Breakfast had ended, but the calm of the dining room lingered. Cups of coffee and tea rested in tired hands, steam curling lazily into the air. Conversation had slowed, replaced by the soft clinking of porcelain and the morning light spilling through the windows.
Faqair drank half his coffee in one go, set the cup down, and rose from his chair.
"I have to go," he said casually. "Some urgent work."
Zayn looked up at him, one eyebrow arching in quiet suspicion.
"I'll be back soon," Faqair added, already reaching for his keys.
"At least finish your coffee," Grandpa said, his voice firm but gentle.
"I'm sorry, Grandpa," Faqair replied, offering a brief smile. "I'm in a big hurry."
Grandpa's eyes narrowed slightly. "Where are you going dressed like that?" he asked, glancing at the black hoodie. "Aren't you going to wear your office clothes?"
"It's my own work," Faqair said lightly. "Bye-bye."
Zayn leaned back in his chair and typed a message.
Don't do anything wrong in anger.
Faqair's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then turned back, lifting his thumb in reassurance. He winked, a faint smile playing on his lips, before walking out.
Minutes later, he slid into his car. A black cap went on. Then a mask. Finally, the hood was pulled over everything, shadowing his face completely. The engine roared to life, and the car sped away.
The car screeched to a halt outside the police station.
Faqair stepped out, head lowered, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. He walked in with measured steps, every movement deliberate.
"Who do you want to meet?" a police officer asked.Faqair didn't answer immediately. He raised his head slightly and, with two fingers, lowered his mask just enough for the officer to see his face. His eyes met the man's for barely a second.
The color drained from the officer's face.
"I— I'm sorry, sir," he stammered instantly. "You can go." He hurriedly stepped aside and opened the door.
Faqair said nothing. He pulled the mask back into place, covering his face once again, slipped his hands into his hoodie pockets, and walked past as if nothing had happened.Inside, Faqair asked for Nabeel.
He sat in the visitors' area—the same place where anxious relatives waited, hands clasped, eyes full of fear. Faqair, however, looked completely at ease, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through his phone.
After a while, Nabeel was brought in. He squinted at the masked figure.
"Who are you?" he asked, confused.
Faqair slipped his phone into his pocket and stood. Slowly, deliberately, he removed the mask.
"The angel of your death," he said calmly.
Nabeel's eyes widened. "Faqair?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "So Inaya told you, huh?" He dropped into a chair lazily.
Faqair chuckled too—but there was no humor in it. He slammed his hand onto the table, the sound echoing sharply through the room. His eyes were ice-cold as they locked onto Nabeel's.
"How dare you talk to her?" he said quietly. "Didn't I tell you to stay away?"
Nabeel leaned back, smiling. "She's my girlfriend."
Faqair folded his arms. "Was."
Nabeel smirked. "Yeah, was. But when I was with her, I had a lot of fun. You know—my hand on her waist—"
The punch landed before the sentence could finish.The force sent Nabeel and his chair crashing to the floor. An officer rushed in, alarmed—but one look at Faqair made him freeze. Faqair's glare was enough. The officer silently stepped back out.
Nabeel wiped his nose. Blood smeared his fingers.
"Wooow, bro," he said, standing up unsteadily. "You didn't even let me finish."
"Don't open the sewer," Faqair warned coldly, grabbing Nabeel by the collar and pulling him close. "Or I'll make sure you can't open anything again." His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Say anything about Inaya again, and that day will be your last."
"Police! Police!" Nabeel shouted suddenly. "He's beating me!"
No one came.
Faqair released him and chuckled. "No one's coming," he said softly. "Even if I kill you, they'll bury you and report back."
His eyes darkened. "This is your final warning. Ignore it—and your family dies with you."
Shock drained the color from Nabeel's face.
In desperation, Nabeel swung his hand.
Faqair caught his arm effortlessly, twisted it behind his back.
"Didn't I tell you?" Faqair murmured. "You can't do anything—except take a beating from me."
"Let go!" Nabeel make criying face . "I won't spare you!"
Faqair shoved him away. "You're clingy," he said mockingly. "I don't know what Inaya ever saw in you. No looks. No brains."
He put his mask back on.
Fueled by rage, Nabeel grabbed a chair and slammed it into Faqair's head. Blood trickled down, but Faqair only chuckled. He punched Nabeel square in the face, then lifted him by the neck before dropping him like nothing.
"I'll torment you like this," he said calmly. "Got it?"
He called out to the officer. "Give him protein shakes every day," he added with a laugh. "He's too weak."
Nabeel stared at him, eyes burning with fury.
Faqair leaned closer. "Don't take my words lightly," he said. "It could cost you dearly." He winked and walked away.
As he left, officers straightened, respect written clearly on their faces.
Faqair got into his car, examined his bruised knuckles, wiped the blood from his head, and drove off—just like that.
To be continued.....