ruthless to knees

The Grand Trunk Road

On one late afternoon it began as a drizzle and turned into full blown urban flooding.

By five, the city had gone dark under a ceiling of low clouds. Rain came down in silver torrents, turning the Grand trunk road into river. Headlights blurred into pale ghosts against the downpour.

Most employees had already left. The hum of the office had quieted to nothing but the patter of rain against the windowpane. Samaira was still at her desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, without any idea of what was happening outside she was finishing the day’s final report when Rehan poked his head in.

“Ma’am, the staff’s leaving — roads are flooding fast,” he said, sounding worried.

She looked up from her laptop. “And you?”

“Trying to,” he replied with a half-smile. “But your area’s completely waterlogged. Cabs aren’t taking routes toward F-7.”

She nodded, still typing. “I’ll wrap up in ten minutes. I’ll book a cab once I’m done.”

Before he could protest, another voice cut through the air — deep, calm, and commanding.

“She won’t.”

Adi stood in the doorway, coat in hand, his white shirt sleeves rolled up, eyes sharp and unreadable.

“Rehan,” he said evenly, “bring the car around.”

Rehan hesitated, glancing between them, then nodded quickly and left.

Samaira straightened, trying to keep her tone professional. “That’s not necessary, Mr. Khan. I can manage—”

He arched an eyebrow. “Manage how? Swim home?”

Her lips curved despite herself. “You don’t have to.”

“True! but,” he replied dryly. “I’m your employer. So lets leave it at that...And my company doesn’t lose employees to Islamabad’s drainage system.”

She crossed her arms, pretending not to be amused. “Fine. Five minutes.”

He checked his watch. “I’ll time it.”

The rain drummed violently against his Hilux's roof as they drove down Seventh Avenue. Water sprayed up in arcs from the tires, streetlights flickering like tired stars. For a while, they sat in silence.

Adi broke it first, his voice quieter than usual. “Even Tehzeeb is closed and all roads are half underwater.”

Samaira leaned her head against the window, watching the rain streak the glass. “I told you I could’ve booked a cab.”

He glanced sideways, lips twitching. “Still think it was safer with a cabby stuck on a road like this?” He nodded toward a tiny Suzuki half-submerged at the crossing, its hazard lights blinking weakly.

“Still think it wasn’t worth bothering the boss,” she replied, a faint smile ghosting across her face.

Something was different about her mannerisms — something warm and fleeting. “You could call it good behaviour.”

“That was before I learned the difference,” she murmured.

The silence that followed wasn’t cold this time it was alive, vibrating with a tension that neither dared name.

When they reached her neighborhood, the streetlights flickered through the mist, and the water had risen nearly to the gate.

“I’ll walk from here,” she said, reaching for the handle.

Adi’s voice came firm. “No. Wait here.”

“You’ll get drenched,” she countered.

“So will you,” he murmured, already stepping out into the storm before she could argue.

Rain soaked him instantly — as he kept his coat over Samairas head, her scarf moving a little and how her jhumkas catched the rain and it dripped on her neck Adi quickly removed his eyes while the rain darkening his shirt, dripping from his hair — but he didn’t stop until he reached the gate.

Mr. Ali was already there, umbrella in hand, smiling despite the downpour. “Adil beta! You shouldn’t be out in this weather!”

Adi gave a polite nod, rain still pouring down his face. “News showed this area was unreachable, Uncle. ( a pause) Samaira insisted she could manage alone.” like he was debating using my name.

Mr. Ali’s kind eyes softened. “Ah, you’ve always been the responsible one. You’ll stay the night — roads are impossible.”

Samaira, it was her turn to be surprised who was now comfortably moving under the umbrella, interjected quickly. “Baba, he —”

But her father waved her off subtly .“He’ll stay. You think I’ll let him drive in this storm? No one’s leaving till the water drains.”

A while later, Adi sat at the dining table, after baba had iron dried his shirt for him. The smell of curry and fresh chapatis filled the small, cozy house.

Samaira entered with a tray, setting down the last basket of steaming rotis. “Apologies,” she said, half-smiling. “The food’s rather simple. I didn’t know you’d be joining us.”

Adi looked up, genuinely taken aback. “It’s perfect,” he said softly. “Better than anything gourmet.”

She didn’t reply, just sat beside her father and began to eat quietly. Adi coouldn't stop himself from noticing the vast difference between his life and the version of life playing infront of him now. This felt warm.

After dinner, Mr. Ali wiped his hands and smiled. “That was so good, beta. Now I’ll go take my medicine. Adil, I’ll join you both for tea in a bit. Samaira, ask him how he takes it.”

“Yes, Baba.”

She turned to him. “Sugar?”

“Nope,” he replied quickly.

She gave a small nod, stood, and began clearing the table. It was then that Adi stood up to help. “Let me.”

She shot him a skeptical look. “You? Help in the kitchen?”

“Surprised?” he asked, already picking up the plates.

“I'll manage,” she muttered under her breath.

But he insisted on drying the dishes while she was washing the them and when he reached for a wet dish, their hands brushed. It was nothing — a fleeting, accidental touch — but it felt like electricity.

Both froze. The air thickened between them.

Samaira stepped back quickly, clearing her throat. “I’ll check on Baba, the tea is almost ready.”

“Yes, the cardomom smells heavenly,” he said, voice low.

She returned a few minutes later, saying quietly, “He’s asleep.”

Adi nodded. “Then I should go—”

“The guest room’s ready,” she interrupted. “It’s not safe to drive.”

He hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Then I’ll stay here, in the veranda. Don’t worry — I won’t invade your peace.”

Her brow lifted. “You don't have to be uncomfortable, You are more than welcome here.”

He laughed softly. “Maybe. But tonight, I’ll just sit.”

She sighed, giving in. “Fine. I’ll bring the tea outside.” "I'll bring the chairs" he casually added, like it was what they did everyday.

The veranda was cool and little droplets of rain were quietly sitting on the railings, lit by the dim glow of fairy lights her father had never taken down.

Samaira handed him a steaming mug — hers was the one with the childish smiley face.

For a while, neither spoke. The smell of roses from the garden filled their nostrils.

Finally, he said quietly, “Does he treat you okay Samaira?.”

She stared into her tea. “who? Saad? OH! we don't usually chat if thats what you are asking..”

His eyes gave away the peace he felt knowing they weren't talking on regular basis. “You okay with that?”

She looked at him, voice steady but soft. “You settled everything and he is usually busy with work”

He couldn't tell her where was Saad actually busy, so he just said. “Fair enough.”

For a few long minutes, there was only the rain again — soft, steady, endless.

Then she spoke, almost a whisper. “You shouldn’t be here, Adil.”

“Probably not,” he said. “But I am.”

Her eyes flicked to his — defiant, conflicted. “You always think you can fix things.”

He leaned forward slightly. “Not things, Samaira. Just the one thing I broke.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she forgot how to reply.

Finally, she stood, clutching her mug. “You should rest. The guest room’s ready.”

He nodded slowly. “Goodnight, Samaira.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Khan,” she said softly, and walked away.

He sat there long after she was gone, listening to the last drops of rain fade into silence.

When dawn came, the city glistened — washed clean, reborn. The Margalla Hills in the distance were dusted with the faintest white.

Winter was coming.

And Adil Khan, for the first time in years, realized he was tired of the cold.