Lut Gaye || لٹ گۓ

NINE | The Hunt Begins

"paoun rakhna na zameen per, jaan ruk ja tu ghari bhar."

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THE warm glow of winter sun danced upon the azure blanket of the sea spanned far wide into the horizon. The mischievous waves rolled upon the shore, giggling, sprinkling on their way and rebounding before almost touching a pair of booted feet.

Zain stood on the sandy shore, immersed in conversation with a clean-shaven, brown-eyed man who had a similar sturdy built as him.

The man nodded thoughtfully to every piece of information Zain conveyed and assured him that it'll safely reach the destination. After a few minutes of verbal exchange, the man handed him a smartphone and shaking his hand tightly, he swerved around and sprinted ahead.

Golden beams of light cracking through the winter sky warmed Zain's face and a whiff of salty wind flirted with his hair as he clutched the cellphone in his hand. He veered towards the aqua-white edifice standing tall and gleaming luminously under the sunlight―his gaze lingering over the seventh floor where a certain woman was slumbering in―or maybe she had woken up by now.

Iman was asleep when he had snuck out of the apartment to fix his yesterday's fuckups.

He had called Saif, his subordinate, and had instructed him to surround the area with his team. Saif had immediately come to his aid and thankfully, had brought a cellphone with him.

His squinted gaze dipped to the cellphone and he pushed the lock button, swiping his thumb across the screen and tapping on the digits to call a certain someone who must've been waiting to hear from him.

A couple of beeps echoed in his ear before the call was answered and an assertive feminine voice he was so fond of greeted him.

"Assalam o alikum," intoned Zain.

There was silence on the line for a few seconds before the voice boomed, "Zain!? Where the hell are you!? Kahan gayab ho tum?"

"Calm down m―"

"Calm down!? I haven't seen you in weeks and you're calling after days," the voice took a frustrated pause and then continued, "what happened this time?"

Zain scrubbed his temple with his free hand and his lips twitched mirthfully at the storm of queries.

"You know the kind of work I do, Mama."

He could imagine his mother making a disapproving face on the other side of the line right now.

"That's exactly what keeps me worried."

"Cmon, have some confidence in your son," he quipped.

"If I didn't, you wouldn't be working that dangerous job right now."

He chuckled amusingly, "Ye toh hai."

"Zain, are you alright?" The concern in his mother's tone was palpable. It was amazing how mothers could sense if their was something wrong even from far away.

"I'm fine, Mama. It's just that some shi―" he coughed, choking back the cuss word that was about to slip out of his mouth. "I-I mean, some stuff happened and I didn't have a phone and you already know I have to be extra careful while contacting anyone when I'm out there."

"The stuff you're talking about is probably bad stuff, isn't it?"

"Mhm, but you know,"―his head swivel to the side and his dark gaze floated on the apartment building―"something good always comes out of the bad."