chapter 4

         

His Anaya

"If you see her, just tell her that she is mine!!"

                                 

"If you see her, just tell her that she is mine!!"

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The sound of sirens pierced the air.

Red and blue lights danced on the cracked asphalt as ambulances screamed through the chaos. The road was completely blocked off. Onlookers stood frozen, staring at the mangled remains of a luxury car wrapped around a streetlight—glass shattered, metal crumpled, blood staining the concrete.

Inside, a man's body hung limp over the steering wheel, face soaked in crimson, unrecognizable. Lifeless. Almost.

"GET AWAY! MOVE!"

A voice ripped through the crowd like thunder.

"ZAYANNN!"

Arsh Khan pushed past the barricades, his expensive suit drenched in sweat and fear. His knees gave out when he saw the body. His son. His blood. His pride. Broken.

"Zayan, beta—Zayan!" he trembled, pressing his hand to his son's chest, praying to feel a heartbeat. Anything.

The paramedics pulled him back.

"His condition is critical. Too much blood loss. We need to act fast," the doctor said urgently.

Arsh turned, eyes wild. "What the hell do you mean critical? Save him! I don't care what it takes—save him!"

Inside the emergency ward, Zaniyah Khan fell to her knees. "Arsh... hamara beta," she cried, voice raw, chest heaving. The powerful woman known for elegance and grace now looked shattered, her soul crawling on the floor.

For the first time in his life, Arsh Khan—one of the most ruthless and successful men in the world—felt helpless. He had built empires, bought governments, crushed enemies. But he couldn't stop his son from dying.

_________________

TWO YEARS LATER

Time moved, but their world had not.

Every day, Zayan lay in that same hospital bed—unmoving, unreachable. Machines kept him alive. His soul remained missing.

And every day, Zaniyah sat beside him. Whispering, praying, crying.

"Ya Allah... just give me my son back. Take everything from me, but give him a new life. Please, ya Allah... please," she begged, clutching her prayer beads.

Arsh sat quietly in the corner, gripping Zayn's lifeless hand. His eyes were hollow. The once proud man had aged decades in these two years.

And then—

A twitch.

A movement.

Zayan's fingers.

"A-Anaya," he mumbled, barely audible.

Arsh froze.

"ZAYN? Doctor! DOCTOR!"

                                           

             

                       

Doctors rushed in. Monitors beeped wildly.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

"A-Anaya..." he whispered again.

"Congratulations, it's a miracle. He's... he's back." The doctor's voice trembled.

"Zayn! Zayn, my son—look, I'm here!" Arsh held his face.

Zayn's eyes fluttered open, vision blurred—but his voice was sharp, desperate. "Where is Anaya?"

"Zayn..." Arsh hesitated. "Who is Anaya?"

Zayn's jaw clenched. Even half-conscious, rage flared behind his eyes. "What do you mean who is Anaya?" He tried to sit up, failing. "I asked where the hell she is!"His voice was weak but still harsh.

"Beta, please rest—" Zaniyah entered the room, running to him.

"Maa, WHERE IS ANAYA?"

Her silence screamed louder than words.

Zayn's hands shook. "Answer me! Why won't you tell me?!"

"You need to rest—"

"STOP IT!" he roared. "DON'T TELL ME TO REST! TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!"

"Zayn, listen—"

"If none of you are going to tell me, I'll find her myself!" He ripped out the IVs, ignoring the pain, stumbling out of the bed.

"Zayn, please!" Zaniyah cried.

"I SAID—WHERE. THE. HELL. IS. MY. ANAYA?!"

"She's gone, Zayn," Arsh said softly, looking down.

Zayn froze. The room spun. He turned, voice hoarse. "What?"

"There was no Anaya. She never existed," Arsh whispered.

Zayn laughed bitterly, eyes wide, trembling. "So now you're gaslighting me?! You're telling me I imagined the girl I loved?!"

"We're only trying to protect you," Arsh said.

Zayn stormed out.

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HOURS LATER

"I'm telling you, sir—we don't have any records of a girl named Anaya admitted that night," the hospital receptionist repeated.

"You're lying!" Zayn growled, grabbing the man by the collar. "She was here. She was with me. I HELD HER HAND!" His voice cracked as rage overwhelmed him.

"Zayn—Zayn, calm down!" Kabir rushed to him, holding his shoulder.

"I want her, Kabir. I want her right now."

"You were in a coma, Zayn. For two years. You—"

"Coma?" His voice fell.

"Yes. Two years." Kabir's face twisted in worry.

Zayn stood still, frozen, as if the world had stopped turning.

"Find her. I don't care what it takes. FIND HER."

"Zayn, which Anaya? We don't know who you're talking about—"

Zayn screamed and slammed his phone against the wall. Blood ran from his palm as he punched the wall. His breathing was shallow. Rage. Grief. Obsession. Everything boiling in his veins.

_________________

Arsh stood in the study, Kabir confronting him.

"I can't lie to him anymore," Kabir said, voice low. "He's spiraling. We have to tell him the truth."

"No," Arsh snapped.

"Why?"

"Because the truth could kill him."

"Or the lie will." Kabir stared him down. "You think he'll ever stop? You think he'll believe you forever? He's obsessed with her. He'll destroy the world to find her."

Arsh looked away, tormented.

"I can't risk her life again. That night... someone saved her. I don't know how. But we had to erase her. She had to disappear."

"You snatched her identity," Kabir said coldly.

"To save her," Arsh replied. "To protect her. From enemies. From the world. Maybe even... from him."

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Months later

A man sat on the cold floor, back against the footboard of a bed. Eyes bloodshot, face hollow, heart completely wrecked.

Zayn Khan was no longer the prince of the empire. He was a ghost, haunted, breathing only for the memory of one girl.

Anaya.

The name bled through his mind like an addiction.

No one dared speak to him. No one dared touch him.

Because the one girl who had the audacity to own his soul was gone.

But he knew she wasn't dead.

He could feel her.

Somewhere out there—alive. Breathing. Crying. Maybe calling for him.

He could hear her voice in his dreams.

And when he found her,

She wouldn't escape him again.

Not in this world.

Not in any lifetime.

He would chain her soul to his if he had to.

He would burn everything down—this empire, this family, this world—if it meant she would be his again.

Because she wasn't a memory. She was his obsession. His possession.

And no one... not even God... could keep her from him.

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Thank you