This was a dare. And I lost my mind.

_____

Murtasim Khan was a man I had hated. He was my rival. But when I first met him, hate wasn't the only emotion I felt. There was something strange about him, something that drew me to him. I couldn't help but think about it for hours, and that made me angrier. My emotions couldn't be justified, so I hated this man more.

I had seen him from afar, his shawl flying in the wind, and him standing there unbothered. He was upset, for some reason, and I hoped it was because of me. I wanted to be the only one who invoked such emotions within Murtasim Khan.

I couldn't understand why I hated him so much, or why I wanted to meet him in person. But that day I saw Ibraheem with his goats on the other side, and a plan formed in my mind.

The next day as expected Murtasim came stalking in, I saw him through the balcony, screaming my name. A satisfied smile formed on my face.

He was here.

My father called me, I looked in the mirror making sure my clothes were tidy, preparing myself for a war.

What did he think of himself? That he could threaten us in our house, that he could snatch away all our land. I couldn't let him take away my land.

"Bohot dekh liya, aap apne bete ko bulwakar lao,"
Rage flickered in Murtasim's gaze as his eyes met mime, but he restrained himself, calling out, "Ibraheem."

Continuing to glare at me Murtasim, I heard my father repeat the question, "Tum yaha kya kar rahe ho?" for the second time.

"Kya yahi hai woh jisne tumhari beti ko uthaaney ki dhamki di thi?" His voice rumbled with anger.

"Haan yahi hai," suddenly Murtasim was face-to-face with me, his pistol aimed my head. "Na mard..., mard- aurton aur bachon ko beech mai nahi laate. Agar aaj ke baad mere aadmi ya meri zameen ke upar aankh bhi daale toh teri maa ki qasam issi zameen mai gaand dunga," each word dripped with a searing seriousness.

He pulled me so close that our faces were inches apart, shaking my head until I forgot what we were fighting about. It was just his hand around my neck and on my face, his lips inches away, and the fire in his eyes burning into mine.

My father's jaw dropped to the floor, when instead of pointing the gun at Murtasim's head, I dropped it. I caressed his face with my hand, and Murtasim eyed me weirdly as if I was some kind of alien. Maybe I was, because instead of choking that man to death, I held him by the neck and pressed our lips together. Murtasim froze, his entire body stiffening in shock. I could feel his heart pounding against my chest.

As our lips parted, his eyes locked onto mine, filled with confusion and a flicker of something else—something raw and unspoken. I could see the fire in his eyes dim, replaced by a storm of emotions. Confusion, anger, and disappointment as he looked at the ground, why did I care about his emotions? But somehow, the disgust on his face made me rather upset. And the realisation hit me. What the fuck... did I just kiss Murtasim Khan?

___

I didn't meet Murtasim after that, but I saw his wife. That bastard had wrecked my life, and was living his happily. I wouldn't allow it, so I ordered my men to kidnap his wife. Let him feel the pain of losing something he cherished.

I trapped his sister, in a love affair. Promised her the world, played the love game with her, so I could get the land again and Murtasim on his knees asking for forgiveness.

His wife who claimed to be an educated girl easily feel for my lie, she believed I was truly sharif. She fought for me, with Murtasim, I caused a war in between them.

I was content in my life. So happy, to live my life as Anas, playing the hide and seek game with Murtasim.

The plan was set, and I relished every moment of it. Murtasim's pride would be his downfall, and I, Anas, would be the architect of his misery.

Meerab's trust in me was unwavering, and she began to question every decision Murtasim made. Their fights grew more frequent and intense, their relationship strained by the seeds of doubt and mistrust I had carefully sown.

Meanwhile, Murtasim’s sister, Maryam was lost in the illusion of love I had crafted for her. She believed in my promises, in the future I painted for her. She was my pawn, and she moved as I directed, oblivious to the real game being played.

Murtasim, once unshakable, now looked haunted. His eyes, which once burned with resolve and superiority, now flickered with uncertainty. He tried to maintain control, but I could see the cracks forming. The man who had once threatened me with such ferocity was now on the defensive, desperately trying to hold his world together, before he could marry his sister off, I played my final move.

His sister, the 'izzat' of his house was in my control, and Murtasim came running to me. He ready to give up his land, he looked so broken, and for some reason it made my heart hurt. Why did I had the urge to hug my rival? To wipe his tears, to let him go with his self respect intact.

"What do you want Malik Zubair?"

And maybe it was the state he was in, he looked so broken, "I want... you".

The confused face, came to a realisation, "It was never the land, or revenge. It was you Murtasim".

I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "All this time, I thought it was hate that drove me. But the truth is, it was something deeper..."

He backed away, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. "You've ruined lives, manipulated my family, for what?"

My heart pounded in my chest as I reached out, grabbing his arm. "You don't understand, Murtasim. I can't explain it, I think I..."

He shook off my grip, his eyes hardening. "Stay away from me, Malik. This ends now."

I watched him walk away, a mix of emotions churning inside me. The plan that had once seemed so perfect now felt hollow and meaningless. I had what I wanted—or at least, what I thought I wanted. But it wasn't enough.

I had the land, I got my revenge. But I was still unsatisfied.

___

Murtasim Khan's POV

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of betrayal, anger, and confusion. I had fought many battles in my life, but none were as complex and personal as this one. Malik Zubair, the man I had considered my most bitter rival, had turned my world upside down in ways I had never anticipated.

When he confessed that his vendetta was rooted in something deeper than land or revenge, I was initially repulsed and angry. But as days passed, I found myself thinking about his words more often than I liked. What kind of twisted game was this? What did he mean by "something more"?

The memory of his kiss haunted me. It was the first time I had ever felt so powerless, so confused. I had pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on salvaging what was left of my life. Maryam was married off to Naurez Khan, a respectable man.

Despite everything, I had managed to retain a semblance of control, though the cracks in my resolve were becoming more visible each day. And then came the final blow—Zubair’s ultimatum.

I had expected a demand for land or power, but his confession had left me speechless. His desire for me, the realization that this had never been about anything but his obsession, shook me to my core. It wasn’t hate that had driven him, but something far more disturbing.

I found it increasingly difficult to focus. Zubair's words, his actions, played over and over in my mind. My once-clear path was now clouded with doubt and confusion.

What did he mean when he said, 'he wanted me?'

This was disturbing, on so many levels. Maa Begum thought I was depressed because of Meerab's absence, but I wanted her to stay in her parent's until I figured out what was wrong with Malik Zubair. 

My thoughts were consumed by him, before I had always craved for my wife's love, but now when she approached me I felt nothing.

I frowned as I watched Meerab approach me at Maryam's valima, looking radiant and ethereal. Normally, her presence would have stirred feelings of warmth and affection in me, but today I felt nothing but numbness. My thoughts were consumed not by my wife, but by Malik Zubair and his unsettling confession.

As the evening progressed, I found myself lost in a haze of polite conversations and forced smiles. Maryam looked happy with Naurez Khan, and part of me was relieved that she had found stability amidst the chaos that surrounded our lives.

Later that night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Malik Zubair's words echoed in my mind once again. "It was you, Murtasim."

What did he mean by that? Was it a sick game of manipulation, or was there a twisted truth hidden within his confession? I felt a mixture of anger and confusion, but also a strange undercurrent of something else—something I couldn't quite name.

Sleep eluded me as I grappled with these thoughts, trying to make sense of the chaos that had infiltrated my life. I knew one thing for certain: the battle ahead was not just about land or pride—it was a battle for my very identity.