Best Served Cold

Sitting in the study, both were engrossed deep into their work. The file in Rabail's hand had every intel about the Sikanders. A to Z. Yet nothing caught her eyes. All reports were hardly out of the box- meeting party people, going out to the party office, servants going in and out for chores. She went over it five times and nothing was in her hands.

Placing the file on her table, Rabail pinched the space between her brows. The traffic in her mind stopped and suddenly her head was pounding.

"Anything caught your eyes?" Afra softly spoke out. They had been working non-stop for the last three days. Rabail even shifted her workload to Haveli to save up time and focus more. Stress was evident in Khanum's face. Dulled eyes speaking about sleepless nights, pale skin that looked haunting, and the array of coffees surrounding the room.

"Nada." letting out a sigh, Rabail started to put forward her finding. "Nothing eye-catching. Very normal. In fact, too normal. Either Bakht was stressed or we missed something."

"Hmm. How about we recheck the CCTV-s?" Afra offered. Earlier the day, they got hold of the CCTVs of the roads and the Sikander Haveli from Shehryaar Qureishi.

"Let's run down to IT." Rabail stretched as she stood up. Her joints were thankful as they crackled releasing from the numbness.

Walking out, they walked out into the illuminated hallway with the soft golden lightning. They strolled through the silence, enjoying the contrasting coolness of Aadhilabad's summer night. The moon was of a crescent shape today as it peaked to see the Earth dwellers.

"Oh, by the way, Iffy called." Remembering that idiotic cousin of her made her face scrawl.

"And you didn't pick it up." Afra rolled her eyes in the back of her head. God, at times her Aapi was the most annoyingly childish human on Earth. No arguments on that.

"Well, use bohot jaldi thi naa jaane ki? Use ab jaake mera khayal aaya? Wow, I am honored." (He was in a hurry, right? Now, he remembers?) Putting a hand on her chest, she blinked her eyes multiple times to express her gratitude.

Gratitude, meri ju- (my foo-)

"Aapi, you are being dramatic." Afra interjected her inner voice.

"Haw, Maham! Drama and me? Please, sweetie." She flipped her hair, only adding much more truth to the earlier statement. Afra simply let out a wave of chuckle seeing the slight pout on Rabail's lips.

As they reached closer to their destination, the doorman opened the door for them. Both had turned to their respective roles as they entered through the doors. Clicking sounds of the keyboard resonated throughout. The room had soft lighting to it for the ease of the employees' eyes. All around different lengths and widths of screens, printers, scanners, trackers, and advanced devices are placed.

"I want all the footage sent about Sikanders on the screens." Upon hearing the order, all started working on it. Within seconds every piece of data was in front of her. That was her team, fast-tracked and efficient. Results were given to her at all times. They have been at it for a while now and were going through every nook and cranny of the network to find out something.

The walls now had a shade of light blue as the dim room lit up with the screens on the wall showing the videos. Videos ranging from a month were in front of them and that was a lot of data being in the hands of a non-government person. Mentally she noted to thank Shehryaar in person. The man went against all odds and dug this out, even before taking charge of his office.

"Three screens for each of you. You can slow it down, forward it, or pause. Anything you find amiss, call me out and note it down. Let's start guys!"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Ten pairs of eyes were now scrutinizing each inch of the screens in front of them. Playing, replaying, pausing- the cycle was ongoing. Soon the room was infused with the audio from the screen and the piping hot fumes of the caffeine served.

Cups after cups, scenes after scenes, and seconds after seconds. Her eyes started to dry up a bit as she stared at the pixelated screen. Blinking to get some moisture in them, she read the time of her wristwatch.

11:48 pm

Another day went by. Everything was going blurry in front of her. Her nerves were all over the place, head-splitting into two, and her hands were just empty. Empty.

Running her palm over her face before tucking them under her chin, she kept her stare steady on the paused screen. Everyone in the room was tolling. On their toes, not a blink of sleep and hardly anything in their system except the black coffee. Sensing their tiredness, Rabail decided to call it a day.

"Ok people! Let's just end it here. You all need to take a look at yourselves. Mr. Rezwan, when did you even last go home?" The room erupted in a light chuckle while Mr. Rezwan started scratching his head out of embarrassment. Truth to be told, he did clean up in the lounge reserved for the employees, nevertheless, the dark circles made him look like a homeless man.

"Areh, Mr. Rezwan. Ghar jayiye waarna biwi toh aapki shakal e bhul jaengi. Jo halat hai." (Hey, Mr. Rezwan. You should head home otherwise even your wife is going to forget your face.) His juniors joined the floor and all of them snickered. The whole of Aadhilabad knew how much Mr. Rezwan adores and fears his ghar-wali (wifey).

________________________________________________

"The number you are trying to call is not available, you punk."

A husky snigger left through his lips as the caller attacked with the ruthless remark. He called after a week since he came back to Lahore, albeit he promised to call the very minute he landed in Pakistan.

"My sincerest apologies, Abbu (Dad). Just got swamped with work and meetings." His lips curved to a smile to convey his sincerity, though the person couldn't see it. It was one of those rare times when Zaroon Rayyan Ahmed let go of himself.

"And here I get scolded for being a workaholic." Rayyan Ahmed muttered sulkily.

"Aap hi ka toh beta hai." (Afterall he takes after you)

"Yaar, kya zyatti hai, begum? Jab accha kare, toh aapka beta aur bura kare toh humara." (Hey, what wrongdoing is this, wifey? When he does something good, then he is your son, and when the table turns, he becomes mine.) The helpless man cried out. If someone were to see this scene, they would dismiss this as a play of their eyes and laugh out loud. The prominent political figure of Aadhilabad was sulking like a child denied, brutally, of his favorite chocolate.

"Okay, love-birds, cut out your banter. How are you guys?" It was normalcy in the Ahmed family actually. The youngsters witnessed how whipped their father was for his begum. The uncountable antics he did sometimes made them cringe to the point of throwing the man to another planet. Sometimes when they do say it out loud, Rayyan Ahmed gives out dirty stares to his own lads, 'Tumhari bhi baari ayegi! Dekhle na!' (Your turn will be there as well! Watch it!) The siblings just shrugged their shoulders for their father spoke stupidly around their mother.

"Great, beta (son)! How is it at your end?" Rayyan asked his eldest as he settled to a more comfortable posture on the bed. His wife was sitting across him with her light blue eyes sparkling since the call and slight flutter of arched eyebrows.

"All good, (Dad). Within a few days, things here will be wrapped up." His own sparkly sapphire orbs stilled them on the lights of the city. It was close to midnight perhaps, but the city was wide awake. Just like him.

"Hmm. That's good." His father hummed in response. Mulling over what next to say, he stared at his wife. Seeing her, reminded him of Zaroon. The light blue orbs, left dimples and brows which twitch at the slightest flicker of concentration. Though he wanted his eldest son to be here beside him, he couldn't say it out loud as well. Aadhilabad was a different tale for Zaroon. A tale which started on another end of the sphere, but had the haunting reality strolling here. Zaroon was strong, the strongest in fact. But at times, the person, who faces head-ons, faces the terrifying elements to shake his core, he takes a step back.

"Uff. Just give me the phone." Hina Akhtar snatched the phone from Rayyan who just smiled as he shook his head seeing his wife pout.

"Mera baccha (My child), when are you coming back?" Hina just went out with her question. It has been painfully long since she saw him at their home. Not in Lahore, London, or elsewhere, but at this mansion which she called her home. Home where every wall, every pillar, every brick witnessed their love, their kids' childhood, their laughter, birthdays, highs, and lows. Halls resounded with her sons' laughter as she and her husband chased them. She missed that home. She missed her son in her home.

She thought work kept her apart from her beloved son, but Zaroon buried a saga deep underneath. His father knew for at that time he desperately needed someone and Rayyan stood with an umbrella to shield his son from that downpour.

"Soon, Ammi (Mom). Soon." He let the words drag just like the starry sky stretched in view... However, this time his words sounded like a promise.

Her eyes welled up as her heart sighed in gratitude to her Lord.

"You better start making my favorites." Hania could only hum in response as a lump formed in her throat. Passing the phone to Rayyan, she beamed. Rayyan returned one of his own. His Jahan (World) was coming back to one entity, again.

He took in the sight of his wife walking away from their room with a light-hearted skip in her gait as he placed the phone near his ear. Neither spoke a syllable. Letting the silence twirl with the weight left off by the words spoken earlier. Both saw a blurry sight of the future. All that was to do was to head towards it, but was Zaroon ready to take the steps in the fog to see the dazzling sun at the other end?

"I am coming, Abbu (Dad)."

Rayyan covered his eyes with his lids. A wistful smile graced his lips while the back of his head touched the headboard of the bed. His body relaxed and his weight dug the soft mattress a little more.

"Tum baas ajao, beta. This place awaits your return." (You just come, son.) After him, everything was their sons. Zaroon, since his childhood, aimed towards politics and Zunaid towards their business. Nothing stopped his boys. What did was just that one thing that shook his eldest up. He never wanted to witness that state of his son, if anything but that blank stormy blue hues which spoke volumes of betrayal and forsaken.

"I am, Abbu (Dad). This time it's their turn to get to fall."