Jageer-e-Mohabbat - جاگیرِ محبت
In the heart of rural Pakistan, amidst the opulent estates of feudal lords, there existed a tale of love and enmity that defied societal norms. At the center of this story were two individuals whose initial animosity...
As Sitara descended the stairs, her heart raced with trepidation. Each step felt like a silent drumbeat echoing in the vastness of the house. Her senses were on high alert, every creak of the floorboards and rustle of fabric making her nerves jangle.
As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she paused, listening intently for any sign of movement. The house was eerily quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of the ceiling fans and the distant chirping of birds outside.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Sitara ventured further into the house, her eyes darting from side to side, searching for any sign of Bahlaj. She moved with cautious steps, her senses attuned to the slightest sound or movement.
As she rounded a corner, she caught sight of the kitchen ahead. Relief flooded through her at the sight of the empty room. With a sigh of relief, she hurried forward, eager to put some distance between herself and Bahlaj.
Once inside the kitchen, Sitara allowed herself a moment to catch her breath. The room was bathed in soft morning light, casting a warm glow over the countertops and cabinets. The air was redolent with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and the faint scent of spices.
Sitara moved to the window, gazing out at the sprawling gardens beyond. The sight was a soothing balm to her frazzled nerves, the vibrant colors and lush greenery a stark contrast to the tension that had been simmering within the house.
Lost in her thoughts, Sitara didn't notice the figure approaching from behind until she heard a voice.
As Sitara entered the kitchen, she decided to make parathas and chai, hoping to bring some sense of normalcy to her tumultuous life. She put her dupatta on the kitchen stools and started kneading the dough, her movements swift and practiced. The comforting aroma of spices and freshly cooked food soon filled the air, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.
Meanwhile, Bahlaj returned from his morning jog, his sweatpants clinging to his toned legs, and his T-shirt slung over his shoulder, exposing his muscular torso. His hair was tousled and damp from exertion. As he made his way to the kitchen, an unpleasant smell assaulted his senses, causing him to wrinkle his nose in irritation. Bahlaj despised the greasy aroma of morning cooking, and it filled him with nausea.
Bahlaj's irritation surged as he burst into the kitchen, his voice echoing with frustration. "What the hell is this smell so early in the morning?! Who the hell is making it?" he shouted, his anger palpable in the air.
Yet, as his eyes fell upon Sitara, standing there with a quiet determination, his fury began to dissipate. He watched her with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, observing her diligent efforts over the stove.
In that moment, a flood of conflicting emotions washed over Bahlaj. His father's words echoed in his mind, a reminder of his duty to behave responsibly and take care of Sitara. Despite his initial impulse to lash out, he felt a sense of obligation towards her, tinged with a reluctant admiration for her resilience.
Deep down, beneath the layers of his hardened exterior, Bahlaj couldn't deny the stirrings of empathy and perhaps even a glimmer of respect for the young woman before him.
The sight of him, shirtless and imposing, made her gasp in surprise. She quickly tried to cover her eyes, accidentally flinging the dough she was holding into the air. The flour exploded, covering her face in a fine white dust.
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