"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same"
A tale where lies are woven, traps are laid and history awaits to be ignited again.
Dive into the world of the Khans, Ahmeds, and Sikander's as they rove in the dark swamps of greed, power...
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𝄗𝄗𝄗𝄗♞𝄗𝄗𝄗𝄗
One thing was for sure, selfish people didn't leave you alone. Once they have gotten a taste of you, they will come back, again and again, to get that exquisite flavor left. And oh god! If they were pain and demons, you can close your eyes and bet that they will barge in again.
A pattern was forming in the lives of the Khans, Ahmeds, and Sikanders. They all were being linked, once again, and now the evil was coming back. However, as one said, to beat evil, you need to embrace the darkness. That time it was a losing battle, but this time around war was going to rage. Things changed, people changed and so did that luck favoring the sides.
With little to no sleep, Rabail was looking out at the wide lawn of Khan Durbar. The soft light from the table lamp added more to the mysteries that were unspooling itself in that room and her mind. Her gaze was steady, yet she knew not what she was searching for. She pushed emotions back a long long time back. Too long that it feels miles away from where she could reach out. Her family was her life. Her Jaan. She could not, dare say would not lose it all again.
The laptop screen from the back seemed to be glaring at her. Her head was still buzzing with the notions of Sikanders and elections. What if things went south? Would the damage be greater this time? Would it mean losing Aadhilabad?
Sighing deeply, her neck turned to view the paused screen. She has seen the videos on a repeat, every single second, in fact. Yet, nothing was at hand. It would be good news as things were going normal, but Rabail knows better. Normalcy in her life is pretty much nonexistent since that fateful night.
Her hazel eyes were stuck on the screen, hands too lazy to move to play the frozen screen. Slowly, she trailed her eyes with laze on the pixels. A car was there, Sohaib getting out of it, the servants gushing to greet their masters. It was the picture of Sohaib returning from Lahore. Apparently, he was out for three days to build up his campaign image by interacting with prominent businessmen. 'Image' Rabail scoffed at the thought. 'More like propaganda'. The trunk was open with three large pieces of luggage being pulled out. With the hand placements of lifting it looked as if they were heavy. The inside of the car was dark. The driver didn't get out or assist in any way.
And with nothing at hand, Rabail closed the screen as her eyes screamed for sleep. Grabbing her purse and files, she dragged her feet out of her office with whatever energy was left. Passing the doorman her Salaam, she weaved through the magnanimous hallway. Muffled sounds of crickets could be picked up from the lawnside on her right. As she walked, her shadow kissed the walls, paintings, decors, and magnificence on her left.
