Hirz-e-Jaan

Ulfat 1

"Haider, meri baat suno. Agr tumhe wo chahiye to apne aap ko uske kabil banao. Apne pairon pe khare ho aur usse khud haasil karo. Mein tumhari koi madad nahi karne wala is mamle men." Raza Chaudhary said to his son. (Haider, listen to me. If you want her then you'll have to achieve her. Make yourself stable and get her. I will not be helping you in this matter.)

Haider, only 12 at the time, didn't understand what his dad meant by that. Some parts made sense, others, not so much.

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A few years pass by. Haider and Mehrunnisa grow up. Both drifting away from each other. Haider was busy with handling his father's business. While Mehrunnisa's mother was making sure that she understood the household chores.

Haider was now 17, turning 18 and Mehrunnisa was 15. Despite the busy and chaotic schedule Haider had with shadowing his father all day, he would make sure to at least see Mehrunnisa.

Mehrunnisa, on the other hand, was fed up. She didn't understand why she couldn't pursue what she liked. According to her mom, a girl's worth is decided based on how well she can handle the house.

All Mehrunnisa wanted was to never do a single chore and forever sing to the birds. She was gifted with an angelic voice and knew it could earn her great respect.

As far as Haider went, she had no idea how he felt for her. It had been years since she actually talked to him. One day, they suddenly never hung out again.

She had no idea at the time but now that she is older, she just thought it might be because they grew up.

It was another day when Haider was in the fields right across from his house. He was sitting under the neem tree, pretending to be looking over the fields when his actual attention was to the house right behind, the Mirza house.

Their houses were a few houses apart due to Mehr's father, Zubair Mirza, being Chaudhary Sahab's right hand and most trusted employee.

Unlike other days where Mehrunnisa would just come out to take the swing or to water her rose plant. She was carrying a heavy clay pot that he could only guess to be filled with water.

He saw her struggling with the pot with Zorawar (Mehr's brother) or her father nowhere to be found. The pot could easily be half or even more of her body weight.

He was angry to say the least. What were her parents thinking, sending her somewhere with a pot she could barely lift. He walked over to her, to help out.

"Yeh mujhe den. Mein apki madad karta hoon." Haider stepped forward, his shadow falling over her. (Give this to me. I'll help you.)

Mehrunnisa stopped, startled. The clay pot slipped from her hand, falling down. She had no idea anyone was around.

Before the clay pot hit the floor, Haider caught it, revealing his veiny arms. Mehrunnisa adjusted her dupatta over her head, realizing who it was.

"Mujhe maaf karein Chote Sahab. Mein apki shukar guzar hoon." Mehrunnisa said. He was, after all, the future head of the village. She didn't want to upset him. (Forgive me Young Master. I am forever grateful.)

Haider felt weird at the formality but waved it off. He put the pot on the ground to adjust his kameez's sleeve. "Kidhr jaa rahi ho? Mein chor deta hoon." he offered, his tone calm but firm. (Where are you off to? I can drop you off.)

Mehrunnisa's eyes widened. This was certainly out of the ordinary. He wasn't exactly known for his kindness. Zorawar, who still hung out with him, always had incidents of gruesome things he was capable of.