Mine To Be Called ✓

~~•Four•~~

"Spend four days in Armenia. Don't go out of the house, don't interact with anyone, and don't make yourself public. This Saturday discreetly come over to the Airport. Your flight is A210 at 2 in the afternoon. See you soon."

                 _________________

Masab

My eyes were fixed on the pen holder as I managed a nonchalant behavior in front of the rigid man in blue, his keen stare even reading my soul. But that was his high impression that he could judge me and read me. I came across as someone who I wasn't. I extorted people into thinking about me how I wanted.

"What's your name?" His tough and rough voice could send shivers down anyone's spine but I wasn't one of those.

"John Elia," I pronounced, without any expression or tone in my voice.

The man stilled hearing my answer but his face was a sight to behold when the truth and lie device blinked green giving the idea that my answer was a truth.

Well, those devices weren't as accurate as they were deemed to be. They perhaps acted on the ability of a person to own what they were saying and I owned my answer.

The man exchanged an appreciative look with the other one who was dressed up the same as him.

"Age?" He again implored.

I gave a bone-chilling serious look. "A very old soul. You wouldn't track down my age."

The device was capable of making my answer a yes again.

"What do you do?" This time he had a hint of amusement in his attitude.

"Procrastination."

He snored which I was pretty sure was a laugh. I smiled as well when that again came out to be a truth.

"Where do you live?" Another question was bombarded at me.

"A place where life goes on but I can't feel the life." My answer once again impressed the two men.

"You are a smart man. We would love to be working with you. What's your opinion?" The bald man now came to the point.

"I don't understand why you guys got me freed from the prison before my family could do so and brought me here," I asked, moving his hand in the air.

The man gleamed. "You will get to know this. Don't worry."

I was a born rich guy. My father was a well-known landlord. I had a golden spoon in my mouth since childhood but unlike many, I hated this spoon. When I was intelligent, capable, and competent enough, then why did I have to hear such words that I was made by my father? I had an IQ level which was higher than most of my age. The obvious work which my father had chosen for me and which I inherited as his son was a repulsion for me. I wanted to earn something on my own. I aimed to do something different.  Something unique that would suit my skills.

My father was against higher studies. He said that if I had a full-fledged name waiting for me, then would should I waste my time studying? He wanted me to follow him and my elder brothers. But I considered myself different. I was born differently. I was raised differently. I thought differently.

One day at University, I saw a group of lecherous boys harassing an innocent girl. I couldn't stop and hit the hell out of all of them. One out of three got his head burst open and the other got severe bruises. I sustained some too but for me, they acted as my victory.

Police captured me for beating my fellows but something different happened then. Our university like many others was under inspection by the Pakistan National Intelligence Agency because of some criminal act that happened last year where terrorists had attacked a school. They worked undercover and under different identities. They saw what I did and then amusingly, they freed me from the police and took me in an automobile which led me to sit in front of those guys.

The adventurous, interesting, and fascinating aspect associated with it enthralled me and I wanted to have a choice of my own. To use my talent and IQ in some way. The yes came from me wasn't that delayed.

"What's your real name?" The bald man was at it again.

"Masab Alavi," I replied, confidently.

"I don't want you to become a white agent. That's too easy for a shrewd and rational person like you. You have got to become a mirage agent. A ghost agent who works undercover, whose actions speak louder than his name. Your intelligence and resilience will sprout like a damn garden like this," the other man said.

That's how I became a spy. Only a few higher authorities in the intelligence agency knew my name. For the rest, I was Agent A. It was so damn good to work like this. To make plans, execute them, and see them bringing a sweet fruit. I had already visited the whole world at this cost. I have many names. I have many identities. I did so many missions, that I failed some. But those I won had a huge number.

A Russian for a Russian.

An Englishman from the UK.

An American for the USA.

A Turkish for Turkiye.

An Italian for Italy.

A policeman to take care of some black sheep in police.

An army officer, a doctor, a common man, a laborer, and many of which I had already lost count of.

And many more that were yet to come.

There was no Masab but that was what the fun in this game.

"Listen Masab, before we will make this a deal, you have to make sure of one thing," the bald man again let out.

I narrowed my eyes. "What's that?"

"Falling in love is totally prohibited for you. Fall in love with your work, not a woman. That will be yours and ours doom," he confided.

I twisted a smile across my lips. "You rest assured. Falling in love with this world is crappy and a woman is a part of this world."

He bobbed his head. "Great. But don't feel repulsed of altogether, Masab. Love is gonna bring you so many people to their feet."

I laughed slightly. "I know."

That was the same thing I did with Turkish mafia princess Ceylan Aysin by becoming Ozan. I made her fall in love with me for my mission. To get our man free from their pawns, required to go to their torture cell. But Ceylan was an innocent woman who was born in those people. She didn't deserve a bad fate. Emir was best for her given her luck and circumstances.

She would have never forgotten my love if I hadn't given an ending to our story. I used Sikandar here to give an idea that he killed me so that Ceylan would be at ease. There is no better ending for a tragic love story than death.

Ceylan had gone to her house and married Emir. I hope her a better life.

Love was a game. Love was a bait. Love was a useful tactic. That was my thoughts when I was Agent A. But becoming Masab Alavi from Agent A would be this easy, I never knew. As soon as I saw that girl, the Masab in me overpowered the Agent A wanting to possess her.

                      _____________

AssalamoAlaikum/ Hi guys!

How are you?

Here's a new chapter.

Ozan was Masab so now we will see a proper track of Masab and Andaleeb here soon. ❤❤

Kindly vote and comment.❤