Mulaqat (2)

 

Zaid’s POV

The morning arrived with an unexpected surprise for me. 

Last night, I had exercised my control over this delicate beauty and slept in her room. 

Her warm breath brushed against my bare chest as she lay over me, her petite frame curled against mine, softly snoring in her deep slumber. 

I enjoyed the peaceful moments, taking slow, measured breaths so as not to disturb her. A quiet chuckle escaped me, remembering her shyly calling me “Wazir Sahib.” 

For the first time, I felt a strange sense of pride in my position as a politician—she saw me as a powerful wazir.

As much as I wished I could stay there, enveloped in this quiet intimacy forever, I had duties to attend. 

Slowly, I shifted her delicate body, carefully placing her back on her small cot. She clutched my hand like a child in her sleep, making my heart stir. 

I bent down, pressing a gentle kiss to her soft fingers, and tucked her in, covering her with the threadbare duvet. 

When I pressed a kiss to her forehead, she let out a soft, contented sigh, sinking deeper into her dreams.

I dressed quietly, slipping back into my clothes, and stepped out of the small servant quarters. The early morning air felt crisp as I dialed a number.

"Kaun hai bey, savere savere?" a groggy, irritated voice answered.

"Tera baap. Aaj ke aaj hi naukar ke kamron ke bistar badal diye jaye, warna khud Yamraj ban ke aunga tere liye," I said sternly, hearing the panic on the other side before I hung up.

On my way back to my quarters, I caught sight of Rafiq emerging from my cousin’s room. 

We stood for a moment, eyeing each other in a shared, silent understanding. We were both trapped by our desires.

Without a word, we went our separate ways. Once in my room, I bathed, taking extra care to dress well—slipping into a fine, white satin kurta that clung to my broad shoulders, the smooth fabric shimmering in the light.

 I splashed on an expensive perfume, its heady scent filling the room, and carefully trimmed my beard to perfection.

The family gathered for breakfast soon after. The sprawling wooden dining table groaned under the weight of traditional platters. Ammi, ever the nurturer, ladled more food onto Adil’s plate.

"Aur khao Adil beta, kitne kamzor ho gaye ho," she fussed, piling spoonfuls of nihari and kebabs onto his plate. 

Adil sighed, visibly stuffed, while I shook my head and quietly ate, my thoughts elsewhere, waiting for a particular cup of chai.

“Rafiq, Zaid,” came the deep voice of Bade Abbu from the head of the table, and immediately, the room fell silent.

“Kal ka jashan sabko pasand aaya,” he said calmly, his tone authoritative as always.

“Shukriya, Bade Abbu,” I replied with due respect.

“Shukriya, Abbu,” Rafiq echoed, but my attention was distracted by something under the table—Rafiq’s hand clasping Dalia’s, as she quietly tried to pull her fingers free. Rafiq’s boldness and possessiveness knew no bounds. I sighed inwardly.

“Itna shandaar karyakram dekh kar, tum dono ke liye kai rishte aaye hain,” Bade Abbu dropped the bomb just as I caught a whiff of familiar jasmine and heard the soft tinkle of anklets behind me.

"Chai," her soft voice reached me as she placed my cup in front of me.

“Shukriya,” I murmured, my fingers brushing against hers in a deliberate caress. Her eyes finally met mine, and she offered a soft, shy smile.

“Aur isliye humne Zaid ka rishta taiye kar diya hai,” Bade Abbu’s voice shattered the moment, and the cup fell from my hand, crashing at her feet.

She gasped, and in a swift movement, I pulled her away from the shattered glass. 

“Zaid!” Ammi rushed over, checking if I was hurt, but my focus remained on Fiza. 

She looked both startled and… heartbroken.

“Andar jao, Fiza,” I said in a firm but low voice, trying not to raise my tone. 

She hesitated, but before I could say more, Ammi interjected.

“Dekhti nahi ho ladki! Mere bete ko chot lag jaati!” Ammi scolded, and I felt my temper rising. 

"Mai saaf kar deti hu" Fiza bent down to clean up the broken pieces with her bare hands.

“Fiza!” I barked, grabbing her wrist firmly, “andar jaao humne kaha" 

She looked at me with wide eyes, nodded reluctantly, and walked away slowly, her footsteps light as ever.

“Kya hua, Zaid?” Bade Abbu’s voice brought me back to the room. 

He was watching me closely, his calm demeanor never faltering. 

“Humara faisla pasand nahi aaya tumhe?” he asked, taking another bite of his meal.

Before I could answer, Ammi cut in. “Nahi, hume nahi lagta aisa kuch hoga. Zaid toh hamesha aapki hi sunta hai.”

My Abbu raised a hand. “Zaid ko bhi bolne do, Sufna.” 

His voice carried the weight of authority that silenced everyone.

Rafiq clapped me on the back. “Han, Zaid. Yeh tumhara faisla hai.”

Adil gave me a nod of support, but I felt suffocated. No one defied Bade Abbu, not in this house. 

Normally, I would’ve nodded in agreement, gone along with the family’s wishes. 

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her—Fiza—peeking from behind the haveli pillar, her fragile figure barely concealed, her expression hidden but her presence undeniable.

"Hume manzoor hai Bhaijaa—" my ammi tried 

"Mujhe manzoor nahi hai, Bade Abbu," I cut in, my voice firm.

The shock rippled through the room. Bade Abbu, ever composed, merely hummed and nodded.

"Zaid! Apne bade abbu ki baat mano" ammi held my arm and threaten me. 

“Nahi, ammi. I can’t agree with this decision,” I said, my resolve hardening, knowing I was walking into unknown territory.

“Thik hai, Zaid. Sab ab nashta karein,” Bade Abbu said, calmly continuing his meal as if nothing had happened.

Anisa, stuffing her mouth with paratha, chirped in, “Bhaijaan, jaldi chalein, hume college jaana hai.”

“Aaj nahi ja paunga. Tum Adil ke saath jao,” I replied, making her choke on her food. 

"Badtameez ladki! Dheere se bolo!" 

Ammi scolded, but Adil was already at her side, pulling her ear to stop her coughing as Badi Ammi lovingly handed her water.

As I stood to leave for the day, Bade Abbu’s voice stopped me. 

“Aaj Karachi party ka leader aa raha hai." I nodded 

"Mehfuz rahna.”

I nodded, aware of the dangers that lay ahead. 

But why would I fear? Rafiq, ever the mafia Don, smirked in anticipation, clearly itching for a fight. 

I knew he welcomed the chance for a fight, especially one involving guns and blood. 

I shook my head at his enthusiasm and walked out, but not before meeting the one who truly held my thoughts—the hardworking, petite girl who had stolen my peace.

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Fiza's POV

The morning sun filtered through the small window of the servant quarters, waking me gently. 

As I stirred, I reached out instinctively, but my hand fell on the cold, empty space beside me. He was gone. 

A wave of disappointment washed over me, but I scolded myself. *Why am I even thinking about him?* This was foolish. A man like him, powerful and rich, was far beyond my reach.

I sighed and got out of bed, pushing the thoughts of him aside.

 I went about my usual morning tasks. However, when I returned to the quarters later, I was taken aback. 

The old, worn-out bedding had been replaced. The thin, hard mattresses had been swapped for something much softer, with new plush pillows and warm blankets. 

The entire room had changed—everything looked bigger, more comfortable. It was as if someone had thought about our comfort for the first time, and I couldn’t shake the suspicion that *he* had a hand in it.

Zarine aunty, usually strict and often sharp-tongued, was surprisingly kind today. 

There was an unusual softness in her tone when she handed me a cup and said, “Wazir sahib ke liye chai bana do.” I wasn’t allowed to cook for the Nawabs, of course.

 Only the trusted khansamas were permitted to prepare their meals, for security reasons. But making tea for him felt like a privilege, a secret connection between us.

As I prepared his chai, I couldn’t help but smile. I savored every moment, pouring in the spices, letting the aroma fill the small kitchen. 

When I finally brought it to him, 

The way his fingers brushed against mine as he took the cup made me feel cherished, desired even. 

His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down.

 I felt myself drowning in those deep, intense eyes, and I almost forgot who I was, what my place was. 

But just as quickly as the moment came, it was shattered when the eldest Nawab at the head of the table announced something that made my heart sink.

“Aur isliye humne Zaid ka rishta taiye kar diya hai,”

The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, suffocating me. 

My grip tightened on the chai cup, and I felt my heart shatter into a thousand pieces. *Why did I let myself feel this way?* 

I should have known better. He was a man of power, and I was just a lowly servant. There was no room for foolish dreams. 

I quickly stepped back, trying to compose myself, but I couldn’t ignore how authoritative and unbending

 Zaid was as he responded to his bade abbu. He stood tall, unwavering in his stance, his voice firm but respectful. 

The veins in his forearms tensed, his biceps flexing beneath the white kurta that stretched over his broad frame.

 It was impossible not to notice him—he commanded attention without trying.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I made my way back to the kitchen, fighting back tears.

 I threw myself into my work, kneading dough for the early lunch preparations, trying to distract myself from the chaos of my feelings.

 The repetitive action of kneading was soothing, but it couldn’t stop the ache in my heart.

Suddenly, two strong hands encircled my waist from behind.

“Ahhhh!” I let out a startled shriek, my body jerking in surprise.

“shhhh, hum hai,” a deep, familiar voice whispered in my ear.

 His breath sent shivers down my spine. It was him—Zaid. His hold was firm, possessive. 

I turned around, and our eyes locked. The intensity in his gaze was enough to make my knees weak.

“Chai bahot lazeez thi,” he said in a low, teasing voice, his lips curling into a faint smile.

I could barely find my voice. “Ji,” I stammered, feeling my cheeks flush under his gaze. 

I glanced around the kitchen, realizing we were alone. No other workers were around.

“Hamara intezaar karna. Saath mein khana khayenge,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Ek naukrani ke saath khana kyu, wazir sahib?” I asked, my voice trembling as I tried to keep a respectful distance. 

His face darkened slightly at my words, and I saw the shift in his expression.

“Khud yeh bulana band karo, Noor,” he warned, his tone low but firm.

“Par yahi hamara sach hai, aur hamari haisiyat bhi,” I said quietly, trying to step out of his arms.

 But before I could move away, his hands tightened around my waist, pulling me closer. 

He bent down, his nose brushing against mine, making my breath hitch.

“Wazir sahib,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I felt him so close, my fingers clutching the fabric of his kurta over his chest. 

His scent surrounded me, intoxicating and overwhelming.

“Tum jaise bhi ho, ab se hamari ho,” he declared, his voice soft but full of conviction. His words hit me like a jolt. 

My heart pounded, and I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know how to respond—I was too stunned, too overwhelmed.

 Then, gently, he kissed my forehead, the touch tender and filled with a kind of affection I had never felt before.

“Intezaar karna,” he whispered before pulling away slightly.

 But before he could leave, I clutched his hand, my heart aching with the weight of reality.

“Hamara meil nahi hai, wazir sahib,” I said, my voice breaking as unshed tears blurred my vision. 

My words were heavy with the painful truth of our worlds—his, full of power and privilege; mine, full of servitude and simplicity.

He looked at me with a confidence that sent a shiver down my spine. 

Without a word, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it, the touch sending a spark through me.

“Chheen lenge tumhe uss khuda se bhi hum, Fiza,” he promised, his voice firm and unyielding. 

His words weren’t just a statement—they were a vow, one that would change the course of both our lives.

I felt the weight of his promise in my heart as his words echoed in my mind. 

In that moment, all the walls I had built around myself crumbled. 

I couldn’t resist him anymore. I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around him, pressing my face into his chest. His arms tightened around me in response, holding me close.

From that day on, our relationship changed. Over the next month, we became closer than I had ever thought possible. 

Each day, we stole moments—shared glances, whispered conversations, fleeting touches when no one was looking. 

I found myself waiting eagerly for those moments when he would come to the kitchen or find me in the corridors of the haveli. 

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