Salar stood in his room, gazing out at the silent night beyond the window. The cool air of Khuzdar gently stirred the curtains, adding a faint movement to the stillness around him. Just then, a soft knock echoed at the door, and Mukarram Shah stepped inside. Time had weakened his body, but his eyes still held the same authority and depth of experience.
"Dada Jan, you could have called me… I would have come myself."
Mukarram Shah walked slowly into the room. Despite his age, there was still an undeniable strength in his presence. Salar, who appeared stubborn and indifferent to the world, instinctively softened in front of him. He was the only person before whom Salar Shah's pride lowered without resistance.
"Bar-khurdar… are you awake?"
His heavy yet slightly tired voice carried across the room as he placed a hand on Salar's shoulder.
"Salar… these old bones of mine no longer hold strength. You are the heir of this family… the Sardar. It is time you take responsibility. You must strengthen your business in Pakistan. You are the Sardar of Khuzdar… and our enemies are more than our friends."
A faint crease appeared on Salar's forehead.
"Who would dare, Dada Jan… to even look toward the Shahs?"
Mukarram Shah took a deep breath, his expression turning more serious.
"There is no shortage of enemies… one of them is Darab Khan. Times are changing, Salar… and we must change as well."
Salar looked away, his tone carrying quiet disinterest.
"Dada Jan, I have no interest in all this. You know I have my own setup… I stay busy with that."
For a moment, silence settled between them. Then Mukarram Shah spoke again, his voice softer this time.
"You are about to turn twenty-six… when will you marry? I wish to see my great-grandchildren."
A clear displeasure crossed Salar's face.
"Dada Jan… I don't like such things. I don't want this kind of disturbance in my life."
His tone was cold, distant—as if marriage held no importance at all. Mukarram Shah watched him quietly. He knew this wasn't just refusal… it was pride woven into his nature. Salar Shah lived life on his own terms—power, control, and freedom. Relationships, love, marriage… to him, they were chains.
---
Aizal stood in front of the mirror, giving herself one final look. She wore a simple black long frock, her dupatta draped neatly over her head. The simplicity of her appearance reflected her calm and graceful personality. Today, however, there was a special glow in her eyes—she was about to surprise her father.
The door opened softly as Musfira walked in, her expression instantly lighting up.
"Oh wow… our Madam Aizal looks beautiful today!"
Aizal smiled and hugged her warmly.
"You came… I was worried you might be late. Baba will be home any moment."
"How could I be late? It's uncle's birthday—and you planned a surprise."
Together, they moved toward the hall, where soft fairy lights shimmered gently. A cake rested neatly on the table, surrounded by flowers that filled the air with a delicate fragrance. Aizal's mother stepped out of the kitchen, smiling as she saw Musfira.
"You've come, dear… good. Aizal was getting worried."
"Aunty, everything will be perfect. Just wait and watch."
Aizal's eyes kept drifting toward the door, her heart filled with both excitement and nervous anticipation. Then, the sound of a car stopping outside broke the silence.
"Baba's here…"
The lights were dimmed instantly. The door opened… and as soon as her father stepped inside, the lights flickered back on.
"Surprise!"
For a moment, he stood there in shock. Then a smile slowly spread across his face.
"All this… for me?"
Aizal stepped forward, gently holding his hand.
"Happy Birthday, Baba…"
Laughter, warmth, and love filled the house. Yet somewhere deep within Aizal's heart, a strange, unexplainable feeling lingered… as if life was quietly preparing to take a new turn.
---
The next morning, when Salar and Zaheer asked for permission to leave, Mukarram Shah's expression hardened. He wanted Salar to stay, to face his responsibilities instead of walking away.
"Salar… responsibilities make a man strong. Running away is not the solution."
But Salar remained unchanged, his tone calm yet firm.
"Allah Hafiz, Dada Jan."
And with that, he left—walking away from the silent disappointment in his grandfather's eyes.
---
Later, Aizal and Musfira met at a restaurant, laughing and reminiscing after so long. Time passed effortlessly between light teasing and old memories. On their way back, Aizal suddenly remembered a book she needed, and they turned toward a nearby bookstore.
At the same time, in another part of the city, Zaheer asked Salar to stop the car.
"Two minutes… I just need a book."
Salar waited inside the car, but patience was never his strength. As soon as two minutes passed, he stepped out, irritation faintly visible in his expression, and walked into the store.
And then… everything stilled.
His gaze landed on her.
Aizal.
She stood near the shelves, talking softly to Musfira. Salar's steps halted instantly. Surprise flickered in his eyes, followed by a deep, unspoken silence.
Aizal felt it—the weight of someone's gaze. She looked around… and then her eyes met his.
Instant displeasure crossed her face.
Without a second thought, she turned away.
Ignoring him completely.
Zaheer noticed and smirked slightly.
"Go talk to her. She helped you… at least say thanks."
Salar's lips curved faintly.
"So… this is the one who had the audacity to slap me."
Aizal had already heard enough.
"He deserved it," she said calmly under her breath. "I was helping him, and he crossed the line. And even if he remembers… I don't care."
Salar heard every word.
He stepped forward.
There was something unfamiliar in his eyes—something close to restraint… or perhaps helplessness. Yet his signature smile remained.
He stopped right in front of her.
"Thanks… but it seems you're still inexperienced at bandaging."
Aizal looked straight into his eyes, unflinching.
"Inexperienced? I helped you. And the bandage was perfectly fine."
There was no softness in her tone—only quiet dignity.
For a moment, Salar said nothing. Just watched her.
Zaheer stepped in to ease the tension.
"We should at least know the name of the person who helped us."
A brief pause.
"Aizal."
"Nice name. I'm Zaheer… and this is Salar."
"And your name?
For a brief second, his eyes met hers.
There was something striking about her—those deep, sharp eyes held a quiet intensity that caught him off guard.
Almost involuntarily, his gaze lingered.
Musfira, however, immediately frowned and shot him an annoyed glare.
As if clearly warning him to look away.
A faint, almost amused smile appeared on Zaheer's lips at her reaction.
"Musfira."she replied curtly.
"Nice name," Zaheer said, still holding that subtle smile.
"No need for thanks," Aizal added, her tone indifferent. "I only did what I could—as a human."
Salar didn't respond.
He only repeated her name silently in his mind.
*Aizal.*
Zaheer extended his card.
"If you ever need anything…"
"I won't."
"Still… keep it."
After a brief hesitation, she took it and slipped it into her bag without even looking.
"We're getting late."
And just like that, she turned and walked away.
Salar's gaze followed her… lingering until she disappeared beyond the door.
"Shall we?" Zaheer said with a knowing smile.
Salar took a slow breath.
"Hm."
They walked out of the store.
For now, their paths had separated…
But fate—
was far from finished with them.
---
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