OBEY THE FLAME

THE FLAME CONSUMES HIM

OBEY THE FLAME

​CHAPTER 4: THE FLAME CONSUMES HIM

​"Her body obeyed. Her silence screamed. And the fire finally answered."

​The invitation had been polite, almost casual. A man-to-man talk, Hashim had called it over the phone—private and far away from the prying eyes of the city.

​Ahyan arrived at the location completely alone. He was wrapped in his usual, suffocating arrogance, wearing a crisp pressed shirt, his hair perfectly styled, and that familiar predator’s grin dancing on his lips. To him, this was just another weak family he could easily intimidate.

​The farmhouse was completely isolated, buried deep within a desolate patch of land. Its wooden shutters were drawn tight against the morning light. There was no livestock, no staff, and no signs of life. Just a heavy, suffocating silence that seemed to be waiting for his arrival.

​Inside, the light was dim and weak, with dust motes floating through the air like gray ash.

​Wahad Zaheer—Riya’s uncle—greeted him near the entrance without a single trace of a smile. The moment Ahyan stepped across the threshold, Wahad closed the heavy wooden door behind them and turned the iron lock. The sharp, mechanical sound echoed through the quiet room like a coffin nail being driven into place.

​Ahyan raised an eyebrow, his smile faltering slightly for the first time. "What’s the meaning of this?"

​Zaraq Hashim, Riya’s elder brother, stepped out from the dimness. A heavy cricket bat rested casually against his shoulder, but his posture was tight, dangerously alert.

​And then Hashim himself emerged from the deep shadows. His face was entirely calm, but his features looked completely hollowed out by a deep, unresolved grief. There was no shaking in his hands, no stutter in his breath, and absolutely no fear in his eyes.

​Ahyan let out a nervous, uncertain laugh, his gaze darting between the three men. "You’ve got to be joking. You’re not serious—"

​The first strike silenced him instantly.

​The heavy wood connected with a dull, sickening thud, and Ahyan hit the hard floorboards, gasping for air as blood pooled in his mouth. Panic finally breaking through his arrogant facade, he frantically reached into his pocket for his phone. Before his fingers could grasp it, Zaraq brought his heavy boot down, crushing the digital weapon into useless pieces under his heel.

​Ahyan tried to crawl toward the door, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but Wahad gripped him tightly by the collar, slamming him back down against the floor, pinning him completely.

​Hashim knelt beside the trembling young man. He didn’t shout, nor did he shed a single tear. His voice was deathly quiet, carrying the weight of a father's broken heart.

​"This is not murder," Hashim whispered, his gaze locking onto Ahyan's terrified eyes. "This is a funeral—for her innocence."

​The finality of the moment descended upon the room. The debt of months of silent agony, blackmail, and tears was collected in that cold, dark space. The three men moved with a grim, unwavering determination, driven by a silent ritual of cleansing. There was no hesitation, only the steady, quiet execution of justice for the girl whose voice had been stolen.

​When it was over, they wrapped the remains in heavy canvas and dragged the burden out to the clearing behind the barn. They piled the wood high, poured the fuel, and struck a single match. Within seconds, the flames roared to life, kissing the dark sky with tall, hungry tongues of orange and red.

​The three men stood in absolute silence as the fire crackled and consumed the darkness, their faces illuminated by the bright, destructive glow. They didn’t speak a word, nor did they mourn. They just watched the evidence of their pain turn to smoke. By the time the morning sun began to peek over the horizon, nothing remained of Ahyan Isfahani but a pile of cold, lifeless ash.

​AFTER THE FIRE

​The bitter smell of smoke still clung heavily to their skin and clothes.

​Behind the barn, Zaraq stood leaning against the wooden beam, his stomach churning as the reality of the night finally caught up with him. Wahad stood by the water pump, scrubbing his hands with a harsh brush until his knuckles split and bled, trying to wash away an invisible stain.

​And Hashim… Hashim just sat silently on a wooden crate, his elbows resting heavily on his knees, staring blankly into the empty space where the fire had burned. His daughter’s silent pain had been louder than any scream he had ever heard, and now, there was only an echoing quiet.

​They hadn’t spoken a single word to one another since the fire died down.

​Finally, Wahad broke the silence, his voice rough. "You did what any father would have done, Hashim."

​Hashim didn’t look up, his body remaining perfectly still.

​Zaraq adjusted his jacket, his eyes fixed on the ground. "She’ll know. Somehow, she’ll feel it."

​Hashim stood up slowly, his movements heavy, like a man whose bones had turned to rust overnight. He looked toward the distant horizon where the sky was turning pale.

​"She already does," he whispered.

​RIYA

​I couldn’t explain the sudden shift, but the moment the sun broke through the clouds, I felt it deep in my chest.

​The suffocating weight that had lived inside me for months—the invisible cage that Ahyan had built around my voice, my body, and my name—suddenly lifted.

​I was lying on my side in the quiet hospital room, staring at the pale morning light filtering through the window. My hands were still trembling; they always did now. But for the first time in weeks, my breathing felt lighter, easier.

​No one had come to visit me yet, and no one had told me a single thing. No one needed to. Ahyan’s absolute silence was suddenly louder than any of his terrifying threats had ever been. I stared at my phone on the bedside table for hours, half-expecting it to light up with a cruel message, a blackmail video, or a mocking laugh.

​But there was nothing. Just absolute, beautiful quiet.

​And in that quiet, something fractured open inside my mind. It wasn’t complete healing—not yet—but it was space. It was a small, clean space where the constant, paralyzing panic used to live. That night, when I finally closed my eyes, I didn’t dream of the apartment or the shadows. I dreamed of a bright, cleansing fire.

​HASHIM

​Later that night, Hashim stood alone under the running water of the shower. He scrubbed at his fingernails, watching the water swirl down the drain, but no matter how hot the temperature was, it couldn’t wash away the coldness inside him.

​He closed his eyes and thought of Riya when she was a little girl—the sound of her bright laugh echoing through the house, the way she used to softly hum to herself while braiding her hair in front of the mirror. And then he pictured the hollow, lifeless silence that occupied her eyes now.

​He had avenged her. He had destroyed the monster that broke her. But as he leaned his head against the cold tile, a bitter truth settled into his soul. He had taken revenge, but he had not been able to save her from the trauma. That failure would weigh on him for the rest of his days.

​"You can’t bring innocence back from the dead," Hashim whispered into the steam, his voice cracking. "You can only bury what killed it."