhko laya hu. Aa rahi hogi dhundhne tujhe. Jabki tune use dhoka diya. Phir bhi... ahh log mahan kyun bante hai?"

Tears welled in Ruhiya's eyes. "Mahan ban nahi rahe... already hai meri di. Maana dhoka diya hai... but she never stopped loving me." Her voice cracked again. "Mujhe kabhi chodna nahi chaha tha usne."

He laughed bitterly.

"Family drama hatao re. Isko bandho chair pe. Tabhi akal aayegi is kuttiya ko."

Ruhiya screamed as they tied her down. "You'll regret this! Leave , bastard!"

(in fiza pov)

"Muh band karo pehle iska!" the man snapped and turned to the other girl. "Aur tu kya bol rahi thi? Durga Maa ayegi? Huh. Fiza Muslim hai. Apni behen ko bachane ayegi. Teko nahi. Isko le jao, shift karo kahi aur."

The girl narrowed her eyes. Calm. Defiant.

"Hum dekhte hain."

Fiza stood there—eyes blazing, body tense, with cops behind her and Haris watching from a distance. Her fists clenched.

Ruhiya shouted, "Di! Wo ek aur ladki bhi hai!"

"Jaanti hoon," Fiza replied, eyes never leaving the man.

"Haris, take Ruhiya. Calm her down. Call Bhaiya. Tell him we found her," she instructed swiftly.

Haris looked uncertain. "Where are you going?"

Fiza cracked her neck slightly, stepping forward.

"CEO ki beti ko bhi toh lana hai... bhool gaye?"

And she ran.

The cops rushed in with her. The men tried to resist, but it was too late.

In the chaos, a voice rang out.

"Le aa gayi? Hindu ho chahe Muslim, insaaniyat bhi hoti hai. Now face it."

Fiza turned, stunned for a second by the strength in those words. That girl—so fierce, so unshaken.

"You..." Fiza muttered.

The bastard tried to lunge, but Fiza didn't wait. One kick straight to his chest. A blow to the jaw. The man stumbled, then collapsed under the weight of two constables.

The rest were arrested.

The girl watched, breathing heavy.

Fiza turned to her. "Hey... girly. What's your name?"

The girl wiped the blood from her lip and straightened up. "Durga."

Fiza's lips curled into a rare smile. "Must say... you've got some courage."

Durga replied with a grin, "I'm studying law."

Fiza chuckled softly. "Ahh. That explains it. Comes from here—" she pointed to Durga's head, "—and from the name itself."

Just then, Durga's mother came rushing in. She embraced her daughter tightly and turned to Fiza, eyes full of gratitude.

"Thank you. Thank you for saving her..."

Fiza only nodded. "She saved herself. We just gave backup."

Behind her, Bhaiya arrived. He ran to Ruhiya, tears falling, embracing her like he'd almost lost her forever.

Fiza stepped back. The adrenaline now replaced by exhaustion. Her arms ached. Her legs felt like stone.

That's when Haris appeared beside her.

Without a word, he held out a chilled water bottle.

She took it silently, drank.

Then he leaned in, voice low. "Wanna go out for a walk... just us?"

Fiza looked up, eyes tired... but a soft smile spread on her face.

She nodded.

And in that single nod, all the weight of the night melted just a little.

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Hey beauties! 🌸Long time no see!!

Hope you all liked the chapter! 💖

How was it?

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The next update will be soon, so stay tuned!

Until then, enjoy! ✨ Bye-bye, lovies! 😘❤️

Some Spoilers may be👇

After that wild Garba rescue, you'd think things would chill, right? Nope. Fiza's about to face something personal—a blast from the past that could change everything. Haris? Let's just say, his feelings are getting harder to hide. And Durga? Oh, she's not just a one-time hero—girl's got a deeper link to this mess than anyone saw coming. 👀

Trust me, the next chapter? Secrets. Twists. And a choice Fiza never thought she'd have to make. Stay tuned, kyunki asli game toh ab shuru hua hai. 😉