My Terrorist Husband

The light was the first thing that betrayed me. It was a jagged, cruel streak of gold that pierced my eyelids, forcing them to flutter open. I tried to lift my hand to shield my face, but a white-hot spike of pain shot through my skull, pinning me back against the hard surface beneath me. My breath hitched. My body felt like it had been crushed under a mountain. Where am I? As the fog in my mind began to clear, the silence of the room was drowned out by the sudden, violent echoes of a memory. The annual medical function. The laughter. The music. And then—the screaming. I saw him again. Rayan Khan. He had stood in the center of the chaos like a god of death, a bomb strapped to his vest, his eyes cold as ice while his men mowed down innocent people. I remembered my brother, Rishabh, his uniform stained with blood, shouting for me to run. But Rayan’s voice had cut through the gunfire like a blade. "Soldier, don't move... unless you want to see your sister in pieces." The last thing I saw before the world turned black was a bullet tearing through my brother’s chest. "Bhaiya!" I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. I tried to bolt upright, but my limbs failed me. I was trapped in a nightmare. I looked around, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged bird. This wasn't a hospital. The walls were cold, the air smelled of dust and gunpowder. "Papa! Mamma! Someone help me!" The heavy iron door groaned open. A silhouette blocked the light, tall and terrifying. Rayan. He didn't walk; he stalked. His black shirt was wrinkled, his jaw covered in a thick, dark beard, and his eyes... they were burning with a rage so intense I felt the temperature in the room drop. He held a gun loosely at his side. I scrambled backward, my fingernails digging into the floor, but he was too fast. In one swift motion, he reached down, grabbed my shoulders, and hauled me upward. My chest collided with his rock-hard torso. "You bloody, meddling girl," he hissed, his voice a low growl near my ear. "You ruined everything. My mission, my men... because of you, Rayan Khan failed." "You're a monster!" I sobbed, my small fists hitting his chest with all the strength I had left. "You killed them! You shot my brother! How dare you!" He caught both my wrists in one hand, squeezing until I gasped. With his other hand, he fisted my hair, forcing my head back until I had no choice but to look into his dark, soulless eyes. "Rishabh Sharma won't die that easily," he sneered, a cruel smirk touching his lips. "I want him to live. I want him to wake up every day and remember that he failed to protect his only sister. I want the guilt to be the noose that hangs him." Relief washed over me so sharply I almost fainted again. He’s alive. My brother is alive. But my relief was short-lived. Rayan shoved me away like I was nothing more than trash. He barked an order in a language I didn't understand, and three women draped in black burqas entered. "Get her ready for the Nikaah," he commanded, his voice cold and final. "Nikaah? No! Rayan, wait!" He didn't look back. The women approached me, their eyes filled with a pity that terrified me more than Rayan’s anger. "She is so beautiful," one whispered. "Too fragile for this hell." Suddenly, the room went silent as a middle-aged woman stepped in. The air grew heavy with fear. Without a word, she struck the woman who had spoken, the sound of the slap echoing like a gunshot. Then, with terrifying calm, she took a nutcracker and clamped it onto the woman's small finger. A horrific scream filled the room as blood splattered the floor. "Prepare her," the older woman snapped, pointing at me. "Or the next thing I cut will be your tongue." I sat there, frozen, as they stripped me of my clothes and forced me into a heavy, embroidered wedding dress. They draped me in gold, but it felt like chains. My mind was spinning—Syria? I was in Syria? Before I could process the horror, the door was kicked open again. A man named Altaaf entered. He was the embodiment of every nightmare I'd ever had—his eyes traveled over my body with a disgusting, hungry lust. "A beauty indeed," he rasped, grabbing my arm. "I can't wait to taste you." "Let me go!" I shrieked, but he dragged me toward the hall. The hall was filled with armed men, their laughter roaring over my cries. I saw Rayan standing near a man they called 'Baba.' "Rayan, please!" I begged, reaching for him as a drowning person reaches for a straw. "You know me... we were friends once! Help me!" Rayan’s reaction was a nightmare. He grabbed my hair, pulling me into a corner. "Stop calling my name, you w***e!" he roared, pressing the cold muzzle of his gun against my forehead. "I should kill you for what you did to my mission." "Stop!" Altaaf yelled, stepping forward. "She is my bride now. I will make sure she suffers." My soul shriveled. Marriage to a r****t? To a beast? I fought, I screamed, I bit the hands of the guards. I managed to break free for a second, sprinting toward the door, but the sound of a gunshot stopped my heart. I turned. An eight-year-old boy was slumped on the ground, blood pooling around his leg. His mother’s scream pierced the air. "No!" I ran to the child, my medical instincts taking over. "Wake up, beta! I've got you." I looked up at Rayan, my fear replaced by a white-hot fury. I stood up and, with every ounce of strength I had, I slapped him across the face. The hall went deathly silent. "You coward!" I screamed. "You call yourself a warrior? You're a terrorist! A child-killer!" Rayan’s face contorted. He grabbed me and struck me back—once, twice, three times—until blood bloomed on my lip and the world began to tilt. "Enough!" Baba’s voice thundered. Baba looked at Altaaf, who was still leering at me, then back at Rayan. The air was thick with tension. "Rayan," Baba said calmly. "Marry her." The world stopped. Rayan’s eyes widened. "Baba, no. I want her dead, not as a wife." "Marry her!" Baba repeated. Altaaf began to protest, but Baba didn't hesitate. He pulled his gun and shot his own son in the leg. "Take him away," Baba commanded as Altaaf was dragged out, screaming. Rayan turned to me, his fist clenched. He didn't want this. He hated me. He walked to the groom's side and sat down. "I won't marry you!" I cried, trying to crawl away. Rayan didn't argue. He simply aimed his gun back at the bleeding eight-year-old boy. "One more word," Rayan whispered, his thumb clicking the hammer back. "And the boy dies." The child's mother threw herself at my feet. "Please... save my son. Just say yes." My heart shattered into a million pieces. I looked at the innocent child, then at the monster holding the gun. "Qubool hai ? ( You do ? ) " the Qazi asked Rayan. "Qubool hai," ( I do )Rayan said, his voice like a death sentence. "Qubool hai. Qubool hai." The Qazi turned to me. The gun was still pointed at the boy. "Qubool hai?" My voice was a broken whisper, a sob catching in my throat. "Qubool... hai. Qubool hai. Qubool hai." "Mubarak ho!" the men cheered. I was no longer Kavya Sharma, the medical intern. I was the wife of a terrorist. And as they dragged me into the darkness of his room, I knew my life was over.