The playground outside echoed with the sounds of children playing and laughing. Some were engaged in a lively game of cricket, while others ran freely in the open field, their laughter blending with the gentle breeze that stirred the trees.
As soon as Sahira appeared, a group of children swarmed around her.
"Why are you so late today? We thought you weren't going to come play," asked Aima, a girl around the same age as Sahira. Her short, boyish haircut barely brushed her ears. She crossed her arms impatiently, glancing at the others—Salman, the chubby boy holding a ball, waiting for Sahira's explanation, and Junayed, who stood silently by, his glasses perched neatly on his nose. Little Zoya, Junayed's younger sister, clung to her brother's hand, staring up at Sahira with wide eyes.
Sahira sighed dramatically, as though the weight of the world rested on her tiny shoulders. "Oh, don't even ask! My mom made me finish my homework before I could leave. I had to sneak out just to come play!"
The group collectively sighed in relief. Salman, always cheerful, grinned at her. "Thank goodness you made it!"
The group, at that age where the smallest things could bring joy, quickly moved past the tension and into their usual chatter. Aima complained about her mother, who had promised her chocolates every day if she cut her hair short, but now after the haircut, her mother was withholding the treat. Everyone immediately agreed this was an unforgivable betrayal and Aima's mother was in the wrong. Promises, they declared with the righteous conviction only children can muster, were sacred. A promise should always be kept. And just like that, they quickly forgot about the matter, losing themselves in tales of imagination, as children often do.
Arsalan, standing quietly on the sidelines, observed everything. This world was entirely new to him—a world so full of carefree innocence. He had never been a part of anything like this before. In his life, there was no room for play or childhood. His life followed a strict routine. Every morning, he woke up, went to school, came back home, attended private tutoring, and then practiced his training. That was his life, and he had accepted it as normal. Emotions rarely touched him, and as a result, nothing seemed to matter much. He had been taught only one thing: to conquer the world. To win and dominate. And so far, that was all he had focused on.
He had never encountered so many children at once in his 13 years of life. So, their carefree world was a source of constant amazement to him.
It was Junayed who first noticed Arsalan standing quietly. The rest of the group was too engrossed in Sahira's tale about her dream the night before, where she was a princess being chased by a terrifying dinosaur. She dramatically recounted how she bravely fought off the dinosaur, leaving her friends wide-eyed and on edge.
Suddenly, as if she had just remembered something, Sahira lightly smacked her forehead. "I almost forgot!" she exclaimed, grabbing Arsalan's hand and pulling him forward as though presenting a prized possession. "Meet Arsalan. He's my new best friend," she announced , her eyes bright with pride.
Aima's jaw dropped. Just the day before, Sahira had declared her as her best friend. Now, out of nowhere, there was someone new?
"But I thought I was your best friend," Aima said, her voice laced with hurt. Her small heart not able to handle the idea of being replaced.
"You are my best friend, but so is Arsalan. You're my *first* best friend, and Arsalan is my *second* best friend," Sahira explained as if it were the simplest thing in the world.. Aima seemed satisfied with that, her wounded pride somewhat healed. Salman, however, wasn't so easily placated.
"And what about us?" Salman asked, feeling left out.
"You're not my best friend. Remember when you didn't share your chocolate with me the other day?" Sahira asked, still hurt by the memory of Salman's refusal to share. The guilt of that moment was still fresh for Salman.
Then Sahira turned to Junayed. "And you! You didn't lend me that book I asked for!"
Junayed, taken aback, stammered, "But I didn't even say anything!"
"You were *going* to say no, weren't you?" Sahira shot back.
Finally, she looked at little Zoya. "And Zoya... she always pulls my hair, so she's just a regular friend, not a best friend," she declared, pausing for effect before continuing. "But Aima shares everything with me, so she's my only true best friend."
"Then why is *he* your best friend?" Salman asked, pointing toward Arsalan.
"Because Arsalan is really nice. He even helped me with my homework. And you know what? He's a genius," Sahira said, puffing out her chest with pride as if she had discovered a hidden treasure.
"A genius?" Salman asked, intrigued.
"Yes, a genius. Arsalan knows *everything* about every subject," Sahira said, her pride evident as she stood tall beside Arsalan.
"Everything? That's impossible," Junayed said, pushing his glasses back up his nose.
"Yeah, no one knows *everything,*" Aima added, crossing her arms.
"Well, you can ask him anything! He'll give the right answer to all your questions!" Sahira replied confidently, her face glowing with certainty.
Salman thought for a moment before asking, "Alright, what's the fastest land animal?"
"Cheetah," Arsalan replied calmly.
Junayed narrowed his eyes. "Who's the president of France?"
"Emmanuel Macron," Arsalan answered, just as composed.
The boys exchanged glances, their skepticism slowly beginning to melt.
"Okay, tell me... what's 1+2?" Aima, still young and just learning addition, asked with all the seriousness of someone asking a profound question.
"Three," Arsalan answered, without missing a beat.
Salman and Junayed immediately smacked their foreheads in exasperation.
"That's not even a question, Aima. Everyone knows that," Salman groaned.
Annoyed at their reaction, Aima shot them an angry glare. Then, turning to little Zoya, she asked, "Zoya, do you know what 1+2 is?"
Little Zoya, still learning to speak, had no idea what 1+2 was.
"See? Zoya doesn't know," Aima said, sticking out her tongue at the boys.
Junayed, the most studious of them all, shook his head and asked, "What's the largest planet?"
"Jupiter."
"How many bones are in the human body?"
"206."
"Distance from Earth to the Sun?"
"150.46 million kilometers."
Junayed's jaw dropped, and his eyes widened with something resembling awe. "You really do know everything…"
"See? I told you! He's a super genius!" Sahira said, beaming with pride. If Junayed, the smartest kid in their group, was convinced, then the rest of them had to believe it too.
"I don't know *everything,*" Arsalan admitted honestly.
But none of the kids were willing to believe that. They had already decided that Arsalan was a genius, and they made sure to include him in their group. Sahira couldn't have been happier. Her new best friend was liked by everyone.
As Arsalan stood quietly, he watched the little girl's face light up with happiness. He couldn't quite understand why she was so excited, but seeing her so joyful stirred something unfamiliar within him. Not exactly emotions, but a sense of calm, an unnamed feeling that he found... comforting.
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Sahira was walking home with Arsalan, beaming with joy. Her excitement hadn't dimmed. They had so much fun today, and in every game, they had made sure to include Arsalan. Whenever Arsalan won, Sahira would celebrate as if his victory was her own.
As they walked, She chattered on and on about the day, how Salman had wronged her by not sharing his chocolate, spreading her arms wide to show how big the chocolate bar had been. "He didn't give me *one bite,* even though I always share my toys and chocolates!" she said, her voice filled with resentment. She also listed out her complaints about Junayed. But in the midst of her animated story, Sahira suddenly fell silent when she noticed a group of boys harassing a dog on the side of the road. The boys were throwing stones at the poor animal. The poor creature cowered in fear, its tail between its legs.
Sahira froze in her tracks, and Arsalan, noticing her sudden stop, followed her gaze to see what she was looking at.
"What's wrong? Why did you stop all of a sudden?"
"Those boys… they're bothering that dog…"
"So?" Arsalan asked, not understanding the problem.
"So? The dog must be in pain. Look, they're throwing stones at it," she said, her voice filled with concern.
"If the dog is in pain, why are *you* getting upset?" Arsalan asked, genuinely confused.
"Because… because I feel bad for the dog. It's suffering," Sahira's eyes welled up with tears. "Please… can you stop them?"
Arsalan looked at her, puzzled by her distress over a stray street dog. But still, he walked forward and stood in front of the boys, blocking their path.
"Stop it. Why are you bothering the dog?" Arsalan asked in English, his tone firm. The boys stared at him, realizing he wasn't from around here.
"We play," said one of the boys, speaking in broken English. "Amra kheltesi," added another, showing his full set of teeth with a mischievous grin. These were young boys, unaware of the harm they were causing. To them, it was all just a game.
"Don't do this. The dog is hurting," Arsalan said, his voice calm but stern.
The boys didn't fully understand his English, and they exchanged confused glances, scratching their heads.
Sahira stepped forward and addressed them in their language. "Stop bothering the dog!" she demanded.
"We're just playing," one boy said defensively, scratching his head.
"Throwing stones at a dog… How is that a game?" Sahira scolded them. "The dog is in pain."
The rest of the boys fell silent, except for one—the most stubborn and unruly of the group—who stepped forward defiantly.
"We're playing with the dog. Why do you care?" the boy snapped at Sahira, his tone rude. Sahira, startled, took a step back, intimidated.
"Look, girl, mind your own business and stop bothering us," the boy said, emboldened by Sahira's retreat. He took another step toward her, but before he could move any closer, Arsalan stepped between them.
The boy looked up at Arsalan, and his confidence faltered. There was something in Arsalan's eyes—something cold and intimidating—that was enough to shake even the bravest of men. The boy felt a chill run down his spine as he looked into those eyes.
"Stay away from her," Arsalan said, his voice icy. The boy instinctively took a step back and dropped the stone he was holding. Without another word, he turned and quickly walked away, clearly rattled. The rest of the boys followed suit, leaving in a hurry.
Sahira, overjoyed, ran up to Arsalan and threw her arms around him in an excited hug.
"You… you're a superhero! You scared them away just like that!" she cheered, pulling back to look at him with a wide grin. Her face was glowing with happiness, and in that moment, Arsalan realized he wanted to see her like this forever. Something stirred inside him, something unfamiliar yet comforting.
"You're amazing, Arsalan. Really amazing," she said, her words like music to his ears. Arsalan smiled—a real smile, one that reached his eyes. It wasn't forced, nor was it practiced. It was genuine, and it felt... good.
Sahira Hamid had done what no doctor could. She had taught Arsalan Ansari how to smile from his heart. It was an incredible feeling, one that Arsalan had never experienced before. And now that he had, he wanted to feel it again and again. In that moment, he made a decision: he needed Sahira Hamid in his life, always.
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The next morning, Arsalan sat quietly in the car beside his father, Abrar Reza, as they drove through the city streets. Arsalan gazed out the window, but all he could think about was Sahira. He could still see her clinging to his legs, crying and refusing to let him go. She had cried so much that her little face had turned red.
It had taken countless promises and reassurances before she finally let him leave. Even then, as he walked away, she had stood in the distance, holding her father's hand, her tear-filled eyes following him as she waved goodbye with her small hands.
She had made him promise again and again that he would come back to see her soon.
"You're unusually quiet today. Is something on your mind?" Abrar Reza asked, glancing at his son through the rearview mirror.
Arsalan, still staring out the window, replied, "I want to take Sahira with me."
Abrar Reza was taken aback. "Sahira? Why?"
Arsalan turned to face his father, his expression serious. "I like being with her. I like hearing her talk. She's different from everyone else. I want her."
Hearing his son's words, Abrar Reza grew concerned. "Arsalan, we can't take Sahira with us. She's not a toy, son. She's just a little girl. How can she live without her parents?"
"She'll live with me, Dad. If she cries, I'll comfort her. I'll play with her…" Arsalan's response left his father even more surprised and deeply concerned. This was the first time Arsalan had ever argued with him about anything.
"And what about your training?" Abrar pressed.
"I'll still do my training… but I want her with me…"
"Son, you need to understand. She's not a toy…"
"I don't care. I want her. She makes me feel good."
"But you can't just have her. She's so young. She won't be able to live without her parents. She'll cry. She won't care if you're with her or not. She needs her mother and father. Do you understand?"
Abrar Reza tried to reason with his son, speaking slowly and carefully. He understood where Arsalan was coming from. To Arsalan, Sahira was like a doll or a pet—something that made him feel good, just like toys make children feel happy. But Sahira was a living, breathing child, not something they could simply take.
Arsalan was silent for a moment, processing his father's words.
"Then when I grow up, I'll marry her," he said matter-of-factly. "That way, she'll stay with me forever. She won't cry then."
Abrar was caught off guard. For a moment, he didn't know whether to laugh or be concerned. Then, unable to hold it in, he let out a hearty chuckle.
"Aren't you a bit too young to be thinking about marriage?"Abrar teased, shaking his head.
"I want her," Arsalan repeated, his voice steady. "That's why I'm thinking about how to keep her."
Abrar Reza fell silent again, watching his son carefully. Arsalan's expression was as emotionless as always, his eyes hidden behind his contact lenses. His real eye color was a striking blue, inherited from his late mother. And every time Abrar looked into his son's eyes, he was reminded of the woman he had loved and lost—and of the promise he had made to her. Perhaps that's why he had chosen to hide those eyes behind lenses.He studied his son's face, the way his eyes—usually so emotionless—were now filled with a quiet determination. Arsalan was serious.
Taking a deep breath, he finally said, "If that's what you both want when the time comes, then we'll see. But until then, you'll have to let her grow up."
"Okay. I'll wait," Arsalan said with quiet resolve. "But when I'm grown, I'll marry her. You promised."
Abrar Reza smiled softly and patted his son's head. As they continued driving, he said, "We'll see, son. We'll see," though a trace of worry lingered in his eyes.
---
Arsalan's eyes lingered on Sahira's sleeping form, his mind restless, seeking answers he couldn't quite grasp. What was it about her that held him captive, that stirred a feeling deep inside him—something raw and primal, something he had never known before?
He studied her closely, as if the softness of her breath, the way her eyelashes rested on her cheeks, could somehow explain the inexplicable. Was it her beauty?
Yes, Sahira was beautiful, but he had seen girls far more beautiful than her—girls who would fall at his feet, yet Arsalan never gave them a second glance. His heart had never quickened, his chest had never tightened at the sight of any of them.
So, what was it that made this girl so special?
She was special.
**You know why, don't you?** a voice inside him murmured.
She is filled with love, with warmth, with innocence. She is everything you are deprived of. She embodies every emotion you are desperate to feel. She is the life your heart craved. She is your happiness. She is your pain. She is your comfort. She is your desire.
The voice inside him seemed to whisper.
She made him feel alive.
Arsalan's chest tightened as he realized this, his gaze softening as it rested on her face, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Sahira lay beside him, her head resting on his arm, breathing peacefully in sleep. He watched her, utterly mesmerized by the stillness of her features, the quiet rise and fall of her chest.
For a moment, Arsalan smiled—a small, genuine smile. The kind that had always seemed foreign to him. The kind that had always felt like a mask. But tonight, it wasn't a mask. It was real. And that terrified him.
**What is this?** he wondered, his pulse racing with an in
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Today, Arsalan had come to drop her off at the university. As he stepped out of the car, he walked around to open the door for her, reaching for her hand with an unspoken tenderness.
Their hands intertwined as they walked side by side, a quiet intimacy settling between them, though neither spoke a word.
But before they could make it to the university gates, the screech of tires broke the stillness. Another car pulled up in front of them, and a figure stepped out, his movements swift and deliberate.
Isaac.
His eyes landing on Sahira first. He quickly looked away, but then his gaze returned, this time locking onto the man walking beside her.
His eyes widened in shock, his lips moving in disbelief as he muttered to himself, "Ezel!"
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present:
Isaac walked down the long corridor behind his father, the walls of the facility cold and sterile, the click of their footsteps echoing off the metal floors. The place was a fortress, heavily guarded with security at every corner, guards holding guns at the ready.
At the end of the corridor, they entered a stark, white-walled laboratory. The room smelled of antiseptic and sterile metal. Men in lab coats moved like shadows, busy with their instruments. But Isaac's eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the room. To the hospital bed. To the man lying on it, his body swathed in bandages, his face barely visible under the layers of white.
For a moment, Isaac's heart stopped. He couldn't believe it.
"Ezel," he breathed, his voice hollow, disbelief clinging to the edges of his words. His gaze snapped to his father, his mind racing. "Where did you find him? He was supposed to be dead."
His father stepped forward, his eyes cold, calculating. "One of my men has been working undercover with his team for years. When they found him, he was barely alive. But he was still breathing." He gestured to the man in the bed, now unrecognizable. "He's in a coma. Hasn't woken up since."
Isaac's jaw clenched as he took in the sight before him—the once invincible Ezel, now reduced to a fragile shell of a man, bound in bandages, a prisoner of his own body.
"Why have you kept him alive, Dad?" Isaac asked, his voice quieter now, but laced with suspicion.
His father's smile was thin, almost cruel. "Because if he wakes up, he could be valuable. We could use him."
"You think if he wakes up, he'll listen to us?"
"Son, he's under our control now. He will have no choice but to listen."
"And if he never wakes up?" Isaac pressed.
"Then you'll take his place. I've already called in world-renowned plastic surgeons. They'll change your face to look exactly like Ezel's. And then you can easily take over his identity," his father said, his eyes glinting with a sinister gleam.
"No one will suspect anything?"
"Not at all. I've planned everything down to the last detail—what needs to be done and what doesn't. All you have to do is follow the plan. Leave the rest to me," his father said confidently.
"Hmm…" Isaac murmured in response.
His father stepped closer, placing a hand on Isaac's shoulder. "It's only a matter of time before you take Ezel's place. Then, that girl will be yours as well… You can marry her. And once you become *Capo dei Capi*, you won't even need to pretend to be Ezel anymore," his father added with a wicked smile.
Isaac nodded in agreement. His father left the room, satisfied that everything was falling into place. But Isaac lingered. Alone now, he walked over to the bed, looking down at Ezel's still form.
Isaac moved closer to Ezel, staring down at the lifeless figure wrapped in bandages. Seeing Ezel in such a state felt strange—bound in bandages, unconscious, a man who had lost to life itself.
Leaning in, Isaac whispered, "I don't owe anyone favors. I won… and you lost."
But as soon as the words left his mouth, Ezel's eyes snapped open, and before Isaac could react, a hand shot out from the bed, seizing him by the collar with a vice-like grip.