The morning sun kissed my room with soft warmth, its rays slipping through the lace curtains and sketching delicate patterns across the bed. Humming under my breath, I worked on a tune that had been stuck in my head since Ammi's last cooking session. Her melodies always stayed with me, as if clinging to the air long after she stopped singing.

I adjusted my dupatta over my shoulder and leaned closer to the mirror. A stray lock of hair insisted on escaping its place, and I glared at it as if that would help. Huffing, I tucked it behind my ear, the small rebellion dealt with for now. My earrings sat waiting on the table, gleaming in the sunlight. I reached for the first one, turning it in my fingers before slipping it through my ear.

"Beta ji, plumber aaye to darwaza khol dena. Aunty ka phone hai, thodi der baat karke aayi," Ammi's voice floated over the clatter of pots from the kitchen.

"Thik hai, Ammi," I called back, fastening the clasp with a faint click. Then, almost automatically, I asked, "Abbu kahaan hain?"

"Walk pe gaye hain," came her distracted reply.

The second earring proved more stubborn. I fumbled with it, the tiny clasp refusing to align. A knock at the door startled me just as I was about to give up. "Ek minute!" I shouted, grabbing my dupatta and slinging it over my shoulder. The earring dangled loosely, but there was no time to fix it.

I jogged to the door, tugging at my dupatta to cover properly, and yanked it open without thinking. "Aap plumber hain na?" I began, the words spilling out. "Woh kitchen ka pipe kharab hai, aap check kar lijiye—"

Silence.

My gaze, still halfway toward the ground, trailed upward—and froze.

It wasn't the middle-aged plumber standing there with a toolbox and tired eyes. It was a man in a sharp black suit, his shoulders broad and his frame commanding in a way that made the air around him feel heavier. His gaze caught mine, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. Crimson Red eyes, intense and searching, held me captive. He looked at me like I was the answer to a question he'd spent years asking.

"Zara," he murmured, the word slipping from his lips as though it belonged there.

A jolt shot through me. "Zara?" I blinked, my mind scrambling. "Oh... aap Zara se milne aaye hain? Woh... jo hamare neighbor hain, unka naam Zara hai na? Par woh ghar par nahi hain. Maine suna tha ki woh abhi bahar hain."

The words tumbled out in a rush, a nervous stream I couldn't stop. My heart raced, the weight of his gaze pressing against my chest. I barely noticed the tug on my earlobe until the loose earring slipped free and fell.

It spun in the air, a glint of silver catching the sunlight. Before I could react, his hand darted out, catching it effortlessly.

"Yeh," he said softly, holding the delicate piece between his fingers as though it were made of glass.

My breath hitched. I reached out, my fingers brushing his as I took the earring back. The contact sent a strange shiver through me, a sensation that lingered as I fumbled to refasten it. "Shukriya," I managed to mumble, my voice barely steady.

When I looked up again, he had already stepped back.

"Accha... thik hai," he said, his tone carrying something I couldn't place—something raw and unfinished.

I wanted to ask who he was, why he'd looked at me like that, but he was already turning away. The sleek black car parked near the curb caught my eye as he slid inside, his movements as smooth as his presence had been abrupt.

I stood there, staring at the empty street long after the car disappeared. The faint trace of his cologne lingered, rich and unfamiliar, teasing a strange ache I didn't know how to name.

The silence that followed was heavy, almost accusing. Shaking my head, I closed the door and leaned against it. My hand drifted to my earring, still warm from his touch. Whatever had just happened, it was as fleeting as it was disconcerting.

And yet, as I walked back to my room, it stayed with me—like a note from a song I couldn't quite remember.

The car sped through the city, the engine's hum vibrating through my chest, but all I could hear was the echo of her voice. "Shukriya." It replayed over and over, soft, hesitant, as if she hadn't meant to sound so... vulnerable. My jaw clenched, but it didn't stop the rush of thoughts crashing through my mind.

It wasn't her. But it was.

I shook my head, trying to clear the haze. The way her hair had fallen, the way she'd looked at me—like she was seeing me for the first time. Like she didn't recognize me, and yet... there was something in her eyes. A flicker. A spark that made my heart jump in my chest. It couldn't be her. Couldn't be. But the thought wouldn't leave me.

"Yeh kaise ho sakta hai?" I whispered to myself, the words getting lost in the thrum of the car's engine.

Aftab glanced at me, his gaze sharp as he turned the volume of the stereo down, sensing the change in the air.

"Kya hua, bhai? Kon tha wahan?" His voice was casual, but I could hear the underlying curiosity.

I didn't answer immediately. The moment was still fresh, too fresh.

"Zara, whi thi pr nhi bhi thi" I muttered, my voice barely audible, but the weight of the name carried in the air.

Aftab's frown deepened. "Kya bol rahe ho, bhai? Zara thi ya Zara nahi thi?"

I took a breath, slow and measured, but the frustration that was simmering underneath came out in my words. "Zara thi wahan. Mera dil keh raha tha yeh."

Aftab was silent for a beat, processing. Then, I asked, "Maine tujhe kabhi bataya tha Zara kaisi ladki hai?"

The question pulled me back. Yeah, I'd told him. Over and over again. How she was different. How she wasn't like anyone else.

"Haan," Aftab said, leaning back into his seat. "Tomboy jaise rehti hai, wolf-cut hair, woh dark black eyes... aur hamesha mafia suit ya black kapdon mein hoti hai. Kyu?"

I nodded, my thoughts already racing ahead. "Haan. Woh hi. Abhi jo ladki thi, woh Zara jaisi lag rahi thi. Par uske baal... kaafi lambe the. Kamar tak. Aur aankhein thodi similar thi, par style? Woh kurta pehni hui thi. Pure traditional. Zara kabhi kabhi hoti thi aise, lekin kabhi bhi uske andar woh softness nahi hoti thi."

The frustration in my chest flared. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to make sense of it all. "Awaaz... itni soft thi. Zara ki toh hamesha ek commanding tone hoti thi. Kuch toh gadbad hai, Aftab."

Aftab's brow furrowed as he processed the details, his interest piqued. "Aur jab tumne 'Zara' bola, usne kya bola?"

I closed my eyes for a second, the image of her face burned into my mind—the confusion in her eyes, the way she brushed me off like I was just another stranger. "Usne bola ke woh Zara nahi, neighbor hai. Aur woh ghar... jis address ke liye hum aaye the, woh ghar nahi tha. Dusre ghar thi woh ladki."

Aftab's lips parted in surprise. "Toh kis ka ghar tha wahan?"

I didn't need to say it aloud. The realization hit me like a freight train. I leaned back in the seat, my eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. "Immad bhai wahan zaroor hain. Aur agar Immad wahan hai, toh Vikram bhi hoga."

Aftab whistled low under his breath, his mind catching up with mine. "Toh ab kya karna hai, bhai? Kya socha hai?"

The smirk that tugged at the corner of my lips wasn't one of amusement—it was pure, focused determination. I met Aftab's gaze, my eyes colder than they'd been in a long time.

"Bahut kuch," I said, my voice low, dangerous. "Tu bas dekhta ja."

Aftab nodded, the car's engine roaring to life again as he pressed down on the accelerator. The city blurred around us, the world speeding by, but my mind was elsewhere.

She hadn't been Zara. But she had been. And something wasn't right.

This wasn't just a coincidence. I could feel it deep in my bones. And I wasn't about to let it slip away.

Immad and Vikram had made their move, but they hadn't counted on me. I was getting closer. I could feel it. And this time, it would be on my terms.

Ammi stepped into the room just as I was fixing my dupatta, her curious gaze landing on me.

"Beta ji, kaun tha?" she asked casually, though her tone held a hint of interest.

I shrugged, still distracted by the strange encounter earlier. "Pata nahi, Ammi... Zara ke baare mein puch rahe the," I said, trying to piece together the oddity of it all.

"Accha," she replied thoughtfully. "Toh Immad ko bata dena. Aur haan, beta, tum café ke liye chali jao. Main yeh sab dekh loongi."

Her reassurance was steady, but something about her calmness made me hesitate. "Pakka, Ammi? Thik hai, fir main jaati hoon," I said, glancing at the clock. "Aaj late ho gayi hoon... 9 baj rahe hain."

I hurried out, but the unease from earlier lingered. As I stepped into the café, the usual buzz greeted me—a comforting hum of life. But something felt off. I couldn't shake the image of those eyes. Red. Not completely, but enough to leave an imprint in my mind.

Why did they seem so familiar? Or was it my imagination? The way he looked at me—it was intense, unsettling even. My mind kept drifting back to it, replaying the moment over and over like a stubborn song stuck on loop.

"Ma'am!" A sharp voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned to see one of the workers standing by the counter, looking apologetic.

"Ji?" I asked, blinking to refocus.

"Wo jo sir baithay hain, aapko bula rahe hain," she said, gesturing toward the seating area.

My brows furrowed. "Kya kar diya ab? Kuch gadbad hui hai? Sab theek toh hai?"

The worker shook her head quickly. "Haan, ma'am. Sab theek hai. Lekin unhone specifically aapse baat karne ko kaha hai."

I sighed, brushing off the odd feeling in my chest. "Thik hai, tum orders lo. Main baat karti hoon."

Straightening my kurta, I made my way to the table she had pointed out. His back was to me—a man dressed in a crisp black suit, his posture rigid yet commanding. Something about him screamed authority. My steps faltered as a sense of déjà vu crept in.

When he turned, I nearly stopped in my tracks.

It was him.

Mr. Dar. The name alone carried weight—a name tied to innovation, AI research, and business ventures that everyone in Turkey knew about. And now, he was here. In my café.

I quickly schooled my expression into something neutral, though my mind raced. Why was he here?

"Good afternoon, sir," I greeted politely, my voice steady despite the questions buzzing in my head. "I heard you wanted to talk to me."

He nodded once, gesturing to the seat across from him. "Yes. Please, sit."

It was my café. My space. And yet, here I was, being ordered like I was the guest. I bit back a retort, choosing instead to sit quietly, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.

He didn't waste time. "Maine yahan bas confirm karne aaya hoon kuch."

I tilted my head slightly, my curiosity piqued. "Ji, batayein."

He leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze settling on me. "Aapka naam Amara hai, na? Aur aap is café ki owner hain. Aapke bhai behen nahi hain, sirf ammi aur abbu hain. To aap zara ko kaise jnti hai?"

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden personal turn of the conversation. "Toh aap yeh seedha puch lete," I said, my voice tinged with sarcasm. "Meri janm kundli bol ke puchne zaroori tha?"

To my surprise, he chuckled—a low, measured sound. "Good humor," he remarked. "Now, can we please come to the point?"

I folded my arms, gesturing for him to continue. "Dekhiye, mujhe Zara se koi lena dena nahi hai," I said firmly. "Aaj subah bhi ek aadmi aaya tha—apke jaise dressed, bas umar kam. Maine pehle bhi kaha tha ki yeh naam mujhe Immad bhai aur Vikram dada ki wajah se pata hai. Wo kehte hain Zara unki behen hai, jo job ke liye kisi aur country mein hai. Aur mujhe isse zyada kuch nahi pata."

He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he nodded. "Okay. Thik hai. Shukriya confirm karne ke liye."

Before I could ask what this was all about, he stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and walked out, leaving me frozen in my seat.

Who was Zara? Why did her name keep surfacing in my life, tied to people like him? And why did their questions leave me feeling like I was missing a piece of a puzzle I didn't even know I was part of?

As the café buzzed around me, I sat there, staring at the empty seat across from me, my mind swirling with unanswered questions.

Amara's steps faltered as she pushed open the door, the sudden weight of eyes on her making her heart stutter. Her gaze snapped to the living room, where the familiar faces of her parents sat across from two strangers. The sight froze her in place, her breath caught in her throat.

It was them.

The man from this morning, the one who had looked at her like she was someone he'd lost. And the other—the man who had walked into her life just hours ago with the weight of a hundred unspoken words. Mr. Dar. Faris. Both of them. Here. In her house.

Her feet moved on their own, carrying her into the room, but her mind was still scrambling to catch up. What were they doing here? Why was he here again? She barely registered the fact that her parents had stopped talking, their eyes shifting between her and the men in the room.

Before she could even think of an explanation, her voice spilled out, sharp and urgent. "Aap log yahan kya kar rahe hain? Kitni baar bolu aap dono se—mein kisi Zara ko nahi jaanti!" The words tumbled from her lips, desperate and defensive, but it was as if they couldn't hear her. Or maybe, they just didn't care.

The older man—Mr. Dar—looked at her, his face soft but unreadable. The corners of his mouth lifted in a way that didn't feel reassuring. He was calm, almost too calm.

"Beta, hum yahan Zara ke liye nahi aaye," he said, his voice smooth, measured. "Hum yahan rishta lekar aaye hain... tumhare aur mere bete Faris ke liye."

Her chest tightened, the words hanging in the air like they were something impossible, something she couldn't quite wrap her mind around. Her body went rigid as she blinked, her pulse hammering in her throat.

"Kya?" she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying the chaos swirling inside her.

Before she could process his words, the younger man—the one who had haunted her thoughts since morning—stepped forward. Each movement was deliberate, a quiet storm brewing in his eyes. Faris. His gaze never left her as he closed the distance, his presence pushing against her like a heavy weight she couldn't escape.

Her feet moved back instinctively, but the world seemed to shift. He followed. With each step, the air around her thickened. The walls, the room, everything seemed to close in as he came closer—until there was nowhere left to retreat. Her back hit the cold wall, and for the first time in a long while, Amara felt small.

His voice sliced through the thick silence, low and steady, almost a murmur, but the command in it left no room for doubt. "Long time no see, baby girl," he said, each word laced with something unspoken. The words hit her like a punch, her body frozen, as her heart skipped a beat.

Her mouth opened, but the words lodged somewhere deep in her throat, as if her body refused to acknowledge what was happening. His eyes—those dark, unreadable eyes—bore into her, and she felt a shiver run through her spine, not from the cold, but from something else. Something raw.

"You're trapped now," Faris continued, his voice quieter, a smirk curving his lips. The smirk was almost cruel, but there was something in it that sent another chill down her spine. "So start talking... or else."

Amara's breath hitched. Her hands tingled, but she couldn't move. She wanted to say something—anything—to push him away, to understand what the hell was going on. But all she could do was stare up at him, her pulse racing, her thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and fear. He was too close. Too intense. Too much.

And then, for the first time, she realized just how much power he held over this moment.

Hey, beauties!

I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

I apologize for the delay;

I've been busy with exams and my schedule.

Thank you to all the readers for your support!

What do you think of the chapter?

I'd love to hear your reviews.

The further parts will be uploaded after Feb i will be uploading it on stck but slow updates due to my exams..!!