9.

The morning of the nikah dawned with a chill in the air, a gentle mist blanketing the grounds surrounding the house. The sky was a soft gradient of pale pink and orange, the kind of serene beauty that often accompanies significant days. Anam woke up before Fajr, as was her routine, her heart weighed down with a bittersweet mix of emotions. She went through her ablutions quietly and offered her prayers, staying on the prayer mat longer than usual, pouring her heart out to Allah.

"Ya Allah," she whispered, her forehead pressed to the ground, "grant me patience today. Take away the love I shouldn't hold in my heart and replace it with peace."

The stillness of the early morning comforted her momentarily, but as she rose from her prayers, the reality of the day settled back onto her shoulders.

Outside her small room, the house was already alive with activity. Guests who had stayed overnight were stirring, voices and footsteps echoing down the corridors. The scent of chai brewing in the kitchen wafted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of fresh flowers that adorned the hallways.

Anam quickly donned her hijab and stepped out of her room, her movements brisk and efficient. The main courtyard was a flurry of color and noise. Women, clad in vibrant outfits, laughed and chatted as they arranged trays of sweets and decorated platters for the upcoming rituals. The men had gathered near the entrance, discussing logistics and ensuring the setup was flawless.

Anam's first task was to check on the caterers. She moved through the crowd unnoticed, her sharp eyes taking in every detail. The tables were set with crisp white cloths, the centerpieces of marigolds and jasmine perfectly arranged. She exchanged quick words with the staff, her soft-spoken instructions clear and precise.

In the kitchen, chaos reigned as always. The cooks were busy preparing the elaborate breakfast spread, their movements synchronized like a well-rehearsed dance. Anam stepped in to help, rolling up her sleeves to knead dough for the parathas and checking on the simmering pots of nihari and halwa.

It was amidst this controlled chaos that she overheard the first whispers of the imam's arrival. She glanced at the clock; it was still early. The men were supposed to gather in the guest room for the nikah, and she mentally went through the checklist to ensure everything was in place.

Seher, the bride-to-be, was still in her room. Anam checked on her briefly, finding her surrounded by her friends and cousins, all of them fussing over her bridal attire and makeup. Seher looked stunning in her heavily embroidered red dress, her jewelry gleaming under the soft light. But there was a nervousness in her eyes that didn't escape Anam's notice.

"Seher," she said softly, stepping closer, "do you need anything?"

Seher shook her head, her smile strained. "No, I'm fine. Thank you. You can leave now."

Anam nodded and left, giving her space. She had just stepped into the corridor when she spotted Feras standing near the entrance. He was dressed in an ivory sherwani, his tall, commanding figure exuding quiet authority. He was speaking to one of the elders, his expression calm but distant.

Anam quickly lowered her gaze and walked in the opposite direction, her heart thudding in her chest. She busied herself with her tasks, determined not to let her thoughts wander.

As the morning progressed, the anticipation in the air grew. Guests continued to arrive, their cheerful greetings and laughter filling the house. Children ran around in excitement, their colorful clothes trailing behind them like little streaks of joy.

Anam stayed in the background, quietly ensuring that everything was in order. She avoided Feras's gaze whenever they crossed paths, her heart clenching every time she caught sight of him in his crisp sherwani. He was calm as always, giving instructions and overseeing the arrangements with his usual authority.

Despite the vibrant atmosphere, Anam felt a growing unease. Something about the day felt off, a tension simmering just beneath the surface. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it lingered at the edges of her mind, refusing to be ignored.

And then it happened.

It happened just as the nikah was about to begin.

Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted outside. Voices were raised, and the sound of a car screeching to a halt made everyone freeze. Then came the loud banging on the front gate, followed by the unmistakable noise of raised voices. Before anyone could react, the door was thrown open with a deafening crash. A group of men stormed into the courtyard, their faces hard and determined. They carried guns, the gleaming metal a stark contrast to the festive surroundings. Gasps and cries of alarm filled the air as the family and guests backed away in shock.

Leading the group was a man in his late twenties, tall and lean, with a sharp face twisted in anger. He held a gun in one hand, his eyes scanning the room searching for someone.

Panic spread through the guests like wildfire. Screams echoed in the corridors as people rushed to shield their children and retreat into the safety of their rooms. Anam stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat, as Ibrahim strode into the house. His sharp features were twisted into an expression of defiance and rage, his presence commanding the attention of everyone around him.

"Where is Seher?" his voice boomed, silencing even the faintest whisper. His gaze swept over the crowd, searching, demanding.

Seher was in her room with her friends when the commotion began. At first, she thought it was just some overzealous relatives making a scene, but the sound of a man shouting her name struck fear into her heart. She glanced at the door, her face pale, her hands trembling.

One of her friends peeked out of the window and gasped. "Seher... it's Ibrahim!"

Seher's heart dropped into her stomach. Ibrahim? How could he be here? She hadn't seen him in months, not since she had severed ties with him after succumbing to her family's insistence to behave more appropriately. The last thing she had expected was for him to show up on her wedding day, and with men armed like bandits.

The door burst open before she could react. Ibrahim stood there, his presence filling the room like a dark shadow. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, all the color drained from her face.

"You think you can just marry someone else and forget about me?" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "I won't let this happen, Seher. You're mine."

Seher shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "Ibrahim, no. Please, don't do this."

He ignored her, turning to his men. "Take her. We're leaving."

The chaos reached its peak as Seher was pulled from the room, her cries for help echoing through the hallways. It wasn't until she was dragged into the courtyard that she saw Feras standing there, his expression colder than ice.

Feras had been in the study, going over the final guest list, when the disturbance reached his ears. The distant screams and heavy footsteps drew him out, his sharp instincts instantly alert. By the time he entered the courtyard, he was met with the sight of Ibrahim and his men, guns in hand, and Seher struggling in their grip.

For a moment, everything seemed to stop. The guests froze, too afraid to intervene. The children were ushered away, their cries muffled by their mothers' trembling hands. But amidst the chaos, Feras remained still, his piercing gaze locked onto Ibrahim like a predator assessing his prey.

"Ibrahim," Feras said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that silenced the courtyard. "Let her go."

Ibrahim sneered, his grip tightening on Seher's arm. "You think you can just take what's mine, Feras?"

Feras's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Seher is not yours. And if you don't let her go right now, I promise you, you'll regret it."

Ibrahim laughed, a hollow, mocking sound. "Big words for someone who hides behind his family's name. You think I'm scared of you?"

The air in the courtyard grew thick with tension as the two men stared each other down. Feras took a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate. His presence was commanding, and even Ibrahim's men shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze.

Seher's sobs broke through the standoff, her eyes pleading as she looked at Feras. "Please... stop this," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Feras's gaze flicked to her for a brief moment, looking at her coldly but showing that he had heard her. Then he looked back at Ibrahim, his expression hardening once more.

"You've made your point, Ibrahim," Feras said. "Now leave before I make you."

But Ibrahim wasn't ready to back down. With a signal to his men, he began retreating, pulling Seher with him. The guests watched in stunned silence as the group made their way toward the exit, their weapons raised as a warning to anyone who dared to interfere.

Feras's patience snapped. He pulled out his phone and barked orders into it, his tone sharp and authoritative. "They're heading west. Don't let them get far."

Turning to Ayaan, who had appeared at his side, Feras muttered, "Stay here and keep everyone safe."

Ayaan nodded, his usual jovial demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness. "Be careful, bhai." (brother)

Without another word, Feras strode toward his car, his movements swift and purposeful. The cold fury in his eyes was enough to send chills through anyone who dared to meet his gaze.

As he sped off in pursuit of Ibrahim, the courtyard was left in stunned silence, the weight of what had just happened settling heavily over the household. Anam, who had witnessed the entire scene from the shadows, felt her heart pounding in her chest. She clutched the edge of her hijab, whispering prayers under her breath.

This was not how the day was supposed to go. The morning that had begun with so much hope and excitement had turned into a nightmare, and the ripple effects of Ibrahim's actions were only just beginning to unfold.