As the lights dimmed across the haveli, Zohaib swung a small bag over his shoulder and turned to look at her. Iraj gave him a faint, nervous nod. Together, they walked to the window of their room.

Zohaib opened it cautiously and peered outside. The backyard was empty.

He turned to her and nodded silently.

Wrapping her shawl tightly around herself, she veiled her face. Zohaib jumped out first, landing soundlessly on the ground below.

“Come,” he whispered, raising his hand to her.

“I’m scared,” she said, her voice barely audible, frozen with hesitation.

“I’m here, Iraj. Trust me.”

She took a shaky breath, placed her hand in his, and jumped. Her feet touched the earth, and she clung to his arm for support.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

She nodded, though her trembling hands betrayed her fear.

“Let’s go.” He held her hand tightly and led her—not toward the main gate, but to the side wall.

“Zohaib, why this way?” she asked, her voice full of worry.

“Shh... just come,” he said, his tone low but reassuring.

They reached the wall. Zohaib pointed to a nearby bench.

“Climb that—then onto the wall.”

Her eyes widened in alarm.

“I... I can’t climb that wall.”

Zohaib gently took her arm. “Don’t be scared, Iraj. Please. We have to do this.”

With his help, she stepped onto the bench, then climbed onto the wall. Zohaib followed quickly, and together they jumped to the other side, landing with a soft thud.

“Ouch...” she winced, holding her scraped palms. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Zohaib turned to her, gently unwrapping the shawl from her face. Her eyes glistened in the moonlight.

“You know... you're my fragile Iraj,” he said softly, brushing the dirt from her hands.

“I want nothing more than to lose myself in your eyes right now... but we have to go.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to both eyes, making her cheeks flush with a shy smile.

“Come on.” He took her hand again and led her to the car hidden in the bushes.

“Get in,” he said, opening the door.

“What if we get caught?” she asked, anxiety lacing her voice.

“Don’t you trust me?” he teased, flashing a brief smile.
“I’m his son—I know how to outsmart them.”

He started the engine and drove silently through the night. His emotions churned beneath the surface. Every turn of the road brought him closer—to his destination, and to the brother he’d sworn to protect.

After a tense half-hour, they reached the old servant house on the estate’s edge—the place where Shams had been held for weeks.

“Come.” Zohaib stepped out, Iraj close behind.

Clutching his gun and bag, he approached the door and knocked sharply.

Inside, Deen Muhammad stirred from his sleep, startled. He grabbed his rifle and approached the door.

“Who’s there?” he barked.

“Deen Muhammad,” Zohaib’s voice thundered. “Open this door right now—or I swear I’ll shoot.”

The servant froze, recognizing the voice.

“Ch... Chhote Saiyen?” he stammered.

Within seconds, the door creaked open. Zohaib stormed inside, Iraj following.

“How dare you!” Zohaib roared, landing a punch square across Deen Muhammad’s face.

“Saiyen—please—have mercy!” the old servant fell to his knees, shaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me!? Why!?” Zohaib grabbed him by the collar and shook him violently.

“I—I was afraid, Saiyen. I was following Bade Saiyen and Zulfiqar’s orders.”

“Where is Shams?” Zohaib’s voice cracked. “Take me to him. Now.”

“Ji... this way.”

The house was eerily silent, thick with dread. Iraj clutched Zohaib’s hand tightly as they followed Deen Muhammad through a dim corridor to a locked basement door.

“Open it,” Zohaib ordered.

Deen Muhammad pulled out a key and unlocked the door. The corridor below was damp and shadowy. He flipped the switch.

“He’s here, Chhote Saiyen…”

Zohaib rushed in—but froze mid-step.
Shams lay motionless on the cold floor—pale, bruised, broken.

“Shams!” Zohaib dropped to his knees, cradling his brother’s head in his lap.
Tears streamed down his face.
“What have they done to you…”

He turned, voice trembling with fury.
“Why is he like this?”

Deen Muhammad lowered his head.
“He’s been injected... repeatedly. To keep him unconscious.”

Zohaib’s jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to Shams’s frail body—sunken cheeks, blue marks on his wrists, dry lips.

“Hold on, little brother... I’m here now. I’m taking you home.”

“What?” Zohaib’s head snapped up.

Deen Muhammad hesitated.

“It was Saiyen’s order... to keep his mind intoxicated. So it would help...”

“Help what?” Zohaib’s voice was sharp, already fearing the answer.

“To make him... sign the divorce papers.”

Zohaib’s fists clenched. He turned back to Shams, shaking him.

“Shams! Wake up! I’m here!”

“Water!” he ordered. Deen Muhammad rushed off.

Zohaib looked at the time—1 a.m.
Time was running out.

“Wake up, bhai...” he whispered, gently tapping Shams’s face.

Deen returned with a jug of water. Zohaib splashed it over Shams’s face.

“More!”

Another jug. More water. This time, Shams’s hand twitched. His eyelids fluttered.

“Shams!” Zohaib called again, hope rising in his chest.

Shams’s head rolled weakly to the side. His lips barely moved.

“Wa...fa…”

A broken smile tugged at Zohaib’s lips.

“That’s it, bhai. Come back to me.”

Shams’s eyes slowly opened—blurry, dazed. He blinked several times, trying to focus.

“Shams... you okay?” Zohaib asked, brushing back his damp hair.

“...Bhai jaan?” came the faint whisper.

Zohaib let out a shaky breath.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here now.”

“My... head…” Shams winced.

“Try to sit up.” Zohaib tried to lift him, but Shams collapsed again.

“Iraj—pillow, quick.” She brought it, and Zohaib gently slid it under his head.

His heart broke at the sight—dark circles under his eyes, trembling limbs, lips cracked and dry.

“Drink some water.” Zohaib poured water into a glass and helped him sip.

“Iraj—juice, fruit.”

She opened the bag and sliced an apple quickly. Shams blinked up at her.

“Bhabhi...” he murmured. Tears spilled from his eyes.

Zohaib wiped them away.

“We’re here now. No one’s hurting you again.”

He fed him apple slices slowly, supporting him from behind.

“Feeling better?”

Shams shook his head weakly, voice raw.
“...Wafa...”

“We’ll get her back,” Zohaib promised. “But first—you recover.”

He laid Shams down gently and tucked the blanket around him.

“Sleep now,” he whispered, kissing his forehead.

Then he turned to Deen Muhammad. “Come out.”

Outside, he spoke low and cold.

“How often do you inject him?”

“Every twenty-four hours.”

“Then keep injecting him—but with this.” Zohaib handed him a pouch of new medicines.

Deen’s eyes widened.

“They’ll cleanse his system and help him recover. If anyone finds out—anyone—you’ll never see your family again. Am I clear?”

Deen Muhammad nodded, fear etched into every line of his face.

“I’ll do exactly as you say, Saiyen.”

“Good. Feed him. Keep him warm. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

With that, Zohaib and Iraj slipped out into the darkness once more.

His mind burned with one mission now:
To bring Shams back fully…
And to bring Wafa home where she belonged.

---

A/N: Assalam-o-Alaikum Readers!

How are you all?

Yes, I know this update came late—and it’s a bit shorter than usual—but I didn’t want to leave you waiting too long. The next chapter will be longer, inshaAllah!

💭 What did you think of Zohaib’s rescue?
💔 How did you feel seeing Shams in that condition?
🔥 And the hidden cruelty of Baba Saiyen—did it shock you?

Leave your votes, your love, and your comments below. They mean the world to me.

Until next time — Allah Hafiz.
Keep reading, keep loving… and never stop believing in justice.