Drunk and unsteady, Hasan somehow made it back to the hotel room he shared with Asifa. He slumped onto the sofa, his memory of the drive back a complete blank. Yet, even through the alcoholic haze clouding his mind, one thing remained sharp and clear: the grand plan. The scheme to feign affection for Anisa and eventually secure her family's wealth for himself was not just a thought; it was a deeply ingrained objective. His consistent use of "my wifey" was a calculated move in that long game, a charm offensive to win her heart before claiming her assets.
A short while later, Asifa emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp from a shower. A wave of delight washed over her at the sight of her boyfriend. She moved towards him for an embrace, but as she got closer, the potent smell of alcohol hit her. 🌬
"Honey, have you been drinking? In the afternoon?" she asked, instinctively covering her nose.
"Yeah, you know, baby... just a bit," he slurred, his heavy-lidded eyes trying to focus on her. 🥃
"Goodness, you've had a lot," she sighed, catching him as he began to slide off the sofa. She braced herself, wrapping an arm around his waist to support his weight. She prepared to guide him to the bed to lie down.
Anisa isn't here. There's no one to talk to, no one to share anything with. Asifa might be volatile, but right now, she's what I have, he thought in his blurred, disjointed state as he watched her struggle with him. 🎭
Just as she was about to lower him onto the mattress, his arms suddenly shot out. With a strength born of inebriated impulse, he pulled her down onto the bed with him, his grip firm and controlling. In that moment, Asifa was no longer a person but a vessel—a convenient outlet for his frustrations, his schemes, and his baser instincts. He proceeded to use her, manipulating her desires to lose himself in hours of purely physical gratification, a hollow escape from the complex web he was weaving elsewhere. 🌋
_______________________________________
Meanwhile, miles away...
In the small guesthouse dining room, Anisa and the four others finished their late lunch. The conversation had stayed safely on the surface, focused entirely on work. As the plates were cleared, a collective fatigue settled over the group. With a silent, mutual understanding, they retreated to their respective rooms. Their plan was simple and innocent: to rest, perhaps steal a short nap, and recuperate until it was time for dinner. The quiet of the corridor, dividing into left and right, held none of the turmoil that filled a distant hotel room, illustrating the stark contrast between the two realities unfolding simultaneously. ↔