Hearts against the Storm

The night was colder than usual, with a restless wind scraping across the empty roads as I rode toward the old farmhouse.

I had no backup. No phone. Just the folded copy of the evidence Hamza had given me, tucked in my inner coat pocket. And a flicker of hope that somehow, this meeting — this trap — might be the end of it all.

The farmhouse stood like a ghost of its former self: broken shutters, overgrown grass, the door creaking from the wind alone. But someone had lit a lantern inside.

He was waiting.

I stepped in.

And there he stood — Azeel, leaning against an old wooden table, holding a glass of water as if this were a casual reunion.

“Taimoor,” he said calmly. “You came alone. Impressive. Brave. Or stupid?”

“I came for Alya,” I said. “End this. Now.”

He laughed softly, the kind of laugh that made your skin crawl. “You still don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about love. This is about blood. Legacy. Honor.”

“Honor?” I snapped. “You kidnapped her. Threatened me. Terrorized her family. What kind of honor is that?”

“The kind that protects what’s ours!” he barked, slamming the glass on the table. “She belongs with us. With me. Not with the son of the man who destroyed my clan’s name.”

I took a step forward. “Your family buried the truth, not mine. And I know the real story now. Malik Sherzai didn’t kill my uncle. Someone else did. But your family let him take the blame.”

His eyes twitched. He didn’t deny it.

“So what now?” I continued. “You threaten me again? Kill me? You think that’ll silence everything?”

He walked toward me slowly. “No, Taimoor. I’m not going to kill you.”

I tensed.

“I’m going to let your own father destroy you.”

That stopped me.

“What are you talking about?”

Azeel smirked and pulled out a small flash drive from his pocket. “Your father… wasn’t just your uncle’s brother. He was his rival. In everything. Power. Property. Your uncle had the documents that exposed illegal land takeovers by your father. But then… conveniently, he died.”

“No…” I whispered.

“Yes,” Azeel said. “Your father might not have pulled the trigger, but he didn’t stop it either. He let Malik Sherzai take the fall. And all these years, he made you hate the wrong man — and the wrong girl.”

My knees weakened. The room spun. Could it be true?

“He’ll deny it, of course,” Azeel added. “But this—” he waved the flash drive, “—contains everything. The original land dispute contracts. Audio recordings. Names. Dates. That’s the real story.”

I looked at him. “Why are you showing me this?”

“Because I want to see you burn. Break. Lose everything. Including her.”

He tossed the drive at me. I caught it. “Let it rip you apart,” he said.

Then he pulled out his gun.

“But just in case you thought this was going to end with a happy speech—”

The gun clicked.

I didn’t wait.

I tackled him to the floor. The gun slid across the dusty wood. We fought — fists, elbows, rage. Years of hatred, jealousy, and lies boiled over into a single brutal moment.

He was stronger. But I was faster.

When he reached for the gun again, I kicked it away. He roared and lunged, knocking me back into a wooden beam. Pain exploded through my ribs.

Then the door burst open.

Alya.

“No!” she screamed.

Behind her — Hamza, holding a metal rod.

He didn’t hesitate. He struck Azeel from behind.

Azeel crumbled.

We stood there, panting, bruised, bloodied.

“You said not to come,” Alya said, tears streaming down her face. “But I couldn’t lose you.”

I smiled through the pain. “I’m glad you didn’t listen.”

Later that night, we handed over the flash drive to a trusted legal activist. Within hours, the files were uploaded, backed up, and spread like wildfire.

Headlines exploded:

“Uncle’s Death: Not a Feud, But a Cover-Up?”

“New Evidence Implicates Local Politicians in 20-Year Conspiracy.”

“Sherzai Name Cleared? Public Demands Inquiry.”

My father didn’t call. But I knew he saw it.

The next morning, we went to see him.

He was silent for a long time, staring out the window. My mother stood in the corner, hands shaking.

Finally, he spoke. “I did what I had to… to protect this family.”

“No,” I said calmly. “You destroyed it.”

I held Alya’s hand.

“She’s not my enemy. She never was. You were.”

He didn’t stop us when we left.