Brigadier Imran Ahmed, Zuhra's father, was a man feared and respected in equal measure. A senior officer of the Indian Army, stationed at Pune, his life revolved around discipline, duty, and sacrifice. But beneath the medals and the uniform, his deepest pride was a simple dream: that his daughter would become a doctor.
Zuhra was his first child, once the apple of his eye. Yet her growing love for music — a path he despised — had begun to erode the bond he thought unshakable. Reports had trickled to him about her stage performances in Hyderabad. Each time, he ignored them, convincing himself they were exaggerated.
Until today.
That morning, when he stepped into his office, he felt the silent smirks of fellow officers. None dared speak, but their eyes did. Moments later, his aide entered nervously, a folded newspaper trembling in his hands.
"Sir… you should see this."
Imran snatched it.
Front page:
"Daughter of Senior Army Officer Stuns Crowd in Singing Contest!"
Beneath it, a glossy picture of Zuhra — radiant in a sparkling dress, garlands of rupee notes at her feet, a smile bright enough to shame him.
For a moment, the paper blurred in his hands. His chest tightened, breath shallow. Then fury surged.
"On the stage? In costumes? While the world mocks me?"
His voice thundered through the office. He dropped into his chair, staring at her image until his vision burned.
"Doctor. I said doctor. Yet she defies me."
In seconds, his soldier's resolve snapped into action.
"Driver! Prepare the car. I'm leaving for Hyderabad. Now!"
No meeting. No explanations. No delay.
The officer the nation obeyed without question was now only a father — a father who felt betrayed.
And far away in Hyderabad, Zuhra had no idea the storm that was racing toward her.