**A Wattpad featured story**
Bekhudi || بیخودی
❝ He gently dragged his hand around the delicate skin of my neck, slowly caressing it under his stifling touch. I felt his breath curling against me, as a wave of sultriness rod...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Mohabbat ka dard bada Jaan leva hota hai محبت کا درد بہت جان لیوا ہوتا ہے
The city burnt with the untrammelled energy of a maddening crowd. I stood at the stage, my fingers tightly laced with Aliyaar's, quietly observing the growing sea of people chanting our names and waving their hands in the air. On the horizon, as far as the eye could reach, all I could see was the darkening sky and a cheering horde of people. Flags coloured the sky, flying high. And the chants curled up the sky, rising to the heavens. There was joy, there was happiness, there was hope. Even from a distance, I could feel the energy from within the crowds, alive and palpable.
Aliyaar raised his hand into the air and waved. His eyes roved across the ground, the stormy gilded orbs mirroring the vivacity of the growing crowds. He knew, perhaps better than anyone, that this was his place. Here. On the soil of Pakistan. In his country. Amidst the people. This is where he belonged.
And I knew. No one deserved the crown better than him.
Through the haze of loud shouts and cheers, I heard Aliyaar's manager mumble in our ears, alerting us that it was time to leave. I nodded slightly and for a brief moment, I allowed my eyes to fall shut.
The crown will be ours.
The words echoed in my mind. The belief, getting stronger with each passing moment. The power of the people was extraordinary, especially the power of unemployed, frustrated and wronged people.
My family, along with the opposition, had looted and plundered this country for years. And today as the country faced a national crisis with rising inflation, growing unemployment, budding civil unrest and the forever present trouble at our international borders, the disgruntled people of the country needed a new voice, a new hope and a new promise to rebuild the country and raise it from the shackles of poverty that had corded the wings and spirit of our country like a venomous snake.
But until now, no one had cared to challenge the system and avert the impending crisis that seemed to have become the fate of our land. But from within the darkness, Aliyaar had been able to break through the crowd and grabbed upon the opportunity. Because nothing says opportunity like a good crisis.
His message was simple. His words were promising and hopeful. He didn't malign the opposition. Neither did he cry over the past. But what he did was promise a better future. A brighter tomorrow. A future he truly believed was possible for our country. Unlike others, he had a vision. A dream. And an undying will to succeed.
In the past week that I had been with him, I realised why people loved him. He was a different person when he was surrounded by people. He was no longer the golden eyed devil, whose ruthlessness and professionalism were well known within the business community. Neither was he the prince of darkness, whose private and personal life always managed to stir the interest of the gossip mongers. Nor was he the golden child of the sun, whose well-heeled family and deep pockets, had many resenting him.
