Aashiq (3)

 

**Rafiq's pov**

The grating sound of the knife sharpening against the stone echoed through the room, matching the restless tension coiling inside me. My hands moved methodically over the blade, but the ache in my body—low, primal, and demanding—was impossible to ignore.  

The tightness beneath my sweatpants was unbearable. My cock throbbed, hard and insistent, betraying every ounce of discipline I prided myself on. And the cause of my torment? The little kitten asleep in the next room, blissfully unaware of the havoc she wreaked on me.  

“Fucking hell,” I muttered under my breath, slamming the blade onto the counter. Work wasn’t helping. Nothing could take my mind off her.  

After dinner, we’d all returned to the haveli. 

Ammi, Choti Ammi, Anisa, and Dalia had disappeared into a room for their usual chatter, leaving us men behind. I had tried to ignore her laughter, the way her voice carried down the halls like a melody meant only for me. 

But the memory of her barely touching her food at the restaurant gnawed at me. She loved to eat—she never denied it. I’d made sure the table was filled with her favorite dishes, yet she’d barely had a bite.  

Something wasn’t right. I needed to know what.  

I picked up the ancient knife my Dada Jaani had gifted me—a blade so sharp it could part flesh with a touch. Carefully, I sheathed it and tucked it into my pocket. It was a part of me, a reminder of the life I led as an underworld don, where danger was a constant companion.  

The silence in the haveli pressed against my ears as I walked down the dimly lit hallway. 

Her door creaked open under my touch, and I stepped inside, cautious not to disturb her. 

The beam of my flashlight swept over her sleeping form. Just one look, I thought. One glance would be enough to soothe the storm inside my throbbing cock. 

But the sight that greeted me shattered my resolve.  

Sweat glistened on her forehead, her features twisted in distress. Her lips moved, and broken words fell from them, haunting and fraught.  

“Nah… please… ammi… jaane do… maaf karo…”  

A nightmare.  

“Dalia?” I whispered, stepping closer. I crouched by her bedside and shook her gently. “Dalia, utho. Babydoll?”  

Her small hand swatted mine away, her body trembling even in sleep. My chest tightened at her pain, a helplessness clawing at me. Without a second thought, I slipped under the blanket and wrapped her trembling body in my arms.  

“Shhh, main yahan hoon, Babydoll,” I murmured, stroking her damp hair, my lips close to her ear. “Koi tumhe hurt nahi karega. Main hoon.”  

She clung to me like a lifeline, her tiny fists curling around my bicep as her breathing began to steady. Her soft form pressed against mine, and I felt her shivers subside under my touch.  

“It’s okay, Babydoll,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Main tumhare saath hoon. Jo bhi tumhe hurt karega, uska sar kaat dunga. Tum meri ho, sirf meri.”  

Her murmurs quieted, and then, in the softest voice, she breathed my name.  

“Rafiq will protect me…”  

The way my name fell from her lips lit a fire inside me—a dangerous, consuming need to claim her, to unwrap her clothes and pound into her hole till she screamed my name and I flood her small pussy with my cum, again and again. 

But I crushed the thought, burying it deep.  

This moment wasn’t about me. It was about her.  

I held her close, my hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. Slowly, her body relaxed completely, her breathing even and soft against my chest.  

For the first time in years, I felt at peace. I tightened my hold on her and closed my eyes, letting her presence anchor me. As her protector, her shadow, her everything—I would let no harm touch her, not even in her dreams.  

And so, with her warm breath against my skin, I drifted into sleep, cradling the only light in my dark world.  

**Dalia's pov**

The warmth was unbearable, suffocating, and far too intense for comfort. 

Half-asleep, I groaned in frustration, kicking the blanket off my body in a bid to escape the heat. Yet, something firm was lodged between my thighs, disrupting my slumber. 

Annoyed, I kicked at it harder, determined to rid myself of the disturbance, only to freeze in terror as a low grunt filled the room.  

“Babydoll! Mere baap banane ka auzar kyun tod rahi ho?”  

The voice was dark, gruff, and laced with mock irritation. It sent a jolt of panic through my body, waking me instantly. 

I shrieked in alarm, nearly tumbling off the bed in my haste to get away. But before I could hit the floor, strong, muscular arms wrapped around me, pulling me back against an unyielding chest.  

“Shhh, sambhal ke,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of amusement and something darker.  

My breath hitched as a sharp pain shot through my back. His hold, though firm, pressed against my bruises, the ones I had fought so hard to keep hidden.  

I hissed softly, my discomfort evident. His eyes narrowed, his gaze dropping to my tensed body as if sensing something was wrong. His grip loosened slightly, though his arms remained around me, holding me in place.  

“Open your eyes, Babydoll. Tum kya chhupa rahi ho?” His voice softened, a hint of curiosity and concern bleeding through his usual commanding tone.  

I shook my head stubbornly, refusing to comply. My eyes stayed tightly shut, my heart pounding in fear. He couldn’t see the marks. If he did, he would know. He would see the truth—the ugly, pitiful truth I had worked so hard to conceal.  

His lips brushed against my closed eyelids in a featherlight kiss, a gesture meant to soothe, but it only heightened my anxiety.  

“N...o,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.  

But Rafiq was nothing if not persistent. “Babydoll,” he murmured again, his tone dipping into something more dangerous, more commanding.  

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I refused to open them. What if he saw the scars? What if he looked at me with disgust? The image of Dilroz flashed in my mind, her hateful sneer and venomous words echoing in my ears.  

“Badsurat,” she had spat so many times, drilling the word into my soul until I believed it. Ugly. That’s all I was—a broken, scarred girl who didn’t deserve happiness.  

But even as I wallowed in self-loathing, a pressing question tugged at my thoughts: *What was he doing here?*  

My lashes fluttered open despite my reluctance, and the sight before me stole the breath from my lungs. His face was inches from mine, his dark, piercing eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my stomach churn.  

“Good morning, Babydoll,” he greeted with a devilish smirk, his dimple making a fleeting appearance.  

“Aap… yah...an kya kar rahe hain?” I stammered, my voice shaky and filled with a mix of confusion. 

His smirk faded, replaced by a shadowed expression that sent a shiver down my spine.

 The playful glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by something darker, something lethal.  

“Who is hurting you, Dalia?” he asked, his voice low and controlled, but the undercurrent of anger was unmistakable.  

I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. In one swift movement, he shifted us, making me sit on his chest. His large hands rubbed soothing circles on my back, though his gaze remained sharp and unyielding.  

“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice soft but firm, his fingers pausing their gentle motions.  

The name was on the tip of my tongue—Dilroz—but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Admitting it out loud would shatter the fragile facade of happiness my father clung to. It would ruin everything—his happiness, his new marriage, his son, and his desperate attempt to rebuild his life after losing my mother and our family business.  

“I’m okay,” I lied, my voice barely above a whisper.  

“Dalia,” he warned, his tone growing darker. His hands moved lower, gripping my hips firmly. 

“Please,” I begged, my voice trembling. “Nothin..g is wrong.”  

But he wasn’t convinced.  

*Spank!*  

I yelped, the sharp sting of his hand on my backside sending a jolt through my body. My cheeks burned with humiliation as I stared at him, wide-eyed.  

“You’re lying,” he growled, his hand rubbing the spot he had just struck before delivering another firm smack.  

“Sto..p it!” I protested, my voice breaking as I clutched his arm. “Yeh sahi nahi hai!”  

His lips curled into a smirk, though his eyes remained hard. 

“Sahi toh tumhara jhoot bolna bhi nahi hai, Babydoll.”  

His hands slid into my hair, gripping it gently but firmly enough to tilt my head back.

 His dark eyes bore into mine, his expression a mix of anger and determination.  

“Jisne bhi tumhe dard diya hai, uski cheekhon se iss haveli ko sajwaunga,” he vowed, his voice low and dangerous.  

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering in my chest. He meant every word, and I knew he would follow through. The thought terrified me, but it also sent a strange sense of comfort through me.  

“Aur tum…” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper as his fingers brushed against my kitty, dangerously close to the place no one had ever dared to touch. “Tumhe toh main apne bistar par bandh kar rakhunga. Paer khol ke.”  

His words left me speechless, my body frozen in shock. Before I could process his audacity, a knock at the door broke the tension.  

“Dalia, uth jao bachi. Nashta tayar hai,” Badi Ammi called from outside.  

Relief flooded me, but before I could respond, Rafiq spoke up, his voice smooth and calm. “Ji, Ammi.”  

His eyes never left mine as he scooped me up effortlessly, carrying me to the bathroom. I clung to him, too stunned to protest.  

I looked at him shocked that he replied. 

“Kya hua, Babydoll?” he teased, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Ab mujhe tumhe nahalane ke liye bhi kehna padega?”  

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I shoved him away, slamming the bathroom door shut in his face. His laughter echoed through the hallway, a sound that stayed with me long after he walked away.  

Leaning against the door, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes wide and unsure.  

I had always admired him, his strength, his charm, his unwavering respect for family. But now, my feelings were far more complicated.  

Touching my scarred arms, my smile faded. A man like Rafiq deserved someone perfect, someone whole. Not someone like me—a girl shattered by her past and marred by her scars.  

Tears welled in my eyes as I pushed the thoughts away, steeling myself for the day ahead.  

After the emotional session of the morning, I gathered myself and headed to breakfast. The dining hall was alive with laughter and chatter, the warmth of family filling every corner.  

Badi Ammi, noticed me and took it upon herself to serve me. 

“Yeh lo, bachi. Tumhare liye khaas paratha banaya hai,” she said, feeding me morsels with her own hands. I smiled weakly, trying to match the joy in the room, but the truth was, my stomach churned with unease.  

Anisa, full of youthful energy, filled the room with gossip about old friends and the latest happenings in the neighborhood. Choti Ammi chimed in, her fashion advice peppered into the conversation. 

“Dalia, tumhe apne kapdon mein thoda rang lana chahiye. Yeh udaas rang tum par suit nahi karte.”  

I nodded politely, but her words stung. She didn’t mean to hurt me, but the truth was, dull clothes were all I could afford. Even so, her enthusiasm for fashion was superb. 

Zaid Bhaijaan, ever the responsible elder brother, brought up my upcoming college admission. “Dalia, tumhare subjects mein agar koi dikkat aaye toh mujhe batana. Main help kar dunga.”  

I nodded, grateful for his support, but my mind wandered to the shopping trip they had planned for me.  

The boutique was like a treasure chest of colors and fabrics, each outfit more beautiful than the last. I ran my fingers over a particularly delicate suit, the soft fabric cool against my skin. It was stunning, but the price tag made my heart sink. I quickly pulled my hand away, convincing myself it wasn’t for me.  

“Bas teen set le loongi,” I said hesitantly, picking out the least expensive options. They still amounted to a staggering ₹30,000. My cheeks burned with shame as I thought about the cost.  

But later, as I sat in my room, I heard a knock. The guards entered, carrying bag after bag from the boutique. My eyes widened in disbelief as they placed everything I had admired on my bed.  

Among the bags was a note, handwritten and tucked delicately into the folds of a vibrant pink suit.  

"Tumhari khushiyan, meri zimmedaari.  

Apne liye nahi, mere liye inhe pehen lena.  

- Sirf Tumhara, Rafiq."

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I clutched the note to my chest. How could a man like him, so powerful and confident, see someone like me—broken, scarred, and plain?  

The rest of the day passed in the comforting company of the women of the house. We chatted, watched movies, and laughed over silly stories. For the first time in months, I felt a sense of belonging.  

That night, Rafiq returned. He slipped into my room silently, his presence filling the space.  

“You were having nightmares last night,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around me. His warmth was a balm to my weary soul.  

I looked up at him, surprised. No one had ever noticed before. Even I didn't knew that I had nightmares. 

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice barely audible.  

“Tell me about your day,” he demanded gently, his fingers brushing through my hair.  

I told him everything, my words tumbling out in a rush. His lips curled into a faint smile as he listened, his eyes never leaving mine. At some point, I drifted off, safe in the cocoon of his arms.  

The next two days were a blur of happiness. I spent time in the garden with Ali Jaan, who shared stories about my mother. “Tum apni ammi jaisi lagti ho,” he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “Woh bhi tumhari tarah thi."  

I wished I could be as fearless as she had been, but the weight of my past held me back.  

On the third morning, as we all sat for tea, a parcel arrived. Rafiq called me over, his eyes glinting with mischief. 

"Dalia" he called my name and I stood up to reach him.  

“Yeh kya hai?” I asked hesitantly.  

“Khud khol ke dekho,” he instructed, handing me a cutter.  

"Isme kya hai Bhai jaan!!? Kahi koi puppy toh nahi hai gift mei!!?" Anisa jumped on sofa amd asked excitedly. 

"Tere liye gift nahi hai jo puppy hoga. Khud toh biloti (cat) ho rakhi hai" zaid bhaijaan teased his sister and their fight started. 

With trembling hands, I opened the package, the luxurious fabric beneath my fingers taking my breath away. It was the gown I had admired during our shopping trip—a ball gown, fit for a princess. I wanted to wear it on Eid function that would be arranged on grand level by Rafiq. It costed 3 lakh rupees and even Anisa liked it. 

“Oh my God!” Anisa squealed, jumping on the sofa. “Dalia ka favorite gown! Wah, Bhaijaan, dil jeet liya aapne!”  

My eyes filled with tears as I looked at Rafiq. He was already watching me, his gaze soft yet intense.  

"Fitting issues the isliye time lag gaya. Eid ki liye yahi dress phenele na. Tumhe pasand aaya?" He asked and nodded sniffing like a child. 

"Dalia" he warned me to stop crying and wiped my tears. 

Badi ammi came and praised her son for gifting me this. 

She hugged me and hugged her too in her motherly embrace. Anisa, me and choti ammi checked the material amd whole dress. We laughed amd talked other males talked business other side. 

"Ammi" Rafiq said grabbing attention of all of us. 

"Mujhe Karachi jana hoga." My hopes shattered. He would leave again. 

'No please don't go.' 

I wanted to say.

His eyes met mine and he looked sad to leave as well. 

"Jald hi aayunga." He said looking at me and I nodded softly. 

He hugged his father and took blessings from dada jaani. I knew it must something related to underworld work. 

He came towrds me and I tried to move away but held my waist ad pull me to leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead before leaving. I tried to avoid looking at everyone. 

"Don't be sad. I will comeback soon" he said and I could only nod. 

He left with Adil bhaijaan looking lastly at me. The mood became gloomy but everyone tried to cheered me. 

The house felt emptier without him. That evening, I napped, my dreams troubled by strange visions. My mother appeared, her face streaked with tears.  

“Tumhe sukoon milega, meri Dalia,” she whispered, her words haunting me as I woke with a jolt.  

I rubbed my temples, the ache in my head intensifying. Deciding that a cup of tea might help, I ventured to the living room.  

“Anisa Behen, chai bana do,” I called out groggily. But my voice caught in my throat as my gaze landed on the figure sitting on sofa.  

Dilroz.  

Her eyes gleamed with malice, and a sinister smile twisted her lips. “Aa gayi meri bachi, Dalia,” she drawled mockingly.  

I glanced at the empty chair he usually occupied, wishing desperately that he were here. He would see her and save me. 

But he wasn’t. And I was alone.  

Panic gripped me as she strode toward me, her nails digging into my arm as she dragged me away.  

“Ab tumhare Abbu yaad kar rahe hain tumhe. Chalo, tumhare bags pack karte hain,” she said sweetly, though her tone dripped with venom.  

No one followed us, believing her facade of a caring stepmother. But I knew better.  

The moment the door closed, her mask slipped.  

“Tu sochti hai yahan khushi se rahegi? Main tujhe teri aukaat dikhati hoon,” she spat, slapping me hard across the face.  

I stumbled, falling to the floor. The sharp sting of her slap lingered as I tried to crawl away, but the cold floor offered no escape. Dilroz grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking me back with a vicious force that sent shivers down my spine.  

"Tu samajhti hai tu badi nawabzadi ban gayi hai? Yeh zindagi tere liye nahi hai!" she sneered, her eyes wild with anger. I whimpered, trying to shield myself as she threw me against the bed. Her gaze landed on the blue gown lying neatly on top of the box. 

"Yeh kya hai? Lakho ke kapde? Nawab ne tujhe yeh bhi de diya?" she hissed, waving the dress in front of my face. “Aur naukar bhi bheje tumhare liye ghar par? Kitni aukaat samajh li apni?”  

Her words cut deeper than any slap could. 

I hadn’t known about the servants or the other gifts Rafiq had sent to my father’s house. It only added fuel to her rage.  

"Teri aukaat yaad dilati hoon tujhe," she growled, throwing the gown aside and gripping my face tightly. Her nails dug into my skin as she pulled off her pointed heel.  

The sight of the sharp edge made my blood run cold. I cowered, but there was no escaping her wrath. 

And just like that, the horrors of the past five months came rushing back.  

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the pain.  

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