Ishq

ghar-ghar|15

The sun dipped low on the horizon as they entered the village, casting long shadows across the dusty paths. The air was thick with tension, a silent testament to the troubles that plagued this place.

"Why are there no farmers here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as her eyes darted around, taking in the fields and the too-quiet roads.

He didn't answer right away, his gaze fixed on something in the distance. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, "Things have been... difficult."

She noticed the gun in his hand then, its dark metal surface stark against the fading light. Her heart skipped a beat, and her breath hitched in her throat. The sight of it, so real and so dangerous, sent a shiver of fear through her.

He caught her staring and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a smirk. "Scared?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, she pressed her lips together, nodding once, sharply.

His smirk widened for a moment before he stepped closer, the gun still in his hand. "Let me show you," he said, and before she could protest, he was behind her, his arms encircling her waist.

She tensed, her body rigid with a mix of fear and something else-something like anticipation. His breath was warm against her ear, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heart as he leaned in to guide her hands.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "I've got you."

Slowly, she let out the breath she'd been holding and allowed herself to lean back into him. His presence was reassuring, his confidence infectious. She focused on the target ahead, the gun suddenly feeling less foreign in her hands.

"Now, shoot," he instructed, and together, they pulled the trigger.

The sound was deafening, but she barely noticed. All she could feel was him-his hands steady on hers, his chest against her back, his breath mingling with her own.

And in that moment, amidst the echoes of the gunshot and the quiet of the village, she realized that she wasn't afraid anymore.

___

Murtasim's gaze held a quiet strength as he led her through the golden hues of the field, the sun casting long shadows on the earth. "Your shade?" she asked playfully, a spark of mischief in her eyes. His refusal was gentle, but firm. Yet, with a laugh bubbling from her lips, she opened the car as he stopped the car. Running away, her silhouette merging with the elongated shades on the ground.

He chased after her, his strides long and determined. But as he reached out, the world erupted in chaos-a gunshot shattered the serenity of the field. Mahjabeen froze, terror seizing her heart. Frantically, she searched Murtasim for wounds, her hands trembling. Miraculously, he was unscathed.

"Murtasim!" she cried, her voice laced with fear.

"Mahjabeen," he said, his voice a calm anchor in the storm, "I need you to run when I say so." She nodded, her eyes wide with unspoken questions.

As she sprinted across the field, another shot rang out. Pain lanced through her ankle, sending her tumbling to the ground. Murtasim was there in an instant, shielding her with his body, his gun barking in response to the unseen threat.

He half-carried, half-dragged her to the car, his movements precise and controlled. "Please don't," Mahjabeen pleaded as he pushed her into the safety of the vehicle.

"I have to protect you," he insisted, his voice firm with resolve.

With the car door slammed shut, Murtasim turned back to the field, his weapon ready, as his men converged around the car. They formed a protective barrier, their eyes scanning for danger.