"Woh ankaha ishq sabse bada zakhm hota hai"

~ kabir raizada

~ Author ~

Mumbai, India

The ambulance sped through the dimly lit streets of Mumbai, its siren wailing a mournful tune that echoed off the towering buildings. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension and the metallic scent of blood. Kabir lay on the stretcher, his face ashen, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. His chest rose and fell in shallow, erratic breaths, each one a laborious effort. His lips moved intermittently, forming inaudible words, but one name escaped clearly, repeatedly: "Meher... protect Meher..."

Alpha, the leader of Meher's security detail, sat rigidly beside Kabir, his usually impassive face a mask of barely contained anguish. His hands, calloused from years of service, were clenched into fists on his lap. The weight of failure bore down on him; they had sworn to protect, yet here was Kabir, gravely injured, and Meher— gone. The memory of the black, unmarked car tailing them, the sudden, violent collision, and the masked figures who had swiftly abducted Meher replayed in his mind like a torturous loop.

As the ambulance screeched to a halt outside the hospital's emergency entrance, the back doors flew open, and a team of medical professionals descended upon them. The paramedics barked rapid medical jargon, their movements a blur of practiced efficiency. Kabir was swiftly transferred onto a gurney, IV lines were inserted, and the oxygen mask was placed over his nose and mouth. Alpha tried to follow, but a firm hand on his chest halted him.

"Sir, you need to wait here," a nurse said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Frustration simmered beneath Alpha's skin, but he nodded, stepping back as the doors swung shut, leaving him standing alone in the harsh fluorescent light of the corridor.

Meanwhile, Aryan had been roused from his slumber by the urgent, staccato ringing of his phone. Squinting at the screen, he saw Alpha's name flashing insistently. His heart lurched— a call at this hour could only mean trouble.

"Sir," Alpha's voice was uncharacteristically strained, the usual steel replaced with something perilously close to panic. "Kabir Sir has been critically injured. Meher Ma'am has been taken."

"What the hell are you talking about?" he shouts on the call. "Are you high?"

But, alas, Alpha wasn't joking. "Sir, it is serious."

The words hit Aryan like a physical blow, stealing the breath from his lungs. "Where are you now?" he demanded, already throwing off his bedcovers and reaching for his clothes.

"En route to City Hospital," Alpha replied. "Kabir's in bad shape."

"I'm on my way," Aryan said, ending the call and grabbing his keys. His mind raced as he navigated the deserted streets, pushing his car to its limits. Upon arrival, he stormed into the hospital, his presence commanding attention despite the chaos.

He spotted Alpha pacing near the entrance, his usually composed demeanor frayed at the edges. Striding over, Aryan's eyes blazed with a mixture of concern and fury.

"Where is he?" Aryan demanded.

"In surgery," Alpha replied, his voice hollow. "The doctors are working on him now."

Aryan's jaw tightened. "And Meher?"

Alpha's gaze dropped to the floor. "They took her. We... we couldn't stop them."

The admission hung heavy in the air. Aryan's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white. He took a measured breath, attempting to rein in the tempest of emotions threatening to overtake him.

"How the hell did this happen?" Aryan's voice was low, dangerous.

Alpha swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. "We were on our way to the station. A black car without plates started tailing us, overtook our vehicle, and forced us off the road. Before we could react, they had already taken Meher."

Aryan's eyes narrowed, his mind working at a furious pace. "You were supposed to protect them," he said, his tone icy. "That was your one job."

Alpha flinched as if struck. "I take full responsibility," he said quietly. "We were outmaneuvered."

"Outmaneuvered?" Aryan's voice rose, drawing the attention of nearby staff and patients. "You're trained professionals! How could you let this happen?"

Alpha had no answer. The weight of his failure was a crushing burden.

Before Aryan could press further, the sharp click of boots echoed down the corridor. Ashna Mistry approached with her team, her expression a blend of concern and determination. Dressed impeccably in her official attire, she exuded an air of authority that was both reassuring and formidable.

"Aryan," she greeted, her eyes flicking between him and Alpha. "I came as soon as I heard from Meher's bodyguard Beta. What happened?"

Aryan took a steadying breath, forcing himself to focus. "Kabir and Meher were attacked on their way to see you. Kabir's in surgery. Meher's been kidnapped."

Ashna's eyes widened, the news hitting her like a physical blow. "Kidnapped? Do we have any leads?"

Aryan shook his head. "Not yet. We're working on it."

Ashna's mind raced. "Meher called me earlier," she said slowly. "She said she had crucial evidence linking the recent murders to the brothel case. She insisted on meeting in person, said it was too sensitive for the phone."

Aryan's eyes narrowed. "So she knew something was coming."

"It seems that way," Ashna agreed. "She must have uncovered something significant."

Aryan ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "We need to find her. Fast."

Ashna nodded. "I'll mobilize my team. We'll start with the scene of the attack, see if we can gather any evidence."

"Do it," Aryan said. "And keep me updated."

As Ashna turned to leave, she paused, looking back at Aryan. "When Kabir wakes up, let me know immediately. He might have information that can help us find Meher."

"I will," Aryan promised.

Left alone, Aryan sank into one of the hard plastic chairs lining the corridor. The weight of the situation pressed heavily upon him. He had always prided himself on being in control, on having the answers. But now, he felt adrift, powerless.

Hours passed in a blur of sterile hallways and the monotonous beeping of machines. Finally, a doctor approached, his face etched with exhaustion.

"Mr. Aryan?" he inquired.

Aryan stood, his heart pounding. "Yes. How is he?"

"Mr. Raizada is stable for now," the doctor said. "But he's not out of the woods yet. He suffered significant internal injuries. We've done all we can. Now, we wait."

Aryan nodded, the news a small relief amidst the chaos. "Can I see him?"

The doctor hesitated. "Only for a few minutes. He's still unconscious."

"Thank you," Aryan said, following the doctor into the dimly lit ICU.

Kabir lay motionless, a myriad of tubes and wires connected to his battered body. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only indication of life. Aryan approached the bed, his throat tightening at the sight of his friend in such a vulnerable state.

He reached out, placing a hand on Kabir's shoulder. "We're going to find her," he whispered. "I promise you.

*   *   *

It was nearing nine in the morning, and the sun had risen high over the bustling city, the golden warmth of Dussehra doing little to quell the storm that had erupted within the Mumbai Police Department. The city outside continued to hum with the energy of celebration— homes decorated with marigold garlands, Ravan effigies waiting to be set aflame, the scent of incense mingling with the crackle of sweet shops preparing festive offerings. But inside the walls of the South Bombay police headquarters, Ashna Mistry moved like a tempest unleashed.

The station was alive with activity. Officers marched briskly across hallways, phones rang off the hook, and instructions flew in every direction. But at the eye of this storm stood Ashna, unmoving yet commanding, her sharp eyes scanning the information flitting across multiple screens.

She had arrived at the precinct early, summoned by a call from Aryan Raizada, still dazed and simmering from the events that had transpired only hours ago. The news had hit her like a gut punch— Kabir Raizada was critically injured, and Meher Mathur was missing.

And Ashna knew Meher.

Knew her stubbornness, her bold curiosity, her refusal to be silenced even when the world loomed dark and heavy around her. But even Meher had her limits, and the people who had taken her... they weren't kind enough to care about those.

With her jaw clenched and adrenaline pulsing, Ashna had immediately ordered her team into full motion. The first priority was clear: locate Meher. Alive or dead, whatever it took.

"Start with the CCTV coverage," she barked to one of the junior officers. "I want all footage pulled from traffic cameras near the Santacruz flyover and the expressway connecting to the Eastern Freeway. Start timestamping from 6:30 AM to 7:30 AM. Narrow it to black SUVs—two, one tailing the car and another one which caused the accident."

"Already on it, ma'am," the officer responded and rushed off.

Another set of officers had been dispatched directly to the accident site. Ashna didn't wait for their reports— she followed.

By the time she arrived at the location, the police barricades were already in place. The area was cordoned off, and the wreckage of the car lay there like a burnt offering to fate— its front crumpled, the engine exposed like a mangled beast, windows shattered, and streaks of blood smeared across what remained of the seats. Smoke no longer rose from the body of the vehicle, but the stench of burnt rubber and gasoline still clung to the air, heavy and metallic.

But there was no sign of the car which caused the accident.

Very smart, indeed.

Ashna approached slowly, her boots crunching over shards of glass and gravel. Her sharp gaze moved over every detail— the angle of the impact, the pattern of skid marks on the road, the trail of oil that led further up to where the other vehicle must have rammed into them. It was a deliberate hit.

A professional job.

She didn't want to admit it, but the thought pierced through her gut like a cold knife— if Meher had been inside this wreckage, her chances of survival were slim. Yet, no body had been found at the scene. No traces of Meher except for a faint blood trail on the backseat's left corner.

Ashna ducked beneath the police tape and stepped closer, pushing open the rear door. It creaked on damaged hinges. Her eyes scanned the interior, absorbing every inch of its ruined state. Among the debris and ash, something metallic glinted faintly under the broken center console.

She reached in and pulled it out. It was a smartphone— badly cracked, but not completely destroyed.

"Ma'am!" called one of the forensic officers, approaching her.

Ashna held up the phone. "This was under the seat."

The man nodded. "Looks like it belonged to the passenger. We haven't found anything else electronic. No bags, no purses. Just this."

Ashna clicked the power button. To her surprise, the phone lit up. The screen was fractured but functional. The wallpaper— a photo of Kabir and Meher on what looked like a beach— stared back at her.

Kabir's phone.

She vaguely remembered it from the day at the station when he had barged into her cabin after the brothel incident. It was unmistakably his. But if Kabir's phone was here, then what about Meher's?

The thought struck her hard, and she turned around, eyes narrowed.

"Wait," she muttered aloud.

One of the junior detectives glanced at her. "Ma'am?"

Ashna barely heard him. She was mentally racing through events in her head— trying to recall every briefing, every conversation she'd had with Kabir in the last few weeks. And then it clicked. The brothel raid. Kabir had called to her privately a few days after the incident, asking, no, pleading that Meher's phone location be continuously monitored, just in case.

"She has her phone," Ashna said slowly, thinking aloud now. "She always kept it on her after the brothel incident... It was part of her safety protocol."

The junior detective tilted his head. "So you think... she still has it?"

"If they didn't take it," Ashna replied. "If they weren't smart enough to shut it down or ditch it... we can trace her."

It was a fragile hope— something to cling to in the midst of bloodied wreckage and unanswered questions— but it was something. Her breath caught for a moment, and she turned sharply on her heel.

"Back to the precinct," she ordered. "I want access to the live tracking system we set up. If her phone's still active, we'll find her."

As she strode back toward her car, the thoughts in her head were already spiraling.

Was Meher still alive? If so, what state was she in? And who had taken her?

Meher had been on the cusp of something. She had said it herself— she had something to reveal. Something she couldn't say over the phone. That kind of secrecy didn't come without danger. And now, here they were. Blood on the road. A girl missing. And a phone that might hold the last thread of hope they had.

Ashna clutched Kabir's phone tightly in her hand, her knuckles pale. She couldn't fail this time. Couldn't allow another person to vanish into the abyss of silence and power.

Because this wasn't just about Meher anymore.

This was about every girl who had suffered in the shadows. Every name buried in files, every voice smothered under money and influence. This was about justice long denied.

And Ashna Mistry was done waiting.

*   *   *

In the depths of unconsciousness, Kabir found himself adrift in a dreamscape so vivid, it felt more real than any waking moment. The chaos and violence that had led him here were forgotten; in this realm, there was only Meher and him, cocooned in a world of their own creation.

They were in their penthouse, a sanctuary perched high above the city's relentless pace. The expansive windows invited the golden hues of the setting sun to spill into their living room, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the walls. The air was imbued with the comforting aroma of jasmine and sandalwood, fragrances that Meher adored and had meticulously chosen for their home.

Their days unfolded like a series of intimate vignettes, each moment steeped in the profound simplicity of shared existence. One afternoon, they decided to recreate their first date. Kabir remembered how nervous he had been back then, his palms sweaty, his heart racing. Now, as they set up a picnic on their living room floor, those initial jitters had transformed into a deep-seated comfort. They laid out a spread of cheeses, fruits, and a bottle of the wine they had shared that night. As they fed each other morsels, their laughter echoed, bridging the gap between past and present.

In the evenings, they often retreated to their balcony, an oasis adorned with fairy lights that cast a soft, ethereal glow. The city stretched out before them, a tapestry of twinkling lights and distant sounds. Wrapped in a shared blanket, they would sit for hours, the world outside fading as they delved into conversations both profound and whimsical. They spoke of dreams yet to be realized, of places they yearned to explore together. Meher's eyes would light up as she described her desire to visit the vineyards of Tuscany, to taste wines crafted with passion and tradition. Kabir, in turn, spoke of his wish to see the Northern Lights, to stand beneath the celestial dance of colors with her by his side.

One particular night, the air was thick with the promise of rain. The distant rumble of thunder played like a symphony in the background. They stood by the railing, the wind teasing Meher's hair into a wild halo around her face. Kabir reached out, tucking a stray strand behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her skin.

"Meher," he began, his voice a gentle tremor, "do you ever think about the future? About us?"

She turned to him, her eyes searching his, a myriad of emotions flickering within their depths. "All the time," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

He took a deep breath, the weight of his feelings pressing against his chest. "I love you, Meher."

The words hung between them, a delicate bridge spanning the chasm of unspoken sentiments. Meher's eyes softened, a tender smile gracing her lips. She didn't respond with words; instead, she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him, her head resting against his chest. The rhythmic cadence of his heartbeat was a lullaby, grounding her in the moment.

Kabir tightened his embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. A lone tear escaped, tracing a path down his cheek. In this dream, he had voiced the truth his heart had long known. Yet, in the waking world, that confession remained unspoken, a sentiment yet to be set free.

Their nights were often filled with simple pleasures. They would cook together, turning mundane tasks into playful endeavors. Flour fights became a common occurrence, their laughter ringing out as they attempted to bake bread or craft the perfect pasta. Meher would often playfully scold Kabir for his lack of culinary skills, only to be silenced by a stolen kiss, the taste of sugar lingering between them.

On weekends, they transformed their living room into a dance floor. Kabir would put on a record, the soulful strains of old jazz filling the space. They would sway together, bodies pressed close, moving in harmony to the music. It didn't matter that Kabir often stepped on her toes or that their rhythm was occasionally offbeat. What mattered was the connection, the unspoken understanding that flowed between them.

As the dream wove its tapestry of memories and desires, Kabir became acutely aware of the depth of his feelings for Meher. Each shared glance, each touch, each moment of shared silence spoke volumes of a love that was both profound and transformative.

But even in this idyllic dreamscape, a shadow loomed. The realization that this was but a dream, that their reality was fraught with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, cast a pall over the serene scenes. The tear that had escaped was not just for the confession left unspoken but for the moments yet to be lived, the memories yet to be created.

As the dream began to dissolve, the edges blurring and fading, Kabir held onto the image of Meher in his arms, her warmth seeping into his very soul. He vowed, in the recesses of his unconscious mind, that if given the chance, he would bridge the gap between dream and reality. He would voice the words his heart had longed to say, to turn their shared dreams into tangible moments.

And with that resolve, the dream faded, leaving behind the lingering warmth of Meher's embrace and the echo of a love yet to be fully realized.

The tear that slipped from his eyes in the dream wetted his cheeks for real.

Hello, and I am back again with yet another chapter. Before we delve into the climax, we should definitely know the aftermath of the scene. With Meher gone and Kabir being injured, what do you think will happen next? We are very much near the ending, so near that I can't help but squeal. What did you guys think of this chapter? Let me know in the comments below.

I had Chicken keema and pav for dinner tonight (sorry, dear vegetarians). What's on your dinner plate?

Do VOTE, SHARE and COMMENT. Comment a heart if you enjoyed reading this chapter.

With Love,

Akii.