1| Scarface

S C A R F A C E

W O R D  C O U N T: 2632

It had seemed an unusually beautiful day, the sky a deep shade of blue and the air warm and gentle. The moon cast its soft, pearlescent light upon the Great Hall, illuminating its Gothic yet captivating architecture. The beams bathed the entire estate, its sprawling grounds now adorned with twinkling lights that seemed to mimic the stars themselves. The town of Mizaan, still vibrant from the evening's festivities, buzzed with excitement as the elite gathered to celebrate the engagement of the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in town.

While the revelry echoed through the halls, Syeda Anaabiya Ahmed found herself in the garden, playing a game of hood-man-blind with a group of children. The garden, too, was a spectacle, awash in the glow of the lavish decorations.

Yet, amidst the laughter and carefree atmosphere, something dark was stirring within her.

Anaabiya felt uneasy, a restlessness gnawing at her. It wasn't that she disliked parties; she simply didn't belong at this one. Her aunt, however, was in her element—dreaming of mingling with the town's elite. According to her, their invitation to such an extravagant affair was a stroke of luck. To Anaabiya, it was absurd, but since her aunt was her legal guardian, she had no choice but to comply. Especially now, when her aunt's plans for her future seemed to be closing in from every side.

Uzair, her aunt's only son, had developed a dangerous infatuation with Anaabiya, and that, in turn, had made her an object of contempt in her aunt's eyes. The first priority was to rid herself of Anaabiya, so the hunt for suitors had begun in earnest.

The best—and most revolting—proposal had come from a wealthy man twice her age, a man with two children and a tarnished reputation, one who had been accused of abusing his former wife.

"Who else would want to marry someone as average as you?" her aunt had snapped, irritation clear in her voice. Her words no longer hurt Anaabiya—she was long accustomed to them. What truly baffled her was why her aunt's son, Uzair, had developed such an obsession with her. It was a mystery Anaabiya couldn't unravel. She couldn't even remember doing anything that might have inspired such feelings in him. And now, because of his misguided affection, her hopes and dreams for the future were slipping through her fingers.

The proposal from the wealthy man would have sufficed, but then a criminal's mother—one from the elite circles—had come forward with a proposal for Anaabiya. In exchange for the marriage, her aunt would earn herself a coveted invitation to the exclusive gatherings of the town and what not. Anaabiya's future hardly mattered to her aunt; the chance to rub elbows with the town's richest citizens was all that counted.

Syed Humza Junaid was a name Anaabiya had heard whispered in dark corners. A notorious figure, feared by most, he was known for his brutality. His reputation was that of a ruthless mob boss, a monster capable of unspeakable acts. His enforcers controlled every shady deal in the town, and his name was often linked with murder, kidnapping, and theft.

"Scarface," they called him, and it wasn't just a nickname—it was a symbol of his power. It was rare for him to even attend such high-society events, but tonight he was expected. Anaabiya had heard enough rumours about him to last a lifetime, but none of it struck her with the same fear that it did most others in Mizaan. If anything, she felt a deep sense of disgust. Some might have called her foolish for not fearing him, but it was what it was.

To her aunt, however, Humza was the perfect match.

He was unmarried.

He had no children.

He was wealthy beyond imagination.

And if he decided to end Anaabiya's life the day after their wedding? Well, who cared? She'd be married off, and that was all that mattered.

Tonight, Anaabiya was supposed to meet the notorious mob boss, but he had yet to arrive. The hall was already alive with whispers and excitement. His presence, or rather the idea of him, seemed to thrill the wealthiest of Mizaan, especially among the young women now hoping to catch his eye. By the time Anaabiya had spent just fifteen minutes in the hall, she had heard enough to make her desperate to leave.

The moment her aunt and sister became distracted, Anaabiya seized the opportunity and fled toward the garden. But her brief reprieve was cut short when the lights suddenly went out, plunging the estate into darkness. She found herself surrounded by six or seven children, one of whom was a student from the local school where she taught.

In the midst of it all, Anaabiya couldn't escape the sense that, in the space of a single evening, her life was spiralling in ways she could no longer control.

If only her parents had been alive, Anaabiya thought, she wouldn't feel like a mere pawn in the hands of fate. Her sister, Nabiha, had never offered the support she longed for. Despite all her efforts, Anaabiya couldn't bridge the growing chasm between them. At times, it seemed as though Nabiha harboured a deep disdain for her. She often wondered where things had gone wrong between them. Nabiha was her only family, yet she seemed far closer to their aunt than to her own flesh and blood—her elder sister.

Nabiha, with her golden-hued hair and strikingly pale blue eyes, was often hailed as a rare beauty by those around them. She had inherited her looks from their mother, a woman who had been nothing short of breathtaking, with a grace that was unparalleled. Anaabiya, on the other hand, had taken after their father. Not that he was unattractive, but compared to their mother's ethereal beauty, his features seemed almost ordinary.

In her early twenties, Anaabiya had once waited for her "knight in shining armour," only to eventually accept that such a fantasy would never materialise. Disheartened, she had closed the door to marriage, content instead with her life as a teacher, providing for her sister. That, she realised, was enough. While she still harboured a quiet dream of marriage, it was no longer for herself—only for Nabiha. She longed to see her sister find the love and happiness she herself had given up on, even though she knew her own care and devotion would never be returned in kind by her sister.

As if wishing to rewrite the course of her own life, Anaabiya closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift back to that simpler moment in the garden. She could almost feel the warmth of the evening as she stood there, her head concealed beneath the hood of the game.

"Where are you, Musa?" she called out, her voice light and teasing, as she reached out with her arms, pretending to be unable to find the nine-year-old boy, who, from the sound of his laughter, was no more than a foot away to her right. A mischievous grin spread beneath the hood as she adopted the stance of the classic "monster"—arms raised, fingers splayed like claws—before she began to stomp around, her voice taking on a deep, ominous tone. "You can't escape me, Musa. I will catch you."

"Ha!" he shouted gleefully from her right. "You'll never find me, hood-man!"

"Yes, I will!" Anaabiya declared with a mock threat, then dramatically turned to her left, sending ripples of laughter through the children, who scurried around her, darting behind benches or huddling beside flower pots.

A few moments later, Anaabiya triumphantly called out, "Got you!" as she pounced on a giggling, sprinting child, catching a small wrist in her grasp. Breathless from the chase, she tugged off her hood to reveal her captive.

"You caught Naaira!" the children exclaimed in delight. "Naaira's the hood-man now!"

The little five-year-old girl looked up at Anaabiya, her wide hazel eyes filled with apprehension, her frail frame quivering with fear. "Please," she whispered, clutching Anaabiya's leg, "I don't want to wear the hood... It's so dark inside it. Do I have to wear it?"

Anaabiya's smile softened as she gently brushed Naaira's hair away from her face. "You don't have to wear it, sweetie, not unless you want to."

"I'm scared of the dark," Naaira confessed in a small voice, her slender shoulders slumping with shame.

Lifting Naaira into her arms, Anaabiya enveloped her in a warm embrace. "Everyone is afraid of something," she said softly, before adding with a teasing grin, "For instance, I'm terrified of frogs!"

The playful fib made Naaira giggle with delight. "Frogs!" she repeated, her voice full of amusement. "They don't scare me at all!"

"There you go," Anaabiya said as she gently set Naaira back on her feet. "You're braver than I could ever be!"

"Anaabiya api's afraid of frogs!" Naaira declared proudly to the group, sparking a flurry of excited chatter as the children gathered around her.

"No, she isn't—" young Musa began, eager to defend Anaabiya, who was an endless source of joy and entertainment for the children.

Musa's words faltered under Anaabiya's pleading glance, and he fell silent, no longer questioning her alleged fear. "I'll wear the hood," he volunteered, gazing up at her with adoration.

"Alright then, it's Musa's turn," Anaabiya agreed with a smile, handing him the hood. She watched fondly as the children scattered, eager to find new hiding spots.

"I am Humza, and I'm coming to get you!" Musa bellowed, his voice filled with mock authority. Anaabiya rolled her eyes in exasperation. Great, now even her suitor's name had become a tool for scaring the children. Naaira, standing beside her, visibly shuddered and whispered, "No! Not him!" with an unmistakable tremor in her voice.

Naaira tugged at Anaabiya's skirts to get her attention, her voice high-pitched and eager. "Aren't you afraid of Humza?"

"Of course not!" Anaabiya replied with a bright, reassuring smile, hoping to ease the child's worry.

"They say," young Musa interjected in a tone full of awe, "The scarface is as tall as a tree!"

"A tree?" Anaabiya laughed, trying to downplay the exaggerated rumours about the mob boss. "If he were that tall, it'd be quite the spectacle watching him try to fit through a door. He'd never make it inside!"

The absurdity of the image had the desired effect, and several of the children giggled, just as Anaabiya had hoped.

"I heard," young Azlaan chimed in, his voice trembling with a dramatic shiver, "He tears down walls with his bare hands and drinks blood!" What in the world were these parents telling their children?

This was getting out of hand.

"Yuck!" Anaabiya laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "If that's true, then he must just have terrible indigestion! If he comes to the party, we'll feed him some good food instead!"

"My Baba said," another child added, "He rides with a giant named Asad, who carries a gun and a war axe and chops up children. Last year, Hunain didn't listen to his mother when she told him to stop playing and go to bed. By morning, he was gone. Nobody ever found him."

By now, the children had stopped playing and instead gathered around Anaabiya to share their various terrifying stories about Humza. A creeping sense of panic began to rise within her. Even if these tales were little more than exaggerated fables passed down by the parents, the idea of marrying this monstrous figure unsettled her deeply. She would never marry someone like him. She would rather accept the other proposal, anything but this. Never this.

"What does he do to the children?" Naaira asked, her eyes wide with confusion.

"I don't know, but I heard—" another child interrupted with an air of mystery.

Anaabiya quickly interjected with a lighthearted tone, "Let me tell you what I've heard." With a bright smile, she began guiding the children toward the bench. "I heard," she said with exaggerated cheer, "That he's so old he has to squint just to see, like this—"

She contorted her face comically, imitating the expression of a befuddled, nearly blind person squinting in confusion, and the children burst into giggles.

"No! That's not true," Musa objected, his voice full of certainty. "I've seen him with my father. He's terrifying. He has this huge scar on the left side of—" Before Musa could finish, Anaabiya quickly interrupted.

"You must have seen someone else," she said, smiling and easing the tension.

As they sat around her, Anaabiya continued to weave her playful fabrications, and the children eagerly joined in, each offering their own absurdities to make the figure of the "scarred man" seem more ridiculous.

But despite the lighthearted banter, an eerie shift had occurred. The sky had darkened ominously as a thick blanket of clouds gathered, and the air had grown sharply cold, whipping Anaabiya's shawl about her shoulders, as though nature itself was responding to the mention of such malevolence.

Anaabiya was preparing to make another joke at Humza's expense when the sudden snap of a twig behind her made her freeze. Someone was here.

She rose to her feet, her gaze sweeping to the source of the noise. A man stood leaning against the pillar behind her bench. "Please, don't stop on my account," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. Although she couldn't make out his face clearly, Anaabiya could hear the struggle in his voice to suppress a laugh.

"May I help you?" she asked, choosing to ignore his remark, her curiosity piqued by his unexpected presence.

By this time, the children had gathered around her, their small hands clutching her in fear. As the man lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminated his features, casting sharp shadows across his face. Musa's voice broke the silence. "I know him! He's Humza's friend!"

The mention of the name sent the children into a frenzy. They shrieked, retreating behind Anaabiya, some trembling visibly. Anaabiya stood frozen, stunned into silence, her heart racing.

How long had he been standing there? How long had he been listening?

The children continued to watch him warily as he took slow, deliberate drags from his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him in the chilly air. Anaabiya, however, could feel her frustration mounting. She finally found her voice. "Could you not do that in front of the children?" she demanded, her tone firmer than she expected.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry! I assumed they were all accustomed to it, given that their fathers smoke too," he said, his voice laced with awkwardness. Anaabiya felt her temper flare, but she watched as he casually flicked the cigarette butt onto the ground and stamped it out with his foot.

"Well!" he added nervously, "If your name is Anaabiya, I came to call you inside. My name is Huzaifa, and yes, I am a friend of Humza. His mother is looking for you," he said matter-of-factly.

Anaabiya took a deep breath, collecting herself. Without a word, she motioned for the children to follow her inside. There was little point in asking him to keep quiet about what he had overheard. As they walked back toward the hall, she felt a wave of relief wash over her when the power returned.

Good. At least he knew how much she despised his so-called "friend."

If he reported back, it would likely work in her favour.

The mob boss would most likely reject her outright, even before meeting her.

E D I T E D on 8.02.2025