Abraar leaned against the stone wall of the dungeon, his dark eyes fixed on Rukhsana Begum, exuding a mysterious charm that sent shivers down her spine. His presence was both intimidating and captivating, and she could feel a certain aura of authority surrounding him.

"Why did Miraal have bruises on her face when she came to me for help?" he inquired with a velvety yet firm voice, making Rukhsana's arrogance crumble in the face of his intensity.

"Usne mera naam liya kya?" Rukhsana replied, attempting to appear innocent. But Abraar wasn't so easily deceived. He saw through her façade, his gaze penetrating through her false demeanor.

Her words trying to justify her actions only fueled his curiosity. "Maine Miraal ko woh jitne bhi din mere saath thi bohot pyaar diya tha... Apne bachon jaisa. Kal dekha nahi tha aapne usne kaise danda utha liya tha..." she explained, trying to portray herself as a caring figure.

"So the marks on her face represented your care?" Abraar's voice held a tinge of amusement as he presented the switchblade, directing her attention to the bloodstains on the wall.

"Mai soch raha tha deewar paint karadu, laal rang kaisa rehega, blood red?"

His grin sent shivers down Rukhsana's spine, as she realized she was in the presence of a man who didn't shy away from darkness.

"E-ek baar maari thi..." she stuttered, as his raised eyebrows reprimanded her like a stern teacher. Her attempt to correct herself showed that fear had finally taken hold of her.

As she confessed to hitting Miraal twice, the darkness in Abraar's eyes intensified. He was no stranger to cruelty and pain, but hearing it from Rukhsana ignited a sense of rage within him.

"Humari madad karey, sachme mujhe koi bhi kaam dede. Mere bete ko naukri par rakhde humein beghar honey se bacha le," her cries echoing through the dungeon.

With a mixture of sarcasm and dry humor, he responded to her plea for help, "Mai kyun madad kru aapki?" he mused, his magnetic presence never wavering, even as Rukhsana's tears failed to sway him.

Rukhsana realized that her manipulative tactics weren't working, and Abraar's indifference to her pain puzzled her. He flashed the heirloom, its gleam catching her eye.

"Isko kahi dekha hai?"

She shook her head, her ignorance no longer carrying any weight in the face of his penetrating gaze.

"Miraal ki Ammi ka naam pata hai?" Abraar's question struck a chord, and Rukhsana reluctantly admitted, "Mujhe lagta tha Ameena thi, Haroon ki biwi jiski bees saal pehle uss haatse m maut hogyi thi... Magar Qureshi Sahab bata rhey they k Miraal ko Haroon bhai ne god liya tha."

Abraar's smile faded as he asked Bakhtu to escort her out his mind now overwhelmed with a storm of emotions and questions. The charm that once masked his pain and darkness now wavered as he confronted the possibility that Miraal might be connected to the Mirs in a way he never anticipated.

Bakhtu returned to the room and he ordered him, " Bakhtu ek kaam karo, woh jo teen qaidi hai unka aur Miraal ka DNA match karwao. Koi relation hai toh pata chaley", The Mirs had only one girl, the daughter of Mir Mehmoud. If the DNA matched then it would mean one thing, Miraal was Saira.

As Bakhtu left to fulfill Abraar's request, the atmosphere in the room grew heavy with anticipation. Hours passed like slow waves, crashing against the shore of Abraar's heart, as he waited restlessly for the DNA results. Each second felt like an eternity, the silence of the room only magnifying the echoes of his internal struggle.

Sitting in the dimly lit room, he waited anxiously for the test results, hoping against hope that the connection between Miraal and the Mirs would prove to be a misunderstanding. But as Bakhtu confirmed the match of ten percentage, his worst fears were realized. The realization that the woman he loved was the daughter of the man he had sworn to destroy was a cruel twist of fate.

The village lady's confirmation of Haroon Qureshi's involvement in Saira's birth sent tremors through Abraar's being. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and he couldn't ignore the truth any longer.

As he clenched his fists, trying to control the anger that surged through his veins, he also battled the tears that welled up in his eyes. The weight of his emotions felt unbearable, and he struggled to maintain the stoic facade he had always presented to the world. But the tears betrayed him, threatening to escape and expose his vulnerability.

As the weight of his father's indoctrinated hatred and the revelation of Miraal's true identity bore down on him, he felt his resolve crumbling. He screamed in anguish, his voice echoing through the halls of Saira Mahal. The image of Miraal's face merged with that of Mir Mehmoud's in his mind, and it tore him apart.

"Miraal Saira nahi ho sakti," he shouted, slamming his hands on the table in frustration. His voice cracked with anguish, and the tears finally streamed down his cheeks. It was a moment of utter vulnerability, a rare glimpse into the inner turmoil of a man torn between love and vengeance.

He felt betrayed by Miraal, not for anything she had done, but for the connection she had unknowingly brought into his life. The woman he loved and the name he despised were now intertwined, and it left him feeling lost and shattered.

As he walked up the stairs, the large photo of Mir Mehmoud stared back at him. Before, it had been a reflection of himself, but now those large brown eyes mirrored Miraal's. It was a haunting realization of the bond they shared, a connection that transcended their current circumstances.

His hands trembled as he picked up the pocket knife, an outlet for the anger and confusion that consumed him. With a heavy heart, he slit the picture once and for all.

"Bakhtu jala do iss mahal ko," he ordered, his voice now calm but firm. As he walked away, Bakhtu glanced at his retreating back with pity. He had seen Abraar's life filled with hardships and struggles, and it seemed that every time things started to improve, fate dealt him another cruel blow.

The question that haunted Bakhtu's mind was the same that had plagued Abraar - why had Mukhtar Khan engaged his son to the daughter of his mother's killer? The answer remained elusive, leaving both men with a sense of bewilderment and pain.

In the darkness of the night, as he lay down to sleep, Abraar's mind was still in turmoil. As the night engulfed him, Abraar sought solace in sleep, hoping for respite from the storm of emotions that raged within him. However, the darkness brought no comfort, only haunting nightmares that seized him in their grip. In his dream, he found himself trapped in a claustrophobic cupboard, a suffocating prison of fear. His voice echoed through the confined space, calling out for his mother, but it wasn't his own fear that tormented him; it was the fear of the unknown, the fear of what lay ahead.

He heard someone approaching the cupboard and he stopped making any noise, covering his mouth then he heard someone whisper the voice coming from between the gap, "Abraar... Kaha ho?"

He woke from the harrowing nightmare to find his cheeks damp with tears. It was a sight he had never expected from himself, a vulnerability he had never allowed to surface. Men were not supposed to shed tears, but tonight he had defied that expectation. He cast the blanket away, as if to shed the heaviness that weighed on his heart.

In search of some semblance of calm, he walked to his cupboard, his hand finding a cigarette for solace. But even in the act of lighting it, he knew that this wouldn't provide the answers he sought. Instead, he took a decisive step, reaching for four pictures—Gyassudin, Ubaidullah, Shaveer, and Gaffur Ahmed. The images represented the faces of those he considered responsible for the suffering of his people.

With a sense of resolution, he set the pictures alight and watched as the flames consumed the symbols of his hatred. The fire roared, reflecting the blaze that now burned within his heart. The seed of hatred, buried deep for so long, had fully bloomed, igniting a fire that could no longer be contained.

As Abraar stood before the crackling flames, their warm glow casting dancing shadows on his anguished face, a heavy silence filled the air. The weight of his thoughts was palpable, and in this moment of introspection, he began to speak aloud, addressing the turmoil in his heart.

"I have sworn to protect my people, to be their shield against injustice and tyranny," Abraar began, his voice low and intense. "But now, fate has intertwined the woman I love with the very name I have vowed to annihilate. Miraal... Saira... one and the same. How can I reconcile the love in my heart with the hatred burning within me?"

He stared at the burning pictures, the faces of those he deemed responsible for the suffering of his village. "The Mirs, the remnants of a dark legacy. How many lives have they shattered? How many dreams have they crushed?"

A flicker of Miraal's face flashed before him, soft and filled with love. "Miraal, the woman I love with all my heart", His grip tightened on the pocket knife, his emotions waging war within him.

He paced back and forth, the flames flickering in his eyes as he struggled with the conflicting emotions tearing him apart. "I can still feel the warmth of her touch, the tenderness of her love. How could she be the daughter of the man who caused so much suffering? How could she bear the blood of those who brought darkness upon my village?"

"To sacrifice her for justice, to use her as bait to draw out those cursed remnants of the Mirs, it feels like betrayal. Betrayal of her love, of the promises we made to each other. But can I ignore the cries of my people, the cries for vengeance and retribution?"

His thoughts turned to his people, to the villagers who had suffered for too long. "I can't let my personal desires cloud my judgment. My people deserve justice, and I am their avenger, their protector."

Abraar's eyes steeled with determination as he made a resolute decision. "I will confront those cursed men. If using Miraal as a means to an end is what it takes, then so be it. But I won't lose sight of who I am or what I stand for. I am Abraar Khan, the son of Mukhtar and Muneeba Khan"

He looked at the fire once more, the flames now a reflection of his resolve. "The path I walk may be dark and fraught with pain, but I won't falter. I will bring justice to my people, no matter the cost."

With each word, Abraar felt a weight lift from his shoulders, replaced by a newfound sense of purpose. "Miraal, forgive me," he whispered.

⋘══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════⋙