Aashiq (5)

 

**Rafiq's POV**  

She fainted in my arms, her body limp and cold. Ignoring the shocked and hurt faces of my family, I climbed the stairs, my boots squelching through the blood-stained steps.  

“jashan katam hua,” I said quietly, but loud enough for them to hear.  

It was supposed to be a celebration—a celebration of freedom. My Dalia was finally free from her tormentor. But at what cost?  

I’ve learned a hard lesson today: never trust anyone with the ones you love. Never.  

I would die before letting anyone take her from me again. No force on this earth can separate us now.  

When I reached our room—no, ours—I gently laid her fragile body on the bed. Her pale face, the bruises peeking out from under her clothes… it broke me. I called Adil and demanded him to bring a female doctor from our camp.  

Our *mafia* camp.  

Time blurred as I sat by her side, drowning in guilt and anger. Minutes, maybe hours passed—I didn’t care. I hated myself for not protecting her, for turning a blind eye to the signs. She didn’t even tell me. Why didn’t she tell me? Or anyone? 

The doctor finally arrived and asked me to leave the room. Leave? Like hell I would.  

Turning my back to give her some privacy, I let her do her work. But I needed to know.  

“Tell me about every wound,” I said, my voice cold, each word a command.  

The doctor hesitated but then began listing them one by one.  

Her back. Bruised and cut. Many times.   

Her arm. Swollen, likely from a hard twist.  

Her thigh. Scratched, scraped raw.  

Her middle finger. Slightly Broken. 

Her scalp. Blood matted her hair where it had been pulled too hard.  

Each word was a dagger to my chest. My fists clenched so tightly my knuckles turned white. Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. 

Instead, I memorized each injury like a lesson I’d never forget. Because I would make sure the person who dared to hurt her paid for every single one of them.  

Without thinking, I slammed my fist into the wall. Once. Twice. Again and again. I wanted to feel her pain. To punish myself for failing her.  

“Rafiq, stop! Rafiq, meri jaan, bas! She needs you!” Ammi’s voice broke through my rage. Her words made me pause, but the anger simmered under my skin, refusing to leave.  

I hadn’t even realized when Ammi entered the room.  

“I failed, Ammi,” I whispered, and finally, the tears spilled over.  

Ammi sobbed and wrapped her arms around me. “No, beta. We all failed her. We are all to blame.”  

Her words only deepened my guilt.  

“Tune usse bachaya hai,” she said, her voice trembling. “Aur sirf tu hi uska dard mita sakta hai.”  

I felt a hand on my back and turned to see Dadajaan, his old eyes glistening with tears.  

“She trusted us, Rafiq,” he said hoarsely. “Her mother trusted us. And we failed her.”  

I reached for his hand, trying to steady him even though I was crumbling inside. He was right. 

Dalia’s mother had left her in our care, before peacefully passing away, believing we would protect her. And we let her down.  

The three of us stood there, facing the wall, silent and broken with guilt. We couldn’t save her from the pain she endured.  

The doctor cleared her throat, snapping me out of my thoughts. I wiped my tears hastily and turned to her, ready to do whatever it took to make this right for my Dalia.  

"Zakham bharne mein waqt lagega," the doctor began, her voice hesitant.  

I knew that already. Wounds on the body might heal with time, but a wounded heart? That takes a lifetime.  

"Kuch purane zakham bhare bhi nahi hai... blood test bhi karna hoga. Koi infection na ho, yeh check karna zaroori hai," she continued, her trembling hands holding up the test tube.  

I nodded silently, giving her permission to take Dalia's blood.  

She let out a small sigh of relief as she prepared for the test.  

"Umm... yeh kamzor bhi hai. Inke khane ka dhyan rakhna hoga. Aur yeh antibiotics aur gel cream hai zakham ke liye," she said, handing me the medicines.  

I took them without a word, my focus entirely on Dalia.  

"Woh... aapke haath—" she started, glancing at my bruised, bleeding knuckles.  

"Jaao yahan se," I cut her off sharply, not looking at her.  

She hesitated but left quietly. As soon as the door closed, I sat down on the floor beside the bed, my back against the frame. Dalia lay on her stomach, wrapped in a blanket, her fragile form now dressed in one of my soft, oversized T-shirts for comfort.  

My fingers gently brushed her hair. She didn’t stir, lost in the deep sleep that her body desperately needed.  

"Tumhe chot lagi hai, Rafiq. Doctor se check—" Ammi’s voice broke through the silence as she stepped closer.  

"Aap Dalia ke liye kuch le aayengi," I interrupted her. My tone was firm but soft. "Woh uthegi toh usse khila dunga."  

My hand continued to caress Dalia’s hair as I spoke. My wounds didn’t matter. The real pain wasn’t in my bleeding knuckles—it was in my heart, and no doctor could fix that.  

Ammi’s eyes softened. She nodded and left the room with Dadajaani, leaving me alone with the only person who mattered.  

I stayed there, guarding her, silently promising that no one would ever hurt her again.  

I waited for her to wake up, but exhaustion took over, and I drifted off.  

"A...mmmi na...hi b..ass!"  

A soft slap on my hand jolted me awake. I looked down to see Dalia turning onto her back, her face twisted in discomfort.  

"Dalia bache, nahi!" I shot up, ensuring the bed didn’t press against her wounded back.  

“Shhh, bas. Mai hoon yahan, jaan,” I whispered, patting her hair gently. She let out a soft hum, still trapped in a nightmare, and instinctively moved closer to my thigh.  

Her small movements were enough to rip open my guilt again. I was blind—a fool to not see the truth behind her lies.  

At every step, she had lied to me. And like an idiot, I believed her because I trusted her.  

"Mujhe tum par bharosa nahi," I murmured to myself, pressing a kiss to her hair before slipping into the blanket beside her.  

"Kyun?" came her soft whisper. I froze expecting her to asleep, but didn’t respond. My hand continued stroking her hair as I stared at the ceiling.  

When she didn’t get an answer, she turned her head toward me. Her cheek pressed against the pillow, and her innocent eyes searched mine.  

“Aap naraz hain mujhse,” she stated, not asked.  

“Toh kya khushiyan manau?” I snapped, unable to mask my anger. “Ki tumhe koi maar raha tha aur hume bhanak tak nahi lagi?”  

She went silent, her sniffles breaking the stillness of the room. My heart clenched, but I needed to know why. What stupid reason did she have for enduring all this without asking for help?  

“Abbu… Abbu bahut khush the unke saath,” she sniffled, her voice trembling. I knew it. I knew it would be a ridiculous reason.  

“Ammi ke jaane ke baad, woh pehli baar khush the. Ursh unka beta hai. Main Ursh se bachpan mein hi uski ammi nahi cheen na chahati thi,” she admitted, her hand hesitantly moving from my arm to my chest.  

I stayed still, refusing to react.  

“Please,” she pleaded softly, but I couldn’t find any words to reply.  

She shifted slightly on top of me. Her legs tangled with mine, resting her head on my chest. Her small arm wrapped around me, and I could feel her trembling against my blood-stained shirt.  

“Jo aurat ek masoom ko maar sakti hai, woh kal ko tumhare Abbu ko bhi maar sakti hai,” I said bluntly, the harsh truth cutting through the air.  

She froze, the weight of my words sinking in. I knew she hadn’t considered this perspective, but I also knew abusers never stopped. If it hadn’t been Dalia, it would have been her father—or worse, her own child.  

“Mujhse galti ho gayi,” she finally whispered, tears soaking into my chest.  

I let her cry, her fragile body shaking in my arms.  

“Please, mujhse baat toh karein,” she looked up at me, her big, tear-filled eyes searching for reassurance. But I didn’t hug her or reply.  

“Tum toh badi ho chuki ho, apne faisle khud hi leti ho. Tumhe meri chhupi se kya hi farak padta hai,” I said coldly, shifting as if to move away.  

“Please, please mat jaaiye,” she whispered, clinging to me with her arms and legs. Despite her light weight, her desperation put me in place.  

“Tumhe khane se koi takleef hai?” I asked, already expecting another lie.  

“Pehle meri aankhon mein dekhein,” she pleaded, her soft voice breaking me. I look down to meet her gaze.  

“Haan,” she admitted, and for a moment, I was lost in her eyes.  

Unable to resist, I cupped her delicate face and kissed her eyelids. A soft pink hue rose on her neck, and I pulled back, concerned.  

“Tum thik ho? Tumhare skin laal ho rahi hai. Doctor ko bulayein?” I asked, placing a hand on her forehead to check her temperature.  

She shook her head and buried herself deeper into my chest.  

“Dilroz mujhe bacha-kucha khana deti thi,” she began hesitantly. “Ek din maine zyada lene ki koshish ki toh usne mujhe pakad liya.”  

Her grip on me tightened as she recalled the memory.  

“Fir usne zabardasti mujhe khilaya. Saans nahi aa rahi thi mujhe. Maine ulti kar di. Tab se lagta hai, agar maine kuch khaya toh meri saans ruk jayegi,” she confessed, her voice shaking.  

My blood boiled as I made a mental note to ensure that Dilroz paid for every ounce of pain she caused Dalia.  

“Dalia, aaj tak jo bhi usne kiya, woh sab mujhe bataogi,” I said firmly.  

She looked up at me, confused. “Aap bhi unke saath woh sab karenge?”  

“Nahi,” I replied with a faint smile. Her brows furrowed.  

“Usse bhi bura,” I said darkly, watching her eyes widen in shock.  

“Woh marne ki bheekh maangegi,” I promised, and her lips trembled.  

“Aur tumhare saath bhi,” I added, stroking her hair.  

“Mai?” she asked, her voice trembling.  

I hummed sweetly.

 “Mujhse jhoot bola. Apne aap ko dard diya. Apni zindagi kisi aur ke haath mein de di tumne, Dalia.”  

I pulled her closer, her face inches from mine, and she gulped, clutching my shirt tightly.  

“Tumhare thik hote hi, apne tareeke se saja dunga. Bistar se hil bhi nahi paogi,” I warned, my voice low and firm. Her eyes filled with tears.  

“Abhi mat ro, baby. Abhi toh baatein ho rahi hain, practical hona baaki hai,” I said, caressing her cheek.  

“Aap bohot bure hain,” she muttered, trying to move away, but I pulled her back, placing a firm kiss on her forehead.  

“Woh toh main hoon,” I said smugly, settling her on the bed.  

I called Ammi to bring food for her while she stared at me, her small fists punching the pillow in frustration. I watched her mumble to herself about how bad I was, a faint smile tugging at my lips despite the anger simmering in my chest.  

When Ammi entered with the food, she placed it gently on the table, her eyes scanning me carefully.  

“I cooked this myself,” she said softly, brushing her hand over my arm. I nodded, grateful.  

“I’ll clean up first,” I said, glancing at the first aid kit beside the plate. My wounds had gone unnoticed, but I wasn’t concerned.  

I stepped into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly open. The soundproof walls of my room gave me no choice but to keep it open. I couldn’t trust anyone—not even Ammi—with Dalia’s safety.  

The sight of dried blood streaked across my hands and shirt boiled me in anger. As the water ran over my hands, washing away the evidence, I felt no relief. Only a burning need for vengeance remained.  

I hurriedly changed into a loose T-shirt and trousers, stepping out to find Ammi feeding Dalia. She sat propped against the pillows, her head tilted slightly as she laughed softly at something Ammi said.  

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, her smile was genuine, even if it was faint.  

I joined them, sitting beside Dalia as Ammi handed me the plate. I took it without a word, focusing on the medicines.  

Ammi left after feeding her and blessings her with a kiss on her head. 

“Dawai pehle,” I said firmly, taking out her antibiotics and holding them up to her. She pouted slightly but complied, gulping them down with water.  

I reached for the gel cream, knowing she wouldn’t willingly let me apply it. My hand slipped beneath her T-shirt, and she jumped back, glaring at me.  

“Yeh kya kar rahe hain aap!?” she whisper-yelled, her cheeks flushing red.  

“Gel lagana hai,” I said flatly.  

“Mai laga lungi!” she protested, reaching for the cream.  

“Tumhare haath peech hai kya jo laga logi?” I mocked, raising a brow.  

“Chup. Idhar aao, Dalia,” I warned, and though she tried to protest, she eventually followed, dragging her butt as I guided her to lie down on her stomach.  

I pulled the T-shirt up gently, exposing her back. My jaw clenched at the sight—some old scars etched into her soft, pale skin, and fresh ones still red and raw.  

She turned her face away, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the middle of her back.  

“You’re beautiful, Dalia,” I whispered, and her body shuddered under my touch.  

“Dilroz kehti thi ki main badsurat hoon,” she murmured, her voice breaking.  

Anger flared in me, and I instinctively spanked her ass lightly that was covered in blue panties under blanket. 

“Kyuu mara!?” she exclaimed, looking back at me with wide eyes.  

“Taaki tumhe yaad rahe ki meri Dalia ko aisa kuch kehne ka haq kisi ko nahi,” I said, my tone firm but softening as I applied the ointment carefully to her wounds.  

“Meri Dalia sabse sundar hai,” I added, and for the first time, she giggled—a sound that soothed the storm within me.  

I finished tending to her wounds and adjusted her T-shirt before covering her with the blanket.  

“You should eat something too,” she mumbled sleepily, her heavy eyelids fluttering shut.

"And dawai bhi laga lo." Ammi must have told her about my wounds.  

Her medicine had high dosage to make her sleepy. I stayed by her side, brushing her hair softly until she drifted off. Her breathing evened out, and I sighed, rising to my feet.  

Locking the door and taking the exclusive key to my room, I walked out.  

The night was silent as I descended to the basement, there only I, Zaid and Adil were allowed, no one else from family. 

Everything here was soundproof and dark. Because What happened in the basement stayed in the basement.  

Adil and Zaid met me in the camera room, and I immediately noticed two fierce-looking dogs with them. They looked like living danger, their sharp eyes scanning the surroundings and keep teeth sharp pointing out. 

"Zinda hai?" I asked, cutting straight to the point.  

Zaid motioned towards the screen, and I followed his gesture. There she was, lying on the floor, her body trembling but still breathing.  

"Ab tak toh hai. Aage ka pata nahi," Zaid replied, glancing at me knowingly. 

He understood the fire burning in my veins.  

Dalia's terrified face, her wounds, and her restless nightmares flashed before my eyes. The fury that had gone for a brief moment surged back in veins like lava.  

"Doctors ko bulao. Marni nahi chahiye," I said coldly. 

"Kitne?" Adil asked hesitantly.  

I smirked in response, my lips curling with malicious intent. 

"Tumhare kutto ne khaana toh nahi khaya na? Dawat deni hai inhe," I answered, my voice laced with mockery.  

Adil sighed, understanding exactly what was about to unfold. I grabbed the leashes of the dogs and walked down the hallway to the room where she was lying.  

The moment I entered, her head snapped up. Her expression twisted into a blend of fear and anger as she cried out, "Na..wab! Naw..ab! Ma..afi!" She crawled forward, attempting to touch my feet.  

But there was no remorse in her eyes—just the cunning of a cornered snake.  

"Maafi unhe di jaati hai jo layak ho, jo tum nahi ho," I spat, my voice cold and unwavering.  

The dogs barked, their growls echoing in the room as she scrambled back in terror.  

"Tum dono mar jao jake jharnum mei!" she screamed, venom dripping from her words. She cursed me and Dalia.  

"Hum toh chale jayenge jharnum me," I replied calmly, patting heads of dogs. 

 "Par tum? Tum toh yahi tadapogi. Issi zameen par jab tak Dalia ke dard ka insaaf nahi kar leta mai."  

Her eyes widened, her fake behaviour melting away as she understood my anger. 

"Suna hai tum Dalia ko khaana nahi deti thi?" I asked, stroking the heads of the dogs. Their ears perked up at my touch.  

I unleashed them, but they remained by my side, waiting for my command.  

"Par mai... mai itna bujdil nahi," I said, smirking. 

"Toh inn pyare kutto ke liye aaj tum khaana ho."  

She screamed my name, her voice laced with terror, but it was too late. The dogs lunged at her, their feral instincts taking over.  

I turned my back to the gruesome scene, smirking as I stepped out of the room and locked the door behind me. Her shrill screams echoed in the hallway, music to my ears.  

Outside, the team of doctors I had summoned waited silently.  

"Jab tak mai order na doon, marne mat dena," I instructed, my tone icy and resolute. They nodded, understanding their role in this twisted revenge. 

Every day, I would return to her once she regained consciousness. And every day, her torment would begin anew.  

I would burn the skin from her hands, the same hands that dared to harm my jaan. Let her feel the pain she inflicted on Dalia.  

Once her wounds began to heal, I would tear them open again—burning, cutting, and crushing until she understood what real suffering was.  

I knew I had become a monster, a creature of pure vengeance. But for Dalia, I would embrace that darkness.  

No one hurts her and walks free.  

No one.  

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