Rooh-e-Yaaram – Episode 1
By Areej Shah
This scene unfolds in Ras Al Khaimah, a major city in Dubai. The city's name, Ras Al Khaimah, quite literally translates to "top of the tent" — an apt title considering the beachside houses that resemble tiny, makeshift tents scattered along the coast.
He usually never involved himself in such small matters. But this time, it was about his left hand — Sharif — his childhood companion, his loyal right in every mission. Today, he couldn't leave him alone.
Sharif was imprisoned in one of Dubai's most notorious jails.
Though the Don had no emotional attachment to anyone, loyalty mattered. And Sharif had shown it with his life. Don didn't need love — he needed devotion. And Sharif had it.
It was 1 a.m. The city of Ras Al Khaimah, which slept in silence by day, glowed alive at night. The Devil — that's what the underworld called him — preferred working in the light. Because he knew, it's not the sin that kills a sinner... it's the flawed attempt to hide it.
And he made no mistakes.
By the age of thirty, he had crushed every insect who dared to call themselves Don. Every child in Dubai knew the name Don "The Devil", but no one knew his face.
Even those standing beside him wouldn't realize who he really was.
Sharif wasn't innocent either. He had committed sins too. But the crime he was accused of — he didn't do it.
And Don couldn't stand injustice. He didn't make friends or enemies without reason. But Wasif Malik had crossed the line — falsely accusing Sharif and having him jailed. This betrayal enraged Don.
Wasif had even threatened him over the phone — to have Sharif hanged. But now, Wasif was hiding in one of those small beach houses.
Don had told him to face him like a man. But Wasif chose to hide. And now Sharif had been rotting in jail for over a week.
Being Don's left hand, Sharif had all the luxuries — AC, TV, bed. But Don needed him out — on the outside.
He entered a narrow alley and stepped into a small house. Inside, his men had Wasif Malik held at gunpoint, kneeling on the floor.
Without a word, Don sat calmly on the sofa — his face unreadable.
Wasif glanced up. Don had jet-black hair tied back in a ponytail, but enough to cover his forehead. Fair skin. Green eyes. A light beard and faint moustache. A dimple appeared on his cheek when he spoke — not smiled — because Don never smiled.
And when he did speak…
> "When you can't bite… don't bark either."
He said coldly, seated with indifferent grace.
Wasif knew his place now. Even hiding in the smallest corner, Don had found him.
> "Forgive me, Devil... I made a mistake. I'll do whatever you say, just don't kill me!"
Wasif begged, sensing there was no way out.
> "You want to prove your innocence? Want me to believe Sharif's not guilty? Then give me proof,"
he said, trying to stand.
Don's men shoved him back down with their rifles.
> "You think if I can find you here, I can't get the truth out of you?"
Don's eyes drilled into Wasif's soul.
> "But I have to say — your execution was neat. I almost liked your method."
Wasif felt mocked.
> "You think I can't get Sharif out of jail? I can do it anytime."
He snapped his fingers in front of him.
"Just. Like. That."
> "But you know why I'm really here, Wasif?"
"Not for Sharif — but for those girls. The ones whose obscene videos you recorded. They're safe in Turkey... but the videos? Still with you. I want them gone. Every trace. Ten minutes. That's all you get."
> "But... the videos are already released online. Millions may have watched them!"
Wasif admitted, trembling.
> "Is that your final answer?"
Don raised a gun to his forehead.
> "NO! Wait! I'll try!"
Wasif begged again.
> "Ten minutes,"
Don said coldly.
Wasif began scrambling, dialing one contact after another. His fingers trembled while Don's men searched his home for further evidence — Don didn't want a single trace left that could harm Sharif.
And within ten minutes… it was done.
Every video — removed from every site, every platform.
Those girls were just honeymooners — newlyweds in love. Wasif had secretly planted cameras in their hotel rooms and planned to profit by leaking their privacy.
They didn't even know what had happened.
But Don knew.
> "I've deleted every print — except one... it's already been sent to Pakistan,"
Wasif stuttered.
Don turned to Khizr, standing silently beside him — the one who always said Pakistan was a moral land, untouched by filth.
But now Pakistan had joined the rest of the corrupt world.
Khizr couldn't meet his gaze.
> "No problem. I'll get it back. Siddiq's daughter, Masooma, is coming to visit next week. I'll have her retrieve it,"
Khizr offered.
Don stood up. His work here was done.
Then he turned back to Wasif.
> "People say — those who have no one of their own, respect others' daughters and sisters. But today, you proved that wrong."
> "Those girls were just starting their lives. Imagine if they saw those videos... would they ever look at themselves again?"
> "Steal. Rob. Kill — but Devil doesn't allow rape."
> "You were a decent man…"
He paused.
"Were."
BANG.
The bullet ended Wasif Malik's chapter.
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7:00 AM — She had been up since morning. Unlike other days, she didn't even have time for Asr prayer. She was too busy preparing nine different dishes.
Her stepsister Maryam had a marriage proposal today.
Maryam was inside, getting ready with her sisters Tania and Maria.
Ruh — her name — had magic in her hands. She had spent her whole day in the kitchen. She had to leave by 3 PM — her mother had ordered that she must not show her face to the guests.
Their house was tiny — only two rooms and a kitchen. One room belonged to her stepmother and the other to her three daughters.
Anyone standing outside could peek into the whole house.
That's why Ruh was told to leave once the food was done — sent away to Fatima Baji's home.
Her stepmother didn't want her around. She feared Ruh's presence might ruin things — again.
Surprisingly, her mother hadn't slapped her even once today.
Fatima Baji's home was the only place she was allowed — where she taught Quran to kids and earned five thousand rupees a month, which her mother collected.
Her stepmother, Tazim, only kept her because she brought in money. Ruh had no value otherwise.
She was the unwanted daughter of her father's secret second marriage. He had three daughters from Tazim but no son, so he married again in secret.
Ruh was the result.
Her real mother, Noor, named her Rooh-e-Noor — soul of light.
But her soul was never loved.
She was just a day old when her mother died. Her father dumped her into his first wife's arms — and vanished from her life.
At seven, she became a complete orphan. And that's when her life turned into slavery.
> "Free meals don't come without work,"
Tazim had declared.
At seven, she was sweeping floors, washing dishes, doing laundry. She wasn't allowed to eat with the others. She ate leftovers, slept on the floor, and if her mother was angry — in the kitchen.
She was never allowed to cry. No voice. No anger. If she ever got angry, she'd hurt herself — silently.
Tazim didn't even let her sit with guests. Everyone assumed she was mute.
She completed her matriculation thanks to Fatima Baji, who begged her mother to let her study.
But when she turned fifteen, her mother declared her education was over.
Once a proposal came for Maryam — the boy's family saw Ruh and said they wanted her instead. That proposal broke. And so did Ruh — under a rain of slaps.
That night, she cried alone — and her mother slept peacefully.
Only Fatima Baji knew her pain.
> "One day, a prince will come and take you away,"
she'd say.
Ruh would just smile…
> "Princesses get princes, Fatima Baji. I'm not one of them. If a prince was meant to come… he would've come by now."
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