Love? Not For You

part 1 The Grand Entry The sun was setting over the elite outskirts of Lahore, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and gold. The "Mansha Mansion" stood like a fortress of wealth. Inside, the crystal chandeliers hummed with electricity, reflecting off the polished marble floors. Kiswa stood in front of her floor-to-ceiling mirror. At 24, she was the definition of grace. Wearing a deep emerald green designer suit, her long dark hair was tied in a loose braid. She wasn't just rich; she was "Kiswa Mansha"—the only daughter of a billionaire. But despite the diamonds around her neck, her eyes were fixed on a cheap, silver-plated ring on her dressing table. That ring was her soul. Because Wajdan had given it to her. "Kiswa! Are you ready? The guests will be here any minute!" Her best friend, Mavra, burst into the room, followed by Urwa. Both were dressed in expensive silk, but their faces carried a look of concern. "I’m ready, Mavra. Just... thinking," Kiswa whispered, her voice like velvet. Urwa sat on the bed, sighing. "Thinking about him again? Kiswa, today is your birthday. Your brother, Basim, has invited the elite of the city. Forget that Wajdan for one night." Kiswa turned around, her eyes sparkling with a strange defiance. "How can I forget the person who makes me feel alive, Urwa? You know we’ve been together since Matric. Ten years! It’s not a crush; it’s my life." The Flashback: Where it all Began (Matriculation - 2016) The scene shifts to a dusty school corridor. A 15-year-old Kiswa, simple and innocent, was walking with her heavy bag. Suddenly, a boy with messy hair and a captivating smile blocked her path. It was Wajdan. He looked poor—his shirt was faded, his shoes were worn out—but his eyes held a fire that Kiswa had never seen in her wealthy world. "Kiswa," he had whispered, handing her a crumbled piece of paper. "I know I’m nobody. I know your father owns half this city. But if you give me a chance, I’ll prove that a poor man’s heart is bigger than a rich man’s bank account. I love you. Will you wait for me until I’m successful?" That day, the innocent Kiswa fell for the "struggling hero" trope. She didn't see the predator; she only saw the prince. Back to Present: The Tension The party was in full swing. Kiswa walked down the grand staircase. Heads turned. But her eyes were searching for only one person. Wajdan wasn't invited—Basim hated him—but she knew he would call. "Kiswa, come here," Basim’s voice boomed. He was standing with a group of businessmen. Among them was a man whose presence felt like a cold shadow. "Kiswa, meet Azlan," Basim introduced. Kiswa looked up. Azlan was strikingly handsome, wearing a charcoal black suit. His eyes were dark, intense, and stayed on Kiswa a second too long. There was something "off" about him—a stillness that was terrifying. He didn't smile. He just stared. "Happy Birthday, Kiswa," Azlan said. His voice was deep, sending a shiver down her spine. It wasn't a pleasant shiver. It felt like a warning. The Secret Call Escaping the crowd, Kiswa ran to the balcony. Her phone vibrated. Wajdan. "Happy Birthday, my queen," Wajdan’s voice was honey-sweet on the other end. "I’m standing outside your gate, looking at the lights of your palace. I wish I could hold you." "Wajdan, I miss you so much! Papa is talking about my marriage. Basim Bhai is forcing me to meet people. Please, talk to your mother. Bring a proposal," Kiswa pleaded, tears blurring her vision. There was a pause. A long, suffocating silence. "Kiswa... baby, you know I’m still struggling. My new business is taking time. If I come now, your father will insult me. Do you want me to be insulted? Just wait a little more. Trust me, right?" "I trust you more than my life," she sobbed. The Cliffhanger As Kiswa wiped her tears, she felt a presence behind her. She turned around, expecting Mavra, but her heart stopped. It was Azlan. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching her with those predatory eyes. He had heard everything. "Trust is a dangerous thing, Kiswa," Azlan said, stepping into the moonlight. He walked so close that she could smell his expensive, woody cologne. "Especially when you give it to a man who is playing a game you aren't prepared for." He reached out and touched the silver ring on her finger. His touch was icy. "This cheap metal doesn't suit your hand. Soon, I’ll replace it with something you can never take off." Kiswa gasped, pulling her hand back. "What do you mean?" The Golden illusion (part 2) The Shadow in the Moonlight As Azlan disappeared into the shadows of the mansion, Kiswa stood frozen. His words felt like physical weight on her chest. “The Playboy you love is already selling your secrets.” "Ya Allah, help me," she whispered, her fingers trembling as she touched her prayer beads hidden in her pocket. Kiswa was a girl of deep faith. Even in her most romantic moments with Wajdan, she never missed her prayers. She believed that her love for Wajdan was a test, and if she stayed pure and loyal, Allah would eventually make her family agree. But Azlan’s eyes... they weren't the eyes of a normal man. They were the eyes of someone who saw through walls. The Predator’s Den (Wajdan’s Real Face) Two miles away from the glittering Mansha Mansion, the atmosphere was entirely different. In a dimly lit, smoke-filled apartment, three men sat around a table littered with expensive gadgets—all paid for by Kiswa’s "gifts." Wajdan threw his phone on the sofa, a smirk playing on his lips. The "sweet lover" persona was gone. In its place was a cold, calculating man. "She fell for it again?" Hamza asked, lighting a cigarette. "Like a hungry fish," Wajdan laughed, leaning back. "She’s crying on the balcony right now, thinking I’m standing in the rain outside her gate. I’m actually sitting here drinking coffee." Hussain grinned, looking at a photo of Mavra and Urwa on his phone. "And the friends? Are they still suspicious?" "Mavra is smart, but Urwa is soft," Wajdan replied. "Kiswa trusts me so much that she defends me even against her own brother. Ten years, boys. Ten years of acting like the 'poor, hardworking hero.' I deserve an Oscar for this." "When are you going to drop the act?" Hamza asked. Wajdan’s eyes turned greedy. "Not until I get the power of attorney for that boutique she wants to open. Once the money is in my account, I’ll tell her the truth. I’m a playboy, and she was just my longest project." The Protective Lion: Basim’s Office Back at the party, Basim had retreated to his private study. He wasn't enjoying the music. He was staring at a private investigator’s report. A knock on the door interrupted him. It was Azlan. The two men were polar opposites. Basim was a man of ethics and family honor; Azlan was a man of shadows and psychological intensity. But they shared one thing: an interest in Kiswa. "You saw her?" Basim asked, gesturing for Azlan to sit. "She’s crying over that beggar again," Azlan said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You are too soft on her, Basim. You know Wajdan isn't who he claims to be." Basim sighed, rubbing his temples. "She’s 24, but her heart is still 15. She thinks poverty is romantic. She thinks his 'struggle' is a sign of character. I need proof that will break her heart so completely that she never looks back." Azlan leaned forward, the lamplight catching the sharp angles of his face. "Proof is easy to manufacture. But Kiswa doesn't need proof. She needs a reality check. And reality... is usually painful." "What are you suggesting, Azlan?" "Make her mine," Azlan said calmly. "Your father already likes the idea. Our families have business ties. If she stays under my roof, I’ll make sure she forgets Wajdan’s name ever existed." Basim looked at his friend. He knew Azlan was 'unstable.' He knew Azlan had a dark past that people only whispered about. But he was desperate to save his sister from a con artist. "She won't agree, Azlan. She'll fight." Azlan stood up, his tall frame towering over the desk. "Let her fight. I like a challenge." The Prayer in the Dark Late that night, after the guests had left, Kiswa sat on her prayer mat. The room was silent, the only sound being the ticking of the clock. "Ya Allah," she cried, her forehead touching the ground in Sajdah. "My heart is heavy. Everyone tells me Wajdan is wrong for me, but my heart says he is my destiny. If he is a trial, give me strength. If he is my reward, make the path easy. And Azlan... Ya Allah, protect me from that man. His eyes scare me." She didn't know that at that very moment, Azlan was parked outside her mansion in his black SUV, staring at her window. He wasn't a lover waiting for a glimpse; he was a hunter watching his prize. The Next Morning: The School Reunion Hint The next morning, the girls met at their favorite cafe. Mavra and Urwa were trying to cheer Kiswa up. "Forget the party, Kiswa," Mavra said, sipping her latte. "Did you hear? There’s a school reunion coming up for our Matric batch. Everyone will be there." Kiswa’s heart skipped a beat. "Will Wajdan come?" "He has to," Urwa said. "Hamza and Hussain are coming too. It’ll be just like old times. Maybe if Basim sees him in a formal setting, he’ll change his mind?" Kiswa felt a spark of hope. "Maybe. I’ll ask Wajdan to dress his best. This is our chance." But as the girls laughed, a black car pulled up across the street. A window rolled down just an inch. Azlan watched them. He picked up his phone and dialed a number. "The reunion," Azlan said into the phone. "Make sure Wajdan’s 'other' girlfriends are invited. All of them." Cliffhanger: The Beginning of the End Kiswa walked out of the cafe, feeling lighter. She sent a voice note to Wajdan: "Wajdan, the reunion is in two days. Please don't make excuses. This is the day we show everyone we are meant to be." She was so busy looking at her phone that she didn't see the man walking toward her. She bumped into him. "Careful, Kiswa. You’re always looking at fantasies instead of the ground," a familiar, chilling voice said. She looked up into Azlan’s dark eyes. He was holding a small, old photograph. It was a picture of Kiswa from her Matric days, smiling. "Where did you get that?" she gasped. "I have a lot of things that belong to you, Kiswa," Azlan whispered, his hand brushing against her arm, making her skin crawl. "And by the end of this week, I’ll have the most important thing." "What?" "Your 'Yes'." He stepped into his car and drove off, leaving Kiswa standing in the middle of the crowded street, the cold feeling returning to her heart. The trap was set. The school reunion wouldn't be a celebration—it would be the graveyard of her dreams.