Khwahish ki baarish koi, barsi huwi to hai

Phir bhi meri zindagi, tarsi huwi toh hai

Tu rahay aashna, ya rahay ajnabi

Meri har saans hai, tujhse bandi huwi...

Opulence; it was the only word to describe the sheer grandeur of the office Omar Maktabi occupied. The wide-eyed newly appointed secretary gulped hard and adjusted her glasses. The managing director at the employment agency had warned her that this client was VVIP and to be treated with utmost care. He'd also said that though she would have one official boss, there would also occasionally be another important man. 

'He'll come and go, but he's the one to look out for. He's Asian, dark-eyed and dark-haired, probably Pakistani. I've heard he's the type who makes grown men cry by just raising his eyebrows. Be careful around him Liza'. 

The words kept bouncing around in her head, trying to put words to a picture.

The man in-front of her was dark-haired and his eyes the colour of warm honey. He'd welcomed her into the office 20 minutes ago and since then had smiled seven times and cracked exactly three jokes. He looked powerful no doubt, but making grown men cry? Alpha male or not, he seemed too nice to make anyone cry.

A phone rang outside the office door and in the next 20 seconds five things happened. The air outside the office door became strangely charged, murmurs flooding the place. People speed-walked back to their desks and started fussing around; men straightened their ties and the ladies, they all but mimicked a female bird priming herself for a mating ritual. The floor-to-ceiling blinds, usually at half-mast were pulled up to let the Qatari sun filter in. The executive assistant ran off towards the executive kitchen and lastly, the thundering sound of a helicopter landing on the rooftop helipad directly above could be heard.

Mr Maktabi straightened and cracked his knuckles "He's here" he muttered.

Exactly a minute later, footsteps sounded on the Italian marble floors outside, echoing because the sudden silence outside was thundering.

And then he came into view. Dressed in black from head to toe. His dark-haired head to his gleaming leather covered toes. In a seemingly simple outfit of a black dress shirt, black trousers and a black blazer buttoned with a single button at his abdomen. Just above that button was a tantalising v of bronzed skin, with a smattering of dark hair peeking through the three opened buttons. Higher still was his crowning glory. A lightly tanned face accentuated with a sharp jaw, light stubble and a full, dark moustache.

Too primal to be called beautiful, but with features too lovely to be anything else.

Liza realised in that moment that the saying 'the clothes make the man' was actually not for all men apparently. This man could be covered in rags and still radiate supremacy.

She was jolted out of her thoughts when she saw him turn his head, give her a once-over and move his lips. Was he talking to her? While she'd been staring at that bronzed chest peeking out? Where was a shovel and a hole when you needed one? He turned his head back to Mr Maktabi and she realised the question had been about her, but for him.

"This is Liza, my new secretary, fresh from the agency" Mr Maktabi chuckled

With a slow nod of his head, the vision in black turned to her again, gave tiniest half smile and nodded his head in greeting. Then he turned, unbuttoned his coat and sat down elegantly on one of the plush beige couches in office. The executive assistant walked in with the cup of espresso she had ran off to prepare and then signalled Liza to follow her out. In a daze, Liza could only follow suit.

Murtasim Khan sat down in his old friend's office with a sigh of relief. The week on the ground had been long. His guards had had a skirmish with the workers of the neighbouring Maliks over exceeding crop boundaries. The neighbouring farmers had discreetly planted their crop in the small area between the Khan-Malik boundary, citing infertile land on the fields under Malik hold. His guards had threatened the farmers and sent them back to their side, but Murtasim had ordered them not to do anything else. 

Destroying the crops would've been wasteful, especially when so many families were struggling to make ends meet. He would just raise the matter in the panchayat(feudal court) if needed. Till then, a warning from Khan had been sent to the Malik household through the farmers. Murtasim was sure he wouldn't need to do anything else.

He was looking forward to a smoother week in the skies. This is why he flew. Why it was so important for him. He knew he'd never be content just taking over his father's ancestral seat and becoming Khan. He'd always had too much energy, too much spirit for that. So he'd fought. Against his family, his fate and the destiny that was written for him. His own mother had been his biggest resistance. Set in her ways as Khan Begum, she couldn't imagine a life doing anything other than what tradition dictated, for herself and for her only son. She had tried almost all the options available to her to stop her son, the fated heir, from persueing flying as a career.

But he was of Khan blood after all. He'd resisted every resistance, hadn't even let the illness and death of his father break him down. He'd fulfilled his duty meticulously whilst following his own path. Business school in London whilst simultaneously doing flight training. He'd graduated from both at twenty-one and had spent the next year gaining his flight hours before being called back home after his father's cancer diagnosis and subsequent death.

At the tender age of twenty-two and a half, Murtasim Khan had become The Khan Murtasim Khan; Gaddi Ka Janasheen. The provider and protector of every single person on every inch of land that he now presided over. And that land was vast, spread all across Hyderabad. Another man would've given up by then. Broken down and come home to accept his fate. 

But Murtasim had always had a flame inside him. It would always burn slowly, until certain situations added fuel to it, causing an inferno. He wasn't about to let his flame die. He'd spent a year at home to understand his new role and sort out all his father's affairs, before resuming flying as a hobby just before his twenty-fourth birthday. As an outlet. A defiance of sorts. That he wouldn't be dictated. Especially not when he was the one with all the power.

That was where his good friend had come in. Similar to Murtasim, Omar Maktabi was the heir to an Arab airline dynasty. He had inherited it soon after graduation, and over the years the two friends stayed connected, meeting in different parts of the world whenever their hectic schedules allowed. This was how Murtasim had resumed flying, and why he had chosen commercial over private. 

Phoenix Air had been Omar's baby project, something away from his father's name. Murtasim had invested in the airline, and now he was one of the main shareholders. It allowed him to fly on his terms, something commercial pilots obviously couldn't do. He flew whenever he wished, on whatever routes he chose, and that was how it had been for the past seven years. His identity on the ground was different to that in the skies, but one thing remained constant. Murtasim Khan was a name which received respect, reverence and some fear without demanding it. People knew this was no ordinary pilot.

Looking at his friend now, Murtasim raised an enquiring eyebrow. There was tenseness in Omar's posture, recognisable to Murtasim after knowing this man for many years.

"The Latvians have tried again." Omar spoke, his voice deep with meaning.

Murtasim inhaled deeply. There went his plan for a better week down the drain.

"And? How does it look?" he drawled

"Baba is worried that the longer we overlook it, the more dangerous it may become. He wants me to take action before they actually try something."

This had been a problem in both Murtasim and Omar's life for the past two years. Sheikh Ammar, Omar's father, had granted asylum to a large group of Latvian laborers a few years ago. They had left Latvia to escape the terror of a Latvian criminal group they had all previously been involved with. Wanting a better life for their families, the men had escaped to Qatar, under the guise of being laborers going to work on the Qatari oil fields. Sheikh Ammar had granted them refuge and employment in exchange for their loyalty and service, and had arranged for their families to be reunited with them. 

All had been well until the Latvian criminal group, known as the AXU, had understood what was going on and had since began efforts to get the men back to Latvia. Omar had dealt with threats of violence, threats from corrupt members of the Latvian government who were in the pockets of the AXU, and threats to the business. So far they had all been ignored because of the sheer power and wealth the Maktabis held. They assessed each threat, and after due diligence, Murtasim and Omar had always brushed off the Shiekh's worries, confidant that they were untouchable.

But this time it was different. As Omar relayed the new threats, it was evident the Latvians were getting aggressive. It could only be a matter of time before they acted, and Murtasim immediately understood the nature of Sheikh Ammar's worries. They mirrored his own. This was no ordinary business where profits and losses were limited to the owners and shareholders. It was an airline. Commercial aircrafts carrying ordinary civilians to their destinations. Their lives in the hands of the pilots and also, the business owners, who needed to ensure the highest standard of safety for their passengers. Any incident on any plane could very easily become catastrophic, endangering the lives of hundreds of people.

Omar sighed deeply. "We'll gather the board to discuss the issue, but between you and me, what are we going to do about it? You know they'll adhere to any advice we give."

"We'll do what we always do. Assess the threat, target any weaknesses and eliminate them. Those men are under your father's protection, you know he'll never betray them. If they go back, they'll be killed. We need to be ready. Whatever they try, our defense needs to be one step ahead."

Come what may, the two men had protected their business and passengers from the Latvians for the past two years, and they would continue doing so until the threat was eliminated forever. Giving up or letting down their guard wasn't an option. Innocent lives depended on it. Their own lives depended on it.

Meerab Waqas Ahmed couldn't believe how hard it was to pack as a girl. She was to be wearing a uniform all next week and it was still hard to pack. She was in the middle of folding yet another summer dress when her mother walked in with a tray of fresh strawberries and a giant glass of strawberry milkshake. Her favourite. Her heart did a guilty flip and she straightened up to ease the horrible feeling.

"Tayaari hogayi meri beti ki?" Anila asked with a soft smile, making Meerab feel even worse.

"Bas horahi hai Mama. Thank you for the snacks" She went to hug her mother, who was sitting on her bed. Snuggling in with her, she breathed in scent of the woman who had always had a smile for her, whenever, wherever.

"Bhai maine socha ke meri beti ko agle hafte strawberries aur shake kaun dega? Issiliye next week ka quota bhi abhi poora karletay hain" she said, looking down warmly at her daughter.

Smiling up her mother, Meerab was so close to telling her the truth. That she wasn't going on a political science-related trip with her university. That she wasn't going to be in Islamabad for a week. That she wasn't even going to be Pakistan next week. She yearned to share her turmoil with Mama, who along with Baba were her twin pillars of strength, hope and comfort. She had never lied to them and it was eating her up inside. A horrible, gnawing feeling in her stomach had settled the minute she had mislead them about where was going to be next week.

But Meerab knew. She just knew that the truth wouldn't go down well. And that was an understatement. Not because of Mama and Baba. They would come around and understand that she was unsure about her career and wanted to experiment with another option. They would even support her if she desired this for herself. 

It was an entirely different family she was worried about. From an entirely different world to hers, with rules so unrecognisable to Meerab that she felt suffocated every time she stepped foot in their home.

The Khan's were like a rare species of human to Meerab; she'd never been able to understand how people could live with such stiffness, such coldness. Imagine telling the head of that family, Maa Begum, that she, Meerab Waqas Ahmed wanted to be an air-hostess. Or at least try to see if she wanted to. That yes, she willingly wanted to walk about serving dinner and pouring tea for a hundred and fifty or so people, day in-day out, whilst eating out of foil containers and handing out sick bags. 

She could picture it clearly, Maa Begum just about fainting in rage and disbelief at the atrocity she'd just been told about. She would then speak about how a daughter of the Khan's, an integral member of their family, wanted to serve food and beverages to strangers? Clean up after them? In the sky? Meerab was sure if one could be banished from sight in this day and age, it is exactly what would've happened to her had she told the truth.

All because she knew Baba would tell them. Out of respect and responsibility. He had always treated Baray Abba, the late Shahnawaz Khan, as the family elder, even though he was only an older cousin. And it would be game-over. There would be no going to Doha for preliminary tests and training. No embarking on a new journey to see if this is what she wanted to do. If being a flight attendant was the career she wanted for herself. She would never have the chance to experiment like many young people her age, and find the right career choice for herself.

Baba had always wanted her to study law, like him. Whilst she greatly admired her father, it just didn't feel like the right choice for Meerab. So she had studied political science as a compromise. It was decided that this way Meerab could either specialise further in political science or go on to pursue law if she wanted to by then. 

Meerab could hand-on-heart say that she had been okay with this plan until her life had been turned upside down two years ago. So if the Khan's wanted someone to blame for her actions, they just had to look in the mirror. 

That's it for Chapter One! This one is mainly to set the background of the story and get you to know Meerab and Murtasim a little. Plenty more insight into their lives and actions will be coming in the next few chapters and things will become much clearer. 
This chapter is dedicated to the magical Dil Hi Mera Dard Hai OST; it was the one thing which inspired me and got the creative juices flowing everytime I sat down to write this chapter. Link is attached above.

Till next time, D xo