Two strangers.
One chasing revenge.
The other, the truth.
Zayn Hashmi carries grief like a weapon.
Meher walks through silence, searching for the sister she lost.
They don't know it yet—but their stories are about to crash into each other.
Because some storms don't pass.
They collide.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°^°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The office was quiet. The lights were off, and the only glow came from the moon outside the tall glass windows. The city below looked calm. Still. But inside Zayn, everything was burning.
He sat alone at his desk, holding an old photograph. It was worn at the edges. His parents smiled from it — full of life, love, and everything he had lost.
"I love you," he whispered, eyes fixed on the photo. "And I miss you so much, Mom… Dad."
He reached out and gently touched his mother's face in the picture. Then, slowly, his expression hardened.
"I will never forgive the people who did this," he said, his voice low and sharp. "I promise you… they'll suffer. I want to hear them scream."
Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Faqir burst in, breathless and pale. His shirt was half-untucked, his chest rising and falling fast.
Zayn frowned. "Why are you running like that?"
Faqir tried to catch his breath. "Sir… she's back. She came back to India."
Zayn's gaze lifted. "Who?"
"Meher Khan, sir."
Zayn stood up slowly, still holding the photo. He set it down carefully on the table. Then a smile touched his lips — small at first, but growing.
"Really?" he said, as if tasting the word.
"Yes, sir. She arrived today."
Zayn let out a quiet laugh. Not loud. Just enough to break the silence.
"Good," he said. "Now the real game begins."
He clapped his hands once. The sound echoed. Faqir looked confused, but then nodded, catching Zayn's mood.
His loyalty was strong — and when Zayn smiled like that, it meant something big was coming.
Zayn walked over to the window. The moonlight hit his face.
"Welcome back, Meher Khan," he murmured. "Let's see how strong you really are."
---Scene: Meher's Room
The room smelled faintly of lavender and old books. The curtains danced gently in the breeze, and the late evening sun cast a warm glow on the walls. Meher sat cross-legged on the bed, her face lighting up the moment Inaya stepped in.
"Finally, Inayat! You're here," Meher said, pulling her into a tight hug. "I missed you so much yrrr."
Inaya laughed, returning the hug. "Yah, same here. But what to do — you have to find your sis ASAP." Her eyes fell on a ruined dress lying in the laundry basket. "And what happened to this dress? How did it get ruined?" she asked, pointing at it.
Meher groaned. "Don't even ask. A psycho ruined it."
Inaya raised a brow. "Oh! Toh Miss Meher ka attention kisi ko mil hi gaya akhir?"
Meher rolled her eyes. "Attention nahi, nafrat. I hate him."
Inaya plopped down beside her. "What was his name BTW?"
"Not sure," Meher said, thinking back. "But I think his secretary called him something like… Zayn Hashmi?"
Inaya froze. Her mouth fell open slightly. "Are you serious? You met Zayn Hashmi? The Zayn Hashmi?"
Meher frowned. "Why? What's with his name? Koi faraar kaidi hai kya?"
Inaya stared at her like she had grown another head. "Tu sach mein idiot hai yrr. He's the CEO of Hashmi Enterprises — the fastest growing company."
"Whatever," Meher muttered with a shrug, rolling her eyes again. Then, her voice dropped. "And listen, did you find any lead about that family?"
Her smile faded a little, the weight of reality settling back on her face.
Inaya shook her head gently. "Sorry, no update yet. But I promise we'll find something soon. You just focus on yourself and your sister."
Meher sighed. "How can I focus, knowing my father ruined someone's life?"
Inaya placed a comforting hand on her arm. "It wasn't your fault. And you can't just sus your father because of something you heard as a kid."
The silence that followed was soft, but heavy. Neither of them said anything for a while — both caught in the mess of past mistakes and unanswered questions.
𝗧𝗼 𝗯𝗲 Ƈσɳƚιɳυҽԃ...
~~~~
And so begins a game where past wounds cut deep, loyalties are tested, and no one is safe from the shadows they carry. In this battle of secrets and survival, only the strongest will rise—and the rest will be lost to the storm.
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Every story hides pain and hope. Remember, "the wound is the place where the light enters you." — Rumi. It's how we face our wounds that shapes who we become.
Stay happy, take care, and keep believing in your own strength.
— The Galaxy's Eyes