Chspter 5

His Doll

"Coming in front of me, with a new face new body, fucking YES!!"

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"Where are you, doll..."

Zayan's voice broke into a low whisper, cracked with longing. He sat on the cold floor of his darkened room, the red dupatta crushed tightly to his chest. His hands trembled as he inhaled the familiar scent that still clung to the fabric — her scent. His girl. His obsession. His ruin.

"I missed you... a lot," he murmured, his voice shaking with more emotion than he'd allow anyone to ever witness. He buried his face in the soft fabric, clutching it like it was the last piece of her left in this cruel, empty world. The rest of the world could burn. He only wanted her.

Outside, his mother's voice pierced the suffocating silence.

"He hasn't stepped out of his room in days, Arsh. I'm worried about my son," Zaniyah said, her voice heavy with desperation.

"Let him be, Zaniyah," Arsh replied coldly, eyes glued to his laptop.

"How can I? He's not just your heir. He's our son! And he already hates us both. You don't know what this is doing to him. He's breaking." Her tears spilled freely, her voice cracking under the weight of truth.

Arsh stayed silent.

Zaniyah stepped forward. "Tell him the truth, Arsh. We can't keep lying to him. That girl — she wasn't just a dream. He's not a fool. He'll find out soon enough... and when he does, he will destroy everything — including us."

Arsh finally looked up, his face carved from stone. "Her life is in danger. If she's exposed, she dies. We had to erase her identity."

Zaniyah's voice turned fierce. "He'll die if he doesn't get her. Can't you see that? He's mad for her. He doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, he doesn't even breathe without her. He'll lose his mind, Arsh."

"I'd rather he hate us than lose her again," Arsh said. "I can't take that risk."

Zaniyah sobbed. "You didn't see the way he held her dupatta... like it was the only thing keeping him alive."

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Five years later

A girl ran through a sunlit field, her laughter echoing like wind chimes. Her red dupatta fluttered behind her like a flame, dancing in the golden light. She chased after a little boy, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Duaa, come inside!" an older woman shouted from the house.

"Coming, aunt!" she called, placing her hands on her hips like a dramatic grandmother. "Rahul ke bacchey! You're safe today," she teased, making the boy giggle and run faster.

Back inside, she was barely through the door when her aunt caught her.

"Go get ready. Some guests are coming to see you."

"What guests?" Duaa asked, confused.

"Rishta waalay," her aunt replied nonchalantly.

Duaa froze. "Again? Am I some showroom mannequin you people put on display every week?!"

Her aunt tried to hold in her laugh. "Baz ajao, get dressed!"

Duaa rolled her eyes dramatically. "Achaaa baba, ja rahi hoon!" she grumbled and ran up the stairs.

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"I like your daughter," the old woman said, grinning with golden teeth that almost blinded Duaa.

Duaa took a long sip of her coffee, smirking. "But I don't like your son, ma'am."

Silence.

"What did you say?" her uncle asked, trying to hold back a panic attack.

"I said... I don't like him. So please, feel free to leave."

"Duaa, beta, what happened?" the woman asked, confused.

DUAA

These people are too much for me today. This woman with golden teeth is so irritating, like what the actual heck.

I know the guy who has been sitting and staring at me since he arrived. He was my best friend's so-called ex-boyfriend, who I hate the most. But I can't tell this to my uncle and aunt. What should I say?

I think it's time to show them who you really are.

"It's enough, let's go, Yasir," she said to her goody-goody son.

"Allah Hafiz, take care," I said in a taunting voice, sipping my coffee. Ah, seriously, the coffee is so yummy today, aunt. You really have magical hands.

That woman with golden teeth left, making the sound of her second-hand heels.

"I am also leaving, aunt. I have some work to do, and I need to make my CV as well. I will be back before time," I said, running away from there to save my life from these two hunters who could kill me right now.

I stopped near the door to listen what they said.

Aunt groaned. "Idrees, if she keeps doing this, no one will marry her!"

"Maybe boy number twenty-four will get lucky," uncle said with a shrug as a smirk formed my face.

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"What the actual fuck, Ayansh?! I want that bastard now. You have ten minutes before I rip the skin off your body," Zayan growled, his voice shaking with fury.

The man in front of him stammered and ran. Zayan's blood boiled with rage and... hunger. The kind of hunger only one girl could ever calm.

He got into his car, eyes hollow, heart empty — until fate decided to play.

A figure stepped in front of his speeding car, forcing him to hit the brakes with a screech.

His heart thundered.

A girl in red... soaking wet, glowing under the headlights. The dupatta covering her head... just like the one he held every night. His hands froze on the steering wheel. His soul recognized her before his eyes did.

She turned, shouting at him, her voice fierce and filled with life.

"Are you blind?!"

The second she looked at him, Zayan forgot how to breathe.

She. Was.

His heart stopped and started all over again.

She moved her hair from her face — and Zayan staggered back a step, stunned.

His life stopped. His heart felt like it might come out at any time. He looked into her eyes and it felt like he got what he wanted. He got his breath back. He got his heart back. His soul back in his lifeless body.

"Can't you see, huh?" she shouted again,

He was looking at her, lost in her. Her eyes seemed familiar to him. He found his peace in them. The peace he craved for years, the peace he only got from his girl.

He couldn't look away, he was too lost in it. A wave of happiness was flowing inside him. A hope of getting her back.

"Oo hello, Mr.," Duaa said, moving her hand up and down in front of him, bringing him back from his delusion.

"Who are you?" he asked, moving closer to her.

"Excuse me,?" she said, frowning at his question.

"Who are you?" he repeated.

"I- Why should I tell you? I know you big, rich people think everything is yours, ?We are also human beings like you, okay? If you are rich, it doesn't mean that you can do whatever you want. It's not your dad's road," she said in one go.

He was just looking at her. "Mere baap ki nahi, meri hai," he said, still looking at her, making her eyes widen. (Not my dad's but mine.)

"H- So what, hum bhi yahan rehte hain!" (We also live here.)

"What's your name, girl?" he asked, impatiently grabbing her wrist.

"Arey yar, kya ajeeb insaan ho aap. Ek he cheez puchte jaa rahe ho, kyun batayein hum aapko?" she said, trying to get away from him. (What a weird person you are, asking the same question. Why should I tell you who I am?)

"Bataana toh pare ga," he said, moving closer, still holding her wrist. The headlights of his car were still shining on both of them in the dim light.(you have to tell)

He felt it, he felt attracted.

"What if I don't tell you?" she said, challenging him, moving her face towards him.

"Tell me who you are," he pleaded, looking into her eyes, desperate, tightening his hold on her wrist and pulling her closer.

"Leave me!" she tried to get away from him.

"I. ASKED. YOU. SOMETHING," he shouted at her, making her flinch hard.

"Duaa!" she shouted back, he looked in her eyes

"That's what my name is. Happy now!"

"Now, leave my hand!" she shouted and snatched her wrist from him.

He was just looking at her. She left from there. He was still looking until she disappeared, taking the auto.

"I want each and every information about that girl"he said to someone on call.

He smiled thinking about her, he smiled after years like this maybe he sees Anaya in that girl or he have the vibe that he found her he can recognised her eyes her scent.

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Thank you