Tara Pammi - The True King of Dahaar

It couldn’t have been more than two minutes when her skin prickled in alarm. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The relentless heat of the day receded for a minute. A shadow. Her heart stuttering in her chest, she realized who stood over here, stealing the warmth from around her.

Keeping her eyes closed, she took a moment to pull herself together. She opened her eyes slowly and sat up straighter on the bench.

His gait uneven, Azeez walked to the bench on her left. His face tightened, his right hand flexing into a fist as he slowly slid into the seat.

He hadn’t shaved and the beard coming in made him look even more dangerous. His eyes still had that haggard, bruised look, the planes of his cheekbones prominent.

The pristine white shirt hung loose on his frame while his cotton trousers hung low and loose on his hips. They made him look darker than usual, but not enough to hide the tiredness from his face.

His will was a force of nature and offense was her best course if she wanted to get through. She made no effort to curb the stinging comment that rose to her lips. “That hip will be permanently useless if you continue like this. Even in the state you’re in, I believe…”

Those thickly lashed eyes trapped hers, a puzzle in it. She couldn’t have looked away for anything in the world. Everything else she could control, curb, but not the greediness with which she wanted to look at him. “I believe you still have enough sense to know that.”

“ Ya Allah , stop looking at me like that.” His low growl rumbled over the silent courtyard.

“How am I looking at you?” she said, tucking her feet beneath her legs.

He leaned his head back, giving her a perfect view of the strong column of his neck. Even dressed in the most casual clothes, he epitomized supreme male arrogance and confidence that had always messed with her usually practical personality. And continued to do so, if she was ready to admit the truth. “Like you cannot stop, like you want to eat me up alive.”

The heat rising through her cheeks had nothing to do with the sun. “That’s not true.”

He leaned forward, his gaze thoughtful. “Yes, it is. There’s a temerity in your gaze now. You always knew your own mind, but now, it’s like your body has caught up.”

She shrugged, holding herself tight and still under his scrutiny. The look he cast in her direction was thorough. “I’m not a shy twenty-two-year-old anymore.”

“I can see that.” A lick of something came alive in his gaze. “I can almost see you staring down your patients into good health.”

She laughed, half to hide the little tremble that went through her. “I do have a reputation as the scary doctor. If only things could be fixed so simply. And you’re right. I can’t stop looking at you. I can’t stop wondering what in Allah’s name you think you’re doing to yourself.”

His jaw tightened, his nostrils flared.

For anyone looking from afar, they would seem like two old friends chatting up each other. And yet the courtyard felt like a minefield. She had to take every step carefully with him. And not because she was scared of him, but of herself.

Her stupid midnight jaunt had already proved her brain wasn’t functioning at its normal, rational level.

He ran his palm over his jaw, his gaze never moving from her. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“The palace has been ringing with it. And apparently, it is the first time in three days that you have a minute to yourself.”

“So you’re not completely oblivious to the world around you? That’s always a good sign.”

“Don’t show off your credentials with me, Nikhat. Is Princess Zohra having complications with the pregnancy?”

There was no nuance to his words. She had no idea if he was worried for the Princess, no way to gauge how deep the emptiness in him was. And more than anything, the very thought she might not be of any use to him scared her. “Yes.”

“How serious is it?”

“I have ordered some more tests for her. Her blood pressure is at dangerous levels. She needs rest and she needs to take it easy. Stress is adding to her complications. From what I’ve seen in the last two days, you’re at the root of it.”

“Just because I punched her husband?”

“You punched Ayaan? Why?”

Because Ayaan had brought her here , the answer came to her in the taut silence.

Do you hate me so much?

The pathetic, self-indulgent question lingered on her lips. But there was no point in asking it. There was no point in giving the past even a passing thought.

“You have really changed,” she said, hoping to find a hole in that indifference he wore like armor, hoping to land a blow. “The Azeez I knew would have never lifted his hand against his brother, would have never thrown a bottle at an innocent, harmless woman.”

He chuckled, and the unexpected sound of it shocked her. Sharp grooves appeared in his cheeks. “You are neither innocent nor harmless. I was drunk. It was your own fault for walking into a man’s wing in the middle of the night where you’re forbidden.”

“And you throw bottles at imaginary figures when you are drunk?”

“Only at you.”

The barb cut through her, knocking her air from her lungs. She drew in a jagged breath, swiping her gaze away from him. This was the future she had wanted to avoid eight years ago—his resentment, his bitterness. Because Azeez had never hidden from what he felt, neither had he let her. And yet, after everything she had done, she was right where she didn’t want to be—the cause of that resentment.

She looked up and found him studying her with a curious intensity. “I’m serious, Azeez. Princess Zohra needs to rest and relax. Unless you do something that allays her concerns for Ayaan, she’s only going to get worse.

“She…loves Ayaan very much. And the fact that he’s worried about you is directly transferring to her.”

“She’s the future of Dahaar. I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

Did he realize he had betrayed himself? From everything Ayaan had said, Azeez had claimed he didn’t care about anything. “Is it only the future of Dahaar that concerns you? Not what you are doing to Ayaan, to your parents? To yourself?”

He shot to his feet so quickly that Nikhat jerked her head up. Just in to time to see the flash of pain in his face. “This is where this session ends. You’re not my friend. You’re definitely not my doctor.

“You’re a servant to the royal family. Do your job. Look after Princess Zohra. Believe me, there’s nothing you can do to help me. Except disappear, maybe.”

“I’m not leaving, Azeez. Not until I accomplish my job. And as to Ayaan’s belief in me, I’ve never let down the royal family’s trust in me until now and I never will.”

“Never, Nikhat?”

Her breath trapped in her throat, Nikhat hugged herself. “Never.”

Nodding, he came to a stop at the wide arched entrance, the sun shining behind him casting shadows on his features. She had no idea what he saw in the mirror when he looked at himself, what tormented him from the past. But the fact that he was here, concerned for the Princess, gave her hope like nothing else could.

“I never thought of you as naive.”

Uncoiling her legs from under her, she took a moment to compose herself. The last thing she wanted was him talking about her. “I used to be. But not anymore. I’m not the girl you once knew, Azeez.”

“Why obstetrics of all the specializations? Why not cardiology?”

She stayed painfully still, amazed at how easily, even after all these years, he could drill down to the heart of the matter. How well he knew her.

“Your mother’s been dead for eighteen years, Nikhat. You cannot save her or the child she died giving birth to.”