Swapped Fate

The Night Everything Changed

"Authority and power are two different things; power is the force by means of which you can oblige others to obey you. Authority is the right to direct, command, be listened to, or be obeyed by others. Authority requires power; power without authority is tyranny. If you don't own your personal power and stop pandering to the whims of others, your life will look like a poorly stitched patchwork of other people's fancies. Either use your authority or your power and get it right. This news is not acceptable, Aaban, neither for you nor for our family or reputation. And I expect you to see through it thoroughly. You have been raised well, and authority and power run in your veins. You can't be a weakling to a certain person. What if nobody had found her?

It would be a shame for you and us. A big news that your bride-to-be ran away." Muhammad Hakeem paused and took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

Aaban clenched his jaw; his mandibles were ticking, and their sharpness would cut anything unwanted. The dead silence in the room was like a tornado to his ears. He was on the verge of killing someone, and he would do that gladly, but right now he knew he needed to teach the person a lesson. His fists were tight, and his teeth were grinding. The aura around him was an alarm of an upcoming storm. Muhammad Hakeem could see his son boiling, and he knew nothing would stop him now. He wasn't stopping him anyway. The news itself was very ugly for him. Never had it happened before that a girl would stand up against two strong tribes. His blood was boiling that a certain girl could cost him his image. It was Aaban who was ready to marry her; otherwise, he wanted to destroy her and her family. He wanted to tarnish their image, but one word from Aaban was enough for him to know how serious he was about her; deep down, Muhammad Hakeem knew that his son was up to something, and he would be glad to see his wrath.

Muhammad Hakeem was a powerful man who belonged to a powerful tribe and party known around the world. They were basically ruling the government, though they never came in presidential chairs since there was no need anyway. They were still ruling the whole country for decades, and their power was left untouched, but certainly hyped from their ancestors.

He was married to Sheherbano, his cousin, and with her, he had three sons and two daughters.

Aaban Aurakzai

Subhan and Sabawon Aurakzai, who were twins and studying business in Australia.

Sajida Aurakzai, who was married and settled in the US.

Sabeena Aurakzai, who was studying in school and the youngest child of the Aurakzai family.

The news of Aaban's marriage was big news for the family since he had always rejected girls in his 30 years of age, but it was the first time that he took a girl's name.

Muhammad Aurakzai and Aaban had kept the news hidden from the rest of the family. And mostly it was Aaban who suggested keeping it between father and son since he didn't want to ruin something before it could bloom, but that didn't mean that he would let it go. He had things in mind, and that needed to be settled.

It was a humiliation, and he felt humiliated even in front of his father. Every girl would die to marry him. He was handsome; he had money, fame, and whatnot. But she chose to run away from him, and that was a slap in the face to his ego.

And for him, ego and self-respect shared a thin line. The taste of his ego emerged from non-acceptance of orders, and it would camouflage his ego ten times more, though no one dared to disobey him if they wanted to live. But this time, he felt humiliated in front of his father because of the girl he wished to marry.

For him, between his ego and self-respect, everything else had an expiry date, but this time something else was brewing.

Aghast!

He wanted to subside his aghastness and fury by hurting her pride the same way she did to him.

"Did she run away with someone, or for someone?"

The words were like sharp shards that cut Aaban deep. He looked at his father with blood-red eyes, who was already looking at him.

"I don't know, Aaban. But I want you to take things right from here. There are girls who are waiting just for your glimpse. But you named her. I just hope that they don't hurt you, or I will hurt her ancestors..."

"Agha..." Aaban didn't let his father finish. He took strong steps toward his father, still raging in anger.

"I will take care of it. It was my decision, and I can handle it." Aaban's deep and grave voice stilled the air around them. Muhammad Hakeem knew what he meant, and that was enough for him to let things in his son's hands.

His muscles were taut, and his body language radiated anger and rage. He wanted nothing but to get his hands on her. The mere thought of her running away for another man blinded him. His eyes were wide shut in anger. Even so, he knew she was not into someone, but a seed was sewn inside him that maybe he missed something while finding out about her.

Aaban closed his eyes while grinding his teeth and fisting his hands so hard that his nails were digging into his palms.

Muhammad Hakeem saw the anger in his son's eyes, and he knew that was enough to talk to him. Aaban left the study room, and with heavy and authoritative strides, he walked like a predator to his den.

Mrs. Sheherbano saw her son walking from his room with fury. She frowned, but before she could call him, her mother-in-law, Zulaikha Begum, called her to her room.

Shaking her head, she thought maybe it was another talk of politics and party rivalry with her husband.

Resilience!

Accepting your new reality, even if it is less good than the one you had before. You can fight it, you can do nothing but scream about what you have lost, or you can accept that and try to put together something that's good. Or make something good out of something you think is not good.

Acceptance!

Something that we are resilient to. Which humans are taught not to. Humans are taught to improve uncomfortable situations, to change things, to alleviate unpleasant feelings. But if one accepts the reality, then you free yourself to begin filling up again. After all, out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.

It takes courage.

Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear. And for Mehar, her family's reputation was more important. She never doubted her past actions before—her rebellious acts regarding the wedding matter—but she regretted seeing her father hurt.

Although she knew that her father could have thought about her too. She was his child after all. Much more important than his honor or reputation, but that thought evaporated in thin air since she realized that for Abdul Rasheed Durrani, his words, his honor, his reputation, his party, and his family name meant everything. For some odd reason, she wanted to understand him, but a major part of her was hurt by their behavior toward her. She still remembers the passive look on his face when Usman was hitting her with his belt, and she screamed in pain, but he only stared, and after a good while, he raised his hand and stopped his son. But the damage was done. Mehar had scars and wounds on her back. The stinging pain of it reminded her of the brutal and tyrannical act against her.

Naheeda Begum had applied ointment on her back with tears streaming off her face, but that didn't change anything for Mehar.

Her mind didn't change, and her legs didn't break when she made up her mind yet again after Sheherbano Aurakzai put henna on her hands and made her wear a floral petals multi-diamond ring, claiming her as her daughter-in-law. She felt the heaviness of the emotions, but that didn't dig into her mind as she wanted to get out of the unwanted lock.

Was she being selfish?

No, she was fighting for her rights when everybody else was adamant about crushing her rights.

"Do you, Mehar Abdul Rasheed Durrani, accept Muhammad Aaban Aurakzai, son of Muhammad Hakeem Aurakzai, as your husband with the mahr of 500,000?"

"I... I accept..."

The mere two words were hard for her, but she managed to say them three times before signing the papers and accepting him as her husband by law and by religion. And she accepted it with her heart. There was nothing she could do anymore. Nonetheless, there was hope at the end of the dark tunnel that maybe she judged him unknowingly, and maybe, just maybe, she would find that the decision of her political marriage ended up good, as she had always heard from Naheeda Begum about how much her father loved her mother and how much her mother was happy even though it was a political marriage, just as she was bound with one right now. Maybe if she gave it time and accepted it, things would turn good.

She was not Mehar Durrani anymore, but she was Mehar Aaban Aurakzai. Mehar couldn't grasp it, and looking at her drained self, she fought to grasp it.

Mehar had all the internal conflicts about her new life. But she was ready to move on with it. Though she couldn't bring herself to do so. The impact of that sudden change was more than one could ever imagine.

Things could not possibly get worse than realizing the corporeality of her situation.

The room was in dark grey and white. The furniture was pure white, while the bedsheets were dark grey. The white curtains hung loosely. It had minimal furniture, but was claiming discipline and royalty.

The decoration was kept to a minimum, much to her liking. White roses and orchids were used to decorate the headboard of the bed, and some white roses were spread on the bed as well. Large royal vases were decorated with white roses and rose mallows in the corner of the room, with fairy lights wrapped around them like dew droplets. Scented candles were giving essence and fragrance to the room.

It was a large and beautiful room. Mehar's eyes were roaming around the room when they stopped on a certain thing that knocked the breath out of her. She gasped for much-needed air when she looked at her portrait, neatly drawn to perfection. She was wearing the same maroon-colored long dress; her hair was open in curls, and some were touching her face, looking straight while holding her veil loosely on her head. One hand was on the corner of her veil near her cheek; the other was holding her clutch. It looked so beautiful that it shocked her to the core. Was she that beautiful?

Or was it the artist who drew her like a fairy?

Her fingers unconsciously traced her face with her fingertips. It was perfect. It amazed her, and her heart was palpitating in anticipation of knowing who did it, but soon reality struck her like a warm blanket.

Who else could it be other than him?

"Oh, my god."

It was the same dress when she caught him staring at her at her father's election party, and the Aurakzai family were the special guests. She was searching for Umar to tell him something her mother told her, much to Usman's dislike, since she entered the men's section. But she wanted to call him quickly, holding her veil on her head, and would disappear soon before Usman could see her, but to her luck, she couldn't find Umar. Her eyes were roaming until they stopped on a certain person looking straight at her. His intense ebony eyes were holding hers. She found him extremely handsome, but his intense gaze was disturbing her; there were mixed emotions running through his eyes, but soon they changed to anger. That confused Mehar. He walked fluidly toward her while she was rooted to her place. A part of her was telling her to run, but she was hypnotized by his strong persona and heated gaze.

"Go."

He whispered it when he was a few steps away from her, but still she heard him clearly. Mehar looked at him with confusion while his features hardened, looking at her face closely, as if he was trying to memorize her every feature. But anyone could see that he was angry.

Aaban raised a brow at her, and Mehar couldn't find the courage to stand any more. She walked faster back, though Aaban was looking at her every step till she disappeared from his side. A relief passed him, knowing that she was gone from the hungry eyes that were staring at her, and he didn't like it a bit. He felt it the moment his eyes caught sight of her, and he was possessive on his terms.

She began to fear him; it was scaring her as Mehar realized there were more ways she needed to know about him.

The door opened abruptly, breaking her train of thought. Mehar froze in her place, but didn't dare to turn and look, as she knew very well. She knew nothing about Aaban. She was told briefly about him and his family. Mehar had an idea that his family was powerful and famous around the world, but she had no idea about Aaban. She remembered those ebony eyes staring at her from head to toe at that election party. Those eyes held so much power that Mehar knew she would regret coming to the party and would curse that time, which she did multiple times in the span of two weeks.

Mehar clutched her skirt and closed her eyes shut. Her breaths were coming like puffs. Her heart was palpitating in fear.

"Turn to me, Gulaaba," his authoritative voice boomed in the silence of the room. His voice was coming close, and her heart was drowning in the pit of her stomach. But she didn't make the move to turn. Aaban could see her shivering, and he smirked. It was too soon for her to fear him when he hadn't done anything yet.

But looking at her, who didn't bother to listen to him, made him angry and put extra fuel on his anger. Grinding his teeth, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I don't like to repeat myself," he hissed under his breath, making her open her eyes. She swallowed through her dry throat and slowly turned to him, eyes still down.

She was looking strikingly ravishing in her emerald green floor-length anarkali dress, made of georgette with heavy brown embroidery and a net veil. Her waist-length chocolate brown hair was open with curls, and her net veil was loosely on her head. He could see her swan-like neck in his alluring eyes.

A delicate diamond necklace with emerald stones was embracing her neck. She was wearing teardrop-shaped diamond earrings with emerald work on them.

Her hands had a few diamond bangles and a few rings. Her engagement ring was shining proudly.

Though Aaban wanted to see her after they were pronounced husband and wife, his party and family had held a function for him, giving him excuses that he would see her later anyway.

Aaban walked to her with fluid steps, and his every step made her take a back step. He didn't like it a bit, but yet he enjoyed it deep in his heart. Her back touched the wall, and she hissed, her eyes still down. Aaban stopped two steps away from her; confusion marred his face when he heard her hiss, but he didn't ponder it much. He tilted his head and looked at her from head to toe. Every sight of her made his eyes dark and intense with so many things. He gently pulled her chin up, and she looked at him timidly, skipping his heart yet again. She was chaos and beautifully intertwined. A tornado of roses from the divine. Her beauty raged with a fire that even demons wouldn't dare to touch.

Her sea-like green almond eyes looked more enticing in light brown eyeshadow with long lashes. Her nose's small pin shone parallel to her deliciously cream skin. Her plump lips were tinted in a nude shade. A fire kindled in him, and he was no saint to not know the craving he felt for her. The desire was taking control of him, and Mehar could see that.

He was wearing a simple white dress shirt with a navy blue suit. His first two options opened... his hair neatly in style, and his intense ebony eyes were capturing her in the most alluring positions. He was handsome and intimidating at the same time. All the schemes of the devil were nothing compared to what she was reading in his eyes.

"Did she run away with someone or for someone?"

His eyes suddenly darkened in anger. His jaw clenched as he remembered his father's words. A seed of doubt and possessiveness was sown in him, making him a raging bull.

He was so close that the flare from his nostrils was fanning her face. Staring right into his eyes, she knew he was the nightmare. Her forgotten fear came back to her. Like wet wood, his eyes changed color—ebony when he was staring at her, and darker, like now, when he was burning in anger and fury. It felt like a spell was cast on her as she was lost looking at him. Her veil slipped from her head, and reluctantly, she raised her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, only to be stopped by him. Aaban held her wrist, preventing her action. But his next move stopped her in shock. She gasped when he held her wrist in his tight grip on either side of her head and leaned on her face. Not giving her extra time to adjust, he slammed his lips to her luscious ones, taking her by surprise. Leaving her wrists, he started sliding his hands through her hair with one hand, while his other hand was running like a feather down from her shoulder to her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers rather harshly. She winced in pain and tried to push him, but her arms were caged in his strong hold. The scent of her skin and his strong cologne was taking him to Neverland. He was being intoxicated by a mere drop of her; it scared him to know that he might devour her ardently.

"It's hard to wait for someone who is yours in every way possible. But..." He paused and held her chin tightly. She hissed in pain and, with tear-filled eyes, she looked at him shockingly.

"...it's even harder to know someone you own is running away from you. You humiliated me a great deal, Mehar, and trust me when I say that I will make sure you regret every step you took after wearing my ring and bearing my name henna in your hands. You were my fiancé, Mehar, and you tossed my reputation in thin air. But I am no saint to forgive you, Gulaaba. You have awakened a beast in me the moment I saw you, but I still respected you and asked for your hand. And you ran away from me?

You could tell me what you wanted rather than running away. Did you run away because you didn't want me, or because you wanted someone else, so you ran away?" he snarled and left her jaw. Mehar knew it would leave a bruise behind. She rubbed her jaw and looked at him straight in the eye. To say she was shocked wouldn't be an understatement. His words and actions shocked her to her core. Aaban saw the flash of hurt and helplessness, and he didn't like it a bit. He could see how much she was trying not to cry, but still her eyes were swollen from crying.

"I... I had a peaceful life when I was in London, but Baba called me only to be tossed into his political l... life. It was too much for m... me, so I ran away. I heard about your f... family many times, and I knew you were a danger to me. I wasn't ready to marry someone so powerful and criminal like you. I know there are things under the sheets behind your p... power. I didn't want it..." She paused and took a breath. Her courage was challenging her to talk further. Only she knew how she was putting her words together while standing in front of him or bearing the proximity and his intimidating persona. Aaban was listening to her, but his anger was boiling with each word. He could also see how much she was trying to talk with confidence while not looking at him, but rather looking down.

"I ran away because I couldn't t... take much. But then I realized I had to do this for my family. The moment I said t... those two words, I said it from my heart. I accept this relationship from my heart. It will t... take me time, but I will try to be a good wife and daughter-in-law of this house." Her words did something to his heart. If it were someone else, then he could be happy hearing her, but he felt the pain in her voice, and her words felt like a slap in the face.

She was ready to move on because she had no other choice to do.

She was ready to accept him because she knew she had to.

She was showing him that she was accepting him out of persuasion.

She showed him that she was compelled.

It didn't sit well with him.

She ran away, completely rejecting him, and then, after becoming his wife, she said to his face that she was compelled to live with him.

This was evoking his anger more unputdownably. His rational mind was blocked by his anger.

His blood was boiling because her logical thinking showed him how invaluable he was to her. He never liked hearing no, but she did it twice in his face.

She disrespected him; she was disobedient toward him, and she was quietly rebellious toward him.

That was unacceptable for him.

Aaban flared and pulled her closer, holding the nape of her neck with her hair. She gasped at his sudden act and winced in pain. Mehar looked at his towering height of 6'2"; he craned her head up, and that was enough of an alarm for her to run for the hills.

"Your veins are full of ice-water, but mine are boiling," Aaban retorted and left her hair.

"You have accepted this marriage, right?

Out of impulse?

You are showing your leniency and magnanimity to me?" he seethed through clenched teeth. Mehar wanted to correct him, but her lips were sealed tight shut as she couldn't utter a word to him.

"Do you have any idea how I felt the moment when I saw you?"

He was taking steps toward her while she was taking steps back; his anger was scaring her more.

"Do you have any idea how I felt when I saw your pictures wearing my ring?"

Mehar was observing his words, but the fear was there; it was deeply rooted from hearing him. It was clear that he had misunderstood her.

It was also clear that he was not willing to listen to her.

"Do you have any f*****g idea when I was told that you ran away right after bearing my name in your hands?" he bawled and held her arm before she could take another step from him.

"And do you have any f*****g idea how much you have humiliated me?

Do you have any idea how I feel after hearing your shits?" His nails were digging into her flesh. Mehar's tears made their way as they streamed off her face, but Aaban's eyes were clouded with anger.

"You think you can have your little adventure and then you can tell me that you are ready to live your life with me out of leniency?

How the f**k can you think like that?" Mehar started to tremble in his hold, but he pulled her close to him, and his hands held her waist tightly. His fingers were pressing the scars on her back, making it more painful, but he didn't notice it.

"Guess what, Gulaaba, you don't know me," he whispered in her ear and lightly bit her earlobe. Mehar shuddered and tried to push him.

"But I will make sure that you know me better, and I am sure you will never forget it in your whole life. You are my wife, and tonight I will engrave it in your mind forever. Your screams will be heard outside of these premises, and that will tarnish your little pride." Tracing her neck with his nose, he whispered huskily. Mehar couldn't fathom as he took off her necklace and threw it. She struggled again. It wasn't like she was not ready to give herself to him. Accepting him and moving on included fully giving him his rights too. But looking at and hearing him, she knew he was clouded with anger. And the start of their relationship with anger could only hurt her.

It feared her to no end.

Aaban sensed her fear, but his ego was much more hurt than he could ever imagine. He chose to shut his eyes and his ears.

There is a certain point of consciousness when you are no longer asleep, but you aren't close to awake yet. Her body seemed to sink, still heavy on the mattress. In that unsteady place, her body felt dead and stuck. A reddish hue in her eyelids and the light from the window pulled her a little further out of her sleep. She opened her eyes slightly. The rise of sunlight rested upon her face as it lightened the room. She lay awake watching the dead settle along the billowing white down comforter. With her fingertips, she felt the twisted sheets. She was in a foreign bed. She felt the movement next to her, and the haze of the past few hours started to fade away. Her head started pounding, and she heard nothing of her heartbeat. She watched him sleeping peacefully, as if nothing had happened. The image of him claiming her last night was like a sudden morning glow, making her feel fuzzy and warped before her eyes. Her head was pounding. Her eyes were open, but her body did not feel like it should; she was frozen, as if her joints didn't remember how to move, as if she couldn't shift her weight. Like a baby learning to walk, all at once a rush of pins and needles consumed her body to lessen the pain. Every desire to leave, yet she couldn't. She wrapped herself in the white sheet. She felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. His whispers and kisses marked her. The kiss someone gives to inspire trust and comfort and stability, but he only marked her like he had fear that she was not his. Like a watercolor of rough, rushed brushstrokes, her blood was spread across his white comforter. Mehar looked at the stains—what happened and what she went through; did he see or did he feel her pain?

Fear and anxiety clouded her eyes. She froze once again.

"Aaban." Her painful whisper did something to him, but he chose to shut his ears.

Her mind was aching still as she forced her legs to swing over the side of the bed. Mehar walked toward the bathroom, avoiding all mirrors. With each new step, a pain followed, chasing out the last with a newer, sharper moment. As a way of coping, she did that again.

She felt pain; her legs couldn't bear the constant aching. Her breathing was slow, not steady, but slow. Mehar hovered over the sink, praying she could manage. The stinging blazes through her, or her life loses track of itself, and her legs begin to shake. She was paralyzed in terror, reminiscing about his passion. Mehar remembered how she screeched out in pain. Taking steps to the shower chamber, her bruises were finding each other with every step she took. She clenched her teeth to prevent her sobs. Her cuts were burning. The ache seemed to shift up and down as she moved to grab shampoo and scrub. Mehar forgot the scars and wounds on her back as she had new ones.

The confusion, the haze, the loneliness, the morning glow silenced her.

She felt different. She felt the change in her.

She remembered her struggle to free herself from his strong grip. She remembered his cold, strong fingers wrapped around her ankle and yanked her back towards him. Her head slammed against the headboard.

"You want to run away." His voice was dangerously low, but clear to hear the threat in it. And soon, everything transitioned so quickly, or she lost the battle to fight, as there was no point in fighting. He was not a stranger; he was her husband. She fell to the words of elders, and that numbed her.

Her screeches resonated in the room, only to be quieted by his lips.