Past.
Isra:15 years old.
Zorain:26 years old.
Author's POV.
A teenage girl sat on the cold floor, her sobs relentless, as if her tears would never cease. Isra Alvi. Today, she had lost her parents. Clutching her mother's lifeless hand, she whispered desperate pleas into the silence.
"Mom, please wake up. Please, Mumma, I can't live without you both," Isra begged, her voice breaking with unbearable grief.
The mourners gathered around at the funeral felt a deep pity for the fragile girl before them — so young, so shattered.
Her grandfather approached quietly and settled beside her, attempting to comfort her through her torment as she wept uncontrollably for what felt like hours.
An hour passed.
The time had come to carry the funeral procession to the gravesite, yet Isra's anguish had only intensified, spiraling beyond control.
"Mom, Dad. Please, please don't leave me. I'll die, please. Mumma, please don't go," she sobbed, her voice a mixture of despair and desperate pleading.
"Mumma, Dad." She moved as if to follow them, but before she could, her grandmother's hand gripped hers firmly, halting her motion.
Isra jerked her hand away fiercely, eyes flashing with anger as she glared at the woman who dared to touch her.
"Don't you dare to touch me," Isra hissed, her voice trembling with fury.
"They're dead now. Come to your senses and accept reality, beta," her grandmother said softly, yet with an unshakable calm that brooked no argument.
Present.
A man in his early thirties sat at the dining table, quietly beginning his meal while engaging in conversation with his grandparents. Zorain had come to visit them today — his first visit in a month. The atmosphere was peaceful, the clinking of cutlery blending with soft murmurs of family talk.
Suddenly, the calm was shattered as a tempest swept into the living room. Isra entered, her face burning with unmistakable fury. Her eyes immediately landed on her grandparents and Zorain. Without hesitation, she strode directly toward the dining area and fixed her gaze on her grandfather.
"Nanu, you hired those bodyguards for me," Isra said, attempting to mask her anger, though it trembled beneath her words.
"No, I did not," her grandfather replied calmly.
"Then when I asked,why did they say you were the one who hired them?" Isra pressed, suspicion sharp in her tone.
Before her grandfather could answer, her grandmother interrupted with quiet finality.
"I hired them for your safety," she stated firmly.
Isra shot her a glare so fierce it seemed as if she might erupt, but she restrained herself just in time.
"I have told you countless times, Mrs. Raza, do not interfere in my life," Isra said, her voice cold as ice. "And I repeat — you are nobody to me. You have no right to make any decisions or hire security on my behalf."
"I am your Nani, Isra," her grandmother replied, her voice simultaneously stern yet soft, carrying the weight of a cold resolve. "And I will make decisions for your life, because you are my daughter's daughter — precious to her, and now precious to me."
Isra let out a bitter chuckle, her contempt dripping like poison.
"Oh, really? That daughter you left to die, and then called her death 'a sacrifice for a better future.' Please, Mrs. Raza, I am not falling for your sweet talk." Her voice cracked with hatred and anger.
"Nanu, I will hire security for myself whenever I choose," Isra declared sharply, directing her words toward her grandfather, though her glare was unmistakably aimed at her grandmother. "So you can tell everyone else to stop pretending to pity or care for me, because I do not need their fake concern. I'm going to my room now."
With that, she turned sharply and walked away, leaving a heavy silence hanging in the air.
"Why don't you let her live peacefully, Sofiya?" Grandpa asked her with a stern expression.
"Whatever I'm doing is for her good, Kaif," Grandma replied in the same resolute tone.
"Really? Don't you realize that she hates you? But instead of easing the hatred in her heart for you, you're only increasing it," Grandpa gave her a hard reality check.
"Mujhe fark nahi padta ki wo mujhse nafrat karey ya pyaar, mai bas usey mehfooz dekhna chahti hoon. Akhir Zoya ki aakhri nishani hai wo, usey toh humne kho hi diya hai lekin ab mai nahi chahti ki wo bhi mushkil mein aaye," Grandma said firmly, her voice heavy with pain.
"Aur tum bhoolo mat ki wo yahi sochti hai ki uske maa-baap ke marne ke peeche tum aur Zorain hain. Aur kahi na kahi tum ho. Toh bas mai nahi chahta ki usey tum dono aur takleef do," Grandpa said, standing up from his chair before walking upstairs.
Zorain watched his grandmother's saddened face, his heart aching. He stepped forward, attempting to soothe her.
"Dadi, relax. Everything is going to be fine soon. Just don't take any stress," Zorain said gently.
"Whatever I did or am doing is for my family's good future, but nobody understands. I understand that Isra doesn't like us, but Kaif, he also thinks that somehow I was behind Zoya and Kaif's death," Grandma confessed quietly, a flicker of sorrow in her eyes.
"But I know, right? Soon they both will also understand," Zorain replied reassuringly.
"Only you understand me," Grandma said, offering a small, bittersweet smile.
Words:902.